26 FEDERAL PLAZA
NEW YORK CITY
Thursday morning
Special Agent in Charge Milo Zachery faced the roomful of agents from an alphabet soup of agencies—FBI, Homeland Security, JFK security, NYPD, NSA, ATF. There was relentless pressure from every level—his bosses, national leaders, the press—but the urgency each of them felt came from knowing there could be other attacks, and soon. The president had spoken to the nation two hours after the attacks yesterday, and the vice president, obviously still shaken, spoke eloquently of what it was like to be at ground zero.
Zachery told them to ignore all that, to make their own part in the investigation their entire focus until it was over. “Our nation is at risk, and we’re all on edge, at our airports and public spaces, and even in our own churches—and it will go on until we get it cleared up.” Zachery remembered 9/11, the shock, the outrage, the misdirected anger at anyone who looked Middle Eastern. This time there had been no deaths; this time both attacks had failed spectacularly. “We won this round, so maybe that’s why the usual groups aren’t lining up to take credit, but the threat remains real, people. It’s up to us to close this down. I know you’re sleep deprived already, I’m on hyperdrive myself from all the coffee flowing through my veins.” He paused. “Maybe that’s as it should be.” Zachery introduced some of the key people around the table, and turned things over to Kelly.
Special Agent Kelly Giusti stepped to the head of the long conference table, loaded with open laptops, tablets, notebooks, coffee cups, soda cans, and trays of Danishes, now mostly crumbs. At least she didn’t feel like roadkill after a long hot shower on the sixteenth floor, but she felt fatigue nibbling at her again. She took another sip of coffee so strong she could taste it on her teeth. She felt her brain snap to and looked quickly around the table at the twenty-plus agents watching her. Many of them looked to be in the same shape she was, but it didn’t matter, they were focused and ready, running on adrenaline and anger at what the terrorists had tried to do at JFK and St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
She clicked on the big wall screen to show them a dozen different photos of Nasim Conklin. “Your packets have all the information we have so far on Nasim Conklin—his background, his family. Let me say up front that he doesn’t fit any known profile of a terrorist. He’s a thirty-six-year-old dual French and British citizen, Syrian mother, British father. He recently relocated to London from Rouen, France, following the death of his father in London. His family is wealthy, his father the owner of a very successful chain of dry cleaners in England that Nasim is in the process of selling.
“Conklin lives in a nice area, Notting Hill, in London. He has a wife and three children under the age of eight. He has a website as a freelance journalist and he’s written articles about the European economy that have appeared in Le Monde. He’s also a member of a think tank that consults with the French government on Middle Eastern issues. We don’t know much yet about the specifics of this.
“So the question is why did a man like Nasim pull a grenade out of his pocket in the security line at JFK yesterday? Nasim and his mother are both Muslim, but Nasim has given every indication of being westernized. He’s married to a French Catholic woman. Nasim’s mother, though, worships regularly at the South London Mosque, a mosque that has been under MI5 surveillance for over a year. Their theory is that Nasim stuck his toe in the water there. If so, that’s where he could have come into contact with the people who set him up to be the goat in the JFK operation. MI5 suspects this mosque is a recruiting and fund-raising center for jihadists. It’s run by Imam Al-Hädi ibn Mirza, a charismatic fifty-eight-year-old firebrand fundamentalist. They say he could talk a lizard off a rock, he’s that persuasive. They suspect he skims off the top of the donations that pour in and takes in a good deal of unreported cash. You’ll see in the profile that he’s arrogantly outspoken and believes he’s above British law. As of now, despite their suspicions, the Brits don’t have enough proof to arrest him.”
Kelly nodded to Agent Gray Wharton, a longtime agent, computer genius, and friend. He badly needed a shave, as did most male agents in the conference room, and a change of clothes.
Gray cleared his throat. “MI5 should be able to ID Nasim on their surveillance video if he was ever at the mosque.
“So here’s what we know. Nasim Conklin flew into JFK on Monday of this week, cleared customs. We see him pulling his single carry-on outside the terminal. A man we haven’t yet identified joined him and escorted him to a large black van. They got in and drove toward the airport exit. They were not spotted on any further webcams or traffic cams, so we haven’t been able to track him from there. So we have no idea where he stayed Monday or Tuesday night or who gave him the grenade he used at JFK on Wednesday. He had no cell phone on him, only his passport and two hundred dollars in cash. According to his passport, he left France once in the past three years to attend his father’s funeral in London. In other words, no terrorist training camps. We’re in the process of getting his cell phone and landline records in London.