Extreme Measures

CHAPTER 55

ANACOSTIA RIVER, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE warehouse looked like something out of an Eastern European country before the fall of the Iron Curtain. More than half of the glass panes were missing from the skylights, and the roof itself was missing small sections. The corrugated metal walls were rusted, dented, and even peeled back in a few spots. Animal droppings dotted the oily concrete and rotted pallets; shredded tires and garbage littered a space approximately half the size of a football field. None of it, however, could cast a pall over Karim’s mood.

Aabad had returned just before sunrise with the three men who had helped him, just as Karim had ordered. The body of the spy had been stuffed into the trunk of a stolen car, driven to an abandoned lot, and the entire vehicle set ablaze. Karim thanked all of them for their devotion, and then as the first rays of the morning sun began to poke through the dirty and broken windows, he asked them to stay and pray. All thirteen men faced Mecca and knelt on the dirty floor. Karim’s men were not bothered by the filth. They had long ago learned to shut out such things. Aabad and his men, though, were obviously bothered. For a full thirty minutes they prayed, and when they were done, Karim hugged each man and thanked him for his sacrifice, even the three men whom Aabad had brought along.

He asked to have a word alone with Aabad’s men and led them back toward the door where they had entered. Karim spoke to them for a few minutes, and then without any consultation or warning, he drew his silenced 9mm Glock and shot each of the three helpers in the head.

Hakim was thunderstruck by the brutality of his friend. He looked around to see if the others shared his reaction, but all he saw were seven men acting as if nothing had happened. Karim had turned them into compassionless robots. Only Aabad was bothered by what had just occurred, but Hakim knew he was too feeble to protest.

Karim came to them across the open space, carrying with him the smell of gunpowder. He smiled and shook his head in a solemn fashion and said, “That was an unfortunate necessity.”

Hakim had had enough. “Why?” he blurted out in a confrontational tone.

“Because,” Karim said taken aback, “they had seen our faces.”

“And what does that matter?”

“The CIA will come looking for their agent. We can hardly afford to leave any loose ends.”

“Loose ends,” Hakim said, as he pointed at the bodies. “Is that what we call believers now?”

Karim would not allow his upbeat mood to be diminished. “Come now, Hakim, we have discussed this many times. Many have martyred themselves… millions of our brothers… but American Muslims have given nothing. Those three men have martyred themselves and they will be rewarded by Allah. They are on their way to paradise as we speak.”

They did not martyr themselves, Hakim thought. You martyred them, or more to the point, killed them. He did not say it, for fear of his own life. He looked at his friend’s placid, almost euphoric face and finally realized just how much he had changed over the last year.

“Come now,” Karim said. “We have much to do. I have decided to move our plan up by two days.”

This got everyone’s attention. Karim’s men were too well disciplined to question their commander, but Aabad was not. “Today?” he asked in an unsteady voice.

“Yes, today,” Karim said proudly.

“But I am not ready,” Aabad said with his hands fluttering. “My office needs to be gone through… my apartment… there are final things I must do.”

“It is out of our hands. The CIA will come looking for their man, and we cannot wait for that. Once they have discovered what has happened, they will raise alarms and our job will become extremely difficult.”

“But my plane ticket… I am not to leave until tomorrow. What am I going to do?” Aabad was beside himself.

Karim put a fatherly hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Do not worry. I will take care of you. I want you to go to your apartment right now. Get only what you need. One bag,” he cautioned him, “and come right back here.”

“But…” Aabad started to say.

Karim covered his mouth. “Do not argue. This is a direct order. You must do exactly as I tell you. Now go and be fast.” Karim released him.

With great irritation, Hakim wondered why Karim didn’t simply shoot the imbecile like he shot everyone else. Instead he watched Aabad anxiously hurry toward the door, looking back every few steps. When he stopped at the door, Karim urged him on by repeating his instructions one more time.

“Now,” Karim said to Hakim as he put a gentle hand on his shoulder, “as you can see, my men are ready. Their martyr vests are all but done.”

The men had spent much of morning breaking the C-4 into smaller blocks and pressing ball bearings into the malleable explosive and then placing the blocks in vests that they would put on, and if everything went according to plan, die in.

“Are you sure,” Hakim asked with great concern, “about moving things up?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid by rushing we will make a mistake. A mistake that will cost us.”

“No,” Karim shook his head. “My men are ready. This is the right decision. Waiting is risky. This… this is seizing an opportunity.”

“What about the traffic cameras?”

“I was hoping you could call your man.”

“Right now?” Hakim asked as he computed the time difference between the Netherlands and Washington.

“Yes.”

“I can try,” Hakim said without much confidence. This had been arranged months in advance.

“You will succeed, my friend. You have always succeeded. That is why, despite your lack of faith, I have allowed you to be part of this great battle.”

“And if he can’t crash the system?”

“We will proceed with or without him. Is my message ready?”

He was referring to the prerecorded message that would be launched across the World Wide Web. A message that proclaimed Karim to be the Lion of al-Qaeda. When Zawahiri saw it, he was likely to have a heart attack. “Your message is ready. He should have no problem releasing it.”

“Good.”

“If he cannot crash the system” – Hakim leaned in so none of the others could hear – “you and I need to leave the city this afternoon.”

“Check with your man first,” Karim said casually. “Allah is on our side. I am confident you will come through for me once more. I have not come all this way to complete half the mission. We will succeed, or we will all die. Am I clear?”

“So you have changed your mind?” Hakim asked quietly.

“I have given myself up to my destiny. If Allah wants me to survive, I will survive.”

What about me? Hakim wanted to ask, but he could see that his friend’s conversion to religious fanatic was finally complete. Hakim had seen the look in the eyes of far too many men in Afghanistan. Men that would stand up under withering American fire, convinced Allah would shroud them in protection. As Hakim looked into the wide, believing eyes of his friend he began for the first time to question why he was involved in this. His participation had been purely logistical. He would help get them into the country. He was to obtain separate financing, and to recruit the hackers that could help them crash the thousands of cameras that monitored the streets of Washington. And lastly he was to get himself and Karim back out of the country. All of this talk of Allah and destiny was suddenly beginning to sound like a suicide mission.