Fatal Conceit (32 page)

The short, skinny man with the pockmarked face did as he was ordered, smiling when he glanced at Daudov, who glared at him with hatred. Al-Sistani saw the looks and tsked. “Yes, it apparently came as a surprise to the Chechen lion that his most trusted adviser was working for me.”

“I don't care about that worm. I came to you in good faith today,” Daudov growled. “I have offered to lay down our old enmity to fight the Russians together for the good of Chechnya!”

“Ah, yes, the good of Chechnya,” Al-Sistani said. “But are you willing to swear allegiance to me and see Chechnya as an Islamic state under Sharia law and my rule?”

“Inshallah,” Daudov said. “As God wills. Anything would be better than the bloodstained Russians.”

Al-Sistani turned to Lucy and Huff like a college professor about to make a point. “You see, Lom and his partisans were blamed for the attack on the mission, and the Russians have made their lives very uncomfortable, and, indeed, hazardous, ever since. So now he's offering to join his Hands of God brigade with my Al Qaeda jihadis, all under my command. The question is can I trust him?”

“I bring more to the table than just myself and my men,” Daudov said. “Or have you never heard of Ajmaani?”

Al-Sistani looked confused. “Of course, I know Ajmaani,” he said. “She worked for me when I nearly destroyed the New York Stock Exchange. She's dead.”

“She's alive,” Daudov corrected him. “She crossed into Chechnya a week ago, and my men intercepted her. She is my prisoner.”

“You lie!” Al-Sistani snarled.

“I can prove it. She is here.”

“Where?”

“With two of my men in a truck at the top of the hill.”

Al-Sistani whirled to look up the hill and then back at Daudov. “Have them bring her,” he said. “If you are telling the truth, you will be my right-hand man and rule Chechnya when I am caliph of the world. But if you lie, you will suffer the same fate as these two infidels!”

Daudov turned to one of his escorts. “Shoot your rifle in the air,” he demanded.

The man looked at Al-Sistani, who nodded. Raising his gun, the
man let off a burst. Almost immediately, a small truck at the top of the hill began to make its way down.

“Bula, do you know Ajmaani by sight?”

“Yes, I was involved in the attack on the school that she planned.”

“Then go to the gate and stop the vehicle,” Al-Sistani said. “Make sure it is her.”

“Yes, my sheik.”

“And Bula, the men in the truck are to leave their guns at the gate with my men.”

“Yes, my sheik.”

Bula trotted over to the gate, where the two guards stepped in front of the truck. He walked up to the driver's-side window, which was rolled down, and looked at the passenger in the back.

“It's her! It's Ajmaani!” he yelled back.

“Bring her,” Al-Sistani shouted back. “Allahu akbar! This is a glorious day!”

Bula spoke briefly to the driver and two rifles were passed out of the windows to the guards. He then jumped up on the sideboard of the truck and rode triumphantly back across the courtyard.

The truck stopped next to the camera crew. Two men stepped out, their faces partly obscured by scarves. The tall man on the passenger side flipped a switch and shoved his seat forward; he then reached into the back of the truck and hauled Ajmaani, aka Nadya Malovo, out.

Al-Sistani strolled up to the woman. “Ajmaani,” he said slowly. “It's been a long time. We heard you were dead.”

“I am hard to kill,” Malovo replied, regarding Al-Sistani coolly.

Al-Sistani chortled. “Still the same woman, as hard and cold as steel.” He looked at her bound wrists and frowned. “This won't be necessary,” he said, and pulled a knife from a scabbard in his belt. Cutting her bonds, he said, “We have much to discuss.”

“More than you know,” Malovo replied.

Smiling broadly, Al-Sistani turned back to Daudov. “Perhaps I have misjudged you, my friend,” he said. Then a sly expression crossed his face. “You have reunited me with someone I consider very valuable. But there is one last task I would ask of you to prove your loyalty once and for all.”

“What is that?” Daudov replied cautiously.

Al-Sistani looked at the man standing behind Lucy. “Raad, give my new comrade your knife,” he said. “Then he will cut the throat of the infidel woman.”

“No! The Koran forbids making war on women and children,” Daudov argued.

“This is not war,” Al-Sistani replied, his face and eyes growing hard. “This is a test of loyalty. Once you are on film murdering this agent of the United States, you will be committed to our cause. There will be no turning back.”

Al-Sistani nodded to Daudov's escorts, who raised their rifles menacingly. “It's that or you and your men will die here, and I will still have Ajmaani and the hostages.”

“Please don't do this,” Huff pleaded.

“Bula, take him inside,” Al-Sistani ordered. “I wouldn't want her blood on his shirt; he already has enough of it on his hands.” His men grabbed Huff and, led by Bula Umarov, dragged him back inside the mosque. Then the terrorist leader turned back to Daudov. “So, what will it be? Prove your loyalty, or die in Dagestan.”

Daudov looked hard at Al-Sistani for a moment, but then nodded. He walked over to Lucy and held out his hand for Raad's large curved knife, before assuming the large man's place behind her. Meanwhile, Raad pulled a handgun from the waistband of his pants and stepped back as he pointed it at the back of Daudov's head.

Clapping like an excited Hollywood director, Al-Sistani nodded to his videographer and then stepped out in front of the camera. “Today is a glorious day for the Islamic revolution in Chechnya,”
he announced grandly. “I, Sheik Amir Al-Sistani, have accepted the sworn allegiance of Lom Daudov, the Lion of Chechnya, who will join me in the holy fight to overthrow the Russian occupiers and their puppet government and create the Islamic Republic of Chechnya. Today, we renew our dedication to the cause of an Islamic world by taking the life of an infidel American foolishly sent to kill me, only to watch her companions die by my hand. Let this be a warning to the West; we will spare no one who opposes us in our holy fight. We demand the release of Sheik Abdel-Rahman or Deputy Chief of Mission David Huff will share the same fate! Allahu akbar!”

Al-Sistani stepped out of the picture and nodded at Daudov. “Inshallah! God's will be done,” he shouted offscreen.

Lucy braced herself as she felt Daudov grab her hair and pull her head back, exposing her neck. “I'm sorry,” he said as he placed the knife at her throat.

As she looked up, Lucy heard another voice in her head. “Your executioner is a friend . . . listen carefully . . . obey without hesitation.” “I forgive you,” she said aloud.

“Then fall to the ground, now,” Daudov told her, his voice even but urgent.

Lucy threw herself forward and felt Daudov land on top of her. It wasn't so much what he'd said that kept her from hesitating, but the language he'd used. The Lion of Chechnya was speaking Navajo.

K
ARP STARED WEARILY FOR A
moment at the telephone on his desk when it rang. It was 2:00 a.m. on Wednesday, the day after the election. He knew who the call was from, Clay Fulton, and what the caller would say, that Rod Fauhomme and Tucker Lindsey were in custody. What he didn't know as he reached for the receiver was what would happen now or how it would all end.

After the shoot-out several days earlier, Marlene had called, but she was circumspect in what she was willing to say over the telephone other than that he needed to get to Orvin as soon as possible. So he'd contacted Fulton, who arranged for an NYPD helicopter to whisk them north.

In Orvin, they'd been met by Constable Tom Spooner, who took them to Allen's cabin where Marlene, Stupenagel, and Jenna Blair were waiting. Following a quick rundown from the others, Karp had interviewed Blair with Fulton present. He then viewed Allen's taped testimony he intended to give at the congressional hearings, the private message he'd left for Blair, and the webcam recording of the murder on Blair's laptop.

Afterward he took a half hour to sit by himself on the front deck jotting notes down on a legal pad in the light of a lantern with a blanket around his shoulders. When at last he laid down his pencil,
Karp took a moment to reflect on the quiet tranquillity as the eastern sky grew light and the loons called on the lake and contrasted it against the violence that had occurred there just a few hours earlier.
And for what? Power? Ego? Ambition?

Karp rose and walked into the cabin, where he called the others together around the kitchen table. “I have a plan,” he said. “It won't be easy to pull off. We're up against some very powerful people who apparently will stop at nothing—not even murder—to accomplish their goals.” He looked at Spooner. “And I'll understand if you decide this isn't your fight.” His eyes next fell on Blair. “And it's going to be particularly rough on you.”

Blair's eyes narrowed and her jaw set. “You know where I stand.”

Karp nodded, then turned back to Spooner, who said, “I'm in. I saw how these guys operate. That's not what I fought for in '68. What do you need from me?”

“Time,” Karp responded. “I'm going to need a couple of days before our suspects learn the truth about what happened to Baum and his partner. I have a trap in mind and want them to think the evidence—Jenna's computer—is still out there and so is she. Obviously we have to tell them something, maybe a car wreck, just not that we know they were trying to murder Jenna and Stupenagel and then died in a gunfight with you and my wife. The problem is they'll want to verify the story, and as soon as their people see bullet holes, the whole car wreck scenario will be out the window, and they'll know something's up.”

Spooner smiled. “Well, it just so happens that my best friend from high school, who then joined the army with me back in the day, is currently the special agent in charge of the Albany office. I'll give him a call.”

And that's how Karp's plan was put into action, beginning with Spooner's conversation with his FBI friend. “I didn't go into detail and he didn't ask,” Spooner reported. “But I could feel his eyebrows shooting up even over the telephone line. Still, we didn't do
a bunch of crawling around in the jungle together without being able to ask for a favor without a lot of questions. He's going to call Lindsey and tell them I got in touch with him about the car wreck and finding the NSA cards. He'll head them off by saying he's coming up to check on the bodies and get my report, which he'll of course forward back to them. And he'll give them my number. I expect I'll be hearing from this Lindsey fella pretty quick.”

As predicted, Tucker Lindsey called Spooner and was recorded. “Same thing with the computer; if it's located, no one is to touch it, it contains highly classified material.” Then, with Karp orchestrating the timing, Blair waited for two hours before she contacted Connie Rae Lee, pretending to be panicked by the appearance of Baum and wanting to be rid of the computer. “With just enough ‘do what I say or I'll give it to the media' to sell it,” Karp advised.

In this, as well as other subsequent parts of his plan, Karp was playing hunches based on what he'd gleaned so far from talking to Blair, Spooner, and Stupenagel, as well as Allen's recordings. For instance, he knew that Connie Rae Lee could be the key to getting to the man behind the curtain—Fauhomme. Clearly she passed on anything Blair told her directly to Fauhomme. In fact, judging by how quickly Baum had been sent to grab Blair and her computer at her apartment, he suspected that Fauhomme was standing next to her when Blair called.

Karp was counting on a similar situation—either with Fauhomme present or Lee passing on the information quickly and Fauhomme then responding—when he told Blair to place the call to Lee. It had quickly become clear that Fauhomme was present and calling the shots. In doing so the president's campaign manager had further implicated himself, as well as confirming what Karp suspected about Lindsey's being up to his eyeballs in the plots and not some unwitting bystander.

So he knew Blair's story was true. The problem was how to meet his own criteria for prosecution by the New York County District Attorney's Office. Karp insisted before going forward with
a case that first there must be factual guilt, not a best guess or “most likely” theory, but a thousand percent certainty. Second, if there was factual guilt then there must be legally admissible evidence to convict a defendant beyond a reasonable doubt. So even if certain of a defendant's factual guilt, if there was insufficient legally admissible evidence then the case would not go forward.

It was all about due process. The difference between factual guilt and having legally admissible evidence was the difference between knowing the truth and being able to legally prove it. For example, the prosecution might have compelling evidence that was the result of a search of a defendant's place of business, but the court might determine that a search warrant was required and without it the defendant's Fourth Amendment rights were violated. Similarly, the court might very well strike down a trustworthy and incriminating statement voluntarily given by the accused if the court found that the statement was the product of a “custodial interrogation” that required Miranda warnings that were not given, thereby violating the defendant's Fifth Amendment rights. In both examples, the defendant was factually guilty, but the evidence was inadmissible and could not be used.

Karp was not willing to deprive any man of his freedom without due process. Not even one he detested like Rod Fauhomme.

It was no open-and-shut case. He was going to have to convince the jury that an American general and acting director of the CIA had been murdered by a rogue former Marine acting in concert with the president's campaign manager and his national security adviser to cover up a foreign policy debacle that threatened the president's election bid.