FATAL eMPULSE (35 page)

She nodded and moved away.

Gerrit had the sound up so loud, he could clearly hear Raed pounding on the front door. One of the guards jerked to attention, grabbing a weapon and scrambling to the door. The gunman yanked the door open. Once he saw who stood in the doorway, the guard stood stiffly to attention, allowing the visitor to enter.

Raed nodded to the guard before climbing the stairs. Raed seemed to know exactly where he had to go. In a moment, he joined Henderson and the two of them sat at the table directly in front of the window.

Raed looked at Henderson before speaking. “Mr. Dunsmuir sends his greetings and informed me to tell you everything is on track. He will not be able to make the trial runs, but he said to tell you that I can convey anything you might need to him.”

“And the money?”

“He will transfer the money as soon as I convey to him that you have completed the test sequence.”

Henderson looked at Raed with suspicion. “I would like to speak to Mr. Dunsmuir…directly.”

Raed smiled. “He will not be able to speak to you. He has other pressing matters.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I am instructed to take you to the airport. You will need to make your own arrangements to fly back to the United States. There will be no further payments.”

Gerrit watched Henderson’s facial expressions carefully. The man seemed to be trying to figure something out, his eyes shifting between Raed and the floor. “Tell Mr. Dunsmuir that if I cannot speak to him directly, I insist on returning to the United States.”

Shakeela returned to the monitor. “Am I missing anything?”

Gerrit looked up at her for a moment, summarizing the recent conversation between Raed and Henderson. “I think our American is worried. Let’s see what he does.”

Henderson folded his hands together and placed them on the table as if he intended to say a prayer. Gerrit had read this guy’s file before and knew prayers were not in Henderson’s vocabulary. “I think something is up with Brandimir. Otherwise, why would that conniver risk this operation by not speaking to Henderson? I think our guy here is just figuring that out. Let’s see if he calls Raed’s bluff.”

“You think Brandimir might have bought it?”

“That’s my guess. Working with a snake like Atash Hassan could be bad for your health. And since we’ve outed Stuart Martin out back in D.C., he’s no more use to Hassan. Expendable is the word that comes to mind.”

Henderson clenched his hands. “If I cannot speak to Mr. Dunsmuir, our deal is off. I insist that you take me to the airport.”

Raed glared at Henderson for a moment, and then stood. “I must make a phone call. I will be back in a few minutes.”

Raed went into another room, out of earshot of Henderson but not of their listening devices. He dialed a number on his cell phone, waiting for the call to go through.

Gerrit turned to Shakeela. “Contact Jack or Frank—whomever you can get a hold of. Tell them to monitor the cell phones of our targets and see who Raed is calling right now.”

She nodded and moved out of earshot to make her call.

Gerrit turned back to the monitor and turned up the volume of the bug near where Raed stood. Raed greeted his contact over the telephone. “My brother, our scientist wants to speak to Brandimir.”

So they knew his real name too. Maybe Gerrit could learn what happened to the weasel.

Raed listened for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell him.” He hung up and pocketed the phone.

Gerrit switched to the surveillance tile on the screen that showed Raed rejoining Henderson. The scientist glanced up at the Syrian intelligence officer, and frowned.

“Mr. Dunsmuir will not be speaking with you—ever. You will be dealing directly with me. You will continue to do what I say.”

“And if I don’t?” Henderson jutted his chin out.

Gerrit thought the American at least had guts. No brains, but he did have moxie.

Suddenly Raed lashed out and struck Henderson in the face. The scientist yelled as he fell out of his chair.

“What the—?”

A brutal kick into Henderson’s rib cage ended any further words. Henderson had to have sustained one or more broken ribs.

Gerrit saw that Henderson knew the game had just changed. And Gerrit realized one other fact from Raed’s conversation with the unknown caller.

Brandimir Kisyov was no longer the main player.

March 15

T
ired and hungry, Gerrit and Shakeela returned to the hotel. As soon as the Syrian intelligence officer left Henderson’s apartment—giving the two guards their new orders to keep the scientist under lock and key—Max and Alena tried to tail Raed but lost him in the crowd.

Gerrit couldn’t fault them. Better to lose the target than to be picked up by counter surveillance and land in one of those notorious cellars the secret police have hidden around the capital.

Gerrit recalled one newspaper article of an interview with a Syrian lawyer, who did not want to be identified for fear of reprisals. The attorney told a reporter that there were torture chambers in unofficial jails and detention centers scattered around Damascus. Political dissidents and “agitators” never wound up in the capital’s central prison where they housed the normal criminal element. Instead, political prisoners disappeared into any number of these secret cellars kept by various branches of the military intelligence agencies, cellars where they were tortured to gain information. This was where he and the others would wind up if they were caught.

After the torture—a bullet in the head.

Not that the other side was much better. Muslim Brotherhood operatives and religious fanatics could be just as brutal. And they were not averse to bombing innocent civilians if the end justified their distorted means.

Gerrit powered up his laptop and made a connection with Jack still in Tel Aviv via an encrypted video feed. Jack was sitting at a desk that appeared to be in a military compound, uniforms and weapons seen in the background. “Colonel, how do you copy?”

“Read you loud and clear, Marine. What’s your status?”

“Good, sir. I’ll make this short and sweet. Intercepted a phone call from Raed to an unknown caller after our scientist wanted to speak to Dunsmuir.”

Jack broke in. “He called Atash Hassan. The Iranian told him to force Henderson to go along with the plan. We got Shakeela’s message and had NSA do a history search of recent calls using those SIM identifiers. We identified the caller as one of the numbers used by Hassan. Even got a transcript of that call.”

“Did they reveal the plan?”

Jack shook his head. “Sorry. They already understood the mission. Just talked about how to deal with Henderson. They are going to keep that scumbag under house arrest until they need him.”

“Raed tuned Henderson up a bit. The guy probably ended up with a few broken ribs.”

“I won’t shed any tears for that little creep. Just keep an eye on him, Gerrit. He might be key to when and where they are planning to launch the attack.”

Gerrit nodded. “We’ll keep in touch.” He started to terminate the call, but Jack called out for him to wait. “What is it, sir?”

“A couple more things. First, after Raed’s call, Hassan made another call. It was a burn phone, but it’s the same number we linked to a couple of calls from our targets: one call to Hassan while the caller and Hassan were both in Dubai the day Alena got attacked, and another call after Dubai as the caller passed through Dulles. He called a lobbyist group that fronts for the Muslim Brotherhood in the States.”

“In the United States?” Gerrit asked. “And now you’re telling me that same phone was used here in Damascus? That Hassan called it after talking to Raed?”

“Your dad always said you had a head on your shoulders.”

Inside, Gerrit winced at the mention of his father. After all these years, he still felt a raw place inside whenever his parents and their deaths came to mind. “Can we identify the caller?”

Jack’s face brightened. “You bet your sweet—”

Shakeela came into the room from downstairs as Jack killed the rest of his sentence. “Hi, Colonel. Please continue.”

“Sorry, Shakeela. I—”

“You were about to tell me who’s using this well-traveled phone, Colonel,” Gerrit said, smiling to himself. Jack always presented himself as some kind of salty, tough-as-nails Marine, but Gerrit knew the colonel would never speak inappropriately in front of women. He enjoyed the colonel’s look of chagrin as Shakeela came into the room.

“Huh, right.” Jack tried to gather his thoughts. “Willy sent Beck a copy of the man passing through security in Dulles. Beck ran that photo through the federal system—every terrorism database we maintain, CIA, DIA, even State—including voice-recognition programs from a sample NSA provided from the caller. Bingo, he got a hit.”

Gerrit leaned forward. “We got this phantom caller identified?”

“His name is Mohamed Abul Fotouh, a Muslim Brotherhood leader. That call from Hassan puts Fotouh in Damascus as of a few hours ago.”

Gerrit scratched his head. “This is crazy, sir. You have Raed—a Syrian intelligence officer talking to Hassan. Then Hassan turns right around and calls a known Muslim Brotherhood leader, an organization that Syria outlawed in their country. So any ideas what Fotouh might be doing in the U.S. with a Muslim Brotherhood front group?”

The colonel shook his head. “Lot of questions—no answers. Let me add one more twist. I just sent mug shots to your cell phones. Colonel Perlman passed this on to us from Mossad. They captured a photo of Hassan meeting with another character when he was in Damascus. Kadar Hanano, head of the Air Force Intelligence Directorate and confidante to President al-Assad. Syria’s number two guy in the intelligence community, and Raed’s boss. So, why is Hassan meeting with this guy after speaking to Raed and hobnobbing with the enemy—Fotouh and the Muslim Brotherhood? We hope you and the others might be able to come up with something.”

Shakeela accessed her cell phone and downloaded the photos. After glancing at the faces, she handed the phone to Gerrit so he could see a photo of Fotouh and Hanano.

“And all these idiots are somehow tied in to this mission against Israel?” Gerrit tried to make sense of what appeared to be contradictory affiliations. It just did not add up.

“Oh, Frank wanted me to pass on some information that is highly classified. Let Max and the others know, but no one outside your group.”

Gerrit nodded.

“The president told Frank that when he visits Prime Minister Shalev, they intend to visit the Golan Height as some kind of political statement. To show the U.S. supports Israel’s territorial rights.”

“That’s like throwing gas on an open flame to Syria,” Gerrit said. “They’ve wanted that land ever since Israel captured it during the 1967 Six-Day War. Could this be a last straw for Assad, on top of all the other indignities heaped on him the last few years?”

“Maybe,” Jack said, “but this guy knows it’s all about negotiations and patience. World opinion is very fickle, always swinging back and forth like the breeze. If he can weather this current crisis and retain his control over Syria, he knows that there may be another opportunity to bring this issue to the table. To take such drastic measures doesn’t seem a part of this guy’s playbook—at least not from past experience. So why risk World War III by taking out our president and Israel’s prime minister?”

Gerrit nodded. “And yet, here we are trying to figure out why they might be launching an attack. Thanks, Colonel. Signing off.” Gerrit killed the connection and hit the computer’s Off button.

Gerrit opened the window of his hotel room to get a little more air circulating. The night air felt cold, and it helped clear his mind after his conversation with Jack Thompson. He picked up his cell phone and quickly dialed and connected with Alena, who was working with Max in the apartment across from Henderson. Gerrit summarized everything Jack passed on to them. “Can you or Max tell us why that date is significant for the visit to the Golan Heights?”

Alena spoke in the background to Max in a muffled tone before coming back on the line. “We don’t know what the Golan Heights might have to do with it, but on that date this year Israel will be celebrating Purim, which falls on the 13th and 14th of the Hebrew month of Adar. That means that in three days—using our calendar, not theirs— they will begin celebrating Purim.”

“Purim. A two-day event? What does it signify?”

When he mentioned the name of the holiday, Shakeela hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. She leaned down, speaking softly. “I completely forget it was that time of year. This makes sense.”

Gerrit frowned at Alena. “Okay, color me stupid, Alena. Seems like everyone knows the significance of this holiday but me. Care to explain?”

Alena laughed. “I was trying to tell you. It is a time the Jewish people commemorate their salvation from destruction by the Persians while they were held captive.”

“Persians? We’re talking biblical times?”

“Yes. Do you remember the story from Esther in the Old Testament?”

“Some sort of queen, right?”

“Yes. She was made queen by the Persian king after his previous queen ticked him off. He got rid of the old queen and held a beauty contest. Esther came out on top, although she did not reveal that she was Jewish.” Alena continued. “That became significant when an anti-Semite by the name of Haman was appointed prime minister of the empire. Esther’s uncle, Mordecai, leader of the Jews, refused to bow before Haman, saying that he’d bow only before God. Haman plotted to have Mordecai killed and tricked the king into signing an edict that called for the extermination of the Jews.”

“Esther used her position to get that law nullified?”

“Basically,” she said. “At great risk to herself, she revealed her Jewish heritage and told the king that Haman plotted to kill her people. Angrily, the king had Haman hung and gave the Jews permission to defend themselves. On the 13th day of Adar the Jewish people rose up and killed those who sought to wipe them out. On the 14th, they celebrated this great victory.”

“Okay, this is starting to make sense,” Gerrit said. “Prime Minister Shalev is basically telling the world—particularly the Iranians and those countries that now exist where Persia once stood—that Israel is here to stay. That no one is going to push their borders back. And next to him, front and center, is our president.”