Capitol Murder by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online

camp. He didn’t know why he and his three companions were being smuggled into America, but he believed that he would soon be part of something that would make the self-absorbed, godless citizens of the United States forget about September 11.
    The freighter was registered in Liberia, but the captain was a Pakistani, as were many in the crew. Ali and the others had fit in, and they all had false papers and cover stories that would hold up under all but the most intense scrutiny. It was dusk when the freighter docked, and the pier was spotlighted when the crew began unloading the cargo. Ali and his companions mingled with the rest of the crew as they shifted crates containing machine parts from the ship to the dock, but they peeled off from the legitimate crew members when a nondescript taupe station wagon glided down the pier and pulled up next to a pallet piled high with wooden crates. They had been told about the station wagon just before they boarded the freighter.
    Ali slid into the passenger seat next to the driver, who wore a New York Yankees jacket and baseball cap.
    “I’m Steve, and I’m going to take you to a safe house near Washington, D.C.,” he said in perfect Urdu. “When we get to the gate, let me do the talking. If the guard asks you a question, I’ll tell him you don’t speak English and I’ll translate.”
    The man’s looks and accent convinced Ali that the driver was an American. This surprised him. He had met Americans sympathetic to the cause at the camp, but they had been blacks who had converted to Islam or young, disaffected Arab Americans. This American had blue eyes to go with the blond hair that crept out from beneath his cap.
    English was the second official language of Pakistan, and Ali was conversant in it. His stomach was in a knot when they pulled up to the gate, and he listened carefully when the driver spoke to the uniformed guards. He was expecting the guards to demand his papers and subject him to an interrogation he was not convinced he could withstand, but they let the station wagon through without any trouble. Ali wondered if a bribe had changed hands.
    Steve didn’t say much after they left the dock. Ali and his companions strained to see the sights as they passed through Manhattan, but they were exhausted, and all but Ali nodded off as soon as they were on the interstate headed south.
    “You are American?” Ali asked as soon as he got up the nerve to start a conversation.
    Steve nodded.
    “You are Muslim?”
    The driver nodded again.
    “Is that why you help us?”
    Steve turned his head toward Ali. When he was talking to the guards, Steve had looked like the star of an American sitcom Ali had been shown in the camp to help with his training; all smiles, joking about trivial matters. Now he looked dangerous.
    “The less you know about me, the better off you are, understood?” he asked in a hard, cold tone.
    “Of course,” Ali answered, backing off immediately. Fear of abuse had been nurtured in Ali since early childhood, and he never did well in physical confrontations.
    Ali turned away and closed his eyes, but he didn’t fall asleep immediately. To distract himself, he thought of all the possible targets in America’s capital. Which one would he destroy in the name of Allah? When he fell asleep, there was a contented smile on his lips.
    I t was still dark when Ali woke up. He felt dull witted and spent a few moments rubbing sleep from his eyes. There was a sour taste in his mouth. The station wagon was driving down a dirt road in rural Maryland. Steve pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style house and woke up the sleeping men.
    “This is where you’ll be staying until we’re ready to act,” he said. “The refrigerator is fully stocked, and there’s cable television. I’ll make runs with groceries around this time, once a week. If there are problems, tell me then. I’ll give you a cell phone number, but it’s only for emergencies. Remember, the Americans