WHEN ARE YOU AVAILABLE FOR EMPLOYMENT? ____________________
ARE YOU AVAILABLE FOR OVERSEAS ASSIGNMENTS?
_________________ HAVE YOU EVER SERVED IN THE MILITARY?
________________________
U.S. CITIZEN?___ GREEN CARD?___TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF (USE
BACK OF APPLICATION)
BRIAN LOOKED OVER the top of his monitor at Harry and asked, “What are we missing?”
“It’s pretty thorough,” Harry had to admit. “I’l get it tidied up a bit. Then we’l get it uploaded onto the Web site and direct al of our inquiries there.”
“Priority one, Harry,” Brian said, closing his briefcase. “I guess that goes without saying.”
“What about a punch list?”
“What’s a punch list?”
“Keywords that automatical y kick an application into a ‘reject’ or ‘accept’ pile. We program them into the computer, and it sorts the apps accordingly.”
Brian was nodding. “Excel ent. I’l work on it. Give me until the end of the day.”
7 - EULOGY
GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT
THE POURING RAIN symbolized the feelings of so many attending the tribute and farewel to Dan Mil ar. When his time came, Dan had wanted his final resting place to be beneath the same oak tree that shades the remains of his parents. But that wish could never be granted. There would be no known final resting place for him, no place for Betty, his girls, and al the other mourners to celebrate his life or pray for him on his final voyage.
Alan had no intention of using Dan Mil ar’s memorial service to expound upon the world crisis that was at the heart of his senseless death. It would have been a perfect time to remind people that Dan’s death had not been some unavoidable accident but rather a deliberate act of murder perpetrated by evil men in pursuit of goals that were nothing short of criminal. It would have been the perfect time to remind the Muslim com-munity how many of their own innocent fol owers had been murdered in the commission of that devilish act. The perfect time, perhaps, but hardly an appropriate forum, Alan thought. Yes, there were some of the most important oil industry executives in the world in attendance today. There were some of the government’s most influential men and women waiting to hear what Alan would say. There were even two Saudi Princes symbolical y dressed in royal robes in the second row and a minister from Kuwait right behind them. Alan could not have asked for a more influential, more captive audience. Al he had to do was raise his voice and shout, “Wake up! Don’t you get it?”
Alan couldn’t do it. This was a morning to celebrate Dan’s life and the gifts he had left the world, not a morning to explore impending threats. So when Alan approached the pulpit at Saint George’s Episcopal Church and looked out at the overflowing crowd of mourners, seeing hardly a dry eye, he made sure they knew exactly the kind of man that had been stolen from them. In the end, maybe that was the best way to get his message across in any case. Alan began his eulogy of Dan Mil ar by saying, “We have come together on this day to remember a good man, a respected man, a man who always put the wellbeing of his fel ow man ahead of himself. Dan was a loving husband and a devoted father. Those are not just clichés; those were roles Dan took more seriously than any other. Nothing meant more to him than Betty and their beautiful daughters, Elizabeth and Anne. I wil always anguish over your loss,”
Alan said, peering down into the pew where Betty sat with her fatherless girls. “I wil do whatever I can to make your loss a little easier to bear. And I know everyone in this church today shares that sentiment.”
Alan could feel a swel of emotion in his chest, and he drew a deep breath, hoping to contain it at least for another minute. He pressed on, saying, “Dan was as kind as he was honest, as intel igent as he was funny, as compassionate as he was loving. He was the best friend I ever had. This beloved and special person was taken from us in the most unspeakable way, but the gifts he gave to me and you and so many others wil live on. We must see to that.
“Dan not only provided for his own family in the best way he knew, he also gave his unqualified support to any number of underprivileged families wherever he found them. He was known to the children of these families as the wonderful Santa Claus who brought dol s and bicycles, books and computers to their door step, but he was also the one who created work-study programs at our company for high-school students and provided a scholarship fund that has already seen two very special youngsters enrol ed at New York University. We won’t let these programs expire, I guarantee you that. In fact we wil expand them. We’l treat them as if Dan were stil here making them happen.”
“Dan was a happy man. How many of us here cal ed him our friend? How many of us knew Dan would give the proverbial shirt on his back to any one of us, just for the asking? He may have been my right arm at work, someone who could deal effectively and fairly with the most difficult of tasks, but he was first and foremost my friend. And I miss you so very much, my dear friend.”
A tear rol ed down Alan’s cheek, and he made no attempt to brush it aside. “I would like al of us to take a moment of silence to remember Daniel Francis Mil ar. Some of you will focus on something personal the two of you shared. Some of you may wish to say a prayer of thanks for having known him. As for me, I wil weep unashamedly whenever I remember Dan and the al too brief time we had together. Good night my friend. Sleep wel in your new home. I’l be seeing you. Let us bow our heads.”
GLEN COVE, N. Y.
THERE WERE ADVANTAGES to being the CEO of a highly successful, multibil ion dol ar company. One of them was having a company jet avail-able twentyfour hours a day, seven days a week. Alan rarely used company transportation on a lark, but the day after the memorial service for Dan was one of those times. He and Aly had the weekend to themselves, but to lounge around Eden unable to dismiss the memorial service or cease their sorrow was not what was needed. The prescription was a generous dose of new and different surroundings.
“I know West Texas doesn’t sound like the perfect place for a picnic,” Alan told her, “But…”
“But El Paso is something I need now and you do too. I’ve never been there, so I’m curious, not only about El Paso, but the training site Brian and Marie selected for Adala as wel . If you’re brave enough, I’l scrounge around the kitchen and pack us a picnic lunch. Wadda ya say, big boy?”
“It’s a date,” Alan said.
He cal ed ahead for the plane and packed a bag. Aly raided the kitchen and came away with roasted chicken, salad, French bread, wine, and fresh fruit. She threw it al into a cooler. The Gulfstream was fueled and ready to go, and they were in the air and heading southwest just after 10:00 am.
They gained two hours heading west and arrived in El Paso in plenty of time for a quick tour of the city. Aly marveled at the Mexican influence in architecture and services. It seemed every store had a Hispanic name and sold Latino products. The city was absolutely bilingual and reminded her of Montreal in that respect. Alan had rented a Lincoln Town Car with enough air conditioning to stave off the oppressive South Texas heat. Brian had provided the northeasterly route and directions to the Adala camp.
THE RANCH AND its starkly beautiful landscape were exactly as Marie had described it. The val ey and its montage of mesquite, sagebrush, and cactus, however, didn’t strike Aly as desolate or forbidding, two of the words Marie had used; it struck her as remote, powerful, and mysterious. She stared at the surrounding hil sides and the tinges of red, yel ow, and ochre that bled through the gray soil, and it brought to mind a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. For some reason, it also made her think of the memorial service.
“That was a beautiful eulogy, Alan,” she said, as the asphalt highway gave way to a dirt road that plunged headlong into the val ey. They had to stop briefly to push aside a rickety gate festooned with a wooden sign and the words “Private Property––Do Not Enter” printed on it. “I could see how touched Betty was.”
“She’s got a long road ahead of her,” Alan said as a flock of frightened game birds took flight just ahead of them. “Thank God she has you and the rest of her family…Now let’s try to forget yesterday and have some fun today.”
“I only have this to say before the fun begins. Betty’s not the kind of girl to mope for very long, not with those two girls to look after; but she thinks Dan’s kil ers are going to walk away Scot free,” Aly said. “I bet most of the people in that church yesterday think the very same thing. The girls need to know that this sort of thing isn’t going to happen to them if they step on an airplane. Maybe you should tel her about Adala.”
Alan glanced across the seat at his wife. “Maybe I wil someday, but I don’t want her thinking about revenge and retribution for the rest of her life, Aly. I want her to be thinking about her daughters and what they need.”
“What’s that crossing the road there?” said Aly pointing at a scraggly looking critter just ahead.
“Now that’s a very much misunderstood animal that’s sometimes a bit noisy, a coyote looking for lunch. A very much misunderstood animal that’s sometimes a bit noisy.”
He pointed to a flat stretch of ground bisected by a swatch of black asphalt. At one end stood a huge fuel-storage tank; at the other end, the remnants of an orange windsock fluttering in the breeze. “That’s our landing field. A good pilot could land a twelve seater out there, I’m guessing, maybe even a smal cargo plane.”
“Wel , it looks like it’s been maintained better than this dirt road,” Aly commented, “though that’s not saying much.”
“Let’s look over the rest of the property before we check out the house, if that’s okay with you,” Alan suggested.
“The ful tour, if you wouldn’t mind, driver,” Aly said, with a touch of Cockney;
“and if you could find an idyl ic place for our picnic, I wil make it ever so worth your while.”
The road wound through the val ey and morphed into an almost indistinguishable trail that skirted chains of reddish rocks and curled in and around broken ground that was probably not as deserted as it looked. Tumbling out of a stand of tal cottonwoods, a stream took pause in a series of deep pools before coursing further south, and Alan parked next to the largest and what appeared to be the deepest of these.
“It’s like a miniature oasis, isn’t it” Aly said as they ventured out. The wal s of the pools were formed by slabs of limestone, and Aly climbed to a ledge overlooking water as crystal clear as a gemstone.
The view to the south was expansive, and the stream seemed to carry on forever. “Hey, mister!” she cal ed back to her husband. “Care for a swim?”
“A swim? I thought we came out here for a…a…picnic.”
Alan turned in time to see Aly standing at the edge of the ledge, stark naked, and smiling at him with that touch of mischief that never failed to raise his temperature a few degrees.
She turned and stepped off the ledge and into the pool. When she resurfaced a moment later, she cal ed, “Come on in. The water’s perfect, it’s plenty deep and enormously refreshing”
Alan could hardly get undressed quickly enough. He tossed a shirt here, pants there, and socks somewhere else, and then jumped from the ledge with an unabashed whoop. When he surfaced, he took Aly in his arms and kissed her. They splashed and kicked and played like children without a care in the world. After a while, Aly said, “I’m starving. Ready to eat?”
“That depends on what’s on the menu,” Alan said, leading her to the edge of the pool and up to the ledge again.
“You’l just have to wait and see, won’t you?” Aly said. “Now, darling, you did bring the towels, I know.”
In response to this dash of sarcasm, she received a playful swat on her behind.
“Towels? Who needs towels?” Alan replied. “That’s what the sun is for,” he argued, as the sun was beginning its descent behind the mountain tops without losing much of its heat or intensity.
They stretched out on the ledge, and as they relaxed in the almost medicinal warmth of the midafternoon sun, Alan confessed, “You have no idea how much I need this. This last week has been a rol er coaster.”
“I have just the thing for you,” Aly said. She took a bottle of wine from the cooler, opened it, and fil ed two paper cups. “Here’s to having someone special to get through the tough times with––you for me and me for you.”
“I’l drink to that every day of the year,” Alan said.
When the roasted chicken, bread, and salad had been consumed, they packed the car and headed for the ranch house.
It was an impressive sight sitting out here in the wild, al adobe brick and rambling roof lines, and Alan parked the Lincoln in a huge circular drive out front. There was no sign of life, and Alan hadn’t expected any. Brian had shared a front door key and the alarm code, and it was com-forting to hear the entry signal from the alarm that was quickly silenced al owing them inside moments later.
“I like a man who comes prepared,” Aly had to admit.
“I even know where the wine cel ar is,” Alan said with a wink and a smile. He took Aly’s hand, and they began their tour. The living room, they discovered, was a tribute to man’s eagerness to shoot anything that moves. The wal s were adorned with the stuffed heads of deer and wild-cat, coyote and rabbit, and even the taxidermic remains of eagles and hawks posed in their attack positions, wings out and razor sharp talons grasping prey.
“Some people cal those trophies,” Aly mocked. “I say we make a room just for the hunters and see how they like having their heads pinned to slabs of burlwood.”
“A fine idea, but who in the world would want to sit in a room surrounded by the mounted heads of a bunch of insensitive buffoons.”
They found two rooms stacked with country-styled bunk beds and six bathrooms, al stil harboring the faint scent of cedar. The kitchen was large enough to make a banquet chef happy with enough refrigeration and freezer space to preserve the rewards of any hunt. The dining hal looked like a school cafeteria except for the trophies mounted on the wal s.
They went upstairs and inspected the three guest-overflow bedrooms along with three additional bathrooms. At the end of the hal way, two solid inlaid-mahogany doors stood curiously inviting.
“I’m betting it’s a throne room or a dungeon,” Aly joked. “Any bets?”
“Let’s check it out,” Alan suggested. He pushed open the door, and they stepped into a master bedroom suite that would have fit nicely in the pent-house of their New York City condominium except for the furnishing, which appeared to be out of the Playboy Mansion. The bathroom offered twin multi-head showers, a tub built for eight, shel -shaped sinks aplenty, and several imaginative porcelain toilets.
THEY BOTH KNEW that the Adala project was leading Alan down a path that would change him forever. Adala didn’t present the sort of do it or don’t do it decisions that were the daily chal enges of Davis Industries. Instead Adala was a passion. It was easy to justify its creation in pursuit of a safer work environment for his employees in the Middle East, but Alan knew better, and so did Aly. Not surprisingly, Aly had also been taken by the fever. Part of it was the way Dan had died, to be certain, but it was much more involved than simply wanting to see justice served. Aly was Muslim. No one suffered more from terrorism than her fel ow Muslims. It was more than sad and more than ironic. It was flat out wrong.
As much as Alan was trying to protect her from the fal out from Adala, she was involved, and she didn’t want to be protected. It seemed as if one door was opening on their lives and another was slamming shut behind them. They had one thought in common at that moment––they were in this together, and as long as they were, they must shape their own destiny.
DAVIS INTERNATIONAL BUILDING
THAT SAME DAY, the recruiting efforts behind Adala made significant strides. Harry Neumann and his team––now five in number with the addition of two temps––had taken up permanent residence on the eighth floor of the Davis Building. They al worked out of the same central area, with a contagious energy affecting them al . Their lanterns were lit wel into the night. They had even set up a desk by the window for Brian Hal , now head of operations for Adala, but Harry and his team discovered very quickly that Brian rarely sat down. When he was in the office, he moved around the room like a pinbal darting from desk to desk, glancing over people’s shoulders, and writing copious notes on the pad he carried in whichever hand wasn’t holding his cel phone or a cup of coffee.
The application Brian and Harry had finalized two days earlier had been posted on their web site for less than twenty-four hours, and a curious Brian was asking every twenty minutes whether any had yet been received. The temps had been told the position they were recruit-ing for was a vague start-up business in the Middle East.
“Patience,” Harry advised, “once they start pouring in, we’ll have plenty to keep us busy. In the meantime, we’re getting more inquiries by the minute, and most of those are planning to download the application the minute they hang up the phone.”
“I’m just waiting for that first one,” Brian said, fil ing a ceramic mug with coffee nearly four hours old.
“Wait no longer, Mr. Hal .” One of the temps shouted, “Got one. It’s an Internet response. Downloading right now.”
“Atta girl,” Brian said, the excitement bringing out his English accent and causing him to spil his coffee.
“We’re in business,” Harry crowed as the two men crowded around the temp’s desk and watched the finished application materialize on her screen. “Let’s pul up Mr. Hal ’s punch list, ladies. Time to find ourselves a worthy candidate.”
PAKISTAN, NORTHWEST OF PESHAWAR
IN THE RUGGED mountains of Pakistan, some sixty-five miles north and west of Peshawar, a dirt road pocked with holes and ruts branched off the main highway. An army jeep was parked there obstructing entrance to the road. Two men carrying Kalashnikov automatic weapons sat on the vehicle’s hood tracking everything and anything that moved. They may have looked like military guards in their olive green and khaki uniforms, but the uniforms, like the jeep, were only part of the façade.
Their job description was simple: discourage by whatever means necessary any curiosity seekers hoping to glimpse the covert Al Qaeda training facility located at the end of the dirt road. At the top of their list of potential “curiosity seekers”
were members of any Pakistani police or army unit, but the list also included journalists acting on a tip or under-cover agents acting at the behest of the American CIA or British MI-6. They were not instructed to ask questions. They were instructed to maintain the privacy and security of the road at al times and to do whatever was necessary to carry out their assignment.
HAD THE GUARDS been inside the training camp at that moment instead of guarding the entrance, they would have heard one of the instructors shouting at three Al Qaeda “brothers.”
“Move quickly. Never hesitate. Kick the door open and enter with your weapon at the ready and prepared to fire.”
One brother did exactly that, darting into the makeshift room, crouch-ing low, and randomly spraying the interior with bul ets. Two other trainees rushed in an instant later and dissected the room as if the enemy might be lurking behind every door and every piece of furniture. The unmistakable sound of ricocheting bul ets could be heard al over the facility creating the clamor of a war zone. When the instructor was satisfied, the trainees were sent to the obstacle course for the third time that day. Like their fel ow trainees, these men were lean and sinewy, agile and determined.
At sunset, they prayed. Later when their prayers were completed, they sat forming a circle under the stars with their group leader, absorbing word for word the rules and regulations dictated by the Al Qaeda training manual. Their physical training was complimented by instructions in the use of weapons as conspicuous as rocket launchers and as subtle as razor blades. They studied ambush and handled high explosives. They learned strategy and mastered tactics. They were instructed in the art of espionage and covert operations. They spent much of their time learning how to become inconspicuous. They were taught the best use of travel documents. They studied communications. They learned how to act if arrested and what to say when questioned. They were told what to wear and how to dress. Their faces were always covered with a scarf or a headdress. It was the most basic rule: hide your identity not only from the enemy but from each other as wel .
THAT SAME NIGHT, word reached the camp that one Assim bin Muzzein, a wealthy merchant in Peshawar and a supplier of contraband arms and munitions to Al Qaeda, had possibly received payoffs from the Pakistani Army. If Muzzein was receiving funds from the government, what service did he perform in exchange? Coincidental y three top-secret Al Qaeda positions had come under surveil ance recently. How did the army know?
On the one hand, Al Qaeda paid handsomely for whatever Muzzein supplied in exchange for his absolute confidentiality. There could be no breach of this understanding no matter how minor. On the other hand, if the understanding was not upheld, retribution would have to be exacted. It was vital, of course, to stop the leak of sensitive information, but it was equal y important to send a warning to other would-be informants.
IT WAS THE PERFECT assignment for the three trainees. Find the man, question him, and determine his guilt. If guilty, dispense the appropriate punishment.
The trainees were Kawati, Musa, and Khafi.
Kawati, the team leader, was given the task of renting a room in an inconspicuous neighborhood in Peshawar, providing transportation, and mapping out their escape route. Musa and Khafi were charged with discreet surveil ance of the target and his place of business, the Pakistani Trading Company. The company was located in a busy commercial district on the lower east side, and conveniently they were able to utilize a deserted warehouse across the railroad tracks from which to conduct their surveil ance. Musa manned the warehouse from 6:00 in the morning until
2:00 in the afternoon when Khafi took over until 10:00 at night. Their instructions were to fol ow any identifiable member of the local or state government having any contact with the Pakistani Trading Company.
Ten days passed. At 7:00 a.m. on the eleventh day, an army colonel stepped out of his military vehicle and entered the premises. He remained for an hour and ten minutes, then left. Forty-five minutes later Muzzein was observed leaving the premises and heading up the main avenue glancing now and then over his shoulder. He stopped in front of the Industrial Bank of Peshawar, looked around one last time, and entered the bank through the front door.
Musa fol owed him inside. Muzzein, he noted, proceeded directly to a tel er’s window. It was clear even from a distance that the man was making a sizable deposit. Musa careful y studied the face and features of the tel er involved. THE NEXT DAY, Musa and Khafi waited outside the bank until the same tel er came out carrying a lunch bag and a thermos of tea. They fol owed him to a smal park and hailed him just before he sat down to eat.
Khafi introduced himself and Musa as members of the Foreign Intel igence Department, and they produced counterfeit credentials to prove it. Musa said, “Excuse us, but as you can see we are here on government business, and we must have your ful cooperation. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir! Yes, of course,” the tel er answered nervously.
“We have reason to believe a certain Assim bin Muzzein was at your window yesterday morning and made a large deposit. Is that not so?”
The tel er shook his head, genuinely confused. “No. I know no one by that name. The only large deposit by an individual was made by Karim Husada.”
“You’re certain?”
It occurred to Musa that perhaps Karim Husada and Assim bin Muzzein were one and the same person.
“What time of day do you recal that Karim Husada made his deposit?”
“Let me think…about nine thirty in the morning.”
“We believe you,” Musa said. “But I wil say it again. You are to tel no one, absolutely no one, about our investigation. And rest assured, we wil see that your cooperation is brought to the attention of your superiors.”
“Thank you,” the tel er replied.
“However, we wil need a copy of al the banking transactions made by this Karim Husada over the last year,” Khafi told him. “We wil meet you here at 2:30. Do not keep us waiting.”
“I have a break at 3:00,” the tel er said.
“Three o’clock then. And of course you are aware of the penalty for failure to cooperate.”
THAT NIGHT, THE three Al Qaeda trainees reviewed the paperwork given to them that afternoon by the bank tel er. It was clear that Karim Husada and Assim bin Muzzein were, in fact, one and the same person and that person was making regular bank deposits. And when shown a photo of Muzzein, the tel er readily identified the face as that of Karim Husada.
“The dog must be punished,” Musa said.
“And we must also leave a message for any others who would con-sider turning on us,” Khafi added.
They both looked at Kawati. His words were succinct and to the point. “Tonight we visit the dog.”
The brothers knew by then that Assim bin Muzzein worked in his office late on Thursdays, and so they were waiting for him concealed behind piles of uncol ected rubbish not fifty feet from his business's front entrance. When he appeared, briefcase in hand, a weary step betraying a long and fatiguing day, they waited for him to lock the door and lower the burglary screen. They fol owed his footsteps as he crossed the parking lot to his car.
He was reaching for the car door when Khafi appeared suddenly, grab-bing his jacket and pressing the blade of a knife against his throat.
“What is this?” the merchant protested.
“Be silent or I wil kil you,” Khafi snarled. “Someone wants to speak with you.”
At that moment, Kawati and Musa materialized from out of the shadows. It was Kawati who spoke.
“We have a problem, Assim bin Muzzein. One of our suppliers is giving valuable and damaging information to the army. Do you know who might do such a thing?
Do you know a man named Karim Husada?”
“No, No. I know of no such person,” said Muzzein, feeling the loss of his bladder control.
“An army Colonel was observed at your place of business yester-day. How do you account for this?”
The terrified bin Muzzein began to stutter and tremble.
“You must understand my problems...In order to eke out enough to put food on the table for my family, I must hide certain income.”
“An army officer visits you regularly and each time he does you make a deposit into the Husada account.”
“They are always asking questions about my customers, but I give them valueless information.”
“If you had given him a little harmless information under threat from the military because he was aware of your dealings, then we might understand. Are we hearing the truth, Assim bin Muzzein?”
“I swear I said nothing.”
“And the bribe you received? How do you account for that?”
“Only useless trivia. I swear.”
“Then how is it that you went directly to the bank and made a very fat deposit under a false name? I warn you for the last time, you must tel us the truth. If your indiscretion was smal , we wil understand.”
Assim bin Muzzein began to cry.
“I had to tel him something,” he mumbled. “He was threatenin