One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [86]
Deleting the message from both the sent and trash files, he said, “It’s gone.”
Bakr rubbed his forehead. He now saw that he would have to look over his shoulder for everything.
“Please check the other address.”
Going to the other Yahoo! account, Sayyidd glowed with anticipation when he saw four messages in the in-box. Three were for penile implants and counterfeit Viagra; one was an e-mail for them. Opening it, he read a simple paragraph, written in Arabic:
Praise be to Allah and all thanks to Allah, your message brings hope to the breasts of true believers. Travel with the weapon to Imam Walid abdul-Aziz. Meet and discuss together the path to success. Peace be upon you in your journey. Imam Walid will send you a message in his own good time for the meeting. May Allah make this a day of pride and success for the Muslim Ummah.
Sayyidd looked up in confusion. “Who’s Imam Walid? Where’s he located? Are we supposed to guess?”
“Don’t worry, my friend. He’s a man that’ll help the plan you’ve come up with, just as he’s helped hundreds of other true believers in Europe. I know he lives in Norway, but don’t know his actual address. We’ll go to Cancún and catch a flight to Oslo. Send a reply to The Sheik telling him of the successful test. Before we leave, delete both messages.”
Sayyidd did as he was told, saying, “I don’t need to be treated like a child. I can learn from my mistakes.”
52
I looked at the list of agencies, trying to smoke out the cover name the CIA was using at this particular embassy. I was looking for the name of an agency that sounded legitimate but was so innocuous it had no specific mandate. A name that nobody would call for anything. I knew most of the legitimate organizations, such as USAID, and focused on the ones I didn’t. Finally, my eyes settled on the pompous-sounding Office of Southern Hemispheric Relations. That sounded like what I was searching for. The title was so broad that nobody would call them unless they had been given the number.
Jennifer asked, “How will we get to the CIA? You’re right, I don’t see them listed.”
She didn’t just say that. I looked left and right, relieved to see that nobody was within earshot. Trying to remain calm, I said, “Please don’t say that name again. In fact, please don’t say anything.”
Chagrined, Jennifer lapsed into a sullen silence.
We had made the last bus to Belmopan without any other trouble, and had crashed in the nearest hotel we could find. Waking up this morning, it had taken little time to find the embassy and get through the outer security. Now was the hard part—how to get past Marine Post One. I would need to get someone from the CIA to meet me in the lobby, because I wasn’t on any approved access roster that Post One maintained.
I waited for the young Marine behind the bulletproof glass to finish what he was doing and ask me my business. I asked for the number to the office, moved to the phone provided, and gave them a call, Jennifer standing expectantly beside me. A man answered on the third ring. It took a little bit of convincing, made harder since I didn’t want to say anything specific on an open phone line, but I finally managed to get him to meet us in the lobby. I gave him my description and hung up the phone.
Jennifer looked at me with a question.
“Someone’s coming down. We’ll see if it’s the right guy or not.”
Eventually, a young man came out of the elevator, dressed in chinos and a button-down shirt, looking like he would start to shave in a few years. He glanced nervously around the lobby, passing over me and focusing on Jennifer. He smiled at her, then continued to look around. Great. An idiot. I stood up and walked over to him.
“Looking for someone?”
He showed a spark of surprise, quickly covered up by bluster.
“I’m Eric. You apparently had some information you wanted to pass?”
“Yeah, can we go to your office?”
“No. Let’s go over to the couch and you can tell me what you have.”
I’d figured he’d do that and agreed.