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The analyst shrugged. He had no idea.
Harley and Rapp walked over to the section that was working on the computers. They were told that so far nothing involving shipping records had been unearthed, but they'd barely scratched the surface.
Rapp wondered if Abdullah had lied to him and thought it might be a good idea to put a few more questions to him. "General, can one of your men bring me to where the interrogations are being conducted?"
Harley called out for one of his aides. He told the junior officer where to take the man from the CIA and then said to Rapp, "If we come up with anything new, I'll send for you."
"All right." Rapp started to leave and then turned. "General, one more favor. Would you have my plane gassed up and ready to go?"
"Consider it done."
* * *
Twenty-Eight
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Special Agent Skip McMahon had been with the FBI since the day he'd graduated from Penn State thirty-five years earlier. He'd seen a lot of strange stuff. He'd been involved in more stressful cases than perhaps anyone else at the Bureau, but this one was looking as if it might take the cake. He knew the current situation wasn't a drill because as the man who ran the FBI's Counterterrorism Division, he would have been in on it.
To be rousted in the middle of the night by the shrill ring of his STU-3 secure telephone was never a pleasant experience, but on this particular evening the message he received from the Counterterrorism Watch Center caused him to bolt from his bed and get dressed as fast as his arthritic knees allowed.
Operation Ark had been implemented. The president, his cabinet, the Supreme Court, and the leaders of the House and Senate were all being evacuated from the city. That was part of what they called, "COG," or continuity of government. McMahon was part of "COOP," or continuity of operations. While they fled, it was his job to stay, and try to stop whatever it was that the terrorists were attempting.
At the moment, he was trying to do just that from an elevated glass-enclosed room at the new Tyson's Corner facility. He looked out onto CT Watch, a 24/7 center that monitored terrorist activities around the world. The high-tech room was manned by sixty-two special agents and another twenty-three intelligence analysts from the CIA. The analysts were part of the new Terrorist Threat Integration Center (TTIC). The CIA's Counterterrorism Center was located on a separate floor.
McMahon looked out across the sea of consoles and computers. Something was going on over in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Apparently the CIA, with the aid of the military, had got their hands on some high-level terrorists. Intel was pouring in so fast the translators were struggling to keep up. McMahon saw Jake Turbes, the director of the CIA's Counterterrorism Center, enter the room. He walked hurriedly down the side aisle and joined McMahon in the elevated glass room.
"This just came in." Turbes handed over a piece of paper.
McMahon looked at the list of cities. "These are four of the busiest ports in the world."
"I know, but it's all we have to go on for now."
"In addition to all of the international air-cargo flights?"
"No one ever said it was going to be easy, Skip."
The new Joint Counterterrorism Center wasn't even fully operational and they were getting hit with a scenario that was quickly stretching them to the limits of their capabilities.
"Yeah, I know." McMahon was trying to think of how to deploy his assets. "Any chance you guys are going to be able to narrow this down for us?"
"We're trying."
McMahon dropped the piece of paper on his desk. "I'd better call Reimer and get his people in on this." McMahon was referring to Paul Reimer, who ran the Nuclear Emergency Support Teams for the Department of Energy.
"Good idea." Turbes left the room as quickly as he'd arrived.
McMahon had sixty speed-dial buttons on his secure phone, and Reimer's button was near the top. He pushed it, and a few seconds later the Vietnam vet and retired Navy SEAL was on the line.
Like McMahon, Reimer had also been awakened by the shrill ring of his government issued STU-3 and given instructions to head to the Department of Energy's secure underground facility in Germantown, Maryland.
"Reimer here," he answered in a voice that hadn't quite warmed up.
"Paul, it's Skip. Are your NEST boys ready to go to work?" McMahon was referring to the Department of Energy's Nuclear Emergency Support Team.
"I've already got one of my Search Response Teams doing a random search downtown."
"Great I've also got some ports for you to take a look at."