“We don’t know he has them now,” Stimson said hopefully. “He may not have taken delivery yet.”
“Maybe not total delivery, but the amount of armaments we’re talking about here would have to be smuggled in and distributed gradually, over a period of months even. And don’t forget that Easton’s menu was for Christmas Eve. That’s only four days from today.”
Stimson’s features whitened still more. His head slipped backward a bit. “My God, a Christmas Eve strike …”
“Like it or not, that’s the indication. It’s a little crazy if you ask me. Where’d he get all those men? Fifteen thousand’s an awful lot of people to inspire to take up arms.”
“Not when you consider there’d still be twenty-five million blacks on the same side of the fence as us,” Stimson explained. “Not a surprising ratio, is it? There’ve probably been plenty on the other side all along. It just took someone like Sahhan to motivate and organize them.”
The cab negotiated through the early morning rush hour traffic.
“That’s where this mess breaks down, Andy: with organization. Armies need lots more than motivation to make their guns work.”
“This isn’t an army in the traditional sense. Most of what they need to know could have been taught to them in small groups, or even privately.”
“But sooner or later they’d have to link up.”
Stimson shook his head. “Not really if Sahhan’s done his homework. The Gap, Company, and Bureau have several recent studies on how many organized terrorists it would take to throw the entire civil order of the country into utter chaos if the timing was right. The numbers we considered were all substantially lower than fifteen thousand.”
“Then you must have considered possible tactics and strategies as well.”
“And all of them are right up Sahhan’s alley. Terrorists wouldn’t have to knock out the whole country, just the major urban centers — say the top thirty. That would mean five hundred per city — organized, well armed, and acting totally with the element of surprise on their side.”
“And striking on Christmas Eve, when all police and reserve units operate on skeleton crews.” Blaine suddenly felt chilled. “With the firepower Sahhan’s got, based on that shopping list, we could have martial law by Christmas morning.”
“Precisely why I’ve already contacted an old friend of mine, Pard Peacher, commander of the Delta Force anti-terrorist commandoes. He’s sending small crack squads undercover into all major cities to locate the individual terrorist cells, a kind of search and destroy mission.”
“So long as word doesn’t get around about their presence,” Blaine pointed out. “Sahhan’s men would only retreat further underground. We’d never find them.”
“Peacher’s a pro and his men are the best, all trained by the Israelis. They know what they’re doing.”
Blaine’s mind had returned to another track “But the key is still weapons, Andy, not men. Assuming Sahhan’s taken delivery of his arsenal, chances are distribution of that kind of firepower is being held to the last minute. So if we can latch on to his supply channels and trace the chain to his storage dumps, we could prevent distribution and stop the bastard in his tracks. No guns — no revolution.”
Stimson’s eyebrows flickered. “I like your thinking. And there’ll be no need for a firing squad now because for all intents and purposes you’re already dead.”
“Does Washington know about your contacting Peacher?”
“No, it’s just between us. I explained the situation to Pard and he agrees. The element of trust doesn’t exist anymore, if it ever did. They did us a favor by trying to take you out in New York. Now we’ll have Washington off your back, as well as Sahhan.”
Blaine hesitated. “Assuming he was the one who hired Scola.”
“Who else would have?”
“I don’t know. But something stinks here and all the smells don’t lead back to Sahhan. Take Scola for example. She doesn’t impress me as the kind of assassin he’d hire or even have access to. But there’s more. I can’t put my finger on the reasons, but I know there’s someone else involved here, Andy. Sahhan’s just a part of what’s going on, connected to something even bigger.”
“We’re talking about a goddamn civil war in five days, Blaine. How much bigger can you get?”
“Plenty. Let’s backtrack. Let’s assume that Easton uncovered what Sahhan was up to, that and nothing else. We know it was Sahhan’s people who set him up through Sebastian and two blacks did carry out the hit. But that’s where the PVR connection breaks down. Chen wasn’t theirs, the carolers weren’t theirs, and neither was Scola.”
“You’re saying that Sahhan has got some sort of silent partner.”
“Someone who also has something to gain from civil unrest. But who? And why?”
Stimson pointed to the date displayed on his watch. “Today’s the twentieth, Blaine. Christmas Eve’s Wednesday. That doesn’t give us a whole lot of time to find the answers.” Stimson pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to McCracken. “Sahhan is giving a speech at George Washington University this afternoon. Here’s a ticket to it along with an invitation to the reception following. Might give you some insight into the man we’re dealing with here.”
“I can’t wait.”
Sandy Lister had been over it a dozen times with T.J. Brown, so once more couldn’t hurt.
“You say you left the disk on your desk?” she asked.
“No!” T.J. shouted into the phone. “I put it into my top drawer and locked it. I’m sure I did. I put the disk back in its storage case and locked it away.”
“Did anyone see you do it?”
“For the last time, I didn’t notice. How could I? My office isn’t exactly isolated. Anyone who wanted to could have seen me. Look, I didn’t sleep at my apartment last night. I didn’t even go back there. I’m scared. I think someone’s … watching me. I’ve got this awful feeling that the people Kelno stole the disk from have it back now. That means they know we had it—I had it. And they killed Kelno for the same reason. They killed him!”
Sandy knew there was no sense trying to calm T.J. down. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Call Shay,” he snapped back. “This is all way over my head, yours too. Get him to help us.”
“All right,” Sandy said. “I’m leaving for Texas in a few hours. I’ll call him from there. Just let me get straight what I’m going to tell him. Now, what have you got for me on Simon Terrell?”
“The address in Texas you asked for. Got a pen?”
When Sandy descended the stairs for a late breakfast in the Hollins kitchen, she found her packed bags waiting for her.
“Where you headed next, ma’am?” Spud Hollins asked her as they moved into the kitchen.
“Texas, on the trail of Simon Terrell.”
“Krayman’s assistant until old Randy elected to pull up stakes?”
“The very same.”
“Well, you come back and see us again real soon.” Hollins winked at her. “And don’t forget to bring your camera.”
Sandy stopped just before they reached the table. “Can I ask you one last question, Spud?”
“Fire away.”
“Why are you willing to go on camera about all this after so many years? You’ve got everything any man could ever want, and by your own admission Randall Krayman did you a favor. Yet you’re willing to go public again, risk recrimination, follow-up interviews, even lawsuits. Why, Spud?”
Hollins smiled, but Sandy could tell the gesture was turned inward. “ ’Cause what Krayman’s done ain’t right and I got me a feeling he ain’t finished yet.”
Mohammed Sahhan’s lecture was scheduled for two o’clock in the afternoon in the Lisner Auditorium on the George Washington campus. McCracken had been on the advance security team for countless heads of state over the years and the precautions taken by Sahhan rivaled most. The only feature his thirty or so bodyguards lacked was the tiny earphones that characterized the Secret Service.