Page 108 of Whisper

“This was the first time civilians were targeted. We don’t understand why this target was picked. We don’t know who ordered the bombing, either. We’ve been going through who was there that day, trying to see if it was an assassination that went large. Took out a bunch of collateral damage.”

Kris stayed quiet. His brain churned.

“After, rumors ripped through the city. Some said an American helo had fired on the embassy. There were riots.”

Sighing, George passed over a second set of photos. Another building destroyed, flattened by a bomb blast. A burned UN flag lay on the heaps of shattered concrete. “August nineteenth. Twenty-two people were killed at the UN headquarters here.”

“In the Green Zone?” David frowned.

“No. The UN kept their headquarters outside of the Green Zone.” George shook his head. “This was a suicide blast. The driver drove a flatbed up to the building and detonated. The head of the UN mission in Iraq was killed.”

“A suicide blast rules out the White House’s theory that this was the work of Saddam loyalists and disgruntled former Baathists.” Kris squinted.

“They have conceded that ‘foreign fighters’ are in Iraq. But nothing else.”

“Where are you on the investigation into the bombing?”

“We turned up electronic surveillance all over the country. NSA’s been vacuuming up all cell phone calls. We picked up a series of calls that are obviously coordinated attempts to relay messages. There’s no chatter. Just coded phrases, and then the callers hang up.”

“Have you started a phone web?”

George smiled. “Like you did in Pakistan? It was the first thing we did. We’ve got a network of numbers, but no names.”

“Where do the numbers come from?”

“Stolen prepaid SIM cards from Germany. God only knows how they ended up in Baghdad.”

“So that’s a dead end.”

“For now. We’re still listening to everything. Every call through those numbers.” Grimacing, George passed over the last set of photos, scenes of carnage and death that eclipsed both previous bombings. “And a few days ago. Friday, prayer day. The whole city, it seemed, was trying to go see Sheikh al-Ahmad, who had just returned from exile in Iran. He was a beloved Shia cleric. His sermon was on forming a unity government, on building bridges throughout the country.”

“Was?”

David looked down. Fisted his hands over his mouth.

“Twin car bombs killed eighty-five people at the mosque, and after, more were crushed to death in the stampede of panic. Al-Ahmad was vaporized. We only found a foot.”

Kris closed his eyes.

“Riots have been going on for two days now. The Shia in the city and across Iraq are outraged.”

“As they should be.”

George shot him a look. “I’ve set you both up with rooms in the Green Zone. Caldera, you’re in the secured wing of the embassy. CIA, FBI, NSA only. Haddad, you’re with the contractors.” He sketched a quick map, three lines showing the major roads and the river, andXs for buildings. He tapped a square he’d drawn, over a mile away from the embassy palace. “Here. The contractors are here. In the Imperial Palm Hotel.”

“George.”

“It’s policy, Caldera.” George held up his hands, shrugging. “No nonsecured personnel in the secured wings.”

“So you’re telling me that all the spouses, when they visit on the CIA’s conjugal tour, stay in some hotel? And not a single CIA officer has brought someone back to their ‘secured room’?” He made air quotes with his fingers as he snapped.

“I don’t believe you two are married.” George held Kris’s icy stare.

“George—”

“These are the rules, Kris,” George snapped. “I’ve gone to bat for you a hundred times already! Saved your job, and your ass! Before, and now. I’m not putting my neck on the line for this.”

“Nice to know where your lines are, George.” Kris stood. “I’ll be at the Imperial Palm Hotel.”