"He called her a MILF," Nash said in near disbelief as he thought of the acronym that stood for Mom I'd Like to Fuck. "What else did he say?"

"He said he wanted to do the same thing to Mom as he said he wanted to do to Shannon."

"And then you hit him."

Rory nodded.

"Good."

"So I'm not in trouble?" asked a hopeful Rory.

"Not from me and not from anyone else, if I have anything to say about it." Nash bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Let me have a word with your mother and then I'll call you down."

Nash stood and walked to the door. He stopped and turned back to his son and said, "Rory, do you like going to Sidwell?"

His son shook his head and the tears began to well up once again in his eyes. Nash felt like an absolute jerk for not being there for his son. For not putting his foot down and telling his wife the way it was going to be. His job was sucking the life out of him, and his family was suffering for it. Nash decided, at that moment, he was going to do Rory right and set things straight.

CHAPTER 50

WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE mosque was a converted corner grocery store in a crime-ridden part of town about a mile east of the Capitol, not far from the Congressional Cemetery. It was three stories of brick, chipped paint, and rotted wood. The van circled around the block once to see if they could spot any surveillance, but everything appeared to be ordinary, and besides, their contact had not waved them off by using the prearranged phrase. Hakim pulled the van into an open spot two blocks away on the opposite side of the street and handed the keys to Farid. If he saw anything unusual, or had not heard from them in fifteen minutes, they were to leave the area and head straight to a small warehouse he had leased three miles north of where they were.

Both Karim and Hakim checked their weapons before leaving the van. Karim also grabbed a radio and stuffed it in the big front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. With a nod to each other they exited and crossed the street side by side. Hakim's gait was relaxed, while Karim's was hurried. And while Hakim casually looked up and down the tree-lined street, Karim's eyes nervously darted from one parked car and tree to the next.

"Relax," Hakim said in a slow, easy voice. "In a neighborhood like this, looking nervous is a good enough reason for the police to stop and question you."

Karim slowed his pace to match that of his friend's and forced himself to stop swiveling his head in every direction. He found comfort in the fact that they were going to a mosque. If he had not seen it with his own eyes in Afghanistan, he would have never believed it, but he had, so he did. The Americans bent over backward to stay out of their mosques. Even when fired on from the mosques they would wait for hours or days until Afghan soldiers arrived, but they themselves would not set foot in them. This had enabled al-Qaeda and the Taliban to store many of their weapons safely in mosques that were spread out across the countryside as they retreated, and then in the spring when they would start a new offensive they would simply collect them and pick up where they had left off. To Karim, it was one of the more glaring examples of how foolish and weak the Americans were.

Half a block away from the mosque they noticed a silhouette in one of the upper windows. It was a three-story building with the mosque itself on the first floor and then offices and apartments on the second and third floors. The structure occupied half of the city block, and while it was ugly, it served its purpose well. A cloud of cigarette smoke wafted out from a doorway fifteen feet ahead on the left. Both men slowed.

"Joe," Karim said in his best Americanized English.

A head popped out, and a small man with a large nose and even larger ears glanced around the door frame at them. He flashed a nervous smile and said, "Chuck." The man took one more drag and then flicked the cigarette to the curb as he stepped from the doorway. He held out his arms and said, "It is good to see you."

The two men embraced, kissing each other once on each cheek. The small man then embraced Hakim, and then the three of them went inside.

"Here, this way," the small man said as he held open a door that revealed a staircase.

They went down the creaking wood stairs to the basement and entered a big room with a low ceiling and exposed pipes. There were shelves on all the walls, and off to the left was an old delivery elevator that came up through the sidewalk. Hakim glanced at it, because a few weeks earlier he had used the elevator to unload a very important shipment. There were other storage rooms and two offices located down a hallway at the back of the space.

"Why do you look so nervous?" Karim asked the small man.

Hakim thought it a stupid question, since the man always looked nervous about something.

"There has been a development," the man they called Joe said anxiously.

"What kind of development?" Karim asked, suddenly concerned.

The man's name was Aabad bin Baaz. He was a fellow Saudi who had met Karim when they were undergraduates at King Faisal University and then had followed him to the Islamic University of Medina. Hakim not so affectionately referred to the man as the ferret, due to the fact that he looked like one. He was short, only five feet six, and he had a large hook nose and floppy ears that he tried to hide by growing out his hair.

Aabad timidly shuffled from one foot to the other and then pointed back toward the hall that led to the storage rooms and offices. Looking at Hakim, he said, "I had the camera installed, as you suggested."

Hakim could feel Karim's eyes on him, so he turned and quickly said, "After we received the shipment we put a lock on the door and I told him" - he pointed down the hall - "to install a small surveillance camera so we could keep an eye on things."

Karim turned back to Aabad. "Continue."

"I reviewed the tapes every few days," he said while rubbing his hands together. "We have a man who helps out around here. I saw him on the tape several times and didn't think much of it, and then earlier tonight... during evening prayer, I noticed he had slipped out, so I grabbed a few men and we went downstairs."

"The same stairs we just came down?" Karim asked.

"Yes, and we found him back in the hallway."

Karim and Hakim looked at each other and then Karim said, "He would have heard you coming."

"I think so," Aabad said nervously.

"What was he doing?"

"We found him in one of the other storage rooms, moving supplies around. While the other men were talking to him... asking him why he was not at evening prayer... I snuck into the office and reviewed the security tape."

"And?" Hakim asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

"He was doing something with the door, so I grabbed my gun and we confronted him. We tied him up and emptied his pockets."

"Did you find anything?"

"This." Aabad held out what looked like a miniaturized version of a dental tool and three white pads in a clear Ziploc bag.

Hakim felt his heart sink. "That is a lock pick, and those little pads," he said as he closed his eyes and his voice trailed off, "are used to test for chemicals..."

"What kind of chemicals?" Aabad asked.

"The kind associated with explosives." Hakim took a step away and looked back at the stairs, half expecting federal agents to come barreling down with guns drawn. In a hushed voice he asked, "Have you questioned him?"

"I haven't had time."

Hakim shot Karim an I told you so I told you so look. He had warned him that Aabad wasn't up to the task. Karim's response was that the man was simply accident-prone. Hakim had replied that he was accident-prone because he was stupid. He reached out, grabbed Karim by the arm, and said, "We need to get out of here." look. He had warned him that Aabad wasn't up to the task. Karim's response was that the man was simply accident-prone. Hakim had replied that he was accident-prone because he was stupid. He reached out, grabbed Karim by the arm, and said, "We need to get out of here."

Karim pulled his arm free. "In a minute." Addressing Aabad, he asked, "Has he said anything?"

"Only that we are overreacting. He says it is his job to keep an eye on things."

"I don't like this," Hakim said.

"I don't either, but before I throw away this opportunity, I want to make sure. Have you checked for listening devices?"

Before Aabad could answer, Hakim said, "He wouldn't know where to start. I don't even trust myself. It is impossible to keep up with their technology."

Karim thought about that for a second and said, "I want to see him."

"No," Hakim said firmly. "He cannot see you. We need to leave." Pointing at Aabad, he said, "He should have given us the signal. We should have never come here."

"I am in charge here," Karim said firmly. "I will not so easily settle for our meager backup plan."

Hakim let out a sigh of frustration, knowing there would be no changing Karim's mind. Turning to Aabad, he asked, "Is anyone upstairs keeping an eye out?"

"Yes," Aabad answered nervously.

Hakim took a step toward the stairs and motioned for Karim to follow him. When the two were alone, Hakim looked at his old friend and said, "You are blind when it comes to him. You killed a man this morning who has three times the brains of that imbecile, a man who had done nothing to endanger your plan. And now you are going to tolerate him yet again."

It was far more complicated than Hakim was making it, but Karim did not have the time to debate the issue right now. "We will talk later. Go... take the men to the place you have prepared, and I will be in touch."

"And if I don't hear from you?"

"If you don't hear from me by seven a.m., proceed immediately to the secondary target."

Hakim did not move, so Karim grabbed him by the shoulder and sent him on his way. As soon as he was gone, he motioned for Aabad to lead him down the hallway. He sent Aabad in first and told him to send the other men upstairs to keep a lookout. He then entered the storage room by himself. He made no effort to conceal his face.

He looked down at the black man sitting on the floor. His ankles, knees, and wrists were duct-taped. Karim studied him for a long moment. He noted the man's fit appearance and stared into his eyes for a long time. He found them to be far too calm, considering the situation. Withdrawing a tactical knife from the back of his waistband, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Mohammad," the man said with a set jaw and a cautious look, like he was assessing the situation.

"Of course it is," Karim smiled as he extended the blade. He stepped forward and watched the man flinch, but noted that he did not scream. Karim reversed the grip on his knife, and with one hand, grabbed the neck of the shirt and then, taking the knife, he sliced it open along the shoulder, the cotton fabric giving way easily.

"What are you doing?" the man half shouted.

"When I fought in Afghanistan, I killed my fair share of Americans."

"Good for you," the man said. "It is an unjust war."

"Yes, it is." Karim nodded. "We would often strip their bodies and allow the local villagers to defile them."

The man named Mohammad did not answer him this time.

"Every single one of them had a tattoo." Karim saw fear in the man's eyes. Karim cut away more of the man's shirt. There was nothing on the right bicep, but there was some ink on the left. Karim moved the man roughly and smiled as he looked down at the head of an eagle with the words Screaming Eagle Screaming Eagle underneath. underneath.

"Ah... I see you were in the army."

"A lot of people are in the army."

"Do a lot of people serve in elite units like the 101st Airborne Division?" Karim waited for an answer but never got one. "What is your name?"

"I told you... Mohammad."

"No" - he held the knife in front of the man's face - "I mean your real name. The one you had while you were in the army."

CHAPTER 51

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA.

NASH found his wife in the study on the first floor, checking her e-mail. He entered the wood-paneled room and closed the door. Maggie glanced up at him, the expression on her face making it clear that she was angry. He studied her profile, her determined frown, her posture she'd gotten from all the ballet lessons she'd taken as a child. He loved her deeply but at this moment it all reminded him of how much of a spoiled brat she could be at times. Maggie's way or the highway, Maggie's way or the highway, was the saying her two brothers and sister were fond of using. was the saying her two brothers and sister were fond of using.

Nash plopped down in the overstuffed leather chair next to the fireplace and said, "Would you care to hear your son's side of the story?"

Maggie didn't bother to look up. "Save your breath. I'm sending the dean an e-mail right now. If I get out in front of this I might be able to salvage our son's educational aspirations."

"I think they're your your aspirations, Maggie." aspirations, Maggie."

"If you're going to try and bait me into an argument, just leave. Go right now." She pointed at the door. "The only chance we have of salvaging this is by begging for forgiveness. Any penalty other than expulsion. I'm informing the dean as well as several of his teachers that we're going to pull him off the lacrosse team."

"The hell you are. You're not pulling him off the lacrosse team, and he's not one of your clients. You're not going to lobby your way out of this."

"Oh... he's done with lacrosse," she said, as if it was a forgone conclusion. "And that camp he wanted to go to this summer... that's gone too. Just let me send this e-mail and then..." She stopped suddenly and looked at her husband, who was now bent over next to the desk.

Nash found the power cord for the computer and decided enough was enough. He yanked the cord from the back of the computer and stood.

"What the hell did you just do?" Maggie screamed.

"I just saved you from embarrassing yourself."

Maggie cupped her face in her hands and stared at the screen. "You are the last person who should be trying to handle this. I'm the one with the experience in dealing with crisis situations..."

She continued to frantically state her case, but Nash stopped listening. He wanted to scream back at her that she didn't know jack shit about what he did for a living. He wanted to explain the complicated operations he ran against some of the most formidable organizations on the planet. He wanted to tell her that when he fucked up, people died, and when she fucked up, her spoiled clients went somewhere else with their bag of cash. But he couldn't, because at the end of the day it was his decision to stick with a thankless job that had almost killed him, might still kill him, and very likely might land him in jail.

"Maggie, I'm your husband, and I love you, and you are going to shut up and listen to me for a moment."

She stood and angrily said, "Don't you tell me to shut up."

"Derek, that little shit, told Rory that he wanted to fuck fuck Shannon." Shannon."

"Excuse me?" Maggie said in near shock.

"He said he wanted to fuck our daughter, and Rory told him if he said it again, he was going to hit him. So do you know what that little shit did?"

Maggie shook her head.