“Perfect for demolitions work,” rumbled the deep baritone of Agent Jordan, speaking for the first time.
Kanter nodded. “These items are very hard to get, and it is highly likely that, unless this group stole the material from the plant that made it, which would have been reported, they went through these dealers.”
This was very interesting; a potentially important link to the terrorists. If Kanter was right. If there was a way to discover the buyers for these materials.
“Agent Jordan and his superior, Richard Michelson, here from the CIA Crime and Narcotics Center, have agreed to work directly with the FBI on this. I've assigned him to your team, John. Husaam will work independently of our chain of command, reporting directly to Agent Michelson, but day-to-day he will be an additional member of Intel 1.”
Just great, thought Savas. Kanter looked Savas in the eye and spoke gravely. “I don't have to tell you how important it is that we make some headway on this one, John. We'll need all the help we can get from all agencies. We all need to make this work.”
“Larry, can I speak to you privately?” asked Savas, needing an outlet soon lest he jettison all professionalism.
Kanter seemed to suppress a sigh. “Of course, John. Why don't you introduce Husaam to your group and then meet me in my office.”
Savas held his emotions in check. “Sure, Larry. Agent Jordan, come this way, please.”
He led the CIA man back to the conference room. As he grabbed the doorknob to open it, the baritone spoke. “When we are greeted with a salutation, the person should offer a better welcome, or at least return the same, for God taketh an account of all things.” Jordan smiled and extended his hand.
Ah, hell. Savas grasped the offered hand and shook it very firmly.
“Nice words,” said Savas, turning back to the door.
“From the Holy Koran,” replied Jordan.
Savas, doorknob clasped tightly in his hand, stopped and turned slowly toward the CIA agent. “Agent Jordan, let's get something clear, so that we both know where we stand. I don't like the CIA meddling with my group, and no disrespect, but I don't know a damn thing about you. My group works well, and we're one of the best in the business. We've been together a while, and we work like a well-oiled machine. Your coming here, it's like grit thrown in the engine.” Savas let go of the doorknob for a second time and pulled up to face Agent Jordan. “You don't know me well, but I don't take it lightly when someone quotes from a book that inspired men to fly airplanes into buildings in my city. Finally, in case the intelligence is fading from the CIA, you might also know that those bastards took the life of my son. So, do we understand each other, Agent Jordan?”
The joyful buoyancy had left the face of Husaam Jordan, but he did not flinch. “No, Agent Savas, not completely. Because you need to know two things about me. The first is that I will always do my best to respect every man I meet, but I will never hide or be ashamed of my religion. Second, I ask you not to judge how much I am grit until you give me a little time to integrate into your team. One thing about me that you will learn — I am a man of justice, as well as a Muslim. For me, they go together. Those who died in September of 2001 were victims of murder, led by extremists that I work every day to bring to justice. It is also said in the Holy Koran, ‘Justice is an unassailable fortress, built on the brow of a mountain which cannot be overthrown by the violence of torrents, nor demolished by the force of armies.’ I believe that, John Savas. I will work to see that it is so.”
For several moments, they stood staring at each other, eye-to-eye, nearly toe-to-toe. Savas clenched his jaw but said nothing. Finally he turned and opened the door to the conference room.
22
"Damn it, Larry, you can't do this!”
Savas had officially reached the stage of throwing a fit. He had felt it coming, building up, and had decided to just get out of its way. There were a lot of things you had to put up with in life. A lot of them you didn't. And some you had to yell about.
“John, calm down. This isn't going to help the situation,” said Kanter as calmly as he could. Standing next to Kanter behind his desk, Mira Vujanac appeared uneasy as she watched the emotional outburst.
“I'm not going to calm down! Do you know what this guy was doing? Quoting me proverbs from the Koran! Do you think I need to hear anything from that book? You told me when I came here, Larry, that you hired me because I'd be motivated for this job. What gives me that motivation is the same thing that makes it unacceptable that this representative of that religion be forced on me and my team! I'm not going to allow it!”
“John, that's the last time I want to hear about what you will and won't allow, or, I swear, you'll be finding yourself another place to work!” The veins stood out on Kanter's forehead, and he anchored his hands on his desk, standing and leaning forward. He brought one hand to his face and rubbed his temples. “John, please, sit down a moment.”
Savas looked between the two of them and reluctantly took the closest seat. Vujanac sighed softly and adjusted her blouse. She sat on the side of the desk farthest from Savas.
Kanter continued. “This guy comes with amazing recommendations. He's single-handedly begun what has turned into an enormous operation against these international arms dealers. He's used his religion as a screen to work the entire thing, to pose as a radicalized leader of a group seeking to purchase weapons for terrorist activity in the United States. He's just a few steps from setting up a sting operation, and these events have compromised all his efforts. He's willing to work for less than that original goal, to instead try and infiltrate the network to trace the path of the explosives used in these attacks. He is willing to work with us on that to coordinate domestic and international efforts.”
“I don't like it.” Savas knew he was being obstinate, but it didn't matter.
“Damn it, John, I'm not asking you to like it. I'm asking you to make it work.”
“John,” said Vujanac softly, “Agent Jordan is an extraordinary man. He's taken a hard route to come to where he is.”
“He sure as hell has,” fired back Kanter. He picked up a large folder filled with papers and tossed it on his desk in front of Savas. “His file. Read it if you want. The guy grew up on the streets of LA. His mother was a crack addict, his father was gone before he was potty-trained. He joined a gang before he could likely write, rose in the ranks to a high position as an adolescent. Got tossed in jail at one point, found an imam and religion in prison.”
Savas rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted was a feel-good Hollywood story. “So the CIA's recruiting ex-cons now? They that desperate?”
“He was a juvenile.”
“Larry, the CIA doesn't hire convicts!”
“Somebody made an exception!”
“They sure did.” Savas shook his head. “He doesn't sound like some ex-gang member to me. Speaks like he's Ivy League.”
“He is,” Mira interjected. “Columbia. His spiritual father was highly educated and insisted Jordan be as well. He was bright enough to master that culture, too.”
“Great, now a Muslim elitist spook.”
Kanter pressed on. “Lots of these young black kids find Islam in jail. They either get radicalized, or they join social movements for the poor or push civil rights agendas. Well, Jordan felt a call to serve justice, something you don't see too many ex-gang members lean toward. Can you imagine how hard it must have been to get even a single serious look at a job like this? Can you imagine the interviews? He worked hard to erase his past. Some imam funded his college education. He prettied up his speech. He cut all ties with his old life. He knocked on every door until one opened. It looks like nothing stops this guy. He's on a mission, and he's made a serious mark at the CIA.”