Blowback by Brad Thor Page B

need to talk, I’ll send you a message, and then we’ll use the Breast Cancer Forum chat room like before.”
    Before Brian Turner could respond, the senator was out the apartment door and on her way down to the lobby.
    The moment she stepped outside, Carmichael pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed her assistant’s home number.
    “Hello?” said an obviously tired voice on the other end of the line.
    “Neal, it’s Helen. I want you in the office in twenty minutes. As soon as you get there, start pulling everything you can on an ex-Navy SEAL who used to work Secret Service at the White House and is now over at DHS named Scot Harvath. I want you to dig as deep as you can. Get my black Rolodex out of the safe and start calling in favors. We need to know everything about this guy, especially what he’s been involved with since he began working at the White House a couple years ago. Am I clear? Do you have all that?”
    “Yes, Senator,” said the assistant, who was now wide awake.
    “Good,” replied Carmichael. “You’ve now got eighteen minutes to get yourself into the office. Get moving. I want to make the morning news cycle.”

TEN
    MANDARIN ORIENTAL HOTEL
    WASHINGTON, DC
     
    Chief of Staff Charles Anderson found the Swiss ambassador at a quiet table in the Mandarin’s lobby bar.
    “Can I buy you a drink, Chuck?” asked Hans Friederich as a waitress set down his martini.
    “I’ll have a light beer,” said Anderson. “I don’t care what kind.”
    “Light beer?” said the ambassador as the waitress smiled and walked away. “Since when does Charles Anderson drink light beer?”
    “Since my trousers started getting a little too snug around the waist.”
    The ambassador laughed good-naturedly.
    “I’m also going back to the office tonight,” added the chief of staff. “We’ve got a bit of a situation brewing.”
    “I’ve been watching your situation brewing all day on TV,” said Friederich.
    Anderson grimaced. “Yeah. The al-Jazeera thing. Believe it or not, that’s shaping up to be the least of my worries at this point.”
    “Then I’m sorry that I might soon be adding to them.”
    “Why?” asked Anderson. “Are Mitzi and the kids okay?”
    “They’re fine.”
    “How about you? You look like maybe you should start thinking about switching over to light beer too.”
    The ambassador smiled and shook his head. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
    Friederich tilted his head in the direction of the approaching waitress and fell silent. Once the young woman had poured Anderson ’s beer and left the table, the ambassador continued. “I have some information for you, but before I give it to you, I want you to know that we’re only an intermediary. My government has no way of corroborating what I am about to share.”
    “Understood. What do you have?”
    “The sword of Allah.”
    “The sword of Allah?” repeated Anderson. “I’ve never heard of it.”
    “If what I hear is true, you are about to become extremely familiar with it. It’s a weapon with which Islamic fundamentalists intend to purge the world of all but the most devoted Muslims.”
    “And exactly what kind of a weapon is this?”
    “It’s a sickness that infects all but the most devout followers of Islam.”
    Anderson almost spit his beer back in his glass. How the hell did the Swiss ambassador know about this? He took a moment to glance around the bar to make sure nobody was listening to them. “Where’d you get this information?”
    “I’m here on behalf of a man who does a tremendous amount of business with my country.”
    “Who?”
    “He’s not a Swiss citizen, but he has been extremely-”
    “Damn it, Hans. I don’t have time to fool around. Who the hell did you get this information from?” demanded Anderson.
    “Ozan Kalachka.”
    “Kalachka the Turk? The terrorist?”
    “The terrorist characterization is malicious and unfounded,” replied Friederich.
    “Unfounded, my ass. Western intelligence,