Resurrection Day (37 page)

Eight thousand miles away, the next day's dawn had yet to spread its yellow stain across the horizon. Unable to sleep, Abu Hasim had risen just after three a.m., and after his prayers he was seated cross-legged on the floor of his command post, dipping cuts of coarse bread into a bowl of milky goat's curd on the small wooden table in front of him, when Wassef Mazloum, his ravaged-faced commander, came in.

'Abu. A message has come. Tariq decoded it.' Hasim remained seated as Mazloum handed him a sheet of paper, the decoded copy of Mohamed Rashid's signal from Washington. As he read it eagerly, Hasim's face muscles twitched. For a second or two he turned pale, then he flushed crimson. Suddenly he flung the page aside, sending it floating through the air, and then his hand swept across the table in a display of furious anger, the bowls of bread and goat's cheese scattering across the floor. Wassef Mazloum stood there silently, unwilling to comment on his chief's sudden outburst. Hasim's teeth were clenched tight, and for several moments it seemed as if he was trying to summon all his strength to calm himself, breathing deeply and slowly until he was once again in control of his emotions. Finally, he raised himself from the floor, clutching the hem of his gown. As he crossed to the mouth of his cave he had a distant gaze in his dark, brooding eyes. He stood there, scrutinising the horizon beyond his camp, where the tangerine light of the rising sun would soon spread like wildfire across the hills. Then he looked down into the moonlit valley, noticed a distance speck of black, a herd of goats grazing on a mountainside. When he turned back to face Wassef Mazloum, the anger was gone, replaced by a frigid calm. His voice was soft, almost a hoarse whisper.

'The Americans think we are fools. But it is they who are the fools.'

'As you say, Abu.'

'They have attacked our cell, tried to destroy Mohamed and the others. They have been audacious, have not heeded the advice I gave them for their own good. Worse, it is obvious they are not treating our demands seriously. That must change, and change quickly.'

'Of course.'

'Get Tariq here. I wish to send an important message.'

'To whom?' Hasim almost spat the words. 'The President of the United States.'

Washington, DC 5 p.m.

The White House situation room fell silent as the President took his seat. He waved Mayor Al Brown to the chair beside him as the regular members of the NSC crisis committee took their places at the table. The twenty-four-hour clock on the wall recorded the time: 17.00. The President addressed the faces round the table.

'Gentlemen, I've given the mayor a briefing on the situation and we'll forgo our usual security procedures so he can join us. The reasons should be obvious. It's his city and his citizens who are under threat so it's only right he be here. So if anyone's got any objections I'd like to hear them now, before we start.' No one registered their disapproval, and the President nodded to Doug Stevens, the FBI Director, to begin. 'Doug, let's hear your report.'

Stevens, with the uncomfortable air of a man who'd been asked to walk the gangplank, outlined in detail the events at the Wentworth apartment building. 'As it stands, the building's still sealed off. The apartment and the car are being examined by our forensic teams, and a square-mile section around the area has been cordoned and is being thoroughly searched. But as of now, Mr President, we've got no clues or leads as to where the occupants escaped to. However, I can assure you that my men are working flat out and using every means at their disposal to try and determine the whereabouts of the three terrorists involved. The good news is that two of them have been positively identified as the suspects Moscow came up with — Mohamed Rashid and Nikolai Gorev. I've got copies of their files, in case anyone would like to see them. We don't have an ID on the woman yet, but we're hoping her prints will turn up at the scene and give us something to work with.'

'What if the press get to hear about the search activity, or the shooting?'

'No doubt they will. But there's a million and one fob stories we can come up with, sir. I don't believe we're in jeopardy in that regard just yet.'

Charles Rivermount, beside himself with fury, chipped in. 'You're telling us these people just vanished?'

'They may still be within the cordon. That's why the search is proceeding slowly but thoroughly, and with due caution. Remember, if they're still in the area, and they feel threatened, these people could be tempted to trigger their device.'

'But they might just as easily have escaped your dragnet?'

'That's possible. But we won't know for certain until we complete the search, which should be within the hour.' Rivermount was red with ire. 'The FBI costs our taxpayers billions of dollars. It's supposed to have the best and brightest lawmen in the country, employ the best experts in every field of criminal detection. But you're telling us your agents managed to corner the most wanted terrorist criminals on American soil, and lost them?'

'Mr Rivermount, the call to the apartment block was a long shot that unexpectedly yielded a result. My men did their utmost. Unfortunately they came up against a ruthless, heavily armed enemy.'

'Isn't that all part of the Bureau's job? Something they're supposed to be trained for? From where I sit, we blew maybe the best chance we had to apprehend this cell. And that smacks to me of gross incompetence.'

The FBI Director flushed. 'I greatly resent that remark, Mr Rivermount.'

'Gentlemen,' the President interrupted. His own anger had already been vented in a private confrontation with the Bureau's Director before the meeting began, and he didn't intend going down that road again. 'Let's not have this descend into bickering. I can understand your frustrations. I share them, as does Mr Stevens. Mistakes have been made. The opportunity to apprehend these people has been temporarily lost. But let's move on and learn from these events. We now know for certain who two of these terrorists are. We also know how desperate and dangerous they are and what they're capable of.' He turned to Stevens again. 'Doug, assuming the worst, and they escaped the net, where can they run to? What are they likely to do next?'

'They're bound to have more than one safe house, or people they can turn to for refuge in an emergency. Every known radical Islamic supporter and sympathiser in DC, Maryland and Virginia is already being watched around the clock. As of two hours ago, that watch has been intensified, their phone calls monitored, and their every movement scrupulously observed, in case our suspects might be in touch with any one of them for help. We're also having our agents revisit their street contacts to show photographs of two of the terrorists. Something else. It seems one of the terrorists — we think Gorev — was wounded in the shooting.'

'Badly?'

'We don't know, sir. Traces of blood were found on the first-floor landing that led all the way down to the rear of the apartment block. We're trawling every hospital, doctor and pharmacy in the metropolitan area, in case he seeks medical help. But as to guessing what our suspects might do next, I think we'll have to wait until our search of the area's complete. It's frustrating, I know, sir, but that's how it stands. But one guess I can make with near certainty. These people are going to be in contact with Abu Hasim. He's going to hear about what's happened. It's likely to make him feel threatened and angry. He's probably going to press his demands even more strongly.'

'I'm aware of that likelihood.' The President nodded, then turned to the head of the CIA. 'Dick, what do you have for us?'

'First of all, I should point out that our satellite reconnaissance has confirmed that all the Russians bombers returned to their base at Solcy, and their bombs have been returned to their stockpiles. We've no indication that Kuzmin's about to break his promise.'

'Good. And what about our efforts to make contact with Abu Hasim?'

'It's not looking promising. The best shot we had was with a man named Samar Mehmet. He's a retired Pakistani intelligence officer, someone the CIA had dealings with when we ran weapons to the mujahidin for use against the Soviets. He's still considered an old friend by Hasim. We asked him to make representations on our behalf.'

'Was he briefed on the situation?'

'Yes, sir,' the CIA chief replied. 'We requested he approach Hasim to open up a direct line of communication with us. We gave Mehmet a list of dedicated and secure satellite frequencies that can be used any time, night or day. Any transmission could be relayed directly here, to the situation room, in real time. Or Hasim could choose whatever method of communication he wishes. Unfortunately, Mehmet point-blankly refused to help. He doesn't want to be seen in any way as a CIA pawn, or a negotiator on our behalf.'

'The fact that he was briefed, doesn't that now make him a security risk? What if he talks to the international press?'

'We told Mehmet about Hasim's warning not to make the threat public. He won't leak it to the press, sir, I'm absolutely convinced of that — he wouldn't risk upsetting Hasim's strategy. But I'm also pretty sure that, despite his refusal, he'll let his old friend know that he was approached by us.'

'Did Mehmet at least give any indication of how he thought Hasim would react?'

The CIA chief was sombre. 'Off the record, he believes we'll be completely wasting our time. He thinks that if Hasim's gone this far he's not going to be swayed by arguments, especially from the White House. Being able to hold America to ransom is something Hasim's wanted desperately for many years. He's not going to want to relinquish his upper hand and he's not going to want to talk.'

'Does Mehmet hold out any hope at all?'

'Not really, sir.'

'Terrific,' the President said, deadpan. 'We'll try other avenues to make contact, sir. As many as we have to.'

Rebecca Joyce spoke up. 'What if we tell the Afghan regime what Hasim's up to? What if we tell them that the Russians are going to bomb their country to dust if Hasim doesn't call off his threat?'

'It still wouldn't stop Hasim,' the CIA Director answered. 'And even if the authorities attacked his camps and attempted to capture him, it wouldn't neutralise the threat. In fact, it would only exacerbate it. Hasim might feel cornered, enraged, and be tempted to explode his device. We'd be making a bad situation even worse.'

The President promptly cut in. 'Gentlemen, ladies, I'd like to move on. There're still a number of important issues to cover. Dick, have we had any luck trying to pinpoint communications from or to Hasim by his cell?'

'No, sir. We're scanning the airwaves over Afghanistan and the US every second, but so far we've got nothing.'

'General Horton, where are we with the fifteen per cent withdrawal of our troops from the Middle East?'

'It's under way, sir. The first transports should be lifting off from Saudi at nine p.m. this evening.' As the President addressed the Council members in turn, Mayor Al Brown listened in stunned silence. He was still reeling after the private briefing thirty minutes ago, but now the reality of the President's frightening words hit home. Listening to the grim reports from around the table, he felt as if he were living a nightmare. When he could bear it no longer, he placed his palms flat on the table, the anger in his five-footsix-inch body overflowing like lava. 'Mr President, I'd like to say a few words.'

'About what, Al?'

'The way to handle this.'

'You've got an angle?'

'Mr President, I've got an opinion. And for what it's worth, and with respect, I think some of these so-called experts here ought to shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say.'

Washington, DC 4 p.m.

Three miles from the White House, Nikki Dean was waiting outside the preschool in Adams Morgan. She saw the doors open and Daniel come out with the other kids, carrying his Barney bag. He ran to her arms.

'How's my best boy? Did you have a good day?'

'OK, Mom.'

'Did you draw me a new picture?'

'Not today, Mom. Know what I saw?' There was a sudden infectious excitement in his voice. 'Tell me.' Nikki smiled as she led Daniel by the hand towards her Toyota. He always had something new to report after preschool: a new word discovered, a new game he'd learned to play, another new drawing of bright colours and incomprehensible squiggles to show her.

'Soldiers.'

'Really?'

'I saw them from the window. They's over there. Look, Mom.' Daniel pointed across the street. One of the buildings opposite was a distribution warehouse, disused for months. Red bricked, surrounded by a wire fence, the loading bays were covered with litter, a crooked 'For Sale/To Let' sign nailed to one of the walls. Nikki noticed four army trucks and a Humvee personnel carrier parked at the bays, and two soldiers in fatigues standing inside the gates.

'Miss Elaine said they was real soldiers. Is they real soldiers, Mom?'

'I guess.' Nikki frowned, stopped by the kerb where she'd parked. 'Did Elaine say what the soldiers were doing there, Daniel?'

'No.' Daniel shrugged. 'She just said they was soldiers. Can we go see them, Mom?'

Nikki stared across the street. She'd passed the warehouse five days a week for almost a year, since Daniel began preschool, and she'd never noticed the military anywhere near the place. Air transport planes at Reagan. Droves of cops at the Command Centre for a police exercise, And now the military using a disused warehouse in Adams Morgan.

'Come with Mommy, Daniel.'

'Where we going?'

'Mommy wants to talk to the soldiers.' Holding Daniel's hand, Nikki crossed the street. The soldiers behind the fence looked over as she approached, offering them a smile. 'Hi. My little boy wanted to see you guys close up. Would you mind?'

'Not at all, ma'am.' One of the men, a black sergeant, smiled out through the fence, knelt down to face Daniel. 'What's your name, son?'

Daniel, bashful from the attention, clung to Nikki's hand, mesmerised. 'D ... Daniel.'

'You want to be a soldier when you grow up, Daniel?'

'No, I want to be a Power Ranger.'

The sergeant laughed up at Nikki. 'Guess we just lost a recruit. Got a little boy myself. He loves the Power Rangers, too.'

'You mind me asking you guys what the army's doing at the warehouse?'

'It's part of an exercise, ma'am.' The sergeant stood.

'Really? What kind of exercise?'

'I'm afraid I can't say, ma'am. It's army business, you understand.'

'Which unit are you with?' The sergeant exchanged a look with his comrade. 'I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am. It's no big deal, just all part of the exercise, you see.'

Nikki noticed the exchanged look, took note that the man wore no divisional flashes. 'I've never seen the army around here before. I couldn't help thinking it seemed kind of strange that you're using a disused warehouse in the neighbourhood.'

'Don't know about that, ma'am. We're just following orders.'

Nikki showed her press card. 'Actually, I'm a reporter. Is there someone I can speak with about this? I'm kind of curious if there might be a story in it.'

'I'm sorry, ma'am.' The sergeant studied the press card, suddenly even more wary. 'There isn't anyone around right now you could talk with. Tell you what, though, if you call the army public affairs office, I'm pretty sure they'd be able to help you.'

'Anyone in particular I can call?'

'Major Craig, ma'am. I guess he's the man to speak with.' Nikki jotted the name in her notebook. 'Thank you, Sergeant. And thanks for talking with Daniel.'

'My pleasure, ma'am.' The sergeant winked at Daniel. 'So long, buddy. You ever change your mind about becoming a soldier, you let us know, OK?'

Washington, DC 5.30 p.m.