EARLY SUNDAY MORNING the third floor conference room of the FBI field office hummed with the sounds of orderly confusion. Mostly unfamiliar faces interacted in a growing frenzy of activity. Everyone fiddled with a laptop, a tablet or similar digital device. Three teams of people clustered around the room, some with whiteboards covered with words, phases, diagrams and crude maps. Others had photographs tacked on the wall in a random pattern. Ashley remained silent in the corner, sickened by the scene.
A stocky round-shouldered man peered down his gourd-like nose through thick eyeglass frames that appeared to contain bulletproof glass. He banged an oversized gavel, on a rock-hard sound block. "Listen up people. I'm not hearing from you. This is phase one–profiling. I want your input–pronto, you hear?" Heads turned in response to his demand. The speaker, Oliver West, appointed by the President to head a Special Strike Force Unit to catch the Lone Wolf, had a reputation for being a relentless taskmaster. Working as a freelance investigator for various Federal law enforcement agencies, he got his start in government as the chair of the Committee to Elect Graham Steward.
Ashley gave in to her compulsion to flee the conference room.
Ten hours earlier she had finished her work in Maljamar. Under Walter Kent’s direction the entire crime scene had undergone a thorough examination. Evidence was marked, photographed and cataloged. The list of findings included fingerprints, document fragments, blood, hair, fiber, possible bomb parts, and chemical samples from select surfaces. The mobile forensic lab processed everything they could handle in the field. Some items needed study in a lab. A crew, headed by the State Medical Investigator, collected body parts that ranged in size from a small fragment of tissue to whole limbs. Within hours these samples would undergo DNA analysis.
At the end of that long, hot, and exhausting Saturday, Ashley had slept during the trip back to Albuquerque. The entire staff had to report to work the next day–Sunday. After a quick morning shower and her usual protein shake, she returned to her office and found it invaded by the Strike Force flown in from Washington to take command of the ‘Maljamar Case.’ They had briefed her, Bill Johnson, and Mark Rodriguez, on the suitcase nuclear bomb and its characteristics. She assumed that her position as lead investigator had evaporated.
Midmorning, after she left the conference room, Ashley went to Bill Johnson's office and collapsed in a chair. Bill was completing work on a paper glider he created out of an old file folder. He glanced up. "You look like someone ran over your cat. Why so glum?"
"It's called a Special Strike Force Unit, and it's not the FBI."
"That's S.O.P. Standard Operating Procedure for the Federal bureaucracy."
"Did you hear big nose Oliver West spouting off about 'things are going to get done around here now–did you?"
"Talk like that from Washington is also S.O.P." He put his feet on the desk. "When Delong learned of a possible nuclear threat, he had no choice but to go to the President. That's the fastest way to lose control."
"But why bring an outside unit into our field office?”
"Chief of Staff Edmond Pruitt hates Delong's guts. That goes way back. This a political slap in the face. They're here because this is where the data is."
"Bill, they're reinventing the wheel. Oliver West is trying to make fleas march in a straight line. We don't have time for this crap."
Bill made a tepee out of his wrinkled fingers and peeped at Ashley over his creation. "Anyone ever tell you how appealing you are when you get pissed off and frustrated at the same time?"
Ashley, not offended by the compliment, relaxed her tense expression. "You're right. What I think doesn't matter anymore."
"I didn't say that."
Her eyebrows came together. "What do you mean?"
"I mean we can't do anything about the Strike Force or Washington's inept meddling, but we don't have to stop doing our job."
"Doing our job?"
"Did anyone tell you that you don't work for the FBI anymore?"
"No."
"Did anyone tell you that you aren't the lead investigator anymore?"
"No, not straight out."
Bill dropped his feet, cocked his head to one side, "Well then, it's time you got off your well-formed ass, and get to work." He tossed the paper airplane. It glided in a smooth arc over Ashley's head.
She watched the four second flight. "Nice, but your landing failed to impress me. How many hours have you logged?"
"Thousands–all in experimental planes."
Ashley gave him a sideward glance. "I have more than three thousand hours in certified aircraft. Imagine what we could do if we became a team."
"A team?"
"You and I can accomplish more in a couple of hours than that bunch of Keystone Cops can in a couple of weeks or months."
"I suspect you’re not talking about flying anymore."
Ashley stood and began to pace back and forth. "The President's involvement isn't all bad. Evidence that took weeks or months to process is fast-tracked now. It's available in hours. Findings are pouring in as we speak." She stopped in front of his desk. "I need your help to sort through all this stuff. What do you say?"
Johnson leaned back, put his elbow on the arm of the chair and supported his chin with a balled fist. "I thought you'd never ask."
THEY SET UP IN Johnson's office because it had a door. Only managers had doors, but Bill knew how to work the system. He dropped a printout from IAFIS on his desk. "I got this report on those fingerprints I sent in."
"The prints on the tools I found at Smith Trading Post in Roswell?"
"Yes. They belonged to an exchange student registered with the State Department and the U.S. Immigration Service. Abdullah al Jamal received a one-year student visa to attend graduate school at the University of Oklahoma four years ago. The genealogical database matched DNA samples from the coastal region of Saudi Arabia."
Ashley's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "That confirms the DNA report on the lock of black hair found in the shroud that wrapped Bitty Smith's body."
"That's right.”
"Is there a photograph of our man?"
Bill flipped open the report. "Ever see the likes of him?"
Ashley studied the picture. "I only saw him at a distance, but it looks like the man in the trailer park. Does Oliver West know about this?"
"He will, if he ever stops pounding that damn gavel. I sent it to him."
"Do you think he'll go to the media with it?"
Bill made a face. "Do sharks like blood?"
Ashley shook her head and thumbed through her personal notes on the case. "So we know the identity of our subject and we know he met with an arms dealer and a bomb expert Friday night." She stopped and became calm. "But we don't know..." She paused again and worked out the question. "We don't know if he survived the explosion."
Bill ran his hand through his white hair. "Everyone assumes the Lone Wolf–I mean Abdullah al Jamar–set the explosion and is roaming around with a nuclear bomb under his arm."
"I'm not so sure. Have you studied the inventory report Walter Kent sent from Maljamar?"
"Sure. It's preliminary, but loaded with findings. Why?"
Ashley asked, "How many people died in that house?"
"They found parts of four bodies and the skull of a dog with a bullet hole in its head. They found Rashid al Yours’s wedding ring, and passports belonging to Alexander Karloff and Kisser Suri. There's only two persons whose identity is unaccounted for. DNA studies will clear that up."
"How long will that take, under these circumstances?"
Bill raised his eyebrows. "Don't know. Hours, days, maybe a week. There are more than twenty body parts to examine. Our studies will go to the top of the list, but they take time."
"We have Abdullah's DNA. If they match it, he's dead and Bashir is our man. If they don't, Abdullah set the explosion and escaped."
Bill stroked his chin. "I get the feeling you don’t think Abdullah escaped."
"Jerry Cebeck witnessed the explosion. He said it originated, not in the house, but in or on top of the Suburban that Bashir used to drive from El Paso. He controlled the Suburban, not Abdullah. That’s a significant fact."
Bill Johnson fell silent as he thought over Ashley's claim. "Your hunch is reasonable, but based on thin evidence. Only DNA results will prove you right or wrong."
"Yes, but by then we may see a nuclear catastrophe in our country that will dwarf the Twin Towers.”
Bill Johnson removed his eyeglasses and began cleaning them with a microfiber cloth. "What do you know about this Bashir Hashim fellow?"
“Based on his fingerprints lifted from my fake business card, and run through our system he's clean.” Ashley thought of her visit to El Paso. "I met him one time. Grim little man. Had a Doberman Pinscher that probably has a hole in its head now. I know Bashir's a practicing Muslim and is here on a work visa. He bought and sold a truck to a man now identified as Abdullah. His role in the Team of Deliverance makes him an important link in this conspiracy."
"Anything else?"
Ashley thought about their meeting. She tried to remember details about the purple house, and the living room. "I can't remember, but I took notes. I'll find them."
Bill mounted his clean glasses over his ears. “Do you think Bashir destroyed the house and escaped with the bomb?”
Ashley nervously fingered the stainless steel Star of David she wore around her neck. "Everyone will be searching for Abdullah.” Her voice dropped an octave. “I think I'll go shopping for a Bashir."