"So the whole Palestinian liberation movement is corrupt?" asked McCoy. "Nobody's fighting for the good of the cause?"
"I didn't say that," said Mordechai.
"Then what are you saying?"
Bennett was tracking with Mordechai, so he continued.
"Dr. M. here isn't saying there aren't plenty of foot soldiers willing to die for the cause. There are. But for the old guard running the show, the war against Israel and us is now a multibillion-dollar business. Which means that if our little peace deal has any chance of working over the long haul, then we've got to get a whole lot more serious about pressuring the Saudis to cut off the cash."
"True," said Mordechai. "The Saudis are a very serious problem. But it's not just the Saudis. The Iranians are doing the exact same thing, and far too few people are paying attention. Think about it. They're directly across the Persian Gulf from the Saudis and the United Arab Emirates. They've got massive reserves of oil and gas. And what are they doing with all that money? Building a modern society? Educating and employing their young people? No. The mullahs want to rebuild the Persian Empire. And with Iraq out of the way now, they just may have a shot. They're buying weapons from the Russians, who are so broke they'll sell to anyone for the right price. They're buying nuclear power plants from the Russians. Why? Because they need nuclear power? Of course not. They're sitting on some of the richest petroleum reserves in the world. No, the Iranians are building nuclear bomb factories, and the Russians are helping them. And while they're at it, they're building a new worldwide terrorist network as well. Once they helped fund Hamas and Hezbollah and the rest. Now it looks like they're funding, housing and aiding Al-Nakbah, a terror network that I'm beginning to think may be more dangerous than all of its predecessors."
"Al-Nakbah? Why's that?" asked Bennett.
"You've seen the transcripts of the interrogations of your old friend Stuart Iverson?"
"No. Have you?"
Mordechai gave him another mischievous smile.
"What are you talking about?" asked Bennett, astounded. "How could you have possibly seen the transcripts? There are only a handful of people in the world who even know we cut a deal with him, much less that he's actually talking."
"I guess I'm one of them — the president cut Iverson a deal a couple of days ago. Took the death penalty off the table. Now he's singing like the Dixie Chicks."
McCoy couldn't believe it either. Who was this guy?
"All right, so what's he saying?" she asked.
"He's painting a portrait."
"Of who?"
"Of Gogolov and Jibril — their personalities, their motives, their objectives — unlike anything we've ever seen before. These guys are scary. But they're also smart. They're playing both sides of the street. Ostensibly they're an independent organization, started to wage jihad against the Russians in Chechnya. But they've expanded — metastasized. Jibril is working his Iranian connections. Gogolov is working his Saudi connections. And it's working, better than we realized."
"What else?" asked Bennett.
"From what I can see, we've all been missing the forest for the trees. We've all focused on Iraq and this civil war and cutting this peace deal, and we should be. Don't get me wrong. These are important battles in the war on terror. But it's now clear that there's something else going on here. Another evil is growing in the shadows — Gogolov and Jibril — Al-Nakbah. They're planning something. I don't know exactly what it is. I'm not sure if Iverson knows exactly. But it's worse than anything we've seen so far. Their fingerprints are everywhere. And what's beginning to worry me is that if we don't deal with this threat head-on — and soon — the consequences could be catastrophic."
FORTY-THREE
"Sir, we got a hit."
"Talk to me."
"Bennett's cell phone — it just went live."
"I need a location."
"Hold on. Hold on."
"Come on, come on, let's go."
"Just a second, the computer's triangulating the cell towers right now."
"Come on, come on."
"Give me a second, sir, we've almost got it."
It was just before eleven o'clock Sunday night in New York. The voice of the senior ELINT officer was secure, thanks to the Bureau's digitally encrypted wireless network. Still, it was muffled. He could barely be heard over the roar of the helicopter as the surveillance team maintained its round-the-clock vigil over Manhattan. Still, the message got through and a bolt of adrenaline shot through the entire team.
The lead chopper pilot contacted FBI Operations in Washington. A minute later, Scott Harris burst into the room and got the update from the senior watch officer on the night shift. Forty-five seconds after that, the location came through.
"Sir, you're not going to believe this."
"Come on, let's go, let's go."
"It's Greenwich Village, sir."
"What?"
"That's what the computer says — Regency Towers — penthouse suite."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"No, sir. That's what it says."
"Son of a…"
Harris speed dialed Special Agent Neil Watts, his Joint Task Force commander.
"You getting this?"
"Just did."
"You think it's legit."
"/ don't know what to make of it"
"No chance it's a mistake?"
"/ doubt it. Has anyone been there before?
"Once. At the beginning. Looked secure so we never went back."
"Is there a security system?'
"No. We checked."
Harris didn't have time for recriminations. His mind raced through his options and his troops were waiting for their orders.
"Just give us the word, sir."
"You got it, just as we war gamed. Nobody goes in till I give the order. Clear?"
"Clear."
"Good. Let's just hope it's real."
Two minutes later, the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team was airborne. Forty-five seconds later, so was the NYPD's SWAT Team Two. Twenty-four heavily armed men sliced through the icy cold air as four Blackhawk helicopters banked hard to the south.
"You still got the signal?" Commander Watts asked as they approached the perimeter.
"Strong and clear. Definitely the penthouse."
"Have they made a call?"
"They're checking voice mail."
"You're serious?" 1 am.
"Guess we should've left a message."
"Very funny, sir. I think they'll get our message — loud and clear."
"What about ground units?"
"On their way, sir. We've got two unmarked Bureau cars — four agents— sixty seconds out. Tactical Unit is inbound from Wall Street. ETA about two minutes. And you'll have a hundred more cops there in less than five."
"Good. Cut off the streets in a four-block radius — and no sirens."
"Don't worry. No sirens."
Watts assessed the situation. They had to be idiots to be there. Unless it was a trap. How many did they have with them? And how well armed were they?
"Watts, it's Scott Harris, how soon?"
"My guys are ready, on the perimeter. Everyone else is moving into position."