The Terrorist Next Door
Page 23
Battle was the first to move. He shook his head in frustration, then he barreled up the stairs. Rowan followed him. The SWAT teamers brought up the rear.
“Five. Six.”
Martinez finally followed his colleagues. “We’ll be right outside,” he said to Gold.
“Fine. Go. Now!”
“Seven. Eight. Nine.”
“They’re out!” Gold yelled. “Everybody but me.”
“I know,” the voice said calmly. “They showed good judgment, Detective. So did you. Now we can talk.”
Gold used his flashlight to survey the basement again, but he didn’t see anybody. He tried to engage him. “Who are you?” he asked.
“The Islamic Freedom Federation.”
“How many are you?”
“Enough to shut down Chicago—quite easily. We’ve been so successful here that we’re planning to take our act to other cities.”
“What do you want?”
“You have eight minutes to release Hassan Al-Shahid and drop all charges against him.”
“We need more time.”
“No, you don’t. I know you’re on the radio with Special Agent Fong and Chief Maloney. Tell Maloney to call down to 26th and Cal. I want Earl Feldman to read a statement on WGN TV confirming Hassan’s release and the dropping of the charges. I’ll be watching.”
“How do you know Hassan?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Can we talk about it?”
“After Hassan is released. Otherwise, Assistant State’s Attorney Silver is going to die.”
Gold believed him. “I need to talk to her. Where is she?”
“With you.”
“What do you mean?”
“See those tall bookcases?”
Gold used his flashlight to look around. “Yes.”
“Walk over there, Detective.”
Gold stayed in a crouch and held his service revolver and his flashlight in front of him as he moved deliberately toward a row of bookcases blocking off the rear of the basement. He eased through a gap between them.
The voice spoke up again. “That’s far enough, Detective.”
A single light bulb on the ceiling illuminated. It shined down on Silver’s face, her eyes and mouth covered with tape. On the wall behind her, Gold saw the outline of the menorah from the photo. Silver was seated on a card chair propped against a steal support beam. She was wearing a heavy gray vest. Gold guessed it was filled with explosives. Her hands were pulled behind her. Layers of tape were wrapped around her chest, the chair, and the beam, keeping her from moving. Her ankles were lashed to the legs of the chair, which was placed in an aluminum tub filled with gasoline. A two-way radio was taped beneath her chin, wires leading to the vest and the gasoline.
The voice boomed. “You now have seven minutes, Detective Gold.”
Chapter 64
“NEXT TIME I’LL BURN THE BUILDING DOWN”
“Seven minutes,” the voice repeated.
Gold crouched behind a chair about twenty feet from Silver, who was struggling against the loops of tape wound around her chest. His eyes adjusted to the light. The voice was coming from somewhere in the shadows behind her. He raised his weapon, but he didn’t know where to aim. He spoke to the voice again. “If you blow up the building, you’ll kill yourself, too. You don’t strike me as a suicide bomber.”
The voice responded with a derisive laugh. “I’m not.”
“You’ll never make it out.”
“I never made it in.”
What the hell? Gold finally saw a two-way radio mounted on a beam above Silver’s head. He also noticed two small cameras: one pointed at Silver, the other aimed at him. He held his hand in front of his mouth and whispered to Fong. “He isn’t inside the building. He’s talking to me on a two-way radio and watching me through a camera.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you identify the voice?”
“No. He’s using voice modification software.”
“You want me to conference in our hostage negotiator?”
“Not yet. I think he wants to talk to me.”
“Keep him talking. Maybe he’ll give you a clue about his location.”
“I’ll try.” Gold inched forward and whispered to Silver. “Can you hear me, Lori?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
Gold had moved within about ten feet of her when the voice spoke again.
“That’s close enough, Detective.”
You can’t stop me. Gold took another step toward Silver. As he did, an aluminum trash can behind him exploded. Silver screamed through the tape covering her mouth as flames licked the ceiling and smoke filled the basement. Gold frantically smothered the fire with a rug. He moved back to his position behind the chair.
The voice spoke to him again. “Next time I’ll burn the building down.”
* * *
Fong’s monitors had gone blank. “Talk to me,” he said to Gold. Maloney was leaning over his shoulder. He could smell garlic on the chief’s breath. “I see smoke coming out the front door.”
“Fire’s out,” Gold whispered.
“You want us to send in firefighters?”
“Too dangerous.” Gold’s voice was hoarse. “Listen carefully. I don’t know how much he can hear. Lori is wearing a vest with explosives. She’s taped to a chair sitting in a tub filled with gasoline. She and the chair are taped to a support beam. It’s going to be hard to move her. A two-way radio is taped to her chest with wires running to the vest and the gas.”
“Can you get to her before he sets it off?”
“Not likely.”
“Can you remove the detonator?”
“Maybe.” Gold’s voice was a tense whisper. “I might be able to get her out of the tub, but he’ll be able to set off the vest. He’ll also set off the other bombs. Either way, she’s going to die.”
So will you. Her head will be blown off before she burns to death. “Get the hell out,” Fong said.
“Not without Lori.”
“Then we’re coming in.”
“Then nobody’s coming out alive.”
Fong’s head throbbed. “What does he want?”
Gold glanced at his watch. “Al-Shahid’s release and all charges dropped. He wants it broadcast live on WGN in the next six minutes.”
Is he kidding? Fong turned around and looked at Maloney, who spoke directly to Gold.
“You know we’ll never be able to do that.”
“Then find a way to buy me some time.”
* * *
Eleven-fifty-four p.m. The young man smiled as he listened to the audio through an earplug attached to his laptop. He was watching the live feed from WGN. Mojo had just reported that Al-Shahid was being taken to the discharge area at 26th and Cal.
They’re trying to stall.
He picked up his two-way radio and silently congratulated himself for using the voice-modification software. “Detective Gold?”
“Yes?”
“I just saw Hassan in the release area. That’s progress. I’ll look forward to seeing Earl Feldman on TV.” He was starting to enjoy taunting Gold.
“We’re working on it.”
You’re a lousy liar.
“How can we reach you?” Gold asked. “Can you give us a phone number?”
“The phones are out, Detective.”
“What about an e-mail or text address?”
“I’ll contact you when I need you. In the meantime, you need to focus on Hassan’s release.” As if it’s really going to happen.
“We need more time,” Gold said. “Mr. Feldman is on his way to 26th and Cal.”
Sure he is. He didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances, but he knew that he could garner even more media time if he stretched things out. He counted to five before he responded. “Detective, this isn’t a negotiation. However, as a gesture of goodwill, the Islamic Freedom Fede
ration has decided to give you a five-minute extension. If Hassan’s release isn’t broadcast live on WGN by twelve-oh-five a.m., Assistant State’s Attorney Silver is going to die.”
And so will you.
Chapter 65
“DO YOU WANT TO MAKE A STATEMENT?”
Gold figured he had no more than five minutes—if that—before he’d have to take a chance and try to free Silver himself. He didn’t like his odds. He leaned forward and whispered to Silver. “Can you hear me, Lori?”
A nod.
“I need you to be ready to move in the next few minutes. If you hear me count to three, I want you to brace yourself. Got it?”
Another nod.
“Good.” I’m not going to let another person I love die alone. Either we’re going home together, or we’re going to die together.
* * *
Fong stared at his monitor inside the steamy FBI van. The camera on Gold’s vest was trained at Silver, whose head was slumped forward. “Talk to me,” he said to Gold.
“I bought us five more minutes,” he whispered.
“I heard.” Not enough. Fong glanced at Maloney, who nodded. “They brought Al-Shahid down to the discharge area at 26th and Cal. We’re providing a live feed to WGN. Mojo is onboard. Feldman will be there in a minute. He’s agreed to play along—for now. We’ll put on a good show.”
“It better be a really good show,” Gold whispered. “I need to talk to Roman Kuliniak.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Just find him.”
* * *
Gold spoke loudly to the two-way radio. “Al-Shahid is at the release center at 26th and Cal. You can see it on WGN.”
“I’m watching.”
“Earl Feldman will be there shortly.”
“No more extensions, Detective Gold.”
Gold believed him. He needed to put something on the table—fast. “Do you want to make a statement?” You must have a manifesto, right? “We’ll get WGN to broadcast it. It will give you an opportunity to explain your position. It’ll be rebroadcast all over the world.”
There was a hesitation. “Sure.”
It was more tentative than Gold had expected. “We’ll need to call you. Can you give us a number?”
“No. I’ll issue my statement to you over this microphone. You can broadcast it over the radio you’re using to communicate with Special Agent Fong.”
“Nobody will be able to hear you.”
“You’ll make it work.”
“It’ll take time.”
“No more extensions.”
Gold glanced at his watch. Three minutes to twelve. “Let me ask you something else. Do we know each other?”
No answer.
“Do you know Assistant State’s Attorney Silver?”
No answer.
“Did we do something to make you angry?”
The voice finally responded. “You’re wasting time, Detective Gold.”
“I’d really like to know. Maybe I can help you.”
There was a long pause. “It isn’t personal,” the voice finally said. “You’re the investigator and she’s the prosecutor on Hassan’s case. You embody the American legal system, and you’re symbols of American oppression.”
Let him talk. “Oppression of whom?”
“Take your pick: Blacks, Hispanics, and now Muslims. Your politicians send young people to fight wars in countries that are no threat to you. It’s a waste of time, resources, and lives.”
Gold had expected the standard talking point about oppression. “We’re proud of the people who serve in our military.”
“You’re using them to buy cheap oil.”
“Maybe.”
The voice became more agitated. “You treat your servicemen like dirt when they come home. They can’t find jobs. They can’t get health care. At the end of the day, it does nothing to keep this country safer. The terrorists aren’t overseas, Detective. You should be worried about the terrorist next door.”
“There hasn’t been a terrorist attack in the U.S. since Nine-Eleven.”
“Until now. You’ve been lucky, Detective Gold. We’ve demonstrated just how easy it would be to shut down a major U.S. city.”
“You’ve made your point.”
“Not quite.”
“You think you can make it any more emphatically by blowing up this building and killing Assistant State’s Attorney Silver and me?”
“No, I think I can make it more emphatically when you release Hassan.” The voice waited a beat. “Five minutes.”
* * *
The young man silently cursed himself. I said too much.
* * *
Gold wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Did you get that?” he whispered to Fong.
“It sounded more like a disgruntled U.S. soldier than a Muslim fundamentalist.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you really going to put him on live?” Fong asked.
“I’m going to make him think we’re putting him on live. You need to work out the logistics in a hurry.”
“Hang on.” The line went silent for a second. “I’ve got Roman Kuliniak. He says it’s urgent.”
Finally. “Conference him in on my BlackBerry.”
Chapter 66
“WE NEED TO TALK”
Gold listened intently as Kuliniak chose his words carefully. “I’m at Sally Janikowski’s house with Sally and Father Stash. Sally just admitted that Mike hasn’t been home since Friday.”
I should have known.
Kuliniak was still talking. “Father Stash let Mike use a garage at St. Hyacinth’s to store his equipment. It’s filled with gas cans.”
Hell. “Any idea where we can find him?”
“No. We tried his cell phone. It isn’t working.”
“What set him off?”
“Sally said he was unhappy about the Muslims who have moved into Polish Town. He’s also upset about the plans for the Shrine of Heaven’s new mosque on Diversey.” Kuliniak cleared his throat. “It’s on the same block as his father’s business.”
“That’s what this is all about? He’s trying to start a war against the Muslim community to stop construction of the mosque?”
“So it would seem.” The veteran commander cleared his throat. “We may never know what really set him off, Dave. He saw a lot of horrible stuff in Iraq. He was under an ungodly amount of pressure. Maybe he just snapped.”
“Let me talk to Father Stash.”
The line went silent for a moment. Then Gold heard the familiar voice. “David, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“I don’t have time for you to beat yourself up, Father Stash. I want you to stay on the line. I need you to talk to Mike.”
* * *
The young man’s hands were sweating as he squinted at the small monitor. He absent-mindedly fingered DeShawn Robinson’s BlackBerry, which was inside his back pocket. He picked up the two-way radio. “Five minutes, Detective.”
“Are you ready to make your statement?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?”
“Yes!” he shouted. His backpack was sitting on the floor next to his feet. He reached down and tugged on the zipper. He felt for his water bottle.
“Still can’t hear you.” Gold said.
“Can you hear me now?”
“You’re breaking up. Any chance we could call you on a phone?”
“No! I don’t have a phone.”
“Hang on. I have someone who needs to talk to you.”
“We don’t have time, Detective. Hello?”
The answer didn’t come from Gold. “Hello Michael,” the soothing voice said. “It’s Father Stash. We need to talk.”
Chapter 67
“IT’S TIME TO COME HOME”
This isn’t happening.
The waif-thin young man with the wispy beard and the dark brown eyes looked intently at the monitor sitting on the counter on the top flo
or of an abandoned three-flat on Baltimore Street, around the corner from the old synagogue. Michael Janikowski’s jaws clenched as he stared at the grainy footage of Gold, who was still crouched behind a chair about twenty feet from the miniature camera he’d mounted on a joist above Silver’s head. He clutched a two-way radio in his right hand. If Gold got any closer, he would detonate the bombs.
“Mike?” Father Stash said. “Are you there?”
Dammit. He thought about making a dash for the car he’d hidden on the east side of the Metra tracks. Or he could disappear into the South Works site.
He felt his face turning red as he kicked the remains of a cabinet. He tried to focus on the monitor as he felt his legs buckle. He extended his hands to cushion himself as he sank to the floor, landing hard on his tailbone. This generated pressure on the red End button on Robinson’s BlackBerry, which was still inside his back pocket.
“Mike?” Father Stash said again. “Tell me what’s troubling you, my son.”
* * *
Gold pointed his BlackBerry at the two-way radio above Silver’s head. He turned up the volume on his speakerphone. Father Stash spoke clearly in his best Sunday voice.
“I’m with your mother, Michael,” he said. “She needs you.”
No answer.
Gold looked at Silver, who was listening intently. “Lori,” he whispered, “get ready.”
She nodded.
Gold pulled the BlackBerry down to his ear. “Try again, Stash,” he whispered. He held up the phone.
“Michael?” the priest said. “Can you hear me? It’s time to come home.”
Another pause. Finally, Janikowski spoke up. “I can’t come home, Father Stash.”
“Of course you can.”
“I’ve done some very bad things.”
“Your mother loves you, Michael. So do I. We’ll help you. If you seek forgiveness, Jesus will help you, too.”
“It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late. Nobody else has to get hurt, Michael. Detective Gold and Assistant State’s Attorney Silver are good people.”
“Nobody will understand.”
“Understand what?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“You need to try, Michael. I’m listening.”
* * *