They also shot down all of Hassan's attempts to apologize for what he had put them through.
“We're just so proud of you and I can't wait to see you in person,” his mom said.
In Washington, congressional leaders from both parties, in confidential briefings, were filled in on the operation and its success, putting an end to the partisan sniping about the administration's handling of the Washington attack. Some blogs had picked up on the information that was mentioned on the Drudge Report but no major media outlets did. Fortunately for the administration, Drudge was wrong often enough for people not to take the story too seriously.
Art Kempner had contacted the White House as soon as he had seen the leak to make sure that they knew it had not come from him or his managing editor. He and Emily Strauss initiated an internal investigation to see how the information had leaked to Drudge. The Post's information technology division went into the e-mail accounts of all employees until they found the message sent from Jonathan H. Nicklaus to Drudge. That discovery resulted in a call to one of the paper's lawyers to see if the young reporter's actions constituted an offense that allowed them to fire Nicklaus. It did.
***
Shareef Wahed rose when the bell rang at his apartment. It was still early in the morning and he didn't have class until later in the day. The grad student opened the door and saw a woman not much older than himself in the hallway.
“Hi, I'm Brynn Lemaire with the U.S. Census Bureau,” she said with an engaging smile. “I have to go through this apartment building today to figure out how many people live in each unit.
“Are you …,” she paused to consult her portable electronic device, “… Shareef Wahed?”
“Yes, I am,” the as-Sirat sleeper replied.
Before he knew what was happening, Wahed was face down on the floor with federal agents entering his apartment from everywhere.
“Shareef Wahed, you are under arrest for conspiring to kill thousands of Americans, among other crimes,” an FBI agent said before reading Wahed his Miranda rights.
In different forms, with different levels of police brutality, the scene was repeated nearly simultaneously all over the world in the largest coordinated anti-terrorism operation in history. In all, over 200 as-Sirat members whose information had been found in Andan, were arrested.
***
Art Kempner had been summoned to the White House. Ordinarily, he would have resented the short-notice interruption on such a busy news day. He was working on the Post's lead story for the next day, an article about the as-Sirat arrests throughout the world. To make things busier for him, the White House had just announced that the president would hold a prime time address to the nation that evening and asked the networks to carry it live. Art had a pretty good idea what the speech would be about.
Despite being so busy, the veteran reporter didn't mind going to the White House at all. He had a gut feeling that something special was waiting for him and his gut feeling had a pretty good track record over the past couple of weeks.
Art was waved through security. He immediately noticed that something was different from his previous visit just two days ago. It was as though the mood of the entire White House had changed. Where there had been frowns earlier in the week, undoubtedly caused by the barrage of criticism the Sweeney administration had been under, there were now smiles everywhere.
White House press secretary Kyle Eubanks greeted him enthusiastically.
“Come on, Art, somebody wants to see you.”
With that, Eubanks led him through the West Wing to the Oval Office, a room Art had never been in.
The president already waited for them.
“I'll take it from here, Kyle,” he said before turning to the reporter. “Mr. Kempner, we meet again.”
Sweeney was also all smiles.
“Mr. President, first please let me assure you with regard to the leak that Ms. Strauss and I had nothing to do with it. In fact, the reporter who did was fired earlier today.”
The president put up his hands.
“Don't worry about it. I know a little something about people and, after talking to you both, I knew that leak didn't come from you. I was certain that you understood the gravity of the situation. Actually, I was so impressed with your refusal to gain personally from holding the story that I decided to do this.”
Sweeney walked to one of the doors on the far side of the room and opened it. Though Art knew about Pathfinder, he still gasped when he saw Hassan al-Zaid stroll into the room. The young man extended his hand.
“So you're the guy who almost got me killed,” Hassan said, grinning widely.
Art shook the hand, not sure how to respond. Sweeney helped him out by jumping in.
“As you have probably figured out, and this is still off the record, Operation Pathfinder was a full success. In fact, it was much more than that.
“Tonight, I'm going to announce to the world that Omar Bashir is dead, as are most of his top lieutenants. We have effectively eliminated as-Sirat's entire leadership structure. More than that, when we attacked their hideout, we found information that led to the capture of many other terrorists and disrupted as-Sirat plots in several countries, including ours. I can't go into details but let's just say that, if successful, it would have been the worst attack on the United States ever.
“I will also reveal to the country everything I can about Operation Pathfinder, including, of course, that this young man, whom we had to smuggle into the White House today under disguise, is a national hero.”
Hassan smiled a little awkwardly, clearly not comfortable with being on the receiving end of such lavish praise. Sweeney saw the expression on the young man's face and interpreted it correctly.
“Sorry, Hassan, you'll have to get used to it,” the president said before catching himself and turning his attention back to Art. “Actually, that's not true. Mr. Kempner, the reason you are here is because Hassan doesn't want to get used to the hoopla that would normally be the result of his actions. He doesn't want a book deal or appearances on Oprah or Saturday Night Live.”
At this point, Hassan interrupted.
“Actually, on second thought, Saturday Night Life would be kinda cool.”
“Really?” The president looked puzzled before he saw Hassan grinning.
“No. Well, I mean it would be cool but I don't want to do it. I don't want to do any of that stuff. I just want to live my life. The last four years have been all about deception and disappointing the people who matter most to me, so I don't want to waste my immediate future on doing talk shows.”
“I completely respect Hassan's decision,” Sweeney said. “In fact, right after we got Omar Bashir, I offered him to come up with a story that he died in the attack. Obviously, he will be a target for any as-Sirat sympathizer from this point forward, so I figured he might want to start a safer life elsewhere. But Hassan declined.
“Now, I do think that there is a need for the country to hear his story, so Hassan has given in to my request to make sure it is being told. And that's really why you're here. You're getting first crack at it. It's kind of a reward for having done the right thing earlier this week without trying to get anything out of it. I guess that's about it, so go right ahead with any questions you might have, Mr. Kempner.”
“Wow, sure,” the reporter said. “Can I just call my office and let them know that somebody else should finish that story I was working on?”
“Absolutely. It's probably a good idea because I imagine this might take a while. You can use the room over here for the interview, by the way. I wish I could listen in but I have a speech to prepare.”
Art quickly cleared his schedule and begun his interview with an obvious question.
“Why wouldn't you want your death to be faked instead of having to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life?”
“I don't see it that way,” Hassan said. “If you look at the statistics, you’re much more likely to die in your ca
r than from a terrorist attack. Yet we still drive. You’re much more likely to die on your job than from a terrorist strike, but we still go to work. And even if you’re killed by another person, it’s way more likely that it is a family member than a terrorist. So why in the world are we giving these people all of that power over how we live our lives? I'm not gonna do it, even if I'm more of a target.
“A friend of mine offered me a job, and I think I'm going to take it.” Hassan didn't mention that the friend was DNI McClintock. “It'll allow me to be close to my family, and that's where I need to be right now. I put them through so much over the past few years and I can't wait until everything is revealed tonight so that I can start that process.”
“How did you feel when you heard about your father's heart attack and about the arson of your childhood home?” Art asked.
“Hearing about the heart attack was tough, even though I knew that my father would receive the best care possible. Still, it was really difficult because I was to blame for it. But my parents understand the reasons for my actions and that means everything to me.
“With regard to our house, I wasn't really surprised. More than anything, to me it shows the need for Americans to try to understand each other a little bit better. I doubt that whoever did it will come forward, but I bet tonight they'll feel like dumbasses. One of the reasons I wanted to do this mission was to show the world that not all Muslims are these gun-toting terroristic fanatics.”
The interview took almost two hours but it didn't seem that long to Hassan and Art. They covered everything from the conception of the plan to its execution to Hassan's short life with as-Sirat. Art knew it would be one of his best articles ever, not because he asked the right questions but simply because it was such a compelling story. The reporter understood why President Sweeney had insisted on it being told and was happy to be the one to get to write it. He concluded the interview by asking something that truly baffled him.
“So you decided to walk away from all of these riches. Isn't there a temptation to cash in? After tonight, you'll be a gigantic international hero and you don't want to capitalize at all on that?”
“Well, with regard to the riches, I guess I could never pay taxes. I doubt the IRS would come after me,” Hassan joked. “Seriously, I think 'cashing in' would take away from the experience. And I'm not a flashy guy. I just want to live my life. Though now that you mention it, there is one thing I think I'll try to do.”
***
Two weeks later, Hassan again found himself in a tunnel, although this one was quite unlike the ones in Andan. It was a blustery night but he was too excited and nervous to feel the cold. In fact, he was probably more nervous now than he had been at any point in his life, with the exception of when he sat across Omar Bashir with a loaded gun.
“Please turn your attention to the home dugout for the introduction of the man who will throw out tonight's opening pitch.” The public announcer's voice boomed through the stadium. As with so many things involving Hassan, it had been kept a secret that he would make an appearance. Everybody assumed the president, who had announced that he would attend the one-game playoff between the surging Yankees and the Red Sox, would throw out the opening pitch.
“Earlier today he was named an honorary New York Yankee for his service to the country,” the announcer continued. “Please join me in giving a New York Yankee welcome to Hassan al-Zaid.”
The stadium erupted in a thunderous standing ovation when Hassan set foot on the field. He had to admit that his fame had some upsides.
“Don't short-arm it,” Hassan told himself before delivering a somewhat wobbly strike to home plate. The nervousness was clearly showing. If possible, the noise in the stadium got even louder when he tried to make his way off the field and waved to the crowd. Both teams came out of their dugouts, wanting to shake his hand and pat him on the back.
Hassan's eyes found the occupants of one of the luxury suites. His parents stood with DNI McClintock, who applauded as though his life depended on it. Even from this distance, he could see in their eyes how proud they were of their son. Jack Sweeney had an arm around Delek al-Zaid, looking the part of a president who was enjoying record-high approval ratings. Given the results of Pathfinder, Americans had quickly forgiven him for having deceived the country. On the other side of Jack Sweeney sat Captain Ken Gorsula, who was recovering from surgery. Hassan had requested that he would be at the game if his condition allowed it. Earlier in the day, the soldier and his family had met with the president and received from the commander-in-chief's hand the letter that his uncle had written before his death.
Hassan also knew that all of the guys from Operation Pathfinder were in the stadium. As covert operatives, they could hardly sit in the presidential suite, but they were sprinkled throughout the crowd. When he would see them on Monday, his first official day on the job, Hassan was sure that they would give him all kinds of grief for the royal treatment he was receiving. But he also knew that they wouldn't miss this for the world.
The ovation was still going strong and cameras were flashing all around him. Even a couple of players were taking pictures. Hassan smiled to himself when he thought about what the same crowd would have done to him three weeks ago. Whatever it was, he would not have left Yankee Stadium alive. Hassan basked in the applause just a little bit longer before waving one last time and disappearing into the dugout.
This was definitively better.
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