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He was referring to the prerecorded message that would be launched across the World Wide Web. A message that proclaimed Karim to be the Lion of al-Qaeda. When Zawahiri saw it, he was likely to have a heart attack. “Your message is ready. He should have no problem releasing it.”
“Good.”
“If he cannot crash the system”—Hakim leaned in so none of the others could hear—“you and I need to leave the city this afternoon.”
“Check with your man first,” Karim said casually. “Allah is on our side. I am confident you will come through for me once more. I have not come all this way to complete half the mission. We will succeed, or we will all die. Am I clear?”
“So you have changed your mind?” Hakim asked quietly.
“I have given myself up to my destiny. If Allah wants me to survive, I will survive.”
What about me? Hakim wanted to ask, but he could see that his friend’s conversion to religious fanatic was finally complete. Hakim had seen the look in the eyes of far too many men in Afghanistan. Men that would stand up under withering American fire, convinced Allah would shroud them in protection. As Hakim looked into the wide, believing eyes of his friend he began for the first time to question why he was involved in this. His participation had been purely logistical. He would help get them into the country. He was to obtain separate financing, and to recruit the hackers that could help them crash the thousands of cameras that monitored the streets of Washington. And lastly he was to get himself and Karim back out of the country. All of this talk of Allah and destiny was suddenly beginning to sound like a suicide mission.
CHAPTER 56
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
NASH hit the key fob, and the side door of the minivan popped out and rolled back on its own. He sat just behind the two front seats in the middle and then dumped King Charlie into his plush car seat. After wrestling with all the different straps, buckles, and clips, he started the van and began backing out of the driveway with his little, cursing one-year-old yapping it up in the backseat. The National Counterterrorism Center was less than five miles away. Nash had time for one, maybe two phone calls at the most. He thought of calling Rapp or Ridley, but there was no sense in alarming them at this point. They had enough on their minds. There was one obvious choice, and it was Scott Coleman. Nash called him and passed along Johnson’s address and the construction site where he was currently working. Coleman was read in on the program, so Nash did not have to explain to him what was going on. Coleman told him he’d have some answers within the hour.
At the security checkpoint for the NCTC the guard jokingly asked to see Charlie’s badge. Nash laughed along with the middle-age guard even though he wasn’t in much of a joking mood. After he was cleared and Charlie was given his visitor’s badge, Nash pulled into his spot in the underground garage and freed Charlie from his restraints. With the diaper bag on one arm and Charlie in the other, Nash took the elevator up to the sixth floor and into the bullpen. This was Charlie’s third trip to the National Counterterrorism Center and he’d been out to Langley at least as many times. Usually on Saturday mornings, so he could give Maggie a chance to sleep in.
By the time Nash reached his assistant’s desk she was on her feet with arms out.
“Come here, Charlie.”
Nash handed him over and set the diaper bag down on the side chair. He looked up at the wall of TV screens and asked, “Anything new this morning?”
Jessica had worked for Nash for three years. She also helped out with two other Langley guys assigned to the NCTC. “That Coast Guard chopper that went down yesterday…”
“Yeah?”
“Last night the divers recovered all four crew members. Preliminary report says they all drowned.” She took her finger and rubbed the wattle under Charlie’s chin. “They went back down first thing this morning and found seven bullet holes. Four of them appeared to have pierced the engine compartment. The FBI has a team headed down to verify, but the divers say they were fifty-caliber rounds. Armor-piercing.”
“And they think it was a drug shipment?”
“Yep, but there’s only one problem.” Jessica pointed across the floor at a cluster of desks and said, “Alberto from DEA says they rarely shoot at our birds, and he’s never heard of them doing it so close to shore.”
Nash wondered if the cargo was more than drugs. “Let me know what the FBI finds out.” He looked over at the corner office and asked, “Is Mr. Crabby Pants in?”
“Yep,” Jessica replied as she gave Charlie a little tickle under the arm. “You’d better leave the kid with me.”
“He’s in that bad a mood?”
“No worse than usual.”
“That’s all right,” Nash said. “I’ll use him as a shield.” He took Charlie back and said, “One more thing. Call the dean of students at Sidwell and find out when he’s meeting with my wife.”
Jessica frowned. “Shouldn’t I just call Maggie?”
“No…in fact, tell them you’re checking on her behalf.”
“What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously.
“Rory beat up some kid…it’s a complicated story, but the short version is that the little spoiled shit had it coming.”
Jessica was a mother of two young boys. She understood the program. “Was it on school property?”
“Yes.”
