Susan pulled the intruder by the jacket through the heavy metal door into the Condo, and Rory slammed it shut.
“Hands behind your back!” Susan shouted, taking charge, her gun still pointed at the man’s chest.
The man obeyed, slowly putting his hands behind his back and turning around so that Susan could handcuff him while Rory kept his gun trained on him, holding it as steadily as he could.
Susan kept her gun on him and ordered him to kneel down on the cement floor, telling Rory to keep an eye on the monitors. “We need to make sure this guy came alone, and to know when our back-up arrives.”
She’s trying to shake him up with that last announcement, Rory realized.
Then she patted him down and, finding no weapons on him, pulled the windbreaker hood back off his head, revealing the man’s face. He was Middle Eastern, with brown skin, dark eyes, black hair, and a short, trimmed black beard.
“Are you alone?” she asked sternly.
“Yes.” He spoke softly, never taking his eyes from hers.
“What is your name?”
“Rafik Jabar.”
Jabar. Rory immediately recalled that was Ali’s last name, the kid who was behind bars for shooting Nicky Brown.
Susan remembered too. “Any relation to Ali Jabar?”
“He’s my son.” For the first time, the man looked down at the floor, emotion creeping into his voice. Suddenly, Rory recalled the voice on the phone just days ago. This was his anonymous caller, here, in person. And his heart started banging again, so hard he thought he could hear it. His eyes left the monitors and he stared at the man in shock. This could be one of the Islamic State terrorists right here in their midst! Rory was still holding his gun pointed and suddenly his arm started to quiver out of a combination of fatigue and fear.
“Rory!” Susan yelled his name, snapping him out of his panic. “Is this the same guy you talked to on the phone? Get in here and question him.” She kept her gun pointed at Jabar, her eyes never leaving the suspect.
Rory looked uncertainly at Susan for a second.
“You can drop your weapon,” she said softly, encouraging him with her voice, her eyes still trained intently on Jabar. “I’ve got him.”
Rory nodded, his whole body feeling relief. He forced himself to refocus. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?” Rory asked Jabar, his voice steady and his words brave despite the pounding in his heart.
“I came to give you information that might help you find the men responsible for all of these crimes … and to find the nuclear bomb you seek.”
So it really was true. Rory had been having doubts that a nuclear weapon even existed as each day ticked by with no new evidence of any plans. They had made a lot of progress cleaning up the Mafia crime in Sin City, but they hadn’t uncovered a shred of evidence about a nuclear weapon. Rory had actually begun to think that the bomb was just a hoax, that his dad had probably written the letter in a state of dementia brought on by his disease and decline.
Rory felt a twinge of relief course through him. Maybe now he wouldn’t have to hold his breath all the time wondering if his father made this whole thing up and worrying how he would get over the embarrassment and shame if he was wrong about the bomb.
And then he felt a stab of guilt that his thoughts had meandered this way.
Susan’s firm voice broke his reverie.
“Why should we believe you?” she challenged the man kneeling before her.
“Because I have nothing more to lose.” Rafik Jabar’s voice cracked and he fell forward, sobbing.
Susan looked at Rory, a flicker of compassion in her eyes.
She slowly lowered her gun and motioned for Rory to pull a chair over to Jabar. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Jabar?” he said, surprising himself with the kindness in his tone. This guy could still be an Islamic terrorist, he reminded himself. Rory cleared his throat and gruffly added, “We’ll keep the cuffs on, but you can at least get up off the floor while we question you.”
Susan and Rory helped him into the chair and sat facing their temporary hostage, guns in hand but lying on their laps. They sat on either side of him in a triangle, about three feet apart from one another.
“So, Mr. Jabar, why don’t you answer my partner’s questions,” Susan said firmly. “How did you find us?”
Rafik Jabar sat up straight, his cheeks damp, his eyes now fervently bright. “I’ve been following you since the night Ali was arrested for murder. I tracked you from the concert here tonight.”
“So you’re the same man that called me and told me Ali and the others were involved in the murder of Juan Ramirez?” Rory asked, stunned.
“Yes.”
“But … why would you give up your own son?”
“Even though I despise what he’s doing, I love my son and I want him to be safe. Believe me, he is more protected behind prison bars than he is working for the ISM. And he needs to be punished for his crime.”
“Why did you call me? How did you know my name?”
“I asked for someone on the team working on the Juan Ramirez case. I just so happened to get you, Mr. Justice. And using a little due diligence, I followed you after that, which led me to you here and now.”
“What more do you know about the Islamic State Mafia?” Susan interjected, knowing they only had a few minutes before chaos ensued with the arrival of the police and FBI agents.
“I know they’re running this city and ruining it,” Jabar answered solemnly. “They recruited my son to help them sell drugs and start a gang, and … then he ended up killing that boy.” His eyes filled with tears. “Maybe if my wife … his mother … had lived, none of this would have happened. I had to work to put food on the table as a single parent. I didn’t have a lot of time to spend with the kids, and I guess Ali got in with the wrong crowd. Once I found out what he was involved in, I tried many times to stop him from going out on the streets, but he said he was one of them, the Islamic State. He said I couldn’t stop him, and if I didn’t watch out, I would end up dead too. That’s when I knew I could do nothing to save him, and I had to do the right thing and help whoever was trying to stop them … and that brought me to you.
“These men are monsters … they’re evil,” Jabar whispered. “My son told me he actually saw the plans for a nuclear weapon they’re building to blow up Las Vegas.”
“Where are the plans?” Susan asked.
Just then, the front door burst open, and Chief Steele and Agent Glover stormed in wielding guns.
Once Susan and Rory apprised the two FBI agents of the situation, they all moved to a conference room in the back of the warehouse. Mark Glover called off the police who had patrolled the streets around the building to make sure no one else was lurking there.
Rafik Jabar told them what he knew: his son had told him he was part of a core militant ISM gang that had recently started gathering in a small conference room in the casino above where the nuclear bomb was being built. They were being addressed by the Master, and were actually reviewing drawings of the nuclear weapon.
“But Ali said he didn’t know which casino he was standing in,” Rafik said. “The kids were blindfolded going in so they couldn’t tell anyone where they were, just in case they had any rats or moles in the group. Ali described seeing a bunch of metal parts and wires and large rolled up paper sheets with diagrams and drawings.”
“Now why would the Master tell the plans to a bunch of kids?” Glover cynically wondered out loud.
“Ali told me the Master was talking to his whole troop at the time. There were dozens of soldiers ranging in age from thirteen to fifty-something. My son was proud that he was one of the chosen selected to carry out the plan of Allah, as he put it. It makes me sick.” Rafik Jabar shook his head. “This is not the plan of the Allah of our Muslim religion. I’m sure my son was brainwashed, as many of our boys are these days.”
“Maybe we need to bring your son in for more questioning, but use, shall we say, tougher
methods,” Chief Steele tersely suggested, watching Rafik’s face to see how he reacted. The air in the room was thick with doubt over whether this was all a ploy, and the elder Jabar was one of the Mafia baiting them somehow.
“That would be a good idea, except I believe he would rather die before he utters even one word to you,” Rafik said. “You would be wasting your time. Ali is better off in prison now.”
“You told Mr. Justice and Lieutenant McAfree you have kids. Do you have any other sons involved?” Agent Glover asked.
“I have another son and a daughter. My oldest son Ahmad graduated from high school and went to work for some computer company. He moved away after my wife died a little over a year ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. He was very close to his mother and became angry at me over her death, as if I had something to do with it. My wife died of a heart attack, and I think Ahmad thought I caused her stress, but that’s not true, we loved each other very much. I just think he had to blame it on someone.”
“So you’re not sure if he’s involved in any of this?” Glover asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Rafik answered.
“Well, we’ll find out. Tell us about your daughter.”
“Amber is eighteen and a freshman at DeVry University. She attended that rally you held at the college featuring the girl named Theresa. She came home and said, ‘Dad, that could have been me.’ She wants to help fight the ISM, and she is heartbroken about what they’ve done to her brother Ali, turning him into a thug and a murderer. We both want the Master and his troops to be eradicated, even if it means killing every last one of them … including Ali, if Allah wills it.” Rafik sighed.
Chief Steele called together an operation meeting early the next morning.
He didn’t say what the agenda would be, but Rory figured it was important.
Feeling exhausted from the night before, having only gotten a few hours of sleep if that, Rory was the last to arrive at the Condo. He felt everyone’s eyes on him as he entered the conference room where the team was seated. He avoided Susan’s gaze and took his seat.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Justice.” Chief Steele’s tone held a tinge of sarcasm. “Everyone, thank you for your service to date, but as they say in show business, the best—or as may be the case here—the worst is yet to come.”
The agents and officers gathered around the table were silent as the chief paced the front of the room, his deep voice resonating with severity. “As you all know, we’ve had some success at rooting out some of the Mafia members we suspect are behind the various criminal activities here in this city. But the leaders are still at large, and we received word from FBI headquarters that they are directly connected to the Islamic State jihad and terrorist factions in the Middle East.
“The FBI director has now informed Kathleen Tower of our mission and of the potential nuclear threat the Mafia in Vegas has posed as discussed in Howard Justice’s letter to John Dade.”
Rory and John shot a glance at each other across the conference table.
“I need to remind you all that this threat has been verified as a plausible one based on the interrogation last night of Rafik Jabar, father of Ali Jabar who is incarcerated for the gang-related murder of Juan Ramirez. To recap, Rafik Jabar has confessed that his son is a member of the Islamic State Mafia and an eyewitness to the plans of the ISM to build an underground nuclear bomb. Mr. Jabar and the rest of his family are in protective custody, and he and his daughter are standing by ready to help us as needed.
“Our mission has now been classified as top secret by the president and FBI director. However, our top men in DC have been using our best satellite surveillance tools and espionage tactics and still haven’t turned up a thing—which puts the ball in our court.
“President Tower has ordered that our investigation stay localized and confidential so as not to alert the American people and cause a nationwide panic. She has asked our operation to continue to head this up and to do everything it takes to find this alleged nuclear weapon by the early morning hours of D-day, July sixth, just ten days away.”
There was no explanation as to how the deadline had been imposed other than that the date had come from “reliable sources,” and as usual, no one bothered questioning the formidable FBI chief.
But Rory knew. He looked down at his hands folded in his lap, knowing he was the one responsible for forecasting the bomb detonation date. He shuddered when he remembered his dad’s prediction in his dream. A small part of him hoped his dad was right about the facts … and a bigger part of him now prayed he was wrong.
“I will need the following members of OND to accompany me this afternoon on a scheduled visit to meet with Las Vegas Mayor Stanley Cooper.” Steele kept his gaze forward like a Marine drill sergeant as he rattled off names one by one. “Sheriff Thomas, Agent Glover, John Dade, and Rory Justice. The rest of you, man the phones, satellite screens, and computer monitors for incoming information. We’ll report back here following our meeting to reconvene and plan further.”
Susan McAfree raised her hand.
“Do you have a question, Lieutenant?”
Rory snuck a glance in Susan’s direction. He knew she was seated diagonally down the table from him, although he hadn’t looked her way prior to this moment. She looked totally unintimidated by Chief Steele’s gruff reply, and Rory felt a sudden surge of pride for her.
“Yes, Chief, I was wondering if you could please inform the rest of us as to what the meeting with the mayor actually entails.”
Rodney Steele paused and stared at Susan, his eyes clouded, as if he was looking through her, apparently contemplating how to answer her.
After a long moment, he finally spoke again. “Yes, Lieutenant, I wasn’t going to inform you all so as to endanger as few of us as possible with the knowledge of the plan, but since you have all been so loyal and hard-working, I owe you an answer. The plan is to ask Las Vegas Mayor Stanley Cooper to shut down the casinos in the city temporarily so we can employ an all-out investigation to find the alleged nuclear weapon.” Chief Steele waited for the murmur of surprise to die down. “We will have the entire FBI—as many agents and investigators as required—at our disposal when the plan is put into action. And trust me, at that time, I will need every one of you to participate.”
Perhaps it’s the red hair, Rory guessed, smiling to himself. Or maybe being the only female gives her an extra boldness. While the rest of the group murmured and shook their heads in disbelief, Susan was unafraid to voice her concern.
“Chief, pardon my frankness, but what if Mayor Cooper doesn’t want to cooperate? What if, as we’ve been led to believe, he’s in the pockets of the Mafia?”
“Then we’ll move on to Plan B.”
“Which is …?”
She’s got a lot of nerve, that one, Rory thought, mustering a cough so he could hide his grin with his hand.
“We don’t have one yet. But you, Lieutenant, can start thinking of one.”
Mayor Cooper stood from behind his large oak desk to greet the OND entourage. “Come in, gentlemen, welcome to my humble office.”
Rory glanced around at the large, glass-ensconced office on the top floor of the towering state-of-the art building overlooking the city, and thought it looked anything but humble.
The mayor’s office was in Las Vegas City Hall, the mammoth solar-powered futuristic building downtown on Main Street that had been a subject of controversy when it was built years ago for one hundred and eighty-five million dollars in the height of the last recession.
Even then, before it had recently declared bankruptcy, the city had the highest foreclosure and unemployment rates in the country, with over a third of the homes in foreclosure, and was currently ninety billion dollars in debt.
Rory read that the building had arisen from the pockmarked, poverty-stricken suburbs around it, with its glass façade and solar “trees” and LED display that lit it up at night so it could fit in nicely with the rest of the glitt
ering architecture on the Strip a few miles away. Like the Israelites and the pyramids in Egypt, residents struggling to keep their modest homes and make a meager living witnessed the construction, or in many cases, labored to build the building they called the “Taj Mahal” to house a dwindling government staff that, by the time they moved in, only filled a fifth of the facility.
A brief synopsis of City Hall had been part of the dossier Rory had studied on Las Vegas and its history, government, and prominent players upon taking the job with OND.
But, just like travel agency brochures touting tourist spots, the papers did not come close to describing Las Vegas, City Hall, or Mayor Cooper.
Rory had never been inside the government building until today, and marveled as their tour guide met them at the entrance, told them how the “solar trees” out front helped save energy, took them past the outdoor concert plaza through the lobby with its marble floors and granite counters, and showed off the fitness center and media room with its scores of televisions and computer stations.
It was as if the city was putting on a brave face pretending nothing had changed from the golden days, when nothing was further from the truth.
And the mayor is like the Wizard of Oz, informing us to pay no attention to what’s behind the curtain, Rory realized.
Stanley Cooper flashed a perfect white smile that gleamed in his evenly tanned face as he warmly greeted each of the five men who had come for the meeting. He politely tapped his finger on his intercom and, his smile unchanging, asked his secretary to hold his calls.
Chief Steele briefly introduced each of them. Mayor Cooper elegantly waved his hand, bidding them to take a seat on the plush leather sofas and chairs across from his desk.
“So, Mr. Steele, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? My secretary said it was urgent but didn’t give me much more information than that. As you are probably aware, I am an extremely busy man and wouldn’t usually, um, entertain visitors without a good explanation as to what they wanted, but since you’re with the FBI, I am obviously making an exception.”
The Runaway Prophet Page 15