The Panic Zone

8

Fairfax County, Virginia

While Emma Lane rested in Wyoming and Gannon slept in Brazil, Robert Lancer was hard at work in metropolitan Washington, D.C.

He undid his collar button and studied a file while walking down a third-floor corridor of the National Anti-Threat Center. The complex sat amid the wooded suburbs northwest of the capital.

In this building, behind the bullet and blast-proof windows, hundreds of security experts from a spectrum of government branches worked 24/7 analyzing threats to national security.

Lancer re-read his file on his way to the center’s East Africa section, hoping that this latest “urgent” interruption warranted pulling him away from his other duties.

He reached the section’s locked door, swiped his card, then punched the alphanumeric code into the keypad.

Access approval beeped, and he entered.

The room glowed in the light from the screens and computerized GPS maps suspended above a bank of modular desks where several analysts were entering data into computer keyboards.

Martin Weller, the section chief, was updating his staff and paused when he saw Lancer arrive.

“Bob, thanks for coming. I know you’ve got plenty on your plate.”

“What’ve you got, Marty?”

“Not sure. Pull it up, Craig.”

An analyst entered some commands on his keyboard and photos of a man in his late twenties filled one of the large monitors.

An arrest photo.

“This is Said Salelee, a painter who lives near Msasani Bay, one of the poorer sections of Dar es Salaam.”

“Our people in Tanzania called this in?”

“One of the local nationals employed at our embassy reported him acting strangely outside the gate.”

“The sheet says he was taking pictures and making notes?”

“He was doing it for several days. The staffer told her boss, who alerted the Ministry of Home Affairs and the national police picked him up. Turns out he’s linked to the Avenging Lions of Africa.”

“How did they discover that?”

“They threatened to feed him his testicles.”

Staring at Salelee’s face, Lancer, one of the center’s leading senior operational agents, weighed matters. The mission of the Avenging Lions of Africa was to make developed nations suffer for enslaving Africa in poverty. Regionally, the Lions had been linked to bombings, shootings and hostage takings in Kagera, Pemba North, Kigoma and Zanzibar. Lancer had considered them minor league until last year when they attacked the British Embassy in Cairo.

Cairo.

That was a psychological trigger for Lancer.

Ten years earlier, everything in his world went black in Cairo. His wife, his daughter, his life, all changed in Cairo. Since then not a day passed without a word, fragrance or other mundane matter ripping open his wound.

It would never go away.

But Lancer always rode it out, always focused on his work. His determination deepened because he had a personal stake in the job.

Now, everything he did, he did for them.

He flipped through the pages of classified situational reports on Salelee. The CIA and State Department tied the Lions to funding operations through drug networks, human trafficking and Internet fraud.

As he studied Salelee, Lancer thought back to 1998 when terrorists bombed the U.S. embassies in Nairobi, Kenya and Dar es Salaam, foreshadowing September 11, 2001.

Never underestimate any piece of intelligence.

“All right, Marty,” Lancer said, “where are we at with Salelee?”

“The Tanzanians have been going at him for two days-nothing to eat but bread and water, no sleep, not to mention a few other methods that are not pretty.”

“They’re compensating for moving too quickly in picking him up,” Lancer said. “They should have put surveillance on him.”

“They were eager to help. Today, our people in Dar es Salaam set up a satellite link in the interview room. Since the original complaint involves U.S. property, Tanzanian officials have invited us to ask Salelee questions. They think he could be ready to talk. Craig, are they set?”

An analyst talking on a landline nodded.

“Bob, as you know, Craig is fluent in Kiswahili. Ask your questions, and he’ll repeat them to the police in Dar es Salaam.”

“Fine,” Lancer said, “but I don’t expect much. Besides, when you’re aggressive, a prisoner will most likely give you bullshit intelligence.”

Within minutes a clear satellite link was activated. In a stark room, a number of men stood around a seated figure whose hands and ankles were bound to the chair. Salelee’s face was a stew of swollen cuts that forced his eyes shut. His body sagged with exhaustion.

For nearly forty minutes, the local police questioned Salelee.

There was the drone of Kiswahili with Craig translating quickly and softly. Watching and listening, Lancer noticed two landline phones on the table in the room in Dar es Salaam; one in use that was connected to Craig’s line, and a second one not in use.

Lancer thought of strategy, mulling it over as the questioning went on.

“What is your interest in the embassy, Salelee?”

“I told you it is painting. I am a poor painter working hard to support my wife and children. I had learned the Americans want to paint the building. I was sizing up the job to offer-”

“Tell us the truth.”

“I am.”

“We know you are with the Lions.”

“No, I attended a meeting, that is it.”

“Do not lie to us, Salelee, you’re a leader.”

“No, I am a poor painter from Msasani. I have a family-”

Lancer waved Weller over, pointed at the screen and asked about the second phone in the room.

“Can we call into the room and make that phone ring?”

Weller whispered to Craig, who checked his computer, then nodded.

“Call in,” Lancer said. “When it’s answered, explain who we are, then tell the man to say aloud for Salelee’s benefit, ‘hold everything, something has happened.’”

Craig dialed and within ten seconds the line rang.

On the screen one of the interrogators moved to answer in Kiswahili, and Craig spoke Lancer’s words. The man in the room repeated them aloud in Kiswahili.

“Now tell him to say to Salelee that police have arrested the others and they’re revealing everything about the plan. You, Salelee, are implicated. They fear you have exposed them already.”

The man came back to the phone.

“Tell him to say ‘This is bad for you, Salelee, very bad. Your friends have moved quickly to implicate you. You’ll suffer the most.’”

Salelee’s head bowed.

“Tell the man on the line to keep the line open. Tell Salelee now is the time to save himself. We will send people to his house to get his wife and children, for their safety, because the others think Salelee’s betrayed them.”

A moment passed before Salelee began nodding.

“He says, ‘I will give you some information on a different plan, but you must protect my family,’” Craig translated.

Lancer crossed his arms and stepped closer to the screen.

“Tell Salelee to tell them now, for the safety of his family.”

The Tanzanian cop repeated the words.

“He says, ‘First, let me talk to my wife on the telephone.’”

The Tanzanian cops, on the earlier advice of the Americans, had already placed Salelee’s wife in custody in another office within the building where she sat now with two police officers. The cops with Salelee telephoned her, allowing Salelee to hear her plea for him to cooperate for the sake of their children.

Salelee was prepared to cooperate.

“What was he really doing at the embassy?” Lancer wanted to know. The Tanzanian police asked him.

“The Lions wanted information to target it for a bombing operation on the Independence Day as declared by the Lions.”

“That is not the full plan, what is the operation?”

“It is a separate operation.”

“What is it?” Lancer asked Craig, who conveyed the question.

“An attack,” Salelee said.

“How do the Lions know of this attack?”

“We have a small role.”

“What is that role?”

“We passed coded e-mails, spam, lottery announcements and appeals for large cash transfers. Information relating to the operation is hidden in a few of the millions of spam we send out around the world.”

“What is the nature of the operation?”

“An attack.”

“An attack against the United States?”

“Yes.”

“Any other countries?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Many, most countries.”

“And the weapon is through computers-cyber?”

“No, some of the communication from one group to another is through the spam. We know nothing of the weapon.”

“Who is behind it?”

“We don’t know. We were paid great sums through gobetweens.”

“Who are they?”

“We don’t know.”

“What is the weapon-is it planes?”

“No.”

“Bombs? Suicide bombings?”

“No.”

“Hostage takings?”

“No.”

“Nuclear or chemical, what is the weapon?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who is behind it?”

“I don’t know.”

“When will the attack take place?”

“Soon.”

“When? Days? Weeks? Months?”

“They told us that it is too far along for anyone to stop them.”