The Bug Hunter: A Novel Page 3

  Bashera was looking for a specific message, one that only he would understand. Finally, after months of waiting, he saw it. He then quickly picked up his iPhone and composed a text to his assistant, a strikingly beautiful graduate student named Haniya:

  “We have our appointment in Samarra.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Washington, DC

  The weekly meeting of the Washington chapter of the Islamic Students against Mideast Oppression (ISAMO) took place in the basement of the Islamic Center of Washington, a large stone-faced building with a towering minaret. At the time of its opening in 1957, it had been the largest mosque in the Western Hemisphere. But those had been simpler times, before al-Qaeda and before 9/11. Now the mosque was a continuous source of protest and debate, sitting in the middle of Embassy Row on Washington, DC’s tony Massachusetts Avenue. The center had classrooms and conference rooms in addition to the huge prayer area frequented by DC’s Muslims.

  As Bashera exited the car and walked up the front steps, he passed a plaque on the wall that had been placed there in 2015 by the Muslim Reform Movement. It called for Muslims to reject terror and to move toward rights for women and gays and to end adherence to Shari‘a law. Bashera’s ritual was to shield his eyes from the plaque as he passed and recite to himself “Allahu akbar”—God is the greatest—over and over again. It was his way of protesting the blasphemy that adorned what he considered a great place of Islamic worship.

  There were ten students and a few guests in attendance, and Bashera smiled when he saw his target sitting in the circle next to Haniya, her hand resting gently on his knee. He had been specially selected, a prize recruit with skills that would catapult Bashera into the pantheon of recruiters for the cause. This target was also older than the others, having come to the group with some real-world experience. He’d actually seen firsthand the terror of American bombs in Afghanistan when he had worked for the US government. Unlike the other students, who understood the war against Islam only from YouTube videos, Bashera’s target had heard the screams and tasted the blood spilled by his fellow Muslims.

  “As-salamu ‘alaykum,” said Bashera to the group. Peace be upon you.

  “Wa ‘alaykum salam,” came the reply in unison. And unto you peace.

  “Today we read from the Koran, verse ninety-five in Surat An-Nisa. This chapter is entitled ‘The Women.’ Is there a female here who would like to read out loud?”

  A few hands went up. He chose a young woman in a blue hijab named Abeela. “Verse ninety-five: ‘Not equal are those of the believers who sit at home, except those who are disabled, and those who strive hard and fight in the cause of Allah with their wealth and their lives. Allah has preferred in grades those who strive hard and fight with their wealth and their lives above those who sit at home. Unto each, Allah has promised good (Paradise), but Allah has preferred those who strive hard and fight, above those who sit at home by a huge reward.’”

  “Thank you, Abeela. What does this mean to you?”

  She thought for a moment. “I think it means that those who put their material wealth before the needs of Allah are hypocrites.”

  “Very good,” said Bashera. “Anybody else?”

  A young man with a scraggly beard raised his hand. “It means that those who are summoned and who answer the call are superior to those who don’t.”

  “Exactly!” Bashera said. “That is correct. When called by Allah, you must go. And when you do, Allah has a reward for you. Those of you who don’t answer the call, who sit at home in favor of material pursuits, are considered less worthy in Allah’s eyes.”

  “Is Allah calling us now?” asked Abeela.

  “That is a very good question,” answered Bashera. “Who would like to answer?”

  Bashera looked around the circle, his eyes settling on his target. A Muslim committed to their cause would not be able to resist this question; it was a fat, slow pitch down the middle of the plate.

  But there was only silence for several long seconds until Haniya dug her nails into the target’s thigh and he finally spoke. “We are being called by Allah, peace be upon him,” he said softly. “Our…our brothers and sisters are being slaughtered in the name of oil. The Americans are helping to kill our men and our women. I saw…I saw it firsthand in Afghanistan. They are…” his voice trailed off.

  “They are what?” Bashera pressed.

  “They are dogs, Professor. Our Allah, peace be upon him, wants us to cleanse the world for our people.”

  The room was silent. A few of the students looked uncomfortable. Others were nodding and saying, “Allahu akbar.”

  Professor Abdul-Azim Bashera was full of joy. “Mashallah,” he said quietly to himself. As God has willed it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Manassas, Virginia

  Bashera’s target went to work the next day as he always did, clad in a white coat and with all the requisite security badges to enter the high-security Biomedical Research Laboratory (BRL) run by George Mason University. It was one of thirteen regional biocontainment labs underwritten by the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, and it was charged with doing some of the nation’s most important research on emerging and potential biothreat agents.

  The target worked in what was colloquially called the “Bug Wing,” formally known as Entomology Vector Research. He was sitting at his desk looking over the results of a recent set of experiments when a BRL supervisor interrupted him.

  “Got a minute, Adnan?”

  Dr. Adnan Mishner desperately wanted to ignore the man standing in his doorway, but he couldn’t. Not now, with things so far along. He could do nothing to jeopardize the mission. Putting on a fake smile, he said, “Sure, Mort. What can I do for you?”

  “The administration has done another equipment audit, and we seem to be missing several of the advanced vector vessels.” Vector vessels were self-contained carriers used to transport various insects into the field.

  “Are you sure they weren’t just misplaced? You know how this place is. Things seem to have legs—or wings—here.”

  Mort laughed. “True. But I told the powers that be that I would investigate it, so here I am.” He stared at Adnan for a moment. When Adnan didn’t say anything, Mort went on. “I’m going to poke around a bit and speak to the staff. Just wanted to let you know.”

  “No problem. Have at it,” Adnan said with confidence. Nobody working there knew anything about the eight vector vessels that Adnan had removed from the lab over the past several months and that were now in a public storage unit outside of town.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fairfax, Virginia

  The images were surprisingly sharp, even if the camera, lodged inside the bedroom-ceiling smoke detector, didn’t give him a clear view of her entire body. But he could see her bra and panties, the white lace material set off against her dark skin. Her full breasts moved as she swayed in rhythm to the electronic dance music coming from speakers next to her bed. It wasn’t every night she did this, but it was frequent enough that he had come to crave it. Often he pleasured himself while watching her.

  But not tonight; too many details were now in play, and Bashera was too preoccupied even for simulated sex. Sitting in his home office, a bank of high-res monitors arrayed in front of him, he silently watched Haniya finish her dance, click off the light, and get into bed. The darkness put the camera into infrared mode, and she lay there in a greenish hue, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or shut, but he could hear her quietly recite an Islamic prayer.

  Bashera smiled at the prayer. If he saw any blasphemy in what he was doing—spying on a young woman in the privacy of her bedroom, watching her undress (often while touching himself)—he didn’t show it. Without missing a beat, he clicked over to another set of cameras in Adnan’s house. Flicking between the bedroom and the kitchen and the den, he found Adnan sitting in
front of a huge flat-screen on which he was playing an Xbox game. He had a headset on and was obviously playing with someone over the web. Bashera couldn’t tell which game it was, but it clearly involved car racing. The fact that Adnan couldn’t even pick a game in which he killed people was irritating but not a surprise.

  “Jaban,” Bashera muttered to himself. Coward.

  Bashera had known that Adnan was soft from the moment he found him. He had come to Bashera’s attention when a search of scientists capable of vector genomics led him to a handful of options; Adnan, an American of Egyptian descent was his obvious first choice. After a deep search of Adnan’s personal and professional history, Bashera knew he’d found someone he could turn against America.

  It hadn’t been Bashera’s first choice to work with Haniya, and he had initially resisted. He had thought she was nothing more than a honeypot, a beautiful young woman designed to entice men into the service of jihad. ISIS used them effectively all over the world, and Bashera had had no doubt that she’d be effective in that role. Nonetheless, Bashera didn’t like working with women in any capacity and had relented only when it was clear that he had no choice in the matter. He’d installed the cameras in her apartment to keep tabs on her. The naked dancing had been an added bonus.

  And Bashera had to admit that Haniya was a true talent, someone as smart and cunning as she was beautiful who was thoroughly committed to the cause. When Bashera had raised the mission of turning Adnan, she’d been immediately resourceful, following him for several weeks and learning his routine. She knew when and where he parked every week when he came on campus to use the university credit union.

  One rainy day she had watched in the shadows as Adnan ran from the parking lot, covering his head with his jacket. She timed her move perfectly, bumping into him just as he made it to the top of some steps. From there the conversation went like clockwork.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

  She stooped to pick up the notebook she’d dropped. Standing, she looked at him with her dark brown eyes flecked with gold. She was stunning. “It’s OK,” she said with a dazzling smile.

  They stood staring at each other. Finally Adnan said, “You go to school here?” He wanted to slap himself for asking such a dumb question.

  “Yes,” she said. “And you?”

  “Oh, no. I actually work . . . for the university.”

  “You’re a professor?”

  “Sort of. I’m actually a research scientist. I work off campus in a lab.”

  “Sounds interesting. What kind of research do you do?”

  He laughed. “I work on bugs.”

  “Bugs? Like insect bugs?”

  “Yes, like insect bugs.”

  She visibly shuddered. “I hate bugs.”

  He laughed again. “Most people do.”

  “My name is Haniya. Where are you from?” she asked, putting out her hand.

  Adnan took her hand in his, feeling her soft warm skin on his. He felt a surge go through his body. “Ah, I’m from Virginia, not far, actually.”

  She smiled again. “No, where are you really from?”

  “Oh,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was born in Egypt.”

  “Me too! Both my parents are from Alexandria. I was born there.”

  He smiled at her, transfixed by eyes so deep he felt he could fall into them. He was trying to keep the conversation going. Finally, he pointed at the flyers she was carrying. “What’s that?”

  Handing Adnan one she said, “They’re flyers I’m putting up. I belong to this student group, ISAMO—Islamic Students against Mideast Oppression. We meet once a week at the Islamic Center in DC.”

  Adnan looked at the flyer. It had the heading “Your Muslim Brothers and Sisters Are Being Murdered,” underneath which it gave the location of the meeting and boldly stated, “Here’s your chance to learn more about the Koran and how you can take action in the name of Allah.” It was the kind of provocative poster that could be found only on a college campus.

  “You should come. It’s tomorrow,” she said.

  Adnan showed up at the ISAMO meeting the next day, just as Bashera had known he would, and Haniya was there to greet him. The relationship began slowly. At first, Bashera used Haniya to get Adnan to stay after the weekly meetings so Bashera could draw him into conversation. It worked brilliantly, and gradually, over a period of months, Adnan began staying after on his own and even meeting Bashera and Haniya for tea on campus. Adnan was opening up. It became clear to Bashera that Adnan was lonely and very angry about his brother’s death. He needed to talk, and Bashera and Haniya became willing listeners.

  One day over tea, the conversation turned to Adnan’s brother.

  “Do you believe it was mashallah that Salman was taken?” Bashera asked.

  “Yes, I believe it was God’s will,” answered Adnan. “But I still wanted revenge.”

  “How did you find revenge? By finding the dealer who sold the drugs to him?”

  Adnan looked at Haniya. “I went to Afghanistan and helped the Americans destroy the poppy fields fueling the Taliban insurgency. I can’t tell you how. But I did it.”

  Bashera already knew how, of course. He had hacked the university’s personnel system and had read Adnan’s entire file. He knew about Adnan’s childhood, his schooling, and his research and all about his temporary duty with DHS in Afghanistan. “Did it help you to feel better?” Bashera asked.

  “It did for a time. But then some things happened in Afghanistan. Things that made me come to understand I had been used by the American government to hurt the Muslim people.”

  Bashera glanced at Haniya and encouraged her to push forward. “They’ve murdered so many of our people all over the Muslim world,” she said. “They want to wipe our people from the face of the earth. Only a return to the Koran and Shari‘a law can save us.”

  Adnan thought for a moment. “Are you saying it is us or them?”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. We are in a death struggle. Only one will win.”

  Bashera got up from his chair and went to his briefcase. He pulled out a thin book and handed it to Adnan.

  “Milestones by Sayyid Qutb,” Adnan read. “What is it?”

  Bashera smiled. “It’s our blueprint, Adnan. Read it, and we will discuss it next week.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Manassas, Virginia

  Adnan finished reading Milestones in one sitting. It was obvious that the book formed the basis for radical Islamism, and thus he intellectually understood why Bashera wanted him to read it. But in many ways it was contrary to his worldview. Milestones was an indictment of the modern secular order where science and the scientific method are held dear; it argued for a return to the word of God through Shari‘a law, a complete way of life based on subservience to Allah. According to Qutb, all beliefs and principles of art and science and the administration of justice were prescribed by Shari‘a, and the Koran should be seen as a source of instruction for obedience and action.

  To Adnan this felt like a rejection of everything he had worked for in his career.

  The next day he met Haniya alone for lunch. He wanted to better understand her thinking and why she was so committed to Bashera, who seemed to have some kind of hold over her. Usually when Adnan was with her, Bashera seemed to be lurking close by, watching everything they did together. It was creepy.

  “I read a lot of the book last night,” he said, taking a bite of a sandwich. They were sitting alone in the corner of a campus deli. Haniya was eating a salad with pita bread.

  “And?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

  “I’m not sure I understand it,” he said, deflecting. He wanted Haniya to tell him what the book meant to her. “I understand the words, but what does it really mean?”

  Haniya sighed and tried to mask her disappointment. He alwa
ys felt as if he was being tested by her, and this conversation was no exception. “What it means is simple,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Muslims are under attack by Jahiliya, the unbelievers, the kaffirs who keep us from living a life of purity. Milestones is our treatise on how to destroy Jahiliya once and for all.”

  “Ja-hi-li-ya?” Adnan repeated, struggling to pronounce it.

  “Yes. It describes the secular world, the world without Allah, without divine guidance. It’s a world of ignorance, mistrust, fear, and conflict. Only by living fully by Islamic law and the Koran can you find true peace. That’s what Milestones is all about.”

  Haniya spoke these last few sentences as if shooting them from a gun; they hung in the air between them, and Adnan could feel their weight. He knew she was completely invested in what she was saying and, by extension, what she and Bashera were working on. “And what about the professor? Does he feel this way too?”

  Haniya laughed. “Oh, Adnan my sweet. You have no idea who you are working with! The professor is a true leader in our movement, a man who grew up in Iraq and who worked for al-Zarqawi himself.”

  Adnan took a deep breath. The name al-Zarqawi—the name of the man known as “the Butcher of Baghdad”—sent shivers down his spine.

  “Bashera was with al-Qaeda in Iraq?” he asked.

  “Shush,” she said, looking around. “Yes.”

  Adnan sat back in his seat. The reality of what he’d gotten himself into was starting to sink in. He didn’t doubt for a minute what she was saying about Bashera, whose menacing face and black eyes seemed as soulless as anything Adnan had ever seen. He suddenly realized that the anti-American and anti-Zionist protests he’d taken part in as an undergraduate were child’s play compared to this. This was the big leagues.