“Been doing that for a year; so has Langley,” Jack replied. “The URC’s financial structure makes the Knossos Labyrinth look like a place-mat maze at Denny’s.”
“Nice obscure reference, cuz,” Brian said with a grin.
“Sorry. Catholic education. The point is, without a corner to peel back, I think the financial angle is a nonstarter. At least by itself.”
“Anybody modeled it?” Chavez asked. “Take what we know about their money handling, tie it to e-mail traffic and website announcements, and cross-reference those with incidents?”
“Good question,” Rounds replied.
“I’d be surprised if the NCTC and/or Langley hasn’t already tried that. If they’d had any luck, the guy would be in the bag.”
“Maybe,” Rounds said, “but we haven’t tried it.”
“If The Campus ain’t done it, it can’t be done?” Brian offered.
“Exactly. Let’s assume they haven’t tried it. Or let’s assume they did try it but in the wrong way. What would it take to do it right?”
“A custom-made software application,” Jack replied.
“We’ve got the people and the money. Let’s explore it.”
“Gavin’s gonna start hating us,” Dominic said with a smile.
“Buy him a case of Cheetos and Mountain Dew,” Brian shot back. “He’ll be fine.”
“How about we put some boots on the ground in Tripoli?” Dominic said, changing directions. “This embassy job didn’t happen in a vacuum. Let’s go down there and shake the tree. Maybe Benghazi, too.”
Rounds considered this. “I’ll put it to Sam and Gerry.”
They kicked the ball around for another hour before Rounds brought the meeting to a close. “Let’s break up and get to work. Meet again tomorrow morning.”
Everyone filed out, save Jack, who’d rotated his chair to stare out the window.
“I can see the gears turning,” Chavez said from the doorway.
“Sorry . . . what?”
“Same look your dad gets when his brain is on overdrive.”
“Still playing what-if.”
Ding pulled out a chair and sat down. “Shoot.”
“The question we didn’t ask is why. If the Emir has left Pakistan or Afghanistan for points unknown, why? Why now? As far as we can tell, he hasn’t left the area for maybe four years. Were we getting too close to him, or was it something else?”
“Such as?”
“Don’t know. Just trying to think like him. If I had something cooking, a really big operation, I might be tempted to pull up stakes and find another bolt-hole, to make sure I didn’t get caught and give away the farm to interrogators.”
“Risky move.”
“Maybe, but maybe not as risky as sticking around the same place, knowing the odds were probably catching up to me. If you move and set up shop somewhere else, you not only stay free, but you’re also able to keep your hands in the pot.”
Chavez was silent for a few moments. “You’ve got a good head, Jack.”
“Thanks, but I kinda hope I’m wrong on this. If I’m not, something big may be coming down the road.”
They’d managed to survive the storm, but it had been too close for comfort, the boat having been nearly battered to its breaking point. Four hours after they’d entered the squall, they broke through its western limits, finding themselves in calm water and blue skies again. Vitaliy and Vanya had spent the remainder of the day and part of the evening after they’d put ashore checking the boat for damage but finding nothing that would require them to return to port. And even if they had, Vitaliy wondered if Fred would have permitted it. His sacrifice of his man had been a shock to Vitaliy—not so much the decision itself but rather the lack of emotion it had evoked in Fred. These were serious, serious men.
The lighthouse was their objective, though he still had no idea why anyone would want to go there. Situated atop Cape Morrasale on the Gulf of Baidaratzkaya, it wasn’t a particularly important navigation aid—not anymore, at least. There had once been a settlement here, probably a monitoring station for the nuclear tests on Novaya Zemlya, and some commercial fishermen had tried to make a go of it, but that had lasted only four seasons before the men and the boats had moved west to better grounds. The charts showed ten to twelve fathoms of water, and so there was little danger of running aground, and besides, most boats had Western-made GPS navigation to keep them in safe waters.
His passengers were checking with their truck now, testing the engine and the A-crane. It should have offended him, what they planned to do, but he didn’t fish here, and nobody he knew did.