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The background noise reached a crescendo as the last two senators entered the room. Bob Safford, the chairman of the committee, and Evan Whaley, the vice chairman, tried to get to their seats but every few feet they were stopped by a colleague or a staffer. Nash had been told by Ridley that there had already been a great deal of fighting between the two parties, and various factions within the parties, over not just how this hearing should be handled, but whether or not the Intelligence Committee should even get the first bite at the apple. The Armed Services and the Judiciary Committees were both trying to stake a claim, and then there was the House of Representatives to deal with. There was a very real chance that they would all spend the better part of the next year testifying in front of all these committees and quite possibly a special prosecutor and a grand jury as well.
Safford gaveled the hearing to order, and the next five minutes were taken up by motions and a variety of procedural issues that had very little to do with any of the people who were called on to testify. It was simply the nature of the Senate. When all of that was sorted out, Safford took a final look at his notes and then flipped his reading glasses up onto his forehead, which was his habit when the cameras weren’t around.
“Director Kennedy, I would like to say that I am deeply disturbed by the accusations that have been leveled against one of your employees.” Safford’s deep-set eyes floated over to Rapp.
Rapp raised his hand in case anyone had any doubt as to which employee the senator was referring to. Nash cringed. He could tell Rapp was in one of his insolent “I don’t give a shit” moods.
Safford’s lips curled into a sneer, but he didn’t engage Rapp. That would come later. Addressing Kennedy, he said, “There has been a great deal of maneuvering in the Senate today. There are several chairpersons who feel that this issue of Mr. Rapp’s potentially illegal and definitely unprofessional behavior would be better handled in their committees in a more open manner. Senator Whaley and I have managed to persuade them that for now this issue should be handled by this committee.”
“I would like the record to show,” Senator Lonsdale said forcefully, “that as chairperson of the Judiciary Committee I strongly disagree with your decision and plan on holding open hearings as soon as tomorrow to get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m sure you will,” was Safford’s tired response.
“And I would also like the record to show”—this time it was Senator Russell Sheldon—“that as a former air force officer and prosecutor and current member of the Armed Services Committee I am deeply disturbed by what looks to be an attempt at a cover-up by the CIA and certain sympathizers at the Pentagon. I am shocked at the lack of professionalism exhibited by Mr. Rapp and expect to see him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
With hunched shoulders Safford looked from one end of the curved table to the other and said, ?
?Is everybody done, or are we going to have an open mike this afternoon?”
There were a few snickers from the older senators who were proud that one of their fellow bull elephants had put the young ones in their place.
“Because,” Safford continued, “I’m not going to put up with this. Everybody knows the rules. Each member will get fifteen minutes to question the panel. Make your complaints verbally…file them in writing…I don’t care. Just wait your turn. Are we all clear?”
A smattering of senators nodded, but most simply ignored the chairman.
“Now, Director Kennedy, is there anything you would like to say before we get started?”
Kennedy leaned forward and in a respectful but distant voice said, “No, Mr. Chairman.”
Safford looked to his right and gave the okay to begin questioning.
CHAPTER 42
BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA
HAKIM clenched his jaw and looked down at the body with a seething anger. The bullet hole was clearly visible in the back of the head. A neat little pucker mark no bigger than a nickel. Thank Allah the man had been dumped facedown, because Hakim did not want to see what the heavy-caliber bullet had done to his face. So much matter had exploded from the other side that Hakim imagined a gaping hole encompassing what used to be the mouth and nose.
“What a waste,” he told himself.
They had traveled nearly five hundred miles in just under eight hours, from the southern tip of Florida all the way up and out of the state. That had been Hakim’s goal and they had achieved it, and this was their reward. He looked down at the body again and didn’t know if he should cry or laugh. Cry for the boy whose only crime was that he had helped them, or laugh because he didn’t want to cry. He called into question for perhaps the first time the heart of his friend. It had been Karim, of course. Something had changed in the man.
Hakim thought back on the day. How it had started with the magnificent destruction of the Coast Guard helicopter and the mad dash to shore. The exhilaration of cutting through the sea and the wind at a hundred miles an hour, knowing every second might count. Karim had been happy then. Hakim had looked over and saw him smiling like he hadn’t seen him smile in years. Unfortunately it didn’t last. His mood instantly soured when they landed the boats in the tall grass at Long Key State Park. The men from the drug cartel were waiting with their four-wheelers to off-load the drugs and Karim was livid. He’d had it in his mind that they would simply leave the boats and not be seen by anyone. He was ranting and raving about operational security and a bunch of other things that Hakim guessed he had read in one of his U.S. military manuals that he was always studying. The man couldn’t get it through his head that American Special Forces had near unlimited assets to get them from point A to point B. Billion-dollar aircraft carriers, billion-dollar submarines, stealth planes, and the best helicopters and pilots in the world. They, on the other hand, this little offshoot of al-Qaeda, had nothing but themselves, and Karim was delusional if he thought they could so closely mirror the American model—just the nine of them.
They had almost come to blows over it, and if it weren’t for the fact that the Puerto Ricans were so well armed, Hakim had no doubt that Karim would have executed all of them on the spot. Hakim took charge and ordered the men to help off-load the cocaine bricks. Karim tried to countermand the order until Hakim snapped at him and asked him how he expected to pay for everything that they were about to do. And then in a much quieter voice, he asked him how he expected to get out of the country when they were done wreaking havoc.
Karim was on unsure ground here, and Hakim pressed his slight advantage by telling him that it was going to be very expensive to buy safe passage out of the country. As if on cue, one of the Puerto Ricans handed over a duffel bag filled with a million dollars in cash and Karim was silenced. The rest of the money, some eight million dollars, would be transferred to a bank account in Dubai. The men from the drug cartel were well schooled in the drill. The first eight bricks of cocaine were taken off the boat and put into the saddlebags of two motorcycles, which immediately left. This way the cartel covered its costs should the rest of the drugs be seized.
In just under ten minutes the drugs were unloaded, and then came the next big surprise for Karim. They completed the hundred-meter hike through the tall grass to a waiting passenger van. Hakim introduced Karim to Mohammad, a Libyan grad student at the University of Miami who he had recruited months earlier. This sent Karim into an apoplectic rage. He was furious that someone had been brought in to help without his approval. If it weren’t for the fact that they heard a helicopter drawing closer it might have happened right there, which really would have been stupid.
This, Hakim thought to himself now as he looked down at the body, was just a waste. An utter waste of talent and human life…and for what?
All ten of them piled into the fifteen-passenger van and headed north on U.S. Highway 1. The windows in back were heavily tinted, so it was easy for the men to change. Each man had a duffel bag that Hakim and Mohammad had filled with T-shirts, socks, sweat suits, and baseball hats. Everything except the socks were a combination of blue, white, and red and sported the eagle logo of American University in Washington, D.C. All of it had been purchased online and in person at the school’s bookstore. The van also had District of Columbia license plates and school bumper stickers. If they were stopped by the police, their story was that they were returning to school from a track meet at Florida International University.
They made it through Miami just as the morning traffic was starting to pick up. Interstate 95 was crowded but the cars moved along all the way to the Palm Beach exits and then things thinned out. They kept the radio tuned to an all-news AM station and stayed five miles over the posted speed. Karim had questioned this, but they pointed out that most of the cars were going ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit. Otherwise, Karim didn’t speak and the mood in the van was tense. The van had two twenty-five-gallon tanks, and they stopped for gas only once, south of Jacksonville. The only person who got out of the vehicle was Mohammad. That was when Karim leaned forward and hissed his admonishment in Hakim’s ear.
Back on the road Karim asked for a map, and an hour and a half later he told Mohammad to pull over at the next exit. It was time for the men to stretch their legs. They exited I-95 at Hickory Bluff and entered Blythe Island State Park. The towering pines at the entrance gave way to mangrove trees and Spanish moss as they neared the water. Hakim had an uneasy feeling as they went deeper and deeper into the park, but he didn’t say anything. They came upon a rutted dirt road that appeared to simply disappear into the dense woods. Poor Mohammad was the one who saw it and asked if he should take it. Karim told him yes.
A few hundred meters later they stopped. The men all piled out of the van. Karim gave them a series of subtle hand signals and without a word they began to spread out. Two of them headed back down the road to keep an eye out in case someone stumbled upon them. Two more headed farther down the road and the other three spread out around the van. Karim casually joined the young grad student and Hakim at the front of the van. After only a few seconds he pointed over Mohammad’s shoulder into the woods and said, “What is that?”
