Designated Survivor (15 page)

They stood away from each other on the platform and stepped onto separate cars when the red line train arrived. Ten stops later they exited the train at Union Station and kept distance between each other through the large atrium of the building. Security was heavy but was concentrating on passengers entering the building rather than leaving.

Abbasi’s family had left Tehran in the middle of the night when he was ten years old. His father, Hamid Abbasi, was an employee at the Teymour Bakhtiari mansion, the final holding area for the American hostages from November 1980 until their release in January 1981, and had worked with the Americans during the final months to help them plan a rescue. When the hostages were released, those loyal to Ayatollah Khomeini began to hunt down anyone who had aided the United States.

From then on they were a family with no country, disillusioned by their government’s actions and left helpless by America’s inability to protect the people that had helped them try to rescue the hostages. After a short time hiding in border villages in Iran they made their way into Pakistan and spent two years in Karachi. As tensions grew between Pakistan and India, Hamid moved his family once again, making the long trip south to Bombay. In the population of over 15 million, they were able to keep to themselves without being noticed.

At 17 years old, Arash joined the Indian Territorial Army, a branch similar to the National Guard. He learned basic weapons and fighting techniques during weekend drills but wanted more. When he tried to enlist in the Indian Army, he was denied for the inability to prove his nationality and the Territorial Army began proceedings to have him discharged. He chose to leave India before risking being put in jail.

His training gave him an opportunity to join a private security firm in Dubai where his nationality didn’t matter. Over time the security work turned into covert operations for the huge oil corporations that owned everything. On an assignment when he was 24 years old he killed his first man when the team he was working with was discovered stealing documents inside the mansion of an oil executive in Abu Dhabi. The silenced nine-millimeter bullet had entered the heart of the surprised security guard who found them. A second bullet went through his forehead.

It wasn’t long before he realized he had a talent for leading as well as planning. He began to take contracts and hired some of the same men who he had trained with to work under him and collected a list of experts in firearms and explosives he could call on when he needed them. He slowly became the name to call when you needed something done quickly and discreetly and when money was not an issue.

Union Station was busy as the men worked their way through. Arash stopped and ordered a coffee and kept from watching where his men were. He knew each of them well and had no doubt that they would be exactly where they were supposed to be. After paying for the coffee, he walked out the front door of the building and across the lane of taxis and buses then over to the rows of cars parked across the street. At the far end of the aisle on the right, close to North Capitol Street, he saw the taillights of an SUV blink twice and he walked to it. The hatch opened as he approached and he placed his duffle in on top of the bags his men had been carrying then sat in the front passenger seat.

The green Ford Explorer backed out and headed away from the Capitol and made a wide loop through the city to avoid closed roads until they were finally headed south toward Buzzard Point.

CHAPTER 25

Grace dropped the folder on the table beside Ben Murray with the list of contractors taken from Cunningham Construction. Beside it he sat a large cup of coffee.

“I want all those names checked out and full backgrounds run,” Grace said. “Every detail you can find.”

Ben opened the folder and scanned the list as Grace walked towards the door.

“I’m not going to find anything,” Ben said.

Grace stopped and turned to look at him. “Why?”

“These aren’t real names,” Ben said. “I mean, they’re real names, but I really doubt it’s their real names.”

Grace walked back across the room and read the list over Ben’s shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“See,” Ben said. “Rick Blaine, George Bailey, John Chance, Roger Thornhill.”

“No, I don’t see,” Grace said. “Enlighten me.”

“They’re all names of movie characters. Rick Blaine was Humphrey Bogart in
Casablanca
. George Bailey was Jimmy Stewart in
It’s a Wonderful Life
. Roger Thornhill was Cary Grant in
North by Northwest
.”

“Are you shitting me?” Grace said.

“No,” Ben said. “I can look them all up if you want, but I recognize most of them.”

Grace grinned. “See. You’re already paying off your debt.”

“Debt?”

“For the honor of working in this shithole,” Grace said. “Get into the Capitol security system and track down video during the time frame these guys were working there. We need good screen grabs of each of them so we can run them through facial recognition.”

“We have facial recognition software?” Ben said.

“No, but the CIA does,” Grace said. “That reminds me, hack into the CIA facial recognition system, too.”

“Okay, that should be . . . easy,” Ben said. “And I got a name off of one set of the fingerprints.”

“Which set?”

“The ones for the guy locked up in the basement,” Ben said.

“Really?”

“I had partial matches on three systems with different names until I got a full match through Mabahith,” Ben said.

“You hacked into the Saudi Arabian Secret Police’s system?” Grace said.

“Wasn’t that hard,” Ben said.

“For you, maybe,” Grace said. “What did you find?”

“His name is Efraim Khouri,” Ben said. “Served for the Mabahith for three years before being arrested and held at
‘Ulaysha
Prison.”

“Now you have my attention,” Grace said. “Most people who go into
‘Ulaysha
don’t come out.”

Grace went down the stairs to the main level then unlocked the door to the basement and locked it behind him. At the bottom of the steel stairs he hit the switch on his left and a row of lights came on down a hallway. The moving company that had owned the building had used the sublevel as deep storage for clients’ items of value that didn’t fit in a safety deposit box. The steel doors would withstand most small explosions to breach them. He went to the third door on the right and looked through the six inch by four inch opening.

“Efraim Khouri,” Grace said. The man didn’t move. “Formerly of the Mabahith.” He thought he saw a slight twitch.

He hit the buttons next to the door to start the video camera recording the cell, unlocked the door and stepped in then closed the door.

“Why were you trying to kill my men?” Grace said.

Efraim Khouri didn’t say anything.

“How did you get out of
‘Ulaysha
?” Grace said. The man’s eyes closed. “Ahh, now we’re getting somewhere. That reaction was practically a full sentence. How did you escape?”

“I did not escape,” Khouri said. “I was released.”

“Strange. There’s no record of that,” Grace said.

“The Mabahith are notoriously bad at keeping records,” Khouri said. “They are not much for paper trails, as you might say.”

“I can understand that, what with all the illegal detentions and civil rights violations,” Grace said. “One thing I don’t know, why were you locked up?”

Khouri returned to being silent.

“That’s fine, doesn’t matter,” Grace said. “I’m more concerned with your activities since your release than those before your arrest.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Grace,” Khouri said.

“First of all, it’s just Grace. Second of all, I don’t believe I ever introduced myself,” Grace said.

“You are not the only one who has information.” Khouri sat up and looked Grace in the eyes. “You work for the Special Collection Service but operate as a rogue unit to do the work your government deems too messy for their SEALs and Special Forces. If you care to remove the shackles from my wrists and ankles, we could have a more interesting conversation.”

“Nah, I think I’ll leave them on,” Grace said. “So it’s obvious you’ve done your research on me. What’s your end game? After you killed me, what was next?”

“Would it not be more fun to wait and see what happens next?” Khouri said.

“How many of you are there?” Grace said.

Khouri lay back down on the cement bunk. “I grow tired of this conversation.”

CHAPTER 26

Derek Arrington stood beside President Abrams and CIA Director Leighton in the ETTF and watched the video coming across the satellite from Al Jazeera Network’s Middle East broadcast. Over the course of half an hour, three terrorist organizations had claimed responsibility for the bombing of the United States Capitol.

“What the hell do we do with this?” President Abrams said.

“Langley is going through all three to see if any chatter substantiates their claims,” Leighton said. “There was nothing leading up to it, but maybe there’s talk now.”

“I don’t buy it,” Arrington said. “Of the three, only one has ever orchestrated an attack on U.S. soil. Another is thought to have been disbanded 18 months ago for lack of funding.”

“So you’re saying you think it’s Al Qaeda?” Abrams said.

“It’s the most likely,” Arrington said. “Not that ISIL doesn’t have the backing.”

“There’s still the possibility it was none of them,” Leighton said. “It’s rare we don’t have any intel leading up to an attack, even if it is vague and incomplete.”

“Great. A new terrorist organization that isn’t even on our radar, Director Leighton?” President Abrams said. “That isn’t comforting. Get me something.” She walked away and returned to the table with the cabinet members.

Arrington pulled his phone out and dialed and waited for the voice on the other end. “You have anything there?”

“We brought one tango in from the shooting,” Grace said. “Interesting past and he knew who I was.”

“What nationality?” Arrington said.

“Saudi,” Grace said.

“You suspect he could be Al Qaeda or ISIL?”

“His history could make him a prime recruit, but I don’t have any reason to think he is,” Grace said. “No reason to think he isn’t, either.”

CHAPTER 27

“Efraim Khouri was one of the subcontractors at the Capitol,” Ben said. “I have video of him on several dates wearing a Cunningham shirt through the halls.” On the computer screen the faces of six men appeared in black and white.

“The surveillance video from the Capitol?” Grace said. “You went through all of it already?”

“I was here all night,” Ben said. “I have images for 14 men, and have identified these six. I was hoping a few more would come in, but the system is running slow.”

“Tell me who they are,” Grace said.

“We have Khouri, of course. The rest are different nationalities, German, Russian, even an Australian. Varying ages, backgrounds, but the differences pretty much stop there,” Ben said. “They’re all on lists of known terrorists. All of them are explosives and firearms experts. And they’re all freelancers. Confirmed kills, targets and operations all over the world. These are bad, bad men.”

“Still no clues to a larger organization or country,” Grace said.

“Not on the surface, but crosschecking known sightings and associates around the world, one name keeps coming up,” Ben said. “Arash Abbasi.”

“Who’s that?” Grace said.

“Another gun for hire, but he sees himself more of an entrepreneur. After a quick start in the Indian Territorial Army, it appears he started his own little terrorist company.”

“They responsible for anything big?” Grace said. “I haven’t heard the name before.”

“Again everything is rumors and suspicion, but mostly one-off assassinations,” Ben said. “Their favorite weapon seems to be C4.”

“Not a very subtle approach,” Grace said.

“It works,” Ben said. “They’ve used it for car bombs as well as bringing down buildings on top of targets.”

“Do we know if anyone other than Khouri is still in the country?”

“They were all together overseas at the same time and entered back into the U.S. within a week of each other.”

“Where were they before?”

“London,” Ben said. “They began coming over about a month before the contract on the Capitol began.”

“So in London they were probably getting instruction on the contract,” Grace said. “Can we trace their movement there?”

“No record of them in hotels or rental cars,” Ben said. “None of them have credit cards. They were probably all holed up together off the grid.”

“But then went very visible on their flights over here,” Grace said. “Why not hide yourself getting into the country?”

“Maybe it was just too much trouble,” Ben said. “The risk of being stopped with altered identification is high, especially at Dulles. They boarded flights at Heathrow, then they had six hours in the air for every intelligence organization in the states to notice the anomaly of so many bad guys on the same flight and have feds waiting for them.”

“But if they’re known terrorists,” Grace said, “they should have been on no-fly lists.”

“They are known but not by us,” Ben said. “INTERPOL has a few of them flagged for activities in Eastern Europe, but most of their activities so far have been against individuals or companies that aren’t necessarily friendly with the United States, so I guess we leave them alone. And as far as I can tell, none of them has left the U.S. yet.”

“We know a few have been killed. I’ll get photos of them to compare to the video stills. If the rest are still here, then why?” Grace said. “Is there a second target?”

“That’s not even funny,” Ben said.

“No, it isn’t,” Grace said. “When did Cunningham finish at the Capitol?”

Ben turned to his computer and began typing, moving windows around the screens.

“Looks like about two months ago,” Ben said.

“That’s plenty of time to wire another building,” Grace said.