Within seconds, Grave Man came to. He gagged once. Twice. The third time, he gagged harder, turned his head, and vomited inside the box.
“That really is disgusting,” Chris said.
Grave Man trembled. “I don’t know who Professor Mordet is, and I can’t tell you anything about Little Kale, or he will kill me.”
Mohammad screamed at Grave Man. “I’ll kill you!”
“Right now, Grave Man,” Chris said, “I think Little Kale is the least of your worries.”
“I’ll give you money!” Grave Man shouted. “Twenty thousand dollars.”
Chris chuckled. “Money. You just don’t get it, do you?” He closed the lid and fiddled with the latches to make it sound like he was locking them.
Grave Man’s voice strained more, but the box muffled it, and Chris and Hannah descended the stairs. With both men secured upstairs, Chris called Young. “How’s it going with that computer?” he asked.
“Did a cross-drive analysis, and two words are significantly more frequent than others: Washington and Dallas,” Young answered.
The word Dallas made Chris’s heart sink. Reverend Luther and his congregation could be in danger. “We suspected an attack on Washington, but what do they want with Dallas?”
“Not clear,” Young said. “Maybe they’re going to attack both.”
“We’ve got another cell for you to hack,” Chris said.
“Go.”
Chris used Grave Man’s cell phone to log into Young’s website. Seconds later, Young was hacking the phone. Chris returned it to his pocket, turned to Hannah, and asked, “Any idea what their target is in Dallas?”
Hannah shook her head. “Not a clue.”
“Me, neither.” He took a deep breath. “Ready to blow this joint?” Chris asked.
“Blow as in boom-boom or bye-bye?”
He smiled. “It’s tempting to blow these guys up, but we better leave them for the FBI. We can call Trinity from the car.”
“As you wish,” Hannah said.
37
Hannah sat in the driver’s seat and was starting the ignition when Chris’s cell phone rang.
“It’s me,” Young said.
“What’s up?” Chris asked.
“Little Kale is meeting with members of a terrorist cell at a mall — Tysons One.”
Chris swiveled the phone away from his face. “Hannah, how far away is Tysons One from here?”
Hannah put the vehicle into drive. “About fifteen minutes.”
“What time is Little Kale’s meeting?” Chris asked into the phone.
“I don’t know. We’re still trying to decipher the messages. I’ll call you back.”
Hannah drove onto Arlington Boulevard and headed west before exiting to Virginia State Route 7 and following it to the Tysons Corner Center turnoff. The tangle of roads, cars, and concrete made for an unsightly jungle. Enormous concrete pillars, holding up a metrorail, ran through the middle of it, adding to the ugliness. “Tysons Corner Center is the real name of the mall,” Hannah said. “It was built before the Tysons Galleria across the street, so people call the original Tysons One and the newer Galleria, Tysons Two.” She pulled into the parking lot to her left and parked in the first available spot.
“At least there’s parking,” Chris said.
They scanned the area before placing their rifles in the backseat under a blanket. They wouldn’t be able to walk around incognito carrying them. Chris felt the outline of his pistol on his right hip, hidden under his shirt. He visualized lifting his shirt and grasping the pistol handle. They stepped out of the SUV and entered the mall through Nordstrom.
Hannah led Chris to the northwest corner of the department store and into the main part of the mall. The vanilla-colored tile floors and spacious three stories illuminated by white light and reflections of gold gave the interior a rich appearance. A significant number of women wore hijabs—head scarves. For a moment, the presence of so many Muslims made him nervous, but he realized it was normal for the area. He had no beef with Muslims. Nikkia had been a Muslim, and she’d been a better Christian than him.
“We can blend in with the other customers at the food court and have a decent view of the mall,” she said. “If I were planning a meeting in the mall, I’d have it in the food court.”
Chris nodded in agreement, and he followed her to the food court, where most of the restaurants had only just opened. It was still fairly quiet.
“We better get something to eat,” he said.
“Right now?” she asked.
“I don’t actually want to eat, but it’ll help our cover.”
“Five Guys is pretty popular,” she said with a shrug.
They ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and sodas and then found an open table with a good view. Chris’s phone vibrated as he sat down. “Hello?”
“Me, again,” Young said.
“Yes.”
“The meeting is at the food court.”
His guts dropped inside him, and he glanced around.
“Little Kale’s contact will be wearing a red shirt for identification,” Young added.
“Do you have a time for the meeting?” Chris whispered. “Is this a man or woman? Caucasian or Arab?”
“That’s all I got. I’ll call you if we find out more.” Young hung up.
Chris relayed the information to Hannah quietly, forcing himself to keep a smile on his face so it looked like was just talking with a friend, but she couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. It was exactly how Chris felt.
He scanned the food court for their target. A man with dark skin, a beard, and a red shirt sat alone eating kabobs. “I wish I knew what Little Kale looked like.” Chris said.
“You don’t know what he looks like?”
“He wore a hood when he kidnapped me.”
A large man approached the area near the man in the red shirt. He looked about Little Kale’s size, but he passed Red Shirt’s table without handing off anything or speaking to him. Then the large man left the food court.
He searched the area again. A Caucasian woman in a ruby-red blouse stood alone for a few minutes and looked around as if she were waiting for someone. Then she ordered a soda and sat down. As she sipped on her drink, no one joined her.
Two muscular, tattooed Caucasian men loitered at the edge of the food court but didn’t buy any food. Although they looked like ex-cons, neither of them wore a red shirt, and no one met with them.
Over at the McDonald’s counter, Chris noticed a man wearing a burgundy Washington Redskins jersey placing his order. Is the contact wearing red-red or burgundy-red? The man paid in cash and then stood off to the side and waited for his food. He didn’t seem to be one of their targets, but a professional would be able to blend in easily, too. His Redskins jersey stuck out in Chris’s mind. On the phone, Young had mentioned Washington and Dallas.
Chris used his cell phone to access the NFL website. He clicked on the Washington Redskins and examined their game schedule. He jerked his head up to Hannah’s face. “Today, the Washington Redskins are playing the Dallas Cowboys at 4:25 p.m.”
Her eyes widened, and she stopped sipping from her straw.
“Where’s the Redskins’ stadium?” Chris asked.
“FedExField. In Maryland.”
“How many people does that stadium hold?”
“Eighty-five thousand,” she whispered, her face paling. “But … but how are they going to sneak enough explosives into the stadium?”
“I don’t know. The meeting here probably has something to do with it.” Chris dialed Young and recapped their theory then resumed watching the man in the jersey…