Act of War

CHAPTER 36

Cheng sat outside and watched. He had no idea who Mirsab was fraternizing with in his apartment. The engineering student had been instructed to keep to himself and mind his own business. It was apparent, though, that he had ignored those orders. It made Cheng wonder what other orders Mirsab had chosen to ignore. Cheng had no choice but to sit and wait until Mirsab’s guests had departed.

When the procession of four men filed out an hour later, Cheng stayed where he was until they had driven away. Then, he got out of his vehicle and entered the building.

The hallway smelled heavily of mildew and the carpeting was stained. He approached Mirsab’s door and knocked.

Thinking one of his guests must have left something behind, the man opened his door with a smile while saying something in Arabic. Then he saw Cheng.

“May I help you?” he asked, switching to English.

“Henry Lee sent me,” Cheng replied.

The look on Mirsab’s face went from carefree to concerned in a fraction of a second. Slowly, he stepped back and said, “Come in.”

As Cheng entered, he swept the room with his eyes. It was spartanly furnished and what furnishings there were looked as if they had been there for decades.

Mirsab kept a clean home. There were no dishes in the sink or on the counter in the small, open kitchen. It didn’t smell of garbage or spoiled food. In fact, it smelled much better than the hall.

In terms of personal effects, there weren’t many Cheng could see. There were some Arabic-language magazines on the coffee table, along with a laptop and a Qur’an. A prayer rug had been rolled up and tucked away in the corner of the living room.

“Who were those men?” Cheng asked.

“What men?”

“The men who just left. The ones you thought had come back when you answered your door in Arabic.”

Mirsab cast his eyes toward the floor. “I met them at a mosque. I am part of their prayer group.”

Cheng snapped his fingers to get the engineering student to look him in the eyes. “You are not being paid to go to a mosque and there is only one group you are allowed to belong to. That’s our group. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down,” Cheng said, pointing at the small dining table. When Mirsab was seated, Cheng took the chair across from him and set his briefcase under the table.

“Why has Mr. Lee sent you? Is it time?” the engineering student asked.

“Soon,” Cheng assured him. “In the meantime, I have come to check on you.”

Cheng was highly adept at reading people. It was part of what made him a successful intelligence operative. Already, he could sense several things about Mirsab. Adopting a relaxed posture, and a calm, even tone, he asked, “How have you been?”

“I have been lonely,” the man instantly admitted.

“Lonely?”

“Yes,” Mirsab replied. “I have never been away from my family for this long.”

“Have you made any attempt to contact them?”

He shook his head. “No. It is forbidden.”

So was fraternizing with others, but Cheng put that aside for the moment. “I know it is difficult, but you will see them again soon and they will be proud of you. The money is already helping them and it will continue to help them as long as you live up to your agreement.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now, let’s talk about the men I saw leaving here. How long have you known them?”

“Not long. A couple of weeks,” said Mirsab.

“Why did you go to the mosque?”

“To pray.”

“You can’t pray here?” Cheng asked.

“It’s lonely. I wanted to pray with other people.”

“Are you being paid to pray with other people?”

“No, sir,” the engineer replied.

Cheng feigned a smile. “Mirsab, you need to think of your family. You are being well paid. Is there food in your kitchen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your toilet work? Is there water for you to bathe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your air-conditioning work? Does the roof keep you dry?”

He cast his eyes downward again. “Yes, sir.”

“Look at me, Mirsab,” said Cheng. He waited until the young man looked at him before continuing. “You are free to go out to a park, to go to a movie. You may listen to music. You may watch TV. You may read your Qur’an. You may use your computer as long as you follow the rules. I don’t think we have unduly burdened you, have we?”

“No, sir.”

“In fact, I think we have been quite good to you. Haven’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cheng studied him. “What do these men from the mosque know about you?”

Mirsab shrugged. He was a short man, only about five-foot-five, and pudgy. When he shrugged, skin rolled like a shar-pei. His habit of staring at the floor only added to the likeness of a guilty dog.

“I’m not angry,” said Cheng. “But I need to know. What did you tell them?”

“I told them I was an engineering student.”

Internally, Cheng tensed, but he didn’t outwardly betray his concern. Instead, he maintained an appearance of calm and waited. Another part of being an effective intelligence operative was being comfortable with silence.

“I told them that I was in the process of transferring to Nashville Community College, but not until the next term. I told them I was just taking classes online at the moment.”

It was a decent lie, thought Cheng. Plausible. Mirsab hadn’t shot too high by claiming attendance at a school like Vanderbilt, and the part about taking classes online would explain why he spent so much time in his apartment. But while it was a passable cover story, he should have never placed himself in a position to have to use one.

His loneliness was troubling. He was too needy. With all of the distractions America had to offer, the fact that Mirsab couldn’t tolerate being by himself spoke to deeper issues — none of which Cheng had the time or the desire to address.

“What else did you tell these men?” Cheng asked.

“Nothing, I swear.”

“Did you tell them where you are from?”

“No,” Mirsab replied, before changing his answer. “I mean, yes.”

“Which is it?”

“They know I am from the Emirates, but I lied about what village.”

Cheng’s displeasure was growing. “What else?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

That was the second time he had given that answer and Cheng didn’t believe him. The man was a weak link. While he didn’t think Mirsab had blurted everything out, he only needed to have said just enough. If one of the men in his prayer group had been an FBI informant or, even worse, an actual FBI agent, there was no telling what damage might have already been caused. All it would take was Mirsab not to remember one of his lies or to go halfway down a conversational road he hadn’t intended. Cheng could only hope the other cell members were not this dysfunctional.

“Mirsab, I want to talk with you about the project,” said Cheng. They didn’t use the term “operation” with the cell members, it sounded too military, too much like terrorism. If any of them were ever interrogated by authorities, the Second Department wanted the entire thing to sound as much like a criminal enterprise as possible. “Do you understand what it is we are trying to do?”

Once again, Mirsab looked at the floor. “Yes.”

“Look at me,” said Cheng. “What is it you think the project is?”

“I don’t think anything. I just want it to be over so I can go home.”

“Mirsab, before I came to see you, I paid a visit to Wazir Ibrahim. Do you remember what you told Wazir you thought was in the canisters?”

The engineering student nodded.

“We explained to you what our project is, so why would you think any different?” asked Cheng.

“Because the canisters we trained with were too heavy.”

The intelligence officer smiled. “Did you share this concern with the others?”

Mirsab shook his head.

“Good,” replied Cheng.

Pulling the suppressed M&P pistol from his briefcase, he then shot the Emirati right between the eyes.