Three Weeks in Washington, page 18
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
“Is it too cold in here for you?” Mitchell asked. He walked over to a thermostat on the wall and adjusted the temperature. “That should warm things up.”
After delivering the pre-arranged signal telling me Wylie had sent him the photographs of Marwan’s wife and daughter, Mitchell returned to his seat.
“Let’s move on to another topic,” I said. “Tell me about Hezbollah’s plans to use chemical weapons on Washington, D.C.”
Marwan shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.”
I nodded at Mitchell, who walked over and handed me the iPad.
Marwan tried to get a look at the tablet, but, for the moment, I kept the display hidden from him.
When I glanced down at the screen, I decided Wylie deserved a great big Texas-sized star for the photos he’d sent me.
* * * *
There were five photographs in all. Three of them had been taken from inside some kind of pastry shop, or maybe, as Mitchell had suggested, it was an internet café.
The shots had been cleverly staged so there could be little doubt as to what day it was or where the pictures were taken, because, in one corner of the café, someone was reading El Universal, the most widely read daily newspaper in Caracas.
The front page of the paper was clearly displayed, and the headline screamed about a strike by postal workers and the president’s decision to intervene.
In all three of the indoor shots, Yamina and Samira Farage were seated at the table next to the person holding the newspaper.
In the first photograph, Samira was looking at her cell phone, while Yamina was staring off in the distance. The second shot showed two men standing next to them. While the ladies appeared to be oblivious to anyone around them, one of the men was looking down at Samira with a smarmy grin on his face, while the other one was staring straight at the camera.
The next shot was of a waiter bringing the ladies their order. The camera had caught him at the moment he was about to set a plate of food in front of Yamina. She was looking at the plate, but he was looking at the camera. The smile on his face was enough to make any husband uncomfortable.
The last two photos were taken outside. The photographer, who I presumed was Buck, had snapped a photo showing the back of Yamina and Samira as they walked down the street. It appeared Buck was walking directly behind them. The last picture showed the ladies entering a building. Opening the door for them was one of the men from the pastry shop, the one with the smarmy grin.
* * * *
I closed the iPad and looked up at Marwan.
“I’ll ask you the question again. This time I expect an answer. Tell me how Hezbollah plans to use the chemical weapons on Washington.”
Marwan nervously rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I don’t know about the chemical weapons, and I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“Tell me something you do know then. Tell me about your family.”
He told me about his son who’d been a soldier in the Syrian army, but who’d recently been killed in the battle for Al-Hadar.
After explaining what a good solider Arshad was, Marwan went on to describe his daughter in equally glowing terms. He ended his description by saying, “My wife and daughter are living in Beirut now.”
“If that’s true,” I said, pushing the iPad toward him, “then how do you explain these photographs?”
Chapter 25
Marwan went through the five photographs quickly, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he swiped through them from side to side. Once that was done, he returned to the first one and lingered over it, studying it for several seconds. He did the same with the other four.
Finally, he pushed the iPad away and bowed his head.
“Don’t harm them,” he murmured. “They don’t know anything.”
When I handed the iPad back to Mitchell, I said, “Tell our friends in Caracas to hold off for now ...” I waited a beat and then I added, “But keep them on standby.”
Marwan raised his head and watched Mitchell silently pecking away on the screen’s keyboard, pretending to send a message to the photographer and his friends.
When Mitchell stopped typing, Marwan looked over at me.
There was no mistaking the anger in his voice. “Ask me your questions.”
Instead of beginning with the important stuff, I started off by questioning him about his wife and daughter. My intention was to dissipate some of that anger with inconsequential matters before bringing up what I really cared about, namely, Hezbollah’s secrets.
“Why are your wife and daughter in Caracas?”
He stared at me defiantly for a second or two, but then he said, “They’re waiting for me to return from Buenos Aires. I told them I had some business to take care of here, and I’d return in two days.”
“You’re not answering my question, Marwan. Why are they in Caracas in the first place? What is the purpose of your trip to Venezuela?”
When he didn’t answer me immediately, I glanced over at Mitchell as if I were about to give him some instructions.
Marwan quickly spoke up, “I wanted to keep them safe. I didn’t want them to die like Arshad.”
“Your son was killed in battle.”
He nodded. “Yes, but ISIS is bringing the battlefield to the whole Middle East now. Damascus may fall to ISIS soon, and when that happens, Lebanon will be next. Just last week an ISIS suicide bomber killed over forty people in southern Beirut. There’s no doubt my wife and daughter are safer on this side of the world.”
“Why Caracas?”
“On the same day I learned Roberto was living in Buenos Aires, Rehman Zaidi told me about a teacher at the Islamic school in Caracas who wanted to sublease his apartment. I saw that as a sign from Allah I should take them to Caracas.”
“Does anyone besides your wife and daughter know you’re in Buenos Aires?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming after Roberto.”
“When were you planning to return to Damascus?”
“When?” He hesitated and looked away. “In ... ah ... one week. I’m due back in Damascus next week.”
His faltering answer, plus the return of his twitching thumb, made me wonder. “What’s happening next week?”
He ignored me and looked over at Mitchell for a moment.
“I’m a member of Naballah’s security council. He’s called a meeting for next week.”
“Will General Suleiman be attending that meeting?”
He quickly jerked his head around. “Why are you asking me all these questions if you already know the answers?”
“Answer me. Will the general be attending that meeting?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s when the security council meets with General Suleiman. Naballah has announced the meeting for July 4th.”
That date gave me pause.
“I’m assuming you know the significance of that date?”
He gave a short laugh. “Of course. July 4th is America’s Independence Day.”
“Is that when the general will give Naballah the schedule for the attack on Washington?”
“That’s correct.”
“Tell me about the delivery system for the chemicals. What method will be used to disperse the gas?”
“I told you before. I don’t know. Only Naballah knows that information.”
He’d denied it twice now, so I was beginning to believe him.
I veered off in another direction.
“What’s your role on the council?”
“I’m an adviser for Hezbollah’s interests in Latin America.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Marwan.”
He wiped the moisture from off his upper lip. “Hezbollah has certain agreements with the cartels in Mexico and with the FARC organization in Colombia. I advise Hezbollah on those agreements.”
“By agreements do you mean weapons? Are these arms agreements?”
He nodded. “We supply them with weapons and training.”
That information wasn’t new. The Agency was aware of such agreements, and the Israelis had a meticulous method in place for tracking all of Hezbollah’s weapons deliveries. More often than not, they shared that information with their American counterpart.
His explanation, though, sparked across the synapses in my brain and triggered my next question.
“Do you always attend the council meetings called by Naballah?”
“Not all of them. I’m only invited when Naballah wants advice on how to deal with the cartels or when he’s negotiating a weapons package.”
“What advice does Naballah need from you when he meets with General Suleiman?”
“I wasn’t given that information ...” he paused and glanced at his surroundings, “... but since it’s obvious I won’t be at that meeting now, it hardly matters, does it?”
Was that true? Did it matter?
I suddenly realized it mattered a great deal.
* * * *
I paraphrased some previous questions and dug further into Marwan’s background. Then, just when I returned to the question of the chemical weapons, Vasco stuck his head in the door and said he needed to see me.
I called Otis into the room to keep an eye on Marwan, and Mitchell and I followed Vasco across the hall to 301-B. Once inside, he waved a document in my face.
“I’ve just received a directive from the DDO telling me to arrange transport for Marwan to Gitmo.”
“You pulled me out of the interrogation session to tell me this?”
“I needed to—”
“Look, Ken, you can drag your feet, wait a couple of days, and then—”
“The DDO alerted me about the transfer yesterday, so I went ahead and chartered a flight. It leaves in two hours.”
He gestured over at Juliana, who was still seated in front of the monitoring equipment. “I’ve already had Juliana inform the DDO to expect Marwan at Gitmo by five o’clock this evening, and I’m not about to tell him I’ve decided to change those plans.”
Mitchell grinned. “It’s never a good idea to break your word to Robert Ira. Your career may never be the same if you do.”
Vasco slapped him on the back. “Exactly. He appreciates a man who keeps his word.”
Although I was angry at the way Vasco had maneuvered things around just to make himself look good in the DDO’s eyes, I was determined not to let his behavior get to me. A few months ago, I would have lost my temper and lashed out at him, but, ever since Tehran, I’d found it a little easier to control myself.
I turned my back on Vasco and walked across the room to speak to Juliana. “Send the audio feed of Marwan’s interrogation to the Ops Center immediately and then alert Douglas Carlton about the transfer of Marwan to Gitmo.”
“The audio’s almost ready to go. As soon as I get it downloaded, I’ll inform Mr. Carlton.”
I leaned down, as if I were trying to get a closer look at the monitor, and whispered in her ear. “I’m going back inside the interrogation room now, but don’t record my final conversation with Marwan. I’d prefer it be kept off the record.”
She nodded. “Understood.”
When I straightened up again, I waved at Vasco and said, “I’m going across the hall to tell Marwan he’s about to take a little trip.”
Mitchell motioned toward the door. “You want me in there?”
“No, this won’t take but a minute.”
* * * *
Marwan was staring down at his hands when I entered the room, and, when he looked up, I actually thought he seemed relieved to see me. Once I’d dismissed Otis, he appeared to relax even more.
I decided to speak to him in Arabic, just in case Vasco and Mitchell were monitoring my conversation.
“Do you trust me, Marwan?”
He looked amused.
I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d switched over to Arabic, or if it was because of my question.
“Not really, but what choice do I have?”
“You actually have two choices. You can choose to believe me when I say I’m going to make it possible for you to see your family again, or you can choose to believe everyone else who will tell you you’ll never see your family again.”
He stared at me. “Is this some kind of test?”
“No, it’s not a test. You remember earlier when I mentioned an alternative? Instead of being subjected to the kind of treatment that went on at Abu Ghraib, in a few hours, you’ll be transferred to our military prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. We call the place Gitmo. I assume you’ve heard of it.”
“Yes, of course.”
“If you agree to cooperate with me, then your stay there will be very short.”
“By cooperate do you mean answer your questions?”
“No, I won’t be asking the questions at Gitmo. However, within a few days, a Mr. Chessman will show up to interrogate you. When he does, you should tell him you’re willing to go to work for us. In exchange, we’ll—”
“You mean go to work for the CIA?”
“In exchange, we’ll agree not to harm your wife and daughter. But, even more than that, we’ll promise to do everything we can to keep them safe.”
He was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, he sounded subdued. “Are you saying if I act as your spy, my family will be safe, and you’ll let me go?”
I nodded. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but, yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
He closed his eyes as if he might be praying. I doubted that was the case. More than likely, he was thinking about how to use my proposal to his advantage.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and said, “Traitors are beheaded in Syria. I’m sure you know that.”
“I’ll be around to make sure that won’t happen to you.”
“How soon will I be able to talk to my wife and daughter?”
“Once you’ve agreed to return to Damascus as my asset, then I’ll see what I can work out about your wife and daughter.”
“You want me to attend the meeting with General Suleiman, don’t you?”
“That’s right. But don’t worry. We’ll work out all the details, and your risk will be minimal.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I want to know those details before I make such a commitment.”
“You’re in no position to negotiate with me, Marwan. If you want to see your wife and daughter again, then you’ll agree to cooperate with us. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
In the end, he took the deal.
Now, all I had to do was convince Carlton and the DDO to make the deal and let me go to Damascus and run Marwan as my asset.
How hard could that be?
* * * *
Vasco left the Bub’s Subs executive office suite with Marwan an hour later, and Mitchell and I rode with Juliana back over to our hotel.
As she pulled up to the front of the hotel, Mitchell asked her if she’d have dinner with us in The Red Room, one of the hotel’s restaurants.
She accepted his invitation immediately, but, since I was waiting for a phone call from Carlton, I told the two of them to go ahead without me.
Mitchell didn’t try to convince me to join them.
The moment he walked over to the concierge’s desk to see about getting them a table, I pulled Juliana aside.
“Mitchell and I will be heading out of here in a few hours, so this may be my last chance to say thanks for all your help.”
“I should be thanking you instead.”
“Why? Because I gave Ken a reason to fire you today or because Ben educated you on Sam Houston?”
She laughed, “Because you made me realize I’ve been missing the rush. I’m sure you know what I mean. It’s that feeling you get when you’re playing a game of cat and mouse with the bad guys.”
I nodded. “Or in some cases, the good guys.”
“Unfortunately, that’s also true.”
“Does this mean you’ve been reconsidering your love affair with having a routine?”
She nodded. “I think it might be time for me to apply for a change in status.”
Mitchell walked up and announced the maître d’ had a table ready for them.
Before they left, I said to Juliana, “You should do it. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“Regret what?” Mitchell asked.
“Regret not asking you to recite more of Sam Houston’s funny sayings. Juliana was just asking me if I thought you’d mind telling her more about the great man.”
Mitchell smiled, “Are you kidding me? I’d love to do that.”
I ignored Juliana’s dirty look and headed for the elevator.
* * * *
A few minutes after I entered my suite on the fifth floor, Carlton called me.
“Are you clear?”
“Clear.”
“Preliminary voice analysis of the interrogation tape indicates Marwan was telling the truth.”
“Even when he talked about the delivery system for the chemicals?”
“Yes, even then. I’m convinced he doesn’t know how they’re planning to disperse the sarin.”
I asked, “Has Keever been able to locate his asset in Damascus yet?”
“Unfortunately, we’ve just received confirmation the asset’s been killed. We’re flying blind now, but at least Marwan gave us a date when General Suleiman will meet with Naballah to go over the details of the operation.”
“I have a proposal, Douglas. It’s a bit risky, but—”
“Once you get back to Langley, we’ll discuss where we go from here. Right now, I’m about to walk into a briefing with C.J. Salazar about the arrival of those ships in Santiago de Cuba in a few days. C.J. is running the show, but since those ships are carrying some of Syria’s chemical weapons, the DDO wants me to sit in on the meeting.”
“Who’s been assigned to work surveillance on the warehouse?”
“You know I’m not about to tell you that.”
“I just thought if you needed an extra body, you might consider one of Ken Vasco’s operatives. Her name is Juliana Lamar, and she’s been running surveillance for Ken. Before she came to the Agency, she worked Narcotics in the San Francisco Police Department. That is sure to impress Cartel Carlos.”
