FATAL eMPULSE Read online

  “But, sir, this is my office and I must—”

  “Get out!” Atash roared.

  “Yes, sir. Just let me know…”

  “You will be told. Now, take care of that matter and leave us alone.”

  “Y-Yes…yes,” the man stammered, springing from his chair with more agility than his size would suggest, bowing as he backed out of the room.

  After the door closed, Atash turned toward Fotouh. “Now, my friend, I trust your travels were safe and productive?”

  Smiling, Fotouh gestured with his hand. “Yes, my friend. Very productive. I came by way of Amman and Riyadh. We have been promised support from both countries when the time is right, although Amman’s representative said his people are very nervous about appearing to side with SNC, but they will give support in other tangible ways. And we can continue to use their border with Syria to our advantage. Our friends in Riyadh would like nothing better than to see the al-Assad regime toppled.”

  Atash beamed. “Good. Good. When the time is right, we will be ready to give you aide.”

  “What about the Americans? Will they support us if Assad is gone?”

  Scoffing, Atash waved his hands. “The Americans are weak and will do whatever they think will keep oil coming their way. We may have problems with this new president, Chambers, but he might not be a problem much longer.”

  Fotouh gave him a quizzical look. “And how will that problem be handled?”

  Atash crossed his legs and ran a hand down his trousers, smoothing out a wrinkle. “Do not concern yourself with the details, Mohamed. When you get my signal, just be ready to have your people in place as we discussed.”

  “We are forever in your debt, Hassan,” Fotouh said, touching the tips of his right fingers to his forehead, bowing his head slightly. “Without your help, Assad would have hunted us down and eliminated those fighting the revolution. May Allah be praised.”

  “May Allah be praised. And may the Great and Little Satans be destroyed.”

  Chapter 38

  March 2

  Venice, Italy

  An alert sounded on his phone next to the bed. Brandimir Kisyov raised his tired head and peered at the caller ID. Irritated, he saw the caller’s identification had been blocked. He turned on the light, swung his legs out of bed, and saw the red light on the digital clock showed 3:00 a.m. Angrily, he snatched up the telephone. “Who is this?”

  “Brandimir, wake up. The FBI are rummaging through your offices and home in the U.S. as we speak. They may have the Italians come to apprehend you.”

  Atash Hassan!

  He recognized the threatening voice. And he knows my name! Fear chased the remnants of sleep from his brain. “How do you know this?” As soon as Brandimir uttered the question, he felt stupid. If the Iranian knew his name, he would increase the surveillance on Brandimir’s operations, knowing what was at stake. That is what I would do.

  “It is time we talk. I have a plane waiting. A driver will be at your front door in fifteen minutes. Be ready.” Hassan hung up.

  Brandimir stared at the phone in his hand. Who did Hassan think he was to give orders? Even as his anger simmered, he knew Hassan now controlled the reins of Brandimir’s life. The one thing he tried to hide all these years, under all his aliases, was his true name, his real identity. Very few people knew his secret. And now Atash Hassan, a man he considered lower than a snake, knew everything. The Iranian could twist his life any way the terrorist wanted. And Brandimir would have to obey.

  Unless he could gain the upper hand.

  As he started to collect his belongings, he tried to figure a way to wiggle out of this cage Hassan intended to lock him in. By the time his doorbell rang, Brandimir still had no answer. For now, he’d march to Hassan’s tune until he could figure a way to eliminate this new threat.

  Still cloaked in darkness, Beck Malloy watched as other agents continued to search Brandimir’s Georgetown mansion. Neighbors started to congregate outside their homes, looking at the caravan of unmarked federal vehicles stopped in the street, emergency lights flashing. A news van pulled up behind the last FBI car, and a camera crew spilled out.

  The circus had begun. Just as he was about to reenter the residence, Beck’s cell phone vibrated. “Yeah, what’s up, Willy? I’m a little busy here.”

  “Sorry to disturb you, G-man, but I’ve got something important you need to know.”

  Beck tried to disguise his irritation. He did not feel up to Willy’s usual wisecracks. “Well, spill it.”

  “I have been using my Daemon Files to search for any activity that Stuart Martin…uh, Brandimir Kisyov, might be up to. You know, tracing his calls and communication links to try to map out his activity.”

  “I know, Willy, we discussed this when I visited you in Lake Tahoe. Give it to me quick.” Beck shifted the phone in his hand so he could sign a crime-scene log one of his agents just started.

  “Yeah, well just slow it down for second, Mr. B. I need to tell you in detail how these calls went down, or you won’t get it.”

  “I also don’t want to die of old age while you try to explain.”

  “Okay. Okay. I put an alert on all phones connected to Brandimir and those significant players we have identified in this case so far. Including Atash Hassan.”

  “And?”

  “Hassan just called Brandimir in Venice. He warned Brandimir that the FBI is searching all of his places in the U.S., including where you are standing right now, Mr. B.”

  “You’re kidding. No one knew we were going to hit these places until a half hour ago. Except the judge, my boss at the FBI, Frank Collord and…”

  “And who?”

  Beck’s stomach churned. “President Chambers.”

  “The main man?”

  “Frank had to be sure the president was on board with this because of the political fallout that would come for going after Brandimir—at least under the well-known name of Stuart Martin.”

  “So you think the prez snitched you off?”

  Irritated, Beck clutched the phone. “Willy, do me a favor. The president is our commander in chief, a man we trust to protect our country. Could you show a little respect?”

  “Sorry, Mr. B., don’t get so touchy. Who do you think dropped a dime to our Iranian?”

  Beck didn’t answer. “Look, I want you to search using your little Daemons, giving it a parameter search to include any calls to Brandimir or Hassan coming from the White House.”

  “You got it. Anything else?”

  A new concern tightened Beck’s throat as he started to process everything. “Willy, there is something I need you to do that is super critical.”

  “More important than a traitor next to the president?”

  “Yeah, more important to me, at least.” He directed Willy on whose phones and communication links he needed searched. “Get on that right now. I have another call to make.”

  “My fingers are already flying, Mr. B. Catch you later.”

  “And Willy, if you find out that these people know what Gerrit and the others are up to, call me right away. It may be a matter of life and death.” Beck hung up and dialed an old friend.

  Someone rapped on Stephen’s bedroom door. He slipped out of bed, looking over to see if his wife was still sleeping. She didn’t stir. He slipped on a robe and slippers and crept across the room to open the door.

  Agent Hawkins, attached to his security, stood in the hallway. “Sir, we have just discovered something you need to know about.”

  “This can’t wait until morning, Hawkins? It’s past midnight.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  Stephen stepped into the next room, quietly closing the door and drawing his robe tighter around him. “Okay, what’s so important?” He tried to keep his irritation from Hawkins.

  “Sir, I received a call from an old friend, FBI Special Agent Beck Malloy.”

  “I know him. What did Beck call about?”

  “Agent Malloy said we might w
ant to check your offices for bugs, one that may have just been set in place.”

  “Your service regularly coordinates security sweeps with technicians from the White House Communications Agency, right?”

  “That’s correct, sir. But Agency Malloy suggested we might want to recheck everything tonight.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Agent Hawkins nodded gravely. “Sir, he believed information may have been leaked from your office.”

  “And did you find anything?”

  “We did, sir. We found several bugs and they are still searching.”

  “Where?”

  “In the Oval Office and in several locations in The Situation Room in places where you were most likely to use.”

  “How come this was not picked up during your last sweep?”

  “They were set in place in the last twelve hours. Right after our sweep.”

  Stephen saw the troubled look in Hawkins’s eyes. “Are you telling me someone on my own staff may have done this?”

  Shrugging, the agent did not answer. He didn’t have to. Someone close to Stephen had been spying on him. He began to replay all the conversations he had over the last twelve hours and where those conversations took place. He held his breath, remembering one conversation he had just before bedtime.

  “Have they cleared The Situation Room for bugs?”

  Hawkins nodded. “That was the first area we cleared. Right after the Oval Office.”

  “I need to get down there right now.” Stephen followed the agent toward the doorway. He needed to contact Frank Collord. Frank’s people may be in harm’s way. As they walked, Stephen tried to figure out who might have done this.

  Until that question was answered, there was no one close to him he could trust except his wife and Frank Collord’s people. No one!

  This job suddenly became lonelier than that first day he took office and learned all the secrets about how fragile world peace had become. And now, his trust in a friend, a confident, had been violated.

  He must find the traitor.

  Chapter 39

  March 2

  Damascus, Syria

  Gerrit grabbed his carryon from the overhead. “You ready?” he asked, as Shakeela slung a bag over her shoulder.

  She gave him a tense nod, a blue hijab covering her head and draped beneath her chin. She and Alena would both wear these in an attempt to draw attention away from themselves while in Syria.

  Shakeela had worn a hijab during part of their operation in Iran many years ago. He’d watched her carefully make the folds in the scarflike headdress, pinning the cloth so only her facial features could be seen. It had always made her look different, more nameless, her long silky black hair tucked underneath. Maybe the world could use a little more modesty, but this—or even worse, the shroud like covering of the burka—seemed to confine the spirit of that person.

  In Dubai, the women had been able to dress more comfortably and fashionably. In Syria, though, they needed to dress conservatively. Civil unrest and many watching eyes created a hostile place for foreigners. As much as they could, they would try to blend into the population.

  He grimaced as he thought of Alena and Shakeela having to frequent someplace like Saudi Arabia where they most certainly would need to wear the burka. Both women possessed strong wills, each very independent, and it seemed like a crime to imprison them in clothing that made them shadows of their true selves.

  As they disembarked from the plane and entered the terminal, a man in a brown waist-length coat and Levis approached Gerrit. “A mutual friend has asked that I meet you and your wife. Let me help get you through security.”

  Gerrit recognized the man from a photo Max had shown Gerrit before they parted ways. He nodded followed the man through the crowd. Clearing security, they came to a white Honda compact with tinted windows. The man opened the trunk and motioned them to store their luggage. He seemed nervous, his eyes shifting from them to search the crowd pushing against them. They climbed into the car and made their way across town.

  Gerrit had poured over maps of Damascus he’d downloaded from the Internet before leaving Dubai, committing nearly every street, suburb, and landmark to memory. He looked around to get his bearings. They took the main highway toward Damascus and followed an exit leading to the Ebla Cham Palace resort, approximately a mile this side of the Almotahalik Aljanobi The university lay just beyond that.

  As they came off the exit ramp, a security checkpoint loomed ahead, directing traffic in another direction as smoke billowed near the university.

  “Trouble?” he asked, looking at the driver.

  The man just shrugged and drove on without comment.

  They pulled near the lobby of the hotel, grabbed their bags, and watched as their contact drove off.

  “So much for his help.” Gerrit shouldered his bag. “Need a hand, Shakeela?”

  She shook her head, and they walked into the lobby. “Let’s get a room and see if we can contact the others.”

  He quickly registered and they took an elevator, never exchanging words. They were both searching everyone in the vicinity, looking for unusual attention directed their way. As the elevator door closed, Gerrit thought he saw a man watching them from across the lobby, but he couldn’t be sure. They got to their floor and found their room a short distance from the elevator, about midway down a hallway that had exit stairwells at both ends. There seemed to be several ways to leave this floor.

  Once in their room—modestly furnished with a queen-sized bed, pale green walls and bedspread, and gray carpeting—he and Shakeela gave the place a quick search, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It would be impossible, with the equipment at hand, to thoroughly search for any listening devices. He just assumed there might be some.

  He stepped out in the hallway and made a call to Max. A phone rang behind him. He whirled around just as Max and Alena came into view.

  “Welcome to Damascus, Gerrit,” Max said. “My contact let us know he dropped you off.”

  “Did you see anyone in the lobby watching us?”

  Max grinned. “I had one of my people watching.”

  “Your people?” Shakeela stepped out in the hallway and joined them.

  “Let’s not discuss our business out here,” Max said, nodding at Shakeela. “I’ve got a car downstairs. Let’s go down separately and meet in the parking lot. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

  As Gerrit passed through the lobby, he noticed the man he’d spotted earlier had disappeared. He and Shakeela made it to the edge of the parking lot just as Max and Alena drove up. They got into the backseat, and Gerrit glanced over his shoulder as they pulled away. No other vehicles seemed to be following. “Where are we going?”

  Alena, in the front passenger seat, glanced back, speaking for the first time since their arrival. “We’re heading back toward the airport but pulling off the main highway to a small farming community only minutes from the main thoroughfare. That will be our base of operations.”

  Max turned onto the highway and accelerated. “I did not see any checkpoints between here and the airport. I think we can move around in this area without too much risk of running into one of Syria’s security barricades or any roaming Free Syria Army units the government is trying to eliminate.”

  Gerrit leaned forward. “I saw smoke rising near the university and an Army checkpoint just beyond our hotel.”

  “Yeah.” Max glanced over his shoulder. “Student dissidents held a demonstration that got out of hand. Started burning cars and a few buildings before the Army units moved in.”

  “With all this civil unrest going on, Max, why would al-Assad risk starting a major conflict with Israel?” Gerrit asked. “It would seem he has enough problems to deal with right here at home. And the international community, including the UN, looking over his shoulder every minute—this just seems crazy.”

  “I agree, but we do know that something is underway, with Iranian and Russian support. That it is direct
ed at Israel.” Max looked back. “All we have to do is prove it—fast.”

  Gerrit squinted. “And how do we do that? We’re in a hostile country with limited resources and no real assets.”

  Max pulled off the highway and drove down a two-lane dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere. He pointed ahead. “We will be there in just a few minutes.” He pulled off onto a single gravel driveway heading into a grove of orange trees. A clearing emerged, and a large house and several outbuildings came into view. “Here is our new home.”

  Gerrit caught movement along the tree line. He tensed as he spotted several men stationed in the shadows, each carrying assault rifles. They appeared to be dressed in civilian attire and could have passed for members of the Syrian Army or FSA. They moved as if they had military training.

  “We got armed men in the tree line.”

  “Relax, Gerrit, they’re part of my unit,” Max said. “We’ve got about a dozen Sayeret Mat’kal members that crossed the border in the last few days, setting up this site for our operation.”

  “What kind of firepower?”

  “Small arms, rocket launchers, and explosives—everything we need for a small unit to operate when the time comes. We just need to find the target. Frank is sending more tools our way.”

  They parked in front of the farmhouse and went inside. Several men along the tree line came toward them, leaving a few spotters roaming the shaded groves. Max greeted a number of the men, embracing a few as they came through the doorway. They gathered around a large table set up in the main room. A map lay on the table.

  Max leaned over the map. “Gather in here closer and I’ll show you where I think our focus ought to be.”

  Gerrit peered down at the map—it detailed the area of the Damascus International Airport. “We’re going to hit the airport?”

  “Jack and my boss have been trading intelligence reports back and forth,” Max said. “Let’s just take what we do know. The Russians and Iranians have offered some kind of technology to the Syrians that would help them blind us to an aerial attack. Your guys learned that Brandimir got his hands on an aggressive electronic program that can penetrate and cripple air-defense systems. Let’s assume he sold this information to the Russians, who were able to duplicate and implement this system. Iran has become a major player since they got their hands on at least one of your stealth drones and shared this technology with the Chinese and Russians, coupled with their supply of oil reserves to those two countries that ensures continued support and cooperation to a certain extent. Add that to Iran’s ability to field any number of terrorist cells around the world.”