Three,” replied Kevin McCauliff as Harvath readied his pen to take down the information. “Each from a different phone in the group, but all to the same number.”
Harvath had chastised himself for not thinking of this earlier. If they knew which phones the suicide bombers had been using, it made sense to check on their call records. It was McCauliff’s mention of a contact at Nextel that had planted the seed in the back of Harvath’s mind.
“And what were you able to find out about the number?” asked Harvath.
McCauliff drew in a deep breath and said, “You’re not going to like this.”
“Unless you’re going to tell me that these guys were dialing the front desk at the Defense Intelligence Agency, I think I can handle it.”
“The calls went to an alphanumeric pager purchased two weeks ago which was paid for in cash along with upfront local service.”
“One-way or two-way pager?”
“One-way,” answered McCauliff. “VHF frequency with really no way to trace it.”
“You’re right,” replied Harvath. “I don’t like it. The guy could be anywhere.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Thanks for checking into it for me.”
“That’s what friends are for, right? Listen, if you need anything else call me back, but if I’m away from my desk, do me a favor and don’t leave a message, call me on my cell or send me a benign text. Okay? I’m still pretty keen on keeping my job here, and I never know when Big Brother is looking at my communications.”
With those words, a series of tumblers clicked in Harvath’s head. Excited by the idea that had just flashed across his mind, he gripped his cell phone tighter and said, “If I asked you to, could you send a text message to that alphanumeric pager and make it look like it came from the cell phone I liberated from the NYPD?”
“Sure,” replied McCauliff, “but why?”
“Because I think maybe we can make Mohammed come to the mountain.”