Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  “Ok, so what’s next?” Marks asked Ginella as the two stood up and walked out of the fast food restaurant.

  “I think we can walk to the next one,” Ginella replied as he scanned the list of hotels they had not yet covered. “It’s called The Civic Center Lodge Motel and it looks like it’s up the street here and around the corner.”

  The two agents shook off their lethargy and strode purposefully to the motel.

  * * *

  Abd Al Rahman stared at himself in the mirror. The reflection back was odd but yet somehow convincing. He gently touched the full toupee covering his head and turned his face from side to side to see if his disguise was obvious.

  He had made the decision a day earlier to change his appearance. If Kosnar had recognized him, the British police had most likely pulled his picture from one of the CCTV cameras and now his face would be easy to recognize. He had found the name of a wig store not far from the motel and had convinced the proprietor with a substantial cash over payment, to prepare and sell him a new wig that same day, a process that usually took about a week. The wig maker had shown him how to fit the wig and take care of it and when Al Rahman had declined to wear the wig out of the store, had placed it in a small square box.

  Finally convinced his appearance had been sufficiently altered, Al Rahman gathered his cell phone, the bomb activation device, and a casual jacket and left his hotel room. He pulled the door shut behind him, checking once to make sure it was locked, and walked along the open passageway and down the stairs to the hotel parking lot. He glanced around and then, seeing only the old Indian man working in the front office, walked as quickly as he could with his awkward gait to the Lake Merritt Bart Station.

  * * *

  Agent Marks and Ginella walked through the mostly empty parking lot of The Civic Center Lodge Motel towards the small front office. Marks pushed open the door and held it as Ginella walked in past him.

  A middle-aged dark skinned man who appeared to be Indian rose up from his chair behind the counter and welcomed the two agents.

  “Good afternoon gentlemen,” he said in a slightly sing song voice. “Are you looking for a room?”

  “My name is Special Agent Adam Marks and this is Special Agent Michael Ginella,” said Marks as he indicated to his partner with a toss of his head. “We are with the FBI and we are trying to find someone we believe might be checked into your motel.”

  The Indian’s eyes widened with surprise.

  “Do you have anyone registered here by the name of Philippe Métier?”

  “Umm.. I don’t think so,” the Indian replied. “Let me check the roster.” He ran his finger down a list of names and shook his head. “No. No-one by that name.”

  “Do you have any guests who paid with cash or travelers checks?” Marks asked.

  The desk clerk said nothing for a moment and then answered in the affirmative. “We did have one gentleman check in two nights ago who paid in cash for the whole week. Not very common these days,” he said with a quick laugh. “Everybody uses credit cards now, but cash is cash so we are happy to take it,” he continued with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “What did he look like, this gentleman?” Agent Ginella asked.

  The Indian shrugged. “I don’t know. I did not check him in. I work here during the day and then my son comes in the afternoon from Berkeley where he is studying to be a lawyer. He works here for a few hours so I can take a break and then my wife and my daughter take turns in the evening, but they are away in India visiting relatives so it’s just me and my boy right now.”

  “Is this your establishment?” Marks asked.

  “Yes, I bought it ten years ago and now my family runs it.”

  “So you have not seen this man, the one who paid cash?”

  The Indian just shook his head in response.

  “Do you have the registration card he signed when he checked in?”

  The Indian picked up a small wire tray and placed it on the counter. He pulled out a small stack of about ten registration cards and carefully looked at each one before setting it back into the tray.

  “Let’s see,” he said as he peered at the last card. “I think it is this one.” He placed it on the counter and turned it around so the agents could look at it.

  “Can you read that?” Marks said to Ginella as the two men looked at the card.

  “Geez,” Ginella responded. “Each line just looks like a scrawl. I don’t think I can make out any of the letters.” “When people fill out these cards, don’t you pay attention to what they write?”

  The Indian shrugged. “Not really. As long as they initial next to the price, we don’t really care what they write down. Collecting that information is just a…a… formality,” he said as he struggled to find the right word.

  “When will your son be back here?” Marks asked.

  The Indian glanced at his watch. “He should be here soon because he promised me to come early today to help out because my wife is away.”

  The two agents glanced at each other but said nothing.

  “Do you mind if we stay here and wait for him. We would like to ask him about this man who paid cash.”

  “Of course, of course. Wait, wait,” he quickly exclaimed. “I think I see him coming now.”

  The two agents turned to look out to the parking lot and saw a young man with a helmet on his head riding a bicycle up to the office, hopping off just as he got to the door. He pushed the door open and wheeled the bike in looking up quizzically at the two men with FBI jackets standing in the small lobby.

  “What’s going on?” he asked in clear unaccented English as he unclipped the helmet and pulled it off his head.

  “These two men are from the FBI,” his father replied. “They are looking for someone and need your help.”

  A third year law student, the young man already had a natural instinct to be wary of police officers and federal agents. He wheeled his bicycle behind the counter and carefully propped it against the wall. Then he slipped a small backpack off his back and dropped it onto a near by chair. He stepped behind the counter and looked at the two FBI agents.

  “Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  Marks identified himself and Ginella to the young Indian who responded by extending his hand and identifying himself.

  “My name is Bhim Naidu and my father’s name is Chadran. Now, how can we help you?”

  “Your father says you checked in a gentleman two nights ago who paid in cash for the whole week?”

  The son nodded but did not say anything.

  “Is this his registration card?” Ginella asked as he turned the card around to face the young man.

  “Yeah, I think so but it looks pretty illegible. We don’t really pay much attention to those things.”

  “So we understand. If you saw a picture of him would you recognize him?”

  “I guess,” the young man replied. “We have a lot of people come through here but I might recognize him.”

  Ginella placed two pictures of Abd Al Rahman on the counter facing the young man. Bhim picked one of them up and stared at it for a few moments and nodded his head.

  “Yeah, this is the guy. I am pretty sure it was him.”

  “Are you sure about this? Marks asked. “As you say, you get a lot of people through this place.”

  “No, I am pretty sure. This is the guy.”

  There was silence for a moment as two agents glanced at each other.

  “What room number is he in?” Marks asked as his partner moved towards the door and scanned the parking lot.

  “Uh…let me see….he is in room 203, on the other side of the parking lot on the second floor.”

  “So we can’t see his room from here?” Marks asked.

  “No. His room is on the other side. You have to walk through the passage way over there to see him.”

  Agent Ginella was holding the door open as he kept glancing around the parking lot. “Did you happen to notice anything unus
ual about his hands?” Marks asked.

  The young man slowly shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. I was pretty distracted that night studying for an exam so I checked him in pretty quickly and just gave him his key. I have not seen him since then.”

  “Did he have a car? Do you see it in the parking lot?”

  “No, I am pretty sure he came here on foot. I don’t think he drove here.”

  The two agents stepped out of the office for a minute and then Agent Ginella walked through the passageway and disappeared from view. Agent Marks came back into the office and looking at the younger man said, “I want you to call his room and ask him if the maid service was satisfactory. Can you do that? Just ask him if the room has been made up already.”

  The father and son exchanged looks as the younger man reached for the phone. He dialed the room number and held the phone to his ear. The phone rang six times before he replaced the handset.

  “I don’t think he is there.”

  “Let’s wait about two minutes and then try again.”

  The three men stood in silence as the time slowly passed until Agent Marks indicated for the young man to place the call. This time he let the phone ring at least ten times before he hung up.

  Agent Ginella walked back to the office and beckoned to his colleague to join him outside. “The curtains are drawn shut in his room and the light appears to be off,” he said as the door to the office closed behind Marks.

  “Yeah, we just called his room twice and no-one picked up.”

  “OK, we better call this in right away,” said Ginella. “We have a positive visual I.D and they are going to want know about it.”

  CHAPTER 30

  ABD AL RAHMAN raised the hot cup of black coffee to his lips and sipped it slowly. Nothing about his demeanor as he sat at a small coffee table about one hundred yards from the Lake Merritt BART station indicated his state of vigilance. He had worked hard for two days to choreograph the placement of each woman in just the right location in San Francisco and now the plan was unfolding before him.

  So far he had spotted eight of the women, three wearing orange shirts, two in blue shirts and one in red, who had already walked past him and into the BART station in the last hour. He did not know what they looked like but each one was wearing the colors he had assigned them and appeared to be of the right age and appearance as Devskoy had described them. He was waiting for one more in orange who he would follow to the City. The remaining women were approaching from different locations throughout the Bay Area, but it had been satisfying to see these eight do as instructed.

  He glanced at his watch and looked up to see a woman in an orange shirt and knee length skirt cross the road near him and walk into the station. He watched her until she disappeared from view and then he stood up and followed her.

  * * *

  Officer Peter Pallard was bored. He had only been on duty since lunch, but hated this kind of assignment. It reminded him of guard duty during his Marine Corps service: standing around for hours and hours, with nothing to do to make the time go by. He did not even have his partner with him, admittedly not a great conversationalist, but at least it would have been easier if they were together.

  Leaning up against a pole at the entrance to the Lake Merritt BART station, watching the occasional young coed go by, he reminisced about the previous year, his rookie year on the Oakland City Police Department, possibly the best of his young life. He had been named Rookie of the Year and received a special commendation from the mayor. Fifty stolen cars recovered in one year, his rookie year. Most cops wouldn’t find that many in a lifetime but for him it had been easy. It had always been easy for him to quickly memorize things, even something he saw just once and briefly. His high school counselor told him he had a photographic memory and his friends in high school hated him for it. He would study for exams in the hallway outside the classroom, five minutes before the exams began, and still ace the test. It never helped much in Math and Science but it was great in all his social studies.

  At roll call each morning before he and his partner set out on patrol, he would scan the list of license plates of stolen cars reported the day before and memorize the list. Then, as they were driving around Oakland, he would watch the cars and glance over at their license plates. He got his first one his first day out. After that he was racking up one a week, except for the day when he nabbed three, one still occupied by the thief.

  Now, he was out of his patrol car again for another day stuck at the BART station for his shift. At the morning roll call the day before, there had been two FBI agents handing out pictures of women, some clear and in color, others in black and white. Apparently, these ladies were trouble, big trouble, enough to have every police department in the Bay Area on the look out for them, enough that the Oakland and other Bay Area police departments had been requested by the BART Police to provide additional resources. It was even decided to increase the density of officers on the street, so most officers were reassigned, one to a patrol car instead of two, the second officer being added to foot patrol or sent to guard transit points. But the weird part was that they were specifically ordered not to try and arrest the women. The FBI agent said it twice: “If you see any of these women, do not, I repeat, do not apprehend them. In fact do not make any sort of contact. Just call it in. That’s all.”

  He sighed and adjusted his position against the post. He looked up and watched a couple of young college girls bounce down the stairs to the station. Oh, those light summer dresses. He smiled at the girls and they both smiled back. He caught himself blushing as they walked by.

  A moment later, he noticed another woman walking towards the station. She was tall, slender, much older than a coed, but she had an attractive, athletic body. She was wearing a patterned skirt and an orange shirt and as his eyes ran up and down her, he caught himself thinking about what she must look like naked. She was about ten feet away as his eyes left her breasts and sought out her face, trying to make out if she was pretty.

  It took a second for it to sink in. Her face was older than he expected, still very pretty, but more lined. But the photograph he had seen that morning, my God, she looked like one of the women the FBI was after. It was her, he knew it was her. He stared, mouth open, and heart pounding.

  She walked by him and he stood there for a second, not sure what to do. He started to approach her, and then backed off slightly, remembering the instructions not to make contact.

  Wait a second, he thought, this lady can’t be a terrorist or something. No fucking way. But the face. It’s her. It’s fucking her!

  He was about twenty feet behind her now, following her as she walked. As he entered the big glass dome above the station entrance, he keyed the microphone to his two-way radio.

  * * *

  Abd Al Rahman watched with alarm as the policeman turned and followed the woman in the orange shirt into the station. He stopped and glanced around to make sure no one was following him and he briefly thought about leaving but, reassured his own identity had not been compromised, he followed the policeman into the station to see why he was following the woman. It seemed impossible he had somehow recognized her but Al Rahman had a clear view of his face when he had seen her and by his expression, he had clearly recognized her.

  * * *

  Special Agent Marks snapped shut his cell phone and turned to his colleague, Special Agent Ginella. “That was Jessep,” he said, referring to the Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco FBI office. “He said they are working fifteen other positive IDs on Al Rahman and he needs more confirmation.”

  “What’s he want us to do?” Ginella asked.

  “He wants us to do a quick check of the guy’s room to try and find anything confirming his identity.”

  “OK, I’ll go wait by the room and you get what’s his name… Bhim to come up and unlock the door.”

  A few minutes later the two FBI agents and the young Indian were standing outside room 203 on the second floor of th
e motel. Both agents were standing to the right of the door and had their weapons drawn. Agent Ginella nodded to the young man and with his left hand simulated a knock on the door. Bhim glanced at him and then nervously stepped forward and rapped on the door three times.

  A few seconds passed and Ginella indicated for him to knock again, and again, there was no response.

  “Ok,” he said, “open it and then step away. As soon as we go in you go right back to the office and wait for us there.”

  Bhim nodded vigorously and leaned forward to unlock the door. His hands were shaking slightly but within a few seconds the lock opened and he pushed the door open. Agent Ginella quickly stepped forward and pushed Bhim out of the doorway as he entered the room, his weapon pointed directly in front of him. The room was dark and it took a second for his eyes to adjust but he quickly confirmed the room was empty.

  Agent Marks followed him in, closing the door behind him as he holstered his weapon. The two agents quickly began to search the room. They checked every drawer, every article of clothing, under the bed and small suitcase in the closet and found nothing. No receipts, plane tickets or even a luggage tag on the suitcase.

  “Place looks almost sanitized doesn’t it?” said Marks.

  “I don’t keep my room this clean when I travel,” Ginella responded.

  His partner laughed. “I know. I roomed with you for the last two nights.”

  Ginella said nothing for a moment as he stood in front of the small closet. The closet was dark and he bent down as he stepped inside and looked around making sure he had not missed anything. A small box in the far corner on the floor caught his eye. Reaching down he picked it up and brought it out into the light.

  “What did you find?” his partner asked.

  “It looks like a wig storage box,” he replied pointing at the label on the front of the box. The label listed the name of the store, its address and phone number.

  “That address is not far from here. I wonder if this guy has purchased himself a disguise.”