Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 57

Liz watched Brendan’s Subaru Outback pull into the visitor’s spot in front of the FBI field office. He stepped out of the car and stretched.

Her gut clenched. She never intended their dinner last week to be the spectacular ultimatum she’d turned it into. All she’d wanted was a nice let’s-get-reacquainted meal. There was no rush, no need to lay it all out there on their first date in years. For God’s sake, the guy had taken three weeks just to call her!

But that look in his eyes when Tony had shown up… part jealousy, part confusion, part doubt. After all she’d done to be with him, that look was like a knife in the belly. She needed him to know that — despite whatever she’d said before — he was the one for her.

So she did it. Loud, proud, and in your face. And she scared him. The look on his face at the end of her tirade said it all: pure terror.

When he’d called her this afternoon, her heart beat faster at the sound of his voice. What followed was a cockamamie story about a rogue Hezbollah terrorist in Minneapolis with a nuclear device. She half-expected him to say “gotcha!” It sounded too far-fetched to be believed, but when she found out Don was involved she’d called Tom Trask, her SAC, immediately.

Liz pushed open the door to the security building and waved at Brendan to hurry. He jogged across the parking lot, favoring his injured leg. He was dressed in an open-necked sport shirt and jeans.

“Hi,” he said, meeting her gaze for a second before brushing past her.

“Hi.”

She’d already cleared him into the building. He signed the log and clipped a visitor badge to his shirt pocket. Without waiting for him, Liz started down the long walkway toward the main building.

Brendan caught up with her. “Listen, Liz, about the other night, I—”

“Brendan, I’m only going to say this once. This is where I work. Whatever this thing is between us”—she waved her finger between them—“is between us. It has nothing to do with this place. So — so just focus.”

He held the door for her. There was an open elevator waiting for them. She pushed the button for the top floor, level five. She met his gaze as the door closed. “Look, Tom Trask is a good man, I trust him. Just give him the facts, and he’ll make the right call.”

Special Agent in Charge Thomas Trask had a corner office on the fifth floor with an attached conference room. Liz’s gaze traveled over the familiar pictures on his wall: a younger Trask in a Marine Corps officer’s uniform, Georgetown Law School diploma, a family photo with his wife and two kids, one in a midshipman’s uniform. The man himself was a compact, fifty-something guy with an iron-gray crew cut and a more-than-firm handshake. He nodded as Liz made the introductions and he shook Brendan’s hand.

“McHugh, Tom Trask. Good to meet you. Liz has told me all about you.”

“She has?”

Liz closed her eyes. She had told Trask about Brendan. He was a fellow Marine and he kind of reminded her of her father. Trask winked at her and jerked his head toward the attached conference room. “Let’s get started,” he said.

Two other agents were already in the room: Kamen and Adams, known in the office as Cain and Abel. The light on the speaker phone was blinking red, indicating someone on hold. Liz punched the blinking button on the phone. “Don, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Putting you on the screen now.” Don Riley’s round face popped up on the wall monitor.

Trask placed his hands flat on the table. “Alright, McHugh, the floor is yours. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Brendan took a deep breath. “A few months ago, I was part of an operation to take down an Iranian nuclear weapons site. They had three nuclear-tipped missiles on launchers, ready to strike at Israel during the Tel Aviv nuclear accord meeting.”

“Holy shit,” muttered one of the FBI agents. Trask’s jaw tightened.

“The operation was run by an Iranian Quds officer named Hashem Aboud. I’ve run into him a few times over the years. Nasty character, but very well connected in the region. He was mortally wounded during the takedown; I was there when he died. He threatened me — in Farsi — but the deathbed confession never matched with any other intel. I think it’s best if Mr. Riley takes it from here.”

Don leaned closer to the screen. “This afternoon, an Iranian agent I’ve known for some time contacted me. He divulged that the Iranians believe there is a fourth nuke. The weapon was passed to Hashem Aboud’s half brother, a Hezbollah agent named Rafiq Roshed, and placed with a sleeper cell in South America. The Iranians have been pursuing this angle on their own and tracked the weapon to a Malaysian freighter that was docking in Helsinki today.

“The Finns raided the freighter this morning outside of Helsinki Harbor. The ship was clean, but it made a port call in the Canary Islands two weeks ago. After some persuasion, the captain acknowledged that one of his crew departed in Tenerife. We’re coordinating with the Spanish authorities for more details on where our suspect may have gone, but if he had prearranged transport, he could be anywhere by now.

“At first blush, the Helsinki connection made perfect sense. The translation of Aboud’s threat referred to activity in the north, and we know their goal was to disrupt the Tel Aviv nuclear agreement. Obviously, we were fooled.” Don’s voice took on an apologetic tone. “We now think the Helsinki freighter was a red herring and the real nuke is… somewhere else. The Vikings angle came from a side conversation with Brendan earlier today.”

Trask blew out his breath. “Wow, that’s pretty thin.” He looked at Liz. “You’ve verified the translation?”

Liz avoided Trask’s gaze. “I’m working from a phonetic recollection of a deathbed confession that happened months ago. Is ‘vikings’ a possible translation of what this Hashem character said? Yes, one of about a dozen potential meanings.”

Trask scrubbed his crew cut with his short fingers. “Okay, what do we have on this Hezbollah brother and why the hell would he choose Minneapolis?”

Cain and Abel perked up. Cain pulled the keyboard close and punched some keys. The picture of Rafiq filled the split screen next to Don. Abel did the talking.

“Mr. Riley sent over Roshed’s file via JWICS. This is the only picture we have of Rafiq Roshed, and it’s old. Using facial recognition software and screening for gender and age, I’ve run a comp against all entries into the US in the last two weeks. Nothing. I also searched for a match against active US passports in the last ten years, and got no hits. But, when I ran the software on the database for student visas, I found something.” He struck a key and a passport picture page appeared on the screen next to Rafiq’s photo. Liz studied the photos. Side by side she could see some resemblance, but nothing conclusive by a long shot.

“Meet Ralf Faber, student at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota, from 1999 to 2004. Graduated with a degree in international relations. No problems with the law, didn’t overstay his visa.”

Trask pulled a face. “What’s the degree of confidence on the match?”

“Seventy-nine percent.”

“So if this is our guy and we think he’s here, how did he get into the US?” Trask asked.

Cain and Abel exchanged glances. “We might have a possible lead, sir,” said Abel. “When Faber renewed his visa, he put an emergency contact as Charles Whitworth, home address in Bayfield, Wisconsin. I pulled it up on the map. It’s a mansion, with a big boathouse attached.”

“People, this is weak stuff, barely circumstantial.” Trask pressed his lips together. “That said, the possibility of a rogue nuke on US soil, the Vikings stadium grand opening… I guess if a terrorist wanted to make a statement, this would be a pretty good place. Washington wants us to check it out, but let’s keep this out of the news.”

He pointed to Cain and Abel. “Contact local PD in Bayfield. Have them get someone up to the Whitworth mansion to interview Mr. Whitworth about Roshed. Tell them we need this info yesterday. Put out an APB for Roshed to all locals and stadium security. I’ll be in the ops center bringing the governor and the city officials up to speed.”

Trask looked over at Liz. “Liz, this is one time that I hope you’re wrong.”

Brendan stood. “What can I do to help, sir?”

Trask pointed out the window to the empty parking lot. A UH-60 Black Hawk helo was setting down.

“McHugh, you and Agent Soroush are going fishing.”