25

The rows of white stones stretched out over the hillsides. Abdallah Karim Nimri’s first thought was that there were not nearly enough of them. He carefully positioned the tripod and faced the camera to the west, as if to capture the setting sun. He did not need the telephoto lens—he could see the Pentagon and surrounding roads very clearly from the Arlington National Cemetery hillside.

Nimri checked his watch. This was a crucial decision. He did not know exactly when Rumsfeld would leave the Pentagon. The truck had to be in position beforehand, but every minute sitting on the highway was more risk. He flicked open the cell phone and dialed. “Go, Dawood.”

From where he was Nimri couldn’t see the paint mark. Dawood had to stop far enough away from the Pentagon so as not to attract the building security. Far less attention would be paid to a broken-down truck heading away from the Pentagon.

There was the truck. It looked like Dawood was stopping in the right place. Nimri could not see him get out of the truck. Then the hood tilted down. Dawood should be under the trailer now. Nimri smiled as he watched the truck rock to one side as the air left the slashed tires.

Nimri dialed again. “Excellent, Dawood. Have you activated the phones? No?” Nimri gritted his teeth to keep himself from shouting into the phone. “Go back into the cab and turn on the two phones. You have now. They are on? You are sure? Very good. No, they have not left. Patience now.” Nimri realized that he could not stay on the phone with Dawood. Not only could he think of nothing to say, he did not want to be distracted. “Dawood, I will call you back when I see them getting ready to leave. No, everything is fine.”

Nimri broke the connection with relief. The traffic was inching along the highway. Gridlock. Lights were coming on as the sun dropped to the horizon.

Then flashing lights appearing around the highway curve caught his attention. A police car moving fast in the breakdown lane.

Nimri got back on the phone. “Dawood, there is a policeman approaching you. No, do not activate the switch. If it stops behind you, get out and speak to him. Tell him your company is sending a repair vehicle. Stay on the phone with me. If he asks, tell him you are talking to your company. Remain calm and persuade him. You can do it.”

Nimri took a second cell phone from his pocket. The first two numbers in the phone book were the two phones taped up in the cab of the truck. He had hope, though. Dawood’s English had no accent, and he could be mistaken for a Latin. But Dawood had no Virginia driver’s license. If the policeman asked to see it, he would have to blow up the truck.

The blue and gray Virginia State Police cruiser stopped behind the trailer, where Dawood was already standing. Afraid he’d get hit by the traffic, the trooper vigorously directed Dawood to come around to the passenger side of the cruiser.

Dawood said a short prayer beseeching God’s help. He knees were twitching beyond his control.

The trooper ran the plate through his computer. It was clean, and registered to Legacy Fuel of Springfield, the company on the logo. He brought the passenger window down, and the truck driver leaned his head in.

“Blow a tire?” the trooper asked.

“Two, sir,” said Dawood. He gestured with the phone. “My company has a wrecker on the way.”

“You’re not too far from home. But it’ll still take them a while to get here in this traffic.”

Dawood shrugged.

“Looks like you’re full.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Got your paperwork?”

“In the cab.” As Dawood gestured toward the truck he forgot all about the cell phone, and the hand holding it dropped to his side.

The trooper looked at the traffic. “That’s okay, you don’t have to go get it.”

But the last thing Nimri heard was, “In the cab.” Then nothing. He thought the policeman was taking Dawood to the cab. The policeman would see the firing system and the two phones. Nimri scrolled to the first number in the phone book of his other cell. All that work, and to be thwarted at the last minute.

“You need anything?” the trooper asked Dawood.

“No, thank you, sir.”

Nimri put his thumb on the Send button.

“Okay,” said the trooper. “Look, do me a favor, buddy . . .”

Someone farther down the line of traffic was leaning on their horn. Dawood had to lean farther into the cruiser to hear, and propped his elbow on the edge of the window frame to brace himself. Which brought his arm, and the phone, inside.

Nimri pushed the Send button.

“Wait in your cab until your wrecker gets here,” the trooper continued.

Cursing, Nimri fumbled to turn the phone off, almost dropping it. He instinctively stuck it under his armpit, as if that would block the signal from going out. His eyes were on the truck, waiting for it to blow up.

“This traffic’s murder, and I don’t want you to get hurt,” said the trooper. “When I pull out, walk up with my car for protection, and stay in the cab.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Dawood.

“Take it easy, buddy,” the trooper replied.

The truck didn’t blow up. Nimri looked down at the phone in his left hand, which was gripping it so tightly the blood had left his fingers. He jammed the phone into his pocket, irrationally feeling that if he even held it, it might transmit by accident.

The trooper bulled out into traffic with a blast of his siren. Of course the traffic stopped for him. Dawood walked alongside the cruiser, which stayed with him until he boarded the cab. The trooper waved, and Dawood waved back. The cruiser’s flashing lights switched off.

“Brother Abdallah,” Dawood blurted excitedly into his cell phone. “Did you hear?”

The temperature was only in the low sixties, but the steady breeze coming over the hillside made the sweat on Nimri’s face feel cold. “Yes, Dawood, I heard. You did very well.” He suddenly realized that he hadn’t checked the Pentagon in all this time. He squinted into the twilight, heedlessly swinging the camera around for a better look through the telephoto lens. The black limousine and two black SUVs were formed up at their usual spot in front of the Mall entrance. “Dawood, it will be very soon now. I must make another call. I will call you back shortly.”

“I understand, brother.”

Nimri dialed al-Sharif at the house. “It is almost time. Bind them securely and leave the house. You have not forgotten to destroy the planning materials? Good. God willing, I will meet you at the rendezvous.”

Nimri called Dawood again. The limousine doors were open.