Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 38

Baseyev had chosen Zainab because she was a woman. In addition to being young and attractive, she was also fast. Very fast.

They had met in Syria. She had come to join the jihad and fight for ISIS and the caliphate. The recruiter she had made her way to was highly intelligent. He realized that sending a woman like Zainab to the front lines would be an unforgivable mistake.

When Allah blessed you with such a gift, it was because he intended for it to be used, appropriately. Zainab was placed in a house and protected, kept away from the other recruits until a decision could be made.

The leadership, as it had been doing more and more, had consulted with Baseyev. And as he had proven to them time and again, he did not disappoint when it came to strategy.

Zainab possessed dual American/Kuwaiti citizenship. She was a student at Georgetown University who had returned to Kuwait on her American passport and then traveled on to Syria with her Kuwaiti passport.

For all intents and purposes, her trail was clean. The Americans had no way of knowing that she had gone anywhere other than Kuwait to visit relatives. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Baseyev and several ISIS leaders spent considerable time interviewing her. They needed to be absolutely certain she was devoted to the cause. She had made it to Syria, determined to fight, but what would happen when she returned home to America? Would she lose her resolve? Would she change her mind?

After much deliberation, it was decided that she was incredibly resolute and that she could be counted on to fulfill her mission.

When her mission was decided upon and her training complete, she was sent back to the United States and told to wait. Now, here they were.

Zainab only needed to make it thirty yards. From the fence to just beyond the fountain. Anything more than that was welcome, but under no circumstances, not even if the door was wide open, was she to cross the threshold and enter the White House. If she did, it would ruin everything. She needed to remain outside, in full view of the cameras.

Baseyev knew the Secret Service wouldn’t shoot. They wouldn’t turn their canine teams loose on her either. The White House was too politically sensitive. Images of a young, female protestor of Middle Eastern descent being shot or attacked by dogs on the White House lawn wouldn’t play well on television.

Thirty yards. That’s all he needed. She promised that she wouldn’t fail him.

Despite the bright sunshine, the crisp April day had never gotten out of the low fifties. Everyone was wearing a jacket, including Zainab. As she walked, she could make out the sweet, rose-like scent of the cherry blossoms beginning to peak around the Tidal Basin. It was a good omen. Allah had blessed this day.

The banner she carried was a work of art. It was made of silk and would stream beautifully behind her as she ran across the grounds. All the eyes of the world would be upon her. It was the most incredible opportunity she had ever been given. She was excited and intensely nervous all at the same time. Only thirty yards, she reminded herself.

Baseyev had studied the Secret Service. He had watched all the videos and had read all the articles regarding breaches of White House security. And after he had analyzed them, he had shown them to Zainab. For her to be successful, she needed to know what she was up against and how to deal with it.

They took tea together one last time. It was at the apartment he had arranged within walking distance of the White House. They talked for hours, stopping only to pray for Allah’s protection and continued guidance.

After giving her a pill to help her sleep, he made himself comfortable on the couch and waited out the rest of the night in case she changed her mind. She did not.

The next morning, he rose early, shaving his dark stubble and changing into a fresh shirt he had purchased in Texas.

When Zainab finally entered the kitchen, he smiled warmly and offered her a cup of coffee. The drug he had given her the night before had been strong. It took her a few minutes to clear away the cobwebs.

He produced a small pillbox and offered her a different item this time. “Something the brothers and sisters in Iraq and Syria have found helpful,” he said as he pushed the thick pill toward her. “It packs the courage of a lion and the strength of ten men.”

Zainab didn’t argue. Accepting the drug, she placed it on her tongue and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee.

“Is there anything I need to do about the apartment?” she asked after swallowing. She was moving her hand in a wiping motion.

“You mean clean it for fingerprints?” Baseyev responded. “I’ll take care of it. You focus on the greatness you are about to achieve.”

They prayed together once more before he told her it was time to get ready.

Because it was such a special day, there were certain additional rituals that needed to be performed, including how she was required to bathe.

Once she was fully dressed, she stepped back into the living room so that Sacha could look at her one last time.

Everything was perfect. She was perfect. She would not fail him. Of that, he was certain.

They had grown close during their time together in Syria and he was not afraid to make a show of his affection. Like a brother or a cousin, he placed one soft kiss upon her forehead as he pressed two more pills into her left hand. “Take these just as you are about to leave.”

They exchanged a few more words and then he was gone.

Sitting alone in the kitchen, she watched the clock on the microwave. It was almost surreal. To have the knowledge of what was about to happen, when no one else did, exhilarated her. The drugs only enhanced her excitement, causing her to feel almost euphoric.

When the appointed time arrived, she couldn’t wait to get moving. Pouring a glass of water from the tap, she swallowed the pills Ibrahim had given her, zipped up her jacket, and left the apartment.

She had been told not to alter her route unless she believed she was being followed. With nothing to give her that impression, she continued on.

“You will not see me,” Baseyev had told her, “but I will be close. I will be watching over you.”

She stole occasional glances as she walked, to the side and behind, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him. But true to his word, he was nowhere to be seen.

The pills he had given her, though, had heightened her awareness. Even though she couldn’t see him, she believed she could feel his presence. He was all around her.

Zainab followed her route to Lafayette Square Park, just across the street from the White House. There she saw the permanent array of protestors, each hoping to catch the attention of the President and the media. She was about to teach them how to do both.

She didn’t need to remind herself to smile. There was a radiance pouring out of her that she simply couldn’t contain. She felt more alive, more certain of herself and her purpose in life than ever before.