Treason (16 page)

“How's Pooh Bear?” Brooke asked, using her pet name for her uncle.

“He's still in a coma but the swelling stopped,” Geraldine said in an excited voice.

“How high did the pressure get?”

“The doctor said it started dropping when it reached thirty-nine. They don't believe he suffered any permanent brain damage, Brooke. I told you. Jesus is with us.” Geraldine hesitated and then added, “He's with Jennifer too. I can feel it.”

There are pretenders to piety as well as to courage.

—Molière,
Tartuffe

A Virginia cabin

Somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains

E
verything was black. Jennifer could hear whimpering. Was this another of her delusions? No! This was real. A man and a woman had abducted her from her home. The man had put tape across her mouth but had removed it. The woman had insisted. She said the tape might cause her to choke. So he'd put a hood over her head that kept her from seeing who was crying now.

“Who's there?” Jennifer asked.

The whimpering stopped.

“It's me,” a girl's voice whispered.

She was close by. “I'm Jennifer Conner. They've put a bag over my face so I can't see you. I can't move my hands or legs either.”

“Me too,” the voice replied. “I'm Cassy. Cassy Adeogo. They came to my school. A man murdered my teacher. I heard lots of shooting. I'm scared.”

“How old are you?”

“Eleven, almost twelve. But I'm smart for my age. That's what my teachers tell everyone.”

“I'm almost fifteen.”

“What's your name?”

“Jennifer.”

“My father tells me to pray whenever I'm scared. I'm going to pray now. You can pray with me if you want.
Aaoozobillahe minushaitanir rajeem.
”

“I don't know that prayer.”

“It means ‘In the name of Allah, the Gracious, the Merciful.'”

“You're Muslim.”

“Yes, but I'm not like those terrorists on television. I'm a good Muslim. I don't believe in chopping off people's heads just because they aren't like us. In school, some of my friends are Jewish. Are you a Jew or are you Christian?”

“My mother was Muslim but not my father. I don't think he believed in God. All of my mother's relatives live in Egypt and they are Muslims. Maybe I'm half Muslim. I don't know because my family didn't really pray a lot. But I know it was Muslims who killed my mother and brother and my father. They're the evil Muslims.”

“I'm sorry. I will pray for you,” Cassy replied. “I can teach you if you want. I will ask Allah to tell the man and woman to release us.”

“I hate them,” Jennifer said. “I hope the police come and kill them.”

“My father said it's wrong to hate your enemies.”

“I don't have a father anymore because evil Muslims killed him. That is why I hate them.”

“Who takes care of you if your family is dead? Did someone adopt you?”

“Major Brooke Grant is my guardian. She takes care of me. She and Miriam did, only the man murdered Miriam. She was my nanny. I will not pray for him. Brooke Grant is a Marine. She said Marines all stick together. They will come and kill the people holding us and save us. That's what Marines do.”

When they heard the sound of a door opening, both stopped talking.

“What are you
gabars
talking about?” Akbar said.

“What's a
gabar
?” Jennifer replied.

“It's what my grandmother says,” Cassy volunteered. “It's Somali.”

“Cassy was praying for you,” Jennifer said. “She was asking Allah to forgive you. But I hope God kills you.”

Akbar jerked the black hood off Jennifer's head, surprising her.

“Watch your tongue, little
gabar
, or you could lose it,” he threatened. “Don't think that I will pity you because you are a child.”

He reached over and removed Cassy's hood too. “You both need a good beating. The Hadith tells us: ‘Let your rod be hanging on them, as a warning and to chastise against neglect of their duties toward Allah.'”

Neither girl spoke. Neither wanted to be beaten. With their hoods removed, they could observe their surroundings. The girls were sitting in an empty room with one window and log walls. Someone had covered the window with white paper so you couldn't look out or in. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. The girls were about a foot apart from each other on a cold linoleum floor with white and green specks. When their eyes met, they smiled at each other.

Akbar had knelt down so he could be eye-to-eye with them while he removed their hoods. He was still kneeling. Aludra was standing behind him watching.

“Please don't hit us,” Cassy said. “We'll do what you tell us.”

“You deserve a beating because your father is a hypocrite,” Akbar said as he stood. Glancing at Jennifer, he added, “And you are worthless.”

“She is half Muslim,” Cassy said, defending her new friend.

“Why are you hurting us?” Jennifer asked.

“What I do is not your concern.”

He handed the two hoods to Aludra. “Take them to the toilet in the next room, but if they disobey you, then leave them here to piss in their pants. I'll be back later, and when I come, I will beat them for being wicked.”

He left them, shutting the door behind him.

“Are you Muslim?” Cassy asked.

“Yes,” Aludra replied in a low voice.

“I'm a Muslim too, and I was taught that being a good Muslim meant you were kind and loving, not cruel to little girls,” Cassy said.

“I will take you to the bathroom, one at a time,” Aludra said. “This will be your only opportunity for several hours, so each of you should use the toilet.”

“I need my medication,” Jennifer said.

“Are you sick?” Cassy asked, clearly concerned.

“It's for my brain. It's broken. I have to take pills or I get confused really easily.”

“We don't have any pills for you,” Aludra said.

“Maybe you can get some for her,” Cassy suggested.

“Enough talk about pills; do either of you wish to use the toilet?”

“I'd like to,” Cassy said.

Aludra used a knife to cut the duct tape that had been wrapped around Cassy's riding boots, which she'd been wearing when she was kidnapped. Holding the knife in front of Cassy's face, she warned, “I'll cut you if you cause trouble.”

“I just want to pee,” the youngster replied.

Aludra removed the duct tape on Cassy's hands and helped her stand. Taking a firm grip on Cassy's right arm, Aludra led her out of the room to a nearby toilet. When they were finished, Aludra bound her wrists and ankles again with duct tape.

“Do you know a woman named Halgan who lives in Minneapolis?” Cassy asked.

“Why would you ask me that question?” Aludra replied.

“Because you look like her big sister. Her name is Halgan and she is a friend of my parents and I have been to her house and seen photographs of her sisters.”

“Who I am doesn't matter. Now be quiet or I will tape both of your mouths.”

“I was just asking. Halgan is beautiful. She's a nice woman from a good family. You and that man with you are Somali Americans, aren't you?”

“I told you to be quiet. Don't think talking to me will help you.”

“Do you know Halgan?” Cassy persisted.

Aludra looked at the door to make certain it was closed and Akbar couldn't hear her. Looking down at Cassy's face, she said, “She is my cousin.”

“Then you are probably from Minneapolis too, right?” Cassy asked. “If you are, then you know who my father is and my mother, Dheeh. They're good Muslims.”

“I warned you to be quiet or I'll tape your mouth. The man who is guarding you will beat all of us if he hears you talking to me.”

“I saw him put tape on your mouth at the farmhouse when he got angry,” Jennifer said, joining their conversation. “Please don't put the hoods back on us. We won't scream, and we've already seen both of your faces.”

“Yes, we promise,” Cassy said. “You wouldn't want your cousin Halgan to be hooded like this, would you?”

Aludra frowned at Cassy. “If I don't put the hoods on you, he will beat me.” She put a hood over Cassy's head and then slipped the second over Jennifer's before standing to leave.

Neither Cassy nor Jennifer spoke for several moments.

“Do you really think she left or is she fooling us?” Cassy whispered.

“I don't know. But we'd better be quiet for a while.”

After several more minutes, Cassy said, “I think she's really gone. There's something I need to tell you.”

“Okay. If you think she is really gone.”

“I was in my riding class when the men grabbed me, so I'm wearing riding boots that come to my knees.”

“I don't understand.”

“The duct tape is wrapped around my boots at my ankles to keep my legs together, but I think I can wiggle my feet out of the boots. If I can, then I can run for help.”

House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence

U.S. Capitol Visitor Center

Washington, D.C.

U
nless the chair hears an objection, this committee briefing will proceed with Representative Rudy Adeogo being listed in the official record as an invited guest of the Chairman,” Representative Thomas Stanton announced. He nodded approvingly at Adeogo, who had been escorted inside the underground, secure hearing room to a chair at the back wall. From his seat, Adeogo could see the House committee's thirteen members from the majority party and nine from the minority. Their seats were elevated on two different levels, much like judges in a courtroom, with Stanton positioned in the middle of the highest row in the room's most prominent chair. “Please know that all of us are praying for the safe return of your daughter,” Stanton added.

“Thank you for this courtesy,” Adeogo replied. Because the committee often discussed classified materials, usually only its members were allowed to attend. Adeogo had asked Stanton for permission to sit in because both the FBI and CIA were scheduled to speak, and he wanted to hear what they were telling the committee about the terrorists who'd kidnapped his daughter.

“We'll now call our first witness,” the Chairman announced, as CIA director Payton Grainger settled into a witness chair behind a small table before them. After explaining that this was an official briefing requested by the committee and swearing in Grainger, Stanton said, “Mr. Director, thank you for joining us. Now please begin.”

Fingering a remote, Grainger nodded toward a large television screen mounted on the left wall of the chamber. There was an identical screen on the right wall. A photograph appeared simultaneously on both.

“Many of you might recognize this man from news reports. He is African billionaire Umoja Owiti. Israeli intelligence has confirmed that Owiti met with the terrorist identified only as ‘The Falcon' at Owiti's heavily guarded estate in Kenya the day before Al-Shabaab gunmen attacked the Mandera college.” Grainger clicked the remote and a slide show of the carnage at the school appeared on the monitors.

“I hate calling this Islamic extremist ‘The Falcon,'” Stanton said, interrupting Grainger. “It makes him sound as if he is some exotic figure.”

“I agree, Mr. Chairman, and we've asked our Israeli friends to help us identify him by name because of their extensive sources in the Middle East. But they haven't been able to uncover his true identity. All we really know about him is that he is ruthless.”

“What about the Saudis?” the Chairman asked. “Surely they know the face behind that mask.”

“As you know from previous briefings, the Saudis are helpful when the information they share is mutually beneficial, but they claim ignorance when there is no direct benefit to them.”

“Enough said. What's the connection between this billionaire and this murderer?”

“The overthrow of Muammar Gaddafi in Libya and execution of Saddam Hussein in Iraq left Iran as the biggest financial contributor to Islamic extremist groups. While we believe terrorists still reap millions each year from secret payments by Islamic nations, such as the Saudis, as a form of ‘insurance' to keep the extremists from attacking them, their main source of income comes from exporting opium, kidnappings for ransom, and selling captured girls into sexual slavery.”

A colorful pie chart appeared with estimates of each revenue source.

“We believe these groups' expenses are currently exceeding their income. The irony is that their expenses have increased because of their aggression and success. An estimated eight million individuals now live in territories controlled by radical extremists, and the ongoing cost of waging war in troubled Middle Eastern nations against their leaders and their Western allies and overseeing that controlled population has made it difficult for the Falcon and his supporters to adequately fund his operations. This is why he is seeking financial help from Owiti.”

“Actually running governments rather than attacking them costs money,” Stanton said, “is that what you are saying?”

“Exactly.”

“Has there been any attempt to go after Mr. Owiti through the FAT Act?”

“We don't have enough evidence to charge him or freeze any of his Western assets under the Financial Anti-Terrorism Act,” Grainger replied. “Mr. Owiti has a myriad of foreign-based holdings, including many in Africa, that are shell companies making his assets difficult to track and link to Islamic extremists. And, as a multibillionaire, he has lawyers on retainer from the best law firms in the U.S. and Europe. As you are aware, terrorists such as the Falcon prefer to deal in cash, oil, or contraband rather than relying on normal financial institutions for fund transfers. So we currently have no documentable evidence that Mr. Owiti has given a cent to the Falcon and nothing but the word of the Israelis that the two men have ever met face-to-face.”

Grainger paused for a moment to see if the Chairman had another question. Stanton nodded at him to continue.

“We were able to learn from the SAD team that we sent to Nairobi that the Falcon is hoping to raise a considerable amount of money to finance a major attack on a U.S. city. We are not certain where this attack will happen or what form the attack will take. Our ongoing fear is the Falcon is trying to raise enough cash to buy a nuclear device from the North Koreans, Pakistan, or Russia.”

“Then I would strongly suggest that you find a way to stop Mr. Owiti from financing the Falcon,” Stanton interjected.

“We are in discussion with our Israeli friends about options, but they are still unhappy about steps our nation took during the Obama administration to normalize relations with Iran. There are rumors that some Israelis believe another 9/11 attack in the U.S. might remind Americans of the threat that a nuclear Iran poses to them and the stability of the West.”

“Mr. Director, even as a rumor, that is a serious accusation about our Israeli friends,” Stanton said.

“As I said, it is a rumor and probably bluster, but it is an indicator of an underlying resentment being felt in Tel Aviv.”

Grainger showed the committee another photo of Owiti on the television sets, this one taken in his Manhattan penthouse with several prominent New York officials, including the mayor.

“Mr. Owiti also has powerful friends who we assume are unaware of his dealings with the Falcon. While we cannot do much legally to stop Mr. Owiti,” Grainger continued, “we can use him as bait—assuming that he meets again at his Kenya estate with the Falcon. Such a meeting could give us an opportunity to take decisive action against the Falcon.”

“Care to elaborate?” Stanton asked.

“We're working on various scenarios that might create a favorable climate for Mr. Owiti to request another meeting with the Falcon, and if that were to happen and the Falcon were to expose himself, we could take steps to eliminate him.”

“And what of Mr. Owiti?”

“That could be a problem if he became collateral damage, given his high profile and connections. As I said, we are speaking to the Israelis about options that might involve them rather than us.”

During the next twenty minutes, Grainger answered questions from committee members, mostly about Owiti's business holdings and how helpful the Israeli intelligence service might be in killing the Falcon.

When everyone seemed satisfied, Grainger said, “Mr. Stanton, if there are no more questions, there's another matter that I need to discuss with the committee. It is related to the Falcon. But first, I'd like permission to show a video from YouTube.” He chuckled and added, “It is not classified.”

“Go ahead,” Stanton said.

A staff member lowered the lights as the video began and voice of the video's narrator filled the chamber.

“This is a spider-tailed horned viper that is found only in western Iran,” the narrator explained. “Notice that its skin is the identical color of its surroundings, making it nearly impossible for anyone to spot unless the viper is moving.”

The film showed a snake that was nearly impossible to see in the rocky terrain. “What makes the spider-tailed horned viper unique is its tail. Instead of rattles like those found on rattlesnakes in North America, the horned viper appears to be dragging a large brown spider behind it.”

On the screens, the viper twisted its tail, causing it to appear as if a large spider were darting back and forth on the rocks. From Grainger's vantage point, he could tell that Stanton and other committee members were shocked by how well hidden the snake was. One member asked a colleague to point out the snake because he had lost sight of it.

“In this desolate climate,” the narrator continued, “insect-eating birds search for spiders.” On the screen, an unsuspecting bird swooped down and grabbed the dancing spider in its beak. Suddenly, the viper's head emerged from the terrain, appearing as if from nowhere, stabbing its poisonous fangs into the bird, paralyzing it.

“That's an incredible nature film,” Stanton said when the video ended and lights were turned back up. “But I'm not sure of its relevance to our committee.”

“Our SAD team was able to interview the only Al-Shabaab fighter who was captured after the Mandera attack. He was taken to a Nairobi prison where our people interrogated him. Naturally, we followed all of the correct protocols.”

“No enhanced interrogation techniques?”

“I can assure you of that, Mr. Chairman,” Grainger said. “Our people were able to learn from this terrorist that the Falcon has successfully penetrated our government with a mole.”

Grainger paused and then looked directly at the Chairman. “Someone in our government is helping these extremists.”

“How trustworthy is this source of yours?” Stanton asked.

“Everything else he has told us has been authenticated.”

“Did he say how high up in our government this reputed traitor is? Are we talking about some low-level clerk or lower-level manager?”

“Based on the information that we believe this individual has provided to the Falcon, we believe this source is not some low-level operative. It is someone higher up, much higher up.”

“What sort of information are you basing your assessment on?”

“This source appears to have given information to the couple who attacked the president at Decker Lake's funeral. We believe this source provided a sniper with the location and time that General Grant was traveling on the Jefferson Davis Highway when he was shot. That information could only have come from someone highly placed inside our government.”

No one spoke for several moments as the Chairman and committee members considered the gravity of what they'd just been told. It was clear that none of them had considered the idea of a radical Islamic mole inside our government.

Grainger said, “The FBI's assistant director of counterterrorism, Wyatt Parker, is handling the mole hunt and would be better able to answer your questions about it.”

“Thank you, Director Grainger,” Stanton replied. “We'll invite him in, but first you need to answer my earlier question. What was the point of showing us the YouTube snake video?”

“Mr. Chairman, we have learned from the captured Al-Shabaab terrorist in Kenya that the Falcon's code name for the mole is ‘The Viper.'”

Chairman Stanton groaned. “What is it with these pseudonyms? Clearly these killers enjoy dressing themselves up with such monikers as ‘The Falcon' and ‘The Viper.' It turns my stomach.”

“Forgive me for being so theatrical, Mr. Chairman, but when I learned that we had a mole hiding in our government who was calling himself the Viper, I had my people check for all possible clues, and one of them stumbled upon the Internet video. I showed it today because I felt it was a dramatic way to illustrate what we are facing.”

“So we are the bird in the video?”

“I didn't mean to be so literal. We have a mole who has camouflaged himself to appear as if he is one of us. He is someone who is capable of hiding, luring us in, and then striking. Regardless of how we feel about the code name—Viper—this mole poses a real danger to all of us.”