She was right. The Middle East was definitely where the fight was. He was also glad to hear her say that she truly enjoyed her work. The war on terror had exacted a heavy toll. In addition to those who had been killed or wounded, it had destroyed marriages and broken families both in the military and in the intelligence community. It was just wave after wave that never relented. There was only so much people could handle.
Harvath, though, had yet to reach his breaking point. He enjoyed his work, too, and Levy’s comment reminded him of the wooden sign that hung near his front door at home. The property had once belonged to the Anglican Church. In the attic he had discovered an old wooden sign engraved with the motto of their missionaries—TRANSIENS ADIUVANOS. I go overseas to give help. It was strangely fitting for the career he had chosen for himself.
Levy drove them to a squat, sand-colored building on the base that the CIA used for planning and operations. Its narrow windows were covered with reflective film meant to keep out the sun and also mitigate blast damage should a potential bomber ever get inside the wire.
“We sweep it daily,” she said as she pulled into a parking spot marked by two sun-bleached stripes. “My team just went over it forty-five minutes ago. It’s clean.”
Harvath grabbed the bag out of the back and followed Levy inside.
She led him to a midsized conference room lined with maps of the UAE and other countries in the region. A large flat-screen monitor hung on the wall at the front of the room. Waiting for them were three other CIA operatives.
Harvath wasn’t thrilled with the welcoming party. He had asked Ryan to keep his arrival off the books. All he wanted were the items he had requested and any additional intelligence they had available. After that he preferred to be on his own.
After the introductions had been made, one of the operatives, a man named Cowles, pointed to the back table and said, “We’ve got coffee, water, and sandwiches. Whatever you want.”
Harvath nodded and helped himself to a bottle of water and what looked like a turkey sandwich before grabbing a seat at the nicked-up conference table.
As Cowles worked on hooking up his laptop to the flat-screen, Levy removed a small cell phone and a black U.S. diplomatic passport and slid them across the table. “The phone has been programmed with several numbers listed as belonging to our embassy in Abu Dhabi or the Consul General’s office in Dubai. All of them will be answered by Agency personnel if dialed. The number listed for the economic advisor’s office rings to my cell.
“Now, the passport we created for you should succeed at shooing away any local law enforcement flies, but the higher up the chain you go, the less chance it’ll hold water. Hopefully you won’t need it, but if you do, be careful how you use it.”
Harvath flipped it open. The Carlton Group had provided the Agency with one of his recent photos. He familiarized himself with the name, date of birth, and country stamps, then scrolled through the numbers on the cell phone and nodded. Levy signaled for the lights to be turned out.
After firing up their PowerPoint presentation, Cowles handed her the remote and she narrated. “I know Deputy DCI Ryan gave you a partial briefing, but we’ve been able to gather some more details since then. We only have a handful of photos of Khuram Pervez Hanjour, none of which, as you can see, are terribly good.” She cycled through them slowly, stopping when she reached a photo of an obviously different man.
“This is twenty-six-year-old Najam Fahad,” Levy narrated. “Fahad is the Hawaladar being held by the Emiratis. He has identified Hanjour as one of his clients. The NSA has also just confirmed phone calls between Fahad and Ahmad Yaqub’s Hawaladar in Karachi. At this point, we’re operating with an 80 percent certainty that we’ve got the right Khuram Hanjour, so everything is a go.”
Good, Harvath thought. “What else?”
Levy moved to the next slide in her presentation. It was a satellite photo. “Hanjour is known to frequent the historic district west of Dubai creek, known as Bur Dubai. It has several mosques,” she continued, advancing through her slides. “Including the Grand and Iranian mosques.
“It has a lot of shopping streets, outdoor souks, cafés, and restaurants, which makes it popular with tourists. Fahad says