In this, Chapter 29, Devlin uses advanced technology to track down and confront the Iranian terrorist who’s directing the Bombay-style assault on Manhattan.
New York City
Arash Kohanloo had spent a great deal of time in New York, especially for an Iranian national. Under some circumstances, his passport might have proven a bit of a bother, but the Tyler Administration had been determined to turn its back on the old ways. The fact that he was attached, however tangentially, to his country’s U.N. mission facilitated matters greatly and, even if all else failed, he had multiple passports from multiple countries, including a Swiss passport that was tantamount to an international laissez-passer. It was amazing what the combination of money and power and fear could win you.

The hotel, of course, was in lockdown. The New York authorities were smart; they had gone to school on the Bombay massacre, and knew that the fancy hotels were natural targets for gunmen with grudges. The elevators were all switched off, except for a couple of service elevators being guarded by private security. You could order room service to eat, but you had to stay in the hotel, and preferably in your room, until the “incident” was over.
All of which was fine with Kohanloo. In fact, that was just the way he wanted it. Fewer people milling about suited him just fine, and as long as the cell phone service worked he could stay in touch with everyone with whom he needed to stay in touch, and then events would unfold as they unfolded.
At the first news of the attack he had informed his people back home. He had also made certain that a specific sum of money had been wired to several bank accounts in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, and one of the Channel Islands between Britain and France. One could no longer rely on the discretion of the Swiss. In the crackdown on international money transfers that followed in the wake of September 11, including the so-called Swift program that enabled the government to trace “terrorist” financing and thus disrupt the usual remittance channels and other mechanisms of Shari’a-compliant finance, the damned Americans had disrupted everything. This had necessitated a change in the networks, which funneled money between the Muslim lands and their bankers in London and Brussels, and for a time the stream was partly damned. But money is like water and soon enough it finds its way to its inevitable destination.
He didn’t have to come here, and it was not part of his arrangement with Skorzeny that he do so. But the opportunity to strike a blow at the heart of a politically correct America, and to supervise the operation right under their noses and in the heart of their greatest city as an honored guest was too good to resist. Skorzeny had warned him off taking personal charge, but Skorzeny was a bitter old man, not only weak but with too many weaknesses, and whatever game he was playing was known only to him.
Kohanloo looked at the array of cell phones on the table in front of him. They were all local, off-the-shelf, no-contract communication devices — “plain vanilla,” as the Americans said. To anyone tracking cell phone use — and even the Americans were not so stupid as to not be doing that — they would appear to be completely innocuous. What a pleasure it was to use the enemy’s technology against him, to take the things his infidel culture had created and to turn even the simplest things into weapons. Whether the Brothers had used box-cutters or knives on Sept. 11 was immaterial; the real weapons they wielded on that glorious day was the institutional cowardice of the Americans, especially the men, and turned that weakness into the powerful flying bombs that, Allah be praised, had taken down the Twin Towers and nearly the Pentagon itself.
For what sort of men were these, who would not fight back? Who would not defend their women and children? Who would go so willingly to their deaths, Christian lambs to the slaughter? For all its sexuality, its braggadocio, its exaggerated cartoons of men and women, it was at root exhausted, played out, expired. This was one thing that he and Skorzeny had agreed upon from the start: that what they were doing was not murder but a mercy killing, the merciful thing to do when a living organism was in its terminal stages. (more…)