Silent Strike
Page 17
From there, a secretary would emerge and accompany the man back to the supposed offices. But, this structure was not offices. The space was a very temporary safe house that would shelter the terrorists for a few hours. There they altered their identities, ate, and rested. Today, the Shiite men had accomplished a significant milestone. Now they were here, in position to execute a silent strike against the United States of America.
Roya watched the icon approaching on the iPad map she was monitoring. When he arrived, their eye contact was ever so brief, before the man disappeared into the red brick building. Roya was sure nobody was following this man. He had arrived by train and then walked the few blocks to the safe house. The next man would appear on foot, posing as a metropolitan jogger. Judging by his icon on the map, he was still more than three kilometers away.
Fifteen minutes later, she saw the runner from Yemen. The man was incredibly handsome. The defined musculature in his powerful legs caught her attention. Never should good Muslim men be allowed to wear shorts—let alone such short ones, she thought. Roya quickly toggled the iPad to the Koran and began reading passages to cleanse her mind of her lustful thoughts. When she eventually glanced up, their eyes met for that brief moment. Suddenly an infatuation besieged Roya. It was a forbidden lust she had never experienced. Yes, she had had a few crushes in her young life. But, this was a new depth of desire, to meet a man, to know his heart, and to share hers, in hopes they would intertwine in a holy union. Yes, that was it. Her thoughts assumed a pure, hallowed union. Her musings were not unclean after all. Perhaps it was the hand of Allah who prompted her desires. This unknown man, posing as a jogger, would undoubtedly feel something similar soon. Roya looked back at the iPad, but her mind was replaying the new memories of a man, who shared her convictions, running down a street in Chicago. She was so distracted by her passionate feelings she did not see Z who followed behind the man. Had she been paying attention, it would've been easy to notice him, in his military boots and jeans, also running down the streets of Chicago—a sight out of place in the summer heat. She sent a quick text to her bosses reporting how two men had arrived, and she had not seen anyone following them.
When Z saw the Yemeni enter the red brick building, he ducked around a corner where he bent over and gasped for breath. The skin on his inner thighs was past feeling. After a few seconds, his heart rate started to slow, and the burning in his lungs diminished. His thirst was overwhelming from the run, so he bought some Gatorade. Then he decided to find a place where he could watch the red brick building and the door where he had last seen the tango.
After considering a coffee shop, a pharmacy, and office building, he settled on a bookstore. He purchased a copy of the latest novel featuring the character Mitch Rapp. Then, he walked up the stairs to the second floor and began to look like he was reading the book. He had a good view of the door. And, for a few minutes, nobody entered or exited the building. He made mental notes about the people he saw on the street. Among the hundreds of individuals, Z noticed a young woman who was wearing a red hijab while she waited for a bus. He took out his cell phone and tapped out a message to Jessica, Rivera, Ahmadi, and Stoker.
My mark entered a building on State Street near cross street Elm Street. Surveilling from the bookstore on the second floor.
A few seconds later his phone vibrated. He answered the incoming call. "Hello."
It was Rivera. "I'm following this taxi in a car, but I can't follow my mark and find you on a map. Can you help me navigate?"
"Sure," Z said. He spoke softly to avoid drawing attention to himself. "I'll reel you in. Where are you?"
"I'm on LaSalle Drive. I just crossed Huron Street."
"As the crow flies you're less than a half mile from me. I bet your taxi comes my way."
"Agreed," Rivera said. "Stay on the phone with me, and let's see what happens."
Z and Rivera kept talking as Rivera followed the taxi that had picked up the terrorist at the shopping mall. Rivera passed Superior Street and Chicago Avenue. "The taxi just pulled over. I think this guy's getting out."
"My bet is he's going to walk to this same red-brick building. Why don't you hang back and see if I'm right?"
"Okay. Keep your eyes open for this guy."
"I'll recognize him. He's one of the guys we've been watching for weeks."
Three minutes later, Z saw him. He came walking down State Street at a quick pace. From his birds-eye view, Z watched as the tango approached the red brick building. Just before he made it to the door, he noticed the man make brief eye contact with the woman at the bus stop. As the man walked through the door, Z turned to look at the young woman at the bus stop. There she sat, interacting with an iPad. She's been sitting there for too long to be waiting for a bus, he thought. She was part of the process of embedding these terrorists into a cell here in the United States. Z made a mental note to discover more about this puzzling woman.
While most special operators or soldiers would have their pants' pockets full of weapons, survival equipment, and first aid gear, Z was a technology enthusiast. His pockets contained digital antennas, a small iPad, power sources, and cables. Most importantly for this moment, he possessed a button-sized camera. The instant he activated this dime-sized high-tech device, it started transmitting audio and video to a cloud server.
Z attached the device to his left earlobe, so it looked like an earring. Then he walked downstairs, exited the bookstore, and made his way to the bus stop. There Z pretended to wait for a bus, while he looked at his phone. The camera hanging from his ear pointed at Roya. Z captured a few minutes of footage of her while two more busses passed. Z got a text from Jessica.
My mark just exited a train two blocks from your location.
Z texted her back.
I'm @ bus stop. Hang back until I get on a bus. Then watch the woman in the red hijab. She's your new mark.
A few minutes later, another Iranian man passed Roya. Z's camera captured their brief eye contact. Then he considered his situation and decided not to take any more chances and risk raising the woman's suspicion. He jumped on the next bus that passed. He rode it for two blocks before he exited and started backtracking.
From thirty yards away, Jessica now watched her mark, this Iranian woman with a red headscarf. Over twenty minutes, she saw three more terrorists arrive. They walked past the woman, made ever-so-brief eye contact, and entered the red brick building. After the last man arrived, Roya stood and started to walk away.
Jessica followed her from twenty yards. She picked up her phone and called Z, which helped her mix into the crowd of walkers, many of whom were also using their phones for any number of activities. When Z answered, Jessica told him what was going on.
"This woman and I are walking toward you, Z. Can you try to stay ahead of her?"
"Yes,” Z replied. “Let's see where she goes."
Roya's pace picked up. Every thirty seconds she would stop and look over her shoulder. Jessica stayed well out of sight and remained undetected.
Z saw her coming down the sidewalk toward him. He picked up his pace and remained ahead of her by twenty to thirty yards until Roya suddenly changed course.
"Come back Z,” Jessica said through the phone. “She just ducked into the gym you passed. I'll enter first in case I see her making a beeline for the dressing room."
"Yes," Z replied. "You get dressing room duty."
When Jessica entered the gym, she didn't see Roya, so she walked toward the central workout area. The next thing Jessica saw made her feel vulnerable. She had nowhere to hide. The gym's main wall was a huge mirror. It made it impossible for anyone entering the gym to go unnoticed.
Look natural, Jessica told herself as she walked toward the dressing rooms. She still had Z on the phone. "Hang back and don't hang up, Z. I'm going to leave us connected but put my phone in my pocket." As she walked, she used her peripheral vision to locate Roya. The Iranian woman was pretending to work out by lifting some light dumbbells. Jessica co
uld not be sure, but she thought Roya was watching her. Jessica guessed this gym was probably a pre-planned location this woman had chosen, where it would be possible for people following her to walk into a trap of detection. This woman in the red hijab was surely observing everybody who walked through the door, memorizing their faces.
When Jessica got into the dressing room, she picked up her phone again and continued the conversation with Z. "I'm in the dressing room now. She's on the left-hand side of the gym lifting dumbbells. That whole wall is a huge mirror. If you enter, there will be nowhere to hide. She briefly noticed me, and she will see you."
"What do you want me to do?" Z asked.
"Wait outside. Be ready in case she leaves. You could follow her."
"Roger that," Z said.
Jessica waited for three more minutes. Then she walked out of the dressing room and walked over to the membership desk. She struck up a conversation with the person there under the pretenses of joining the gym. From her peripheral vision, Jessica noticed how Roya continued to monitor the door, the people in the gym, and her surroundings. When she felt somewhat reassured nobody had followed her, Roya put down the dumbbells and walked toward the back of the gym. She looked at a treadmill as if she was considering using it. But suddenly, she slipped through a door labeled "Employees Only."
Jessica felt conflicted. She didn't want to lose this mysterious woman wearing the hijab. But, she also knew it was more important to avoid detection. Jessica chose to let the mystery woman go. She picked up her phone again. "Z, she just went through an employee only door. I bet she's sneaking out the back."
"I'll see if I can find an alley to the back," he replied.
"I would not go down the alley."
"No,” Z replied. “I'm just putting myself in position, in case she comes out an alley and onto the sidewalk again."
Jessica turned to the person at the membership desk. "Do you have a blank piece of paper?"
"Yes," said the gym employee as she removed a simple plain white piece of paper from a printer. She slid it to Jessica along with a pen.
"Thank you. I'm such a visual person. If I draw the gym, I'll understand it better." Jessica made a rough sketch of the gym. "I see the weights here and the cardio area over here. Do you have classes?"
"Yes," replied the employee. She pointed to a place on Jessica's rough building blueprint. Jessica filled it in and labeled it as a classroom.
"Now, I admit I'm a little obsessive-compulsive, but I'm kind of paranoid about fires, earthquakes, and other natural disasters. Where are your fire exits?"
The employee pointed to the main door and then a place representing the very back of the gym.
"In the event of a fire, do we go through those 'Employee Only' doors?"
"Yes, they lead to a back alleyway."
"And, where does it go?"
It will take you to the north or the south.
"Oh," Jessica replied. "Nothing to the east?"
"Not unless you plan to go through the back entrance of Hotel Esatto."
Jessica laughed. "I'm sure they would really love that." She had never heard of Hotel Esatto, but she pretended to be familiar with it. "Those Esatto people wouldn't like me trying to use that back door."
The gym employee smiled. "They’re weird over there. There's a loading dock and employee entrance back there. And they have super tight security on that loading dock. A security guard behind a bullet-proof glass window monitors and controls all the comings and goings back there. We're all wondering why getting into the service entrance to Hotel Esatto is nearly an airport TSA experience."
"Just a second," Jessica said turning away. She picked up her phone and spoke to Z, who she had kept on the line.
"She's either leaving through an alley. It leads north or south. Behind this gym, there is a hotel. But, it sounds like the back entrance is kept very secure. I doubt she figured out a way to breach that hotel’s security.
"I'll head north," Z said. Let's see if I can detect her coming out of the alley."
"I'll go south," Jessica said. "But, I'm going to remain well-hidden. If she sees me again, she and the other tangos would know somebody followed them all the way from Mexico.
"Don't worry, Jessica. I got some pictures of the woman. We'll find her again. Losing your mark isn't so bad nowadays. Thanks to technology, it's tough to stay lost.”
• • •
Inside Hotel Esatto, Roya walked to the housekeeping department. She felt satisfied nobody had followed the latest soldiers arriving from Mexico. How wrong she was. She had no idea she'd been tracked for about an hour now. Nor did she know she had also managed to slip away from her pursuers. Jessica had not registered in her mind as a person of concern.
Roya was thrilled. So many of her Iranian compatriots had finally made it to Chicago, along with some men from Yemen and Lebanon. This last group was a select group of technicians who just might help her scale her attacks, yet again.
Roya quickly changed into a kitchen uniform. Then she returned to the service hallways of Hotel Esatto and walked toward the kitchen. After cutting through a back corner of the kitchen, she walked to a loading dock, exited the hotel, and climbed into a catering van. Tonight, Hotel Esatto was catering a rehearsal dinner. Before she pulled away from the loading dock, she entered the location of the event into her phone’s navigation app. The phone spoke to her in Farsi. Roya followed the directions, pulled out into Chicago's busy traffic, and blended in with the masses.
• • •
Agent Sarah Ahmadi leaped out of the car and followed the Iranian man. While she had never met him in person, she knew about this man, Yosef Ali Nazem. When she saw him emerge from the black Suburban, she immediately volunteered—no she insisted—on following him.
Homeland Security had been keeping tabs on him for more than two years, and she had reviewed his dossier. He had legally entered and exited Mexico and Iran many times over the last twenty-four months. Why Nazem chose to cross the U.S.-Mexico border illegally this time, with this group of men, was a mystery to Ahmadi. Sure, Agent Ahmadi had enough information on Nazem to arrest him immediately. She could detain him on the simple crime of illegal entry into the United States. But, arresting him would do more harm than good. If the FBI took him into custody, the rest of his network would notice. The other Shiites would likely respond by going deeper underground.
No, Ahmadi would follow the man. She would track him as far as she could. She would know where he went, expose his conspirators, and blow the lid off his center of operations.
Ahmadi followed Nazem on foot for about a mile, trailing from a distance of thirty yards. Then he entered the Cicero train station. Cautiously, Ahmadi ascended a few stairs onto the train platform while paying close attention to her phone. With a quick glance, she inventoried about twenty people, including Nazem, waiting for the train. She eased back behind the crowd, where she could continue to glance at him from time to time. Ahmadi had her cell phone at her side. For a brief moment, when he looked over his shoulder, she pointed the phone up a bit and snapped a quick photo. When the train arrived, Nazem jumped on quickly. Ahmadi entered the car behind him, but she kept her gaze on the platform. Suddenly, as the train's doors were about to close, Nazem jumped out of the train back onto the platform. He'd just used the train as a means of doubling back so he could identify who might be following him. Ahmadi fought her instincts to jump out of the train and expose herself as a tail. The doors closed, and the train pulled away. Yosef Ali Nazem's caution paid off as the FBI agent was whisked away on Chicago public transit.
Ahmadi texted Stoker and attached the image of Nazem.
I lost my guy at the Cicero train station. He jumped out of the train at the last second. Here's his picture. His name's Nazem.
A few seconds later came Stoker's reply.
The next train's in 8 minutes. I can make it.
Stoker followed his phone's voice prompts to the Cicero train station, where Nazem would be waiting to bo
ard a train for the second time. He parked a quarter mile away. A short jog got him there with two minutes before the train's departure. By the time he ascended the train platform, he heard the train approaching. The timing worked out well for Stoker. He merely slipped in behind people who were starting to inch toward the train tracks. He had not yet spotted Nazem, so he decided to stroll toward the front end of the platform. As the train pulled up, Stoker pretended to pay slight attention to lining up with the location where a door may stop. Using his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of Nazem about fifteen feet away. But, he never turned toward the Iranian or looked at him directly.
When the train stopped, exiting passengers stepped off. Stoker blended in by following the people in front of him onto the train. Once aboard, he remained standing and took out his phone to send a text to update Ahmadi. Halfway through the message, he took a quick glance toward the front of the train car. Nazem was surveying the other passengers. Stoker pretended to pay particular attention to his phone as he finished the text. He knew Nazem couldn't go far while the train was in motion.
As they arrived at the next stop, Stoker glanced toward the front of the train and watched people start to exit. Nazem stepped out of the train, so Stoker moved toward the door and stepped out. He glanced toward the platform to find Nazem, but just in time to see the Iranian jump back on the train. Stoker just continued walking. He relaxed his face muscles to remove any appearance of surprise or disappointment from his expression. But inside Stoker was incensed. This Iranian was able to give him the slip. He quickly called Ahmadi. "I lost him."