Three Weeks in Washington, page 34
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
From there, the crates had been transported to a furniture store in Tijuana where they’d traveled underground along an eight-hundred-yard tunnel and ended up in a utility shed in the parking lot of an industrial parts plant in San Diego, California.
In addition to its own elevator, Cabello said the tunnel included an underground rail system, and he gave Naballah a short explanation of how the cartel had been using the passageway to deliver tons of marijuana and cocaine into the States on a daily basis.
After mentioning how they’d smuggled people across the Mexican border through the same tunnel, Cabello added, “You might want to keep that in mind in case you need my specialized services in the future.”
Naballah said, “I’m only interested in where the canisters are right now. Tell me what happened to them once they arrived in San Diego.”
“I was getting to that, Sheikh. They were loaded onto a semi-tractor trailer full of industrial parts bound for Baltimore. Four days from now, your shipment should arrive on the East Coast, and according to my calculations, that date meets your deadline, which I believe was July 8th.”
“That date is correct. Where will my men pick up the shipment when it reaches Baltimore?”
“Like I said before, once I’ve received confirmation you’ve wired the final payment to my bank account in Zurich, I’ll give you a location. It’s not happening before then.”
Naballah said nothing for several seconds, causing Cabello to ask, “Are you still there? Can you hear me, Sheikh?”
Marwan replied, “We’re here. Just one second.”
Naballah removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “If you continue your refusal to give me an approximate location, you won’t see the money in your account on July 8th or any other day.”
“Here’s what you need to know,” Cabello said. “As soon as I receive confirmation from my bank in Zurich, I’ll text Marwan the name of the truck stop on I-95 where the semi will be parked. Along with that location, I’ll give him the vehicle’s license plate number. At that point, you’ll have four hours to arrive at that location and offload the merchandise. Just have your men somewhere south of Baltimore, and there shouldn’t be a problem.”
After Marwan translated Cabello’s instructions, Naballah said, “As long as the truck stop is near Washington, that’s acceptable.”
Cabello said, “Once I’ve heard from Zurich, I’ll send Marwan a text.” He paused a moment. “And now, Sheikh, I believe we’re done here. Adios.”
Cabello might be done, but I figured we were just getting started.
* * * *
Immediately after hanging up the phone, Naballah got up from his desk and walked over to the large picture window. After staring out at the compound for several seconds, he pulled a bottle of chilled water out of an ice bucket.
Tossing the cap aside, he turned around and gestured toward Marwan. “Be back here next Wednesday. Once I’ve wired Franco the rest of the money, we’ll see if he keeps his word and sends you the information.”
“Of course, he’ll keep his word. You can’t doubt that.”
Although Marwan’s curt reply surprised me, I found it understandable.
Since Cabello hadn’t revealed the exact location of the canisters and this was the type of intel we needed, I figured Marwan might be worried about his future.
To make matters worse, Naballah wanted him back at the compound in four days, and he didn’t plan to be anywhere near Naballah’s compound in four days.
“I’m beginning to wonder if Franco is all that trustworthy,” Naballah said.
“There’s nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t keep his word, he knows you’ll come after him. Plus, you won’t use his services in the future. You heard him; he was offering to do business with you again.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
Marwan’s voice had a definite edge to it now, and by the look on Naballah’s face, he could hear it as well.
I heard Carlton’s voice in my earpiece. “What’s he doing?”
“I wish I knew.”
* * * *
Naballah didn’t respond to Marwan’s comment. Instead, he gave his attention to the pastry tray and selected a sweet roll for himself. A few seconds later, Marwan got up out of his chair and joined him.
As the two men faced each other, Naballah asked, “What’s wrong, Marwan?”
“My daughter’s birthday is Wednesday, and I had planned to be in Caracas to celebrate it with her. Now you’re telling me I have to be here.”
“I know how important family is to you, but our service to Allah is much more important than our families. Think about the service you’ll be rendering Allah when we attack our enemy’s capital.”
“I can serve Allah in Caracas as well as I can in Damascus.”
At that moment, I realized Marwan was taking Pike’s advice and stirring up a little drama, trying to make sure he didn’t have to stick around Damascus until Wednesday. I seriously doubted his daughter’s birthday was next week, but even so, I wasn’t sure this outburst would work on the sheikh.
Naballah’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t have to be here on Wednesday. I can get Franco’s text in Caracas as well as I can in this room.”
Naballah took a bite out of his pastry and nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Once Cabello gives me the license number of the truck and where it’s located, I’ll immediately send you that information. I could even call you, if you like.”
Naballah popped the last bite of pastry in his mouth and wiped his hands with his napkin. “You’re right, of course. You should go to Caracas. I’d hate for you to miss Samira’s birthday, especially after the loss you’ve suffered with the death of your son.”
Marwan bowed his head. “Thank you, Hassan.”
“As soon as you send me the information from Franco, I’ll notify the cell in Baltimore where they can pick up the canisters. But if something goes wrong, I’ll expect you to drop everything and contact Franco immediately.”
“Of course.”
When Naballah returned to his desk, Jamal was just getting off his cell phone. “That was General Suleiman’s driver. He’s leaving the hotel now and should be here shortly.”
Naballah looked over at Marwan. “Wait in the foyer with the rest of the council members until I call you. I need to meet with the general before convening the council.”
When Marwan picked up his plastic bag and turned to leave the room, Naballah added, “I’ve never heard you sound so passionate about something, Marwan. Make sure you’re equally as passionate when you assure the general the cartel is reliable, and the canisters will be in Washington when he requires them.”
“I’m prepared to do that.”
The moment Marwan sat down on the wooden bench outside Naballah’s library, Rehman Zaidi stepped off the elevator, and, after clearing security, he sat down on the bench next to him.
One of the purple boxes—the one destined for the general—was still inside Marwan’s plastic bag, and we were able to listen in on the conversation between the two men.
But, since Zaidi only seemed interested in finding out more about the accident Marwan had suffered in the stairwell of his apartment, their chatter yielded nothing in the way of new information.
When Abdul Latif, Naballah’s financial minister, arrived a few minutes later, the three men continued their idle chatter and avoided mentioning their impending meeting with General Suleiman.
Although it appeared no one on the bench was especially eager to meet with the general, I didn’t share those sentiments.
* * * *
As Pike and I continued watching Marwan, we also had our eyes on Monitor #1, which was displaying the drone footage of the black Chevy Suburban transporting the general from the Sheraton over to Naballah’s compound.
The moment the Suburban was a mile away from the compound, we heard Carlton tell Trudy to launch the Grasshopper.
A few seconds later, she said, “Okay, she’s on her way. Activating camera now.”
I suspected identifying the Grasshopper as a female locust was pure conjecture on Trudy’s part, but whether the tiny drone was male or female, it hardly mattered to me.
All that mattered to me was having eyes in the room when the general arrived. I wanted to be able to read Suleiman’s body language and get a feel for the man who was about to launch the attack on Washington.
Although we still had audio in the library, Naballah and Jamal were only discussing his schedule for the rest of the day, so when I heard that, I flipped the mute switch and asked Carlton a question.
“Douglas, you heard Cabello say he knew the Americans were watching the docks in Santiago. Doesn’t this confirm the cartel grabbed Ben?”
“Not necessarily. I think we need to wait and hear the report from the SOF unit on the ground in Santiago before jumping to a conclusion.”
Pike asked, “What about the reference Naballah made to the Hezbollah cell in Baltimore? Have the feds shared any intel with the Agency about its existence?”
Carlton said, “My sources tell me the Bureau is working overtime running down leads on Hezbollah’s activities in the D.C. area following the Navy Yard incident, but I haven’t heard anything about a specific cell.”
I thought about my last conversation with Frank Benson, and the connections he was trying to make between Reyes Valario and Walid Khouri. Was Khouri involved in the Baltimore cell? Was the terrorist group one of Benson’s missing pieces?
I said, “The type of operation required to transport those canisters has to be pretty sophisticated. The logistics alone would seem to indicate some kind of central control in the Washington area.”
Carlton said, “The feds are running down leads on the domestic front. It’s up to us to get answers from here.”
Pike pointed to Monitor #4 showing the general’s arrival at the compound. “Here’s the guy who has all the answers.”
“Let’s hope someone asks him the right questions.”
Chapter 45
When General Alizadeh Suleiman stepped out of the elevator on the second floor of Naballah’s headquarters, the camera on Marwan’s thobe captured the moment.
However, the moment only lasted a few seconds, since the general and his deputy were immediately ushered into Naballah’s library without first having to undergo a security check.
During Operation Torchlight, when I’d lived in Tehran for almost two years, I’d seen Suleiman’s face in the newspapers or on television on a weekly basis. He was a high-ranking member of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and head of the Quds Force, a unit of the IRGC responsible for military operations abroad.
Physically, he wasn’t a very large man, but despite his stature, he had a powerful presence about him. It was the type of self-assurance easily captured on camera and envied by politicians everywhere.
Suleiman was in his late fifties with a full head of black hair and a closely cropped gray beard. His furrowed brow emphasized his brooding, intense demeanor, and his unsmiling face contributed to his reputation of being aloof.
Since taking control of the Quds Force fifteen years ago, Suleiman had reshaped the organization into a powerful clandestine agency and built a network of militant operatives dedicated to the general’s admitted purpose of destroying his most hated enemy, the United States.
Now, unless we were successful in thwarting his plans, he was about to inflict some serious damage on Washington.
As I watched Suleiman enter Naballah’s library, I breathed a quick prayer asking for success in discovering the general’s plans.
I wasn’t greedy, though. I’d be content with a hint or two.
* * * *
Moments before the general walked in the room, the Grasshopper had begun transmitting images from the window outside Naballah’s library. The feed on Monitor #3 indicated Trudy had managed to position the insect at the top of the picture window, giving an optimum view of the entire room.
Unlike the drama employed by Naballah when he’d entered the library, General Suleiman simply opened the door and strolled in. Even so, the raw power exuded by the man commanded immediate attention, and Naballah hurried to his side.
“General Suleiman, welcome to Damascus.”
In traditional Muslim fashion, the two men planted air kisses on each check and greeted one another with “As-salamu Alaykum.”
Roughly translated the phrase meant “Peace be upon you,” which I considered ironic since the men had come together to plan discord.
The general and his deputy immediately accepted Naballah’s offer of food and beverages, and after they’d finished filling their plates, the general glanced up at the locust resting on the glass pane outside Naballah’s library.
For a moment, I felt as if Suleiman were staring straight at me, his black eyes reading my face as easily as I could read his.
Seconds later, Naballah asked him about recent events in Tehran, and he turned his back on the Grasshopper and walked over to the sofa.
After a few minutes of small talk, General Suleiman set aside his empty plate and told his deputy to hand him his briefcase. Once he’d released the latches, he pulled out a file folder and removed a single sheet of paper.
“These are my requirements for the next recruits,” he said, handing the document over to Naballah. “Look for young men and women willing to die for Allah. Make sure they know their lives will be martyred to bring down the Great Satan, and, of course, assure them their arrival in Paradise will result in great rewards.”
Naballah looked down at what the general had given him. “There are many willing recruits at our training facilities on Margarita Island, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know our cells in Latin America are gaining new followers every day.”
After taking a moment to read through the list, Naballah asked, “Were you satisfied with what Reyes Valario accomplished at the military base in Washington?”
“I was hoping for more casualties, but he achieved my objective. Now I know what to expect when we drop the canisters on the city.”
“My council member, Rehman Zaidi, personally recruited Valario when he was living in Caracas. He’ll be pleased to hear you approved of his selection. Did your asset in Washington also find Valario useful?”
The general nodded. “Mohammed spoke highly of him. He said he was an exceptional soldier and followed his instructions without question.”
“That’s excellent. Rehman remains one of my best recruiters, but, to be honest, he’s concerned you’ll blame him for the death of Ahmed Al-Amin.”
The general appeared to consider Naballah’s statement a moment. “You must understand, Hassan; my focus is entirely on destroying the arrogant power of the United States. Mohammed and I have been working toward this goal for many years, and I won’t be distracted by anything or anyone. Believe me when I say nothing is more important to me than the annihilation of the Great Satan.”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s not to say I didn’t grieve when Ahmed was murdered, but his death hasn’t interfered with my plans, so it’s of no consequence to me.”
After giving Naballah a lecture on how crucial it was to annihilate the “brutal repressive regime of America,” the general removed a handful of documents from his briefcase and handed them over to the sheikh.
Although it was impossible to view the contents of the papers, it was clear from their conversation the documents outlined the funding of Hezbollah’s activities by the IRGC.
While it didn’t make much sense to me, I knew the analysts in the Ops Center would be overjoyed to hear the men discussing the budget items, and they’d be studying the numbers on Hezbollah’s finances long after the meeting was over.
As the discussion seemed to be winding down, Naballah shifted gears and brought up his own personal budget, giving the general a detailed rationale for increasing it.
Suleiman replied, “Once the members of your security council have briefed me on how successful they’ve been in getting the chemical weapons into the United States, then I’ll consider your request for more money.”
“I’ll bring them in now,” Naballah said, gesturing at Jamal to invite the council members into the library. “I think you’ll be pleased at what you’re about to hear.”
Pike and I watched as the three men in the foyer jumped to their feet when Jamal appeared.
As they were about to enter the library, Pike muted the sound on his headset and looked over at me, “Would you care to speculate on the identity of the general’s asset, this guy he’s calling Mohammed?”
“There’s no need for me to speculate. I feel certain it’s Walid Khouri.”
* * * *
When Marwan entered Naballah’s library, the first thing he did was glance over at the picture window again. Although his facial expression didn’t indicate he’d spotted the Grasshopper, he followed my instructions and sat down in an armchair facing away from the window, giving us another view of the room.
When Naballah introduced the three men to the general, each one presented him with a gift of some nature. Suleiman didn’t appear to be as impressed with Marwan’s gift of the gold nugget as Naballah had been, but he set the purple box aside and didn’t examine it further.
Once the introductions were over, the general said, “So tell me, Hassan, what’s the status of the weapons?”
Naballah started off by telling the general the steps he’d taken to ensure the safety of the chemical weapons once he’d determined it was too risky to store them in Venezuela. He went on to explain how the Cuban government had been more than willing to allow them to use a warehouse in Santiago de Cuba.
The general acted as if he didn’t consider these details important, waving his hand at Naballah dismissively. “I’m well aware the weapons have arrived in Cuba.”
