Legacy and Redemption

by George Norris

  “Sure.”

  “When you guys showed up at my house this morning and told me what was going on, the craziest thing popped into my mind. I thought about how my father took down a terrorist cell and now I have a chance to help to do the same thing. It’s almost as if it were destiny. Maybe I’ll have a chance to fill his shoes…you know…be just like he was.”

  I sure hope not immediately popped in Castillo’s mind, but thankfully he showed enough restraint not to let the words cross his lips. Before he had the chance to verbally respond to Keegan’s comment, there was a knock on the door and Richard Feller entered.

  Feller spoke directly to Castillo. “The prisoner’s in interrogation room one. I’ll go in there with Keegan and you can watch the interview from behind the one way mirror with the rest of my guys working the case from our office.”

  Castillo nodded in agreement.

  Feller turned his attention to Keegan. “Are you ready?”

  “Sure am.” Keegan tried to mask his apprehensiveness by sounding confident, but Castillo could see right through it. He hoped the terrorist wouldn’t also pick up on Keegan’s trepidation.

  As Keegan stood up, Feller needed to clarify something. “Officer Keegan, this is a matter of national security. I’m sure that I don’t have to remind you of that. Is there anything that we should know before we go in there?”

  Keegan shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just as confused as you guys why this guy wants to talk to me.”

  “You’re sure? We don’t like surprises if we can avoid them.”

  “I’m sure, Mr. Feller.”

  Castillo figured Feller to have his doubts, and he could understand why. None of this seemed to make any sense. As Feller and Keegan left the room, Castillo knew they would all have their answers in a matter of minutes.

  Castillo entered the adjacent room. It was dark and small; approximately five feet by seven feet by Castillo’s estimation. He stood next to four FBI agents who had all been watching the interrogation earlier. The agents silently nodded at Castillo, acknowledging his presence. Castillo returned the gesture. One of the agents adjusted the pull down shade used to cover the one way mirror. He raised it to its maximum height allowing for a totally unobstructed view. Once the shade had been lifted, Castillo focused on Murad Zein. He was shackled to a table on the other side of the glass. One of his eyes was swollen and he looked very tired.

  The door opened and the prisoner looked up to see Feller and Keegan enter the room. Castillo’s eyes darted back and forth between Keegan and the terrorist looking for any faint hint of recognition from either man. There was none. Keegan pulled out a chair as both men sat. The chair scraped across the floor as he did so. While the noise may have been unpleasant, it made Castillo very happy. Clearly the sound quality was not going to be an issue; he would be able to hear every word.

  *

  Richard Feller made the introductions and neither man spoke for nearly a minute. Zein seemed to be looking Keegan up and down with a scowl on his face. His eyes narrowed and hardened with each passing second. Castillo looked at Keegan who was clearly uncomfortable. Finally the silence was broken.

  “Did you bring your gun in here, Officer Keegan?”

  Keegan glanced at Feller, seemingly unclear what to say.

  This seemed to irritate the prisoner. “Don’t look at him. You’re a grown man. Now please answer my question.”

  Feller nodded and Keegan finally responded. “No. I came in here unarmed.”

  There was a knot forming in Castillo’s stomach as he watched. Where the hell is this going?

  “That was very wise of you, Officer Keegan.” Zein lifted his hands demonstrating that he was chained to the desk. “Officer Keegan. I am chained at the ankles and chained at the wrists, but I am a loyal man to my friend. My heart and soul can never be chained.” His eyes narrowed before he continued. “If you, or any other cop in here, had brought a gun, I would’ve done my best to get it and kill you…chains or no chains.”

  Feller was quick to interrupt as Keegan seemed slightly taken aback. “Murad, is this really what you had us fly this cop all the way from New York to say to him?”

  Zein’s eyes never left Keegan’s as he responded to Feller. “No. It is not.”

  “So let’s get to it then.” Feller seemed to be losing his patience knowing a terrorist attack may be imminent.

  “Officer Keegan, your father arrested my friend Nazeem many years ago. But I’m sure by now you know that, as he tried to kill you last night in retribution.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Keegan responded, his voice not quite as unsteady as it had been earlier.

  “You may also feel that your father was murdered by friends of Nazeem many years ago and that should have settled the score.”

  Keegan listened but did not respond.

  The knot in the pit of Louis Castillo’s stomach intensified as he listened. Castillo was probably the only cop still on the NYPD that knew the truth about Lieutenant James Keegan’s assassination; nobody had ever questioned the cover story that the NYPD and Castillo put out there to protect the reputation of the department. He had a bad feeling that Murad Zein was about to muddy the waters somehow. He didn’t know how, but in his gut, he knew that he would.

  “Your friends, your co-workers, your own police department have been lying to you for two decades. It was not my group, or any other mid-eastern group who killed your father.”

  Keegan shook his head dismissing the claim. “What bullshit that is. Okay, if it wasn’t you guys then who was it?”

  It seemed clear to Zein that he was starting to get under Keegan’s skin. A slight smile came to his lips for the first time since he was in custody. “This I do not know; perhaps a jealous whore that he was fucking. The only thing that I know for sure is that it was not us.”

  Keegan shot back, “Okay, I’ll play your game. How can you be sure? It was twenty years ago. You were just a kid.”

  Zein had been waiting for the question. “Because, Officer Keegan, the man they blamed on the attack was my uncle. Yes, he was killed in a drone strike as your government claimed, but it was not him who planted the bomb. My uncle was a cripple since an accident in his younger days. He couldn’t walk for almost fifteen years before you Americans killed him.”

  Castillo’s heart raced faster as he listened. He hoped that Keegan didn’t believe the story. The last thing Castillo wanted—and he was sure the last thing that the NYPD would want—is for someone to start digging into the case of a cop who had all been canonized by the department. The last thing the department would need is for the public found out the truth about the assassination. It could ruin the reputation of the department for years to come.

  Keegan continued to shake his head angrily and even offered a sarcastic sneer. “Why would I believe any of this?”

  “Maybe you will and maybe you won’t. That is up to you, but what I am telling you is the truth. Why don’t you look into it for yourself? Your foolish government wasn’t even smart enough to blame it on a man who could walk...or was even in your country at the time your father was killed. Go through the old case if they will show it to you. My guess is they will say it was lost in a fire.” Zein laughed to himself as he spoke.

  Keegan’s face reddened. It was clear to anyone watching, including Castillo, that Keegan at very least was considering what the terrorist was saying.

  “Officer Keegan. I want you to suffer.” He once again lifted his shackled hands. “But physically, I cannot harm you. However, I pray to Allah that you will find the truth, and that it will be the most painful emotional thing that you ever go through. I hope that it leaves you with torment for the rest of your life, just as my friend Nazeem lived when you Americans put him in prison and murdered his only son.”

  He looked Keegan up and down and his nostrils flared. “I hope it was a whore that killed him, or he was working with the mafia and they killed him, or something else a whole lot more sinister than him dying a hero. He was n
o hero.” Zein defiantly turned his head and spit on the ground before going on. “If he had really been a hero, your police department and government would have had no reason to lie to everyone.”

  Castillo ran a hand roughly across his face, nervously giving his chin a tug as he did. He wished there was a way for him to stop this and shut the man up, but he knew that was not possible. Not only would it be too obvious, but there was still the big picture to consider—if he spoke the truth, there was an immediate threat to the safety of many Americans. He refocused as Zein continued.

  “I want you to consider another thing.” Zein motioned with his head toward Feller. “I have made a deal to tell your partner here about a large scale Jihad on American soil. Why would I do that for a lie? I will answer that question for you; I wouldn’t. When you see the newspapers tomorrow and watch the news tonight, you will see that I was telling the truth about everything. You will see that my word is the truth as I stand here before judgment of Allah. I am telling you the truth…and you will see this for yourself.”

  Feller who was apparently unmoved by the entire speech began, “Okay Murad, now you’ve had your say. Keep up your end of the bargain and tell us what we need to know; if for no other reason than to prove to Officer Keegan here that you are telling the truth.”

  Zein nodded. He looked down at the table, praying for forgiveness from Allah for betraying the Jihad. He looked up at Feller. “I will tell you.” After a period of silence, “there will be attacks within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours; all suicide bombers. They will be in San Francisco, Arlington and Bloomington.”

  Arlington and Bloomington?

  Castillo quickly moved past the issue with Keegan and on to the task at hand. Keegan could be dealt with down the road. The suicide bombers could not. He was shocked to hear about the additional targets, believing New York, a city in the mid-west (presumably Chicago since that was where they apprehended Zein with a suicide vest), and an unknown city in California were to be the only three. Apparently that city in California was San Francisco.

  Feller quickly stood up and thanked Keegan before escorting him out of the room. “Officer, thank you so much for everything that you’ve done for us here today.” Feller put one hand on Keegan’s shoulder and presented a firm handshake with the other. “I can’t let you sit in there any longer. Not only is the information classified, but if he refocuses back on you we may lose him.”

  Keegan returned the handshake. “I understand.”

  “Keegan, if this does pan out the nation will owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  Feller called for one of his assistants to escort Keegan to a waiting area. As he walked away, Keegan could hear Murad Zein shout through the door. “Keeeegan, you will see that every word I have said is true. Find your own truth.”

  Feller opened the adjacent room and invited Agent Brock and Castillo to join them in the interrogation room. Before they could enter, Bob Wolf and Frank Balentine scurried into the office. Wolf looked at Castillo. “Did we miss anything, Louie?”

  Castillo could only shake his head. “You’re not going to believe any of this.”

  With the additions of Robert Wolf and Frank Balentine, the interrogation room had become too small. Richard Feller made the executive decision to move the interrogation to a small conference room down the hall. While Zein would no longer be chained to a desk, his handcuffs and leg restraints would remain in place.

  Castillo, the only non FBI personnel, sat with the others at the large cherry wood conference table. The conference room was very similar to the one back at 26 Federal Plaza where Castillo worked back in New York. From the large screen televisions mounted on the walls, right down to the same dark gray carpeting and black leather chairs. Castillo began to wonder if there was a specific interior designer that the FBI used nationwide.

  Richard Feller sat at the head of the table with Bob Wolf to his right and Feller’s man, Brock, to the left. The other agents, who had been watching the meeting between Zein and Keegan with Castillo from behind the one way mirror, filled in the rest of the chairs. Castillo sat in between Wolf and Frank Balentine, trying to catch them up on the gist of the interview so far. Castillo had been conscious to omit the part regarding the murder of James Keegan years ago. His reasoning was twofold; it didn’t pertain to the impending terrorist attacks, and maybe more importantly, Robert Wolf had been close friends with James Keegan. The last thing Castillo wanted was a federal investigation into Keegan’s murder.

  The conference room door opened and a rear cuffed Murad Zein was escorted by two additional agents. Feller directed Zein be seated in the open chair between Agent Brock and another agent. “Cuff his left hand to the arm of the chair so his right hand is free in case he needs to right anything.” While Wolf outranked Feller, he decided to let Feller run the interview as he had already established a rapport with the prisoner.

  “Yes sir.” The agents did as they were told and left the room. Brock opened a fresh bottle of water and placed it in front of Zein. He removed the pack of cigarettes from his inside jacket pocket and held it out to the prisoner. Zein took one and held it in his mouth for Brock to light. He took a long drag and then set in down on the ashtray which had been set in front of his place at the table.

  Feller motioned to Zein and waved his arm. “Okay Murad, we are all ears. The floor is yours.”

  Zein nodded methodically. “I’m sure you are.”

  He took another drag from the cigarette then a drink of water. He seemed to want to keep his audience waiting.

  “If it had not been for Nazeem’s misplaced passion, we would have killed many people; perhaps thousands. Nazeem’s role was to go to your Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City. He was to be wearing the vest, and at about fifteen minutes before noon, he was to run into the middle of the parade and detonate it. His desire was to detonate it among the marchers from the NYPD as a symbolic gesture for his false imprisonment twenty years ago. Sheykh Hajjar was fine with his request as to him; any dead American is just as good as another, whether they were cops, bankers, women, or children.”

  “Let me stop you there,” interjected Feller. “Since Nazeem has passed on, is there someone else in New York going to make an attack at the parade?”

  “Or anywhere else in New York?” Bob Wolf was quick to add.

  Zein shook his head. “No. New York was left up to Nazeem.”

  “Okay, continue.”

  “At the same time, well I should say at the same moment because of the different time zones, a man named Ali Benliz will be driving a van with nearly one hundred pounds of C-4 inside. His brother Akeem will be driving a stolen eighteen wheel truck. Akeem will drive the truck onto the Golden Gate Bridge and come to a sudden halt right next to the first suspension tower. He will turn the truck blocking as many lanes as possible. Ali will be right behind him and block the remaining lanes. Ali will be on the outside, closest to the suspension tower and detonate the C-4 once traffic has built up significantly behind them. It is our belief that an explosion of this magnitude will be enough to take down the bridge—a symbol of American arrogance—and kill many Thanksgiving Day travelers. Ali and Akeem share an apartment not far from the University of San Francisco. I do not know the exact location.”

  Agent Brock wrote down the names of the two men as fast as he could and handed the paper to one of the other agents, who quickly left the room. Identifying these men and locating them was of the essence. Everyone in the room—perhaps with the exception of Murad Zein—would agree with that.

  Zein laughed as the American ran out the door. He inhaled deeply from the cigarette, the tip glowing a bright orange. Zein blew the smoke slowly into the air, making an occasional smoke ring as he did. “Should I continue or would you like me to wait for him to come back from the bathroom?”

  Castillo could sense the arrogance the prisoner was taking in. He knew he had a captive audience who hung on his every word.

  “Please continue,” Feller politely
requested.

  “You Americans love your American football so much. What do you call your team from Dallas…the Cowboys? You call them America’s team. America’s team is playing a game at noon on Thanksgiving at their home stadium in Texas, yes? Well, at the same time the Golden Gate Bridge will be crumbling into the Pacific Ocean, Malik al-Jafri will be entering the stadium also wearing a suicide vest. He will be wearing a Dallas Cowboys winter parka over it. Once security tries to search him, he will run past them and detonate it inside the lobby of the arena. We have been assured the reverberations in an enclosed area will sustain maximum damage and casualties. If we get real lucky maybe the stadium will collapse. You will find Malik staying at a Hotel 6 in Dallas.”

  Once again, Brock scribbled and once again another of the agents fled the room.

  “Run little mouse…run,” Zein mocked.

  “Okay, Murad. Where else?”

  Zein shook his head. “That is all that was going to happen on Thanksgiving…New York, Arlington and San Francisco.”

  Wolf was quick to jump in. “You said Bloomington before and you had a vest as well.”

  Zein rolled his eyes in a mocking gesture. He slowly drank from the bottle of water and asked Brock for another cigarette which he gave him. After a slow draw; “Did you want to know the second phase as well?”

  It was a two-phased attack! Just like the guy in Germany said. Castillo knew that his instincts about the man had been correct.

  “Yes, please,” said Wolf, playing to the prisoner’s ego.

  “Well, originally we were going to hit again on the day after Thanksgiving. What do you call it…‘Black Friday’? But we decided against it. Sheykh Hajjar and I decided that the Sunday after your Thanksgiving would be the next phase. We would let you think that we were finished. I was to detonate my suicide vest in O’Hare International airport at three pm as the Thanksgiving Day travelers were overcrowding the airport to get back home after your holiday.”

  Zein paused and looked at Brock. “Save your ink, you have already caught me.”