The Lion's Game

CHAPTER 30

After lunch, we made our way to a small, windowless briefing room on the fourth floor where we heard a short lecture about terrorism in general, and Mideast terrorism in particular. There was a slide show with maps, photos, and diagrams of terrorist organizations, and a handout listing suggested readings.

I thought this was a joke, but it wasn't. Nevertheless, I asked our instructor, a guy named Bill, I think, who wore a blue suit, "Are we killing time before something important happens?"

Bill seemed a little put off and replied, "This presentation was designed to reinforce your commitment and to give you an overview of the global terrorist network." And so on.

He explained to us the challenges we faced in the post-Cold War world, and informed us that international terrorism was here to stay. This was not exactly news to me, but I made an entry in my notebook, in case there was a test later.

The FBI, by the way, is broken up into seven sections-Civil Rights, Drugs, Investigative Support, Organized Crime, Violent Crime, White-Collar Crime, and Counterterrorism, which is a growth industry that didn't even exist twenty-five years ago when I was a rookie cop.

Bill was not explaining all of this to us-I already knew this, and I also knew that the White House was not a happy house this morning, though the rest of the country had no clue yet that the U.S. had suffered the worst terrorist attack since Oklahoma City. More importantly, this attack hadn't come from some homegrown yahoo, but from the deserts of North Africa.

Bill was flapping his gums about the history of Mideast terrorism, and I made notes in my book to call Beth Penrose, call my parents in Florida, call Dom Fanelli, buy club soda, pick up my suits at the cleaner, call the TV repair guy, and so forth.

Bill kept talking. Kate was listening; Ted was drifting.

Jack Koenig, who was King Jack in New York metro, was not king here, I saw. In fact, he was just another loyal princeling in the Imperial Capital. I noticed that the D.C. types referred to New York as a field office, which didn't go down well with this particular New Yorker.

Anyway, Bill left and a man and woman came in. The lady's name was Jane, and the guy's name was Jim. They wore blue.

Jane said, "Thank you for coming."

I'd finally had enough and said, "Did we have a choice?"

"No," she smiled, "you didn't."

Jim said, "You must be Detective Corey."

I must be.

Anyway, Jane and Jim did a little duet, and the name of the song was Libya. This was a little more interesting than the last show, and we paid attention. They spoke about Moammar Gadhafi, about his relationship with the U.S., about his state-sponsored terrorism, and about the U.S. raid on Libya on April 15, 1986.

Jane said, "The suspected perpetrator of yesterday's incident, Asad Khalil, is believed to be a Libyan, though he sometimes travels under passports of other Mideast countries." Suddenly, a photo of Asad Khalil came on the screen. Jane continued, "This is the picture that was transmitted to you from Paris. I have a better quality shot for you, which I'll hand out later. We also took more photos in Paris."

A series of photos came on the screen, showing Khalil in various candid poses sitting in an office. Obviously, he didn't know he was on Candid Camera.

Jane said, "The embassy intelligence people took these in Paris while Khalil was being debriefed. They treated him as a legitimate defector because that's how he presented himself to the embassy."

"Was he searched?" I asked.

"Only superficially. He was patted down and went through a metal detector." "He wasn't strip-searched?"

"No," Jane replied. "We don't want to turn an informant or defector into a hostile prisoner."

"Some people enjoy having someone look up their ass. You don't know until you ask." Even old Ted chuckled at that one. Jane replied, coolly, "The Arab people are quite modest when it comes to nudity, displays of flesh, and such. They would be outraged and humiliated if subjected to a body search."

"But the guy could have cyanide pills up his butt and could have offed himself or slipped an embassy guy a lethal dose."

Jane fixed me with a frosty stare and said, "The intelligence community is not as stupid as you may think."

And with that, a series of photos came on the screen. The photos showed Khalil in a bathroom. He was undressing, taking a shower, going to the potty, and so forth. Jane said, "This was a hidden camera, of course. We also have videotapes of the same scenes, Mr. Corey, if you're interested."

"I'll pass on that."

I looked at the photo on the screen now. It was a full frontal nude of Asad Khalil stepping out of the shower. He was a powerfully built man, about six feet tall, very hairy, no visible scars or tattoos, and hung like a donkey. I said to Kate, "I'll get that one framed for you."

This didn't go over well with this bunch. The room became noticeably cooler, and I thought I was going to be asked to stand in the hall. But Jane went on, "While Mr. Khalil was in a deep sleep-caused by a naturally occurring sedative in his milk-" she smiled, conspiratorially, "-some embassy personnel searched and vacuumed fibers from his clothing. They also took fingerprints and footprints, swabbed epithelial cells from his mouth for DNA printing, took hair samples, and even got dental imprints." Jane looked at me and said, "Did we miss anything, Mr. Corey?"

"I guess not. I didn't know milk could put you out like that."

Jane continued, "All of this forensic product will be made available to you. A preliminary report on the clothing, which was a gray suit, shirt, tie, black shoes, and underwear, indicates that everything was made in America, which is interesting, since American clothing is not common in Europe or in the Middle East. We suspect, therefore, that Khalil wanted to blend in with an urban American population very soon after his arrival."

That's what I thought.

Jane continued, "There is an alternate theory, which is simply that Khalil, carrying a false passport from Haddad, went to the International Arrivals and Departures terminal where a ticket was waiting for him under his false passport name at the ticket counter of a Mideast airline, or perhaps any airline. Or, Yusef Haddad gave Khalil his ticket on board Flight One-Seven-Five."

Jane looked at us and said, "I understand you've considered both theories-Khalil stayed, Khalil is gone. Both are plausible. What we know for sure is that Yusef Haddad stayed. We're trying to establish his true identity, and determine what his connections are." She added, "Consider a man so ruthless-I mean Khalil-that he would murder his accomplice, murder a man who risked his own life to get Khalil into the country. Think about Asad Khalil breaking Haddad's neck, then sitting alone in a planeload of corpses, hoping that the aircraft's autopilot would land him at the airport. Then, instead of fleeing, he goes to the Conquistador Club and murders three of our people. To say that Khalil is ruthless and heartless is to define only a part of his personality. Khalil is also unbelievably fearless and brazen. Something very potent is driving him."

No doubt about it. I consider myself fearless and brazen, but it was time for me to admit to myself that I could not have done what Asad Khalil did. Only once in my career had I met an adversary who I thought had more balls than I did. When I finally killed him, I felt I wasn't worthy of having killed him; like a hunter with a high-powered rifle who kills a lion knows that the lion was the more worthy and braver of the two.,

Jane hit the video projector button. A blown-up color photo appeared on the screen showing a man's face in profile. Jane said, "You'll see here, in this enhanced photo of Khalil's left cheek, three faint, parallel scars. He has three similar ones on his right cheek. Our pathologist says they are not burns or wounds made by shrapnel or a knife. They are, in fact, typical of wounds made by human fingernails or animal claws-parallel and slightly jagged lacerations. These are the only identifying scars on his body."

I asked, "Can we assume that these scars were caused by a lady's fingernails?"

"You can assume whatever you please, Mr. Corey. I point these out as identifying features in the event he's changed his outward appearance."

"Thank you."

"And along those lines, the people in Paris tattooed three small dots on Asad Khalil's body. One is located on his inner right earlobe…" She treated us to a close-up photo. "… one between the big toe and the second toe of his right foot…" Again, a weird photo. "… and the last is close to his anus. Right side."

She continued, "In the event you have a suspect, or if you find a body, this might be quick identification to be followed up by fingerprints, or a dental impressions check if necessary."

It was Jim's turn, and he said, "The setup for this operation is actually simple when you examine it. Going from one relatively open country to another is not that difficult. Yusef Haddad was flying Business Class and that always makes things easier, including bringing your garment bag and dealing with medical oxygen. Haddad is well dressed, he probably speaks enough French to understand what they're saying at De Gaulle, and he probably speaks enough English not to be a nuisance to the flight attendants on Trans – Continental.''

I raised my hand. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"How did Yusef Haddad know what flight Asad Khalil would be on?"

"Well, Mr. Corey, that is the question, isn't it."

"Yeah, it's been on my mind."

"Well, the answer is unfortunately simple. We almost always use Trans-Continental, our flag carrier airline, with whom we have a reduced Business Class fare arrangement, but more importantly, we have a security liaison person who works with Trans-Continental. We get people on and off aircraft quickly and with minimum fuss. Apparently, someone knew about this arrangement, which is not exactly top secret."

"But how did Haddad know that Khalil would be on that flight?"

"An obvious security breach within the Trans-Continental operation at De Gaulle. In other words, an employee at Trans-Continental in Paris, perhaps an Arab employee, of which there are many in Paris, tipped off Yusef Haddad. In fact, if you back it up further, Khalil defected in Paris and not in some other city because there was a security breach there. In fact," he added, "for security reasons, American air carriers have a policy that prohibits bringing your own medical oxygen on board. You have to put in a reservation for oxygen, and for a small fee it's delivered to you before you board. Obviously, someone thought about this potential security problem years ago. In this case, however, one of the airline employees swapped a canister of poison gas for one of the oxygen canisters."

I commented, "Both canisters looked the same to me. I guess one of them was marked."

"In fact, the oxygen had a small zigzag scratch in the paint. The poison gas didn't."

I pictured Yusef Haddad saying to himself, "Let me see now… oxygen is scratched, poison gas is not… or was it the other way around…?"

Jim said to me, "Something funny, Mr. Corey?"

I explained my silly thought, but only Nash laughed.

Jim referred to some notes, then said, "Regarding the gas, we have a preliminary report on that. I'm not an expert, but they tell me that there are four major types of toxic gas-choking, blister, blood, and nerve. The gas used on Flight One-Seven-Five was undoubtedly a blood agent-probably an advanced or modified cyanide chloride compound. This type of gas is very volatile and dissipates quickly in the ambient air. According to our chemical experts, the passengers may have noticed something that smelled like bitter almonds or even peach pits, but unless they were familiar with cyanide, they would not be alarmed."

Jim looked at us and saw he had everyone's attention, for a change. I've had the same experience in my class at John Jay. As soon as the students start to drift, I come up with something that has to do with murder or sex. Gets everyone's attention.

Jim was into the gas and continued, "Here's what we think happened. Asad Khalil asked to use the lavatory. He was, of course, accompanied by Phil Hundry or Peter Gorman. Whoever accompanied him checked out the lavatory as they would do each time Khalil asked to use it. They wanted to be sure that no one was trying to pull a Michael Corleone-" He looked at us and said, unnecessarily, "You know, where someone slips a gun into the rest room. So Phil or Peter check the trash… and perhaps they also checked behind the maintenance panel under the sink. In that space, someone could hide something. In fact, someone did. But what was hidden looked innocuous and would not seem to Phil or Peter as something that shouldn't be there. What was there was a small oxygen bottle and mask of the type that is in each galley on every aircraft in the world. This is therapeutic oxygen for passengers in distress. But it's never put under the sink in a lav. Yet, if you don't know airline procedures, you wouldn't be aware of that. So even if Phil or Peter saw the oxygen bottle, they wouldn't have thought anything of it."

Again, Jim paused for effect and continued his narrative. He informed us, "Someone, most probably a cleaning person or maintenance person at De Gaulle, put that oxygen canister under the sink in the dome lav before takeoff. When Phil or Peter let Khalil into the lav, they left him cuffed and told him not to lock the door. Standard procedure. When Khalil was in the lav, this was the signal for Haddad to release the gas in his second canister. At some point, people began to show signs of distress. But by the time anyone realized they were in trouble, it was too late. The autopilot is always engaged during the flight, so the aircraft flew on."

Jim concluded, "Khalil, who was breathing the oxygen from the airline canister under the sink, came out of the lav after he was certain everyone was unconscious or dead. At this point Khalil and Haddad had over two hours to tidy things up, including uncuffing Khalil, putting the Federal escort back in his seat, putting Haddad's medical oxygen in the coat closet, and so forth. Khalil knew that he needed a few critical minutes on the ground to effect his escape by donning a Trans-Continental luggage handlers' jumpsuit and mingling with the people who boarded the aircraft in the security area. That's why he wanted everything to appear as normal as possible for the Emergency Service personnel who would board the aircraft at the end of the runway. Khalil needed to be sure that the aircraft did not look like a crime scene, and that the aircraft was towed to the security enclosure where personnel other than Emergency Service would be allowed to board."

Jim finished, then Jane took over again, then Jim, then Jane, and so on. It was pushing four o'clock, and I needed a break.

We were doing Q A now and Kate asked, "How did Khalil and Haddad know that the 747 was pre-programmed to land at JFK?"

Jim answered, "Trans-Continental has a company policy requiring pilots to program the computer for the entire flight before take-off, and that includes landing information. This is no secret. This has been reported in detail in any number of aviation magazines. Plus, there's the security breach at Trans-Continental at De Gaulle."

He added, "One thing that no one trusts a computer to do is engage the reverse thrusters because if the computer screws up and engages the reverse thrusters during flight, the engines or some other major parts of the airplane will rip off. Reverse thrusters have to be engaged manually, after landing, with as little automatic interface as possible. It's a safety feature, and it's maybe the only thing a human pilot still has to do, except say 'Welcome to New York,' or whatever, and taxi to the gate." He added, jocularly, "I guess the computers could do that, too. In any case, when that 747 landed at JFK without reverse thrusters, it was an indication that there was a problem."

Koenig said, "I didn't think runways were assigned until the flight was close to the airport."

Jim replied, "Correct, but the pilots generally know what runways are being used. The pre-programming is not meant to take the place of a pilot landing by hand and by radio instructions. It's just a procedural backup. The pilot I talked to tells me that it makes their onboard computer calculations more accurate en route." He added, "And as it turned out, Runway Four-Right-the pre-programmed runway-was still being used yesterday at Flight One-Seven-Five's arrival time."

Amazing, I thought. Absolutely amazing. I need a computer like that for my car so I can sleep behind the wheel.

Jim continued, "I'll tell you what else the perpetrators knew about. They knew the Emergency Service procedure at JFK. It's pretty much the same at all American airports. The procedures at JFK are more sophisticated than at a lot of airports, but this is not top secret stuff. Articles have been written about Guns and Hoses, and manuals are available. None of this is hard to come by. Only the hijack security area is not well known, but it's not top secret either."

I think Jim and Jane needed a break from me, and when Jim finished, Jane said, "Take a fifteen-minute break. Rest rooms and coffee bar at the end of the corridor."

We all got up and left quickly, before they changed their minds.

Ted, Kate, Jack, and I chatted awhile, and I discovered that Jim and Jane were actually named Scott and Lisa. But to me, they would always be Jim and Jane. Everyone here was Jane and Jim, except Bob, Bill, and Jean. And they all wore blue, and they played squash in the basement, and jogged along the Potomac, and had houses in suburban Virginia, and went to church on Sundays, except when the turds hit the turbines, like today. The married ones had kids, and the kids were terrific, and they sold candy bars to raise money for soccer equipment, and so forth.

On one level, you had to like these people. I mean, they did represent the ideal, or at least the American ideal as they saw it. The agents were good at their jobs, they had a worldwide reputation for honesty, sobriety, loyalty, and intelligence. So what if most of them were lawyers? Jack Koenig, for instance, was a good guy who just happened to have the misfortune of being a lawyer. Kate, too, was all right for a lawyer. I liked her lipstick today. Sort of a pale, frosty pink.

Anyway, so maybe I was a little envious of family- and church-oriented people. Somewhere in the back of my mind was a house with a white picket fence, a loving wife, two kids and a dog, and a nine-to-five job where no one wanted to kill me.

I thought again of Beth Penrose out on Long Island. I thought of the weekend house she'd bought on the North Fork, near the sea and the vineyards. I wasn't feeling particularly well today, and the reasons why were too scary to contemplate.