Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [24]
"So much for cooperation among the agencies," Morris muttered.
Jack frowned and glanced away from Agent Abernathy's curious gaze. I knew Operation Hell Gate would come back to bite me on this assignment. "McConnell stated that Kurmastan and its citizens were part of an 'ongoing investigation.' Is that correct?"
Layla nodded.
"Was that before or after you used my name?" Jack asked.
Layla frowned. "After, sir."
"He's lying," Jack declared. "The FBI's investigation is as dead as CTU's. McConnell is just trying to throw us off by feeding us misinformation — or he already suspects some of his agents are involved with Brice Holman's rogue operation and he wants to cover their asses."
Morris shook his head. "With the satellite system down on the East Coast and the FBI keeping us at arm's length, we're effectively on our own."
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "What else is new?"
The intercom buzzed again. Jack answered, putting it on speaker.
"Special Agent Bauer? This is Rachel Delgado, Security. I wanted to let you know that I've located Deputy Director Judith Foy. She's been injured in the line of duty. A traffic accident, according to the police. Right now, she's a patient in Newark General Hospital."
Jack watched Layla. She remained composed, but her expression had fallen. She was obviously upset.
"Thank you Ms. Delgado," said Jack, disconnecting. He met Layla's gaze. "I'm dispatching Special Agent Almeida to Newark," he told her. "I want Tony to interrogate Deputy Director Foy as soon as possible."
Layla nodded. "I want to go with him."
"No," said Jack. Then he softened his voice. "I'm sorry, Agent Abernathy. I need you here. But I'd like you to send another agent. Someone you trust. Someone who knows New Jersey."
* * *
11:46:29AM. EDT
District Congressional Office
Flemington, New Jersey
"Congresswoman Williams? Are you ready for your eleven forty-five?"
"Yes, Melinda," Hailey Williams replied over the intercom. "Send him in."
The slender, African-American Congresswoman adjusted the gray blazer of her tailored, pinstriped suit. As her office door swung wide, she rose from behind her desk to greet the man striding into the room.
Hailey frowned, expecting a black man named Montel Tanner. Montel was the usual liaison between herself and Ali Rahman al Sallifi. In fact, it had been Montel who'd called her the day before, promising another lucrative donation to her upcoming campaign in exchange for a small favor.
Hailey had been only too happy to agree to the meeting. Her campaign coffers were alarmingly low these days, her expenses increasingly high, and she knew al Sallifi was a man who could be counted on for financial support.
Hailey had helped al Sallifi in the past, and she was more than willing to do so again. Yes, one reason was the money. Hailey was no stranger to hardball politics — and she was certainly no saint when it came to running her campaigns. But she did honestly believe in al Sallifi's work with prisoners.
Sure, Hailey appeared to be living a charmed life now: married to a prominent public defender, a graduate of Howard University, two graduate degrees from Princeton. But she was far from a child of privilege.
Hailey was the third daughter to a single mother, whose father had died at the hands of guards in a state penitentiary, and three of her cousins had done time in prisons. To Hailey, prisoners were lost souls in need of guidance, and she firmly believed that once someone had served his or her time, that person deserved an unprejudiced chance to begin again.
She had proudly defended Ali Rahman al Sallifi, his Warriors of God organization, and its rural New Jersey Kurmastan settlement precisely because they held the same outlook that she did when it came to these lost souls of society.
Hailey had never actually examined the group's specific religious teachings. As an agnostic, she personally wasn't interested — although she did recognize and respect that any religion was a form of philosophy that could