“All right,” he said, with a sigh, “it seems we have a mole, most likely somewhere in White House’s admin. There are many temps and press secretaries and interns who can get their hands into an early draft of the President’s schedule. I can tell you some of these details have already changed. So, this draft is probably two, three weeks old. I’ll inform DC right away and they can start smoking out the mole. What else do you have there?”
With a flick of his wrist, Justin flipped the other document to his right, first to Nour, and then to Matthew.
“Here’s a short extract of English transcripts of intercepted communications between members of the Alliance. They’re discussing the assassination plan, the means, the guns, the location, the participants. We have the complete Arabic recording, which we’ll make available to your team very soon.”
“This is serious,” Jordan said. “How did you obtain this information?”
“Unlike you Americans, we keep the option of negotiating with terrorists on the table,” Justin replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
Jordan’s face turned a reddish hue. Nour and Mathew simply stared at Justin.
“I meant no offence,” Justin offered, more as an explanation, rather than an apology. His voice was steady, as he was used to making no excuse for his over-the-top bluntness. “I mean, look where we’re meeting. Tripoli, Libya. Twenty years ago, your President, Reagan, called the leader of this country at that time, Colonel Qaddafi, ‘the mad dog of the Middle East.’ Libya supported terrorists of all flags for over thirty years. But the US built hotels and explored for oil in the same country that once was your archenemy.”
“Libya agreed to hand over those responsible for the Lockerbie airplane bombing and renounced its programs of developing weapons of mass destructions,” Jordan said in a clear, solemn tone, as if addressing a crowd of supporters in a political rally. “It has always been the policy of the United States to lend a helping hand to its old friends, to welcome them in the international community, and to guide them in the long and difficult road toward democracy and progress. This is a time of change in the relationship between America and Libya. Especially now that Qaddafi is history and Libya is on a path to becoming a democratic country, our politicians are working hard to usher in a new era of cooperation.”
Justin shrugged. “In defense and oil contracts, I assume,” he mumbled.
Matthew dismissed Justin’s words with a hand gesture. Justin interpreted it as a signal to continue, but Matthew was not finished. “We shouldn’t forget that Libya is where it is today because we, Americans, showed him our wrath with Baghdad bombings in 2003. Qaddafi feared he was going to meet the same fate as Saddam, with a noose around his neck. So, he stopped supporting terrorists and rebel groups and stopped being a constant threat to global security. Then, he turned on his people when they began demanding change, and we, Americans, helped in getting rid of him. We’re here to support the new democratic regime and to make sure Libya doesn’t turn into a rogue nation or a safe haven for Islamic terrorists.”
Justin leaned back in his chair. “I thought Qaddafi had a change of heart because Al-Qaida issued a fatwa on his head. Islamic militants wanted to overthrow his regime and replace it with a Sharia law state, like Saudi Arabia. That’s the true reason he decided to draw nearer to the Western world.”
Matthew sighed. “Let’s get back to the intel, shall we?” he said.
“Sure. We were talking to people inside the Alliance and that allowed us to dig deeper into this plot. Our contacts with top-level militants produced this intel.”
Matthew gave his half-bald head a good scratch.
“And this information is reliable?” he asked finally.
“Absolutely. It came into my possession directly from one of the sheikhs of the Alliance. Needless to say, I can’t give you his name, but the intel is true. These conversations really took place. These schemes are really unfolding as we speak.”
Matthew heaved a deep, resigning sigh.
“I need those recordings, so our experts can pick them apart and match the terrorists’ voices to our database samples. Then, they’ll have to determine the authenticity of the transcripts as well. It’s not that we don’t trust your Service, but, if an assassination attempt is in the works, we need to analyze every piece of information ourselves.”
Justin nodded. “Do you want me to download the files to this laptop?”
Matthew replied “Please do.”
Jordan offered a slight nod as well.
“What intel do you have on the explosions?” Justin asked, while typing on the laptop’s keyboard.
Nour shifted in his chair and Justin knew it was the security chief’s turn.
“Terrorists launched a coordinated strike, targeting four hotels in the heart of Tripoli,” Nour said. “They hit the JW Marriot, Continental, Grand Hotel, and Radisson. These are all places frequented mostly by foreigners. Businessmen, contractors, tourists, mainly Westerners, which makes them legitimate targets for Islamic militants. The toll, as expected, is catastrophic. Eighty-five dead, more than a hundred and fifty wounded. We’ve confirmed twenty-five victims are Americans. An additional ten are reported as missing. The target of the fifth car bomb was the Gold Market, in the Old Town.”
A fifth car bomb? Johnson said nothing about a fifth car. How come we don’t know about it?
“The Old Town is also a preferred destination for Tripoli visitors,” Nour said. “Fortunately, the police neutralized the suicide bomber of that truck before he could detonate the explosives. He was a young man who obviously didn’t know how to set them off.”
Was? I guess he’s not anymore. “Did you talk to him?”
Nour shook his head.
“Libyans interrogated him already. He gave them some general information about an Alliance plan to kill the President, the Alliance’s war against the infidels, and other general threats. Then, he committed ‘suicide,’ as most prisoners do in Libya’s jails. Libyans kept this story out of the press, but they shared some information with us. We dismissed that man’s claims as irrelevant, until we received your intel.”
That’s why Johnson and our Cairo office didn’t learn about the fifth man. Still, I hate when Americans are one step ahead in the game.
“Anything else from the local investigation?” Justin asked.
“No, nothing else.”
“Have you examined the evidence? The car truck? The bomb? Interrogated any eyewitnesses?”
“This is not our investigation, Justin,” Matthew said. “The Internal Security Service is running the show. We have some contacts within the Agency, and we’re collecting pieces of information here and there, and completing this puzzle, one piece at a time.”
“In light of recent events, you may want to reconsider,” Justin said. “You don’t want another Benghazi.”
Matthew frowned. An angry mob had stormed the US Consulate in Benghazi, east of Tripoli, and had murdered the US Ambassador to Libya and three other Americans. Order and stability in Libya was still fragile.
“You’re not telling us how to do our job, are you?” Nour asked.
“Oh, no, of course not,” Justin replied, “after all it’s your President’s life under threat. Terrorists have made their move and it’s up to you to leave no stone unturned in protecting her. I’m not the one who’ll have to explain to her family and to the nation the President was blown to chunks, as a crucial piece of evidence was overlooked because of a technicality.” Justin finished by folding his arms across his chest.