“Right. Meanwhile, I think you’re reaching for the closest answer instead of the right one.”
“All I’m doing is sniffing around and following the scent. And I’m telling you there’s a stench coming from that Al Mahdi Center.”
Brodie looked across the street at the building. A couple of male Arabteens with their heads in their phones were walking toward the entrance and almost bumped into the heavily armed cops, who reprimanded them in German. The kids apologized and went quickly inside. He asked, “Has the BKA questioned anyone associated with the Islamic center?”
“That sounds like a question for the BKA.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I don’t have an inside track. Maybe Whitmore does. But I doubt she’ll tell you anything outside of the regularly scheduled programming. You and I aren’t here to solve the case. We’re here to plant our asses around that briefing table.” He added, “Optics.”
“I get it. But I have other plans.”
“Yeah, I like to earn my paycheck too. All I’m saying is, look where the signs point. Khazali network. Heroin. Hezbollah. When it comes to these Shia militias, don’t think jihadis blowing themselves up and chopping off heads. Think gangsters. Think Mafia. There’s a Lebanese or an Iranian Pablo Escobar somewhere in all this. Army CID cut off their funding source and they wanted to send a message, which is: Fuck with us and we fuck with you.” He added, “An eye for an eye.”
Brodie suddenly missed all the deathly dull FBI agents he’d dealt with throughout his career. David Kim was something else; a man preaching a gospel that he insisted others hear and believe. Brodie said, “I am here representing the United States Army in an investigation that to my knowledge has yet to uncover any evidence, even circumstantial. And we have no named suspects—only the usual collection of Islamic militants. But I’ll keep an open mind.”
“Please do.” Probably sensing he’d come on too strong, Kim added, “I appreciate you calling me to report, Scott. I know you didn’t have to do that.”
“I expect you to do the same.” Brodie hung up.
Maybe Kim was right, and the obvious explanation was the right one. Maybe it had been so long since Brodie had had a real case that he didn’t want it to be solved too quickly. Or by someone else.
A mournful prayer emanated from the Islamic center. A man’s voice, deep and solemn, was amplified from a speaker somewhere on the rooftop and reverberated down the narrow street.
Brodie remembered the call to prayer from his time in Iraq. One callalways came around this time of day, when the sun was slipping below the horizon.
Another group of Arabs—a handful of men in skullcaps and two women in hijabs—hurried through the doors. Brodie watched as the doors slowly swung shut. As the sky darkened the streetlamps blinked on up and down the street.
What were you doing here, Harry?
Vance’s lady friend Anna lived on the other side of the city. So why had Vance come to Neukölln? Well, if David Kim was right that Vance was conducting a secret investigation, and that investigation was related to the case involving the Khazali network and perhaps Hezbollah, then that very well could have led Harry Vance to this place.
Before he realized what he was doing, Brodie had crossed the street and was approaching the Al Mahdi Islamic Center. As he walked toward the door one of the cops stepped in front of him.
“Was wollen Sie hier?”
Brodie realized he was being racially profiled by these cops charged with protecting the Islamic center from violent white nationalists. He said, “I’m going to prayers.”
The cops exchanged a look, then the one in front of him asked in English, “You Muslim?”
“Of course. How about you?”
The cop didn’t reply, but said, “We need to see ID.”
Brodie produced his passport and handed it to the cop, who flipped through it and matched the photo with the man, then handed it back. “We must check you.”
“Fine.”
The cop slung his assault rifle, then gave Brodie a pat-down. Satisfied that he wasn’t armed, the cop stepped aside and said, “You go.”
“Allahu Akbar,” said Brodie. He opened the door and stepped inside.
CHAPTER 14
Brodie stood in a small foyer with brown linoleum flooring and yellow walls. A narrow staircase led to the second floor. Near the stairs was a folding table covered in religious pamphlets, and an easel with a whiteboard written in Arabic that looked like a list of scheduled events.
A few posters hung on the walls featuring religious leaders. Brodie spotted Ayatollah Khamenei, the Supreme Leader of Iran, who was dressed in a black robe and turban, superimposed next to a long Arabic quote. Another poster featured a man he recognized as Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani, the top Shi’ite religious figure in Iraq. Brodie had seen both men’s images plastered all over Shia areas of Baghdad, usually accompanied by a photo of Hassan Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah, whose photo was nowhere to be seen here in the lobby. Probably a wise choice in the event the police switched from guarding the doors to kicking them in.
