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Authors: Alan Jacobson
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headphones and listened as the others consulted the translation.
“What are we reading here?” Vail asked.
“NSA intercepted a cell call from an area in southwest DC to Gaza. They couldn’t triangulate because it didn’t last long enough. The rest is pretty self-explanatory.”
DC UNSUB:Can’t reach four of our men. Don’t know what’s going on. Someone posted something on Facebook about an explosion on Irving Street. That was where Habib was working. Couldn’t reach him so I called Wahi. He didn’t know anything about it so he called Habib and he answered. Habib said the explosion was close but he was fine. Wahi told him to come to the safe house, but he never made it and I haven’t been able to reach him. I haven’t heard from Osman or Tahir either, so I don’t know what’s up with them.
Gaza UNSUB:We’ll look into it. If there was a problem, they’ll go off the grid, keep quiet until they think it’s safe to contact us. Everything may be okay, but stay indoors until I contact you. Allahu Akbar.
DC UNSUB:Allahu Akbar.
Vail set the paper on the conference table. “No question the guy in DC is one of our offenders.” She turned toward Rusakov, two workstations to her left, and said, “Can the NSA give us anything else?”
“They’re doubling back to see if they’ve got other captured conversations that haven’t been transcribed yet. There’s a backlog of Arabic language recordings.”
Vail noticed Uzi was still huddled over the desk, concentrating. She tapped him on a shoulder and he pushed up the headphones. “You’re spending an awfully long time listening to a short conversation. Something’s bothering you.”
He sat down heavily.
“What is it, Boychick?” DeSantos asked.
He ran his tongue from left to right over his bottom lip. “The guy on the phone in Gaza. I think I know that voice.”
8
V ail waited for Uzi to elaborate. When he did not, she nudged DeSantos, who shrugged. “Uzi, who is it?”
“If I’m right, he was a senior al Humat operative when I was”—he hesitated, then turned to Rusakov. “Alex, can you give us a minute?”
“Boychick, she’s part of OPSIG. She’s got full clearance.”
Vail examined Uzi’s face—she knew he was uncomfortable with more people knowing his secret. It was one thing for Knox to know, and for her, DeSantos, and Rodman to know—he hadn’t had the choice when it was disclosed. Adding to that list did not seem like a good idea, and Vail had to agree.
“Alex,” Vail said, “I think it’d be best.”
Rusakov squinted dissatisfaction, then nodded and backed out of the room.
“Where’d you find her?” Vail said as the glass door clicked shut. “The latest Miss World pageant?”
“She’s tougher than you think. Lethal, in fact. Her beauty gets her close to HVTs,” DeSantos said, using the military acronym for high value targets. “Go on, Boychick. Who does the voice belong to?”
“When I was in Mossad, this guy was working with Hamas, smuggling rockets and mortars through the Sinai. He designed the network of tunnels they spent years building—sophisticated tunnels with reinforced cement walls, ventilation, electricity. They eventually built hundreds of them crisscrossing Gaza, stretching from the Egyptian border all the way into Israel.”
“Like the drug cartels,” Vail said, referring to their method of smuggling drugs from Mexico into San Diego.
DeSantos sat up straight. “Like the drug cartels. Ekrem’s intel—and NSA’s intercept—suggested Hezbollah might be working with the Cortez cartel. What if you’re right, Boychick? What if they showed Cortez how to build their tunnels?”
“Then we might have problems.” Rodman rose from his chair and walked over to the near wall, where a map of the United States was illuminated on one of the screens. Rodman said, “What if they’ve built a network of tunnels under the US?”
“It’s expensive and time-consuming,” Uzi said. He thought a bit, then
“What are we reading here?” Vail asked.
“NSA intercepted a cell call from an area in southwest DC to Gaza. They couldn’t triangulate because it didn’t last long enough. The rest is pretty self-explanatory.”
DC UNSUB:Can’t reach four of our men. Don’t know what’s going on. Someone posted something on Facebook about an explosion on Irving Street. That was where Habib was working. Couldn’t reach him so I called Wahi. He didn’t know anything about it so he called Habib and he answered. Habib said the explosion was close but he was fine. Wahi told him to come to the safe house, but he never made it and I haven’t been able to reach him. I haven’t heard from Osman or Tahir either, so I don’t know what’s up with them.
Gaza UNSUB:We’ll look into it. If there was a problem, they’ll go off the grid, keep quiet until they think it’s safe to contact us. Everything may be okay, but stay indoors until I contact you. Allahu Akbar.
DC UNSUB:Allahu Akbar.
Vail set the paper on the conference table. “No question the guy in DC is one of our offenders.” She turned toward Rusakov, two workstations to her left, and said, “Can the NSA give us anything else?”
“They’re doubling back to see if they’ve got other captured conversations that haven’t been transcribed yet. There’s a backlog of Arabic language recordings.”
Vail noticed Uzi was still huddled over the desk, concentrating. She tapped him on a shoulder and he pushed up the headphones. “You’re spending an awfully long time listening to a short conversation. Something’s bothering you.”
He sat down heavily.
“What is it, Boychick?” DeSantos asked.
He ran his tongue from left to right over his bottom lip. “The guy on the phone in Gaza. I think I know that voice.”
8
V ail waited for Uzi to elaborate. When he did not, she nudged DeSantos, who shrugged. “Uzi, who is it?”
“If I’m right, he was a senior al Humat operative when I was”—he hesitated, then turned to Rusakov. “Alex, can you give us a minute?”
“Boychick, she’s part of OPSIG. She’s got full clearance.”
Vail examined Uzi’s face—she knew he was uncomfortable with more people knowing his secret. It was one thing for Knox to know, and for her, DeSantos, and Rodman to know—he hadn’t had the choice when it was disclosed. Adding to that list did not seem like a good idea, and Vail had to agree.
“Alex,” Vail said, “I think it’d be best.”
Rusakov squinted dissatisfaction, then nodded and backed out of the room.
“Where’d you find her?” Vail said as the glass door clicked shut. “The latest Miss World pageant?”
“She’s tougher than you think. Lethal, in fact. Her beauty gets her close to HVTs,” DeSantos said, using the military acronym for high value targets. “Go on, Boychick. Who does the voice belong to?”
“When I was in Mossad, this guy was working with Hamas, smuggling rockets and mortars through the Sinai. He designed the network of tunnels they spent years building—sophisticated tunnels with reinforced cement walls, ventilation, electricity. They eventually built hundreds of them crisscrossing Gaza, stretching from the Egyptian border all the way into Israel.”
“Like the drug cartels,” Vail said, referring to their method of smuggling drugs from Mexico into San Diego.
DeSantos sat up straight. “Like the drug cartels. Ekrem’s intel—and NSA’s intercept—suggested Hezbollah might be working with the Cortez cartel. What if you’re right, Boychick? What if they showed Cortez how to build their tunnels?”
“Then we might have problems.” Rodman rose from his chair and walked over to the near wall, where a map of the United States was illuminated on one of the screens. Rodman said, “What if they’ve built a network of tunnels under the US?”
“It’s expensive and time-consuming,” Uzi said. He thought a bit, then
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