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Nazad gestured with his chin toward a cardboard box at the rear of the pallet and said, “Take that one too. Then we’ll lock up and leave.”
One of the men picked it up with a grunt and waddled toward the door.
The Tunisian checked his watch. They’d been working nonstop for almost an hour and a half. Hala had done the impossible, he thought. Hala had stood up for God, and the One had rewarded her for her boldness, rewarded all of them for their boldness. Their purpose was, clearly, a sacred—
The light nearly blinded him.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” a man’s voice demanded in English. “And who the hell are you?”
CHAPTER
72
“CAN YOU GET HIM TO SPEAK WHEN WE GET IN THERE?” I ASKED JENNIFER Carstensen, the officer who handled Jasper, a huge white German shepherd. Jasper was one of three police dogs who, along with their human partners, had responded to my call, the officers leaving their homes and families on Christmas to help us track down a terrorist.
We were on the stairs that led down to the terminal. Above us, people who an hour before had been standing in line frantic to get tickets were now standing in line frantic to be released from the station.
“We can absolutely get Jasper to speak,” Officer Carstensen replied. “He’s been taught to vocalize an alert bark, an attack bark, and a gathering howl. Which one do you want?”
Jasper panted with excitement. He could tell a hunt was about to begin. With every breath the dog took, his powerful shoulder and neck muscles rippled. It almost felt unfair to turn a beast like Jasper loose on someone who was deathly afraid of dogs.
But Hala Al Dossari had killed seven people, two of them FBI HRT specialists. Unfair did not even begin to describe the lengths we’d take to apprehend her and make her face justice. We had the terminal surrounded. We had also sealed off the opening into the Ivy City Yard and the First Street tunnel. We had two bomb teams on hand as well, one Metro DC Police, the other FBI. And we had Jasper and his two eager pals.
“I want him howling,” I told Officer Carstensen. “I want all three of them howling like a pack of wolves when it’s time.”
“Ready and waiting, Alex,” she said, and she slipped Jasper a treat.
“Al Dossari really that scared of pooches?” Mahoney asked.
“I’m counting on it,” I said.
An ironic smirk appeared on his face. “You know, Alex, what you’re about to do could be construed as psychological coercion.”
“Torture?” I replied skeptically. “No. This is just a way to flush her out quicker and prevent further bloodshed.”
“Exactly,” Mahoney said.
I was too damn tired to argue the point. “We ready, Ned?”
“Five minutes,” Mahoney said. “Bomb squads are moving into final position at the east and west ends of the terminal.”
I glanced at my watch. Half past eight. With luck, this would all go smoothly, and I’d get home in time to kiss my wife good night before Bree put on her kerchief and I put on my cap and both of us settled down for a long winter’s nap.
CHAPTER
73
FOR A SECOND, WITH THE BRILLIANT LIGHT SHINING IN HIS EYES, AND THE commanding voice of a stranger he could not see ringing in his ears, Omar Nazad felt bewildered, foiled, perhaps a martyr for nothing.
Where had the man come from? Who was he? Police?
Then training took over. He and Hala had gamed almost every scenario, including being spotted in or around the train.
“CSX Nashville asked us to check on this shipment,” Nazad said, holding his hand up to block the light, seeing the silhouette of a burly man standing in the doorway. “Could you put that down?”
The light was directed down, and the Tunisian saw a bearded male in his late forties wearing a snowy CSX coat not that dissimilar from his own. The rail worker held a flashlight in one hand, a radio in the other.
“We didn’t get no call about a shipment check,” the man said, scowling.
