Day of Wrath

The CIA analyst idly poked at his pasta dish with a fork and then looked up. “Look, I wouldn’t invite Ibrahim to an Israel Bonds fund-raiser, but he’s a solid guy otherwise. There was even a rumor a couple of years ago that one of the homegrown Saudi terrorist movements had him on a death list.”

Farrell sat up straighter. “Rumor? Or fact?”

“Nothing ever happened. But just in case, he’s built up a pretty reliable little private security force — mostly out of the best troops in the Saudi Royal Army. I’m telling you, Sam, Ibrahim al Saud is not your mysterious Mr. X smuggler.”

Farrell pushed his own virtually untouched plate away. “Okay, I see what you mean. But if Ibrahim hasn’t got a motive to run drugs or nukes into the U.S who else in his company does?”

Podolski shrugged. “You tried the backdoor route with Mayer and the FBI and wound up with nothing. This time, why not just knock on the front door and ask? Caraco has an office in downtown D.C. If somebody on their payroll is padding his salary by running a smuggling operation, they’re gonna want to find the guy and shut him down before it hits the front pages and sends the shareholders screaming for the exits.” Farrell nodded slowly. What the CIA analyst said made sense.

Why not give Caraco’s top management the information they needed to track down their own bad apples?

JUNE 16

_{Planning Cell, Proprietary Materials Assembly Building, Caraco Complex, Chantilly, Virginia (D MINUS 5)}

Prince Ibrahim al Saud surveyed the busy room — one of the two large working spaces in the building’s basement — with a measure of satisfaction. Desks and computer consoles filled the center of the room, and all four walls were lined with maps — maps of the entire United States and detailed plans of individual cities and towns. Most of the activity right now centered on a giant black-and-white weather map.

He watched closely as the planning cell’s meteorologist began updating the chart with the next day’s predicted weather. Until now, the former East German Air Force meteorology officer had only been able to provide statistical information. Now the man was dealing with near-term forecasts — ironically using data supplied by the U.S. National Weather Service.

Ibrahim swung around on Reichardt, who stood close by his shoulder.

“You’re sure that Major Schmidt can provide the accuracy we need?”

“Yes, Highness.” Reichardt shrugged. “But America is a vast country — with widely variable weather. It might be better if we could provide Schmidt with another qualified assistant for this last phase.”

Ibrahim considered that. The German’s suggestion was logical if a bit late in the game. For an instant, he wondered uneasily what else Reichardt had let slip while going after those interfering Americans, Thorn and Gray. “Very well. Assign one of the pilots. Who better to ensure that the major fully understands our requirements?”

Reichardt nodded.

Ibrahim turned back to check the work of the rest of his staff with a careful eye. Several of the computers were set to monitor the Internet and other information services continuously — constantly tracking the routine movements of American military forces and the operations of the major state and federal law enforcement agencies.

Members of the team evaluated the raw information they gathered at regular intervals — discarding any clearly irrelevant data immediately and sifting the rest for any news that might affect his master plan.

“Highness, a phone call has been forwarded from the estate,” announced the clipped, British-accented voice of Hashemi, his chief private secretary. “Mr. Garrett is on line one.”

Ibrahim grunted a reply and waved Reichardt over to one of the other phones so that he could listen in. Whatever news Garrett had would surely be of interest to both of them.

Ibrahim lifted the phone in front of him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to trouble you again so soon, Your Highness,” Garrett said smoothly. “But I’ve just had a very interesting call from a retired Army officer. He claims to have important information about this supposed large-scale smuggling ring operating through some of our subsidiaries.”

Ibrahim turned away from the planning cell. “Oh? Who is that?”

“A Major General Samuel B. Farrell, Highness. He headed the Joint Special Operations Command until a year or so ago.”

Ibrahim exchanged a significant glance with Reichardt. Now they knew who Thorn had used as a conduit to the American authorities. He cleared his throat. “This is interesting news, Richard. I suggest you invite General Farrell to your office this evening to discuss his information.”

Garrett hesitated. “Are you sure that’s wise, Highness? We’ve already gone to considerable trouble to quash these rumors.

Meeting Farrell may lend them unnecessary credence.”

Ibrahim shook his head, looking straight across at Reichardt.