A Deceit to Die For (71 page)

“See if you can get one of our guys to pose as a policeman and get a look at the Starbucks security tape on the pretense of credit card fraud. That would tell us who is using the card. We might get a lucky break. No word from the guys staking out his apartment?”

“Nothing, and the girl went to work. She refuses to answer our phone calls. Either she’s scared and she’s ignoring us, or she hasn’t contacted Gilbert and does not know what to say when we call. As far as we can tell, she hasn’t received any communication from him,” answered Jabbar.

“We need to get in contact with this guy.” Ahmet muttered a string of curses. “Salih really screwed this up. If Gilbert’s as clever as you think he is, then he’s going to be hard to find. Call Salih and find out how many men he has reviewing security tapes. Surely the two brothers have walked in front of a British security camera in the last two days. I need some results.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are we hearing from our friend in the FBI?”

“Nothing yet. They’ve brought Homeland Security in on the case. Zeki has been classified as a potential terrorist. It is just a matter of time. They’ll find him and when they do, we’ll have O’Brien’s daughter and the document. Of course, destroying it or retrieving it may be a bit more challenging in the US. We don’t have as many people on the inside of the Agency as we do in London.”

“One thing at a time. Listen, I need to take care of some wire transfers.

Keep me posted if there’s anything unusual, and next time let’s use a different number to call the girl. I want to talk to her.”

He walked back into his office and closed the door. Jabbar started writing a short message for posting on craigslist. It would go out as an RSS feed to everyone who subscribed to the keyword. The internet made open communication easy, and there was no encryption to draw unwanted attention.

Do any friends of Cairo want to meet for coffee at Starbucks at the corner of 11th St. NW and E St. NW after my shift as security guard ends? I’ll have to look at the security camera tape at 12:28 pm before I can go.

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L
ONDON
 
 
Salih flipped through the TV channels while Fatma prepared the
iftar
meal to break the fast. After work, he had come back to his first wife’s apartment for three reasons. First, sexual intimacy was not allowed until after the fast was broken and the temptation would be too much if he went to Alicia’s apartment. The second reason was that Fatma cooked the kind of food he liked. After fasting all day, he didn’t want English food. And, finally, he was in a sour mood and didn’t feel like answering Alicia’s incessant questions. Ahmet had taken over operations and cut the London team completely out of the loop. What made it even worse was that Jabbar, not Ahmet, had informed him. In fact, it made Salih nervous. He looked at the clock. It was still ten minutes until sunset and his stomach was rumbling.

He grabbed the remote and flipped to another news channel. A pretty blonde was telling the same story he had already heard on three different stations. The news was all the same; massive, well-coordinated attacks in Turkey followed by Muslim demonstrations in Cologne and Berlin, both of which had clearly been organized weeks earlier to protest the Neo-Nazi attacks in Germany. The demonstrations in Cologne had turned ugly with many Muslim youth setting fire to cars. This had become a hallmark expression of Muslim frustration in France, but the Germans had responded with overwhelming force.

The TV showed thousands of police in full riot gear facing an angry mob of almost 100,000 Muslims who had descended on the city from all across Europe. The tipping point came when the protesters tried to erect a green banner with a verse from the Qur’an on a thirty-foot pole in the middle of Heumarket. The German police were given orders to seize it. Before it was over, the whole square was transformed into a war zone with officers brutally beating hundreds of young Muslims, many of whom were trying to keep the police officers from stepping on the banner as it was trampled on the ground. This was followed by scenes of three hooded men attacking a police officer and slitting his throat on the opposite side of town in retaliation for the desecration of the Qur’an at the protest. It had come to light several hours later and was captured by a traffic camera. He closed his eyes and let the announcer drone on.

“Appeals for calm from politicians and community leaders on both sides have fallen on deaf ears, and Muslims organizers are vowing to take to the streets again tomorrow. The European Commission will meet in emergency session tonight and has invited delegates from Turkey, Algeria, Tunisia, Morocco and Egypt. The Commission is expected to pressure these governments to address the European Muslim community in an attempt to calm tensions . . .”

He imagined Ahmet in the Cairo office. The man had probably been spitting bullets of molten lead all day. Ahmet had been warning the organization for years about the danger posed by radicals and had recommended actively supporting western security forces to eliminate the threat. He had also argued that by assisting the West in eliminating radical Muslims they would win the trust of the western intelligence community, making their own operations much easier. However, until recently, the Rightly Guided One had refused to even consider such action. He had said that the tactics used by radicals might be different from their own, but the objective was the same. Their leader insisted that everyone who joined the group adhere to his policy: ‘Do no harm to a fellow Muslim.’

Apparently, there had been a reversal, and he had been persuaded to make certain exceptions to his policy. Salih figured Ahmet had a hand in bringing this policy reversal about. Salih had read the action plan for Friday prayers. He approved, but the news that certain radical clerics would be rounded up by security forces only reminded him of his own precarious position. Tonight, he was praying for two things: the recovery of the document, not a difficult thing for Allah, and for Ahmet to forgive his missteps in the operation. Allah was forgiving; Ahmet was not.

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U
KRAINE
 
 
Bekir leaned back on a pillow holding a tiny blue and white ceramic cup encircled with verses from the Qur’an in beautiful flowing calligraphy. He took a sip of the strong Turkish coffee. It had been the perfect
iftar
meal, and after today’s triumphs, it felt more like a victory feast.
Perfect execution. Powerful impact. Over one thousand dead and hundreds more wounded.
This alone would have been enough. It was certainly more than he had dared to hope for, but the protests in Europe had been successful as well. He motioned to his friend.

“Change the channel to Al-Jazeera. I want to see how our people are responding to the violence of the German police.”

The flat screen TV flickered and Arabic flooded the room. Everyone fell silent. A huge crowd of Muslims chanting slogans marched on a grassy lawn carrying a green banner. The name
Allah
and a verse from the Qur’an were embroidered in gold. Then, a flag pole was shown being passed through the crowd. The banner was attached to it and hoisted above the crowd. The vantage point of the camera shifted and the same footage they had seen on CNN was broadcast to the almost four hundred million Arabic speakers around the world. Police in riot gear were beating protesters, many of them covered women. His happiness was etched on his face with a grin that would have made the Joker jealous.

“It’s working, my brothers,” he said to the fifteen
mujahedeen
gathered in the room. “This struggle will be the longest, most costly, and most desperate war the West has ever fought. Today, the awakening begins.”

Bekir looked at Abdullah. He was the only one in the room not smiling. He knew his friend was cautious, not entirely supportive of his latest decisions, but his lack of enthusiasm perturbed Bekir.

“Abdullah, why is there no smile on your face? Are you not happy with the victory of Allah?”

“Me? Not happy? How silly! I am merely contemplating the enemy’s next step. Isn’t that what you pay me for?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” replied Bekir slowly, “But, there is a time to work and there is a time to rejoice in your accomplishments.”

Abdullah faked a smile.

“As always, you are right. It is even better than we dreamed it could be.”

Bekir was glad to see his chief strategist warming up.

“You have always said that this is a war of attrition. For now, it’s an economic war. You are the one who convinced me of this, of the incalculable costs incurred by the infidel for security on every flight, the expense of x-raying millions of shipping containers unloaded in dozens of ports, the security precautions taken at every special event, all of the millions of man-hours spent keeping the electrical grid, nuclear power stations, water supplies, and the internet safe from attack and the vast network of intelligence agents they have built in a vain attempt to counteract us. Yes, we have imposed the greatest security burden in the history of the world on the West, and yet it costs us almost nothing. A few suicide bombers a year. All the while, they spend billions of dollars trying to stay safe. All we have to do is keep the fear fresh. The cost in lost productivity alone will bankrupt them. They cannot go on forever.”

“No, they cannot, and that is part of the reason I worry,” replied Abdullah. “A crumbling empire does not go meekly to the grave.”

Bekir smiled again. His whole demeanor exuded confidence.

“Let me do the worrying for a while. Allah has decreed that we should enjoy the fruits of our labor. It’s like the fast. We abstain from food all day and our enjoyment of it is heightened when we break the fast. In the same way, we
have laid our plans, taken risks, and finally struck at the opportune time. It is Allah’s will that we enjoy the jihad just as it is our destiny to wage it against the infidel. It would be a pity if we did not bask in the pleasures of the task and our moment of glory. The next stage is about to begin. Is everything ready in Vienna?”

“Yes, everything is ready.”

“Excellent! The banner that led the armies of Islam to victory has lain too long in the museum of the infidel. It is time we reclaimed the honor lost at the gates of Vienna. It is time we reversed the retreat of Islam that began on that fateful day. It is time to hoist the banner of the Prophet. We will raise the standard, and Muslims from around the world will rally to us, rally to the reestablishment of the Caliphate.”

Abdullah willed a smile back to his face. Bekir’s charisma was contagious. He remembered how he had been swept up in it during their first years together.

“Yes,” said Abdullah. “Your success today will only make them redouble their efforts, bringing us one step closer to our goal.”

He didn’t express his true fear. He was nervously trying to calculate how long it would be before the redoubled efforts of their enemy had them running for their lives.

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W
ASHINGTON,
D.C
.
 
“What can I get for you today?” asked the server behind the Starbucks counter.

“Your manager, I suppose. I’m following up on a case of credit card fraud, and I need to view your security tapes. We think the card may have been used here within the last hour.”

“I’m sorry, but the manager is out for lunch.”

“Does anyone else here have access to the security camera tapes?”

“Oh sure. Danny, the assistant manager, can help you.”

She turned and stuck her head through a door and yelled, “Hey Danny, there’s a cop here that needs to talk to you.”

CHAPTER
55

I
STANBUL
  
Gary was happy to see that Matt was impressed with the food he had ordered. It had improved his mood considerably as well. He seemed to relish every bite of his
iskender
, carefully wiping the buttery tomato sauce off his plate with a piece of bread. Gwyn merely toyed with her food.