“He’s here. The sonofabitch is hiding right under our noses.”
Clark nodded. “The question is, what? It would have to be something big to bring him out.”
52
OUR FRIEND ARRIVED SAFELY?” Ibrahim asked.
Digital clicks occasionally interrupted his subordinate’s voice.
“Yes,” the Emir replied. “He left again yesterday. I’ve read the details of your plan. Tell me where things stand.”
“We’re ready. Simply give the word and we can be in country within seventy-two hours.”
Talking directly to the commander of his ground team had been an impromptu decision on his part, and certainly dangerous, especially given his own precarious circumstances, but the risk was warranted. The communication method was as secure as any, a homemade encryption package they had married to the house’s VoIP—Voice over Internet Protocol—computer-to-computer Skype account.
Having decided to proceed with Ibrahim’s operation, the Emir wanted a final discussion, as a measure of reassurance not only for himself but also for Ibrahim. If he should lose his life on the mission his true reward would come in paradise, but here on earth he was still a soldier going into battle, and soldiers often needed praise and encouragement.
“How many times have you been there?” the Emir asked.
“Four times. Twice for recruitment and twice for reconnaissance.”
“Tell me more about your contact.”
“His name is Cassiano Silva. Brazilian by birth, raised in the Catholic faith. He converted to Islam six years ago. He is one of the faithful, of that I’m sure, and he’s never failed to provide what I’ve asked of him.”
“Tariq tells me your recruitment of him was nicely done.”
“Western intelligence calls it a ‘false flag.’ He believes I’m with Kuwait’s intelligence service, with connections to OPEC’s Market Analysis Division. I thought he would find the idea of industrial espionage more . . . palatable.”
“I’m impressed, Ibrahim,” the Emir said, meaning it. “You’ve shown good instincts.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And your plan . . . you’re confident it is feasible?”
“I am, but I’d like to remain cautious until I am on the ground. On the surface, all the parts fit together nicely.”
So he’d let Ibrahim go forward with his plan and know it would be the first domino in a series, at the end of which awaited a truly world-changing event. But that was in the future—not far in the future but far enough that focusing on it to the exclusion of the smaller pieces could harm the whole.
“How many casualties do you expect?” the Emir asked.
“That is impossible to say at this time. Hundreds, perhaps. As you said, though, those numbers are largely irrelevant.”
“True, but dead bodies on television have a fearsome effect, which is something that will work to our benefit later. How long will your final reconnaissance take?”
“Five to six days.”
“And after that?”
“Forty-eight to seventy-two hours to the event itself.”
The Emir brought his mental calendar to the forefront of his mind. Juggling more than one operation as he was, he would have to hold off on final approval until they heard back from the Russian teams at least. The other pieces in Dubai and Dakar were in place and standing by. The cornerstone, of course, their lovely Tatar girl, could be hurried only so much. Tariq was confident she was moving at an appropriate pace, and that would have to do for now, but in the back of his mind he had to consider alternatives should she fail. Still, they had to be ready to step in. A dangerous gambit, that. They might be able to disguise their actions or put in place some delaying tactics, but violence—especially the kind of violence that would likely be required—would without a doubt draw the attention of the authorities.
If such action became necessary, could they stay far enough ahead of the authorities to complete Lotus?
“You have final approval,” the Emir said.
Their hunch that the Emir was in all likelihood already in the United States, hiding somewhere between the Dakotas and California, was quickly followed by the realization that there was little they could do to confirm the hypothesis. True, they knew Shasif Hadi, flying under the alias Joel Klein, had been headed for Las Vegas when they lost his trail, but that meant nothing. The Klein passport hadn’t subsequently shown up in the system, which could mean he went no farther than Las Vegas, or it could mean he’d simply followed the rules of tradecraft and dumped Klein for yet another alias. Jack’s peel-back of Hadi’s activities had shown a lot of travel to the Persian Gulf states, Western Europe, and South America—which would necessitate a number