“Herman didn’t want any Neanderthals ham fisting their
little negotiation.”
“Frankly, I think they didn’t want to share the limelight
for apprehending the Holocaust terrorists.”
McBurney didn’t find that particularly surprising. Tom
Herman was not the kind of guy to place the protection of his staff above the
prospect of political gain. He shook his head. The Mohammad Ahmadi that he
remembered was no diplomat, and missile defense simply seemed out of his league...
McBurney gestured toward the satellite data. “Mind
showing me where you found this?”
MCBURNEY STOOD
with
Special Agent Kosmalski inside the dead Iranian’s large and glistening master
bath, where the open door of a closet revealed what appeared to be a standard
hot-water heater. Behind them, a forensics technician used a pair of tweezers
to extract small fragments of fiber and hair from the floor around the base of
the toilet and deposit them into a plastic bag.
The FBI agent drew McBurney’s attention to the galvanized
sheet metal duct that the investigators must have placed in the marble Jacuzzi.
Kosmalski asked him, “Why would an electric hot water heater need a natural gas
exhaust duct?”
Turning from the tub, McBurney saw where investigators also
had removed an access plate from the heater, thereby exposing the wires of an
electric heating element and glass insulation. He looked up at the hole in the
closet ceiling above the heater where the apparently phony exhaust duct had
been installed.
Kosmalski beamed. “It was actually Agent Mueller who
discovered Ahmadi’s illicit cache while probing the ceiling cavity with a
mirror. He deserves a good deal of the credit.”
McBurney nodded. Something tugged at his thoughts. “Did you
check inside the hot water heater?”
McBurney and Kosmalski watched as Agent Mueller knelt with
a bent coat hangar to carefully probe the soft insulation around the electrical
heating element. After several minutes he pulled back a layer of insulation and
revealed a smooth, clear cellophane membrane containing an eggshell-white
substance.
Mueller looked up, his face ashen. “This could be plastique
explosive.”
Kosmalski responded immediately. “Everyone, listen up! We’ve
got a possible hazardous material condition. I need two people working each
floor to gather the residents and convene in the parking lot. Ericks, get your
sniffing gear and help Mueller. Everybody else get out of the building. No,
moving the bodies is the last goddamn thing I want!”
McBurney gripped Kosmalski by the arm. “I’d think twice
before pulling the electrical breaker.”
“I think we know how to handle bombs.”
AFTER CONFIRMING
the
presence of plastique explosive, it had taken over two hours for the bomb squad
to arrive and safely remove the device. The torrent of rain had become a
morning mist and most of the building’s residents stood around the parking lot
in coats thrown over their bathrobes; the FBI had abandoned their effort to
keep members of the press at bay. Special Agent Kosmalski gave word they were
allowed to re-enter the building.
Back inside the lobby, Kosmalski explained to McBurney that
the explosive device had been fitted with a remotely controlled trigger. The
squad had determined that the trigger could be armed to set a booby trap, which
would detonate if electrical power to the heater was cut off.
McBurney asked Kosmalski, “Was it armed?”
“No. I was concerned that the perp lured us into the
bathroom with that scenario in mind, although that much plastique would’ve
probably taken out the whole corner of the building. We suspect Ahmadi
controlled the remote.”
McBurney frowned in thought while Kosmalski gave permission
for the ambulance crew to bag and remove the corpses. Besides the grisly
murders, of everything he had learned this morning, that someone like Ahmadi
might believe threatening a powerful senator had any chance of gaining traction
struck him as the most bizarre. Once they were alone again he simply had to ask
Kosmalski, “What’s the senator’s version of this discussion he had with
Ahmadi?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“Their discussion reflects directly on the satellite
evidence.”
Kosmalski considered the question. “What is it you want to
know?”
“Ahmadi was burned, and he had at least been attempting to
commit espionage. Milner seems a good place to start looking for answers.”
Kosmalski regarded him with a tight jaw. “What makes you so
sure the subject was burned?”
“You’re kidding me, right? Did Senator Milner think the man
appeared to be rational? Did Ahmadi explain exactly what it was he wanted, or
provide any related information?”
McBurney sensed a flicker of hesitation pass over Kosmalski’s
face. “The senator refuses to discuss anything specific about their exchange.”
McBurney looked at Kosmalski and became further confused. He
was unsure whether the FBI agent was holding something back or merely
embarrassed for having nearly botched the morning’s operation. On the other
hand, that a U.S. senator would try to conceal the basis for an alleged blackmail
attempt was credible enough. “Either you or the Secret Service had Ahmadi under
surveillance when he met with the senator, correct?”
Kosmalski looked away and said nothing.
McBurney cracked a smile. “I’m sending someone over for a
transcript of Senator Milner’s meeting with Ahmadi.”
“Go ahead and send him. In case you haven’t figured out,
I’ve got several crimes to solve. With allegations of high-level influence
peddling I cannot have relevant evidence floating around Washington. We are
talking about homicide.”
“And protecting the poll numbers of a senator?”
Kosmalski’s facial muscles appeared to tighten around his
skull. “Credible threats to policy makers are difficult to ignore. In this town
such things demand a certain level of confidentiality. I may have a mandate to
coordinate with you, but don’t push your luck.”
“I intend to speak with Senator Milner about the exchange
between him and Ahmadi.”
Kosmalski laughed. “I guess you’re welcome to try.”
“And I intend to have a copy of Ahmadi’s surveillance report.”
“Mr. McBurney,
you
are the only one who said
anything about a surveillance report.” Kosmalski made a show of looking at his
watch. “I’m sure you’re aware how tight Milner is with the president. Good luck
with that.”
6
MARBLE-SIZED RAINDROPS
HAMMERED
soundlessly against thick, bullet-resistant windowpanes as the
President sat engrossed at his desk inside the Oval Office, his back to the
world. On his desk nearby lay the biographical profiles of that evening’s
dinner guests, half of which he had browsed.
Howard Denis, President of the United States of America,
glanced up from page one of the lengthy intelligence briefing with a pained
expression. “Whoever killed Kate Prouty has made certain these terrorists
remain at large,” he reminded the three advisors seated before him. “I trust
this doorstop here will somehow inform me who you think is responsible.”
Sam McBurney had prepared the President’s briefing, which
did no such thing. At a loss for words, he examined the red folder in his
hands, the words ‘Eyes Only’ emblazoned on the middle of the cover. He and his
staff had worked it non-stop for the last thirty hours analyzing, condensing,
revising, and condensing yet again.
Thomas Herman, advisor to the president for national
security, was shaking his head. “I know what this document does attempt, and
I’d like to say from the outset that I disagree with it. I’m disappointed with
the logic that McBurney and the Director are going to use because I think it is
weak. It also risks undermining our focus to apprehend those truly responsible
for the recent attack on our national heritage.”
Lester Burns, the country’s first black Director of the
CIA, turned to Herman and smiled. “Fair enough, Tom. I hope we can change your
mind. Sam? The president has a schedule to keep.”
McBurney offered his condolences for the loss of Katherine
Prouty before proceeding. “I also had the opportunity to observe first-hand the
particularly striking, well, brazenness, of Miss Prouty’s murderer or murderers.
Which makes our discovery of the satellite information inside that apartment
especially disturbing. We were able to place its source to a classified
database maintained by the National Reconnaissance Office. The FBI have taken
the lead in helping us isolate who might’ve leaked it.”
“Why’s this so important?” asked the president.
“The stolen information might well have been destined for a
third party. But consider the entirety of what the FBI have provided to us on
Ahmadi since the day of his and Miss Prouty’s murders.” McBurney briefly
described the case of industrial espionage several years ago, involving a
Midwest defense contractor and the alleged theft of stealth aircraft
technology. The FBI arrested two engineers employed by the company, one of whom
was an Iranian national. The only indictment achieved was of the American
citizen, who cut a deal with the federal prosecutor and confessed to what
appears to have been a highly compartmentalized operation—the two worked inside
the same complex and the evidence suggested they were operationally unaware of
each other.
“Turns out that the American’s plea bargain never produced
an actionable lead to the principal running the agent, or agents,” McBurney
continued. “What we do have are hotel receipts that show Mohammad Ahmadi’s
travels took him to the same cities, on three different occasions, that
overlapped with business trips taken by these two employees.”
Herman frowned. “Remember, I’m the one who had the FBI
dredge up Ahmadi’s bona fides in the first place. And I was present when Kate Prouty
covered this topic with him. He denied being involved; he didn’t even blink. Is
the CIA prepared to claim that Ahmadi was the principal guy in this industrial
spy ring?”
“No.” McBurney turned toward his old nemesis. “Unfortunately
it’s a little late to subject him to a polygraph, so I am relieved to hear you
already asked him about it.”
The Director of Central Intelligence shot McBurney a glare.
“The main point is that our stealth technology analysts tell us the development
and manufacturing processes used in stealthifying
aircraft
are also
applicable to making
satellites
stealthy.” Burns paused to see that the
president had made the connection.
President Denis narrowed his eyes. “What would Iran want
with stealth spysat
technology?”
“We can’t be certain Tehran was ever the intended recipient
of the product, or at least not the exclusive recipient.”
“You keep saying that.”
“That’s because we have one intelligence anomaly that might
explain what the Iranians have been up to. We regularly monitor contact between
the Iranian intelligence community and, say for instance, China’s. That goes
doubly for their diplomatic missions.”
The president exchanged a disturbed look with his security
advisor.
McBurney explained that along with the SBIRS, Space-Based
Infrared Satellite missile defense information, the data in Ahmadi’s apartment
included similar details pertaining to one of China’s most recent satellites.
“And French satellites and Japanese satellites,” Herman
pointed out.
President Denis eyed the CIA men suspiciously.
Director Burns said to the President, “I’m afraid the
connection that Sam makes here is fairly well established.”
“How so?”
“Well, if you’ll excuse my prerogative to be less than specific,
I’ll suffice it to say that we regularly release certain select disinformation.
But this disinformation can only be deciphered through the use of phony
encryption keys passed to foreign spies, who believe them authentic. At first
this is innocuous stuff, like planned personnel changes and such. Then we pull
the noose tight—we announce to several of our overseas missions an impending
event of sufficient gravity to induce a response, say, a throng of police
converge on a junket in the Taiwan Straits at four in the morning. The proof
came not when our delegations in Riyadh and Qatar appeared to be affected—but
our embassy in Beijing.”
“This is what I mean,” Herman insisted. “Mr. Ahmadi
approached us with an offer to provide the identities of two
Holocaust
terrorists, for Christ’s sake!”
McBurney considered reminding Herman that, according to the
FBI, Mohammad Ahmadi also propositioned a U.S. senator for classified missile
defense information. Frankly, he could see why they might be having difficulty
with a single covert operator adept at both terrorist and industrial espionage
operations. The knowledge and tactics, even the mindset, traditionally occupy
opposite ends of the spectrum. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “You and the
FBI bought into his story. Had we come together sooner, perhaps your deal with
Ahmadi would’ve included a more thorough explanation.”
Herman said to McBurney, “Perhaps if you’d succeeded in
eliminating Nijad Jabara thirty years ago the Holocaust Memorial would never
have been attacked.”
President Denis breathed a heavy sigh. “Any more back-biting
out of either of you two and I’ll have you escorted out of here.”
McBurney finished his silent count to ten while thumbing to
the final page of his briefing. “So, the information in Ahmadi’s possession
made reference to this recent Chinese satellite, apparently a large
communications satellite. Beijing also claims that it abruptly malfunctioned before
disintegrating in orbit.”