While Watson let that sink in, Stone got up, walked over to the corner table, and poured himself a glass of water. Even though he’d been briefed on all of this earlier, the number still seemed outrageous. Forty thousand tons translated into eighty million pounds. Eighty million pounds. How could that be? Who besides the military or mining companies needed even ten tons of the stuff, let alone a thousand tons. But forty thousand tons? Where was all of it? How much had terrorists already stockpiled?

Watson resumed. “We think Leonard Bridgestone made a connection with a Syrian official when he was stationed on the northern border of Iraq. He and his brother appear to have obtained around one ton. As you know, Semtex is extremely potent. In 1988, less than a pound was molded into a Toshiba cassette recorder and used to bring down Pan Am flight one-oh-three over Lockerbie, Scotland, and an undetermined amount was used to bomb the USS Cole when she was moored in Yemen. Semtex was also used to bomb our embassy in Nairobi.”

“Now,” Stone McBride said, “we come to the point of this meeting. Our missing man is Special Agent James Ortega. All you recognize his last name because his grandfather is former FBI Director Frank Ortega, who served in that capacity under two of the portraits on these walls. Among other things, Frank Ortega is a lifelong friend of mine. We were in the same unit in Korea. James Ortega is the third generation to serve with the bureau.”

“He volunteered for the job,” Watson added. “When he failed to make a scheduled check-in and officially became MIA, the FBI had to assume the worst. In his last report, he saw several pallets of Semtex being unloaded from a rental truck and stacked inside the compound’s main building. We’ve had the compound under constant surveillance since his report. As far as we know, the Semtex is still there.”

The chairman leaned on the table with both hands. “I called this meeting to give everyone a heads-up on what’s about to happen. The FBI will be raiding the compound tomorrow at fourteen-thirty hours, local time. The FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force will conduct the raid, so we can count on a certain degree of media fallout. Something of this magnitude can’t be kept from the press for long. We’re hitting that compound at full force tomorrow. I’ll brief you afterward on the status of James Ortega, the Semtex, and the teams that conduct the raid. Until then, thank you all again for coming on such short notice.”

The committee members stood, gathered their belongings, and silently filed out of the room.

Watson started to leave. Stone stopped him. “Not you, Leaf.”

Watson faced the senator.

Nathan McBride’s father gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat. I’ve been in touch with the president. We have a few things to discuss.”

* * *