“I’m aware of that, but it’s too late to pull the plug. Point Justice in another direction and hand them someone of interest. Make sure it’s homegrown. The White House will jump all over that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“It’s good PR. Better a few local crazies than some Islamic bogeyman.” A pause. “Maybe we can even work this to our advantage.”

“How?”

“Use it to tie up FBI resources while we do what has to be done. Zuabi says his man is already headed to Bulgaria to secure delivery.”

“Who did he send?”

“The one I told you about, Hassan Haddad. The imam says he’s his best soldier. Loyal, efficient, and deadly.”

“He better be right. We can’t afford any more mistakes.”

“I’m with you. If anything goes wrong, we’ll cut our losses and call it a day. Otherwise, we continue full steam and let the imam worry about this idiot al-Fida.”

“Can Zuabi be trusted?”

“A little late to be asking that question, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t worried till now. You realize however we distract them, the feds will heighten security across the board.”

“They can trot out all the security they want,” the voice said. “They still won’t see us coming. No one will.”

***

The woman in the security uniform smiled at him, but Abdal al-Fida had to wonder-was her smile genuine or was there something unspoken behind it? Something dangerous? Had someone at the terminal identified him, found something at the car, dug up a picture of him and sent it to every police department, every transportation center, every 7-Eleven?

He hadn’t expected this, the paranoia. And perhaps he wouldn’t feel it so strongly if the car hadn’t sat there so long, if he hadn’t screwed up. If he’d just done as he’d been instructed No, he admonished himself. It was a good plan.

He had intended to park the Land Rover in the underground lot of that absurd monstrosity of a federal building downtown, then wait for morning, when the place would be filled with enough infidels to send this fat, lazy nation a resounding message from Allah.