“Hanif awaits you,” he said and stepped aside.
Hassan entered the chamber. It was fairly dark apart from a lamp sitting on a desk in the back of the room. Behind it sat a large man with an impressive beard, also dressed in a white kaftan.
“Salam Aleikum,” the man said. He then twisted the lamp so the light shone on Hassan.
The man looked at his visitor and then at the Algerian passport in his hands. Then his eyes wandered to a newspaper on his desk that had a picture of Hassan on the front page.
“Allahu Akbar, it is really you,” he mumbled. He got up from his chair and rushed around his desk to embrace Hassan. “Allah is truly great to have brought you here. Waqar has contacted me and let me know that you might try to reach me but I never imagined you would make it. When Fariq told me a stranger was upstairs, asked to see me and invoked the name of Waqar, I dared to dream but I still did not believe that it would be you. Welcome to the madrasah, brother, you will be safe here.”
“Praise be to Allah, who has allowed me to reach you, and to Waqar for remembering me. He gave me your name and this place as a contact two years ago and I was worried that you wouldn't be here anymore or that his information had been wrong. My escape plan ends here with you and I'm putting my life in your hands.”
Hassan bowed before the man.
“I'll be grateful for any help you can provide. If you can do only one thing, point me into the direction of where to find as-Sirat. But I also don't want to place you in danger by being associated with me. I imagine that anybody who assists me in any way will become an enemy of the United States.”
“I am already an enemy of America,” Hanif Younis said. “And you have found as-Sirat. As soon as we thought there was an opportunity that you might try to come here, we started thinking about what to do if you made it. You'll stay here for a day so that we can make preparations to safely move you away from here to a different place.
“Fariq will show you to a room where you can get some rest,” he added, barking an order to the man waiting outside. “If you need anything, just let him know.”
Hassan was taken for another short walk through the narrow hallways before Fariq stopped at a door and swung it open. Though it was not much, the room, which had a bed, some carpets and a couple of pieces of furniture, was a vast improvement over the cell he had found himself in at first.
“It is not much,” Fariq said with a shrug. “But it is the best we have. I'll be outside if you need anything.”
“Shukran – Thank you,” Hassan said.
The door closed and he was left alone with his thoughts. So far so good.
Friday, 2:33 pm ET
When Art Kempner checked the Drudge Report, he mostly saw items he was familiar with. Life had not returned to normal and the attack continued to dominate the news. Hassan al-Zaid was still at large and the administration was increasingly under fire for how it was handling the attack.
The latest blunder and the big story of the day, which Art had also reported, was that the FBI had apparently misplaced the surveillance videos from Metro Bus 2405. Because they were evidence in a criminal investigation, Washington Metro had also handed over any backup data to the Bureau, so the only clips available were those the media were still playing over and over.
“I would like to know what the heck is going on at the FBI,” an unnamed opposition senator was quoted in the Reuters story. “I think it is high time that Stevenson rights this ship. This is not a time to fumble around and lose evidence.”
Another story linked to on Drudge was about the executive director of the ACLU criticizing DNI McClintock for his thinly veiled threat to want to torture Hassan al-Zaid once he was found.
Apart from that, there were links to several columns criticizing the administration for having been too lax on homeland security in the past few years and to a couple of stories about unrest in Afghanistan. At demonstrations against the pro-American president, people had carried signs with Hassan's picture and the words “al-Zaid for president” through Kabul. The pictures of the rallies had been repeated over and over on the American morning shows, in turn causing outrage in the United States.
Art was about to navigate away from the site when he saw another link at the bottom of the page.
“Funerals for terror victims begin”
He clicked on the link and it took him to a story from a small Ohio paper.
The Van Wert Times Bulletin had an article on the funeral of one of the people who were killed in the attack.
Van Wert Terror Victim Laid to Rest
Van Wert, Ohio – Hundreds of people gathered here Thursday to attended the funeral
service of Van Wert resident Brian Barnes, a victim of Wednesday's terrorist attack on
Washington, DC.
He was 47 and leaves behind a wife, Cindy.
The deceased had traveled to Washington to attend a seminar. Shortly after his arrival
at Ronald Reagan National Airport, he was among the unfortunate people who had been
on board of the bus that was the target of the attack.
Suspected terrorist Hassan al-Zaid is still at large.
“I was worried right away when I heard about the attack and couldn't get through to
Brian,” his widow Cindy, 43, said. “I keep thinking back about the way he had said
goodbye that morning. It is almost as if he had known. As a former military guy, he
wasn't the most affectionate person in public, but he gave me the biggest hug when I
dropped him off at the airport and said that he loved me. It was the sweetest thing and I’m glad that he gave me such a nice memory to remember him by.”
Barnes, a veteran of the first Gulf War, was laid to rest with military honors.
In addition to family and friends who paid their respects, many Van Wert residents,
whose life Barnes touched as a volunteer basketball coach for the YMCA, attended the
funeral.
“It's a tragedy that this cowardly attack took one of our best,” Van Wert Mayor
Betty Sassman, who spoke at the service, said. “We will remember Brian Barnes as an
outstanding member of our community who was always willing to help others. He will
be missed.”
The YMCA announced that it would rename its annual 3-on-3 basketball tournament in
Barnes' honor. It will now be known as the Brian Barnes Classic.
Van Wert High School announced Thursday that its varsity football team would wear
patches on its jersey with the number 14, which Barnes had worn as a Cougar. Midwest
Meats, where the deceased had worked as a regional vice president said it would
establish a college scholarship for outstanding students in Barnes' name.
“I was very touched by the outpouring of support. This community has always meant
a lot to Brian,” Cindy Barnes said.
The phone on Art's desk rang just as he had finished reading the article. It was a source with a major scoop.
***
Congressman Jim Hearst, Jr. walked into the chamber of the House of Representatives. He slid his card into the voting station nearest to the Speaker's Lobby and voted “Yea” on the New Zealand Free Trade Agreement.
There would be another vote after this one, and Hearst didn't want to deal with the reporters in the hallway, so he walked toward his assigned seat. On the way, he was stopped by fellow Virginia Congressman Charles “Chuck” Nelson, the ranking member of the Homeland Security Committee.
Though the partisan divide in Congress had increased in recent years and Hearst and Nelson were from opposite parties, the two had become close friends over the past couple of decades. Side by side, they had fought many battles for Virginia, trying to get more money for their state or prevent military base closures. They got together for dinner at least once a month, talking about the good old days and shaking
their heads at the partisan warriors that were elected to Congress nowadays. It seemed they were more interested in sound bites than getting stuff done.
“I gotta talk to you, Jim,” Nelson now said, tugging on the jacket sleeve of his friend. “Let's find a quiet corner.”
The two moved to the back of the chamber and each sat at an empty desk.
“What's up?” Hearst asked. “You know I'm not gonna change my vote on this free trade thing. It's a good deal for my district.”
Nelson leaned closer to his friend.
“It's not about that,” he said. “I want to give you a heads up on something that's probably gonna start happening pretty soon … as a friend.
“Some of our young members plan on going after the president and Homeland Security. They will argue that the administration was responsible for the terrorist escaping because Dulles was not shut down after the bombing,” Nelson whispered. “I don't agree with it. Back in the day, when there was a crisis like this, we used to all work together, not try to score political points. Sadly, that time has passed. They're trying to get me to join because I'm our top guy on Homeland Security. I, on the other hand, am trying to stop them but I don't think I can. But at least I want you to know it's coming.”
“I appreciate it, Chuck,” Hearst said, wanting to add more but he was cut off by his friend.
“I'm not doing this for you. The administration has enough to deal with right now, trying to find al-Zaid. I don't want them to have to waste time to defend themselves against political attacks. There will be time for that later,” Nelson added, beginning to get up.
“Wait,” Hearst said, the wheels spinning in his head.
On the one hand, it would be a good thing if Sweeney's opponents were to go after the president on this. It would generate the kind of news that would keep the media focused on something other than the details of the bombing. In addition, he wouldn't mind at all if some of those young, brash opposition lawmakers would get their face rubbed into the mess they were about to make. If Pathfinder was successful, they would look foolish for having attacked the administration.
But there were other political considerations in play. If Pathfinder failed, the president would need all of the help he could get. Hearst could generate some good will among the opposition by not allowing them to take a position now that could be embarrassing down the road.
Maybe there was a way he could accomplish both, he thought.
“Chuck, do you trust me?” he asked his friend.
“As much as anybody in Congress. Take that for what it's worth,” Nelson responded with his trademark dry humor.
“What I'm about to ask you to do won't make any sense but I want you to trust me,” Hearst said. “More importantly, you have to give me your word that this conversation will only stay between the two of us.”
“You know I'm not one of those blabbermouths,” Nelson said.
“Yeah, but this is different. I need to hear you say it,” Hearst whispered.
“Okay, I promise that I will not divulge anything you're going to tell me.”
“Good,” Hearst said. “It would be politically foolish for them to call out the president on this. I can't tell you yet why that is, but you have to believe me. Instead, I want you to do it. Call a big press conference and really go after the administration on security.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know it doesn't seem to make sense, but you have to believe me that this would do the country a favor. It helps your party and it even helps the president,” Hearst said. “You'll understand soon enough.”
“Jim, have you lost your mind?” Nelson asked.
“You gotta trust me on this Chuck.”
“How do you expect me to do that if you're not telling me what this is about?” Nelson said. “I may be willing to go along with whatever it is that you're cooking up here, but you need to give me more than your word.”
“Okay, let me think about,” Hearst said and the two Congressmen broke their huddle just as the next vote started.
While Nelson headed to his own seat, trying to make sense of what had just happened, Hearst ducked into one of the rooms adjacent to the House chamber. He reappeared after a couple of minutes and headed straight for Nelson.
“Come with me,” he said. “And don't forget your phone.”
The pair headed for the same room and Hearst pulled out his cell.
“He is with me now, sir,” he said and hung up.
Within a few seconds, Nelson's phone began to buzz and he flipped it open.
“This is Chuck Nelson,” he answered.
“Congressman, thanks for taking the call. This is Jack Sweeney.”
Hearing the president's voice almost caused Nelson to drop the phone but he composed himself.
“Mr. President, it's good to talk to you,” he said.
“Jim told me about your situation and thought it might be best if I spoke to you,” Sweeney said. “I just ducked out of a Cabinet meeting to make this call and don't have much time, but I wanted you to know that I think you'd be doing the country a tremendous service if you'd hold that press conference and really lay it on thick. I give you my word that this will not have any negative consequences for you or your party. I don't know if that'll be enough or if you need some kind of other assurance ...” Sweeney's voice trailed off.
“That won't be necessary, Mr. President,” Nelson said. “I have your word and Jim's. More than that, if he can get you on the phone within a couple of minutes, this must be important, so I'll do it.”
“Terrific, Congressman,” the president said. “I really appreciate it. Listen, I gotta run but please consult with Jim about how to best go about doing this. Maybe I could have you over for dinner in a couple of weeks to thank you for agreeing to help the country out.”
With that, Sweeney hung up, leaving Congressman Nelson wondering what the hell was going on.
Friday, 6:24 pm ET
It was one of the most uncomfortable nights of Hassan's life -- the perfect storm of insomnia. Though it was cooler in his room than on the ground level, it was still much warmer than he was used to. It would have been nice to have a fan but no such luck. In addition, with his luggage taken from him, he could not change and was forced to go to bed with the same clothes he had been wearing on the long flight from Bogotá. All of this, coupled with the large time difference from Washington to Islamabad, would have made for an unpleasant night for just about anybody, but what kept Hassan awake more than anything was his thoughts.
He tossed and turned, wondering what was ahead for him and reflecting on the past four years.
Hassan remembered how he had first come up with the plan of staging a terrorist attack as a means to infiltrating as-Sirat and he smiled at his younger self for having had the audacity to pitch the idea to a Member of Congress and the arrogance to think he could bring down the terrorist network. Over the past four years, he had changed so much, but what had not changed was his firm belief that the plan would work.
At first, it was probably youthful exuberance mixed with a little bit of foolishness that led him to feel that way. Later, after the idea had been tossed around at the highest levels of power and eventually been given the green light, Hassan's confidence came from seeing firsthand the kind of preparation that went into Operation Pathfinder.
He could have never pulled this off as a high school senior, but now he knew that he was ready. Over the past four years, he had dedicated his life to the mission. He had never minded the long hours of training, the countless lessons and practice sessions. Hassan had even done torture training once a month, in which he had been given a code and members of the team then tried to force it out of him.
He had undergone waterboarding and sleep deprivation, toughening his mind with each session. In the beginning he had cracked within the first few minutes, now he could suffer through various forms of torture for hours. McClintock believed that it was possible for as-Sirat to torture him a lit
tle upon his arrival, just to see if he was legit.
“I'll be so disappointed if they don't end up torturing me,” Hassan had said during his last conversation with the DNI. “But I tell you what: If they don't and I make it back alive, I'm gonna waterboard you for a whole day just for putting me through this.”
The comment had made McClintock laugh so hard that he snorted pink lemonade through his nose before agreeing.
No, Hassan thought in his small chamber in Islamabad, it wasn't the rigorous training or the torture that had been most difficult for him, or even the constant awareness that he was heading into a mission that could easily cost him his life.
The toughest part had been abandoning and disappointing his family and friends to build his cover identity. It had been a long and gradual transition from all-American high school athlete to pretend radical. The slow change had been mapped out by an expert on radicalism and Hassan had followed it to a tee. When the plan called for alienating his best friend in Virginia, he did so. When it called for reducing the frequency with which he should speak to his parents, then he cut back on the phone calls.
The only good part was the distance from UCLA to home. That way he didn't have to face his parents in person and see the disappointment on their faces. Hassan was not sure he could have kept up the charade if he had seen how sad it made his parents to see him slipping away from them into radicalism.
When he envisioned the success of the mission, he did not imagine Omar Bashir being killed or taken away by Special Forces soldiers or the president slapping him on the back at a White House ceremony. To Hassan, success was getting the job done and making it home alive so that he could embrace his parents and tell them how sorry he was for what he put them through.
Whenever he ignored another e-mail from them, begging him for information about how things were going at UCLA or urging him to rethink the path he was taking, the thought that kept him going was that, when everything was unveiled, they would be so proud of him.
It was only when he pictured that moment that he finally found some sleep.
***
Art Kempner checked the New York Times' website to make sure they had not beaten him to the punch. He wasn't really worried about anybody else but also pulled up the Wall Street Journal and Yahoo News. With great satisfaction, he saw that the scoop was his alone.