Three Weeks in Washington, page 38
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
It was nine o’clock in the evening in Damascus, and when Pike answered his cell phone, I could hear loud music in the background.
“Partying without me?” I asked.
“Yes, we’re definitely partying without you, but, come to think of it, I don’t believe we ever partied with you when you were here.”
“Who’s we?”
“Trudy and I are having dinner together.”
“Good for you.”
“Well, one can only hope. What’s up? Is this an official call?”
“Not really official; more like semi-official.”
“In that case, I’ll find a quieter place to talk.”
As soon as I heard less noise in the background, I said, “Remember the scenario we discussed about getting an interview with a certain photographer?”
“Of course. Should I catch the next plane out of here?”
“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible, but you could call the photographer up and ask him for that interview anyway. If he accepts—which I’m sure he will if you use your incredible powers of persuasion on him—then you should tell him you’ll be sending another journalist, along with a photographer, over to his place to ask him some preliminary questions before you do a one-on-one interview with him.”
“Can I assume this other journalist would be the world-renowned Donnie Bartlett?”
“Correct.”
Although it was obvious Pike wished he were stateside to take part in such an interview, he agreed to call Walid Khouri as soon as we were off the phone. I told him to emphasize Donovan Bartlett was only in Washington for a couple of days, so the appointment needed to happen immediately.
After telling him I’d be sending him Khouri’s phone number, he promised to call me back once he got in touch with him.
A few minutes later, Frank Benson walked up and rapped on the car window.
After letting him in, I told him I had called Pike and asked him to set up an interview with Walid Khouri so we would have an excuse to get on his property.
He immediately sanctioned this plan, and he didn’t balk at the idea of playing a photographer during the interview.
When I put the SUV in reverse and started backing out of the parking space, Benson asked, “So where are we headed now?”
“To a camera store. You’ll need a good camera.”
“I know nothing about cameras.”
“A Nikon should do it, and I’m familiar with one of their better models.”
“Are you also paying for it?”
“You’re on official business. We’ll put it on your FBI account.”
Chapter 50
After making the camera purchase, Benson and I stopped by a pizza joint to get a bite to eat. Once we’d finished, I gave him a brief lesson on how to use the Nikon.
He wasn’t much of a techno nerd, and by the time Pike called me back, I could tell Benson was getting frustrated with the camera—not to mention irritated with me.
“He’s agreed to do the interview,” Pike said.
“When?”
“I couldn’t pin him down. He said for you to call him, and he’d make the arrangements with you directly.”
“Anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, he said he really admires my work. He even commented on several of my stories. To be truthful, he sounded more sophisticated than I expected.”
“I’m sure he’s a highly educated, well-read, intellectual kind of guy. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be hobnobbing with the Washington elite.”
“You should add charming to that list.”
After I got off the phone with Pike, I had Benson get in touch with the surveillance team responsible for keeping an eye on Walid Khouri.
When he hung up, he said Khouri was still at his studio, but if he followed his usual pattern, he’d leave in an hour and stop by the construction site on his way home.
“It’s getting pretty late,” Benson said, “if you contact him today, he’ll probably put off the interview until tomorrow.”
“I agree. I’ll call him in a few minutes. Perhaps, if I time it just right, I could catch him just as he’s leaving work. He might even give me an invitation to meet him over at his new studio.”
As soon as Benson left the table to get a refill on his diet Coke, Katherine called me, and by the time he got back, everything had changed.
* * * *
Katherine sounded excited. Along with her exuberance, there was an I’m-really-good-at-what-I-do tone in her voice.
“Douglas said I should call you.”
“About?”
“What do you think? WK Photography. Walid Khouri.”
“I’m listening.”
“One of the encryption team members broke the code on Khouri’s computer. When we got into his files, we discovered Walid Khouri is the proud owner of a drone. We traced the money from his Swiss bank account directly to the purchase.”
She went on to make a few disparaging remarks about Arnie and his ineptitude at finding the drone purchase, and, admittedly, I didn’t discourage her rants.
However, the moment she began winding down, I interrupted her and asked, “Is this the type of UAV Khouri could use for making aerial photographs? Would the drone accommodate a couple of cameras?”
“Are you kidding me? This is the type of drone that could accommodate just about anything. It’s an Eagle Eye Model 918, developed by Bell Helicopter; it looks more like a mini-helicopter than a drone. I’m sending you a picture of it right now, along with some specs.”
By this time, Benson had walked back over to the table, and I told him what Katherine had said as I waited for the image to appear.
When the Eagle Eye showed up on my screen moments later, we both studied it for several seconds.
I wasn’t surprised when I heard Benson take a deep breath, because my heart rate definitely went up a couple of notches the longer I looked at it.
I said, “I haven’t had a chance to look at the specs yet, Katherine, but from what I’m seeing here, I’d say this aircraft could be fitted with a payload, like maybe even some gas canisters. Is that right?”
“Oh, definitely, and more importantly, it’s capable of reaching the altitude necessary to rupture the disc inside the canisters and mix the chemicals. When the weapons reach their target, depending on how hard the wind is blowing that day, the sarin gas could be spread over a wide area.”
The Eagle Eye didn’t appear all that ominous. The body of the aircraft was painted white, with red stripes across her nose, wings, and tail, which made the drone look more like a child’s toy than a weapon of mass destruction.
However, I knew how deceptive the photograph was, so I asked Katherine to give me the highlights of the specs on it.
“It’s a tilt rotor UAV, which means it’s capable of vertical takeoff and landing, but during flight, her wings convert to a turboprop. It was developed by Bell in the late 90s for the Navy, but now it’s sold commercially.”
“What about its ground control system?”
“It’s primarily a computer with a command module. One operator could handle it easily, and it wouldn’t take up that much space either.”
“How about transporting it? How big is it?”
“It has a wingspan of almost 18 feet with a height just under 6 feet. Transporting it would be fairly easy. It was designed to be broken down and moved in three sections.”
I asked Benson if he had any questions for Katherine, and he nodded.
“Katherine, it’s Frank. Do you see any connection between the type of training Valario was getting at the Aviation Club and this drone? I know he wasn’t receiving instructions on this type of UAV.”
“Yes, Frank, I’ve thought of that, and here’s what interesting about the Eagle Eye. Its design is based on an earlier model Bell developed that didn’t include a payload bay. Instead, that section of the fuselage was designed for a couple of cameras. However, the flight control system is exactly the same.”
“So Valario trained on the earlier model and fed those instructions to Khouri?”
“I believe so. I’m having one of my analysts go over the transcript of those conversations to see if the instructions Valario gave Khouri would work on the Eagle Eye.”
Benson thanked Katherine and handed the phone back to me.
“You’re the best, Katherine. Thanks.”
“Of course I am. I’m really good at what I do.”
* * * *
We both agreed it was time to call Walid Khouri. However, I hesitated before making the call.
I wasn’t sure why.
All I knew was that something was bothering me, and the plasma membrane inside my brain was frozen and wasn’t allowing the neurons to communicate with each other.
Finally, something clicked, and I said, “Walid Khouri is a photographer.”
“I believe that’s what’s known as stating the obvious.”
“We need to switch roles. You should be the journalist, and I should be your photographer.”
I opened the glove box and retrieved Donovan Bartlett’s wallet, along with his press ID, and handed them both to Benson.
“I missed the part about why we’re changing roles.”
“One look at the way you handle the Nikon, and Khouri will immediately know you’re clueless about photography.”
Benson held up the press card. “I can’t use this. It has your picture on it”
“You really think that looks like me? It could be anybody.”
“It looks exactly like you.”
“No, it doesn’t. Besides, you probably won’t have to show any ID.”
“What happens if we both have to show some ID?”
“I’ve got that covered,” I said, reaching back inside the glove box and pulling out a driver’s license. “I’m Douglas Carlton. It says so right here.”
* * * *
Before Benson made the call, I went over what Pike had told Khouri in order to get the interview. Namely, Pike said he was doing an article for a major magazine on photographers who took pictures of the rich and famous, and he wanted Walid Khouri to be the featured photographer.
When Benson made the call to Khouri, I had him put his phone on speaker so I could hear the conversation.
“Mr. Khouri, this is Donovan Bartlett. I believe you’ve been expecting my call?”
“Yes, of course. I spoke with Keever Pike earlier, and he said you’d be calling to set up an appointment. He mentioned he’d be sending his advance man and a photographer by to scout out some locations for the interview.” Khouri paused and gave a short laugh. “Frankly, I was flattered he thought I merited an advance team.”
It was Benson’s turn to laugh, and he did a good job of making it sound authentic. “Well, Keever’s a perfectionist, so he likes for things to go smoothly. Since I was here in D.C. for a couple of days, he thought I could stop by and go over some preliminary questions with you before he arrives in town to do the main interview. He’d also like for our photographer to shoot a few pictures, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine, but I’ve already closed the studio for the day. Perhaps we could get together tomorrow. An afternoon appointment works best for me.”
“That’s certainly doable. Keever wants to include a special section on your new studio in the piece. Is it possible for us to meet there tomorrow afternoon?”
“Actually, I’m on my way over to the construction site right now. Would it be convenient for you to meet me over there now?”
Benson pretended to consider this for a few seconds, and then he told him he could be there within the hour. Khouri said he’d be looking forward to it and hung up.
“Okay, we’re in,” Benson said. “We should head over there now.”
“First, we need to do something about your wardrobe. You look like an FBI agent.”
Although Benson had shed his tie before we went in the store to buy the camera, he still had on his blue suit and white shirt.
“We’ll stop somewhere and get you a different shirt,” I said, “maybe a pair of jeans to go with it.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t look so respectable.” He held up the press card of Donovan Bartlett. “I should look more like this picture, a little rough around the edges.”
* * * *
The new home of WK Photography was located off Mt. Laurel Drive near Little Falls Park. After stopping off at a mall, where Benson purchased a pair of khakis and a sports shirt, we drove west on Mt. Laurel and then turned north onto a narrow drive leading up to Khouri’s new studio.
While some clearing had taken place, the architect had obviously designed the building to incorporate the natural landscape, thus providing Khouri with plenty of ambiance to use as a backdrop for his award-winning photography.
In front of the rustic-looking studio, there was a small parking lot, and I pulled into a space next to a black Lexus, which Benson said belonged to Khouri.
“The studio looks finished,” I said. “I wonder why he hasn’t moved out here yet.”
Benson pointed off in the distance, over to a construction site, where the front section of a Southern style mansion was being built. “That must be one of the facades the brochure mentioned. Maybe he’s not moving in until everything’s finished.”
I picked up the Nikon and shot a few pictures. Then, I pointed the camera at an old barn at the back of the studio.
“That barn is definitely not a new construction. It looks authentically old.”
“This used to be farmland out here. It could have been part of the original property.”
The gabled barn was picturesque, like something out of a storybook. While it had obviously been painted red at one time, the sun had bleached the color to a soft rose now. However, the building itself appeared to be in good shape.
If the Eagle Eye was on the property, the barn was definitely the place I’d find it.
Before getting out of the car, I turned to Benson and said, “Even though you changed your clothes, I’m assuming you still have your weapon on you.”
“Yeah, I’ve got my Sig. What about you? Did you bring the Glock you pulled on me the other night?”
“It wasn’t necessary to remind me of that, but, yes, I’ve got my Glock on me.”
One of the first rules the Agency drilled into new recruits at The Farm was never go into a situation without knowing what kind of weapon your partner was carrying.
Benson said, “I know you were just doing a weapons check, but just in case you had something else in mind, don’t forget, we’re only here to collect evidence linking Khouri to the canisters. That’s it. Shoot some pictures, gather enough evidence for a warrant, and we’re out of here.”
“Speaking of shooting, here comes our target now,” I said, pointing over to where the mansion’s façade was being constructed.
When I’d parked the Range Rover in front of the studio, Khouri had been talking to a group of workers over by the site. Now, as the men were getting in their vehicles and leaving the property, Khouri was headed back towards the studio.
As I observed the man walking toward us, I understood why the DDO had been reluctant to tie him to the Navy Yard shooting, much less an attack on Washington.
For the first time, I questioned whether or not the photographer could really be Mohammed after all.
That was the last time I considered that question.
Chapter 51
Walid Khouri bore little resemblance to any terrorist or deep-cover operative I’d ever met. He was dressed in a pair of designer jeans and an equally expensive shirt, and he exuded self-confidence, the type of exalted self-image usually only seen in career politicians or the very wealthy.
If a voice analysis hadn’t positively identified Khouri as the person on the phone giving the orders to Reyes Valario, I would have had trouble believing he was in any way connected to Muslim extremists.
“Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing all around him. “welcome to the new home of WK Photography. I’m Walid Khouri.”
He smiled and extended his hand toward Benson. “Since you’re the one without the camera, I have to assume you’re Donovan Bartlett.”
“That’s right,” Benson said, shaking hands with him.
“Douglas Carlton,” I said, when Khouri offered me his hand.
Khouri more or less ignored me and gave his full attention to Benson, studying him as if he might be considering how to photograph that square jaw of his.
Benson appeared oblivious to this scrutiny and quizzed Khouri about the different venues he was building on the tract of land.
Khouri launched into a short explanation of how the property would be used to create family portraits and wedding photographs providing “exquisite memories lasting a lifetime.”
As he pointed to different sites on the property and described his upcoming construction projects, I aimed the Nikon at the various spots and clicked away.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll show you my new showroom and studio.” Nodding his head at me, he said, “I’m sure you’ll find it especially interesting.”
I agreed with him; probably not for the reasons he thought.
The reception area of the studio was designed to be a showroom for Khouri’s work. Thus, like the photographer I was supposed to be, I slowly made my way around the room scrutinizing every image and pretending to know all about lights and shadows and camera angles.
Pointing at an enlarged black and white portrait of a family standing in a field surrounded by cows, I told Khouri, “I love what you’ve done with the lighting in this picture.”
Sweeping my arm around the entire room, I added, “In fact, I could spend hours here just studying your technique.”
He gave me a brief smile, but I got the distinct impression he wasn’t buying what I was selling.
Benson took my silly statement as his cue to get Khouri out of the room. “Before we start the interview, I’d love to see the rest of your studio.”
