“What’s her name?”
“Crystal Aylmer is her maiden name. She was the daughter of a successful husband and wife realtor team, and attended the University of Colorado in Boulder. She became involved with radical groups there almost from her first month in school, and drifted to the militant Islamic factions. After graduating, she taught school for several years, until her expressed views pretty much got her blackballed. After that, her parents supported her. A year ago, she stopped all contact with them. She went off the grid for several months. After your report, we found she and Samir were living in a home in El Paso rented under her forged identity, Crystal Adams.” He read the next question in her facial expression before she spoke, “They cleaned out and left within the last few days.”
“Do you know where they are now?”
“Not pinpointed, but we know they’re in Mexico. We’ll get them.”
Hunter nodded. “And what about this Asadullah, this Holland guy? Where’d he come from?”
“Holland Ziazikov, also known as Asadullah, the Lion of Allah. He was born to a former Soviet Spetsnaz officer and a woman from the Netherlands while they lived in Chechnya. Both his parents were killed in an attack in Grozny when Holland was eight years old. The rebel leaders took the boy with them, and for a number of years, he was not heard from. Then, about ten years ago, another name began to surface occasionally, usually associated with a terrorist attack of some sort. Within three years, the name Asadullah was regularly being heard, or reported from the CIA’s deep cover operatives and informants. The name Holland was almost nonexistent, and not connected to the attacks. But now, with your information, we’re tying a lot of things together very quickly.”
Hunter asked, “How bad a guy is he?”
“Top tier as a planner and leader of attacks that leave multiple casualties. Almost every big one you’ve heard of in the last five, six years has had his name tied to it.”
“Even the Boston Marathon?”
“Definitely that one. He taught them how to assemble the bombs. Not personally, but he got the information to them.”
Hunter said, “Bombs in a pressure cooker.”
“Like the ones he used years before, in the train attack in India. The Boston bombs were not made to the same specifications as the Mumbai bombs. We think that was because the Tsarnaev brothers were amateurs and weren’t actually trained.
“Dang.”
“That you and the Sheriff stopped him is something he won’t forget.”
“You think he’ll come after us?”
“I can’t say, but he’ll do something, unless we stop him.”
Hunter thought for a moment, “Are you working with Mexican law enforcement?”
“We aren’t, but the CIA is.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes it is, but don’t forget that Asadullah has worked right under the noses of the world’s best military and law enforcement people for a decade and has never even been positively identified, until now, with your informant’s information. You need to understand that Holland is known for payback.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Keep them open for Floyd Riffey, too. He has to have more information we could use.”
“I will.”
Bob had to give her one zinger, “You had him sitting right next to you, and you lost him, right?”
Hunter’s neck reddened, “Things were a little hectic at the time.”
“Uh-huh.”
Barry glanced at his partner, not happy, and said, “You did one hell of a job, Agent Kincaid. I doubt that any of us could have done as well.”
The Chief stood and said, “I think you men have all the information that she can deliver at this point. Thank you for coming. You can let yourselves out.” He shook their hands and they left. He said, “Sit down, Hunter.”
She sat, wondering what was coming now. He said, “I want you to know that I consider you a hero. One hundred percent. Don’t let anything they said bother you.”
Hunter thought of a line attributed to the wonderful fictional character, Travis Magee: There are no hundred percent heroes. That was the truth.