Chapter Fourteen

 

          At nine forty-five the following morning, a Tuesday, Peter Rodriquez was annoyed to find a Blue Ford Granada sitting in his reserved spot in the Wells Fargo Bank parking lot in Bernal Heights. The lot had no spaces for customers, only employees, as a sign clearly stated at the entrance, and so there was no excuse, he felt, for anyone making this mistake. The lot was so small, in fact, that there was no way that he could leave his car without blocking the possible exit of the president, vice-president, general manager, or other important superior to his position as junior assistant manager, so he backed out and tackled the difficult task of finding a place on the street. Ten minutes later, his silver Chevy SUV parked over a block away and down one of the steep hills surrounding the bank, he went through the main entrance, breathing heavily and preparing to start his day in a foul mood.

          “Alan,” he said, angrily confronting the uniformed guard on duty, “Do you have any idea who the fuck is in my parking spot?”

          “No Sir,” answered the guard, looking apologetic, “I wasn’t aware of it.”

          “Christ,” said Rodriquez. He looked at the line of people already waiting for the next teller. “It’s a blue Granada. Ask the people in line if anyone is the owner. If it’s a customer, tell them that they are not allowed to park in back. If you can’t find the owner, have the fucking thing towed.”

          “Yes Sir, I’ll do it right now.”

          Fuming, he strode to the back of the bank, where he was intercepted by one of the secretaries.

          “Mr. Rodriquez, there are two men waiting in your cubicle to see you. They’ve been there for over half an hour.”

          “Thank you, Janice,” said Rodriquez. Now what? he thought. He found them sitting down on either side of his desk. They were wearing suits and expensive shoes. They rose as he entered.

          “Mr. Rodriquez,” said the taller of the two men, “We’d like to speak with you, if you have a moment.”

          “Of course. What is this in regard to?”

          “One of your accounts.”

          “Is this a commercial account, or personal? And what is your connection?”

          “May we sit down?”

          “Yes. Please.” They were too polite to be businessmen.

          “I’m Mr. Miller, and this is Mr. Stanley,” said the taller man, “and we’re with the police.”

          Rodriquez suddenly felt cold in the pit of his stomach.

          “Are you driving a blue Granada, parked in back?”

          “Yes.”

          “Oh, shit. Excuse me a minute.” He rushed out and ran over to the guard. “Alan, did you call for a tow truck?”

          “Yes, Mr. Rodriquez. They’re on their way.”

          “Well, stop them. Just leave it.”

          “They’ll bill us anyway, Mr. Rodri-”

          “Fine. I don’t give a shit. But don’t let them touch that fucking car!”

          “Yes Sir. Whatever you say.”

          He rushed back.

          “Sorry. Just a little matter I had to take care of. Now, if you don’t mind, can I see some credentials?”

          The two men flashed their badges at him.

          “Mr. Rodriquez, for the past few years, your bank has been receiving money into the account of one Anthony Exeter, from a variety of sources, and regularly transferring a portion of this money to a real estate firm in the Los Angeles area. You are the person in charge of this account. The name on the signature card, Exeter, is not the real name of the account holder. We would like you to give us Mr. Exeter’s real name and address, please.”

          Rodriquez leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head.

          “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m afraid that you need a court order before I can reveal that information.”

v        The two men looked at each other.

          “Mr. Rodriquez,” said Mr. Miller, “do you realize that you are in a great deal of trouble?”

          “What are you talking about?”

          “I think you know exactly what I am talking about, Mr. Rodriquez.”

          “I am nothing but a bank employee, doing my job.”

          “That is yet to be determined. At this moment, your affairs are being examined closely by the Bureau of Internal Revenue.”

          “I’m being audited?”

          “They are aiding us in our investigation, yes.” Miller smiled and relaxed a little in his chair. “Mr. Rodriquez, we place a great deal of value on cooperation. I am sure that you are aware that money laundering is a serious crime. But we are not interested in you. We are very interested, however, in Mr. Exeter. There is no reason for the IRS to waste its valuable time investigating anyone who, of his own free will, is helpful to the process of law enforcement. Your assistance in this matter would be greatly appreciated.”

          Rodriquez closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. This is all I need now, he thought, the fucking IRS on my ass.

          “Look,” he said. His voice took on a gently pleading tone. “It is absolutely against bank policy to make such disclosures. I could lose my job over this. Why don’t you talk to my boss, Mr. Finback?”

          “Think about it, Mr. Rodriquez. Your boss has never had any personal contact or responsibility for this account. Do you think that he will give us permission?”

          Rodriquez thought about it. Finback would never agree.

          “Probably not,” he said, sighing.

          “In that event, you would have lost your chance for willful cooperation, and the matter would be disclosed. I am sure that you would rather not have Mr. Finback thinking that one of his employees is under investigation for financial crimes.”

          You bastard, thought Rodriquez. He was starting to get angry. Fuck these guys. I’m not going to be intimidated. He reached for the intercom button.

          “I’m not going to tell you anything. And I’ll call Mr. Finback myself.”

          Mr. Stanley’s hand moved as quick as a snake and pinned Rodriquez’s arm to the desk. He looked over at Miller and nodded slightly.

          “That is, of course, your right, Mr. Rodriquez,” said Miller. “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up this right, everything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to a lawyer. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed by the court. Do you understand everything I have just said?”

          “You’re arresting me?”

          “We are bringing you in for questioning.” They stood up. “If you change your mind about cooperating, we will let you return to work as soon as possible.”

          “This is ridiculous. I want to call my lawyer.”

          “You may of course call your lawyer. But once you do that, the system will begin to operate, and the matter will be out of our hands. Now, you can come with us quietly, and tell your secretary that you will be back shortly, or we can lead you out of here in handcuffs. It is your choice.”

          Rodriquez slowly stood up. He reached down and hit the intercom button.

          “Janice, I’m going out for a while.”

          “Yes, Mr. Rodriquez. What about your eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Sanders?”

          “Cancel it. Give him my apologies. Tell him I’ll call him later today.”

          “Very well.”

          He followed the two men out of the bank and into the parking lot. Miller opened the forward passenger door for him and got into the back seat.

          “Where is your car parked, Mr. Rodriquez?”

          “What do you want with my car?”

          “We’re going to allow you to take it down to the station with you, so that you can use it to return to your job after we’re finished.”

          “Oh,” said Rodriquez, relieved. It didn’t sound like they were that serious about arresting him, after all. “It’s just down the hill here.”

          When they reached his car, Miller got out and opened the door to the driver’s side for him. As Miller got into the passenger side and unbuttoned his coat, Rodriquez realized what had been bothering him since they introduced themselves. They were awfully well dressed for policemen. He had spoken to cops before, and always noted their cheap suits and shabby shoes. Miller was, in fact, sporting what looked to be a very expensive silk tie, the kind that might cost over a hundred dollars in some Armani store. It had a picture of a pineapple on it.

 

 

 

          Walid entered his study, put his hand over his heart, and bowed slightly to the three men who stood waiting near his desk.

          “Allah Akbar,” he said solemnly.

          “Allah Akbar, answered the three men, in unison.

          In his other hand he held three plastic bags filled with papers. Walking behind the desk, he put down the bags and seated himself, gesturing for the men to do likewise.

          “Tomorrow you will go to San Francisco.” He stopped and looked intently at each of the men in turn. They looked at each other and returned his gaze, their faces expressionless.

          “These are your tickets, passports, and other identification needed to get you through customs and passport control. Each of you will take a separate flight, on a different airline. Each of you has an entirely different cover story. Farage is an academic, connected with The University of California at Berkeley. Adnan is a businessman dealing with the importation of tools for oil exploration. Naji is a writer, scheduled for a promotional tour in connection with his latest book. You will all take flights to different European locations, and from there separate bookings to America. When you land, you will be subjected to very intense scrutiny and interrogation, but there should be no reason to hold you longer than a few hours. People are in place to verify your identities by phone, should that be necessary. Each of you has a different contact, who will supply you with a car, a safe house, new papers identifying you as American citizens, and weapons. Should any one of you be compromised there is nothing to link him with the others. You will meet at a predetermined location on Thursday morning. All of this information is here with your passports and tickets. Please memorize the meeting place and time, along with your contact points, and destroy the instructions. Do not share any of your contact information with each other. Is this all completely clear?”

          The men all nodded silently.

          Walid was quiet for a moment. Finally he sighed heavily and leaned over the desk. As he spoke, it was with the voice of a man addressing, not his employees, but his brothers.

          “You are my most trusted and valuable men. I would commit no others to such a mission as this. I have no desire to lose you, for my own selfish interests as much as my feelings of brotherhood towards you. I want to assure you that any efforts you make to escape personal harm from this assignment will be thoroughly applauded by me, and I will be overjoyed to see you all in this room once more, in celebration of our efforts.” He paused again, and spread his hands upon the desk. “But it must be in celebration. This mission must not fail. For it to do so would mean far more than simple defeat. It would be a humiliation to the man who has made himself a symbol of triumph for our cause. It would represent the loss of a tremendous amount of time, energy, and money, and an opportunity that may not present itself again. And it would mean a victory for our enemies that would strengthen and embolden them beyond measure. For this reason you must all be prepared, if necessary, to make the ultimate sacrifice. Toufic runs the greatest risk, of course. But I have included in the plan a mechanism that may make possible his escape. His usual delivery will be as planned. His normal destination is in the center of the city, an ideal place. I have instructed him to pretend to have accidentally left his key to the suitcase aboard ship, and use the excuse of retrieving it as a means of putting him a safe distance from danger. If everything goes well, I hope that all four of you can succeed in making your escape. I had hoped to avoid the necessity of sending the three of you altogether. But for some unknown reason, the house that is the point of delivery is apparently under some kind of police surveillance, at least, this is the report that I have received from Botrass. Botrass is not a trustworthy or reliable man, but if the rest of Konstantine’s men, and in particular his daughter, are in agreement, then there must be some truth to this.      You will have to assess the situation yourselves and come to your own conclusions on the matter. If you decide that, for whatever reason, there is a danger of compromising this mission by using the regular point of delivery, you must intercept Toufic at the dock. He does not know any of you by sight, and may be suspicious. I have no way of contacting him at this point, and circumstances could make a protracted effort to convince him impossible. You may have to take the case by force. He will be protected, as usual, by Konstantine’s men. It will be an awkward situation, to say the least. They are good men, and things will be complicated by the necessity to avoid apprehension by the police. The case must not fall into the hands of the authorities.”

          Walid sighed heavily once more.

          “It is a most difficult assignment. Do you have any questions?”

          The three men looked at each other again. Finally Naji raised his hand slightly and spoke.

          “Will there be any other of Konstantine’s men to deal with, besides the three now protecting his daughter?”

          “That I have no way of knowing,” said Walid. “But if I have been informed of this surveillance, then most certainly Konstantine has also. It is quite possible that he has sent additional protection. It is yet another variable in an already complex equation. As I said, it is a most difficult assignment. But it is the most important that any of you have ever had, or are likely to have. Do not forget this. Is there anything else?”

          “How far away must we be to be out of danger?” asked the same man, again.

          “I have been told that twenty miles should be sufficient. Head south, down the peninsula. All of the other directions lead to bridges, which can be subject to unexpected delays, and over water, which offers no protection. Turn to the east before you reach San Jose. It is California’s second largest city, in what is now known as Silicon Valley. Arrangements have been made to simulate similar threats there and also in Los Angeles. The ensuing panic will be horrendous.”

          There was silence in the room. Walid rose and the three men stood up together.

          “Very well,” said Walid. “Study your cover stories well and be rested for the journey. May Allah be with you.”

          After the men had left, Walid picked up his telephone.

          “This is Walid,” he told the man who answered.

          “One moment,” said the voice on the other end. “We have been told to connect you immediately.” There was silence on the line for a full minute. Then the voice returned. “You are connected.”

          There was a momentary burst of static, then a new voice.

          “Hello.”

          “Hello, Osama. This is Walid.”

 

 

 

          Carter was sitting in the easy chair, an hour into that evening’s surveillance duty. Some of the intense feeling of excitement had worn off during the last two days, as he settled into his routine. They had recorded a number of conversations, all in Arabic, with several different speakers, but nothing again with the voice of Arab One on it. Brightman was constantly in and out, showing up every few hours to translate the new material, but there seemed nothing of consequence, just talk about falafel deliveries and calls from girl friends.

          Carter turned for a moment and glanced into the kitchen. Derek was there, making himself some dinner. It appeared that Colonel Daniels had left, on some mission or other. Carter was curious about what Brightman and the Colonel were doing on their constant forays out of the apartment, but it didn’t seem proper to ask. Perhaps they had other Twister teams to check on. But there was no doubt that his team had stumbled on the big one, in terms of terrorist activity. Some real action was clearly in store for them.

          Brightman had emphasized that, although the coded phone call was clear circumstantial evidence of Arab One and the falafel makers’ terrorist identities, he wanted real evidence, if possible, before the November second target date. There were two reasons for this. One was that the Twisters were an American, and therefore highly moral organization, without any desire to go beyond the sacred principles of justice enshrined in the Constitution, etc. The other reason was that, since these were highly dangerous terrorists, it was quite likely that some shooting might occur, and he did not want any doubts in the minds of his team that they were fully justified in exercising their license to kill. It was all pretty exciting, all right.

          Now that they were certain of the sinister intentions of the group, their main task on the surveillance was watching for some time when the family, or, hopefully, Arab one was out of the apartment, giving them the opportunity to break in and look for real evidence. Carter was thinking that, since Arab One had never, to their knowledge, ever left his quarters, there was little hope of that occurring. Brightman seemed to think otherwise, he wasn’t sure entirely why. But Brightman was a smart guy, really smart, Carter felt, and he must have some reason in mind. They had been told to be on the lookout for anyone with a beard, possibly Arab one in some sort of disguise, exiting the building.

          He was doing just that when he saw Julius, coming up the block. He was with the singer from Tony Squire’s band, the one that Carter had seen the last time he was at Socrates. He had forgotten all about Julius, about everyone that he knew in Fresno. In fact, he had forgotten about almost everything but his new life as a secret government agent, going after terrorists, driving fast cars, shooting guns, and, in the future at least, flying planes, disarming atomic bombs, and beating the shit out of Steven Segal.

          But there he was. There was Julius, who had been to Iraq, who was a practicing Muslim, who read the Koran every day (not every day, he had said, but that wasn’t necessarily true), coming up the street. What the fuck was Julius doing in San Francisco? What was he doing, coming up this street where the most dangerous terrorists in the whole city, maybe in the whole country, lived, with this Arab looking woman, wearing a suit (Carter hadn’t even known that Julius owned a suit), stopping now in front of the house, the very house where the most dangerous terrorists in the whole fucking country lived, with this Arab looking woman, and going inside?

          “Jesus Christ!” said Carter. He trained the telescope on Arab One’s window for a minute. Nothing. He turned it to the living room window, where he had seen already so many countless backgammon games, and one of the terrorists sitting almost the whole evening the day before, looking like he was checking out the street and Carter’s surveillance window. He could see almost to the front door of the apartment, as the terrorists seemed to assemble, waiting for something, and then the woman opening the door, greeting, first the Arab looking woman, then Julius. The other terrorists all put their hands over their hearts and bowed to Julius, and then Julius put his hand over his heart and bowed to the terrorists.

          Carter was gripping the telescope so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. The whole group sat down, and the older woman went into the kitchen. He could see the face of the younger woman clearly, and Julius’. The terrorists were talking, and Julius was talking, also. The younger woman, the singer, looked very proud of herself. She kept turning in Julius’ direction and giving a satisfied little smile. At one point she gestured towards him with both hands, as if presenting him, like a present, that satisfied, diabolical little smile always on her face. Then the group became very serious, like they were talking about something really important. If he could only hear what they were saying!