The Zero Hour

“All right, well, Abu Nidal, of course,” Ullman went on. “Nom de guerre of Sabri al-Banna, broke with Yasir Arafat in 1974 to found the Fatah Revolutionary Council. Brutal, brilliant, the shrewdest operator there is. Estimated to have killed a thousand people, two-thirds of them Palestinians. Responsible for terrorism in more than twenty nations, including the Istanbul synagogue massacre in ’86 and attacks at the Rome and Vienna airports in ’85. Never captured. Lived for a while in Libya. He and his organization are now based in the Bekaa Valley. Do you know, there’s no picture of him available?”

Taylor shook his head. “One of that rare breed of terrorist, a true ideologue. Never hire out. Go on.”

Christine Vigiani looked up from her dossiers. “Actually, he takes money.”

“Only for someone he wants to kill anyway,” said Ullman, flashing her a look of profound irritation. “Anyway, this doesn’t smell like an Abu Nidal op. But I was intrigued by Abu Ibrahim, a.k.a Mohammed Al-Umari. Leader of the May 15 Group. Expert in the use of barometric detonators and plastic explosives. Perhaps the most technically proficient bomb maker around. Also, there’s Imad Mughniya, who masterminded the hijacking of that Kuwaiti airliner back in 1988, who’s tied to Hezbollah.”

“Problem is,” Taylor said, heaving a sigh, “none of them can plausibly pass as Germans. I’m not going to rule them out, but I wouldn’t be quick to count them in either. Chris, who are your prime suspects?”

She sat up straight, took a large swallow of coffee, widened her eyes. “Okay if I smoke?”

“I’d rather-” Ullman started.

“All right,” Taylor said. “You probably need it.”

She pulled out a pack of Marlboros and lighted one, inhaling gratefully. Russell Ullman glanced at her with snakelike distrust and shifted his chair a few symbolic inches away.

“If we’re talking Arabs,” she said, “I can’t believe he didn’t mention either Islamic Jihad or Hamas. Particularly Hamas, which has really been acting up lately. If Warren Elkind is such a big Israel supporter, this sounds like a Hamas kind of thing, given how much they hate Israel, and how they set off that car bomb outside the Israeli embassy in London in July 1994. And that bombing in Argentina that killed-”

“Because we’re not talking Arabs, we’re talking mercenary terrorists for hire, and none of those organizations has anyone that hires out,” Ullman said darkly. “Unless you know better.”

There was a poisonous silence, and then Vigiani continued: “There’s an ETA Basque terrorist who worked as muscle for the Medellín cartel, but that was some time ago. He’s believed dead, but reports vary. I’ll keep on that one.”

“That guy’s dead,” Ullman said impatiently.

Vigiani ignored him. “And at first I would have thought that among the Provos-the Provisional Wing of the Irish Republican Army-we’d find some good possibilities, but none of them fit the profile. None are known to hire out. Though I suppose any of them could. Also, according to the most recent intelligence, some of the Protestant groups in Northern Ireland-the Ulster Defence Association and the Ulster Volunteer Force-have started using mercenaries, paid assassins, for the real serious, clinical operations. I didn’t bother with those assholes who did OKBOMB,” she said, using the Bureau’s code name for Oklahoma City. “Way too primitive. And, let’s see, there’s a South African guy, but he’s locked up for life in Pretoria or Johannesburg or something. And this may seem sort of left-field, but there’s Frank Terpil, the former CIA guy Qaddafi hired to train his special forces.”

Taylor nodded, eyes still closed.

“Well, his buddy Ed Wilson’s serving a long sentence in a federal penitentiary, but Terpil’s still at large. File says he’s been involved in assassinations in Africa and a coup attempt in Chad in 1978. He’s alive and hiding somewhere, and for all I know he may still be active.”

Taylor opened his eyes and frowned at the acoustic dropped ceiling of his office. “Maybe.”

Vigiani jotted something down on her clipboard. “And all those old East German training camps-they may be history, but some of the folks who trained there are probably still on the market. Problem is, our data on those guys is pretty skimpy.”

“You contact the Germans?” Taylor asked.

“I’m working on it,” Ullman said.

“All right,” Taylor said. “I’m inclined to take a second look at this Terpil fellow and any of the East German-trained personnel we can turn up. Tell your staff to keep digging. Chris, what did you turn up in the computer search on Warren Elkind?”

Vigiani snubbed out her cigarette in the large glass ashtray she’d taken from Taylor’s desk. A plume of acrid smoke curled. She presented a quick biographical profile of Elkind, emphasizing his charitable work on behalf of Israel. “Apart from that, there’s not much, unfortunately. We’ve got an agent in Boston who just did a complete computer search on Warren Elkind.”

“Really?” Taylor said with interest. “What’s he assigned to?”

“OC, I believe. And it’s a she.”