The Romen Society

by Henry Hack

  “No.”

  “Very close. I have studied their methods and researched their leader, Khalid al-Habib bin Yousef, extensively. In their first attack they used hundreds of terrorists and tried to use planes as well. Then their next attack – their so-called Third Jihad – was with a limited number of people, but those people had poisons capable of killing hundreds of thousands.”

  “But they failed both times,” Richter said.

  “Yes, but I’ve learned from their failures. I now know how to succeed.”

  “You have me interested. Please tell me more.”

  “I’ll be happy to, and then we can concentrate on recruiting a few more who think as we do and begin to build our new organization.”

  4

  Hthreat arry Cassidy had thoroughly reviewed the report on the new terrorist Carl Petersen had prepared. He was sitting at his desk mulling over its ramifications when his intercom buzzed. “It’s Pop Hunter on line three for you, Commissioner,” Charlie Carson said.

  “Thanks,” he said, punching the flashing button on the telephone. “How’d it go, Pop? Are you now once more gainfully employed?”

  “That I am,” he said. “Just wanted to say thanks for the intro.”

  “What division are you in?”

  “None yet, but you must have been psychic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going undercover, but not in the old folk’s home as you suggested.”

  “Where then?”

  “Can’t say. It’s confidential. I’m in private security now.”

  “Give me a break you old buzzard.”

  “Now, now, Hoppy – but I will tell you this. It’s a large, well-known Manhattan firm and they think a lot of their upper-level managers have their hands in the goodie jar. I’m the new Executive Assistant for Fiscal Management Quality Performance Objectives reporting directly to the CEO who is the one who called us in.”

  “And what the hell does the Executive, whatever you said you are, actually do?”

  “Whatever I want. Nobody knows, but I have the authority to look into all aspects of the business.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Time will tell. Anything new on The Romens?”

  “Nothing yet. We’re waiting for their next action, and we don’t have any further info on them at all. Maybe Millard’s murder was just a one-shot deal.”

  “Sounds just like when the OBL-911 terrorists began,” Pop said.

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “I guess time will tell with that, too,” Pop said. “Gotta run now and buy a few new suits.”

  “Okay, and good luck, old friend. Keep in touch.”

  As contrasted to Thursday’s hectic activity, Friday wound down peacefully and when the night and the weekend was passing without any incident from The Romens, or anyone else for that matter, a sense of relief began to enter Harry’s body. He and Susan were strolling through Central Park on Sunday afternoon. The weather had changed and a mellow sun filled the clear blue October sky. The leaves were at their peak color and every so often the warm, gentle southwest breeze stirred a few dozen to float like red, yellow and gold confetti to the ground.

  “You look happy and relaxed,” Susan said, noticing Harry glancing around with a smile on his face and inhaling the fragrant autumn air.

  “Why shouldn’t I be happy? I’m married to a beautiful, brainy, rich woman who I truly love and who loves me – you do love me, right?”

  “Of course, you fool,” she laughed. “That’s why I hang around. Maybe someday, though, when you lose your handsome Irish looks, and you’re no longer the PC, and your sex drive disappears, I’ll dump you for a younger man.”

  “Hah! And what do you think you’ll look like then, Mrs. Cassidy?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t think about that. I want time to stand still right now.”

  “I’m with you on that,” he said as they sat down on a park bench.

  “May it last awhile. At least a few years of peace and happiness.”

  “Your peace is going to be short-lived when that big case begins in earnest.”

  “Ah, screw the fluoride fanatics. Maybe the case will settle out.”

  “Good attitude,” he said. “Let’s go get coffee and ice cream at Tavern on the Green and while away the rest of this beautiful afternoon.”

  “Deal,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Harry had just finished shaving on Monday morning when the phone rang. It was Chief O’Halloran. “What’s up, Bill?” he asked.

  “Looks as if The Romens were active last night and early this morning. Got the TV on?”

  “It will be now,” he said.

  “This is what Carl Petersen just told me. There have been several arsons and murders around the country – at least nine confirmed so far. The targets were auto dealerships that primarily sell SUV’s or high-end luxury cars. The buildings and vehicles were torched and the dealer was murdered at, or near, his home.”

  “Two questions,” Harry said. “How do we know it was The Romens, and are any of the incidents in New York?”

  “The murdered dealers had the same white cardboard sign hung around their necks and all had two bullets in their heads. And no, nothing in New York. Most were in the Midwest and on the West Coast. The closest one to us is in Philadelphia.”

  “I guess that’s some good news.”

  “For now,” O’Halloran said.

  “Call Carson for me and have him set up a staff meeting when I get in. We should have more info from Carl by then. I’m sure the Mayor will want an early briefing from me.”

  “What was that all about?” Susan asked.

  “The Romens struck big time late last night. Several murders, hundreds of gas guzzlers torched. I better get going to the office right now.”

  “And just yesterday in the park we were saying maybe we’d have a few years of peace and good times,” she said.

  “I’m beginning to think these wackos are doing this just to screw up our two lives,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck in court today.”

  Inspector Carl Petersen, looking shaken and tired, shuffled a bunch of reports and began, “It looks as if a total of twelve dealerships were torched by The Romens and twelve persons murdered. The dead include nine male dealers, two female sales managers and one male sales manager. It appears the sales managers were targeted because the three dealers at those locations were out of town on vacation or business.”

  “Same MO?” Chief O’Halloran asked.

  “Yes. All twelve had two bullets to the head, and all had a cardboard sign around their necks stating, Death To Those Who Would Destroy Our Mother Earth – The Romens”

  “Any one caught?”

  “No, and no witnesses have come forward nor has any evidence been discovered.”

  “Are all the Joint Terrorist Task Forces taking these cases?” Harry asked.

  “Yes, sir. We are claiming jurisdiction due to the fact this is obviously a terrorist group which has struck across state lines. We’ve already been in contact with the local law enforcement agencies and they are welcoming our intervention.”

  “Seems as if they are a fairly large group,” O’Halloran said.

  “We figure they needed at least two guys to do the murders and three or four to commit the arsons at each location,” Petersen said. “So at least sixty or seventy.”

  “Do we have any more intelligence at all on this group?”

  “Very little. Various agencies have undercovers in all four of the organizations I mentioned at our last briefing. All heard rumblings of a new group that was recruiting members with the goal of pushing things along more rapidly. But none of the UC’s was approached to join, even though they voiced their opinions more violence was indeed necessary.”

  “Sounds as if they’re screening their members very carefully,” Dan Snyder said. “It would probably be difficult to get a UC in there.”

  “
If we even knew when and where they meet,” Petersen said. “And I would be concerned a potential recruit might have to prove himself worthy by committing a murder. No agency could condone that.”

  “Have The Romens contacted any of the media with demands yet?” Harry asked. “That would be the usual procedure.”

  “No, not yet, but maybe they won't do so. Their message is pretty clear after all.”

  “Yes, it is,” O’Halloran said. “Anything else, Carl?”

  “That’s about it for now,” he said. “I’m heading down to D.C. to meet with my western and mid-western counterparts this afternoon. They have their hands full.”

  “Then I guess the only positive factor for us is that New York wasn’t targeted.”

  “So far. Commissioner, as you know, my position entails a lot of time away from New York. Is it possible you could re-consider your decision to transfer John McKee? His presence here would be invaluable to me.”

  “No. Charlie Carson is putting the finishing touches on the promotion order this week and the transfers will be effective in two weeks. Don’t ask me about John again.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. If there are no more questions from anyone, I’ll be on my way.”

  We have three new members joining us here today,” Lieutenant John McKee said. “The official order will be out in a week or so, and your transfers will become official at that time. Unfortunately, I will be transferred from this unit as I am being promoted to captain. Inspector Carl Petersen will serve double-duty as this team’s head and as the terrorism coordinator for the eastern portion of the country.”

  “Congratulations, John,” Nick Faliani said, “but how come you’re not smiling?”

  “Still sharp, I see,” John said. “I am not happy leaving here, especially with this new threat popping up.”

  “Want me to give Harry a call?”

  “I don’t think that would be advisable, my friend. We’ll discuss this in private later.”

  Nick got the message and shut his mouth as John continued. “So it will be Detective Nick Faliani with Agent Joe Ramos and Detective Danny Boyland with agent George Washington. Danny, will you begin and introduce yourself to the others? Tell us a bit about your family and career, if you will.”

  While Danny was speaking of his career in Nassau Homicide, and his nickname of Danny Boy, which he said they were welcome to call him, he was trying to figure out which of the two male agents was his new partner. The black male named George Washington was the logical, if stereotypical, choice. As Danny was returning to his seat the black male said, “If you were wondering who your new partner is, it is I – George Washington.”

  Danny smiled and shook George’s offered hand. “I kinda figured that out.”

  “Aha! The man is a detective. You think you’re smart honky? You prejudiced…”

  Washington ranted on for a few minutes in a manner strongly reminiscent of the comedian Eddie Murphy, and had everyone laughing hysterically.

  “Based on Danny’s Force record I can attest to his lack of prejudice, George,” McKee said. “And if that isn’t enough for you, he’s got himself a brown wife.”

  “Only means he got enough good sense to hook up with a sister. But he may not like us black men at all.”

  Danny, who was laughing harder than he had in months said, “No, George, I like black men, too.”

  He regretted having said that the instant it left his mouth as George went into a new tirade beginning with, “You like black men? Are you a queer motherfucker? John, did you partner me up with a fag? He must be a fag if his nickname is Danny Boy. “You ain’t gonna sing that crap to me, are you, Danny Boy. You ain’t gonna find yourself another Dragon Lady are you… ?”

  McKee, who was laughing as hard as the rest of them, finally managed to restore order. “Okay, now that we know some of us like each other, let’s finish with the introductions. Agent Washington, if you will be serious, please.”

  “I am a ghetto rat from Chicago who saw the light and joined the forces of good thirteen years ago. My accomplishments are many, but most were of a highly-secret nature which must remain undisclosed to you ordinary cops.”

  “Talk about bullshit,” Danny mumbled under his breath.

  Nick Faliani stood up and told of his career in the Nine-Five Squad, Midtown North Squad and Manhattan District Attorney’s Squad. He concluded, “I am happy to be back here with all of you. Let’s track down these Romen bastards soon.”

  Agent Joe Ramos was a Latino from a Texas border town with ten years in the Bureau, and had various levels of experience in many areas including some high-profile kidnapping cases and had taken part in the Waco debacle, a situation he said he would like to forget.

  Walt Kobak, the assistant director in charge of the New York office, had been leaning against the doorway in the back of the room, unobserved, listening to the new men and women relate their backgrounds. He cleared his throat and said, “By the way I have to verify Agent Washington was telling you the truth awhile ago. As awful as he is as a comedian, he is a good investigator and has successfully resolved many high-level national security cases.”

  “Thank you, sir,” George said. “See, the boss knows President Washington never lies, but Mister Director what’s this crap about me being an awful comedian…”

  Walt Kobak smiled and left the room. He was content with John McKee’s choices.

  By Wednesday morning things had calmed down a bit in the media. The Romens had not made an attempt at communication nor committed further attacks. That afternoon Harry and Walt Kobak joined Mayor MacDonald at a media briefing. Since New York had not been the subject of an attack by The Romens, there wasn’t much to say. “Commissioner Cassidy and Director Kobak have already beefed up our Joint Terrorist Task Force,” said the Mayor. “We must be prepared in case this despicable group decides to attack us.”

  “Have you gotten any intelligence concerning the motives or demands of The Romens?” asked a newspaper reporter.

  “No,” Harry said, “but it seems obvious they are an eco-terrorist group and they are targeting those who sell vehicles which consume large amounts of gasoline.”

  “Any idea how large a group they are?” asked the reporter from Channel 3, the all-news cable network.

  “No,” Walt said.

  “Do you think they will increase their attacks to include New York?” asked the reporter from the Post.

  “We just don’t know,” Harry said. “They have not communicated to anyone we know of, and they didn’t forewarn of their previous attacks.”

  That was about it and Harry returned to his office for his afternoon coffee and dialed John McKee over at the Task Force. “Anything new on The Romens?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” he said. “Maybe Carl will call later with something after his meetings.”

  “All right,” Harry said, noticing the definite coolness in John’s voice.

  5

  The Savior and his apostles had enjoyed their successful attacks for just two days before getting down to work to put phase three, the last phase of the first campaign into action. The photos of the murders and the blazing auto dealerships had been distributed and viewed on the internet and downloaded for posterity. Then all e-mail addresses had been changed and all cell phones replaced. The next operation was set to begin in a few days and the Savior knew this would be the acid test for his ninety-six disciples. As his apostles had successfully accomplished their task, each disciple would be required to pull the trigger and murder someone up close and personal. And this was the test that would uncover the rats, if there were any.

  Theodore Gillenbock had hated al-Qaida and their ilk – not that he was anti-Islam and not because of the terror they were creating all over the world – but for the fact that the cause of protecting the earth's deteriorating environment had been put on the back burner, and almost entirely forgotten, as the government focused on them since the attacks of September 11. But from his bitterness came a revelat
ion – their tactics could be directly applied to his movement and would allow a new organization to be created that might finally force the United States, and ultimately the world, to stop and reverse the destruction they were causing to Mother Earth.

  His studies of OBL-911’s campaigns easily exposed the reasons for their attaining only limited successes – their failures came from within – they simply failed to properly screen their members and thus had allowed informers and non-dedicated people into their ranks. Ted Gillenbock vowed to not make the same mistakes.

  Ted’s and George Richter’s time-consuming scrutiny and checking took them a full two years to select their eleven apostles. Another two years were spent by each apostle, supervised by Ted and George, in choosing his eight disciples. Each disciple had to prove he was a committed environmentalist willing to destroy vast amounts of property and willing to commit murder in furtherance of their cause. So far all ninety-six disciples appeared to be fully dedicated and all had taken part in the arsons at the car dealerships. Now the murders had to be fulfilled. Each disciple would be required to kill a specified target under the direct supervision and observation of two apostles. The Savior reasoned the failure to do so would indicate only one of two things – a true lack of dedication to the cause – all of them had stated repeatedly they would kill when asked – or the disciple was an undercover law enforcement officer. In either case the two apostle's orders were clear – kill both the target and the disciple.

  As the day approached for the start of the next phase of the operation, the Savior had posed a question to his apostles – how many of the ninety-six would fail in their mission? While all twelve apostles claimed none of their eight disciples would fail, the consensus was no more than three would fail to meet the test. The process would take several weeks to complete based on the logistical facts of having two apostles at each scene and the necessity of carefully selecting the target and the location of the murder. Now it was time. The disciples’ final exam was at hand.