“Cell phones, TVs, iPads, and cameras. About a hundred grand in unmarked bills. Twenty assault rifles and enough ammo to take out a battalion of cops.”
“Explosives?”
“None.”
“What about the owner?”
“He came to the U.S. from Saudi when he was a kid. He started the business in the eighties. No criminal record.”
“That’s about to change. What about the other employees?”
“Mostly extended family of the owner. A couple have shoplifting and small-time drug convictions. Tariq Abdullah is a friend of the owner’s nephew. Dropped out of Chicago State. He has a couple of stolen cars on his sheet.”
“Terrorist connections?”
“We’re checking. As far as we can tell, no military experience or training in explosives. We checked his apartment. No bomb-making equipment. We confiscated his computer and his cell phone. We’re looking at his bank accounts.”
“Does the FBI know anything about him?”
“We’re waiting to hear from Fong.”
A clean-cut young cop approached them. His name plate read “Lozowicki.” “Detective Gold,” he said, “the suspect wants to talk to you.”
“Detective Battle and I will be there in a minute.”
“He’ll only talk to you.”
* * *
“You have something to tell me?” Gold said.
“Yes.” Abdullah’s beard was caked with dried blood. The anger in his voice had been replaced by resignation. He spoke calmly. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Detective Gold.”
It’s a little late for an apology. “I’ll be fine.” Sociopathic killers could be charming.
“Seriously, Detective.”
Right. Gold was sitting in the front seat of a unit parked in the alley. Six uniforms had formed a cordon around the car. The ignition was off, and the windows were rolled up.
Abdullah was in the back, hands cuffed behind him, blood trickling from his nose. He struggled to improve the circulation to his hands. “How’d you find me?”
“Somebody saw you go inside the Shrine of Heaven last night. That’s where you stole the detonator phone used at Riverview. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”
Abdullah tried to wipe his nose on his shoulder. “I’m an idiot.”
“And a killer. Who’s bankrolling you?”
“Nobody. I haven’t been setting off bombs. I didn’t steal a cell phone at the Shrine of Heaven.”
“This will go down a lot easier if you just tell the truth.”
“I am.”
“What were you doing at the mosque?”
Abdullah cleared his throat. “The stated reason was to drop off some flyers for a fund-raiser. In reality, I was trying to see who was inside the mosque last night.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not a terrorist, Detective Gold. I’m an FBI agent. Call George Fong. I’ve been working undercover at Salaam Printing for three years. You just blew up our most successful undercover operation since Nine-Eleven.”
Chapter 43
“YOU SHOULD HAVE CALLED”
Fong’s face was bright red. “You should have called,” he snapped.
Gold fired back. “You should have told us Abdullah worked for you.”
Fong was doing most of the talking at a tense post-mortem with Gold, Battle, Kuliniak, and Maloney in an airless conference room in the basement of the intake center at 26th and Cal. “You didn’t need to know,” he said to Gold.
“Yes, we did. We could have avoided this disaster if you’d told us about it. The bomber is still out there, and we’re going to look like idiots.”
“It was a sensitive operation, Detective Gold.”
“Catching a terrorist trumps sensitivity, Special Agent Fong.”
“Not when the life of one of my best agents is on the line.”
Gold was sitting between Battle and the chief in a tiny room reeking of Fong’s aftershave. Gold had ridden with Abdullah to 26th and Cal, where the undercover agent was whisked into the bowels of the processing center to give the appearance that he’d been arrested. In reality, he was debriefing a dozen FBI agents and homicide cops in an air-conditioned office. Abdullah had made it clear that there wasn’t a shred of evidence connecting anybody at Salaam Printing to the bombings. The chief quickly issued a terse statement that the investigation remained open, and that charges against Abdullah would be announced later.
Fong continued lecturing. “Not only did you not catch a terrorist, but you compromised three years of excellent undercover work, and you put one of our best agents in danger. Tariq was assembling an airtight case against Yousef Al-Issawi for grand theft, money laundering, and weapons smuggling.”
“Why haven’t you arrested him?”
“Because he’s a guppy in a much larger pond. Salaam Printing works for every major Islamic institution in the Chicago area. You burned our best operative in the Islamic community, and you put the rest of our undercovers at risk. Nice going, Detective.”
Dammit.
Fong wasn’t finished. “Why in God’s name didn’t you call me?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Sure there was. One phone call could have avoided this disaster.”
“One phone call about Al-Shahid could have saved Paulie’s life.”
“The circumstances were different.”
“Bullshit. Your people knew we were at the Shrine of Heaven last night. You knew we’d questioned Jafar. Your people knew that Abdullah was there, but you didn’t mention it to us. You put Tariq at risk by not telling us that he worked for you.”
“We don’t share information about our undercovers unless they’re in imminent danger or there’s an emergency.”
“You didn’t think this was an emergency?”
“Not involving Tariq.”
“Why did he resist?”
“To make it look like a real arrest.”
“He could have been shot.”
“That’s a risk of undercover work.” Fong turned and spoke to the chief. “The press is waiting for an update. Are you planning to tell them you arrested an FBI agent?”
Maloney waved him off. “I’ll tell them we arrested the owner of Salaam Printing after we found a million dollars of stolen goods and an arsenal of stolen weapons.”
“They’ll want to know why you diverted resources from a terrorism investigation to raid a print shop.”
The chief pushed out an impatient sigh. “We got a tip. We made several arrests.”
“They have footage of Tariq’s arrest. What do you say about that?”
“I say, ‘No comment.’” Maloney glared at Fong. “After we catch the bomber, we’ll announce that Tariq has been released for lack of evidence.”
“You’re going to look like an asshole, Chief Maloney.”
“It’ll blow over, Special Agent Fong.”
* * *
Maloney pointed a chubby index finger at Gold. “You screwed up.”
Yes, I did. “They should have told us about Abdullah.”
“I know, but they didn’t. Either way, you should have coordinated with the feds.”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Yes, there was. You had time to call Roman Kuliniak. You should have called Fong—and me—on your way to the print shop. You wanted to collar this guy yourself.”
“Chief—”
Maloney stopped him. “I don’t want to hear it, Gold. I’d pull you off this case right now if I had any other options.”
“That would be a mistake,” Battle said.
“Would it?” Maloney’s eyes lit up. “Twenty-six people are dead, Detective Battle. The El, the buses, and the trains are down. O’Hare and Midway are closed. So are the museums. And Wrigley Field. And Millennium Park. The cell phones and the payphones are out. National Guard troops are watching our gas stations. Downtown is empty. People are barricading themselves inside their houses. The feds are about to shut
down government offices. And what do I have to show for it? My top homicide team just arrested an FBI agent. Nice work, guys.”
* * *
The young man tried to contain his glee as he watched footage of the raid at Salaam Printing on CNN for the fourth time. Maloney had issued a cryptic statement that the investigation was continuing, and that Chicagoans should remain vigilant. The uncertainty in his tone had generated even greater anxiety for a city with already frayed nerves.
Thank you, Detective Gold. Thank you.
The red dot showed that Gold and Battle were still at 26th and Cal. He wondered if they realized the magnitude of their blunder.
Time to tweak them again.
* * *
Gold opened the new e-mail. It read, “We’ve run out of patience, Detective Gold. You aren’t taking us seriously. We will set off another bomb in ten minutes. We will continue to set off a bomb every hour thereafter until you free Hassan. You’ve been warned. IFF.”
Chapter 44
“WE WILL NOT CONTACT YOU AGAIN”
Gold thumbed in a reply reading, “Call me. Prepared to discuss terms.”
A response came back immediately. “This isn’t a negotiation. Free Hassan now. Otherwise, we will begin moving into other cities. We will not contact you again. IFF.”
* * *
The young man smiled. He was amused by the idea of setting off bombs in other locations. It might inspire copycats to start blowing up cars in other places.
Betcha I have your attention now, Detective Gold.
* * *
“I got another e-mail,” Gold said, agitated.
Fong nodded. “I know. So did I.” He was staring at his laptop in the conference room in the basement of the intake center at 26th and Cal. “We aren’t the only ones.”
“Mojo?”
“And every major media outlet in the country.” Fong glanced at a handwritten list. “The Trib, Sun-Times, New York Times, Washington Post, L.A. Times, and San Francisco Chronicle. WGN. CBS. NBC. ABC. CNN. Fox News. MSNBC. Bloomberg. Huffington Post. Drudge Report. Politico. People. TMZ. Hell, he even sent it to Al-Jazeera. And that’s just the beginning. It’s already gone viral.”
Dammit. Gold and Battle crowded in behind Fong, who was scrolling through dozens of messages from his colleagues at Quantico. “Please tell me that you can trace this one,” Gold said.
Fong spun around. “It was an encrypted e-mail sent through a series of anonymous servers via overseas routers.”
“Another bomb is supposed to go off any minute.”
“Thanks for reminding me. Send him another e-mail. Try to engage him.”
Gold set his BlackBerry on the table and thumbed in a message reading, “Please call me right away. Ready to talk now. Need to discuss terms.”
It went through, but there was no response.
“You got a trace on my outgoing e-mail?” Gold asked.
“No.”
Gold glanced at the CNN website. Wolf Blitzer held a hand to his earpiece. “We have more breaking news,” he said. “We are getting preliminary reports of a car bomb in the parking lot of a McDonald’s across the street from Wrigley Field.”
Chapter 45
“THIS IS A GAME CHANGER”
Gold’s shoulder burned as he and Battle led a convoy of squad cars and FBI SUVs north on the Kennedy. He pressed Disconnect on his BlackBerry and set it in his lap. He turned and spoke to Battle as they exited the expressway at Addison. “Fong’s people can’t trace the e-mail.”
Battle squeezed the steering wheel. “Not helpful.”
They drove in silence toward Wrigley Field. Gold monitored the police band and listened to the stream of emergency updates over broadcast radio, where coverage was in full-blown hyperdrive. The momentary euphoria from the raid at Salaam Printing had subsided. WGN reported phantom sightings of bombs at several fast food outlets. WBBM received an unsubstantiated tip about plans to poison the water supply. A Fox News contributor insisted the Islamic Freedom Federation was controlled by Al-Qaeda in Yemen. Twitter and the blogs were ablaze with conspiracy theories and potential threats to New York, Los Angeles, and Miami.
Battle pulled a toothpick from the ashtray. “Any chance Al-Shahid’s brother is involved?”
“Unlikely,” Gold said. “He’s still at the condo in Hyde Park.”
“What about Zibari and Raheem?”
Gold reported that Ibrahim Zibari was sipping a latte at the Starbucks on 55th, and Mohammad Raheem and Karim Fayyadh were having ice cream at the Quadrangle Club on the U. of C. campus.
Battle asked about Ahmed Jafar.
“He took a group of kids to a movie at the Logan Theater. It’s still open.”
“He could have a laptop.”
“Our people are sitting behind him.” Gold also ruled out any of the employees at Salaam Printing. They were being interrogated at 26th and Cal.
“We aren’t any closer than we were yesterday,” Battle observed.
“He’s going to make a mistake. Nobody is this good.”
The intersection of Addison and Clark was filled with emergency vehicles. The red sign above the main gate to the ballpark read, “Wrigley Field. Home of the Chicago Cubs.” The message board below it flashed, “Emergency: stay clear of police and fire equipment.” Gold looked up and saw a WGN helicopter hovering above the left field roof. He turned up the radio. Mojo’s voice was hoarse as she tried to make herself heard.
“This is Carol Modjeski reporting live from the WGN Air Force above Wrigley Field. A car bomb has been detonated at the McDonald’s on the west side of Clark. We have unconfirmed reports of at least one fatality. We have no information about the car or the detonator. An organization called the Islamic Freedom Federation has threatened to set off a bomb every hour until accused terrorist Hassan Al-Shahid is released. They’ve also threatened to take their war to other cities. If your car is missing, please report it immediately. If you see anything suspicious, please report it right away. Otherwise, please stay home.”
Gold and Battle parked in the players’ lot on the third-base side of the ballpark. They found Sergeant Vic Wronski inside the yellow tape encircling McDonald’s. Wronski led them to a smoldering Olds Cutlass, where Commander Mike Rowan was picking through the rubble.
The bomb jockey’s expression was grim. “The detonator is a two–way radio made by an outfit called Python. Forty-nine-ninety-nine at Wal-Mart. We don’t know the point of purchase. Hell, we can’t even get a serial number. The damn thing melted.”
“What’s their range?” Gold asked.
“About twenty miles. They don’t work by satellite, so there’s no way we can pull the plug.” Rowan took a deep breath of the smoky air. “This is a game changer. If he’s planted these things all over town, there’s no way we can stop him.”
Chapter 46
“THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT HAS DECLARED A STATE OF EMERGENCY”
Gold’s stomach churned as the mayor, the head of DHS, and Chief Maloney convened a joint press briefing in the stifling heat on the soft asphalt in front of a banner bearing Ronald McDonald’s smiling face. The mayor spoke first.
“It is my unhappy responsibility to report that one person was killed and two people were injured by a bomb set off in an Olds Cutlass,” he said. “We have not released the name of the victim. The injured have been taken to Rush Medical Center. The Cutlass was reported stolen from Ravenswood on Thursday night. The owner is not a suspect. The City of Chicago has increased its reward to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the bomber.”
Gold knew that rewards were a mixed bag. They often led to more unsubstantiated leads than helpful information.
The mayor stepped back and yielded to the head of DHS, who read from an index card. “The United States of America is offering an additional reward of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of this terrorist, who will be prosecuted to the full
est extent of the law. The federal government has declared a state of emergency. Please stay home unless you need immediate medical attention. Government offices not involving public safety are closed. So are schools. Mail delivery is suspended. So are all modes of public transit except taxis. Midway and O’Hare remain closed.” He looked up for an instant. “We have ordered the closure of all service stations within the Chicago city limits. We will reevaluate the situation as conditions warrant.” He put the card inside his pocket and hid behind Maloney, who stepped forward and tried again to reassure his hometown.
“We are going to catch the person who has been setting off these bombs,” the chief said. “We need everybody to remain vigilant. If you see anything suspicious, please call us immediately.”
Gold shook his head. Press briefings were necessary, but they took up valuable time.
Mojo pushed her way past Christiane Amanpour and parked in front of the chief. Her hair was disheveled, and her make-up was smeared. “Earlier today, you made several arrests at Salaam Printing. We understood those individuals were responsible for the bombings.”
“That was a misunderstanding. They were arrested for grand theft. The State’s Attorney is considering additional charges. At this time, we have no evidence connecting them to the bombings.”
“Why were you taking valuable time away from a terrorist investigation?”
“We got a tip. We have no further comment.”
Mojo pointed toward the Cutlass. “Was the detonator a cell phone?”
Maloney decided to play it straight. “No, it was a two-way radio. We are attempting to identify where it was purchased. We are contacting every merchant in the Chicago area that sells this device. We will need their cooperation.”
“Can you shut them down?”
Maloney’s voice was barely audible when he said, “No.”
“The Islamic Freedom Federation threatened to set off a bomb every hour until Hassan Al-Shahid is released. Do you have any comment about that?”
“No.”
“They’ve threatened other cities.”
The Terrorist Next Door Page 19