necrosis eating away at the subcutaneous layers of skin. Although the most heavily burned parts
of the woman’s body were covered by white sterile dressings drenched in saline, Naomi could
see that this was easily the worst of all the injuries she had encountered so far.
“Agent Lawrence? My name is Naomi Kharmai. I’m with Central Intelligence, and I need to talk
to you about the assassination of Senator Levy.”
“I’ve already given my supervisors a full account, as well as the FBI. Capitol Hill PD sat in on
that one. Aren’t you supposed to be sharing information with them?” Megan asked resignedly.
Although the deterioration of her jaw had slurred her speech, Naomi could still detect the
lyrical, lilting quality of Megan Lawrence’s voice. She thought that a few days ago it would have
been a pleasure to listen to this woman speak. “I’m sorry, Agent Lawrence, but you know how it
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goes. We’re going to need a firsthand account, and I have some pictures I’d like you to take a
look at.” Naomi hoped that by addressing this woman as “Agent,” she might foster a little
professional courtesy. To Megan, it just sounded patronizing.
“Look,” Megan tried one last time, “if we could maybe talk later, I just don’t feel—”
“You know, I don’t really have time later, so if you don’t mind—”
“Time?” Megan interrupted, a look of disbelief spreading across her misshapen features. The
man leaning by the door stood a little straighter at the tone in her voice. “You want to talk to me
about time?” Lawrence was shouting now, the garbled sound of her speech gone, crystal-clear
words echoing off the clean white walls. “You have all the time in the world! I’m never going to
leave this room alive, and my daughter is about to lose her mother. She doesn’t have anyone
else!” She collapsed back onto her bed, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. Her
own words brought it all rushing back, though, and the reality of her situation was suddenly
sharp, stinging deeper than any physical pain as tears began to stream down her ravaged face.
In three quick strides the heavy agent in the corner reached Naomi’s side, grabbed her arm
roughly, and dragged her out of the room. As he pulled her down the hallway, the sound of
Megan Lawrence’s sobs followed them, blending with Naomi’s furious protestations. The agent
did not let go of her arm until he watched her leave the building.
Outside the hospital, a light snow had begun to fall, early winter in October. She stood
motionless for a long moment, finally stepping off the curb to stalk angrily to her car. Behind
her, the doors were pushed open and a voice called out in her direction. She turned to face the
young resident from the fifth floor.
“I thought you should know.” Naomi waited impatiently until the doctor continued. “She has
less than a week left. Her husband passed away three years ago, and she won’t see her daughter
again because she doesn’t want that image to be the girl’s last memory of her mother.”
The resident watched Kharmai’s face long enough to realize that the words meant nothing to
her. Then he turned and retreated from the cold, heading back to finish his shift.
CHAPTER 4
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Kealey was standing before a bank of monitors and audio equipment in a darkened room
occupied by the Directorate of Science and Technology. He wore a visitor’s pass around his
neck that identified him by number, although the laminated surface also bore a photograph of
himself taken three years earlier. The crowded space was filled with young analysts looking at
data, monitoring rows of numbers, and occasionally speaking quietly to each other over
Styrofoam cups of cold coffee. Ryan Kealey, standing next to the chief analyst, Roger Davidson,
was lost in the sense of anonymity that seemed to blanket the room.
“Okay, this copy arrived in June of 2003 via the Saudis — God knows how they got it.
Originally broadcast on Al-Jazeera, it’s the usual fare, so it didn’t get a lot of attention at first.
Declaration of fatwa — a religious proclamation — issued on a standard feed, decent
resolution. Remember, we’re looking at the background… This isn’t surveillance tape, so we
didn’t really need to run any compression. We got what we were looking for when we adjusted
this spot here — you see?”
As the analyst manipulated strings of data on a laptop computer, the corner of the screen on the
second monitor darkened, revealing a small group of people. Some were reading from what
Kealey thought were handmade military field manuals, while others were stripping and cleaning
weapons.
“Got it?” asked Davidson. “Okay, this tape was shot at midday, at least according to the
time-and-date stamp. My tech officers swear up and down that it hasn’t been altered, so we’ll call
that fact for now. Now, you can see the glare was initially blocking out this group of people, so
we’ve…”
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Ryan tuned the analyst out as he leaned in to stare at the tape. The group of men were seated on
the sand beneath a worn canvas tarp lashed to wooden supporting poles. For the most part, they
appeared to be of Arab descent, dressed in loose, dark clothing or flowing robes covered in dirt
and dust. All were wearing the traditional kaffiyeh, including one man half-turned away from the
camera, the sun giving light to blond hair that strayed from beneath the head covering. The angle
did not reveal the man’s face, only the clean, straight line of his jaw, obvious even beneath the
heavy beard.
Ryan Kealey stared at the frame for a long time.
He turned and caught Davidson watching him with a satisfied smile on his face. “Harper said
you would pick up on that right away.” He tapped emphatically on the screen where the image
was located. “I don’t think it’s an accident that this guy is facing away from the camera. He’s far
more disciplined than the others, probably because someone has a file on him somewhere. He’s
a player, but he wasn’t always so careful. I’ll show you what I mean.”
The analyst kept the image on the screen and started a different segment of tape on another of
the room’s many flat-screen monitors. “This is a copy of a tape found in the Khyber Pass four
months ago. The original was badly damaged by fire, probably in an attempt to destroy it.
Mostly they were successful, but we recovered about two minutes of intermittent footage.
“In this one, we have what appears to be a high-level meeting of lesser Al-Qaeda operatives and
members of the majlis al shura, the governing council. Although the time and date are not
displayed, we believe that it was recorded well after 9/11, as our intelligence indicates that this
man, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, was still busy recruiting for Ansar al-Islam in northern Iraq until
early 2002. In fact, the most recent sighting came in May of that same year, when a Pakistani
army captain supposedly spotted him in Peshawar…”
Kealey might as well have been alone in the room, his attention completely focused on the
monitor. At that moment, the man with whom al-Zarqawi was speaking briefly glanced up in the
direction of the camera. The face was without expression, but the flashing green eyes seemed to
stare right through the glass, as though catching sight of an old friend from across a crowded
room.
“Son of a bitch,” Kealey whispered under his breath. He turned to Davidson, abruptly
interrupting the man’s impassioned commentary. “I’ve seen enough. Take me to Harper.”
Seated in the deputy director’s seventh-floor office, Ryan could catch distant views of the
Potomac River across treetops lightly dusted with snow. The sight of the water reminded him of
his old house on Cape Elizabeth, and he suddenly felt the urge to call Katie. Would she even
pick up the phone? She could definitely hold a grudge, as he had discovered much to his chagrin
on several other occasions…
“Ryan, I take it you feel sure enough to move on this?” Harper asked.
Kealey snapped back from his thoughts, turning his full attention to the other man.
“It’s March on that tape, John, I’m positive. If we can place him here during the attack, well,
that’s another question. It would help if we had some witnesses to talk to. If their stories match
up, then we might have a foundation to build on.”
Harper nodded his agreement and turned to the only other person in the room, a small young
woman seated on the other side of the coffee table. “What did you turn up in the interviews,
Naomi?”
“Nothing new from the civilians, sir, but the Secret Service has already consulted with their
person on the scene. They’ve faxed me a copy of her account. She only got a brief look, but it’s
enough to confirm the other descriptions: Caucasian male, late twenties to early thirties, medium
height, lean build. More importantly, she was the only witness confident enough to pick
someone out of the photographs. Iran doesn’t have an embassy here in Washington, of course,
but they do have a special-interest group located in the Pakistani embassy. Our people were
watching the building five minutes after the attack, and there was no real fluctuation in traffic in
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or out.
“That’s the bad news. It’s going to be tough to stick this to the regime in Tehran. However, it’s
possible, even likely, that this new government has direct ties to Al-Qaeda. If we can dig
something up there, we would definitely have a silver bullet to hand to the U.N.”
Harper was looking thoughtfully out the window as she spoke. When he swiveled back in her
direction, he nodded briefly and gave her a polite smile. “Thanks, Naomi. Would you mind
excusing us for a moment?”
She didn’t move for a couple of seconds, then stood up without looking in Kealey’s direction.
“Of course, sir.”
“I take it she’s cleared for this.” Ryan asked after she had left the room and closed the heavy
door behind her, perhaps slightly harder than necessary. On the other side of the wall, a light
flashed red next to the door frame, announcing that they were not to be disturbed.
Harper nodded wearily. “Naomi Kharmai. From what I’m told, she’s a rising star in the CTC,”
he said, referring to the Agency’s counterterrorism department. “She’s finishing up her master’s
in computer science at GWU. From London, originally, but she speaks four languages, including
Arabic and Farsi. That’s why she’s in on this. Otherwise, I’d probably get someone with a little
more experience.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised to hear that Kharmai was British. The accent was a dead giveaway, but
there were other factors to take into account. Although the CIA depended on foreign assets for
much of its hard intel, many were also brought in as full-time employees at Langley, especially in
recent years. Of course, they underwent a rigorous security screening before they were offered
positions, and even then, they were periodically checked up on by the internal Office of Security.
Most of the Agency’s foreign-born recruits were never aware that they were lightly surveilled by
their own employer from time to time, without regard for rank or seniority.
“Do I have to ask who Lawrence identified?”
Harper shook his head and pushed an 8 x 10 across the coffee table. When Ryan picked it up, he
found himself staring at the same person in the videotapes. It was the man he knew as Jason
March.
“Obviously, we’ve known about this for some time,” the DDO was saying. “There’s more, of
course; one of ours was attached to the Special Forces team that cleared those caves. In addition
to the videotape, he bagged some papers that had been partially burned. They were shipped
directly over to our embassy in London. Technical Services didn’t get much, but the senator’s
name came up as a possible target. That was enough to get him a protective detail, for all the
good it did.
“If it is March we’re dealing with, then we’re in serious trouble, Ryan. Can you imagine what the
reaction will be if word gets out that an American national is that high up in Al-Qaeda? There
will be chaos, pure and simple. It’ll be a field day for the media… This guy makes John Lindh
look like a boy scout.” Jonathan tapped his pen methodically against the sleek finish of his desk
as he considered. “Kharmai’s pretty quick, you know,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s quite a leap,
from Iran to Al-Qaeda, and she doesn’t know about March or his involvement, if in fact he was
involved.”
“I’d say it’s a safe bet, John,” Kealey said. “And it’s definitely cause for concern. As you said,
Senator Levy’s name was known to Al-Qaeda, and Levy just happened to be the most
outspoken critic of the Iranian hard-liners. If Al-Qaeda is being directly supported by the new
regime, then they’re going to have access to the money and equipment needed to pick up where
they left off.”
Harper finished the thought. “Which means we could be looking at a serious problem. I get the
feeling that March would be able to tell us a lot right now.” He turned to look directly at the
other man. “Where is he?”
“Out of the country, no question.” Ryan’s response was quick and definitive. “He would have
had prior arrangements in place; he knew that once we had a positive ID, he would have no
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chance at moving through any standard point of embarkation. On the other hand, he wouldn’t
take the obvious route out anyway.
“It sounds impossible, right? The assassination of a well-guarded politician in Washington, D.C.,
during daylight hours. There was definitely a huge amount of risk involved, but there are Metro
stations all over the place, including one right behind the Smithsonian. Hell, there’s at least eight
different ways to leave the city from Union Station alone. He counted on the heavy tourist
presence on the Mall despite the weather, and he set up just outside the security perimeter for
the White House. He probably scouted out the locations of the countersniper teams, at least
those with fixed posts. Maybe that information was provided to him… It’s difficult to say. In
short, he hasn’t lost a step. You can’t count on him to make any mistakes.”
CHAPTER 5
IRAN
The young woman leaned back against a late-model Range Rover and shivered slightly in the
cold night air as she watched the small plane approach through scattered clouds. She wore the
long black chador that was customary dress for the female populace, although her head covering
was pushed back to reveal lustrous black hair framing her oval face. The woman reasoned that
