"Nice turn of phrase, Steph. Warning Rice, yes, we have to do that. But what do we tell him? And if we tell him, there goes our new found love affair with Langley."
"We have to get them to do it. That way it doesn't make us rat them out."
"Langley? How do we do that?"
Stephanie was silent for a moment, thinking. Carter waited. "If we give Rice a big problem like that," she said, "then we have to come up with a solution. It could be a joint CIA/Project op. DCI Lodge might go for that. Rice longs for more cooperation between the agencies. Langley's been a pain in the ass for a long time. Lodge would score some points if it looked like Langley wanted to work with us. It would validate Rice setting the Project up in the first place."
"You sound like Harker."
"She was a good teacher." Steph twisted a bracelet on her wrist. "I wouldn't mind it if she came back."
"I wouldn't either. But we've got it now." Nick scratched his ear. "I think Hood will go for it, to cover his ass if nothing else. Shared responsibility means shared blame if it goes south. So we'd better have a damn good plan. Which means we need a clear mission. What is our mission, Steph?"
Steph faced her computer. "Let's break it down. What do we need to accomplish?"
"Find Bausari and the bomb. Find out where the assassins are hiding out. We find them, we might find out what was in that cave."
"And we do that by…?"
Selena sat up in her chair. "I found hints of a refuge for the assassins in one of those manuscripts. If there is such a place, it's in the northwest mountains of Pakistan. We could look for it."
"Wait a minute," Nick said. "Mali's one thing. That part of Pakistan is another. That's the Hindu Kush."
"You have a better idea?"
"These guys have been hidden for centuries," Ronnie said. "How are we going to find them?"
"I admit, it's a needle in a haystack. There were just a few vague landmarks in that manuscript."
Nick considered for a moment. "We could come in from Afghanistan, disguised. Avoid the checkpoints. Selena speaks the language. Ronnie and I know a few words. But we can't go in blind and wander around."
The voice of Steph's assistant sounded from the intercom on her desk.
"Director, turn on CNN. You need to see this."
Steph turned on the screen.
Al-Bausari, dressed in white robe and green turban, sat on a low dais. At his feet rested a dark wooden box, carved with designs of trees and vines. The box looked old. A broad banner hung behind him.
"What does the banner say, Selena?" Ronnie asked.
"The Day of Judgement is Soon."
"This can't be good."
"My brothers," Bausari began. A simultaneous translation ran across the bottom of the screen. "I speak to all true believers. It is time to set aside differences, shadows sent by the Evil One to cloud our minds and turn us one against the other.
"Allah is the Protector of those who have faith: from the depths of darkness He will lead them into light. The patrons of those who reject faith are the evil ones: from light they will lead them into the depths of darkness. They will be companions of the fire, and dwell there forever."
"That's from the Qur'an," Selena said.
Bausari reached down into the wooden box and lifted an object into the air with both hands. It was an ancient sword, almost perfectly preserved, cruel and beautiful. The blade widened in a sweeping, upward crescent and ended in a sharp, lethal point. The hilt was made of heavy silver, engraved with elaborate swirling patterns that continued partway down the blade. The guard at the hilt seemed almost delicate for such a deadly weapon. The sword looked like it could take off your head in a single stroke. The camera zoomed in on the blade. A word scribed in Arabic was clearly visible.
القيامة
Selena pointed at the inscription. "That's what was written in the cave. Judgement."
Bausari was still speaking. "Those who reject Faith and deny Our Signs, they shall be companions of the Fire. I hold before you the sword of the Prophet, blessings be upon Him."
"Muhammad's sword?" Nick said.
"He had nine. Eight are in Turkey, one in a museum in Cairo." Selena stared at the screen.
"Looks like there were ten. It must be what they found in the cave."
"The tenth sword of Mohammed is a legend. He can't be serious."
"Shhh," Steph put her finger to her lips.
"The final hour is fast upon us, my brothers." Bausari stood and held the sword high. "The last hour will not come without much bloodshed. Judgement Day is soon. I proclaim it. Hasten to the mosques and beseech Allah for guidance, for when your heart is pure you will follow. Then Allah will sweep all before us."
The transmission ended.
"Did he say what I think he said?"
Selena let out a long breath. "Yes. He did. He thinks he's going to bring about Judgement Day. A lot of that was from the Qur'an."
"And he has a nuke," said Ronnie.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Richard Hemmings felt good. The ocean was calm, the sun sparkled from the blue Pacific. The twin diesels of his charter fishing boat, the Mary Lou, rumbled along. There wasn’t any Mary Lou in his life, but Richard felt it was a good, American name for a boat.
Another hour, they’d be tied up in the private marina at San Diego.
He looked back at the three men sitting near the stern. His heart beat with pride. He’d longed for the day he'd be permitted to justify the trust placed in him.
He’d been suspect from the start, an American. The training compound in Afghanistan had been hard. He’d had no friends. In the field with his brothers, he’d been watched. The final test was the death of the captured American soldier. Richard didn't hesitate. While the camera rolled he hacked off the head of the screaming man. There was no danger of being recognized behind his mask.
After that, he was accepted. A few months later he’d been given his instructions. Return to America. Funds would be available. Build a business. Wait. Be ready.
Six years ago. Since then there'd been little contact. Always, he’d been told to be patient. Now the wait was over.
Richard hated the American way of life. For Richard, America was a licentious, greedy society that assaulted his senses at every turn. The shameless women in their whorish dress. The loose morals. The glorification of drugs and alcohol, the relentless pursuit of material things. His mother and step-father would have approved of his feelings, if they were still alive.
Richard had been instructed to stay away from the Islamic communities, to pray at home and keep out of the mosque. The Imam had given him dispensation. He must not appear to be anything but another unbeliever.
As far as anyone knew he was only another charter boat captain, his beard a part of his persona. Like a friendly pirate, some said. A real character, his clients said. He joked with his customers. He turned down offers of drinks with a story about his alcoholic father and bad genes. The part about his father was true. It was one of the things that had driven him to Islam. The story always worked. Americans understood about alcoholism. Richard had joined AA and used it as part of his cover.
The ways of Allah were indeed mysterious.
The phone call a week ago was the payoff for all the years of waiting. He’d picked up three men for a fishing trip south. He had three men coming back. They just weren’t the same ones who had boarded in San Diego, though they appeared much the same to anyone who might have seen the Mary Lou leaving the Marina.
Richard made regular trips south to the fine fishing off the Mexican coast. The Coast Guard knew his boat and knew he was no drug runner or immigrant coyote. There'd been no problem getting past the patrols. The package was inside a large cooler, covered with fish and ice. His passengers and their cooler would never be noticed when they docked. Just another successful charter.