Hostile Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

look at them. They had been checked twice before in the ground-level building. He must have passed or he wouldn’t be down here. He wondered how deep in the ground they were.
    “Please follow me,” the black-suited man said. They went through the normal door into the next room, which was set up as a luxurious Iraqi hotel suite. It had a large living room, with four doors opening off it. The furnishings were a mixture of Iraqi and Western, with upholstered chairs and couches in three conversation sets. Oil paintings dotted the walls, and soft music came from hidden speakers. A woman without a veil brought in a tray filled with fruits and nuts and small cakes and put them on a low table.
    To the left was a modern office with computers, several large screens, two desks, leather swivel chairs, file cabinets, and a TV set. One of the chairs turned and a small man with a heavy mustache but otherwise clean shaven, with lots of dark hair and heavy brows, looked at Fouad. He didn’t stand.
    “Ah, yes, my friend from the West Bank. I’m pleased that you could come. We have much to talk about. Come, come, and sit near the table and the fruit. May I bring you something cool to drink? A cola or a lemonade? Let’s relax. I want to hear how things are going in Palestine. We’re never sure how true the news reports are. Come, come.”
    Fouad walked to the office and sat in the upholstered chair that President Kamil pointed to. Kamil was smaller than his pictures suggested. He must stand on a lot of boxes for photos. His black hair was shaggy and almost framed his face. His eyes came at Fouad in an intense stare, and he knew the president was evaluating him.
    “Try the figs and the dates,” the president said. “They are the new crop, just coming in. Delicious. Dates must be the perfect food. So sweet and good and they’ll keep for years.”
    Fouad tried one of the dates and smiled.
    “Now, Asrar Fouad, I can tell you are an anxious man. A man who has so much to do and so little time. I understand that we have some mutual friends. They have told me that you have a plan to help me bring America to her knees.”
    “Yes, President Kamil. I do have a plan that has been inthe works for half a year. We have teams in place. We have the logistics worked out. Only the last minute, in-fact preparations are waiting to be made. We will strike at the ultimate target that every soldier of Allah dreams about.”
    “But you need my assistance. This is what my friends in al-Qaida tell me. I was distressed when the news finally came out that our great friend Osama bin Laden was killed by the terrorist Americans in their criminal bombings in Afghanistan.”
    “Yes, a tragedy, but it perhaps has brought us closer together, cemented our many al-Qaida cells throughout the world into a more workable organization.”
    “The plan that you sent to me is practical? You can make it work despite the increased security in criminal America?”
    “Yes. The security there is laughable. We have penetrated it dozens of times with materials and goods about the same size and weight that we will need to slip our ultimate cargo into the United States. We do it from Mexico where the border is as porous as a sponge. It is there that we have the most secret operatives in place in their Border Patrol, and the inspectors who evaluate the truck shipments going through the San Ysidro border checkpoint.”
    President Kamil took a slow drink from a tall sweating glass that had been sitting on a coaster on his desk. He returned the glass, then peaked his fingers in front of his face and stared through them at Fouad. Neither spoke for a few moments. Then Kamil swiveled around and picked up a sheaf of letter-sized pages from his desk.
    “This is the only copy?”
    “It is. Our people have everything memorized. Usually we put nothing like this on paper, but you asked for it, so we provided it.”
    “I can assure you this document has not been duplicated here in Iraq.” He