by Roger Hayden
Craig was astonished. “What kind of background check did we do on them before letting them into the country?”
“Their trip was arranged by our embassy in Chechnya. They both have valid passports and are cleared for air travel,” Walker answered.
“So you’re trying to tell me that this is some kind of, what? Diplomatic mission?”
“That’s the idea,” Walker said.
Calderon stepped in, annoyed. “Go in there, talk with Mrs. Surkov, and find out what she knows. We’d all like to go home at some point tonight, herself included.”
Craig shrugged. “I have nothing to offer this woman. Why would she want to help us?”
“Does it matter? Just go talk to her,” Calderon said.
Walker interjected, “Please, Agent Davis. Work with us here. She insisted on no audio recording devices. We just spent the last hour convincing her that the room isn’t bugged.” He handed Craig a notebook and pen. “Here, take these.”
“Good luck,” Calderon added.
Craig walked to the door, past the crowd of balding, straight-faced FBI brass, and stopped. He turned around and examined Walker and Calderon, both of whom nodded back and gave him a thumbs up. He slowly turned the knob, opened the door, and went in.
There was a woman sitting at a table in the center of the room, dressed in a black robe and black-and-white head shawl or hijab. Next to her was a boy with curly black hair, some facial hair, a beige sweater, and blue jeans. On the table sat two Styrofoam cups.
Craig shut the door, holding the notepad in hand. For a moment they just looked at him. The small room had four blank white walls. In the center of the room sat a round table and three chairs. Nothing more.
“Not exactly the most exciting place to be, is it?” Craig asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Neither of them responded. Instead, they examined Craig carefully. As he approached the table, he returned the favor and tried his best to read them. They offered no smiles or any reassurances that they didn’t consider him the enemy. He shifted gears and got right to the point.
“Mrs. Surkov, my name is Special Agent Craig Davis. I was told that you wish to speak to me. That you have some information to share.”
Malaka narrowed her black eyes as Craig leaned against the back of the chair across from them. She offered a single nod and spoke in a calm, quiet voice. “My English is none too good. My nephew will help translate.” She had tan, olive skin, and not a single hair was exposed under her tight hijab.
“That’s quite all right,” Craig said. “Whatever makes you comfortable.” He looked at their cups on the table. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Coffee?”
“We are good, Agent Davis,” the boy said.
Craig opened his notebook and looked toward him. “You’re Husein, correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“I assume you’re aware of who I am, but what I don’t understand is why you want to talk to me. I must admit, I have my suspicions and am not here to play games.”
“Neither are we,” Husein said.
Malaka’s eyes appeared to be burning holes through Craig. Her vengeful expression was something he could ignore no longer.
“Let’s get it all out in the open,” he said, placing his hands on the table. “Your eldest son’s name was on an application for a rental van used in a suicide bombing that nearly killed a dozen federal agents. As of now, I don’t know what connection he had, but when we tracked Rasheed and your other son, Darion, they were in the middle of trying to launch separate terror attacks.”
Stone-faced, Malaka said nothing.
“Rasheed ran from me carrying a backpack full of explosives. Pipe bombs. God only knows what he was planning to do with them. Darion attacked a diner full of innocent people, killing eight. My partner intervened and stopped him before he could carry out the rest of his massacre.”
Malaka looked at Husein, who then looked at Craig. “We’re well aware of my cousins’ actions. They sent us a letter detailing them.”
“They did?” Craig said, scratching his chin. “Do you have a copy of the letter?”
“We gave it to the FBI,” Husein said. “We received it the day of the attack. After it had already happened.”
“So if you could have, you would have alerted authorities and tried to prevent the attack?” Craig asked.
“Yes,” Malaka said.
Craig looked down at his notebook as the air conditioner hummed above.
“Well, we certainly appreciate your cooperation.”
“You speak Chechen, yes?” Malaka asked.
“No,” Craig answered. “I don’t.”
She turned to her nephew and they immediately began to talk to each other in their native tongue. Craig’s suspicion grew.
“She wants to know if you are wearing a wire,” Husein said, looking to Craig. He was a polite, intelligent-sounding boy. Charming even. But Craig wasn’t there to make friends. He was there for information.
“No,” he said without hesitation.
“You have to show us,” Husein said.
Craig sighed and stood up, lifting his shirt and displaying his bare torso. He plopped back down in his chair. “Happy?”
Malaka spoke to Husein in Chechen. Her words sounded fast and sharp. Craig couldn’t make any sense of it.
Husein turned to Craig. “You have to understand, sir. My aunt has put her life in danger to come here and tell you these things. If there is any recording of her words made available, she believes they will kill her.”
“Who?” Craig asked, intrigued.
Husein hesitated then spoke. “The Islamic State sympathizers in your government.”
Craig leaned back in his chair, making it squeak. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had heard some conspiracy theories in his time, but Husein’s comments took the cake. He held his pen over the notebook and looked up at them. “Whom in our government are you referring to?”
Husein was about to answer, but Malaka cut in. “State Department,” she said in broken English. “Homeland Security. The White House.”
Craig shook his head. “What’s your proof?”
“She only knows what she’s heard,” Husein said.
“Give me something then,” Craig said, in a frank tone. “I want to know what she knows, and I want to know how she knows it.”
Malaka appeared to get the message. She looked at Husein, then Craig. “Attack. Big attack,” she said. “Is coming.”
“Where and when?” Craig asked.
“The caliphate. It’s real,” she said.
“Details!” Craig said.
Husein held his hand up, urging restraint. “Please, Agent Davis. This is not easy for her.”
“I understand,” Craig said. “But you can see why I would be skeptical of all this. I hardly believe I’m at the top of your aunt’s favorite persons list.”
Husein continued as Malaka appeared to grow upset.
“You have to understand. My cousins, they brought shame to our family. We’re devout, practicing Muslims who reject the Islamic State. ISIS uses Sunni Muslims in Chechnya to urge solidarity to the Sunni Muslims in Iraq who run ISIS. It’s like a cancer. And it will continue to spread. She plans to speak out against ISIS this week. But there’s going to be a backlash, we’re certain. They’re going to want to kill her. She asked for you because you seem to be the only one who is as hated as she is going to be within the next week.”
“So your cousins were involved with ISIS?” Craig asked.
“Yes,” Husein answered.
“I want details about this attack. Now. And I don’t care about her reputation any more than I care about my own. But I will do my best to prevent whatever attack is planned.”
Husein and Malaka turned and talked to each other in Chechen. After about two minutes, Husein finally turned to Craig.
“The Washington Metro train,” he said. “That will be the first target.”
“The first?”
>
Calmly, Husein continued. “Yes. The sleeper cells are supposed to attack various targets. They’ve been instructed by ISIS commanders to wait for a signal.”
“What other targets?” Craig asked.
“At approximately nine a.m. the first attack will happen.”
“And the second?”
“The New York City Subway. Nine thirty a.m.”
“Then what?”
“Chicago train, 9:45 a.m.” Husein stopped. “That’s all she knows. Rasheed told her in a letter of these attacks. The diner shooting was the first signal. Rasheed’s planned attack on the mall was supposed to be the second.”
Craig scribbled this down in this notebook. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—what he could believe and not believe. “And the third signal?”
“We don’t know,” Husein said.
“What day is this supposed to happen?”
Husein took a deep breath and looked Craig directly in the eye. “Tomorrow.”
Craig rose from his chair, making it squeak underneath him again.
“If you will excuse me,” he said.
Husein and Malaka looked confused.
“Yes. Certainly.” Husein nodded.
Craig’s heels clicked against the linoleum as he left the room, disappearing before they could say another word.
Not on Their Watch
Craig walked into the hall where the FBI heads were restlessly pacing. Calderon and Walker stood off to the side, scrolling through their cell phones. They looked up expectantly when Craig came through the door, eager to hear what he had brought them.
“Well? What’d the old bag say?” Calderon asked.
He, like many of the top bureau officials, had a lot riding on Malaka’s words. Terrorism was back in the news and there was a lot of pressure from the White House to get the subject out of the public eye. Stop the attacks and stop them quietly. Those were the FBI’s instructions from higher up the chain of command.
Craig held up his notebook, out of view from wandering eyes. He looked around, tried to regain his composure, and spoke quietly. “Mrs. Surkov provided information about potential terror attacks she claims to have gotten from her sons, sent in a letter that detailed a series of planned attacks against the United States.”
“Where’s the letter?” asked Assistant Director Holloway, a burly, mustached man with bags under his eyes and acne scars on his cheeks.
“Gentlemen, please,” Walker shouted out. “Let Agent Davis speak.”
Everyone looked at Craig, silent now with anticipation.
Craig cleared his throat. “I’m not done with her. And just for the record, I don’t trust her.”
“Quit screwing around and get to the point!” one particularly impatient FBI head blurted out. It was Bill Roswell, the FBI Director’s personal assistant. His outburst didn’t faze Craig in the least.
Craig held up his notebook and continued. “She could be using us, gentlemen. I see hatred in her eyes toward me. If I were her, I would feel the same way.”
Roswell scoffed. “What are you suggesting, then? That we do nothing?”
Walker cut in to defend Craig. “I think he just wants us to avoid running around with our heads cut off. Isn’t that right, Agent Davis?”
Craig nodded. “That’s correct, sir. I understand that we have to take all threats seriously, especially such detailed plans for an attack. I just want to urge caution in doing so. How would we even begin to verify her story?”
“These attacks,” Roswell stated. “Where and when are they supposed to take place?”
“Train stations and subways. At least three of them,” Craig said.
“Then we should take this woman at her word,” Roswell said.
Assistant Director Holloway cut in, nervously scratching his mustache. “What about that son of hers? The one in the hospital? Have we talked to him yet?”
“He’s still in a coma,” Calderon answered. “Doctors can’t say for how long.”
“Just great!” Roswell shouted, spinning around.
“Will you put a cork in it, Roswell?” Holloway snapped.
Craig looked around to make sure he wouldn’t be interrupted again, before continuing. “According to Mrs. Surkov, the attacks are planned for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Roswell gasped. Murmurs grew into several side conversations.
“Please. Let me continue.” Craig looked down at his notes. “One attack is planned on the D.C. Metro, the others on the New York Subway and the Chicago ‘L.’”
“My God,” Roswell said.
“Who are we dealing with here?” Calderon asked.
“The Islamic State,” Craig answered. “She said that Chechen Sunnis are sympathetic to the ISIS Sunnis in Iraq and Syria.”
“What are we going to do?” Roswell asked.
“We’re going to compare the intel with that from other agencies. CIA and Homeland for starters,” Holloway said. “And if there we find a pattern, we damn well better get act on it.”
The men started talking over each other, putting forth their own ideas and plans.
“Get the Pentagon and military!”
“Have field teams on site.”
“Issue an alert. Increase security. Put our resources where they are most needed.”
Calderon attempted to talk over the noise, but he soon gave up and signaled Walker over to him. They walked away from the group, down the hall and out of hearing.
“So you believe this woman?” Walker asked.
“I’m not convinced of anything yet. I need to talk to her some more.”
“What does she want in return?” Walker asked.
Craig couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered her terms.
“I don’t know yet,” Craig said.
“Well, she must have some. Why else would she be providing this information?”
Craig leaned in closer and asked Walter for his gun.
“Why?” Walker asked.
“You want to figure this thing out, it’s the only way.”
Walker hesitated. In a sane world he would have outright refused. But things were no longer that clear.
“All I’m asking from you is to trust me,” Craig said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get to the truth of this fiasco.”
Walker stammered, then reluctantly handed over his .38 snub-nose revolver, checking first to make sure no one was looking their way. Craig gave him an appreciative glance and headed back to the room as if he had forgotten something inside.
“Hey!” Calderon called out. “Where are you going? We’re not done here.”
“I’ll be right back,” Craig said. He opened the door, rushed inside, and slammed it shut.
Malaka and Husein looked up, startled at Craig’s sudden entrance. He quickly slid his chair against the door, blocking it from opening. He then walked back to the table and stood within arm’s reach of Husein, staring down at him. Malaka didn’t say a word. They both looked up, unsure what to make of him and the uncomfortable silence in the room.
“What is it, Agent Davis?” Husein asked.
Craig eyed them suspiciously. “You’ve been very generous to offer us this information. But I’m not convinced you’ve told me everything.”
Confused, Malaka looked at Husein and spoke to him in Chechen. Husein looked at Craig.
“She wants to know what you’re talking about.”
Craig smirked. “Of course she does. Tell her I want to know what her angle is. What does she want in return for this information?”
Before Husein could repeat the words in Chechen, Craig knelt down and got right into Malaka’s face. “What do you want from us? You can understand me fine, so answer me.”
“Asylum!” she said.
Craig took a step back, surprised at her response.
“I want asylum,” she continued. “Safety from those who will kill me for speaking out.”
Craig brought a hand to his scr
uffy chin and thought to himself. “I guess that makes sense,” he said.
He circled the table methodically and then stopped again next to Husein. Malaka shifted in her chair, rubbing her watery eyes just as Craig pulled the revolver from his back pocket, grabbed Husein behind the neck, and threw him on the ground in one quick, violent jerk.
He held Husein by the back of his neck and then pulled him back up on his knees. Husein seemed too shocked and scared to resist. As Malaka cried out, Craig held the pistol against the back of her nephew’s head.
The FBI group pounded on the door from the other side, but they couldn’t get in. Undeterred, Craig stood behind Husein, pistol aimed.
“Are you through playing games?” Craig shouted. “You’re going to stop bullshitting me, or I’ll shoot your nephew right here.”
Craig pressed the gun harder against the back of Husein’s skull every time he tried to move.
“You can’t do this!” Malaka cried out. “We have protection.”
Craig looked over at her with wild eyes. “You think my government gives a shit about either of you?”
“Is no lie!” Malaka shouted. The pounding on the door continued. He could hear the shuffling of keys from outside.
“Tell me what’s really going on here!” Craig demanded. “You think I’m messing around?”
“We’ve told you everything!” Husein shouted. His eyes closed and his body trembled.
“Where are the attacks taking place?”
“The D.C. Metro—” Husein began.
Craig wound his leg back and pushed Husein onto the ground with his foot. “Not from you, from her!”
Malaka reached out to her nephew lying helplessly on the floor. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s all I have left.”
“Then tell me what I need to know!” Craig shouted.
“D.C. Metro. New York Subway. Chicago Transit. Is all I know!” The words flowed out under her thick accent.
Craig took a step back and clicked the hammer on the pistol.
“Last chance to come clean,” Craig said.
“I know nothing else!” Malaka cried out.
From outside, the agents managed to get the door unlocked and kicked it open, sending the flimsy chair Craig had set up under the doorknob flying across the room. A group of panicked officials stormed into the office. They looked immediately at their two Chechen visitors, relieved that they were unharmed.