Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  The two agents exchanged a glance and then Marks quickly jotted down the particulars of the wig store. They replaced the box and, after one more quick sweep of the room, they stepped out and locked the door behind them.

  * * *

  Officer Peter Pallard knew his radio would not work so he tried repeatedly to call in to dispatch on his cell phone as he followed the woman down the long escalator into the BART station, but the signal was weak in the subterranean station and he could not get through. He stopped trying, and, as nonchalantly as possible, followed his target through the turnstile. She chose the westbound platform, servicing trains to San Francisco.

  Noticing a pay phone on the platform he quickly walked up to it, dialed the emergency number, and, as the dispatcher answered, identified himself and told her whom he had seen. She asked a couple of questions and then put him on hold. A moment later a new voice came over the phone.

  “Pallard, is that you?”

  Pallard immediately recognized the voice of the Chief of Police.

  “Yes, Sir, it’s me,” he said in a low voice, alternately turning towards the phone and casting glances over at the tall woman. “I’m at the Lake Merritt BART station Chief -.”

  “I know where you’re at, Pallard,” said the Chief, cutting him off. “Quickly, tell me what you saw.”

  “One of the women they were looking for at roll call yesterday morning, Chief. She’s right here.” His was trying to keep his voice low, cupping the mouthpiece with his hand.

  They showed us about one hundred pictures,” the chief responded, with some incredulity in his tone. Do you really thing you recognized one of them?”

  “Ah.., yes Sir. I’d say I’m pretty sure.”

  “Pallard,” said the Chief loudly. “Give me a straight answer. Is it her or not?”

  Pallard stole a quick glance at the woman again, trying desperately to match her face to the photograph he had seen the day before. He could feel his heart pounding, and his hand was clammy as he gripped the receiver. He took a deep breath and spoke more firmly into the phone.

  “Chief, as best as I can tell, it’s her. She is one of the women we were shown at roll call yesterday morning.”

  “OK, stay on the line, Pallard. Don’t go away.”

  Pallard turned to look back toward the woman. At first he panicked when he did not immediately see her, but then he noticed her studying the map of the BART system.

  “The next train to San Francisco will be arriving in two minutes, two minutes for the next train to San Francisco,” a dull metallic voice intoned over the loud speaker.

  “Oh, shit,” said Pallard out loud. “Hello, hello,” he said quickly into the phone, but there was no response. The Chief had put him on hold.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated under his breath. He could see people on the platform gathering themselves, getting ready for the train’s arrival. He pressed the phone to his ear again, hoping to hear from someone, anyone on what to do.

  “The next train to San Francisco will be arriving in one minute. One minute for the next train to San Francisco,” the voice on the loudspeaker intoned again.

  Pallard hung up the phone and quickly dialed the emergency number again. He got a different dispatcher this time. Quickly he identified himself and asked to be patched through to the Chief.

  “Why do you need the Chief?” the dispatcher responded.

  “Come on, please, it’s urgent. I was just talking to him a minute ago.” He felt a blast of wind strike his back as the train rolled into the station.

  “The Chief’s line is busy. Please hold.”

  “No, no…” Pallard begged, but she was gone. There was silence on the phone. He looked back and saw the woman board the train. The platform was clearing. Almost everybody had boarded. A beeping noise sounded across the platform signaling the doors were about to close. Pressing his ear to the phone one more time, Pallard listened to the silence, hung up the phone, and ran towards the train, quickly stepping into the same car as his target.

  Further down the platform, the doors were closing as Al Rahman forced them back open and pushed his way into the car directly behind the one Officer Pallard had just jumped into. The train began to pull out of the station.

  * * *

  “What do you have?” Gordon Lewis asked as he responded to the urgent summons from Lance Jessep. They were standing in the hastily arranged command center that had been setup in the largest conference room available in the San Francisco FBI office. The room was warm and noisy with about twenty agents alternately clicking away at computers or talking on the phone as they worked to coordinate and collect information from all the extra agents that had been put in the field to hunt for Abd Al Rahman.

  Jessep quickly relayed the information about the confirmation of Al Rahman in the motel in downtown Oakland.

  “I instructed the onsite agents to search the room to try and confirm the ID and they found a box from a wig store,” Jessep replied as pushed the key on a speaker phone next to him.

  “Marks, are you there?” he said as he directed his voice towards the speaker phone.

  “Yes Sir,” Marks replied over the speaker.

  “I have Gordon Lewis, the EAD for intelligence and counter intelligence with me. I want to you to tell him what you just told me.”

  “Yes, Sir. Well, as I told you we got a visual ID from the night clerk at the motel on Al Rahman but he did not see the man’s hands or see his limp so we weren’t sure of the ID. However, after we entered his room we found a box from a wig maker located here in Oakland and we just talked to him and told us he sold a full hairpiece to a man yesterday who demanded the wig on the same day and paid in cash.”

  “Did he ID the picture?” Lewis asked.

  “Well sir, we haven’t shown him the picture yet because we are both still at the motel, but I spoke with him and he absolutely confirmed that the man who bought the wig was missing all the fingers on his right hand. He said it was an issue because the man struggled to attach the wig with only one good hand.”

  “Holy crap!” Lewis exclaimed glancing at Lance Jessep. “That’s confirmed.” He turned back to face the speaker phone.

  “You stay there at the motel but get out of sight. If Al Rahman comes back and sees you he will run and we’ll be back to square one. We’re going get you some help to setup an around clock stakeout on the motel. Do you understand?”

  “Yes Sir,” Marks responded.

  “Good job Marks. Now let’s hope we find the bastard.”

  He turned back to face the San Francisco SAC when he was interrupted by a shout from one of the agents across the room. He was standing, holding the phone to his chest.

  “Mr. Jessep,” he yelled across the hum in the room. “There is an urgent call for you from the Oakland Chief of Police. He is demanding to speak to the SAC right away.”

  Jessep and Lewis exchanged glances.

  “Did he say what it was about?” Jessep shouted back, anticipating a complaint about jurisdictional issues with so many FBI agents in Oakland.

  The agent placed the phone to his ear again and engaged in a brief conversation before turning back to the SAC. “He claims one of his officers just saw one of the women we are looking for at the Lake Merritt station in downtown Oakland.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “QUIET! EVERYBODY BE quiet.” Lance Jessep, SAC of the San Francisco office was standing next to Gordon Lewis in the makeshift command center. The urgency in his voice got everybody’s attention and the room quickly quieted down. Only the low hiss and squawk of the police monitors filled the void. All the faces in the room turned to look at the two senior agents.

  “This is Lance Jessep,” he said into the phone. He listened for a moment then hit the speaker button on the desk in front of him. As he replaced the handset, the Oakland Chief of Police’s voice filled the room.

  “-saw the woman at the Lake Merritt station about ten minutes ago. She was waiting on the platform for a westbound train
.”

  “Where’s your man now, Chief?” asked Gordon.

  “I put him on hold in order to contact you, but he’s not responding. I have officers on their way to the station right now.”

  “What’s their ETA at the station, Chief?”

  “Just a moment.” The sound of background murmurs filled the room as they could hear the Chief checking on his men.

  The chief’s voice came back. “They’ve arrived. They’re there now.”

  There were more sounds of muffled voices and murmurs in the background. Then the chief’s voice returned, carrying a lot more tension this time.

  “Apparently he boarded the train.”

  “Who boarded the train?”

  “Pallard, Officer Pallard. He was seen boarding the train.”

  There was a brief moment of silence as both men contemplated the situation.

  Lewis glanced over at Jessep, then back at the speaker.

  “Chief, how far is the Lake Merritt station from the uh…” he glanced over at Jessep and asked, “where was Marks calling from?”

  “The Civic Center Lodge Motel,” Jessep replied. He repeated it louder into the speakerphone.

  “Uh… just a couple of blocks,” the Chief replied. “Why, what’s at the motel.”

  Gordon Lewis stared at his colleague and said in a low voice that did not carry to the speakerphone. “Jesus, Al Rahman could be on that train. We’ve got to stop that train.”

  “Where’s the train heading?” he asked in a louder voice. “Can your men stop it at the next station?”

  “I don’t think so,” the Chief responded. Background murmurs again came out of the speakerphone as the Chief turned to get more information.

  “Look,” said the Chief, “there is only one stop before that train goes under the bay to San Francisco. My guess is it has already passed the West Oakland Station by now so we are probably too late to stop it.” He paused. “It looks like it’s coming your way.”

  As Gordon Lewis stared down at the map for a moment, Lance Jessep leaned over and drew a large X, glancing over at Lewis.

  “It’s the Embarcadero station,” said Jessep. “The first stop from the East Bay in San Francisco is the Embarcadero.”

  “All right, Chief,” said Gordon, looking back at the speakerphone, “thanks for your help.”

  Lance Jessep leaned forward and clicked the speaker phone button and disconnected. Then, looking at a list of emergency numbers, he quickly dialed the BART Operations and Control Center. The phone rang three times before the call was picked up.

  “BART OCC.”

  “This is Gordon Lewis,” he announced into the phone, calmly and clearly. “I am the FBI’s Assistant Director for Domestic Terrorism.” Experience had taught him that titles count. His usually got people’s attention. “With whom am I speaking, please?”

  “This is Jeremy Brown,” a nasally voice responded.

  “Jeremy, are you the supervisor over there.”

  “No, just a sec.” They could hear mumblings in the background.

  “Uh, this is Gus Collins, shift manager at the BART OCC.”

  Lewis repeated his title and continued without pausing. “Mr. Collins, you have a train heading to San Francisco from the uh… Lake Merritt station. I need that train stopped and stopped immediately so we can detain some of the passengers. Can you do that for me right away please.” As Gordon finished, he cocked his head to the side, listening for the response.

  There was a long pause and Gordon almost asked the question again, but as he leaned forward, Collins spoke up.

  “Yes, I can stop your train. It will be at the Embarcadero station in about four minutes. We can stop it there.”

  “No!” Gordon responded emphatically. “I need you to stop it before it gets to San Francisco.”

  There was another pause before Gus Collins spoke up again. “I’m afraid it’s too late Mr. Lewis. The train just went under the bay, about thirty seconds ago. Unless you know something I don’t, I have absolutely no intention of stopping that train while it’s under the Bay. We will stop it at the Embarcadero. You can meet it there.”

  CHAPTER 32

  AT ITS DEEPEST point, the Transbay Tube, which runs from Oakland to San Francisco, is one hundred and thirty feet below the bottom of the Bay. It consists of fifty-seven binocular-shaped sections of steel and reinforced concrete, each about three hundred and fifty feet long by forty-eight feet wide by twenty-four feet high. Constructed by the Bethlehem Steel Company, at three and six tenths of a mile, and six miles overall including approaches, at the time of its construction it was the largest underwater transit tube in the world.

  Natasha Mislov was not aware of the moment the train began the quick subterranean portion of its journey. The decent underground was so gradual it was imperceptible and as she sat in the middle of the car in one of the four chairs that faced inward, she was paying too much attention to the policeman at the end of the car who was stealing quick and furtive glances at her to really care about the precise location of the train.

  She had seen the policeman almost as soon as he followed her into the station, then watched him board the train at the last moment. Now he was in the doorway at the end of car as far away from her as he could be, but looking at her. She was very uncomfortable. She had not played the role of femme fatale for almost ten years and was not quite sure what to do. Her training and professionalism helped her maintain an aura of disinterest, similar to the few other passengers in the car, but internally she was churning. The policeman had obviously recognized her, but why? What had she done to get his attention? She had committed no crime and had not even received a target from her handler. In all her previous assignments, she had never been followed or tailed, at least that she knew of. There was something really strange going on and she did not like it.

  * * *

  Officer Pallard held on to one of the four shiny metal poles framing the doorway at the end of the rail car. He tried to act as nonchalant as possible, not wanting the woman to notice him, but in spite of himself he kept stealing glances at her. She did not appear to notice, although once she did catch him looking at her. He thought about putting his sunglasses back on, but realized that would look pretty silly in a subway.

  He fiddled with his cell phone, partly to distract himself, but also because he hoped it would work as soon as the train arrived in San Francisco. At some point the woman would get off the train and he would have to follow her to maintain contact.

  Oh shit he thought. I hope I haven’t fucked this up. He wiped his brow and ran his hand through his short hair. Leaving his post and following the woman onto the train meant leaving the Oakland jurisdiction. If he’d followed the wrong woman, the Chief would eat him for breakfast. He looked back at the woman. Even in profile, he was sure. It’s her. I know it’s fucking her. He straightened up, bracing against the rocking of the train as it slowed. We must be approaching the Embarcadero station, he thought as he glanced out of the window but saw only his reflection against the tunnel’s dark background. He glanced over at the woman trying to see if she was getting ready to get off. His thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the loud speaker.

  “This train will be going out of service at the Embarcadero Station,” the voice intoned. “All passengers will disembark at the Embarcadero.” The announcer repeated his message.

  “OK,” Pallard thought to himself, “if she leaves the station, I’ll follow her. I’ll follow her until she gets above ground and then I’ll try to call it in. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just find a BART policeman or a City cop and have them call it in. Just keep her in view, that’s all I’ve got to do. Just keep my distance and keep her in view.”

  * * *

  The Embarcadero station was not Natasha Mislov’s scheduled stop. She was supposed to get off at the next one, Union Station. That would put her in close walking distance to Moscone Center. However, she knew she needed get away from the policeman, or actually just confirm h
e was following her. If she got off the train at the Embarcadero, she had a lot further to walk to Moscone Center, but it would allow more opportunity to get away from him. But now with the train going out of service, the decision had been made and perhaps to her advantage. With everyone getting off the train at the same station she would have a better chance of losing him in the crowd. She glanced back over at the policeman, catching him again as he quickly tried to avert his gaze. He was following her, she was certain of it.

  * * *

  “Lance,” Gordon Lewis, his voice urgent, “we have to stop that train and check everyone on board. We might have Al Rahman trapped right now.”

  “BART police might already be onsite. If we can get them to-.” He was interrupted by a young agent yelling his name.

  “Mr. Jessep, the Assistant Chief of the BART police is on the phone. She wants to know why you instructed BART OCC to stop the train at the Embarcadero.”

  Jessep quickly maneuvered through the crowded room and grabbed the receiver.

  “This is Lance Jessep, Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco FBI office.” He did not wait for a response. “Please listen. I need you to close the Embarcadero Station right away. Can you do that?”

  There was a brief pause before a women’s voice responded.

  “Yeah, I can but why?”

  “Please, I can’t explain it right now. Can you just give the order and dispatch officers there right now to close the station. This is really urgent.”

  There was another brief pause.

  “OK Mr. Jessep. Stand by.”

  Jessep handed the phone back to the young agent and told him to stay on the line with the Assistant Chief then he turned to Gordon Lewis.

  “Gordon, we’ve got to get down there right away. For all we know there could be ten of these women on the train. If we trap them all below ground and Al Rahman activates them we could have a lot of casualties down there.”

  “You’re right,” Lewis answered back quickly. “Grab a bunch of agents and let’s get down there.”