Act of War - Brad Thor Page 0,56
under CIA with DoD support. The Gold Dust op is DoD with CIA support. Everything in the United States is FBI and is being overseen by the Director of National Intelligence and coordinated out of the National Counter Terrorism Center.”
“Where are they in hunting the six engineering students down?”
“From what I understand, they haven’t reached out to state and local law enforcement because they don’t want it leaked to the press. They’re afraid that could accelerate the attack.”
“Has anyone ID’d the mosque these guys might have attended while they were in Houston?”
“The FBI is working on it,” said Carlton, “but they haven’t found one.”
“Do we know how pious they actually were? Did they frequent strip clubs? Did they drink alcohol? Did they drink alcohol at a strip club and say something to one of the strippers that could be useful?”
“Once again, that’d be the FBI. This is priority number one for them. They’ve been pulling agents from across the country and sending them down to Houston to conduct interviews.”
“You and I both know that interviews may not be enough,” said Harvath.
The Old Man nodded. “The President knows that, too.”
“What’s he prepared to do?”
“On the record? Everything that is necessary to prevent this attack from happening.”
“And off the record?” Harvath asked.
“Off the record, he actually means it. Which means he’s ready to use us.”
“What about Sloane and Chase? Where are they?”
“On their way back from Karachi,” said Carlton. “They’ll be in tonight.”
“And then what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to pray.”
“Pray for what?” said Harvath.
The Old Man took a long drink of beer. “We’re going to pray that we catch a break. A big one.”
• • •
They finished their beers in silence and then Harvath walked the Old Man back out to his SUV.
“I can’t help but feel there’s something we may be missing here,” said Carlton.
Harvath smiled. “You always feel that way.”
“So do you,” he replied.
“That’s only because paranoia is highly infectious.”
This time, it was the Old Man who smiled. “If this was your operation, if you were running cells here with six engineering students out of the UAE, what would be your biggest concern? What would be the thing that kept you up at night?”
Harvath thought about the question for a minute before answering. “Usually, it’s the little things that screw it all up. Most people lack discipline and because of that, they lose focus.”
“You don’t think engineering students have discipline?”
He shook his head. “I would imagine they do, but my concern would be their motivation. Why are they doing this? The control files we get off Hanjour’s computer will tell us for sure, but I’m willing to bet this is all about money for them. This isn’t about Islamic ideology.”
“There were some pretty sharp, pretty well-educated guys among the 9/11 hijackers,” said Carlton.
“But that was a martyrdom operation. They were recruited because of their ideology. Our engineering students were recruited because of their backgrounds.”
“Okay, so if you were their handler, what would be the one thing you would worry most about them doing that could blow the operation?”
Harvath let the question percolate for a moment and then replied, “I think I may have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Come back inside and I’ll show you.”
CHAPTER 25
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* * *
LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
When Tai Cheng traveled to the United States, he preferred American Airlines. Their flight crews weren’t as professional as the Asian or European carriers; they were too informal, too chummy, but he always developed excellent American contacts while flying in their first class. They tended to be men and women of means with wide circles of acquaintance. It was a boon for a Chinese intelligence operative always looking for ways to expand his human network. Being subjected to American English for the interminably long flight also helped get his mind in the game.
He was entering the country as he always did, as a Chinese entrepreneur named Bao Deng, traveling on a legitimate American green card issued by the United States government. It was his golden ticket. Never once was he detained, hassled, or given a second look.
The American green card had cost him, or more appropriately had cost the Second Department, only five hundred thousand dollars. Posing as a wealthy Chinese businessman, he had invested in a poultry-processing plant in rural Nebraska. That was all it had taken. In exchange for the investment, plus lawyers’ fees and a little paperwork, his Bao Deng identity had been granted a green card and permanent resident status.
The only thing the