Capitol murder

Chapter Thirty-three

I mran Afridi knocked on the door of the motel room, and Mustapha Haddad opened it. Mustapha was not someone you would notice in a crowd. He was slim, of average height, and neither handsome nor ugly. Mustapha blended in and had a nonthreatening demeanor. A dangerous person would always feel that he had the advantage in a confrontation with Afridi’s enforcer. That person would be wrong. Mustapha killed without conscience and was deadly with a knife at close quarters. He was also a skilled sniper who had learned his trade in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Afridi didn’t recognize the two other men in the motel room. They were over six feet tall and thickly muscled, with the scowl worn by bouncers who guard nightclub doors. The men stood up when Mustapha ushered his boss into the room.

“You know what happened?” Afridi asked.

Mustapha nodded. “Rafik told me. The detonators malfunctioned.”

“This was not an accident. Either the man who sold the detonators to Reynolds was FBI or he was co-opted by the FBI. In either case, the FBI knew about our plan in advance. Someone betrayed us.”

“Do you know who?” Mustapha asked.

“No, but there are four people who could have. Ali Bashar was the only member of the cell who worked with the bombs.”

“I can’t see him as a spy for the Americans, Imran. I know his background. He was recruited from a remote village and was sent directly to the camp. If he had contact with the CIA, someone in his village would have noticed. After the camp, Bashar was sent to the safe house in Karachi. After that, he was on the freighter, and from there he went straight to the safe house in Maryland.”

“Someone could have gotten to him at FedEx Field while he was working,” Afridi said.

“But how would they know he was a member of our cell? If he was turned, it was because the traitor identified him.”

“An excellent point. In any event, he’s in custody and we have no way of getting to him.”

“Who else do you suspect?”

“Jessica Koshani knew that FedEx Field was our target.”

“Did she know any other important details, like the date of the operation or the identity of the person who sold Reynolds the explosives?”

“No, but her death is suspicious.”

“Wasn’t Koshani murdered by that escaped serial killer?” Mustapha asked.

“That might be what the CIA wants us to think. Koshani was in Washington to testify before the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. She was staying at a house owned by Senator Carson. Koshani was blackmailing the senator to find out what the Americans knew about our plan. She phoned me on the afternoon of the day she was killed. The senator had just left after telling her that the FBI still had no idea where the attack was going to take place or when it would occur.

“It’s possible that Carson went to the CIA or FBI and confessed that Koshani was blackmailing him. After Carson left, agents could have tortured her for details of the plot and faked Clarence Little’s MO.”

“Even if she was tortured by the CIA, she couldn’t have told them enough information to get them to the person who supplied the detonators,” Mustapha pointed out.

“Someone else may have done that, and Senator Carson might know who it is.”

“It will be difficult to get to a United States senator,” Mustapha said.

“Are you telling me you can’t do it?” Afridi challenged.

“I’m saying it will be difficult, but I will find a way if it becomes necessary. Who is your last possibility?”

“Steve Reynolds. It has always seemed convenient that he was in that alley when the imam’s student was attacked. He could have been in deep cover and the attack could have been a setup to get him in contact with the imam. Also, Reynolds found the man who sold the dynamite and detonators.”

“I can question him,” Mustapha suggested.

“Question him, then kill him.”

“What if he isn’t the traitor?” Mustapha asked.

“Kill him anyway. Reynolds has outlived his usefulness.”

T he house where Reynolds was staying was a forty-five-minute ride from the motel. They were several blocks from the rental when Mustapha told the driver to slow down so he could scout the surrounding area. As they drew closer, Mustapha tensed.

“Keep going,” he said. “Something is wrong.”