Jihad

CHAPTER 110

Hernes Jackson sorted the yellow pads one more time, making sure not only that their pages were blank but that there were no impressions left on the underlying pages. He hated the idea of throwing out perfectly good paper; once he was sure there was no vestige of even a stray doodle, he would bequeath them to one of the investigators working on discovering the man or men behind Asad’s murder.

Asad’s death ended the Deep Black bugging and snatch operation known as Red Lion. While Desk Three was still trying to find out what Asad’s target had been, Jackson’s job in Detroit was over. Some of the members of the task force were staying on to investigate the murder, under the Department of Justice’s direction. A senior FBI agent had flown in that afternoon from Washington to take over. Jackson had written an eyes-only memo for him and then, following Rubens’ instructions, dismantled his temporary office. Dean would stay to work with the task force; Jackson was to return to Fort Meade.

Rather than staying overnight, Jackson had booked a late flight back to Baltimore. If he left tonight he would be home in time to honor his weekly Meals On Wheels commitment at lunchtime the next day.

Jackson took one last look around the small office, making sure he had everything. Then, briefcase in one hand and pads in the other, he left the office, walking down the hall and around the comer to the large room that many of the agents and detectives working on the murder were using as a workspace. Jackson looked around the tables and finally spotted Dallas Coombs, an FBI agent who had helped him coordinate the backup teams. The FBI agent was on the phone, so Jackson set the notepads down at the comer of the table he was using as a desk and left.

It had started to mist outside. Jackson tucked up his coat collar as he walked to the car.

“Say, Mr. Jackson. Ambassador?”

Jackson turned around and saw Coombs trotting toward him.

“Glad I caught you,” said the agent, winded from the short run.

“I hope you can use the pads of paper,” said Jackson.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Listen — I have to check out some surveillance videos that the Detroit police think may have been Asad bin Fayser.”

“Bin Taysr.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Asad bin Taysr. I was wondering if you could help, because I haven’t seen anything except for those still photos, and I don’t even have them. I gave my set to the secretaries to get copied.”

“I’ve shredded mine, I’m afraid.”

“You think you could check the video for me? Otherwise I’m going to have to go over to the Justice Building and try and find someone to get me into the right office. The secretaries have gone home.”

“They left without making the copies?”

“This is Detroit,” said Coombs.

“I have a plane at midnight,” said Jackson. “And I was going to get something to eat.”

“Great. Where did you want to eat? I saw a pizza joint up the block.”

“Let’s look at the video, and then we’ll discuss dinner,” said Jackson, opening his car door. “I’ll drive.”