The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3)

by Frances Fletcher

  Rashid gazed from the book to the guard standing in the back of the room. The guard didn’t move and Rashid turned to Richie with a raised eyebrow.

  “The book’s been inspected by the corrections officer who frisked me.” Rashid must have thought Richie was tricking him somehow. Prisoner gifts were usually held until after the visitor left. Richie had bypassed the usual procedure by bringing the book in himself. “And he okayed it with muscle-head over there.” Richie tilted his head at the guard.

  Rashid struggled to keep a straight face. Richie could tell that he wanted to smile, but his tough guy persona wouldn’t let him. Bringing the book had been a good idea. It had broken the ice wall between them.

  Rashid picked up the book and read the title, Thinking and Destiny. “I can get into this.”

  “Deep stuff. Takes time to absorb.” Richie watched Rashid browse the pages for a minute. “I haven’t read it yet. When you’re done, let me know if it’s worth my time.”

  “Time, I have plenty.”

  “I’m out of time. That’s why I came here.”

  “What makes you think I can help?” Rashid’s gaze darted to the guard and then all around the room.

  “My gut says you know who did September 11.”

  “Everyone knows al Qaeda did it.” Rashid chewed his lips.

  “The plan to blame al Qaeda for the attacks started long before September 11.” Richie took a deep breath and folded his hands. He had never seen Rashid nervous before. I might as well go all in and trust him. “Probably even before February 26, 1993.”

  Rashid looked at Richie’s folded hands, paused, and placed his own hands on the tabletop. He spread his fingers wide and looked into Richie’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

  Rashid was trying to tell him something. He wanted to talk, but he was holding back. Richie would change direction. “What do you know about the Mossad?” he asked.

  “Israeli intelligence. Friendly with the CIA.”

  “A moving company on the Jersey waterfront is Mossad owned.” Richie tapped the table with his pointer finger. “This company’s employees, or should I say Mossad operatives, dressed up as Muslims and waited for the first plane to hit. Then they cheered on the attacks and waited for the collapse.”

  Rashid stayed silent and closed his eyes.

  Richie let him think for a moment and then placed his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “I need your help to figure this out.”

  Rashid exhaled and opened his eyes. “I wondered how the CIA had talked the owner into using that warehouse to make the van bombs.” He glanced at the guard and lowered his voice. “The CIA must have been working with the Mossad back in ’93.”

  “Back up a minute.” Richie edged to the front of his seat. “The CIA did what?”

  Rashid tapped his chin with steepled fingers. “The CIA made the Hudson River tunnel van bombs in the warehouse on the Jersey side of the tunnels.” His neck tensed. “A CIA operative told me the bombs were duds, but he lied. Or maybe he didn’t even know the explosives were real.”

  What? Richie’s clenched his fists and shook his head. “The CIA made the van bomb I drove into the Lincoln Tunnel.” It was so hard to believe, but it rang true. “Why?”

  “Don’t you get it?”

  Richie rubbed his temples. Yeah, I’m getting a freaking headache. “What does the CIA have to do with Mossad-owned moving companies?”

  “Nothing.” Rashid remained stone-faced. “Everything.”

  I thought he was done with games. “Stop playing me.”

  “It’s complicated.” Rashid rolled his eyes toward the guard and slightly tilted his head. He spoke very low. “The Mossad and the CIA work together, Richie.”

  “But don’t they have different missions, I mean the Mossad is Israeli and the CIA is American.” Richie whispered.

  “It’s a web.” Rashid spread his fingers on the table. “The Shadow Intelligence Network controls all the intelligence agencies.”

  Rashid was just making up stories now, and wasting his time. He pushed his chair back and sprung to his feet. “Screw you and your bullshit.”

  Rashid turned to the guard, who had taken a step forward. “Sorry, CO, he saw a bug.” He pretended to brush it away. “Sit down, Richie. I’m telling you the truth here.”

  Richie took a breath and indicated to the guard that he had calmed down. He eased back onto his seat and wondered who the real prisoner here was.

  “It’s like this. . .” Rashid placed one large hand over the other, fingers still spread out. His overlapping fingers created a multidimensional web. “Compartmentalized parts of the CIA and the Mossad work for the Shadow Intelligence Network, which in turn works for one-world-government insiders. The insiders run the intelligence agencies for their own benefit. No agency is loyal to its own country, just loyal to a substantial tax-free paycheck.”

  Rashid hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was complicated. Looking down at Rashid’s hands, Richie let out a long breath. He pictured the compartmentalized, yet connecting web, and it began to make sense. He lifted his head and looked into Rashid’s eyes, ready to read his reaction. “Who are you, really?”

  “I’m the same as you.” Rashid drooped in his seat and relaxed his hands. “Except, I took a wrong turn. You’re on the right path.”

  Still staring at Rashid, he saw patience in his expression. He seemed sincere, even if Richie hadn’t a clue what he meant with this ‘path’ talk.

  “We’re just Bed-Stuy thugs,” Rashid continued.

  Okay, now he’s getting what Rashid meant, but he’s talking ancient history. Richie shook his head. “Back in the day, sure. But not anymore.”

  “So now I’m a CIA prostitute and you’re Dirty Harry.”

  “How long have you been an operative?”

  “They recruited me when I returned from Afghanistan. Paid me a lot of money.”

  “It’s not doing you any good in jail.”

  “Tell me about it.” Rashid shrugged. “It sucks being the fall guy.”

  “Turn them in.”

  “They’ll kill me before I can get anyone to listen.”

  “We’ll go to the media.”

  Rashid shook his head. “The insiders own the papers.”

  “The FBI then.” Richie jutted his chin at Rashid and nodded. “Special Agent Henderson kept me alive while I worked for you.”

  “No feds. No way.”

  “Henderson never let me down, not once.” Richie took a deep breath. “I’ve trusted him with my life, still do, and so can you.”

  “He’s just one honest FBI guy in a bubbling pool of lye.”

  “So you’re just giving up?” Richie spread his arms out. “This is your home now?”

  “I get three squares and lift weights every day.” Rashid shrugged. “Still pray.”

  “What about the next staged terrorist attack?” Richie’s jaw tensed. “Those dumbbells will feel awful heavy while a city smolders.”

  Rashid studied his fingers and his face tensed.

  “You have to expose the CIA and the Mossad,” said Richie. “It’s the only way to stop them from doing it again.”

  He shook his head and looked at his ebony-colored hand. “I’m no white knight.”

  “You could be.” Richie cleared his throat. “I’m not giving up. I can’t give up. I need your testimony to prove the link between corrupt CIA and Mossad agents and the men who control them.”

  Rashid’s mouth twitched and he blinked. “You still don’t get it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You can’t beat them.” His face drooped. “The insiders control it all.”

  “I have only one connection to the Mossad and the CIA.” Richie tapped the table and then pointed at Rashid. “You’re it! You’re all I got. I need you on my team, Rashid.”

  Rashid straightened his shoulders. He looked at Richie and his eyes twinkled with hope. “Well. I am tired of eating prison food.”

  Richie took a deep
breath. “I’ll get you out before you finish reading that book.”

  “It’s a thick book.”

  “Yeah it is, but it does have an ending.”

  Rashid grinned. “What have I got to lose?”

  “Good man.” Richie signaled the guard. “I’m done.”

  The guard came over to escort Rashid back to his cell, and Rashid handed him the book. The guard flipped through the pages and returned it.

  Rashid turned to Richie, and waved the book in the air. “Thanks, for more than just this.”

  “Thank you, Rashid.” Richie watched him leave walking tall and with purpose. He had turned an old enemy into an ally. In fact, it seemed now that he never had been an enemy. Everything was so damn upside down.

  Chapter 33

  After Richie passed the toll booth into New Jersey, he kept the window rolled all the way down, hoping the fresh air would keep him awake. When he reached top highway speed the wind whipped around the interior of the truck. Nice. So much better than a face slap every couple of minutes. He was crazy to drive straight through again without sleep. He had made such great time so he just continued driving, but exhaustion crashed over him in Ohio, and he’d been cruising on autopilot ever since. Eva’s place was three hours away, and he couldn’t drive any further.

  Almost twenty-four hours had passed since he met Todd on the waterfront, twenty-four hours since he last slept. But it was too late to check into a motel. Desperate to sleep for an hour or two, he scanned the highway signs for the next rest area. He spotted the next exit sign and sighed with relief. He would have yahooed had he the energy when he recognized Art Henderson’s town.

  He exited and pulled onto the side of the road. Art had to be home. If he wasn’t, he’d have to crash right here. He couldn’t drive much further. He hit Art up on his Nextel and he answered right away.

  “What’s wrong, Richie?” Art asked in an alarmed whisper.

  “Nothing,” Richie said quickly and winced. “Sorry for calling so late.’’ Art must be in bed, trying not to wake his wife.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m in Bloomsbury, on the way back from visiting Rashid.” Richie couldn’t hold back a yawn. “Can I crash for a couple of hours?”

  “I’ll meet you out front. Need directions?”

  “Nope, I’m good.” Richie yawned again. “And Art, thanks.”

  The brick ranch stood out, even at night. The driveway had reflectors all along the edging. He parked on the street so his motor and car door wouldn’t wake the household. Art waited under the porch light.

  “Don’t you look cute in your jammies,” Richie teased. And he did look cute, and neat. Always neat. The pajama sleeves and legs were creased down the middle. “No necktie?”

  Art rolled his eyes. “Wait ’til you get married. No more boxers for you either.”

  Me, married? I’d wear stupid-ass pajamas if Eva asked. But he knew she wouldn’t. She might even ask him to sleep without boxers. Richie smiled and reached out to shake Art’s hand. “Thanks for this, Art. I can’t keep my eyes open another minute.”

  “I’ll show you to the guest bedroom.” He walked through the kitchen and down the hall, and motioned Richie into the bedroom. “You can tell me about the meeting with Rashid in the morning.”

  Richie looked at Art standing in the bedroom doorway. “But the family will be up then. Come in for a minute.”

  Art reached into a bureau and placed a set of pajamas on the bed. “What did you learn?”

  “Remember during the takedown of the Day of Terror plot you had to time it just right because you didn’t know where the Hudson River tunnel van bombs had been built.”

  “How could I forget?” Art ran his fingers through his short hair. “I got my first grays from that whole fiasco.”

  “Rashid said they were built in the Moving System warehouse by CIA operatives.” Saying it out loud was just as shocking as hearing it for the first time.

  “Son of a bitch!” Art fisted his hands. “It was a setup from the very beginning.”

  Richie closed the bedroom door and lifted his eyebrows. Art never cursed. How was he going to handle the rest? He clapped Art on the back. “You better sit. It gets worse.”

  Art’s eyes grew wide. He sighed, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked up at Richie.

  “He said the CIA operatives are part of a Shadow Intelligence Network.”

  “Shadow Intelligence Network?” Art cocked his head. “Never heard of it, but I’ll start digging first thing in the morning.”

  “Rashid agreed to testify, but he’s scared operatives from this Shadow Intelligence Network will kill him. He’s Fed-shy as well, but I convinced him that you could help. Will you come with me when I go back?”

  “Absolutely, but we have to keep it off the record. I don’t know if my office has been compromised. I’m not sure of anything anymore. If this Shadow Intelligence Network is real, it’s a game changer.”

  “It might explain everything.” Richie’s stomach clenched. “I have a real bad feeling that we’ll be wandering in the dark while these Shadow Intelligence Network operatives wear night-vision goggles.” He exhaled. “I hope they don’t mow us down.”

  “Richie, we don’t need fancy gadgets. We’ll just keep on doing what we’ve always done.”

  “At least we now know that we’ve been wearing blinders all along, and can take them off.” Richie yawned and pointed at the pajamas folded on the bed. “And I sure as hell won’t put those on.”

  Laughing, Art stood and opened the bedroom door. “Just make sure you’re wearing more than underwear when you join the family for breakfast.”

  “Good night,” Richie said with a smile and held out his hand. “And Art, thanks for letting me crash.”

  Art grasped Richie’s forearm with both hands. “Thank you for trusting me with all of this . . .” He looked at the rug for a moment and then looked up at Richie. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Rashid as soon as I found out.”

  “I understand about the whole confidentiality thing, Art. Really, I get it.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if need-to-know is the reason September 11 happened.” He turned red. “From now on, I’m telling you everything.”

  “Art, I respect the risk you’re taking. I’ll validate whatever you confide to me some other way. I’ll never reveal you as the source.” He danced from foot to foot. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Come on.” Art smiled and walked out of the room. “I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 34

  Richie arrived at work Monday morning eager to update his case notes. The few hours’ sleep at Art’s house had done him wonders, or maybe it was the talk they’d had. In any case, the puzzle pieces were falling into place. But it was too fragmented to digest. As soon as he got to his desk, he’d pull out all his files and the link diagram he had started. He’d adjust the diagram with the new information and maybe a whole picture would begin to emerge.

  He turned the corner into his aisle, stopped short, and checked his wristwatch. Art had shown him a short cut that bypassed the morning traffic on the expressway. He was fifteen minutes early, so why was the lieutenant pacing in front of his desk?

  “You’re not late,” Lieutenant Jordan said. “The DA phoned me first thing. He agrees that your case is solid.”

  Richie sunk into his chair; his legs felt a little shaky. Was he finally getting the green light to lock up Dewer Rock?

  The lieutenant sat on the edge of his desk. “The DA has assigned two assistants to draft the arrest and search warrants. He’s sending someone over for all your evidence vouchers and case folders. Originals, no copies.”

  “Originals? No, Lieu, no.” Richie stood up. “Why the hell does he need the originals?”

  “He said because of the sensitivity of the case, he’s initiating a new procedure for the chain of evidence.”

  “The feds have already confiscated Mark’s dust from ground zero from the pol
ice lab. What if—”

  “Richie, we have to comply.” The lieutenant held up a hand and whispered, “I’ll be busy in my office with paperwork for about an hour. The DA’s man is coming for your records in about that time.” He winked and lowered his voice even more. “The copy machine is all warmed up. I filled both trays with paper.”

  Leaning on the edge of his desk, Richie nodded his thanks, and sighed deeply. At least he’d have copies, but he didn’t like giving up the original files.

  “The DA has marked the investigation confidential, at least, until he orders the execution of the warrants, but I insisted we bring the chief of detectives and the Manhattan South borough chief in on everything.”

  “Hell, yeah. We’ll need their support.” Richie began pulling file folders from his desk drawer and piling them on his desk.

  “I didn’t tell the DA how you acquired the Operation Northwoods and PNAC documents. They’ll be important pieces for the prosecution when it goes to the grand jury. Just so you know, you can’t conceal your confidential informant forever.”

  “I appreciate that, Lieu. More than you know.” Richie swallowed. “We’ll update him once Eva is safely out of the Council House.”

  “If you and Mel need help with all this.” He waved his hand over Richie’s desk. “I’ll roll up my sleeves.”

  Richie held out his hand. “Thanks.”

  He shook Richie’s hand and squeezed his shoulder. “This is the most important thing we’ll ever do. I’m proud to be part of it. Whatever you need . . .”

  Richie patted him on the back.

  “You two need a room?” Mel cleared her throat and flung her bag on her desk.

  Richie looked up.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Fill her in, Richie.” The lieutenant walked down the aisle toward his office. He looked back and flicked his head at the copy machine. “And then get busy.”

  “Things are heating up, are they?” Mel started up her computer.