Titus Ray Thriller Box Set, page 93
part #1 of Titus Ray Series
To Marwan’s left, behind one of the sofas, was a long table. On most days, it probably functioned as Naballah’s conference table. Today, however, it held a variety of pastries, beverages, and fruit.
Marwan headed there soon after entering the room.
I thought I knew why he was drawn to that spot.
It wasn’t necessarily because he was hungry.
Since the conference table had been set up underneath a picture window overlooking the compound, I figured Marwan wanted to see if the Grasshopper had arrived yet.
As he stood in front of the table, I knew he must have been disappointed when the only insect resting on the window pane was a large horsefly.
* * * *
The moment Marwan began dropping ice cubes inside a tumbler, I realized I could hear the sound of them clinking up against the glass, which meant the Ops Center had activated the audio transmitters embedded inside the purple boxes he was carrying.
As obvious as that was, I heard Carlton say, “Audio has been activated.”
Trudy, who was relying on Carlton to tell her what was going on inside the compound, replied, “Okay, thanks for letting me know. The Grasshopper is ready to go whenever you give the order.”
Carlton said, “Stand by. I may not use it until the general arrives.”
Since the Grasshopper’s power source was limited, I understood Carlton’s hesitancy in using it until he needed additional eyes inside the room.
Once Marwan had poured apple juice in his glass, he walked over and sat down in an armchair facing the door, placing the plastic bag on the floor beside him.
Almost immediately, a guard swung open the door, and Marwan jumped to his feet again, sloshing a few drops of apple juice on his thobe in the process.
“Let the games begin,” Pike said, as Sheikh Hassan Naballah entered the room.
* * * *
With his cloak swirling around him, Naballah swept inside the room with a bit of dramatic flair. Walking a few steps behind him was his new assistant, Jamal Isa.
Jamal had a pinched, narrow face and was dressed in a white shirt and dark slacks. In contrast, Naballah was wearing a brown cloak or bisht over a dark gray thobe. Following the custom of most Shia clerics—at least those who claimed to be a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad—he was also wearing a black turban on his head.
After a few words of greeting, Naballah peered over his wire-rimmed glasses at Marwan and asked, “What happened to your head?”
Although I hadn’t seen Marwan the previous day, I knew the bruise on his forehead must have turned purple by now, so Naballah’s comment was understandable.
On the other hand, if the captain manning the roadblock on Asaker Road had reported Marwan’s presence in the area, then it was entirely possible Naballah was asking the question for a totally different reason.
Marwan stuck to the answer he’d given Zaidi on Thursday and said he’d fallen in the stairwell of his apartment.
Naballah nodded, but the stern expression on his face never changed, and I found it impossible to tell if he believed him or not.
When Naballah walked over to the desk and sat down, Jamal immediately opened up the briefcase he was carrying and removed a black metal box.
As he began attaching it to the telephone on Naballah’s desk, I realized it was an encryption device used to prevent electronic eavesdropping during sensitive phone calls, such as the one he was expecting to receive from Franco Cabello.
Naballah turned to Marwan and asked, “And your trip to Caracas? How was it?”
“It was good to get away with my family,” Marwan said, reaching down and retrieving one of the purple boxes from the bag he’d placed on the floor beside him. “That reminds me. I brought you a gift from Venezuela.”
Marwan walked over and placed the purple box on Naballah’s desk. Although I saw his hand shaking as he pushed the box toward the sheikh, at that moment, Naballah was glancing down at his watch and didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s ten o’clock. We should be hearing from Franco now,” Naballah said, picking up the purple box and lifting the lid.
Although the camera angle from Marwan’s thobe made it impossible to see the gold nugget inside, it allowed us an excellent view of the surprised look on Naballah’s face when he saw the nugget for the first time.
“Is this gold?” he asked, removing the nugget from the black velvet.
“Yes, it’s from the Santa Elena gold mines,” Marwan said, pointing to the notation on the inside of the box.
Just as Pike had predicted, the man seemed mesmerized by the nugget and ignored the purple box it came in.
A few seconds later, Naballah’s phone rang.
It was Franco Cabello.
Chapter 44
Naballah answered the call by identifying himself by name. Once Cabello was on the line, he pushed a button and put the call on speakerphone so Marwan could translate for him.
Among the many notations in the Ops Center’s profile on Cabello was one indicating he’d been a chain smoker all his life. His low, gravelly voice reflected this bad habit, and the sound contrasted sharply with Naballah’s higher pitched intonation.
Cabello said, “So, tell me, Hassan. What’s the weather like in Damascus today?”
When Marwan and I had talked about what to expect during the phone call, he’d told me Cabello was extremely paranoid about security and always insisted on using a code phrase about the weather to make sure he was really speaking to the sheikh.
Naballah said, “It’s hot and dry with no chance of rain in sight.”
Cabello responded, “Sounds exactly like the weather here.”
Once this identification process was over, Naballah wasted no time in asking Cabello about the status of the canisters.
As Marwan translated for the two men, I realized he was choosing his Arabic words very carefully, because the Los Zetas lieutenant was using a less respectful form of Spanish when addressing Naballah.
Cabello said, “Don’t worry, Sheikh. Everything’s proceeding according to schedule.”
Naballah said, “It must have been a smooth transfer in Santiago. My men had no idea the containers were missing until several hours after the ships arrived in port.”
“Did you know the Americans also had their eyes on the dock?”
“That doesn’t surprise me. We knew they were tracking the ships.”
“We took care of them.”
I held my breath, hoping Naballah would ask Cabello to elaborate on this assertion. Instead, he asked, “Where’s the shipment now?”
“That’s not your concern, Sheikh. Once I’ve received confirmation your final payment has been credited to my account, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s unacceptable. I need to know where the shipping containers are right now. Otherwise, I won’t have time to get my men in position to offload the containers properly.”
“Well, first of all, the shipment’s been broken apart, so we aren’t dealing with the shipping containers anymore. What we have now are four separate crates.”
After hearing this, Naballah pressed him for more details on how he was handling the shipment. Finally, after going back and forth for several minutes, Cabello relented and explained the route the chemical weapons had taken since leaving the Sea Star.
As an American—especially someone charged with the responsibility of keeping the country safe—the way in which the gas canisters had crossed the border into the U.S. sent chills down my spine.
* * * *
Cabello described how the two shipping containers had been removed from the Sea Star and transferred to a warehouse in Santiago de Cuba. I wasn’t surprised to learn the cartel had used the heavy fog in the area to camouflage their activities.
At the warehouse—which I had to believe was where Mitchell had taken the photo—the crates of gas canisters had been removed from the shipping containers and put aboard a chartered flight to Tijuana, Mexico.
From there, the crates had been transported to a furniture store in Tijuana where they’d traveled underground along an eight-hundred-yard tunnel and ended up in a utility shed in the parking lot of an industrial parts plant in San Diego, California.
In addition to its own elevator, Cabello said the tunnel included an underground rail system, and he gave Naballah a short explanation of how the cartel had been using the passageway to deliver tons of marijuana and cocaine into the States on a daily basis.
After mentioning how they’d smuggled people across the Mexican border through the same tunnel, Cabello added, “You might want to keep that in mind in case you need my specialized services in the future.”
Naballah said, “I’m only interested in where the canisters are right now. Tell me what happened to them once they arrived in San Diego.”
“I was getting to that, Sheikh. They were loaded onto a semi-tractor trailer full of industrial parts bound for Baltimore. Four days from now, your shipment should arrive on the East Coast, and according to my calculations, that date meets your deadline, which I believe was July 8th.”
“That date is correct. Where will my men pick up the shipment when it reaches Baltimore?”
“Like I said before, once I’ve received confirmation you’ve wired the final payment to my bank account in Zurich, I’ll give you a location. It’s not happening before then.”
Naballah said nothing for several seconds, causing Cabello to ask, “Are you still there? Can you hear me, Sheikh?”
Marwan replied, “We’re here. Just one second.”
Naballah removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “If you continue your refusal to give me an approximate location, you won’t see the money in your account on July 8th or any other day.”
“Here’s what you need to know,” Cabello said. “As soon as I receive confirmation from my bank in Zurich, I’ll text Marwan the name of the truck stop on I-95 where the semi will be parked. Along with that location, I’ll give him the vehicle’s license plate number. At that point, you’ll have four hours to arrive at that location and offload the merchandise. Just have your men somewhere south of Baltimore, and there shouldn’t be a problem.”
After Marwan translated Cabello’s instructions, Naballah said, “As long as the truck stop is near Washington, that’s acceptable.”
Cabello said, “Once I’ve heard from Zurich, I’ll send Marwan a text.” He paused a moment. “And now, Sheikh, I believe we’re done here. Adios.”
Cabello might be done, but I figured we were just getting started.
* * * *
Immediately after hanging up the phone, Naballah got up from his desk and walked over to the large picture window. After staring out at the compound for several seconds, he pulled a bottle of chilled water out of an ice bucket.
Tossing the cap aside, he turned around and gestured toward Marwan. “Be back here next Wednesday. Once I’ve wired Franco the rest of the money, we’ll see if he keeps his word and sends you the information.”
“Of course, he’ll keep his word. You can’t doubt that.”
Although Marwan’s curt reply surprised me, I found it understandable.
Since Cabello hadn’t revealed the exact location of the canisters and this was the type of intel we needed, I figured Marwan might be worried about his future.
To make matters worse, Naballah wanted him back at the compound in four days, and he didn’t plan to be anywhere near Naballah’s compound in four days.
“I’m beginning to wonder if Franco is all that trustworthy,” Naballah said.
“There’s nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t keep his word, he knows you’ll come after him. Plus, you won’t use his services in the future. You heard him; he was offering to do business with you again.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
Marwan’s voice had a definite edge to it now, and by the look on Naballah’s face, he could hear it as well.
I heard Carlton’s voice in my earpiece. “What’s he doing?”
“I wish I knew.”
* * * *
Naballah didn’t respond to Marwan’s comment. Instead, he gave his attention to the pastry tray and selected a sweet roll for himself. A few seconds later, Marwan got up out of his chair and joined him.
As the two men faced each other, Naballah asked, “What’s wrong, Marwan?”
“My daughter’s birthday is Wednesday, and I had planned to be in Caracas to celebrate it with her. Now you’re telling me I have to be here.”
“I know how important family is to you, but our service to Allah is much more important than our families. Think about the service you’ll be rendering Allah when we attack our enemy’s capital.”
“I can serve Allah in Caracas as well as I can in Damascus.”
At that moment, I realized Marwan was taking Pike’s advice and stirring up a little drama, trying to make sure he didn’t have to stick around Damascus until Wednesday. I seriously doubted his daughter’s birthday was next week, but even so, I wasn’t sure this outburst would work on the sheikh.
Naballah’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t have to be here on Wednesday. I can get Franco’s text in Caracas as well as I can in this room.”
Naballah took a bite out of his pastry and nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Once Cabello gives me the license number of the truck and where it’s located, I’ll immediately send you that information. I could even call you, if you like.”
Naballah popped the last bite of pastry in his mouth and wiped his hands with his napkin. “You’re right, of course. You should go to Caracas. I’d hate for you to miss Samira’s birthday, especially after the loss you’ve suffered with the death of your son.”
Marwan bowed his head. “Thank you, Hassan.”
“As soon as you send me the information from Franco, I’ll notify the cell in Baltimore where they can pick up the canisters. But if something goes wrong, I’ll expect you to drop everything and contact Franco immediately.”
“Of course.”
When Naballah returned to his desk, Jamal was just getting off his cell phone. “That was General Suleiman’s driver. He’s leaving the hotel now and should be here shortly.”
Naballah looked over at Marwan. “Wait in the foyer with the rest of the council members until I call you. I need to meet with the general before convening the council.”
When Marwan picked up his plastic bag and turned to leave the room, Naballah added, “I’ve never heard you sound so passionate about something, Marwan. Make sure you’re equally as passionate when you assure the general the cartel is reliable, and the canisters will be in Washington when he requires them.”
“I’m prepared to do that.”
The moment Marwan sat down on the wooden bench outside Naballah’s library, Rehman Zaidi stepped off the elevator, and, after clearing security, he sat down on the bench next to him.
One of the purple boxes—the one destined for the general—was still inside Marwan’s plastic bag, and we were able to listen in on the conversation between the two men.
But, since Zaidi only seemed interested in finding out more about the accident Marwan had suffered in the stairwell of his apartment, their chatter yielded nothing in the way of new information.
When Abdul Latif, Naballah’s financial minister, arrived a few minutes later, the three men continued their idle chatter and avoided mentioning their impending meeting with General Suleiman.
Although it appeared no one on the bench was especially eager to meet with the general, I didn’t share those sentiments.
* * * *
As Pike and I continued watching Marwan, we also had our eyes on Monitor #1, which was displaying the drone footage of the black Chevy Suburban transporting the general from the Sheraton over to Naballah’s compound.
The moment the Suburban was a mile away from the compound, we heard Carlton tell Trudy to launch the Grasshopper.
A few seconds later, she said, “Okay, she’s on her way. Activating camera now.”
I suspected identifying the Grasshopper as a female locust was pure conjecture on Trudy’s part, but whether the tiny drone was male or female, it hardly mattered to me.
All that mattered to me was having eyes in the room when the general arrived. I wanted to be able to read Suleiman’s body language and get a feel for the man who was about to launch the attack on Washington.
Although we still had audio in the library, Naballah and Jamal were only discussing his schedule for the rest of the day, so when I heard that, I flipped the mute switch and asked Carlton a question.
“Douglas, you heard Cabello say he knew the Americans were watching the docks in Santiago. Doesn’t this confirm the cartel grabbed Ben?”
“Not necessarily. I think we need to wait and hear the report from the SOF unit on the ground in Santiago before jumping to a conclusion.”
Pike asked, “What about the reference Naballah made to the Hezbollah cell in Baltimore? Have the feds shared any intel with the Agency about its existence?”
Carlton said, “My sources tell me the Bureau is working overtime running down leads on Hezbollah’s activities in the D.C. area following the Navy Yard incident, but I haven’t heard anything about a specific cell.”
I thought about my last conversation with Frank Benson, and the connections he was trying to make between Reyes Valario and Walid Khouri. Was Khouri involved in the Baltimore cell? Was the terrorist group one of Benson’s missing pieces?
I said, “The type of operation required to transport those canisters has to be pretty sophisticated. The logistics alone would seem to indicate some kind of central control in the Washington area.”
Carlton said, “The feds are running down leads on the domestic front. It’s up to us to get answers from here.”
Pike pointed to Monitor #4 showing the general’s arrival at the compound. “Here’s the guy who has all the answers.”
Marwan headed there soon after entering the room.
I thought I knew why he was drawn to that spot.
It wasn’t necessarily because he was hungry.
Since the conference table had been set up underneath a picture window overlooking the compound, I figured Marwan wanted to see if the Grasshopper had arrived yet.
As he stood in front of the table, I knew he must have been disappointed when the only insect resting on the window pane was a large horsefly.
* * * *
The moment Marwan began dropping ice cubes inside a tumbler, I realized I could hear the sound of them clinking up against the glass, which meant the Ops Center had activated the audio transmitters embedded inside the purple boxes he was carrying.
As obvious as that was, I heard Carlton say, “Audio has been activated.”
Trudy, who was relying on Carlton to tell her what was going on inside the compound, replied, “Okay, thanks for letting me know. The Grasshopper is ready to go whenever you give the order.”
Carlton said, “Stand by. I may not use it until the general arrives.”
Since the Grasshopper’s power source was limited, I understood Carlton’s hesitancy in using it until he needed additional eyes inside the room.
Once Marwan had poured apple juice in his glass, he walked over and sat down in an armchair facing the door, placing the plastic bag on the floor beside him.
Almost immediately, a guard swung open the door, and Marwan jumped to his feet again, sloshing a few drops of apple juice on his thobe in the process.
“Let the games begin,” Pike said, as Sheikh Hassan Naballah entered the room.
* * * *
With his cloak swirling around him, Naballah swept inside the room with a bit of dramatic flair. Walking a few steps behind him was his new assistant, Jamal Isa.
Jamal had a pinched, narrow face and was dressed in a white shirt and dark slacks. In contrast, Naballah was wearing a brown cloak or bisht over a dark gray thobe. Following the custom of most Shia clerics—at least those who claimed to be a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad—he was also wearing a black turban on his head.
After a few words of greeting, Naballah peered over his wire-rimmed glasses at Marwan and asked, “What happened to your head?”
Although I hadn’t seen Marwan the previous day, I knew the bruise on his forehead must have turned purple by now, so Naballah’s comment was understandable.
On the other hand, if the captain manning the roadblock on Asaker Road had reported Marwan’s presence in the area, then it was entirely possible Naballah was asking the question for a totally different reason.
Marwan stuck to the answer he’d given Zaidi on Thursday and said he’d fallen in the stairwell of his apartment.
Naballah nodded, but the stern expression on his face never changed, and I found it impossible to tell if he believed him or not.
When Naballah walked over to the desk and sat down, Jamal immediately opened up the briefcase he was carrying and removed a black metal box.
As he began attaching it to the telephone on Naballah’s desk, I realized it was an encryption device used to prevent electronic eavesdropping during sensitive phone calls, such as the one he was expecting to receive from Franco Cabello.
Naballah turned to Marwan and asked, “And your trip to Caracas? How was it?”
“It was good to get away with my family,” Marwan said, reaching down and retrieving one of the purple boxes from the bag he’d placed on the floor beside him. “That reminds me. I brought you a gift from Venezuela.”
Marwan walked over and placed the purple box on Naballah’s desk. Although I saw his hand shaking as he pushed the box toward the sheikh, at that moment, Naballah was glancing down at his watch and didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s ten o’clock. We should be hearing from Franco now,” Naballah said, picking up the purple box and lifting the lid.
Although the camera angle from Marwan’s thobe made it impossible to see the gold nugget inside, it allowed us an excellent view of the surprised look on Naballah’s face when he saw the nugget for the first time.
“Is this gold?” he asked, removing the nugget from the black velvet.
“Yes, it’s from the Santa Elena gold mines,” Marwan said, pointing to the notation on the inside of the box.
Just as Pike had predicted, the man seemed mesmerized by the nugget and ignored the purple box it came in.
A few seconds later, Naballah’s phone rang.
It was Franco Cabello.
Chapter 44
Naballah answered the call by identifying himself by name. Once Cabello was on the line, he pushed a button and put the call on speakerphone so Marwan could translate for him.
Among the many notations in the Ops Center’s profile on Cabello was one indicating he’d been a chain smoker all his life. His low, gravelly voice reflected this bad habit, and the sound contrasted sharply with Naballah’s higher pitched intonation.
Cabello said, “So, tell me, Hassan. What’s the weather like in Damascus today?”
When Marwan and I had talked about what to expect during the phone call, he’d told me Cabello was extremely paranoid about security and always insisted on using a code phrase about the weather to make sure he was really speaking to the sheikh.
Naballah said, “It’s hot and dry with no chance of rain in sight.”
Cabello responded, “Sounds exactly like the weather here.”
Once this identification process was over, Naballah wasted no time in asking Cabello about the status of the canisters.
As Marwan translated for the two men, I realized he was choosing his Arabic words very carefully, because the Los Zetas lieutenant was using a less respectful form of Spanish when addressing Naballah.
Cabello said, “Don’t worry, Sheikh. Everything’s proceeding according to schedule.”
Naballah said, “It must have been a smooth transfer in Santiago. My men had no idea the containers were missing until several hours after the ships arrived in port.”
“Did you know the Americans also had their eyes on the dock?”
“That doesn’t surprise me. We knew they were tracking the ships.”
“We took care of them.”
I held my breath, hoping Naballah would ask Cabello to elaborate on this assertion. Instead, he asked, “Where’s the shipment now?”
“That’s not your concern, Sheikh. Once I’ve received confirmation your final payment has been credited to my account, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s unacceptable. I need to know where the shipping containers are right now. Otherwise, I won’t have time to get my men in position to offload the containers properly.”
“Well, first of all, the shipment’s been broken apart, so we aren’t dealing with the shipping containers anymore. What we have now are four separate crates.”
After hearing this, Naballah pressed him for more details on how he was handling the shipment. Finally, after going back and forth for several minutes, Cabello relented and explained the route the chemical weapons had taken since leaving the Sea Star.
As an American—especially someone charged with the responsibility of keeping the country safe—the way in which the gas canisters had crossed the border into the U.S. sent chills down my spine.
* * * *
Cabello described how the two shipping containers had been removed from the Sea Star and transferred to a warehouse in Santiago de Cuba. I wasn’t surprised to learn the cartel had used the heavy fog in the area to camouflage their activities.
At the warehouse—which I had to believe was where Mitchell had taken the photo—the crates of gas canisters had been removed from the shipping containers and put aboard a chartered flight to Tijuana, Mexico.
From there, the crates had been transported to a furniture store in Tijuana where they’d traveled underground along an eight-hundred-yard tunnel and ended up in a utility shed in the parking lot of an industrial parts plant in San Diego, California.
In addition to its own elevator, Cabello said the tunnel included an underground rail system, and he gave Naballah a short explanation of how the cartel had been using the passageway to deliver tons of marijuana and cocaine into the States on a daily basis.
After mentioning how they’d smuggled people across the Mexican border through the same tunnel, Cabello added, “You might want to keep that in mind in case you need my specialized services in the future.”
Naballah said, “I’m only interested in where the canisters are right now. Tell me what happened to them once they arrived in San Diego.”
“I was getting to that, Sheikh. They were loaded onto a semi-tractor trailer full of industrial parts bound for Baltimore. Four days from now, your shipment should arrive on the East Coast, and according to my calculations, that date meets your deadline, which I believe was July 8th.”
“That date is correct. Where will my men pick up the shipment when it reaches Baltimore?”
“Like I said before, once I’ve received confirmation you’ve wired the final payment to my bank account in Zurich, I’ll give you a location. It’s not happening before then.”
Naballah said nothing for several seconds, causing Cabello to ask, “Are you still there? Can you hear me, Sheikh?”
Marwan replied, “We’re here. Just one second.”
Naballah removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “If you continue your refusal to give me an approximate location, you won’t see the money in your account on July 8th or any other day.”
“Here’s what you need to know,” Cabello said. “As soon as I receive confirmation from my bank in Zurich, I’ll text Marwan the name of the truck stop on I-95 where the semi will be parked. Along with that location, I’ll give him the vehicle’s license plate number. At that point, you’ll have four hours to arrive at that location and offload the merchandise. Just have your men somewhere south of Baltimore, and there shouldn’t be a problem.”
After Marwan translated Cabello’s instructions, Naballah said, “As long as the truck stop is near Washington, that’s acceptable.”
Cabello said, “Once I’ve heard from Zurich, I’ll send Marwan a text.” He paused a moment. “And now, Sheikh, I believe we’re done here. Adios.”
Cabello might be done, but I figured we were just getting started.
* * * *
Immediately after hanging up the phone, Naballah got up from his desk and walked over to the large picture window. After staring out at the compound for several seconds, he pulled a bottle of chilled water out of an ice bucket.
Tossing the cap aside, he turned around and gestured toward Marwan. “Be back here next Wednesday. Once I’ve wired Franco the rest of the money, we’ll see if he keeps his word and sends you the information.”
“Of course, he’ll keep his word. You can’t doubt that.”
Although Marwan’s curt reply surprised me, I found it understandable.
Since Cabello hadn’t revealed the exact location of the canisters and this was the type of intel we needed, I figured Marwan might be worried about his future.
To make matters worse, Naballah wanted him back at the compound in four days, and he didn’t plan to be anywhere near Naballah’s compound in four days.
“I’m beginning to wonder if Franco is all that trustworthy,” Naballah said.
“There’s nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t keep his word, he knows you’ll come after him. Plus, you won’t use his services in the future. You heard him; he was offering to do business with you again.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
Marwan’s voice had a definite edge to it now, and by the look on Naballah’s face, he could hear it as well.
I heard Carlton’s voice in my earpiece. “What’s he doing?”
“I wish I knew.”
* * * *
Naballah didn’t respond to Marwan’s comment. Instead, he gave his attention to the pastry tray and selected a sweet roll for himself. A few seconds later, Marwan got up out of his chair and joined him.
As the two men faced each other, Naballah asked, “What’s wrong, Marwan?”
“My daughter’s birthday is Wednesday, and I had planned to be in Caracas to celebrate it with her. Now you’re telling me I have to be here.”
“I know how important family is to you, but our service to Allah is much more important than our families. Think about the service you’ll be rendering Allah when we attack our enemy’s capital.”
“I can serve Allah in Caracas as well as I can in Damascus.”
At that moment, I realized Marwan was taking Pike’s advice and stirring up a little drama, trying to make sure he didn’t have to stick around Damascus until Wednesday. I seriously doubted his daughter’s birthday was next week, but even so, I wasn’t sure this outburst would work on the sheikh.
Naballah’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t have to be here on Wednesday. I can get Franco’s text in Caracas as well as I can in this room.”
Naballah took a bite out of his pastry and nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Once Cabello gives me the license number of the truck and where it’s located, I’ll immediately send you that information. I could even call you, if you like.”
Naballah popped the last bite of pastry in his mouth and wiped his hands with his napkin. “You’re right, of course. You should go to Caracas. I’d hate for you to miss Samira’s birthday, especially after the loss you’ve suffered with the death of your son.”
Marwan bowed his head. “Thank you, Hassan.”
“As soon as you send me the information from Franco, I’ll notify the cell in Baltimore where they can pick up the canisters. But if something goes wrong, I’ll expect you to drop everything and contact Franco immediately.”
“Of course.”
When Naballah returned to his desk, Jamal was just getting off his cell phone. “That was General Suleiman’s driver. He’s leaving the hotel now and should be here shortly.”
Naballah looked over at Marwan. “Wait in the foyer with the rest of the council members until I call you. I need to meet with the general before convening the council.”
When Marwan picked up his plastic bag and turned to leave the room, Naballah added, “I’ve never heard you sound so passionate about something, Marwan. Make sure you’re equally as passionate when you assure the general the cartel is reliable, and the canisters will be in Washington when he requires them.”
“I’m prepared to do that.”
The moment Marwan sat down on the wooden bench outside Naballah’s library, Rehman Zaidi stepped off the elevator, and, after clearing security, he sat down on the bench next to him.
One of the purple boxes—the one destined for the general—was still inside Marwan’s plastic bag, and we were able to listen in on the conversation between the two men.
But, since Zaidi only seemed interested in finding out more about the accident Marwan had suffered in the stairwell of his apartment, their chatter yielded nothing in the way of new information.
When Abdul Latif, Naballah’s financial minister, arrived a few minutes later, the three men continued their idle chatter and avoided mentioning their impending meeting with General Suleiman.
Although it appeared no one on the bench was especially eager to meet with the general, I didn’t share those sentiments.
* * * *
As Pike and I continued watching Marwan, we also had our eyes on Monitor #1, which was displaying the drone footage of the black Chevy Suburban transporting the general from the Sheraton over to Naballah’s compound.
The moment the Suburban was a mile away from the compound, we heard Carlton tell Trudy to launch the Grasshopper.
A few seconds later, she said, “Okay, she’s on her way. Activating camera now.”
I suspected identifying the Grasshopper as a female locust was pure conjecture on Trudy’s part, but whether the tiny drone was male or female, it hardly mattered to me.
All that mattered to me was having eyes in the room when the general arrived. I wanted to be able to read Suleiman’s body language and get a feel for the man who was about to launch the attack on Washington.
Although we still had audio in the library, Naballah and Jamal were only discussing his schedule for the rest of the day, so when I heard that, I flipped the mute switch and asked Carlton a question.
“Douglas, you heard Cabello say he knew the Americans were watching the docks in Santiago. Doesn’t this confirm the cartel grabbed Ben?”
“Not necessarily. I think we need to wait and hear the report from the SOF unit on the ground in Santiago before jumping to a conclusion.”
Pike asked, “What about the reference Naballah made to the Hezbollah cell in Baltimore? Have the feds shared any intel with the Agency about its existence?”
Carlton said, “My sources tell me the Bureau is working overtime running down leads on Hezbollah’s activities in the D.C. area following the Navy Yard incident, but I haven’t heard anything about a specific cell.”
I thought about my last conversation with Frank Benson, and the connections he was trying to make between Reyes Valario and Walid Khouri. Was Khouri involved in the Baltimore cell? Was the terrorist group one of Benson’s missing pieces?
I said, “The type of operation required to transport those canisters has to be pretty sophisticated. The logistics alone would seem to indicate some kind of central control in the Washington area.”
Carlton said, “The feds are running down leads on the domestic front. It’s up to us to get answers from here.”
Pike pointed to Monitor #4 showing the general’s arrival at the compound. “Here’s the guy who has all the answers.”
