“I’m afraid so. We’ve done some digging, and it appears that the Jerusalem sample matches up with a shipment of high-grade HMX that was secretly sold to Pakistan for use in their nuclear weapons program back in the early nineties. The Pakistanis have since confirmed that a container of HMX went missing a short time thereafter. Black market operatives in the military are believed to have sold it to buyers outside the country, but no evidence of its use has emerged until this year.”
“An entire container of HMX. Unbelievable,” Braxton said.
“The container would have housed approximately eight thousand pounds of the high explosive. It accounts for significant destructive power.”
The general closed his eyes and shook his head. “I presume this attack is connected to the other recent mosque bombings?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“We know that the al-Azhar Mosque in Cairo and the Yeşil Mosque in Bursa were both hit with HMX. In both cases, nobody claimed responsibility for the attacks. And no evidence was found linking the blasts to any local factions. We appear to have a similar set of circumstances in Jerusalem.”
“What of this dead Palestinian who was found in the graveyard?”
“He was a low-level artifact hunter with no known terrorist associations,” the CIA man responded. “He may have had some involvement with the discovery of the quarry, but he is not believed to have been a player in the actual attack.”
“Which takes us to the still unanswered questions of who and why.”
O’Quinn gave the general a pained look. “Nobody has claimed responsibility for any of the attacks, and I’m afraid we just don’t have a firm trail,” he said. “As Joe can verify, the intelligence agencies are looking at suspects across the board, from fringe Christian and Jewish sects to al-Qaeda and other Muslim fanatic groups. We’re reliant on the foreign intelligence agencies, and they don’t have any strong connections at this point.”
The CIA man nodded. “General, the targets have all been sites of theological importance in the Sunni Muslim world. We think there’s a strong possibility that the attacks are originating from a Shia source. The possible Hezbollah link in the Jerusalem attack furthers the theory. I have to tell you, there is a growing contingency within the agency that believes it’s the Iranians, trying to divert attention from their weapons program.”
“It’s a viable motivation,” Braxton agreed, “but they’d certainly be playing with fire if they got caught with dirty hands.”
O’Quinn quietly shook his head.
“I have to disagree, sir,” he said. “These bombings don’t have the earmark of the Iranians. It would certainly represent a new level of external extremism that we haven’t seen before.”
“You’re not giving me much else to go on, O’Quinn,” the general growled. “What about that Turk, Mufti Battal, that you were excited about?”
“He’s entered the presidential race, as we feared. He and his party would certainly benefit from any outrage in the fundamentalist community that these bombings may incite. It raises the point that these attacks may be linked to specific political goals rather than general terrorist tactics. As for Battal, we’re monitoring his activities closely, but we’ve yet to witness any pattern of coercive tactics so far. We certainly have no hard proof of a link, at this point.”
“So you’ve got nothing there. Perhaps the question you boys need to be thinking about is where they intend to strike next.”
“The targets have clearly been growing in significance,” O’Quinn said.
“And they’ve been denied in their latest outing, which ought to scare us all, in what they might be planning next.”
“The Kaaba in Mecca might be a possible target. I’ll see to it that the Saudis are advised to increase security,” O’Quinn said.
“We’ve got analysts working overtime on the matter,” the CIA man added. In the true Washington vernacular of helplessness, he added, “We’re doing everything we can.”
Braxton brushed off the comment with a glare. “Let me tell you what to do,” Braxton said, leaning forward over his desk while eyeballing both intelligence men with ire. “It’s really a simple exercise to put a stop to this. All you have to do,” he said, his voice rising to a fever pitch, “is find me the rest of those explosives!”
52
The Ottoman Star eased into the cove north of the Dardanelles late in the afternoon, docking at the long pier that now stood empty. Beneath the adjacent rippled waters, the sunken workboat still sat on the sandy bottom, waiting for the shore crane and a dive crew to raise it from the depths.
Standing on the ship’s bridge, Maria was surprised to note her brother’s Jaguar parked on the dock. Celik watched as the ship approached the pier, then emerged from the Jaguar’s backseat as the mooring lines were secured. He briskly stepped down the quay with an attaché case tucked under his arm and boarded the ship.
“I wasn’t expecting you to meet me here, Ozden,” Maria said by way of a greeting.
“Time is short,” he replied, gazing about the bridge with an agitated expression. The captain and helmsman caught his drift and quickly stepped off the bridge, leaving Celik alone with his sister.
“I heard that the police searched the facilities after we departed,” Maria said. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”
Celik smirked. “The local police have been well paid to look after our interests. They paid a cursory visit and were kept away from the warehouses.” The police investigators reminded him of the assault by the NUMA men, and he subconsciously rubbed the spot on his head where Pitt had clubbed him.
“Those Americans will pay for their intrusion,” he said in a guttural tone. “But we have more important matters to address first.”
Maria braced for the onslaught over the failure at Jerusalem, but the expected outburst never materialized. Celik quietly gazed out the forward window, eyeing the empty dock.
“Where is the Sultana ?”
“I left it in Beirut to complete the repair work. The crew will bring her to Istanbul in a few days.”
Celik nodded, then stepped close to his sister.
“Now, tell me, Maria, why did the mission fail?”
“I am uncertain myself,” she replied calmly. “The primary charge failed to detonate. It was set with multiple fuzes, and I am positive it was staged properly. There must have been outside interference. Even the secondary charge should have produced more damage. I suspect the Israeli archaeologist who was killed may have somehow disabled some of the charges.”
“The results were disappointing,” Celik replied, suppressing his usual vitriol, “but I am thankful for your safe return.”
“We put the Lebanese smugglers ashore in Tripoli on the voyage back, so the Israelis have nowhere to search and no trail to follow.”
“You have always covered your tracks well, Maria.”
Despite his unusually calm demeanor, she could see the distress in his face.
“How is the Mufti faring?” she asked.
“He is campaigning like a professional politician and has won the public support of some key members of the Grand National Assembly. But he is still trailing in the polls by at least five percentage points, and we have just days to go before the election.” He looked at her with an admonishing gaze. “The Jerusalem attack failed to give us the boost that is necessary for us to win.”
“Perhaps it is beyond our control,” she said.
Maria’s words suddenly released the anger that Celik had kept bottled up.
“No!” he shouted. “We are too close. We must not fail to seize the opportunity. The restoration of our family empire is at stake,” he said, nearly tasting the power of his own planned ascension. The mad eyes were suddenly ablaze, and his face pulsed red with fury. “We cannot let this chance slip through our fingers.”