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“Yes,” Karim said.
The Lincoln began rolling once again with the FedEx van right on its bumper. A half a block later the Lincoln stopped in front of a green awning. Printed in white letters were two words: The Monocle. Almost directly behind the Lincoln, the FedEx van took a right turn into the parking lot. Forty feet later, the van stopped almost at the midpoint of the building. Karim could not see the parking lot, but he knew what was going on. He exited the car and opened the back door. As he was reaching in to grab a briefcase, he received confirmation from the van’s driver that he too was clear. Karim gripped the briefcase and, without saying a word to Hakim, closed the door.
He entered the restaurant and took a quick glance at the packed dining room on the right. The maitre d’ greeted him. Karim gave him a forced smile and turned into the bar area, which ran along the left side of the building. He couldn’t have been more pleased that he had to thread his way through a packed crowd. As he worked his way down the bar, it became less crowded. Near the end, he set his briefcase down on the floor and continued toward the bathrooms. He passed a waiter in the narrow hallway and flattened his back to the wall and then continued right out the back door. He held his hands over his eyes as if he was screening them from the sun.
Steadily he picked up the pace, heading straight south. He threaded his way through a couple of parked cars on his left and turned east. Only fifty more feet, he told himself. Karim was sweating now. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the remote detonator. He flipped off the safety. A few seconds after that, he faintly heard his watch beeping. It was 12:30. He wanted to break into a sprint, but he fought the instinct to panic.
“Just a few more steps,” he said out loud this time. When he reached the rear of the next building, which dwarfed the relatively small restaurant he’d just left, he gave Allah a quick thanks and flipped the switch on the detonator.
/> CHAPTER 64
RAPP tore down Constitution Avenue at speeds approaching 70 MPH, right down the centerline, sending oncoming cars lurching to get out of his way. All Rapp could do to warn them was flash his brights and hit the horn. Ridley nervously clutched the door. At Tennessee a red light was waiting for them. Rapp slowed down to 30 MPH, looked both ways, and gunned it. The big Hemi V8 in the Dodge Charger set Ridley back into his seat. A few blocks later the black Charger shot through the intersection at 15th Street going 74 mph.
“You might want to slow down,” Ridley said nervously. “I don’t think we want the cops with us.”
“I really don’t give a shit.” Rapp slipped his foot over to the brake and yanked the wheel almost a half turn to the right. The tires squealed as the rubber tried to grip the pavement. They came out of the turn racing south on sixteenth Street.
“Mitch, I think you need to calm down,” Ridley said nervously, with one hand on the dash and the other on the door.
“Rob, when we get there, I’ll stay as cool as the situation dictates, but this isn’t some covert sneak-and-peek. We’re going in hard and I’m planning on rattling some cages.”
Ridley winced. “Maybe we should call Irene?”
Rapp looked over and said, “I can pull over right now and let you out.”
Ridley shook his head and grumbled, “I’m in. I just wish we’d slow down. I don’t see why we need to rush over there and announce ourselves.”
“We’re going to do what someone should have done months ago.” Rapp gripped the wheel and let loose a string of obscenities.
“Just don’t hit anybody.”
Rapp shot him a look that told him not to bring it up again.
“Unless they have it coming, of course,” Ridley offered.
“Check your BlackBerry. See if Nash sent those photos.”
A couple seconds later Ridley said, “I got them. There’s six.”
“Are they the same six we’ve been looking at?”
“Yeah.”
“Take a good look at the photos.” Rapp glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “The place is going to be crawling. They’re going to be in the middle of noon prayer.”
“Well,” said Ridley lightheartedly, “at least they’ll all be there.”
Two blocks away Rapp laid off the gas. Keeping his eyes on the street he asked. “You ever been here before?”
“Not exactly my part of town. Plus it wouldn’t look too good if the deputy director of the National Clandestine Service got picked up hanging around a D.C. mosque. Which reminds me…why are we doing this?”
“We’re not going to bug the place, we’re just going to walk around and take a tour.”
“Two guys from the CIA?” Ridley said, thinking of the article that had appeared in the Post. “This isn’t going to look good.”
“Relax…this isn’t the first time I’ve been here.”
“What?” Ridley asked, shocked.
