Jihad (44 page)

Lia turned and looked at the gate. A boarding agent had just stepped to the podium.

“First-class passengers are encouraged to board at this time,” said the woman, launching into her spiel.

Dabir’s ticket was in coach; Lia’s was two rows behind his.

“Here we go,” said Rockman, his relief evident. “He’s coming over.”

Lia waited until Dabir was nearly to the boarding area before getting up. She removed the ticket from her purse and pulled it out, walking to the end of the line. The ticket agents checked each stub, then shooed the people through quickly; within thirty seconds of arriving, Dabir was the third in line.

Then he abruptly turned and walked away.

“WHAT IS HE doing?” demanded Rockman.

“Relax,” Telach told him. “Lia, stay in line. He may be trying to flush you out.”

Only Lia could have sighed in a way that seemed obscene.

Telach heard her ask the boarding agent if the flight was overbooked. Dabir, meanwhile, had walked toward the long hallway that led back to the terminal.

“Should I bring the FBI people in?” asked Rockman.

Telach turned to Rubens, standing next to her.

“Do we grab him?”

Rubens pointed at the screen at the front of the room, which was split into five panels, each covering the concourse area near the gate. Dabir had circled around the Burger King and gone into the men’s restroom.

“Think he’s lost?”

“Doubtful,” said Rubens. “Watch for anyone who may be meeting him in there. Have Lia get on the plane.”

“But what if he doesn’t board?” asked Rockman.

“He will,” said Rubens. “But if he doesn’t, tell her Boston is very nice this time of year.”

CHAPTER 145

DABIR STARED AT his face in the mirror. His cheeks looked very pale, paler than he had noticed this morning at the hotel.

The people at the gate bothered him, asking questions as they double-checked tickets. And one of the passengers—a tall man, well built, with a ruddy complexion—had eyed him surreptitiously as he joined the line. Were they FBI agents? CIA? Did they suspect something?

There was nothing tangible to indicate something was amiss, just his apprehensions. But Dabir had survived many years thanks to his instincts, and he would rather rearrange his plans than run the risk of being caught.

He stared again at the mirror, then slowly ran his forefinger over his left cheekbone.

Just tired, he thought. It would pass.

There was no reason to fear. He had killed the traitor. If he did not board now, it would be difficult to obtain another ticket. Besides, since he’d already checked in, his absence might raise alarms.

Dabir stared into the face of his reflection, noticing the blood at the comer of his left eye for the first time.

He held his hands out to pray.

“Take away my fear,” he said softly. Then he started for the door.

CHAPTER 146

“LIA, HE’S COMIN’ at ya,” said Rockman.

She was too busy trying to make herself comfortable in the narrow seat to even grunt an answer. But sure enough, when she looked up Dabir was walking down the aisle. She rolled her head back, disguising the glimpse as a yawn.

“Ms. DeFrancesca, this is Mr. Rubens. There’ll be a slight change in plans when you reach Newburgh. Mr. Rockman will explain everything before you land. We are still working on the details.”

“Peachy,” she said aloud.

CHAPTER 147

DR. SAED RAMIL STARED at the sheen of water, hypnotized by the gentle ripples and the soft glitter of the light. God was ever present in the universe, so why couldn’t he talk to someone? Not Ramil, necessarily, but someone else, someone worthy of hearing God’s voice directly?

Because modern man didn’t believe in such things. Some did, certainly, but men like Ramil—students of science—didn’t. Allah might guide them, influence them, push or pull them in the right direction, but speech was something that happened in the past, not now. Even someone like Asad bin Taysr, a devil incarnate, didn’t claim God spoke to him, not in words.

Had religion changed, or man?

Man, Ramil decided. Man always changed.

And therefore religion changed. Not God, not the core of belief, but the manmade world around it.

That was what this struggle was really about. Asad bin Taysr and his ilk didn’t like the way Muslims had changed. They didn’t understand that someone like Ramil could be at home in the West, could be a contributing member to its society, could save lives.

Not many, but enough. In his small way, Ramil had made a difference. Asad could not fathom that.

Nor could he fathom that someone like Ramil could hear God’s voice—not in his head, but in the slow roll of the river as it rolled endlessly past.

And that was at the root of his sin, was it not?

TOMMY KARR AMBLED down the rocks, easing his way toward the river line. The Hudson sent a gentle surge against the shore, a kiss belying its awesome power.

“Nice view, huh?”

Dr. Ramil turned around with a start.

“Hey, Doc,” said Karr, sliding down next to him on the big rock. “Long time no see.”

“How’d you know where I was?”

Karr gave him a smirk.

“Oh, the chip in the phone,” said Ramil after a second. “I’d forgotten.”

“Kind of slips out of your mind, huh?”

“The technology—does it bother you ever?”

“Ah. Just gizmos. Tools of the trade.” Karr shrugged. “How ya feelin’?”

“Not bad. The river is very peaceful.”

“Not the best neighborhood up there,” said Karr, thumbing past the railroad trestle.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

The waterfront park was an oasis of upscale development, with restaurants, parking lots, and a marina; above it lay a pot-holed stretch of city even Karr might not have walked through alone at night.

“There’s been a change in plans,” Karr told the doctor. “You up for implanting another bug?”

Ramil’s eyes seemed to catch fire. “On Dabir?”

“Advance to Go. Collect two hundred dollars. Art Room says it’s a K-three-point-two bug. That’s supposed to mean something to you.”

“Yes,” said Ramil. “It has more range but is a little bigger. The procedure is the same.”

“Good,” said Karr. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to do.”

CHAPTER 148

LIA PULLED THE small carry-on bag up from the floor in front of her seat, holding it close to her chest as the plane began to empty. She could see the back of Dabir’s head. He was still seated despite the fact that the line was nearly to his row. She thought of waiting as well but decided not to; the airport was well covered, and there was no need to call attention to herself. She pushed past him, walking swiftly through the plane and even smiling for the stewardess, who thought the fact that she had given her an extra bottle of water earlier had made them best friends for life.

Passengers were disgorged down a long hallway. Lia tensed as she turned the corner where the arrest had been planned; two FBI agents dressed as airline employees were standing there, exactly as if the original plan were still in place.

She continued into a large, auditorium-like room with a baggage carousel. Lia managed to get herself in a tangle of travelers, allowing her to stand off to the side as Dabir walked into the hall, the last passenger to get off the plane.

“Coming at you and past,” said Rockman in her ear. “You swing to your left, go through security again, and go up the escalators. Gate will be to your left.”

Lia started walking in that direction. Dabir had stopped to get his bearings. Lia passed him, then feigned interest in a newsstand.

“Heading toward the door,” Rockman told her. “Stand by.”

Was he leaving rather than taking the connecting flight? While they had prepared for that contingency, it would require them to fall back on the arrest rather than implanting the bug.

Lia picked up the latest Dale Brown thriller from the newsstand, flipping through it while she waited. She got four pages deep before Rockman told her Dabir was coming back. She bought the book; by the time she got to the security checkpoint, Dabir was on the escalator.

CHAPTER 149

SMALL AIRPORTS SEEMED to confuse Dabir more than large ones, possibly because the people who used them tended to do so a lot and there were fewer explanatory signs. But he found the gate for the aircraft to Boston with more than twenty minutes to spare. The plane, a small two-engined turboprop, sat below on the runway, being inspected by a pair of technicians.

Dabir turned his gaze from the window to its reflections, examining the area behind him. Five people were scattered around the seats, each in a different state of boredom. Dabir turned abruptly and began walking back toward the coffee kiosk; no one seemed to notice.

He bought a cup of tea, ordering two tea bags to make the taste tolerable.

“Have to charge ya for both. Sorry, hon,” said the woman. Her thick Hispanic accent was difficult to untangle, and he simply nodded and handed her a five.

The group waiting for the plane had swelled to eleven. All of the newcomers were people he recognized from the plane. Six were women. Two of the men were bald, well into their fifties. Only one had the look of a possible intelligence agent, a young black man in his early twenties.

A policeman walked down the aisle and turned around, circulating through the terminal to make passengers feel more secure. In truth, there were plenty of flaws that could be exploited, a multitude of gaps and loopholes waiting until it suited al-Qaeda’s agenda to do so.

Dabir would help set that agenda from now on. Asad’s death—and Dabir’s role in discovering that he was a traitor and carrying out the execution—wouid greatly enhance his position and prestige.

I must be humble, Dabir reminded himself.

The attendant stepped to the podium and picked up the microphone as another went to the door behind her. Dabir picked up his bag and joined the others.

As he did, the lights in the terminal died.

CHAPTER 150

LIA WATCHED THE gate attendant as she furiously clicked her microphone button, not quite comprehending the fact that power in the entire terminal had died.

“I’ve never had this happen,” said the attendant.

“Power failure,” said the other gate person, coming back from the door.

Some of the passengers began grumbling.

“Hold on, folks. This will be straightened out in a minute.”

Lia knew it wouldn’t. And while some emergency power would be resupplied, a Desk Three-engineered glitch would prevent any flights from taking off for several hours—or until Dabir was safely out of the terminal.

DABIR REMAINED SILENT as the passengers around him complained and cursed the idiots running the airport.

Was this just a freak event? Or was it somehow aimed at him?

If it was aimed at him, if the American intelligence services had somehow found him, what would they expect him to do?

Run.

He went and sat in a seat, watching as people knotted around the other gates. Dim yellow lights were on along the walls, and there was enough of the fading sunlight coming through the windows for people to see where they were going. There wasn’t panic, but there were plenty of complaints.

If the American CIA or FBI did know he was here, they would have arrested him when he came off the plane. Turning off the power was too much trouble.

No, it was just the West’s typical incompetence, relying too much on computers and technology, rather than people. In refusing the one true God, they had rejected the value of people as well.

“I’ve been flying for twenty years and I’ve never seen anything like this,” said a short, balding man plopping down in the seat next to him. “Ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” said Dabir.

“I have a meeting in Boston first thing in the morning. This is crazy.”

“They said the planes will be taking off pretty soon,” said a woman sitting across from them. She was in her early thirties, slim, with an Asian face. Like many American women, she seemed to naturally assume that men would be interested in talking to her. Dabir tried to hide his disdain.