Free Target America: A Sniper Elite Novel by Scott McEwen Page A

American citizen last year.” The House of Saud was the Saudi royal family that ruled Saudi Arabia and promoted Salafi Islam. The family was composed of roughly fifteen thousand members, though most of the wealth and power resided with an elite two thousand.
    “A member of the Saudi royal family.” Shroyer took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay. So who’s the other guy?”
    “We don’t know yet,” Pope said. “We’re working to pin down the accent now. It could be Russian, but it’s more probably Chechen.”
    “When was this recorded?” Webb asked.
    “About seven this morning, Las Vegas time, and both men were within half a mile of the Luxor casino during the conversation—not more than a quarter mile apart. I believe that’s significant.”
    Shroyer stole a suspicious glance at Webb. “Bob, electronic eavesdropping isn’t in your job description—as I seem to recall you pointing out not too long ago. CIA doesn’t even have jurisdiction within the US.”
    “That’s never stopped us before,” Pope said matter-of-factly.
    Webb cleared his throat, hoping to avert a blowup on Shroyer’s part. “How long have you been spying on Faisal, Bob?”
    Pope blinked once. “Since he applied for American citizenship.”
    “On your own authority?” Shroyer blurted.
    “On a hunch, George.”
    Shroyer held his temples for a long moment and then looked up. “All right, let’s get past that. What exactly is this telephone conversation supposed to mean?”
    “I think they were talking about the New Mexico Event.”
    “It sounded to me like they could’ve been talking about anything.”
    “But they were talking about the explosion,” Pope said confidently. “The Chechen said, ‘Everything is going according to plan.’ It has to be related. The timing of this conversation is too close . . . too cryptic.”
    Shroyer was still stuck on the fact Pope had so blatantly overstepped his authority and jurisdiction, jeopardizing the CIA director’s own position. At least now he had all he needed to get rid of the enigmatic pain in the ass once and for all. But did he dare? There were rumors about Pope having secret files on various people within the agency and elsewhere in DC. And if the son of a bitch had time enough to spy on apparent nobodies like Muhammad Faisal, who the hell else was he busy using government time to spy on?
    “I would hardly call this evidence of any kind,” he said.
    “There’s another file on the flash drive,” Pope replied.
    Shroyer opened a photo file. The first photo was of an Arabic man dressed in a blue Western-style suit with an open collar. He was in his midthirties, with dark features and a closely trimmed beard.
    “That’s Faisal,” Pope said. “In the next photo, you’ll see him eating breakfast with a Salafi fundamentalist named Alik Zakayev two weeksago at an inn in the Bavarian Alps. Zakayev is Chechen—a known member of the Riyad us-Saliheyn Martyrs’ Brigade.”
    Webb sat forward in his chair to see the photo better. “Zakayev . . . the same guy the Russians turned over to us in connection with the Boston bombings?”
    Pope nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact, but he had nothing to do with Boston. That’s why he was released from Guantanamo back in June.”
    Shroyer shot a look at Webb. “Why wasn’t I made aware of that?”
    The deputy director shrugged. “It’s news to me as well.”
    “Given their unlikely location in that photo,” Pope went on, “combined with the fact they’re both Salafi Muslims, I think we should seriously consider—”
    “Wait a second,” Shroyer said, holding up his hand. “Isn’t the Saudi family Wahhabi?”
    “Salafi and Wahhabi are one in the same,” Pope answered. “The only difference is in what they call themselves. Some Salafi find the term Wahhabi offensive, but that’s a regional issue, nothing to do with a difference in beliefs.” He pushed his glasses up onto his nose. “As I was