The Last Patriot

“About the time he converted to Islam,” offered Salam.

“If what you’ve told us is accurate, then that does seem to fit the timeline.”

“As does recruiting me and setting up the Glass Canyon operation.”

Ozbek nodded, slowly. “Give or take.”

“Then that’s it. You’ve got your proof,” stated Salam. “I’m i

“Identifying Dodd as your handler is one thing. Proving he was, as well as proving that someone other than you killed Nura Khalifa, is something else.”

“But you can help me,” insisted Salam. “If you tell the FBI that Matthew Dodd was my handler, it’ll help prove that I’m telling the truth.”

“We don’t have to tell them anything,” replied Rasmussen.

Ozbek waved him off. Putting his elbows on the table, Ozbek clasped his hands together and rested his chin on his thumbs. “We might be able to help you,” he said, thinking, “but first you have to help us.”

“With what?” asked Salam.

Rasmussen looked at him. “Don’t be stupid, Mr. Salam.”

Once again, Ozbek waved him off. “We’ve got a pretty good idea where Dodd is. We may even know who his target is-”

“Is it Dr. Khalifa?” interrupted Salam. “Was Nura right about it being her uncle?”

“We have reason to believe that Dr. Khalifa is already dead and that there may be another target.”

“So Nura was right,” said Salam, more to himself than to the CIA operatives.

“We don’t know that Dodd killed him,” replied Ozbek. “Not for sure. Not yet. But we believe that there is something larger at play here, and we need to know what that something is.”

Salam looked at his interrogator. “And you think I can help you figure it out?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Ozbek. “But you might be able to point us in the right direction.”

“By giving you the same information I gave to the FBI?”

Ozbek nodded.

Despite having been duped by his so-called FBI recruiter, Andrew Salam wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was far from it. “How do I know that you won’t take the information I give you, find Dodd and feed him into a wood chipper somewhere, then deny we ever had this conversation?”

“You don’t really have much choice,” said Rasmussen. “You’re going to have to trust us.”

Salam laughed once more. “Yeah, right. The way I see it, I’ve got lots of choices. I can talk to the FBI, D.C. Metro Police, or wait until I’m finally given a lawyer and then talk to the press. If anybody doesn’t have much of a choice here, I think it’s the CIA.”

Rasmussen was ramping up with a retort, but Ozbek pointed toward the door. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

“What?” replied Rasmussen.

“Let us have some time alone,” said Ozbek. “Go get a cup of coffee or something.”

Rasmussen sat there for a moment in disbelief. Then, with a grunt, he stood and exited the interrogation room.

Once the door had closed, Salam said, “I thought you guys were okay at first, but he’s starting to turn into an asshole.”

Rasmussen’s specialty was operating in the field, not an interrogation room, and Ozbek let the remark go unchallenged. Reaching into his jacket he removed a new digital camera and powered it up. “The last time we were in here you asked about your dog,” he said as he handed the device to him. “I thought you’d want to see these.”

Salam’s face softened as he scrolled through the pictures. “So the police did take care of him.”

“Not really,” said Ozbek. “They were a lot more concerned with ripping your house apart. They were going to put him in the pound, but I got it all sorted out. He’s with one of your neighbors now.”

“Which one?” Salam asked apprehensively.

“The older guy across the street.”

“Who? The veteran with the P.O.W. flag?”

“Yep,” said Ozbek. “Any problem with that?”

“No,” replied Salam. “He’s a good guy. He did a couple of tours in Vietnam. I don’t think he cared for me much when I moved in, but he came around and has always been polite. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now-”

“What’s your thing with dogs anyway?”

“I’ve got a black lab.”

“Nice dog,” said Salam. “Smart.”

“Yes, they are,” replied Ozbek. “Listen, Andrew, you need to know that the FBI have uncovered e-mails between you and Nura Khalifa as well as some other pieces of evidence that suggest you two were having a relationship.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“The evidence suggests that Nura had met with you to tell you that the relationship was over.”

“But there was no relationship,” insisted Salam. “It was strictly professional.”

Ozbek shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”

“What other pieces of evidence do they have?”

“Whatever they are, it seems to point to an if I can’t have her no one can motive for murder.”

“But I didn’t kill her. We were attacked. I told you that. I’m not an idiot. If, and the key word here is if, I was going to kill somebody, do you think I’d be dumb enough to choose a location where I’d have to disarm Park Police security cameras? I couldn’t even do that if I had wanted to.

“You have to believe me. Nura and I were both targets. They wanted us dead and when I survived they planted all of that BS information to make it look like we had a relationship and that I wanted to kill her because she was going to leave me.”

“That’s a lot of work,” said Ozbek.

“So is knocking out surveillance cameras at the Jefferson Memorial.”

Ozbek couldn’t argue with that.

“These people aren’t the turban-wearing morons most of our politicians think they are,” continued Salam. “They’re extremely sophisticated, and have resources you can’t even begin to imagine. If you knew the places their operatives had wormed their way into, you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. They have armies of sympathizers, legions of apologists, and one of the best crafted public relations and media strategies ever created. These people make the Nazis look like amateurs.

“This is the most dangerous threat this nation has ever faced, and yet I’m going to hang for trying to do my duty as an American to take them down. This isn’t justice, it’s bullshit.”

Ozbek looked at him. “You’re right. It is bullshit.”

“So you believe me, then?”

Ozbek nodded. “But I have to be honest with you. There is a limit to how much we can do for you. This investigation belongs to the FBI and D.C. Metro. The CIA has no official role in it whatsoever.”

“What about Dodd? Capturing him would change things, wouldn’t it?”

“Probably,” replied Ozbek, “but he could turn around and cut a deal with the CIA to give them something of greater value.”

Salam shook his head. “And I’d still be screwed.”

“It happens. I just want you to be aware of that.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Andrew, you’re in a tough position. Based on how the deck is stacked against you, nobody would blame you at this point for clamming up and waiting for a lawyer.”

“Why are you telling me all of this? If I go to the press about Dodd, it could be very embarrassing for the CIA.”

“They’re big boys and girls,” said Ozbek. “They’ve got people who know how to handle spin.”

“But still,” replied Salam, pressing his point.

“You’re a good guy, Andrew. Somebody screwed you big time, yet you’ve cooperated every step of the way with us. And I think you’ve cooperated because you know you haven’t done anything wrong. More importantly, you know what you were doing was for the good of your country and that’s what honorable people in this nation do.

“I can’t promise I can unfuck everything you’re in, but if you help me, I will promise that I’ll do everything I can to track down Matthew Dodd and make sure that he and his Islamist pals won’t do any further harm to America.”

Salam thought about it. It didn’t take long. He knew what the right thing to do was. “Take out a pen,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”