"That's okay," replied Ahmadi. "I hid behind a column at the train station where you are. I slipped undetected into the rear train car."
"Excellent," Stoker said. "He's in the front train car. How do you know this guy?"
"I've never met him, but I know all about him. Homeland Security's been watching him for two years. I've seen his file. He's been back and forth between Mexico and Tehran many times. The group you witnessed as it crossed the border is a group of science technicians. But, this guy is not only a scientist, but he's also a well-trained soldier. He really knows his stuff when it comes to espionage."
"I'm thrilled our work in Mexico is paying off," Stoker said.
"You caught a pretty big fish there on the banks of the Rio Grande, Stoker. I'm excited we've got this guy in our sights. But if everyday Americans knew he was here, they would be terrified." Ahmadi did not leave a moment for Stoker to speak. "The train is slowing down; I suspect for another stop. Let's see what happens." Ahmadi and Stoker were silent but stayed connected to the call. Ahmadi's voice came back. "He stayed on."
"Good," Stoker said. "I'll catch the next train, in case he tries any theatrics."
Ahmadi stayed on the call with Stoker for three more stops. At the next stop, Ahmadi saw Nazem exit the train. "There he goes. I'm following him." The man exited the train and walked hastily toward the exit. "He somehow changed his clothes," Ahmadi explained. "It looks like he's in dress pants and a tuxedo shirt. He's also sporting a bowtie like he is going to some fancy event." She followed behind Nazem with at least a dozen pedestrians between them. He jogged down the stairs to the street. He found a garbage can near a newspaper stand and dropped a plastic bag into it. "He just dropped a bag in a garbage can," Ahmadi explained. "I'm going to keep following him. It's the blue garbage can. When you exit the train, veer off from the front of the train, and go down the stairs. It's right by the newspaper stand at the base of the stairs.
"Roger that," Stoker said. "I'm jumping on the next train in about thirty seconds."
Ahmadi followed Nazem. She anticipated he might double back at any moment to detect anyone who followed him, so she crossed the street and kept pace with him from the other side of the road. At one point, he turned around quickly and retraced his steps for forty-five seconds. Satisfied nobody was following him, he turned around again and resumed his intended route. For thirty minutes Ahmadi tailed him loosely as he took a couple of wild turns. She called Stoker again and explained where she was.
"Can you come help me? If anyone is watching him, they will discover I'm tailing him. Can you take a turn?"
"I'll be there ASAP," Stoker said holding up his hand to hail a taxi. "Stay on the phone with me. I just jumped in a taxi. Now, where is this?"
"I'm on Ogden Avenue, going south. It looks like there's a place called Union Park up ahead. Aim for that.
Stoker held out fifty dollars to the taxi driver. "Union Park please, on the Ogden Avenue side. Let's step on it."
The taxi driver took the money and thanked Stoker. Then the taxi was off. Stoker oriented himself on the map on his phone. "I found Union Park. Where are you from there?"
"North on Ogden Avenue, about three blocks," Ahmadi replied.
"Gotcha. I'm guessing I'll be there in about three minutes."
"Okay. I'm going to take a considerable risk, Stoker. I'm going to turn two blocks before the park. If someone's tailing me, my exit may convince them the route I shared with Nazem—." Her voice went silent. Stoker waited and listened. He could hear the noises of the street coming through the phone. After about ten seconds, Ahmadi's voice returned. He just doubled back and was coming straight toward me."
"Did he see you?"
"Yes. But, I did not make eye contact with him. He was certainly looking at every face he passed. It's the first time he's seen me, so I need to make sure he doesn't see me again."
"Okay, I'm almost to Union Park," Stoker said.
"Uh-oh. Change of plans," Ahmadi said. "He turned west on Fulton Street. So why don't you aim for Fulton and Justine."
Stoker revised the drop-off site with his driver. As they approached the intersection, Stoker gave the cabbie instructions to drop him off a little shy of the location. Stoker got out and walked up to the intersection of Fulton and Justine and turned right. Across the street, he saw his man. Nazem was walking in the opposite direction as Stoker, and Stoker started contemplating how to change course and fall in behind him. But, Nazem passed through the doors of a building.
Stoker intentionally slowed the pace of his aggressive stride. It required some discipline to restrain his usual dynamic vigor. He contemplated his next move as he walked across the street and slipped into an alleyway that led to the back of the building Nazem had entered. As Stoker turned down the alleyway, he saw Nazem jump into a white van. He advanced close enough to the terrorist to hear him speaking in Farsi with a woman, a driver. She also appeared to be of Iranian descent. Stoker quickly turned on the video recorder on his phone and proceeded in their direction. Navigating the van into the alleyway, the woman turned the automobile toward Stoker, who just kept walking. He ignored the van as if he were aloof about it. But, his phone was recording as Nazem and Roya passed. Once they were behind him, Stoker looked at the movie he'd made on his cellphone hoping he captured a reasonable frame of the license plate.
The van turned a corner and was gone. Stoker called Ahmadi. "Nazem got in a van at the back of a building on Fulton Street. He was a passenger, and there was a woman. I bet she was Iranian. I captured a brief video clip."
"Sounds good. Let's see if we can find out who owns that van. I'll have Z set up an on-the-spot phone conference, and we'll invite the whole team to call in."
Two minutes later, Rivera, Jessica, and Z had joined the phone call. They each reported their individual experiences. Rivera yielded the leadership role to Stoker who summarized. "We have terrorists entering the red brick building. Ahmadi will go with the FBI and pursue that lead. I'll send everyone the video I took of Nazem and this woman in the white van. Z will share the movie he made of that woman at the bus stop. Ahmadi will have the FBI crime lab analyze all of this, along with Nazem's clothes from the garbage bag at the train station.
We'll all need some shuteye, while we're also making twenty-four, seven progress on this investigation. So, a sleep schedule will benefit everyone. And, Rivera and I are going to loop the CDC back into what we've got going on here."
"That should be interesting," Rivera said. "I think we may finally have enough information to wake up the CDC."
CHAPTER 20
Chicago, Illinois
Even before Stoker and Rivera could place a call to the Centers for Disease Control, Stoker's cell phone rang. "Now this is interesting. It's a 404 area code," Stoker said with a wry smile. "Atlanta."
"That's got to be the Office of Public Health Preparedness at the CDC, calling from somewhere behind the eight ball. My money’s on Dr. Kaitlyn Steele, complete with a new attitude. I'll bet Agent Ahmadi and the FBI have rattled the right cages. I'm looking forward to this call."
Stoker answered the phone on the fourth ring. “You’re on speaker phone with Rivera and Stoker.”
"Hello, Doctors. I'm so glad I caught you both." As predicted, it was Steele. Her tone was friendly and upbeat. "Your story checks out. The data is overwhelming. We'll take it from here."
"I agree," Stoker said as he gave Rivera a wink and a nod. "We'll all take it from here."
Rivera could not help but rub salt in Steele's wounds. "The FBI is way out ahead on this one. They've already activated their Weapons of Mass Destruction Directorate. Is that who called you?"
"Yes, and I'm co-chairing a task force—
"Task force? We don't need a task force growled Stoker as he held his finger over the call disconnect button. Just before he pushed it, he said, “This is a war, and we're here on the battlefield. Try to keep up, Director.”
• • •
"Ah, Roya. It is so nice to
see you," Nikolas said as she entered his office. "You have brought great honor to our cause. Your attacks are starting to afflict the Great Satan. There will be millions who suffer. Then, one day soon, you shall rise for your morning prayers, and you will hear the terror in some random American news reporter's anxious voice describing how our attacks have killed a million. Or, perhaps it will be a zealous Muslim brother who whispers it to you with elation in his voice. Then you will look to the East and new strength—the Caliphate emerging. You will look to the West and see America in chaos. The sun shall rise that day on Tehran."
"I've never been there," Roya said. She always thirsted for his extravagant accolades. "I am only a peasant, blessed to do the will of Allah."
"You shall see Tehran! You will be revered there as a hero, perhaps a new princess of Persia. You shall be adorned in fine silks and eat of the fat of the lamb. Your gardens will overflow."
"No, I am just a simple girl who lives to serve Allah. I desire no opulence or adornment. All my needs are surpassed. I am still overwhelmed as I walk through this pristine hotel."
"Are you conflicted, Roya? Does it give you pause while you wonder how we can exist here in this beautiful building while our brothers and sister live in poverty and distress in other parts of the world?"
"Forgive me. I do not want to appear doubtful or ungrateful. But, yes. The Koran teaches, 'And the slaves of God are those who walk on the earth in humility and calmness.' I wonder why it is okay for me to partake in the bounty of this corrupt land enjoying conveniences and pleasures not available to so many."
"I applaud your thoughtfulness. These are noble inquiries borne of a quest to do the will of Allah. He has answered your humility." Nikolas could see how his honeyed words mesmerized her. Yet again, he fanned Roya's yearning for attention and praise while also fanning her fanaticism with his pretended belief in Islam. This is how he always manipulated her into doing anything. "The Prophet once said, 'And no one humbles himself before God but God will raise him.' Allah has raised you."
Roya's eyes relaxed. She said nothing, so Nikolas continued. "Let me tell you a story. When I was a little boy in Iran, before I left for Greece, my sisters kept chickens. They started with two hens and one rooster. One spring, we allowed some of their eggs to develop to maturity. Four of those eggs hatched. With seven chickens, our inventory was too large. So, we sold two and kept two.
A few months later, one of our chickens matured; and it turned out he was a rooster. We already had a rooster. And, in the world of chickens, there is never room for two roosters. So, my father instructed me to kill a rooster.
Well, I had not ever had any interest in my sisters' chickens. I had never gained the animals' trust. Coincidentally, catching the rooster was very hard. Impossible as a matter of fact. So, I started endearing this rooster to me. I would feed it special treats. I would never share the treats with the hens. Within two days, I won him over. After all the pampering and special treatment, he trusted me enough to sit on my shoulder.
"Do you know what happened next?"
"Yes. You killed the rooster."
"The same hour he trusted me enough to roost on my shoulder, he went willingly to the chopping block."
"This hotel is the chopping block," Roya said.
"Yes," Nikolas slowly nodded and allowed a slight smile to grace his face. "Within the next few days, yes. But, at this exact moment, all these trusting Americans are the proverbial roosters standing on our shoulders and trusting us. Hotel Esatto is the fishing lure, the bear trap, the Venus flytrap, —"
"The center of the spider's web." Roya had interrupted him for the first time ever. Nikolas did not mind.
"Exactly.”
• • •
"Okay, Boss," Rivera said to Stoker. "What's our next move?"
"We're going to invest our time and energy into our ongoing work with the FBI,” Stoker said. “So, we need to give this investigation everything we've got. Let's pull the team together, regroup, and execute."
Thirty minutes later Stoker, Rivera, Ahmadi, Jessica, and Z assembled in a conference room at the FBI Chicago Field Office. Two other members of the JTTF joined on a speakerphone.
Stoker led out. "Okay, people let's put pieces together. First, I have this video." Stoker projected the video he had made of the white van as it passed him, just a few hours before, in the alley behind a wedding center.
"That's Nazem, in the passenger's seat," Ahmadi said.
"I know that driver," Z said recognizing Roya. "She's the woman I observed at the bus stop. She was a visual contact for the unknown tangos when they made their on-foot arrivals in Chicago. Her presence directed them to the red brick building."
As the video ended, Ahmadi asked Stoker to pause it. "What's the license plate number?"
Stoker only needed to zoom in a little, and he read it off. Ahmadi used her laptop computer to enter this plate number into the National Crime Information Center database. "That van belongs to Hotel Esatto here in Chicago."
Jessica chimed in. "Which is right behind the gym where that Iranian woman, the driver on your video, gave us the slip."
"There are no coincidences," Stoker said.
"What are you referring to, Troy?" Rivera asked.
"Mexico and Chicago are linked,” Stoker said. “We need to check out this Hotel Esatto. Allie's staying at another hotel nearby. She's here working on a project in Chicago. I'll join her tonight and look for an excuse to walk to Hotel Esatto and look around. Rivera, Ahmadi, and Z should check into Hotel Esatto. But, not all at once. You should all book your reservations through different websites, so our arrivals don't appear orchestrated." Turning to Jessica, Stoker gave her different instructions. “You should stay in a different hotel close by. We need another set of eyes, besides mine, that is on the outside looking in. Find one and get checked in.”
Ahmadi changed the subject and spoke up. "I'll have some of my agents find out about the red brick building. They can snoop around to find ownership and occupant information for that property."
"I'll find out exactly who owns that building, right now," Z said as he started typing on his laptop.
Stoker pointed toward Rivera and said, "While Z looks up that data, let's have Dr. Rivera bring us up to speed on the CDC."
"Thanks to Agent Ahmadi, the CDC is finally on board. Let's see if they can keep up."
Ahmadi chimed in. "I informed the FBI Weapons of Mass Destruction Directorate about your findings. They sent three of their agents to investigate in Mexico. And four agents have just arrived here in Chicago."
"We're not waiting for that bureaucracy, the CDC," Rivera said. "We're already using some of our contacts at Military Health System to make phone calls to the most highly qualified reservist physicians. They are also reaching out to retired military doctors with specific expertise in advising the dissemination of disease information to particular tertiary care situations. These are not the usual slow CDC protocols. These are well-connected docs who know the most effective ways to get this information out to other medical professionals on the front lines of care. If the powers that be at the CDC don't like our methods, to hell with them. They can't censor us or stop us from communicating this vital information. Infectious disease specialists and neurologists are the highest priority. We're reading them in on the weaponized Campylobacter jejuni and its ridiculously high rate of Guillain-Barre syndrome.
"We're probably a day away from the CDC activating the Armed Forces Physicians Control Group for emergency duty. With the help of our new friend, Governor Horton of South Dakota, we also secured some money from a few extremely wealthy private donors to ramp up the supply of intravenous immunoglobulin and bag valve masks. We've got military brass getting involved as well. Making plasma exchange more available to millions of Americans is a high priority. This disease is coming with a vengeance. We just want to do everything we can to minimize Americans' symptoms and keep as many people off ventilators as possible."
Z spoke up. "Let
me tell you about the red brick building. It contains a large Airbnb unit, where these combatants could sleep. It was rented out under the fake name of some Joe Blow ostensibly from Miami, Florida."
"How did you find that information?" Ahmadi asked Z.
"Why do you ask such questions?" Z responded.
Ahmadi realized Z had hacked the information out of a supposedly secure system. She looked him directly in the eye. "Ok, Z. From this point on, I only want to know the information. I won't ask about the source or how you got it. You get info, I use it. Now let's go balls to the walls and nail these bastards before they turn this country into a living hell. Let me take that information about the Airbnb and have my people investigate it. Give us a few hours."
Agents from the FBI's Chicago field office used the next hours to do some checking with the owner of the Airbnb property. The Iranians had indeed spent one night at the unit. Their stay was paid for with a prepaid debit card. The FBI agents also spoke to the cleaning crew. Unfortunately, they had already cleaned thoroughly, leaving little evidence to examine. The FBI determined it would not be worth further investigation.
• • •
Rivera just smiled as he brought up a large screen. Only he and Stoker occupied the high-tech conference room within the FBI's Chicago field office. "I'm about to introduce you to a fascinating person in Boston. He’s an Air Force guy with extraordinary technological skills in the world of military intelligence and space satellites. But, rather than explaining my friend, Mr. Bojangles, I think it's just best for you to experience him."
Rivera activated a speakerphone and dialed. Almost instantly Mr. Bojangles answered. "Colonel Rivera, sir."
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