They all indicated that this wouldn't be a problem and Art placed his digital recorder on the table.
“Surely you must have figured out on your own that the government is behind this,” Rick, who was wearing a different GW t-shirt this time, quipped.
“The way I see it, the attack has been filmed in a Hollywood studio and the images were somehow projected on Alan's windshield with secret technology, or maybe they controlled his memories somehow,” he continued in a conspiratorial tone. “You forgot to wear your saran wrap hat, didn't you Alan?”
“Guilty as charged,” Alan Hausman said amid their laughter.
“But seriously,” Rick said. “There are a lot of things about this attack that would alarm a good conspiracy theorist. First of all, they claim that they lost the complete surveillance tapes. How the hell does that happen? Losing evidence or not sharing records, like the footage from cameras on 9/11, will always alarm a good conspiracy theorist.”
Some of the others nodded.
“But here is something that I actually found odd, all conspiracy theory stuff aside,” Rick said. “For the past few years it has been drilled into our heads to be on the lookout for 'suspicious packages' and stuff, and here you have a bus full of people and none of them said anything when a Middle Eastern kid leaves his backpack behind. I think all of us are a little bit guilty of profiling in a situation like that. I know I'm eyeballing people with turbans more closely when I get on a plane, but here nobody seemed to do anything.”
“Okay,” Art said. “Lemme take the other side. First of all, with regard to the tapes. The administration are the ones who came out and told the public that they had misplaced the tapes, even though they knew they would be ridiculed and criticized for it. It seems like they had nothing to gain by admitting that. And with regard to the luggage, it seems like a lot of these people had just arrived in DC so there were probably a lot of bags on the bus and quite a bit of confusion because they had to get off the Metro and on a shuttle bus. Who is next?”
They all started talking at the same time. When order was restored, Art went around the table and asked them what they found most odd about the bombing.
One of them questioned how the bomb was triggered so that it exploded right at the Pentagon. If it was a timer, it would have been a lucky coincidence.
The next man said he found it odd that the terrorist had decided to blow up a bus instead of just leaving the bomb on the Metro.
“Maybe that was his plan all along but the Pentagon station was closed, dumbass,” Rick said to laughter. “Now that in itself is highly suspicious. But I find any sentence suspicious that involves the word 'Pentagon'.”
When most of them had weighed in, Art spoke again.
“I can understand how some of those things look odd, and I guess that was the point of the exercise,” he said. “But nothing you brought up is really an indication that something isn't as it seems, right? I mean, after all we know that the bus exploded. Alan saw it happen and we know there were people on it who died. So does this mean that the attack is above conspiracy theories?”
“It better be,” Alan said. “I mean, if those military cars hadn't slowed me down, I wouldn't be sitting here, so you guys better believe it was real.”
“We all know that the bus really blew up, I don't think there is any debate about that, Alan,” said Steve, the older man with the beard. “But I do have a question about the whole thing that has been bothering me for a few days. I just can't make sense of it, and I think it is just the kind of thing that Mr. Kempner was referring to when he was saying that you can find something odd about anything.”
Steve looked in the round to make sure he had everybody's attention. Satisfied that they were all listening, he continued.
“Mr. Kempner, I don't believe in subsidizing the oil industry, so I don't own a car,” he explained to Art. “I use my bike a lot and the bus for longer trips. I've been living here for more than 30 years and I guess I'm averaging at least one bus trip every day in that time.
“That comes out to more than 10,000 bus rides in and around DC and that is a pretty conservative figure. It could easily be 15,000 or even 20,000. Anyways, I looked at the demographics of the passengers when they released the list of victims and I can tell you one thing for certain. I have never, ever been on a bus with almost 40 people on it and none of them was under 30 or an immigrant. Maybe it is because they all came from the airport, but if I didn't know better, I'd call the demographics of that bus suspicious.”
The others began debating what Steve had said but Art paid their discussion little attention. His mind was elsewhere. So here was yet another thing that was odd about Metro Bus 2405 and its passengers and it was not just him feeling that way.
The sense that there was a huge story somewhere close kept getting stronger and he also had the feeling that something else had been said at dinner that was important. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. At least he had the conversation on tape. Maybe if he listened to it again he would be able to connect whatever dots there were.
The alarm bells were louder than ever and Art vowed that he would start thinking of asking the right questions and getting some answers to them.
***
The beginning of their trek hadn't been too arduous, but after a march of over four hours, Hassan was beginning to feel his legs. While some uncertainty was gnawing at him, overall he was buoyant. If Nasir and the others had figured out who he was, he'd be dead by now. Hassan believed the fact that he was still alive meant that he was actually being taken somewhere important.
After the sun set shortly after the last leg of the journey began, temperatures dropped quickly, although the workout of the hike kept him warm. Hassan figured that they were at least a mile above sea level. Mountain ranges surrounded the path on which the men and their mules had been marching. So far he had seen only one car, an old bus that had blanketed them in a cloud of dust. It found its way into Hassan's nose and mouth and he coughed and spit, trying to get rid of the taste.
“I forgot that you are new here,” Nasir said with an apologetic smile and handed Hassan a scarf. “Wrap it around your head and cover your face if you see dust coming our way. And turn when a car approaches. Don't worry, you'll pick up everything quickly.”
The only other person they encountered was an old man who was taking a mule in the direction they had come from. They greeted him and he bowed deferentially.
“The locals living around the base are strong supporters of as-Sirat,” Nasir explained. “We provide them with goods and money. Omar Bashir is a strong believer in improving their lives to strengthen the bonds between them and us. He has funded several schools in the area and every now and then we go there for guest lectures.
“I know America is intent on trying to win the hearts and minds of its enemies,” Nasir added, spitting on the ground. “It will never work here. We're sharpening their minds and they have given us their hearts in return.”
The rest of the march had been uneventful. The men had chatted throughout as though they didn't have a worry in the world. After Hassan's coughing attacking, each of them had taken some time to walk and talk with him, dispensing advice on various aspects of living in the mountains.
Finally, Hassan saw a town appear in the distance and the pace of the men quickened.
“There is your new home,” Nasir said.
“You live in a town?” Hassan asked, his surprise not an act. “Funny, at home the government is telling people that as-Sirat is cowering in caves. Just more of the lies they are feeding people in America, I guess.”
“Be patient, you'll see soon enough how we live,” Nasir said. He pointed to the mules, which were clearly excited. “Look, even they know we're home. I hope the Americans never catch one of them because the mules could show them the way to our headquarters.”
He laughed and slapped Hassan on the back, clearly giddy to get home and relieved that he had succeeded in bringin
g his precious cargo along.
“You made it, brother.”
They entered the town. Although the darkness made it difficult for him to take in the environment, Hassan estimated that there were about four dozen buildings, none of them taller than two floors. He saw no phone lines going into town, which was a concern. The town of Andan was well protected by its surroundings with mountains flanking it on two sides. The road seemed to be the only way a car could get into the town and a well-positioned sentry could probably spot anybody who was approaching from a long way out.
The group turned toward a building that looked like a warehouse. A few men were waiting there and helped unload the mules.
“Follow me,” Nasir said and ducked into a door. Hassan saw that the storage facility was built right into the mountainside. They entered a large room that was barely lit. It was filled with bolts of fabric and containers for what Hassan thought were dyeing chemicals based on the smell in the room.
When his eyes got used to the darkness, he looked around some more, trying to take in all of the details and figuring out why he had been taken here. Hassan was just about to ask when he heard a sound from the back wall, the one that was built into the mountain, and a shelf swung open.
“Welcome,” Nasir said and stepped into the narrow passageway that had appeared out of nowhere. He allowed Hassan to pass and closed the door behind them.
“The door can only be opened from the inside once it is bolted,” Nasir explained, pointing to a sturdy bolt. “There are others throughout town. You'll see that it is a very large network.”
They went through a long tunnel and Hassan saw others branch off from time to time. In addition, there were several rooms, some with mattresses on the floor and others that seemed to be used as storage. He also saw one that was filled with weapons. None of them had doors. Instead, curtains were used to separate the rooms from the tunnel.
It was noticeably cooler inside of the mountain and the grim-looking men Hassan saw in the various rooms were dressed warmly. At their feet, cables were running along the tunnel, splitting off into the rooms and providing the lamps that lit the passage with electricity. Hassan could hear the distant rumbling of generators and the smell of diesel hung faintly in the air.
Finally they reached a metal door. Nasir banged against it and a pair of eyes appeared in a small opening. The door was unlocked and, when it opened, Hassan could see that it was massive.
Two men were standing in the next tunnel.
“We're a brotherhood and have no need for doors other than this one. It's his last line of defense,” Nasir explained. “I'm sure he'll explain its purpose to you in due time. Let these guys search you. One can never be too cautious.”
The bodyguards thoroughly patted Hassan down before they waved them on. It was good that they hadn't checked his pulse because it was racing and butterflies were fluttering in his stomach. They reached another door and Nasir again knocked.
“Enter,” they heard a voice say.
Nasir opened the door and allowed Hassan to walk in first. There, in the middle of the room with a cup of tea in his hand, stood Omar Bashir.
“Allah is great,” Hassan shouted and lunged forward. Nasir and the bodyguards immediately reacted to the sudden movement and rushed into the chamber. They saw Hassan, kneeling on the ground, clasping the hem of Omar Bashir's kaftan.
With a flick of his hand, the as-Sirat leader waved his bodyguards and Nasir away.
“Rise, my American brother,” Omar Bashir said. “There is no need for such a display. We are all family. I praise Allah for guiding you to us.”
Hassan looked up at the terrorist leader. The tears of joy that were gleaming in his eyes were real. All of the hard work and the sacrifices of the past four years had paid off. The plan was working.
Sunday, 11:52 pm ET
“The plan isn't working,” Jack Sweeney thought. He had been in office for six years and experienced a lot of ups and downs in that time, but the current day was one of his bleakest as president.
Ever since DNI McClintock had called to let him know that they had lost Hassan, doubts had come crashing down on Sweeney.
“I think I've made a terrible mistake,” the president told his wife over dinner. Vocalizing his fear made him feel even worse and things didn't get better when the first lady asked what he was referring to.
She was not cleared to receive that kind of information, so the president told her that he could not elaborate, at which point she got upset with him and they had a rare fight. Normally, when there was such a quarrel, he would try to make her laugh by making some kind of joke about “first couple counseling,” pretending to call the Secret Service for help or complaining that he could not possibly be expected to have an argument without his speech writer and a teleprompter present. This time, however, he just let her berate him for a few minutes before mumbling: “You'll understand soon enough,” and fleeing to the Oval Office.
Back at his desk, Sweeney tried to get some work done but his mind kept returning to Pathfinder.
When he authorized the mission, the president truly felt that he was not worried about his legacy. Instead, he believed that he made the decision that was best for the United States. Now, thinking that the plan was falling apart, he realized that a complete failure would make things much more difficult for him.
Still, while he was becoming painfully aware of what could be ahead for him, such as congressional hearings, calls for impeachment or his resignation and a pissed off Pakistan, his primary anguish was for the people who had sacrificed so much for Pathfinder.
He hoped that, if the mission truly was a failure, Hassan and the other men would make it home okay, but it was too late for the 37 men and women who had died on the bus.
Sure, they had all been terminally ill, but each of them still had given up the last few months of their lives for their country and this mission, instead of spending the time with their loved ones.
Sweeney regretted that he never got the chance to speak to them. He had wanted to but, logistically, there was no way it could be done without putting the mission at risk.
Finding the volunteers had been one of the trickiest aspects of Pathfinder. The challenge had been to identify candidates, get them to agree to be part of the mission before they could tell anybody else about their condition and then find reasons for all of them to come to Washington.
They quickly had to discard the hope that there would be enough people in the DC area who fit the profile. In fact, they had to search the entire country to find their 50 volunteers.
The only way it could be done was through the health care systems of the Defense Department and the Department of Veterans Affairs. The president authorized a couple of doctors to gain access to the results of certain medical tests within that system. Basically, whenever someone was deemed to have a terminal illness, the tests were flagged and these doctors would review the case to see if the patient could be a potential volunteer. In effect, they knew of the patient's condition before the patients themselves found out about it.
The list of possible volunteers then went to McClintock, who reviewed their entire military file. As a former top spy, he knew the profile of people willing to risk their lives for their country. He had to quickly decide in each case whether the person was a possible candidate because they had to get to them before anybody found out about the terminal illness. They could not risk spouses or others telling the media after the attack that those who died only had a couple of months left to live anyways.
To add pressure to the search, McClintock could not afford to make many mistakes in his selections. Basically, he had to be certain that the people they approached would agree to become victims in a staged terrorist attack to give the United States a chance to cripple as-Sirat. Otherwise, those who rejected him might start telling stories about how the government had tried to recruit them for a daredevil mission.
In the end, McClintock had batted a clean 1,000. He ha
d selected people with excellent service records, strong leadership skills and who volunteered in their communities. A last criterion was that he approached people who did not have too much money saved up. As an added incentive, McClintock dangled the possibility of financial security in front of his potential volunteers. If they agreed to become part of the mission, their families would receive $1 million once the details of Pathfinder had been made public.
McClintock was fairly certain that appealing to the candidates' sense of patriotism would be enough to get them to sign on, but providing financial security for their loved ones was not only the right thing to do, it also made their decisions much easier.
The selection process had begun four months ago when the president made plans to visit the Middle East to see one last time if there was another way to stop terrorism, even in light of the worsening situations in Pakistan and Afghanistan. If Pathfinder got the final green light, the staged bombing was to take place right after Sweeney's return.
They contacted 50 people and none of them turned them down. Thirteen of them died prior to the day of the attack. The others had shown up as promised and given their country the last weeks or months of their lives, including the man who had taken a job as a Metro bus driver. He was the one who steered the bus out of Crystal City until the Humvees could take over remotely.
Sweeney opened his safe and took out the bundle of letters. He weighed it in his hands and then leafed through the stack and looking at the names on the envelopes.
“Please don't let it all have been in vain,” the president prayed. Eventually, he put the letters back and headed for the residence for a long and uncomfortable night.
***
In Andan, Hassan was feeling just the opposite. He was exhilarated and the adrenalin pumping through his veins prevented him from falling asleep, even though he was worn out from the long hike to Andan and the thin mountain air.