Page 7 of Zero Hour

The camera covered only the living room, so visibility was limited. One bedroom was for sleeping. The other was being used as a makeshift workspace, eating area, and gaming room.

Pat’s jaw tightened. “What about the shopping list?”

Anna chimed in. “The cashier at the hardware store confirmed they bought several items that could be used to build an incendiary device—including fifty bags of nails.”

“Goddamn it.”

“They’re aiming for maximum casualties,” murmured Blade.

“Do we have a target?”

Blade shook his head. “Not yet. No timeline either. They don’t seem rushed, so we don’t think it’s imminent.”

“Let me know the instant they return,” Pat said.

Anna spoke up. “Transcripts are filed if you want to review them.”

“No need. If there’s anything useful, you’ll flag it.”

She gave an efficient nod.

“What about the Falcon?” he asked, trying to keep the venom out of his voice.

Keep it professional. He’d already caused enough drama for one day.

“That bird of prey is safe and sound in his nest.” Blade nodded to Anna, who pulled up a photograph on the mounted TV screen of a double-story terraced house on a quiet suburban street.

“Is the woman with him?”

“Yeah. She appears to be staying there.”

Pat studied the house’s front facade. A two-man team sat in a van across the road, tracking the Falcon’s movements, but they had no eyes or ears inside the property. Al-Jabiri’s state of the art alarm system had prevented any illicit entry.

“What do we have on her?” he asked.

“Not much yet,” Anna admitted, switching to another image—this one of the woman stepping out of the house, a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t wearing the headscarf this time, just holding it in her hand, about to put it on.

“We ran her fingerprints from the fork at the restaurant, but she’s not on any criminal database. I’ll run a wider search, including the DMV, after this.”

Another flick of the screen. This time she was on the street near Columbia Heights Station, carrying groceries and a takeaway coffee. She had her headscarf on.

“She wears it outside, but takes it off at home,” Anna said. “She’s clearly not Islamic, unless she’s converted. I think she’s doing it for him.”

Him.

Amir Al-Jabiri.

“Or it’s a disguise,” Pat muttered, studying her face.

Anna shrugged. “Possibly. But she makes no effort to cover her face.”

Pat’s eyes slanted and asked the question everyone was thinking. “Could she be his lover?” Everything about her screamed educated, professional, sophisticated. What the hell was she doing shacked up with a terrorist?

“Maybe,” Blade said. “She’s obviously not related.”

“Al-Jabiri was an only child,” Anna interjected. “She could be his lover. His wife died over a decade ago.” Then, she frowned and stared down at her notes. “Actually, there’s not much information about how she died.”

“In an explosion,” Pat said. “At a terrorist training camp in Libya.”

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