The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [59]
The only problem was that the shooter was probably thinking the exact same thing. Though he’d have less cover going out the front door, it was the option that made the most sense.
Making his way through the hammam, Harvath found the reception area and the front doors. He checked for any signs that they were wired to an alarm system. The last thing he wanted to do was draw anymore attention to himself.
As he began to unlock the doors, he decided to remove the Don Quixote from the false bottom he’d created in his briefcase and tuck it into the waistband of his trousers.
He was in the process of balancing the briefcase on the door handles when a noise from behind caused him to turn.
As he did, he was hit in the chest and blown through the doors.
CHAPTER 40
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
“So that’s it?” asked Aydin Ozbek as he gripped his telephone. “He just kept the camera and said nothing?”
The CIA operative listened to Carolyn Leonard for a few more moments in dismay. The call was winding down as Stephanie Whitcomb poked her head inside Ozbek’s office. He held up his index finger indicating he was almost finished.
“Yeah, I understand,” he said into the telephone. “I appreciate your trying. If you come across anything, please let me know.”
After hanging up, Ozbek turned his attention to Whitcomb, who stood in the doorway with a folder tucked under her arm. “What’s up?” he asked.
“The FBI agents interrogating Andrew Salam want to access some of our database information.”
“Why?”
“The more they talk to him, the more they believe that maybe he didn’t kill that woman at the Jefferson Memorial,” she said.
“No kidding. I told them the same thing, but what’s that have to do with accessing our databases?”
“Using Salam’s description of his handler, they pulled photos of their own people going back twenty-five years, loaded them onto a laptop and worked them into a digitized mug book.”
“And they got nothing,” replied Ozbek.
Whitcomb looked at him. “What does that tell you?”
The CIA operative rolled his eyes. It was a stupid question. “Ah, that whoever recruited him wasn’t really an FBI agent?”
“But what if he was an intelligence operative who just worked for another agency?”
Ozbek picked up his pen and tapped it on his desk blotter. “The FBI would be able to get whatever they wanted from DEA, DHS, DOJ.”
“But not CIA. Not without asking us first.”
“Whoa,” cautioned Ozbek. “Maybe the Bureau’s okay with flashing pictures of their people at Salam, but there’s no way in hell we’re going to do that. We can’t.”
“That’s exactly what I said. No dice.”
“So why are we even talking about this?” asked Ozbek, who was anxious to get back to work.
Whitcomb drew the file folder out from under her arm. “The Bureau guys are smart. They came up with a compromise.”
“Like what?”
“They brought Salam an Identi-Kit and just sent over this composite,” she said as she pulled a page from her folder. She held it up for Ozbek to see. “They want to know if we can search our databases for any candidates that might be a match for this guy.”
Even with Whitcomb standing across the room in his doorway, Ozbek recognized the likeness immediately. Matthew Dodd’s face wasn’t one he was ever going to forget.
CHAPTER 41
CLICHY-SOUS-BOIS
Harvath hit the ground with Big Bird’s two-hundred-ninety-plus-pound frame right on top of him. Aouad must have discovered his switch of the Don Quixote.
With the briefcase still clenched in his right hand, Harvath swung at the giant’s head, but was a second too slow. Big Bird raised his left arm and blocked the blow, forcing Harvath to swing with his other hand.
He connected with the man’s jaw, but his attacker barely even flinched. As Harvath pulled back for another strike, Big Bird unloaded with both of his enormous hands.
The man drove two quick punches into Harvath’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. As Harvath gasped for air, he kept trying to use his legs to lift