Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 27

Harvath quickly found a taxi on the edge of the Khan El-Khalili, but it seemed to take forever to reach Garden City and the U.S. Embassy. Once he had paid the driver and exited the cab, the first thing he noticed were the Marine guards in full tactical gear. What had normally been a sight reserved for instances of heightened security was now an everyday occurrence. Security, especially for U.S. embassies abroad, was taken very, very seriously.

After explaining to the Egyptian police officers guarding the embassy’s outer perimeter that he could not present identification because his wallet and passport had been stolen in a mugging, he was finally allowed to approach the main gate. It took slightly less time to explain his real situation to the American Marines at the entrance to the embassy, but it was still an ordeal. He was watched very closely by one heavily armed Marine while the other made a quick series of phone calls. Eventually, an embassy staffer appeared and escorted him deep within the complex to a secure, soundproofed conference room known in intelligence-speak as the “Bubble.”

Seated at the table were Bob Lawrence, Mayor Fellinger, some of the men from Morrell’s SAS team, and several suits whom Harvath, once again, didn’t recognize.

Fellinger was the first to acknowledge Scot as he was admitted into the room. “And here’s our other hero.”

Harvath smiled at the mayor and nodded politely to Bob Lawrence. None of the SAS members paid him any attention, so he returned the favor. One of the suits stood and offered Harvath his hand.

“Agent Harvath, I am Randall Gray, assistant Cairo CIA station chief.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Harvath, shaking the man’s hand. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Actually, we’re just finishing the mayor’s and Mr. Lawrence’s debriefings. They will be leaving within the hour.”

“Flying United, of course,” said Scot.

“Damn straight,” said Lawrence. “We’re picking up the other 747 from the old Cairo airport and flying it back to Chicago. I want the world to see that we got back safely. Too many people in the U.S. are still terrified to travel, especially internationally. This whole thing has been a PR nightmare. We need to get ahold of it, and quick.”

“Speaking of quickly getting ahold of this thing,” said Scot. “What was with that press conference from the Anglo-American Hospital?”

“At present, I am not at liberty to answer that,” said the assistant station chief.

“Not at liberty? You do understand by whose authority I am operating, don’t you?” asked Harvath.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea, yes. Listen, Agent Harvath, it’s not that I don’t want to answer your question; it’s that I honestly can’t. Things have been evolving very fast this morning.”

Scot looked at Randall Gray and sensed the man was being honest with him. “Well, if you can’t give me some answers,” he said, “then who can?”

“I would imagine my boss, Tom Ellis, can.”

“And where might I find him, short of CNN?”

“He’s still at the Anglo-American Hospital debriefing Meg Cassidy.”

“Is Rick Morrell with him?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then that’s where I’m going. Gentlemen,” said Harvath with a polite nod toward the mayor and Bob Lawrence, “have a safe flight home. I’m very sorry about all of this.”

“So are we,” said the mayor. “We’re just glad that we had you to help get us out of it.”

“It’s what I was trained to do,” said Scot.

Both Lawrence and the mayor gave Scot their business cards and told him if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was call.

“I’ll get someone to drive you,” said the assistant station chief.

Harvath appreciated the gesture and began to believe that maybe not everyone at the CIA was a total asshole after all.

When he reached the embassy’s motor pool and saw his driver, he started to have second thoughts. Leaning against the car with a cup of coffee and looking more like a Chippendales dancer than a CIA operative, was Gordon Avigliano — the kid who had couriered the CIA’s Hashim Nidal file to Harvath’s apartment back in Alexandria.

He was so engrossed in drinking his coffee that he didn’t notice Harvath had come up alongside him until he said, “Al salaam a’alaykum.”

Avigliano nearly jumped out of his skin. “Holy shit,” he growled as he tossed the cup into a nearby garbage can. “You can’t do that to a person.”

“Well, I just did,” said Harvath, shoving past him and opening the driver’s side door. “Keys.”

“Wait a second, I’m supposed to be driving you.”

“You can’t even courier documents properly. What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive? Besides how many times have you been in Cairo before?”

“None. This is my first time. But I’ve got a map.”

“Learn on someone else’s time, Gordo. Now toss me the keys.”

Avigliano threw Harvath the keys and walked around to the passenger side and got in. As they shot out of the embassy gates, Avigliano attempted to make conversation. “Have you got some sort of problem with me?”

“Not specifically. My guess is that you are somehow tied to Operation Phantom, but aren’t one of the heavy hitters. You’re the new guy and, being low man on the totem pole, get to courier documents and drive guys like me around. Things got hot over here with the hijacking, and you got called in as part of the backup for Rick Morrell and the rest of the team. How am I doing so far?”

“Let me see,” answered Avigliano, “classified, classified, restricted, and classified.”

A broad smile swept across Harvath’s face. “Have you had any military training?”

“I did three years with First Ranger Battalion.”

“What made you decide to leave the Army and hook up with the CIA?”

“Better pay grade and it looked like more fun.”

“And now you’re on the Agency fast track.”

“I can handle it.”

The pair made their way along the Nile and at the el-Tahrir Bridge crossed over to Gezira Island, where the Anglo-American Hospital was located. Harvath found a parking space about a block away, and he and Avigliano made their way toward the building.

The one-hundred-bed Anglo-American Hospital was more than a century old and badly in need of a face-lift. To its credit, the atmosphere was welcoming and the staff very friendly. With one of Morrell’s SAS men standing guard outside, Meg Cassidy’s room wasn’t hard to find. The man stretched his thick arm across the door the minute he saw Harvath.

“If you wanna keep that arm,” said Harvath, “you’d better lower it.”

“No admittance, Harvath. Boss’s orders,” replied the powerful-looking operative.

Before Scot could respond, Avigliano piped in. “Jerry, it’s okay. Rick and Tom should be expecting him.”

“Do I care? My orders are no one gets in while the debrief is going on.”

“Stop being such a prick, Jerry, and just knock on the goddamn door, would ya?”

Harvath was impressed. The kid might have potential after all. In fact, Harvath worried that Avigliano was actually starting to grow on him.

The burly operative relented, and after a couple quick raps, the door opened a crack and Rick Morrell peered out. “What is it?”

That was the only opportunity Harvath needed. He slipped past the sentry and shouldered the door open. Morrell caught it with his head.

“For fuck’s sake, Harvath,” he grunted as he rubbed his forehead. “You’re like a bull in a china shop. Shit, that hurt.”

“Maybe it’ll keep you honest,” said Harvath. “Now, I want to know what’s going on here.”

“We going to have a problem with this guy?” asked the sentry, his muscular body filling the doorframe.

“You might if you don’t turn around and close that door—” began Harvath, who was immediately interrupted by Tom Ellis.

“No, Jerry. Everything’s okay. Why don’t you and Mr. Avigliano wait outside.”

When the door was closed, Tom Ellis turned to Harvath and offered his hand. “I’m Tom Ellis, director of consular affairs—”

Now it was Harvath’s turn to interrupt. “And I’m the tooth fairy. Pleased to meet you,” he said as he shook the man’s hand.

Rick Morrell shook his head in disgust.

Upon hearing laughter, Morrell and Ellis turned, revealing Meg Cassidy, who was sitting upright in her hospital bed, attached to an IV.

“You’re looking much better,” said Harvath. “Funny how some fluids will do that for a person.”

“I want to thank you, Agent Harvath,” she said, “for saving our lives.”

“First of all, you can call me Scot. And secondly, from what I hear, Ms. Cassidy, the people on that plane owe their lives to you.”

“I guess I didn’t have much choice.”

“What you did took a lot of courage. People are alive because of you. I was just saying to someone not too long ago,” said Harvath as he threw a disapproving glance at Rick Morrell, “that this whole thing could have been a lot worse.”

“Well, I want to put it behind me. All of it.”

“No one can blame you for that.”

Ellis interrupted again. “Ahem,” he said as he cleared his throat. “Agent Harvath, could we have a word with you in private please?”

“The tooth fairy’s work is never done. Will you excuse me, Ms. Cassidy?”

“Only if you’ll stop calling me Ms. Cassidy and call me Meg,” she said with a smile that warmed him all over.

“Fair enough. Meg, it is,” said Harvath as he smiled at her in return.

Harvath followed Tom Ellis and Rick Morrell down the hall and was shown into the same small conference room that had been used for the press conference earlier that morning. The piece of paper with Anglo-American Hospital printed on it was still taped to the podium. Morrell closed and locked the door behind them.

“Agent Harvath,” began Tom Ellis, “I know you’re not much for playing by the rules—”

“What I’m not much for, Tom, is bullshit,” replied Scot.

“Neither am I, so on that front we should get along fine. Now, in my capacity here in Cairo as—”

“CIA chief of station?”

“Yes, that is my capacity. I hope you understand that as Meg Cassidy is a civilian, presenting myself to her as chief Cairo station officer could be uncomfortable.”

“And having the U.S. Embassy send over their ‘chief consular affairs officer’ to debrief her on a hijacking is supposed to somehow put her more at ease? You guys crack me up. You live in your own little world, you know that? We have one sharp lady in there, and I bet she saw right through you.”

“Well, whatever the case may be, I’m sure any doubts she had about my capacity with the U.S. government were answered by your referring to yourself as the ‘tooth fairy,’ so we can set that one aside.”

“Fine with me,” said Harvath. “I just want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Good. To do that, though, we need to enlist the help of Ms. Cassidy. She’s the only one who can positively ID Hashim Nidal, so instead of encouraging her to put everything behind her, like you were doing back in her room, we need to encourage her to work with us. It’s the only way we’ll be able to nail him,” said Ellis.

“I don’t understand what the problem is here.”

Ellis was exhausted. He had been going full throttle since the hijacking had started and was desperately in need of sleep. He leaned wearily against the edge of the podium and said, “We lost him.”

“I figured as much. How?”

“Well, there’s no question that Meg Cassidy saw his face. He had taken her up into the bubble of the plane and was going to rape her and God knows what else. She put up a struggle and was apparently assisted by one of Mayor Fellinger’s bodyguards, who had been tied up in one of the upper-deck lavatories, but managed to get out. He was killed as he plowed into the guy with his hands still cuffed behind his back.

“Cassidy used the distraction to get away from Nidal and grab his weapon. He slashed at her with his knife, nicking her ankle, and she shot him in the head. She then capped a couple of the hijackers, gathered their weapons, and made her way downstairs, where she capped a few more and got up to the first-class section with Mayor Fellinger and Bob Lawrence. She told us that there had been explosions and gunfire, but it all happened so fast, she can’t put together a comprehensive timeline.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Harvath, a degree of awe creeping into his voice. “What amazes me is that she was able to pull the whole thing off by herself. But where does losing Nidal come into play here?”

“Like I said, she swears she shot him in the head.”

“Where in the head? Between the eyes?”

“No, higher up.”

“How does she know she hit him?”

“She says he went down. She thought she saw blood too.”

“A description such as that, does not a confirmed kill make,” replied Scot.

“Unfortunately, we agree, so we photographed all of the faces of the dead hijackers from the takedown. We also videotaped all of the passengers and crew who were being held in the containment area for the interviews.”

“And?” asked Harvath.

“And nothing. Not one of them rang a bell with her. She remembers Nidal, all right, says she could never forget his face. We worked with her via an encrypted laptop with a sketch artist back at Langley and came up with the composite we showed during the press conference.”

“By the way, what was that all about?”

“We’re convinced he escaped somehow with one of his lieutenants, who was probably assisting him.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Harvath.

“Cassidy has said, and other passengers have confirmed, that there were two hijackers dressed in black jumpsuits, who kept their faces covered the entire time — except for in the bubble when Cassidy saw Hashim’s face.”

“And who was this other masked hijacker?”

“We believe it was a very high ranking member of the organization. I only use the word lieutenant as a figure of speech. We don’t know who he was.”

“But why were they wearing masks and not the other hijackers?”

“I think they realized they had more to lose.”

“Yeah, but how do you get a bunch of other people to participate in a hijacking after you’ve told them ‘Hey, by the way, we’re going to be wearing masks to protect our identities, but none of you guys can’?”

“Who knows? Maybe the others were fanatics who were prepared to die. Maybe they were promised protection or new identities after the hijacking. There’s no way to tell. The one thing that’s for certain is that the nonmasked hijackers were spaced throughout the cabins as regular passengers and therefore had no choice.”

“How do our masked hijackers fit in, then? They couldn’t have gotten on board with masks on. You’ve already got the security tapes from O’Hare International. Let’s have Meg review each of the passengers that way.”

“We already have. Everyone is accounted for.”

“So what are you telling me? Hashim Nidal and his lieutenant are ghosts?”

“Maybe ‘Operation Phantom’ wasn’t such a bad name after all,” injected Morrell.

Harvath ignored him and said, “Let’s forget for a moment the fact that it was predominantly Egyptian military guarding the perimeter, how do you suppose they escaped?”

“This is where I get really pissed off,” said Ellis. “I think we had them in our hands and were forced to let them go.”

“Wait a second, Tom. You had them in your hands? What do you mean? When?”

“I’ve got a team going over the plane as we speak, but here’s what I think happened. The 747–400 was designed to be easily reconfigured. Lavatories and galleys can be moved to different parts of the aircraft, and whole classes of seating can be moved about.”

“I know all of this. What’s your theory?” said Harvath.

“This flexibility also applies to the workout facility. Normally, everything beneath the main cabin level on a 747–400 is for cargo, but United is trying to offer more perks on its long-haul flights to compete with other carriers. If at some point United decided they didn’t want to offer this perk on a particular flight or they wanted more cargo room, they could off-load the exercise equipment, pop out the walls, and that would be that.”

“I still don’t see what you’re driving at.”

“The walls of the exercise room can only be removed from the cargo side. With the right tools, it’s not very difficult at all. As a matter of fact, there are certain sections where you can take out just one panel—”

“Enough for a person or persons to gain access to the aircraft from the cargo hold?” asked Harvath.

“Exactly.”

“So you think Nidal and his lieutenant had been stowed away in the cargo hold and waited until the plane landed before making their move?”

“Yes. Their weapons and explosives were probably hidden there as well.”

“And you think they returned to wherever they were hiding when the takedown happened?”

“That’s when I think we had them right in our hands and lost them.”

“I thought the cargo hold was thoroughly searched, just in case.”

“It was, but there were several crates that we didn’t get to look into.”

“Why not?”

“There were a couple of mummies being shipped from the Field Museum in Chicago to the Egyptian Museum here in Cairo as part of an exchange program. There were two mummies, their wooden boxes, and the sarcophagi — all shipped in separate crates.”

“So you searched the crates, right?”

“We couldn’t. I was actually at the airport supervising the search and had the minister of antiquities and the museum’s curator breathing down my neck about not exposing the artifacts to the air. The crates were supposedly hermetically sealed in Chicago, and there was risk of accelerated decay if they were opened outside one of the museum’s contained laboratories.”

“Did you at least x-ray the crates?”

“I didn’t get a chance. The minister of antiquities and the curator were freaking out because the crates had been sitting in the cargo hold of the plane on the tarmac for so long. They thought the items might be irreversibly damaged because of the temperature or humidity or something.”

“What happened to them?”

“The minister of antiquities got on his cell phone with someone in his government who called our ambassador, who told me to release them. When it comes to antiquities, the Egyptians are pretty serious.”

“So somehow Nidal and his lieutenant used the crates to sneak in and out of the plane?”

“I’m positive. Earlier this morning we picked up a police report that there had been a shooting at the Egyptian Museum.”

“Let me guess,” said Harvath.

“I’ll save you the trouble,” replied Ellis. “Apparently, the minister of antiquities and the museum curator went out for breakfast while they waited for the customs broker to load the crates at the airport and deliver them to the museum. We put a tail on the truck, just in case, but it drove straight to the museum and never made any other stops. The minister and the curator apparently returned from breakfast, got checked through security, and were last seen making their way down to the contained lab where the crates had been placed. Two hours later, a lab technician showed up and found both of them shot in the head. They were on the floor in front of two heavily insulated crates, each with several bottles of oxygen and related gear inside.”

“There must be surveillance monitors in the museum.”

“There are, but not in the lab itself. The closest camera was in the hall. Security tapes showed what looked like the minister and the curator leaving the lab and exiting the building through a side entrance. What was interesting, was that the curator seemed to lean against the minister as he walked. We didn’t get a clear shot of either of the faces. They were very careful.”

“So, that’s it then. Somehow Nidal and his lieutenant used the crates to get away from the airport, killed the minister and the curator, changed into their clothes, and left the museum by a side door. Doesn’t seem to be much room for doubt on this one. What about the customs broker?”

“The Egyptians haven’t been able to find him yet, and even if they do, who knows how much the guy knows, if anything at all.”

“Is that why you went public with a news conference?” asked Scot.

“We had to make some fast decisions. If Hashim Nidal was making a run to get out of the country or using a local safe house, we wanted to at least throw up a net to try to catch him. We had to do something. We’re too close to let him slip through our fingers again.”

“But what about the other stuff, about this being a band of untrained individuals and all that? What happened on that plane was no amateur night, I can assure you. These guys knew what they were doing.”

Now Morrell chimed back in. “We hoped that through the news conference we could not only get a tip that could help capture Nidal, but also discredit and potentially embarrass him, as it were, on the world stage. People working with him or thinking of hiring him, might not want to be associated with him if he’s shown to be incompetent.”

“That’s a long shot,” replied Harvath.

“Yes,” said Ellis, taking over control of the conversation once again. “But it’s one of the few shots we have. We are taking it to this guy, and his organization, on all fronts. We’ve already added him to the FBI’s most wanted list and expect confirmation shortly from the State Department that any information leading to his arrest or capture will qualify under the Rewards for Justice program.”

“So the message to the world is going to be that this guy is a bumbler, but we’re worried enough about him to offer millions of dollars for his arrest or capture?” asked Harvath.

“Not only is he a bumbler, but a lone civilian, a woman no less, was responsible for thwarting his hijacking. That’s the most damning fact, and the one we hope will seriously demoralize his organization and impede his ability to carry out further actions.”

“Having your ass handed to you by a woman is probably the pinnacle of shame for a guy like this,” offered Morrell.

Harvath was silent and that made Morrell nervous. “You’ve spent time over here, Harvath. You know how these people think. Avoidance of shame is a major motivator in their culture. You don’t agree this is going to be a serious blow to the guy?”

“I think it’ll be a serious blow to his ego, and yes, I think it will damage his reputation some, but not enough to keep money and support from flowing in his direction.”

“That’s the other concern,” said Ellis as he straightened up and stopped leaning on the podium. “Had he been able to ransom Mayor Fellinger and Bob Lawrence, that would have been twenty million dollars right there. Had the Egyptians fully delivered on Abu Nidal’s frozen assets, that would have been almost another five million. What the hell does he need that much money for?”

“And,” added Morrell, “have we been able to stave off whatever it is by foiling this hijacking?”

Harvath pondered a few moments before responding. “I’ll tell you this right now. I have no idea what this guy is up to, but from what I’ve seen so far, if he wants the money bad enough, he’ll find another way to get it. And I think he wants it bad enough. If anything, the only thing we’ve done is slowed him down.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” said Ellis as he crossed the room and unlocked the door, indicating that their meeting was drawing to a close. “Now we need to figure out what his next move is going to be and make sure we’re one step ahead of him.”

“Something tells me,” responded Harvath as Morrell followed Tom Ellis out the door, “that we’ll hear from Hashim Nidal before he hears from us.”

As if on cue, an enormous explosion rocked the opposite side of the hospital and sent a concussion wave racing down the hallway.