Hopefully, Khalil did not have our home addresses, but he did have our business address, and we all followed a somewhat predictable routine. Well, I didn't, but Walsh, Paresi, and Foster did.
Which brought me to the thought that Asad Khalil had some very good intel about Mr. and Mrs. John Corey. How else could he know that we'd be jumping out of an aircraft on Sunday morning? This guy might be acting alone, but he had a big supporting cast here in New York. Like maybe Al Qaeda.
As I turned from the window, Tom Walsh walked into his office. We all shook hands, and Walsh said, "Please sit."
He threw a thick folder on the table and began, "There's no good news, so I'll start with the bad news."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Before Tom Walsh got to the bad news, he suggested a moment of silence for Gabe, his wife, and his daughter. It was a nice gesture and we all bowed our heads.
I don't know too many Muslim prayers, but I knew what Gabe would want me to pray for, so I prayed that I'd find Asad Khalil and make him pay for what he'd done. Amen.
A brief word about Tom Walsh. He is young for this job-maybe mid-forties-and Kate tells me he's good-looking, though in my opinion he looks like one of those coiffed pretty boys you see in men's clothing ads.
The FBI, as you may imagine, is concerned about their agents' personal lives, and as far as I know Tom Walsh leads a life of exemplary rectitude, though I suspect he wears women's underwear. Yes, just kidding.
The FBI would prefer that their agents be married, with children, but Mr. Walsh has never been married, though he is in a long-term relationship with a lady lawyer. I've seen his significant other at a few office social functions and once at his apartment, and they seem like a good fit-cool, detached, ambitious, and narcissistic. They don't live together, but if they did, they'd need separate bedrooms for their egos.
The moment of silence ended, and Tom Walsh began, "We have located Chip Wiggins."
Since there was no good news, that wasn't good news.
Walsh informed us, "As we suspected, he's dead."
So retired U.S. Air Force officer Chip Wiggins was dead. But Asad Khalil was still here. Another man would have headed home, mission accomplished. But Khalil had a new death list, which included Kate, the Haythams, and others, and might also include my colleagues at this table.
As Walsh consulted his notes, I exchanged glances with Paresi and Foster. Paresi already knew Wiggins was dead, of course, but George Foster looked surprised, and more pale than usual. He took a long drink of water.
Walsh continued, "Elwood Wiggins, a.k.a. Chip, worked as a freight pilot for a company called Alpha Air Freight, based in Santa Barbara, California." Walsh gave us some background on Wiggins, which I already knew.
I also recalled that Chip Wiggins was a nice guy and a free spirit-one could say irresponsible-and not the type of man you'd associate with a jet attack aircraft, dropping bombs on enemy targets. He'd survived that, but he hadn't survived the consequences of that.
Walsh observed, "So, he had a routine, which is not a good thing when someone is looking for you."
Thanks for sharing that with us, Tom. I took the opportunity to remind everyone that I'd worked this case by saying, "Wiggins was also flying for Alpha three years ago when Kate and I met him at his house in Ventura." I informed my colleagues, "We strongly suggested then that he move, or get another job." Which was my way of saying that we had done all we could to get Wiggins off Khalil's radar screen.
Walsh commented, "Well, he should have taken that advice." He continued, "Okay, here's how it went down. The local FBI office in Santa Barbara attempted to locate Wiggins Sunday afternoon, soon after they received the request from us, but he wasn't at home."
Walsh filled us in on the FBI's search for Wiggins, then he cut to the chase. "Later that afternoon, one of the agents, Scott Fraser, drove out to Alpha Air Freight at Santa Barbara Airport. The first thing he noticed was a blue Ford Explorer in the Alpha parking area that matched the description of Wiggins's vehicle, which he then confirmed by the plate number. When Fraser went into the Alpha Freight office, the weekend guy said Wiggins didn't begin work again until Sunday night and the guy couldn't explain why Wiggins's truck was outside. Fraser asked to see the aircraft that Wiggins flew, and they went out to the ramp. After Fraser visually determined that no one was in the cockpit, he entered the cargo cabin."
Walsh, of course, paused here for dramatic effect, and I knew what Scott Fraser was going to find.
Walsh took three e-mail photos from his folder and slid them across the table.
I looked at the photo and there, in color was… a man. He was sitting on the floor of the cabin with his back against a wall, wearing black pants and a white shirt, which was red with blood, though you should not make assumptions from a photo. Neither should you assume the subject of the photo is dead, but Walsh said Wiggins was dead, and the face looked like Wiggins. The clincher, though, was that Chip Wiggins's head was sitting in his lap.
I heard Paresi say, "Jesus…"
I glanced at George, who was staring blankly at the photo. His face looked whiter than Wiggins's.
Walsh let us study the photos for a few seconds, then said, "It would appear from the crime scene report and the medical examiner's report that Wiggins climbed out of his aircraft after parking it, and he was on the ramp when he was struck four times by a heavy blunt instrument-a crowbar, which if you look closely at the photo, you will see sticking out of Wiggins's neck cavity." Walsh described the location of these blows and concluded, "These injuries, of course, would incapacitate him, but probably leave him conscious or semi-conscious."
Right. You want the guy awake for his beheading. Not to mention being awake for the lecture that Khalil would give to poor Chip Wiggins before he cut his head off. Mr. Wiggins, one of your bombs killed my two sisters, my two brothers, and my mother. And now, Mr. Wiggins…
Walsh continued the reconstruction of the crime. "After the assailant incapacitated his victim, he carried him into the cabin and there severed his head from his neck with the use of a butcher's saw." He added, very unnecessarily, "Slow and painful."
I thought George was going to pass out, but he took a deep breath and hung in. Paresi was getting himself pissed off and he said, "That bastard."
I looked again at the photograph, and it was easy to work up a whole lot of outrage and hatred for Asad Khalil and his fellow jihadists. But to be honest with myself, if I got the chance, I wouldn't hesitate for one second before cutting Khalil's throat. I'm sure Asad Khalil and John Corey didn't have a lot in common, but at the end of the day, we both knew how to settle a score.
Tom Walsh asked for the photos-you don't want this stuff floating around-and he reminded us, "This is all highly sensitive. Nothing we discuss leaves this room unless I say so."
I said to him, "I do intend to brief Kate on this meeting."
He hesitated, then said, "Of course." He added, "She was on the original case." He advised me, however, "Regarding sensitive information, you should speak to her off the record in the event she's called to testify in any future proceedings."
Tom Walsh was thinking down the road to some end-game scenarios. He was a lawyer, and his bosses at FBI Headquarters and in the Justice Department were lawyers. Therefore, everything had to be legal and correct, even in the war on terrorism. The police and the CIA, on the other hand, were cowboys. One could argue the merits of lawyers and cowboys forever and never resolve the question of who was better equipped to get the job done. But I do know that pre-9/11, the lawyers were in charge. Now the cowboys were getting a little more room to ride.