He apparently found he likes the life, living on board with a plentiful supply of young ladies who are anxious to sail on a luxury yacht. He moves up and down the coast as the mood moves him. Up until fairly recently he was parked in Florida.”
“I believe the term is berthed,” Jake injected.
“Florida,” Laney mused. “Not the same marina as our suspicious friend Masud ibn Tahir al-Baghdadi?”
“Bingo,” Carlson said with a smile.
“Does this Toby Widner have a criminal record?” Jake asked.
“Nothing important,” Carlson said. “He has been cited for the use of pot a couple of times, and several overly loud parties on his yacht. Nothing else.”
“You said that the agents who followed the visitor couldn’t tell what it was about?” Laney asked.
“That’s right. Apparently a young man, we are still trying to discover who he is from the photos taken, visited the yacht for a brief time. He carried nothing in or out that could be seen, so if he was passing or collecting something it was small enough that it could easily be concealed in his person. The suspicions of the watchers is he carried a message of some sort.”
“Laney and I need to go back down there,” Jake suggested.
Carlson nodded. “I figured you might feel that way. One of the agents did some checking yesterday after I spoke with him. There is an empty parking slot, a berth,” she corrected looking at Jake, “that is only a short distance from where the East Wind is located. According to our agent, it has a reasonably good view of the East Wind. I had him rent it. We have apparently located a boat in the area we can use and have a couple of FBI agents who are familiar with sailing who will pretend to be the owners. It is a much smaller craft, something just over forty foot, but it should allow them to watch without attracting so much attention.”
“When will this boat of yours be in place?” Jake asked.
“It should be in the marina by the time you and Laney can drive down there.”
“You are moving pretty quick given we aren’t certain this Widner is involved,” Laney noted.
“I’ve come to know Jake fairly well,” Carlson said. “Something in his voice when I told him about the marina yesterday told me this was important. I think if it had been a false lead, he’d have said something at the time.”
Jake nodded his respect. “The last time around we took too much time. I had to back-track so we could get something going in time to be there at the right time. I’m impressed,” he said.
“I appreciate that,” Carlson said, “but reassure me. Are we really on track to stop these people on time?”
Jake and Laney had stayed for the daily meeting. They wanted to be there when Carlson briefed the team on the events in Newport News and hear what else had developed over the past twenty-four hours. There was no hurry getting to the marina. Until the borrowed boat was in place, a couple more agents trying to look inconspicuous weren’t going to help.
After a couple of days of no activity, possibly because of the weekend and not wanting to appear conspicuous as a result, the team at the factory had made an additional installation. The assigned team, including Don Graper, who never looked in Jake’s direction, reported that a half dozen canisters had been carted into various buildings on the Georgetown University campus. The hazardous materials squad was currently in the process of removing the canisters and rendering them harmless, while additional agents had been tasked to check out the remaining buildings at the University, and then to move on to other colleges in the area.
Carlson asked that the Miami office be contacted, and someone checkout whether Toby Widner and Masud ibn Tahir al-Baghdadi were known to be associates. Raul reported no luck in locating the elusive Abdul-Khabir ibn Barir.
When Jake and Laney arrived at the Marine Shores Marina late in the afternoon, they found the berth that Carlson had directed them to occupied by an older, yet still impressive boat. The Lazi Daze was crewed by three FBI agents. Two of the agents were female in their late twenties, currently relaxing on the deck in bikinis, while the supposed owner was a fifty-something year old with graying hair who apparently sailed as a hobby, sometimes crewing on boats of this size. He was currently relaxing with a cold beer.