One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [135]
“He’s standing up. He’s getting off.”
“Got it. You go to the next stop and head back here.”
I immediately scanned for a parking spot, whipping the car around and cramming it into a space barely large enough to hold a moped. I waited for the terrorist to commit to a direction before falling in behind him. The sidewalks in this area were much less congested than in the city center, with only a few couples using them. I knew that if he turned around there was no way he would miss me, but there was nothing I could do about it. I stayed as far back as I dared, praying the terrorist had no reason to feel he was being followed and would walk straight to his destination.
Luckily, that’s exactly what he did. Striding with a purpose and ignoring his immediate surroundings, he entered a five-story building. I gave him a few minutes, then approached.
It was a youth hostel, a cheap hotel catering to college students and wandering backpackers. It was clean and neat, although a little threadbare, with a throng of young men and women coming and going.
I went across the street to a small restaurant/bar, took a table in the corner that had a view of the entrance to the hostel, and gave Jennifer a call, telling her where to find me.
SAYYIDD FLEW UP THESTAIRSof the youth hostel at a rapid clip, anxious to e-mail Bakr the good news. Walid had not only told him he could get “proof” of Iranian complicity for the WMD attack, along with the necessary explosive material, but he could get them into Israel proper with little trouble at all. In fact, he wanted Sayyidd to come with him tomorrow to the hinterlands of Norway to meet the man who would facilitate their travel. Unfortunately, the location of the facilitator was outside the footprint of the satellites for the Thrane M4 phone. While they covered a broad swath of the world, it wasn’t 100 percent coverage. It meant he would be out of e-mail contact with Bakr for forty-eight hours, but he felt that was of little consequence.
Booting up the M4, he typed a jubilant message, giving Bakr the details of the meeting, including the fact that he might not get any further message in the next twenty-four hours. He reassured Bakr that he would attempt to locate an Internet café, but that the M4 would probably not link up with the satellite.
As he leaned back with a sense of satisfaction, Sayyidd’s reflections on his meeting with Walid were interrupted by a growling in his stomach. He didn’t bother to shut down the computer, since he would be gone less than forty-five minutes and wanted to see Bakr’s reply as soon as he returned.
ABSENTLY LOOKING AT THE MENU ON THE TABLE, I was running through our next potential steps when Jennifer found me and sat down with a big grin on her face.
“Told you—you’re a natural,” I said.
“It was really sort of fun. I could get into doing that stuff.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, because I’m pretty sure you’re going to get another chance at it.”
I gave her a rundown of what I knew, telling her that we needed to figure out, before we did anything else, whether the other terrorist was with his partner. In the end, we had to have positive proof these idiots had a weapon of mass destruction, or, equally, that they did not, which might mean breaking into their room. I couldn’t risk that unless I knew the room was empty, and knocking on the door wasn’t a preferred technique.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Any idea how the two of us can maintain 24/7 surveillance on this place?”
“You’re asking me? Why? You’re the expert.”
“Hey, I told you this wasn’t rocket science.” I glanced out the window. “I have some ideas, but I don’t have a monopoly on smarts. If you—”
I saw the terrorist leave the hostel across the street.
Jennifer said, “What? What is it?”
“The guy you followed is on the move.”
“Already?” Jennifer leaned over