“And how would you know that?”
“Amer Madari,” Uzi said, turning to Vail but speaking so that DeSantos could hear him, “has been to Pakistan, Syria, and Gaza the past couple of years.”
DeSantos was staring at Uzi, but Uzi could not make out his expression: He could tell he was not pleased. But was he angry that Uzi had been spying on his team member or was he angry that Uzi had not mentioned it earlier? Or both?
“Why were you meeting with him?”
“I’m CIA, Uzi. Sometimes we go dark to follow up on leads. I’m on this team because I’m Palestinian, because I’m trusted in the Arab community, because I have contacts in the community. Some of those are going to be suspect, some are going to have records, some may even have a history in terrorism. It’s no different than you meeting with a confidential informant who uses drugs or who’s committed a felony or who’s—”
“Blown stuff up?”
“Yeah. Even someone who’s blown stuff up.”
“And what about your nephew?”
Fahad’s face blanched. The rattle and the rocking motion of the fuselage, as the plane gained speed and rolled along the runway, made his head bob left and right.
“Your nephew,” Uzi said, “the suicide bomber who blew up a school bus full of innocent children in Haifa in 2003.”
DeSantos leaned forward, his chest straining against the seat restraint. “What the hell are you talking about?” He pulled his gaze away from Uzi and faced Fahad. “What’s he talking about?”
Fahad bit his bottom lip. He closed his eyes but did not answer DeSantos’s question.
“Answer me, or so help me God, I will have this plane turned around—”
“It’s true,” Fahad said. “I don’t know how you found out about it, but it’s true.”
DeSantos, Uzi, and Vail shared a concerned look.
“You didn’t think this was important for us to know?” Vail asked.
“Yeah,” Fahad said, “I could imagine how well that would go over. The Palestinian, the guy you don’t trust to begin with, had a nephew who was a suicide bomber, a radical. You really don’t understand why I didn’t say anything?”
“How the hell did you get into the CIA?” DeSantos asked.
Uzi chuckled. “I know the answer to that. Tasset gave you the chance to prove yourself. And he had something on you, so when the shit hits the fan, you owe him. Big. You’ll support him, do whatever he needs you to do, because you have no choice. He’s got a secret on you. Am I right?”
Fahad nodded.
“After we texted you to meet us at the crime scene, did you tip the sniper that I’d be at city hall this afternoon?”
“No — why would I do that?”
“Did you or anyone else you know, or anyone you’re affiliated with, plant the bomb in my car?”
“What bomb?”
“Answer the question.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No,” Uzi said. “I’m lucky to be alive. So forgive me for asking tough questions you don’t want to hear.”
“I had nothing to do with that. Nothing.” He shook his head. “Look, I understand this doesn’t look good. But when I saw my nephew get on that bus and blow himself up, something snapped inside me. I knew he had these crazy ideas but I never thought he’d do something so stupid. But for me, it had the opposite effect. I didn’t channel his anger. I realized it was a stupid, ill-advised idea. That’s when I came to the US and started a new life, got into the CIA.”
“Tasset knew who you were.”
“I told him. And I told him I wanted no part of it. Not only did I not want any part of it, I wanted to help find others like my nephew before they had the chance to kill other innocent people.” He made eye contact with each of them. “You have to believe me.”
“It wouldn’t be an issue,” DeSantos said, “if you’d told us up front. Or — if you’d just been in touch with us, told us what you were doing — or at very least, that you had a meet or two. But going dark for a good chunk of the day … that doesn’t work when you’re on this team. We rely on each other to be there for each other. No secrets.” He glanced at Uzi, then turned back to Fahad. “For now, we’ll accept your story — and your explanation. We’re headed into enemy territory, for lack of a better term. We all need to be on the same page. And that means we tell each other where we’ll be, and when, who we’re meeting with, and if we learn new info.”
Fahad leaned back and took a deep breath. “Fine. I get it. I’m not used to this. I work alone or with a handler. I’m not a team player.”
“Wrong,” Vail said. “You are a team player. Starting right now.”
He sucked on his front teeth a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
The whine of the engines increased and the front of the large plane rose. A second later they felt the lift and they were airborne.
Uzi leaned close to Vail’s ear. “How did the assholes know I’d be there?”
“Be where?”
“City hall. The crime scene, the sniper. The guy who planted the bomb in my car.”
“You’re thinking Mo tipped them after getting our text to meet us there?”
Uzi shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. But maybe I’m too close. What’s your impartial, rational opinion?”
“I’m your friend, so I’m not sure I’m impartial. I’ve got a roomful of people back at the BAU who wouldn’t use the word ‘rational’ to describe me. That said, here’s what I think. It could be as simple as the perps planted the radiological bomb. They knew we were in the city investigating, so when the truck was discovered, they knew we — you — would be there at the scene. No hidden agendas, no moles.”
Uzi sat back and considered her analysis.
“Yes? No?”
“I have to admit,” he shouted, “that was a pretty impartial explanation. And definitely rational.”
“Would you mind engraving that on a plaque and hanging it on my office door?”
“Only if your boss is okay with it. He tends to yell at me whenever he sees me.”
“Same here.”
They both laughed.
“You know he’s going to be my father-in-law.”
They both laughed again. “Makes for fun Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, I guess.”
As the fuselage jostled against the turbulence, Uzi could not help but wonder if Vail was right. Or if something more sinister was at work.
“These seats suck,” Vail said over the din.
Uzi let his head roll left, closer to her ear. “You should’ve asked the guy about your cheese plate while you had the chance.”
35
They slept on the plane, adhering to the special forces mantra of taking sleep where you could get it, when you could get it. Vail thought it would be impossible to nod off given the environment, but the drone of the engines had a hypnotic effect, and without flight attendants or passengers squeezing by and bumping her shoulder or ill-timed pilot announcements, she caught a few hours before she felt the deceleration and descent toward the British countryside.
When the ramp lowered, the chill, damp air blew in. They powered up their throwaway phones that Knox had provided. They had a message waiting for them: Twitter was abuzz with exchanges between al Humat members and Americans.
“Can’t say I’ve seen this before,” Vail said. “Listen to this one: ‘We’re in your neighborhoods, your cities, your schools. You’re not safe anywhere. #alahuakbar.’”