The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) Page 17

  “We’ll be working through the night trying to get a handle on the terrorists who did this to your city. You can watch … or become a third member of our team. Your choice.”

  She hesitated. “You know something?”

  “In an emergency, does your father-in-law waste time with people who can’t contribute to a solution?”

  “Shit,” she said. “Of course not.” She whirled around and continued marching down the corridor. “Consider me part of the team.”

  Chapter 42

  Wilson ordered two more laptops to be delivered to General O’Brian’s outer office. While they waited for the equipment, Evarts and Baldwin gave a more detailed brief to Wilson than they had time to present to O’Brian. She was impressed with the amount of information they conveyed, and Evarts could see that she was relieved to be doing something meaningful. Good soldier, he thought.

  They divvied up tasks. Even though Wilson’s specialty was financial forensics, Baldwin would work on a report of Methow’s finance disclosures because she had heard his description firsthand. Wilson would use her government clearance to find out all she could about the explosion at the Capitol Hill Club, while Evarts would do an online investigation of Methow. For near an hour, the only noise in the outer office was the scuffing of computer keyboards.

  When O’Brian entered his office, he was moving fast. “What have you got?” he asked Baldwin.

  “Nothing in print yet. I can connect to your assistant’s printer or email it to you.”

  “Email. I hope that whatever you have should be classified and a printed copy presents headaches.”

  She swung her laptop to face him. “It’s all ready. Type in your email address.”

  Baldwin got up to give him privacy and walked to a coffee pot to refill her mug.

  After O’Brian finished and confirmed on his phone that he had received the report, he turned to Evarts. “You told your wife how a handoff to me should go?”

  “Sergeant Wilson did,” Evarts said.

  He looked at his daughter-in-law who was still clacking away. “You seem busy.”

  She didn’t look up from her keyboard. “Instead of pouting about being assigned to a shit detail, I joined up with them on finding answers.”

  Evarts saw what passed for a smile on O’Brian’s face.

  “I need to return,” O’Brian said. “Anything important I should take back into the meeting?”

  Wilson said, “We each added an addendum to Patricia’s report.”

  “Give me a fast verbal,” O’Brian ordered.

  Evarts spoke first. “Methow is a prominent New York City attorney. Many of his clients are Masons. He’s lost several mason clients over the years. It’s possible he uses his practice to recruit Templars and when successful, tells them to take their legal business elsewhere. He wouldn’t want his client list to be a roster of Templar Knights.”

  “Shit,” O’Brian said. “Of course. We concentrated on his current clients and got nowhere.”

  “It’s only a theory,” Evarts said.

  “A damn good one. What else?”

  Baldwin went next. “Everything we know about Ikhwan finances is in the report. The most important data point that didn’t come from Methow is the names you’ll find in there. They use billionaires to hide and move money. The two listed have somewhat suspicious activity in the public record. Be careful. It’s little more than guesswork.”

  O’Brian turned to Wilson.

  She finally quit typing. “The bombing of the Capitol Hill Club has striking similarities to a London bombing last year. Same M.O. Small bomb planted inside the building. Targeted and timed to kill bigwigs. London bomb was briefcase size and it used military grade explosives. No verification yet, but initial reports from Capitol Hill Club look similar.”

  “Contact London and get whatever they’ve got,” O’Brian said.

  “I just finished sending a request for the unclassified report. Approvals are not required so it will come faster. You should get your adjunct to request the classified version.”

  “Good work. Keep it up. I’ll be back when I can.”

  “One last thing,” Wilson said. “The London bombing was followed by a second attack the next day. It was botched, and they caught the perps. They discovered a series of five attacks had been planned. That’s only the public record.”

  “Shit!” O’Brian exclaimed as he exited his outer office. They could hear him as he marched down the corridor.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  Chapter 43

  Evarts squinted at the computer screen. He tried to put his old intelligence hat on. It had been a long time. Jakarta had a population of near ten million. Lots of places to hide. He thought it through. Three month stays probably meant that the Ikhwan didn’t own or lease apartments all over the Muslim world. Hotels would be easiest. Multiple escape paths vital, so probably close to a major highway, with proximity to trains, subways, buses, and other forms of public transportation. To maintain a lower profile, they would want shopping within walking distance. Someplace that would never, ever be targeted by a Hellfire. How to remain inconspicuous? A place where single men on short stays wouldn’t raise suspicion.

  Universities.

  Universities were serviced by public transportation, usually had shopping and hotels nearby, and the U.S would never target a Hellfire into a student population because it would be a public relations nightmare. What type of visitors would appear natural to a university? Parents, researchers, corporate and individual sponsors, recruiters, visiting lecturers, exchange professors, and the list went on. Perfect cover. Next, he considered the type of lodging. Would they go up scale or down scale. According to Methow, the Ikhwan had plenty of money but were tightwads. Religious fundamentalists felt virtuous foregoing the pleasures of this world, but few in the top echelon of any faith eschewed luxuries easily afforded, especially if they had an excuse. Intelligences agencies on the hunt for terrorists tend to ignore the habitats for the rich and famous. That would give the triumvirate a handy excuse.

  With a little more looking, Evarts decided Tarumanagara University looked ideal with a five-star hotel next door to fit his profile. The campus was literally split by the metropolitan peripheral highway, plus there were several intersecting thoroughfares. Like most universities, the campus was well serviced by public transportation.

  Evarts stopped to reassess his premises. Too easy. He had been researching Jakarta for less than an hour. Plus, he had forgotten an important element. The Ikhwan triumvirate were Islamic fundamentalists. A check of the Tarumanagara University website showed that the school specialized in hard academic subjects like engineering, law, and medicine. No Islamic studies. If the Ikhwan preferred Islamic countries, they would probably feel more comfortable on an Islamic campus. Universitas Islam Negeri Syarif fit the bill. He started to examine hotels in the surrounding community but had a thought. What if the caliph lectured on a religious specialty and the two ẓahīr acted as research assistants or some such? They might stay in university housing. If they taught an esoteric Islamic specialty, they could migrate every semester to a different Islamic university. Perhaps they taught on a repeating cycle.

  “Trish, can I interrupt?”

  “Gladly. I’m getting nowhere finding a money trail. Financial records are locked down six ways from Sunday. When Sergeant Wilson finishes up, maybe she can break through this maze.” She spun in her secretary chair to face him. “What’ve you got?”

  He told her.

  “That’s perfect,” she said excitedly. “What better camouflage for a terrorist caliph. Insular, plenty of free time for Ikhwan affairs, a recruitment-rich environment, freedom of movement, unsuspicious venues to meet operatives, and a mosque close by. If Methow was correct, it also fits their tightfisted ways. Paid postings, free lodging, probably even meals, and students at their beck and call to do menial tasks.”

  “Wouldn’t a guest lecturer be too high profile?” Evarts asked.


  “The more renown the better,” Baldwin said firmly. “Esteemed academics move in rarified circles. They’re celebrities on campus and authorities shy away from challenging Islamicists for fear of being accused of prejudice, bigotry, or intolerance. They could get away with murder.”

  “Damn it!” Wilson exclaimed.

  Evarts and Baldwin turned to see what had provoked Wilson’s anger. She was staring at them.

  “What is it?” Baldwin asked.

  “Last year, I offered the same analysis in a meeting and got shot down. They said the leader of the Ikhwan wouldn’t be a public figure, and he wouldn’t teach Islamic fundamentalism because that would make him an obvious target for investigation. They insisted the caliph would be hunkered down in some seedy hotel keeping as low of a profile as possible.”

  “Who’s they?” Evarts asked.

  “It was my first and only attendance at an ODNI meeting. I was substituting for my sick boss and sitting along the wall. When the Director, National Intelligence asked for open comments, I was too naive to know that he wanted opinions from the brass around the table. I suggested a similar scenario and got shut down hard. Afterwards, General Smithson reprimanded me for speaking from the cheap seats without being called on. He ran Army Intelligence at the time.”

  “Well, it still might not be a sound idea,” Baldwin offered.

  “No, it’s good. When I hear it from another party, it sounds even more plausible,” Wilson said. “Besides, we got nothing else to work on. The Capitol Hill Club investigators won’t submit any more reports until their bosses wake up in the morning. London hasn’t responded yet. In fact, I suspect they blew me off and went directly back to O’Brian. So, I think it’s worth us spending a couple hours running it down.”

  “Okay,” Evarts said. He turned to face his wife. “How do we do start?”

  “Let’s see,” Baldwin said as she started typing on her computer.

  In a few minutes, she said, “Two avenues of investigation. Diane, I sent you a list of links about visiting lectures at Universitas Islam Negeri Syarif. But we can’t assume that’s the correct university, so Greg and I will look at Islamic scholars. I made a cursory review of booking agencies, but none identified which scholars were available for short-term programs versus of one-off speeches. We’ll need to find specialties that look promising and then focus in on the men and their whereabouts.”

  Each of them went to work.

  In less than an hour, while starring at her screen, Baldwin asked in a distracted tone, “Anyone have anything on Ali as-Saad?”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” shouted Wilson. “Why? What have you got?”

  “He’s a Qutb scholar, but other than that I find little about him.”

  “Would you like his address?” Wilson asked gleefully.

  Evarts and Baldwin stared agape at Wilson.

  “He’s teaching at Universitas Islam Negeri Syarif as we speak.”

  Chapter 44

  Evarts rolled over, uncomfortably. Someone jabbed him again. Irritated, he opened his eyes. O’Brian hovered overhead, scowling down at him. They had spent two more hours trying to verify their supposed find. At about three in the morning, Baldwin said that if they didn’t get a few hours’ sleep, they’d be useless the next day. Wilson curled up on the floor. Evarts and Baldwin took the two short office couches. Without being able to straighten his legs, Evarts had not slept well.

  Evarts rolled off the leather sofa, stood, and stretched for the ceiling. He glanced at the coffee pot. The light was off. Without speaking he went over and started making a fresh pot. While he filled the pot, he glanced at his watch. A quarter to six in the morning.

  “I need you,” O’Brian said.

  “Alert, I presume. Let me get a hot cup of coffee in my hand. Is there a toilet kit around?”

  O’Brian went to a file cabinet and rummaged around until he tossed Evarts one of those plastic enclosed toilet kits that hotels and airlines handed out.

  Evarts started for the door.

  “No, in here,” O’Brian said, opening his office door. “You can use my private bathroom.”

  In a few minutes, Evarts felt almost as if he had had a decent night’s sleep. O’Brian met him outside the bathroom door with a hot mug of coffee and motioned him to take a seat at his conference table.

  “I want to review our threat assessment with you to see what you think.”

  He slid over a thin file folder.

  Evarts took a sip of coffee to stall for time. Then merely said, “You think today?”

  “That’s our guess. Fits with London.”

  “Any additional indicators that this was related to the London bombing?”

  “Some.” He hesitated. “Probably in the eighty percent range.”

  “What were their other targets in London?”

  “Second was Tower Bridge, a shrapnel bomb. That one was a dud, which left enough clues to capture the terrorist team. Three-man cell. Next, they intended to bomb the London Eye, then blow the hell out of the Globe Theater during a performance, and finally a very exclusive men’s club. The first bomb took out twelve members of the House of Commons, the middle three were targeted at tourist sites to reassure the elites that the terrorists weren’t after them. The men’s club was meant to be the coup de grâce. It would have been timed for the annual membership meeting.”

  “How did they plan to get the bomb into the building?” Evarts asked.

  “In a box of canned chicken bouillon. A staple ordered regularly by the kitchen.”

  Evarts opened the folder and scanned the contents.

  “You suspect they’ll go after a tourist site today?”

  “Consistent with the London M.O.,” O’Brian said.

  “Logical … except they know MI-5 interrogated the team. They might mix things up in case we connect the two events.”

  “We thought of that, but how?”

  “I don’t know … go after an academic target, a church or synagogue, or a landmark without people.”

  “We discussed those as well, but let’s assume that today they want to hit a public space like Tower Bridge. What would you choose in D.C?”

  “Obvious, the Mall … probably too obvious. The Capitol Visitor Center is always crowded, but good security. National Archives? A twofer. Tourists and our most revered historical documents. Again, good security. If I were the terrorists, I’d want an easy target for my second hit … one that wouldn’t end badly like London … maybe with an added benefit of throwing our security services off the trail. How would terrorists convince us that they skedaddled after an attack?” Evarts had a brainstorm. “I’d set off a dud. Maybe not a dud, because that might lead directly back to London … no … I’d set off a charge that would damage the target, but misfire, leaving evidence.”

  O’Brian said, “What else?”

  “Leave a false trail. Keep you busy following up on clues that will lead nowhere.”

  “Okay, we’re off chasing shiny objects. To what purpose?”

  “The big show.” Evarts had a thought. “Did you receive the classified report on the London bombing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were they able to run up the line? Arrest or kill higher ups?”

  “They took out two levels, then the trail hit a dead end.”

  “So, they know their team was broken; they know we extracted information about all five planned attacks; they know they can’t get away with the same scenario. They’ll adjust.”

  “How?”

  “Not five attacks, three or four. The finale would need to be devastating.”

  “Shit.” O’Brian got up to fill his own coffee cup.

  Evarts joined him.

  “You’ve figured out the end game, haven’t you?”

  “This Friday, both the House and Senate go into summer recess. Lots of work to be done before everyone scrambles to jet home. A bomb outside security at Reagan National Airport would kill innocents, but also catch a few senators, members of co
ngress, and staffers.”

  O’Brian became contemplative and started pacing.

  When O’Brian returned to his chair, Evarts asked, “Did I add anything new?”

  “Not really, but I was iffy before. Unsure. You convinced me that this is their most likely scenario.”

  “Can you close Reagan; send everyone to Dulles?”

  “Yes, but if it’s a roller bag, the terrorists would simply jump into a cab and take the bomb to Dulles. Probably have it as a backup plan.”

  “Three days to stop these guys. Your best chance is when they set the second bomb.”

  “Is it?” O’Brian asked. His tone challenging.

  “I’m not following.”

  “We came to the same conclusions as you, but instead of a dud or misfire, we think they’ll allow one of their members to be captured. He’ll be the shiny object. After a respectable period of resistance, he’ll break. Everything he says will sound plausible, but it will all be lies.”

  “And he can’t lead to the main team because he’s doesn’t know a damn thing about them.”

  “Correct,” O’Brian said. “He’ll be a stooge. That’s when the meeting broke. We’ll give instructions to our respective staff and then catch a couple hours sleep. We meet back in the Situation Room at noon. At that time, we hope one of our people can present a rational line of investigation.”

  “Did you not like ours?” Evarts asked.

  “Yours? What are you talking about?”

  “We had an idea last night and—”

  “Give it to me.”

  Evarts was perplexed. “This was the work product of all three of us. They should be present.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. This is damn serious. If you got something, tell me. Now, for God’s sake.”

  “Wilson and Baldwin are on the other side of that door. One minute to bring them in won’t make a difference.”

  Instead of answering, O’Brian pulled up his cuff and stared at his watch. The message was clear. The clock was ticking.