Authors: Mark Young
“Maybe.” Willy’s tone implied doubt. “But that guy has been hiding all his life. We just found out his real name after all those years he worked in D.C., hobnobbing with the rich and famous. He knows how to disappear when he wants to and still keep in touch with his people.”
“What have you turned up? Before I get any older.”
“It’s more about what I don’t have than what I do have.”
“Willy, help me understand what is going through that brain of yours.”
“Well, thanks to Frank’s computer connections, I picked up a series of calls coming from Tehran—Brandimir’s phone and later Hassan’s phone—to D.C., another lobbyist group that they tell me is a front for the Muslim Brotherhood—United International Brotherhood, LLC, operating here in Washington.”
“Never heard of ‘em. And how does this lobby group tie into what we’re working on?” This may be a glimpse into one of those cells. Beck cradled his forehead in the palm of his left hand. He felt a headache coming on. “Wait a minute. You mentioned he made several phone call? Where?”
“Well, the number from Tehran was one Brandimir used when he operated overseas. His call from Tehran to this group in D.C. got me interested. I put a trace on that phone—tracking all calls coming and going—and I got a slew of interesting phone numbers. Some from the White House, some from DHS and even your agency—the FBI.”
Beck dropped his hand. “You mean calls from my headquarters to a front for the Muslim Brotherhood?”
“I thought that might interest you, Mr. B. Did a check on the lobbyist group and found out they represent a number of Arab organizations. Public relations—particularly contacts with the media—are among the services they provide to their clients.”
“That would account for the number of calls to the White House and other federal agencies. The government is very sensitive to Arab issues since 9/11, trying to steer negative public opinion away from mainstream Muslims and focusing on identifying fanatical groups.”
“Normally I’d agree with you, Mr. B., but I did a timeline of these calls, matching them to known numbers we suspect our targets have been using, and came up with some troubling groupings.”
“What do you mean
groupings
?”
“I took each incident of significance to our group—for example, Colonel Thompson’s arrival in Tel Aviv, Gerrit and crew landing in Dubai just before Alena almost bought it at the hotel, and the president’s talk with the Israeli prime minister about the trip he planned. I spotted a troubling pattern of phone calls after or leading up to each of these events.”
“Give me an example, Willy. Wait a minute.” Beck walked to his office door. He glanced out in the hallway before shutting the door. This was probably futile. If they could bug the Oval Office, he knew they could plant listening devices in his office. But he just couldn’t help trying to make it harder for them to eavesdrop. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Let’s take the call between President Chambers and Prime Minister Shalev. I zeroed in on the time that call was made and then ran all the numbers through a matrix I created. I saw a call from the White House—don’t even try to track it, it’s a general number no one monitors—to one of Brandimir’s numbers in Venice. After that call, a caller I assume was Brandimir makes two calls—one to Atash Hassan in Tehran; another to Ivan Yegorov in Moscow.”
“You sure about this, Willy?” Beck’s hands felt clammy. “We have to be absolutely positive.”
“I am 100 percent sure, Mr. B. The freaking Iranians and Russians knew about the president’s trip to Israel before we did—based on these sequence of calls. How about those apples? And I’m not finished. Hear me out.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“Hassan makes two calls—a call to our Syrian intel guy, Raed al-Azmah; and right after that, he makes a call to another phone that pinged from the intentional airport in Dubai. Now, I thought the call to Dubai was a dead end because the cell phone was a burn phone. However, the guy has kept that phone for several weeks instead of ditching it. So, I ran the cell history through a number of servers and found out that the phone was used while the owner passed through Dulles airport.”
Beck tightened the grip on his phone. “Right here in the capital?”
“I used the time of call and location to search the surveillance tapes at Dulles and got a photo of everyone using cell phones at that exact time. I weeded out all those who don’t fit the profile and narrowed my search to only one caller.”
“Outstanding, Willy. Send me that photo.”
“Already done, Mr. B. Check your e-mail.” Willy sounded pleased with himself. “I was able to tap into that particular phone server’s history and check all outgoing calls for the phone at the same time he arrived in Washington. Guess who the caller dialed while he was here in the capital?”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Willy.” All this information had given Beck a raging headache. “Just spit it out.”
“The caller contacted someone at the United International Brotherhood, LLC. Can you believe it? We’ve gone full circle.”
Beck closed his eyes, trying to keep the light to a minimum in hopes of controlling his throbbing head. It was not working. “This is all speculation, Willy, but I can see a connection, even if we don’t know what was said.”
“That’s just it.” Excitement rose in Willy’s voice. “The timeline, based on the phone call between the president and the prime minister, sets off a chain reaction of calls: Iranians, Syrians, Russians, and a front group right here in the capital for the Muslim Brotherhood.”
Beck leaned back, resting his head on his headrest. “Let me think this through. So…each of these incidents, these groups as you called them, all have similar patterns.”
“Exactly, G-man. It’s like a little phone tree.” Suddenly, Willy’s voice sounded somber. “I took it hard when Alena almost got herself killed in Dubai—her and Mr. G., so I ran the same check through my matrix. Guess what I found out?”
Beck just waited for Willy to continue. He did not have to wait long.
“I’m guessing that just before Gerrit and the others flew out to Dubai, Frank ran it past the president, telling him in general what the plan was and who might be going. After all, Frank is working directly with the Big Guy, so…”
“I get the picture. Just boil it down for me.”
“I need Frank to pin down the exact time he had that conversation with the president, but right after that—and before Gerrit and everybody went overseas—that same phone tree of callers started up again. They continued right through the attack in the hotel.”
Beck remained silent, trying to piece everything together.
“And get this, Mr. B. This guy who I sent you a photo of and Hassan landed in Dubai at about the same time. This unknown caller hooked up with the Iranian at the same time bullets started flying at Alena’s hotel.”
Beck yelled out a string of profanities.
“Mr. B. That’s the first time I ever heard you swear.”
Beck tried to control his emotions, a dull beat pounding inside his skull like a kettledrum. “This tells me they know our people are already in Damascus and they know who we’re looking for.”
“That’s what I’m afraid happened. Our people are walking into a trap.”
“Thanks, Willy. Look, I have to get off the line. Need to let Frank know that we have a major screwup.This just confirms what Frank already feared—we have a problem coming from the White House.”
He killed the connection and began dialing. He hoped it was not too late to pull them out of Syria.
March 5
Tel Aviv, Israel
C
olonel Marc Perlman heard the knock on the door and glanced up to see Jack Thompson standing there, escort standing a few feet behind. “Jack, come on in. I hear you have some urgent news?”
“I’m afraid so, Marc.” Jack looked over his shoulder briefly and then turned toward his friend.
“Shut the door and grab a seat.” Marc motioned for the escort to return to his duties.
Jack sat down, but he stayed at the edge of his seat, as if he refused to be comfortable. The news must be bad.
“What is it, Jack? About our friends in Damascus?”
Nodding, he leaned forward. “I believe Hassan and Raed al-Azmah know that our people landed in Syria. They may even know about the objective.”
“Is your president aware of the situation?”
“Not yet,” Jack said. “Frank Collord is handling that end, but that is only one part of the problem. There might be a leak in the White House.”
Marc tried not to show his surprise. By Jack’s expression, he had not succeeded. “How bad?”
Jack brought Marc up-to-date on what Beck and Willy found out, including the wiretaps that Beck alerted Secret Service about. “This is why I hate sharing ongoing military operations with politicians. They can never keep their mouths shut.”
“You don’t think Chambers is the leak, do you?”
“Heck no. But someone is using information from the wire taps to alert Hassan and the others. We still have not been able to plug that leak yet.”
Marc steepled his hands, resting his chin on clasped fingertips. “We need to bring the prime minister in on this.”
Jack nodded and waited for Marc to make the connections. A few minutes later, Prime Minister Shalev was on the phone. Marc made the introductions and gave the prime minister all the information Jack shared. “Sir, here is the big question we face—do we pull our people out right now?”
“Do we know their status, and what they have found out so far?”
“Yes, sir. Max Salk reported in and advised they located the American scientist in the Old City part of Damascus. They have eyes on the place right now, and they are trying to get ears into that place. Based upon where they found the scientist and the nature of the aircraft assigned to the 29th Brigade at the military ramp at Damascus International, they believe the Syrians intend to launch an An-26 from that location and head straight for our airspace with the new technology supplied by the Iranians and Russians.”
“Do we know if they will come at us with aircraft or missiles?”
Marc glanced at Jack before answering. “We just don’t know, sir. I would assume they will use both once our air-defense system goes blind.”
Both men waited for the prime minister to respond. “Colonel Thompson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I am going to share this information with you. And you may share it with President Chambers when you can determine the leak has been taken care of—or you can figure out some other way of getting the information to him. Agreed?”
Jack glanced at Marc. “Yes, sir. I promise you that it will be taken care of.”
“Good,” Shalev said. “Unfortunately, it is too late to pull our people out. It is critically important that they be in place to help us deal with the threat as soon as we know the exact targets. I know that their lives may be in danger, but it has not been the first time our men from Sayeret Mat’kal have found themselves in a tight spot. And it won’t be the last—if they survive this. We need the targets identified, as well as those responsible for carrying out the attack.”
“I understand, sir.” Jack took a deep breath.
“I can’t speak for the Americans, Colonel, but my people are going to stay until this mission is complete.”
Jack grimaced. “I doubt I could get my people out of there if they know yours are staying behind.”
“Good,” Shalev said. “Let Marc know of any developments.” The prime minister hesitated. “Colonel, one last thing. Tell President Chambers I will try to hold off for as long as possible. But unless we can determine the exact target date, I have to assume that they are about to strike. Once I believe the danger is too great, I will launch—with or without President Chambers’ blessing. I pray that it does not come to this.”
The line disconnected. The prime minister’s last words seemed to linger in the air. He watched Jack thinking about the consequences of Shalev’s statement. He was surprised the prime mister revealed his intentions to the Americans.
Finally, Marc broke the quiet. “Well, we need to get word to our people of the threat and pray that God will keep them safe.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not much of a bible thumper, Marc, but I’ve been in battle when the only salvation seemed to come from the Almighty. I guess we just have to trust the Man upstairs knows what He’s doing.”
Marc smiled. “Jack, I never knew you were on a first-name basis with
Yahweh,
the Almighty God.”
Jack shrugged and stood. “I can’t speak for God, my friend. I just make sure that if He gives me some marching orders, I carry them out to the best of my ability. The rest is out of my hands.”
Marc nodded and stood. “I would imagine you need a safe place to call your people. I will have you escorted to our secured comm center. Shalom, my friend.”
“Shalom.” Jack took his Marc’s extended hand. “Thanks for riding shotgun on this operation. Let’s see if we can complete this mission and bring our people home safely.” Jack wheeled around and opened the door, then disappeared.
“May God have mercy on us.”
March 5
Damascus, Syria
G
errit scratched his arm where Max had inserted the microchip. The incision, almost healed, felt itchy and he fought a desire to scratch. He stood near the window, across the street from Scott Henderson’s place. “I guess Max’s whole team also had these things embedded. Now, Frank and the others can watch our every movement from the big eye in the sky.”
Alena shivered. “You were the one who encouraged us to do this. I hate the idea, Gerrit. We spent all this time trying to shake loose from the government’s ability to track us down. And now, we’ve got microchips under our skin so they can watch our every move.”
“Just like end times where everyone must wear the mark of the beast,” Shakeela said, from across the room.
Alena’s eyes widened. “You’ve read about that?”
Shakeela nodded. “In my business, I took a real interest in the book of Revelation and all the biblical passages about the end times. I want to know what believers will be facing.”
“Are you a…Christian?” Alena look looked confused. “I thought—”
“I understand.” Shakeela smiled. “As I told Gerrit, I’m one of those most hated by Muslims—an apostate, one who turned away from their faith. Which is why I am so interested in end-times prophecy. As I keep watching world events unfold, I can see where everything seems to fit.”