It probably took less than ten minutes for the Emergency Service cops to exit the location and announce that the premise was empty, but to Castillo, it seemed like an eternity. Castillo was then invited inside the location and led the ESU cops and members of the bomb squad to the area of concern in the basement. Castillo breathed a sigh of relief to see that the walls were still intact. If Keegan was right, however, a few hundred pounds of military grade C-4 plastic explosives were concealed behind them. Castillo reflected back to the day when he first met Keegan, and the rookie cop pointed out the fresh paint and uneven walls. Castillo had been quick to criticize; probably making Keegan feel foolish. Castillo was now the one feeling foolish for not listening to what Keegan had to say back then.
Comparing the walls to the ceiling, Castillo now saw things more clearly than he did a few months back. The walls were uneven, and the spackling was crude at best; just as Keegan had said. The paint on the ceiling was years…if not decades old, while the paint on the walls was relatively fresh.
How could I have not realized it back then; especially after Keegan commented on it? I knew about the C-4 back then. I should’ve at least suspected it could be here. Damn it!
Castillo refocused—putting his self doubt behind him. “Guys, I have reason to believe that behind these walls there are hundreds of pounds of stolen military grade C-4 explosives.”
The ESU sergeant without as much as missing a beat turned to one of his men. “Go upstairs and get the thermal imaging device. Tell the bomb squad guys to come down here.” As the officer went upstairs, the sergeant turned to Castillo. “Where going to get a thermal read on the walls to make sure they’re not booby trapped in any way.”
“How will you be able to tell that?”
The sergeant would explain to Castillo, “We have a hand held thermal imaging device. It’s sort of like an x-ray machine for the walls. We’ll be able to see any contrast in heat between the walls and any images behind them. We would easily be able to see if there was a wire or blasting cap connected to the walls. The main concern, if you’re right about the C-4, is that whoever put it there would booby trap it, and only he would know where it was safe to cut through the sheet rock to retrieve the explosives.”
Castillo turned as he heard the rumbling made by the officers coming down the stairs. The first one was the officer who had just left. In his hand, was an instrument that in Castillo’s mind was a cross between a radar gun and a video camera—the handheld thermal imaging device, he deducted. Directly behind him, was an officer that Castillo had only recently met. It was Detective Lawrence—the bomb squad detective who had rendered the suicide vest worn by Nazeem al-Haq inert.
Castillo and Lawrence exchanged a quick salutation before the ESU man put the yellow and black device to the wall. He was methodical in moving the device slowly up and down the drywall. Castillo did his best to watch over the detective’s shoulders as he did, but he was unable to see very much. The screen on the device gave off a mixture of red and orange images which were not very enlightening to Castillo. Lawrence, who had also been looking on, and was clearly more familiar with the device than was Castillo, had a different read. “There’s definitely something behind there.”
Castillo’s heart, which had just begun to restore to a normal beat, once again picked up steam. “What is it? Are you able to tell?”
Lawrence shook his head. “Not until we open the walls up…but it’s safe to say there are no wires or blasting caps connected to the walls.”
The answer seemed obvious, but Castillo asked it anyway. “So what do we do now?”
“We go in and get it.”
There was one thing abundantly obvious to Louis Castillo…his last day as a member of the NYPD before his retirement would assuredly be a memorable one.
*
Detective Zachary Lawrence, for the unprecedented second time on the same case, donned the eighty pound blast suit. While he was confident that there were no hidden dangers within the walls, Lawrence would proceed with caution. He knew if the information was correct, and it was C-4 within the walls, it was an extremely stable explosive, but there was no need to take any unnecessary chances.
Lawrence remained alone in the basement as all of the other officers had been requested to leave the premises. Lawrence knew that he would be cutting into the sheetrock the old fashioned way—with a sheetrock knife. Despite the fact that the C-4 was very stable, Lawrence couldn’t say the same if there were other explosives hidden within the walls. Blasting caps, for example, could more easily be set off, thus detonating the entire stash of explosives. Lawrence plunged the sheet rock knife deeply into the wall and began to cut slowly in a downward direction.
*
Castillo was once again pacing the sidewalk, but this time it was across the street from the restaurant. He watched as the numerous uniformed officers set up a perimeter with the infamous yellow tape with black lettering warning CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS.
Castillo walked a few blocks away; a safe distance so his cell phone could not inadvertently act as a trigger for the explosives. He reached to the inside pocket of his trench coat and retrieved his phone. After pulling the strap tightly to combat the frigid temperatures, he placed a call. He had enough experience to know to keep his commanding officer updated on every step of the way on an incident such as this one. The phone was answered on the second ring.
“Hi Inspector; it’s Louie.” Castillo could see his breath in front of him escaping into the air as he spoke.
“ESU took some x-rays of the wall, and they said there’s definitely something in there. The bomb squad’s down there now cutting open the walls.”
After a brief pause, “The Duty Captain has the task force here. They’re going door to door in a two block radius and evacuating people.”
Castillo nodded his head as if he were talking to Inspector Talbot in person rather than on the telephone. “Yeah, it does seem like Keegan was correct, but we should know more in a little while.”
After Inspector Talbot explained to Castillo that he and Assistant Director Wolf were going to remain at 26 Federal Plaza to keep Washington informed of any and all updates, Castillo continued. “I understand, Inspector. No problem. Frank should be here any minute now. As soon as I know for sure, I’ll call you right back.”
Castillo shook his head. “No, Inspector. There’s probably close to a hundred cops here. There’s really no need for anyone else from our office to respond right now. Once this is wrapped up—assuming we come up with the explosives—I’ll have Crime Scene come and take pictures and process the scene. I think our men can be used better in the office going through surveillance videos to try to see how long the explosives have been here. Frank and I will go store to store and see which of them have outside surveillance videos that may show the explosives being delivered to the store. I saw a few houses around the corner that are equipped with cameras out front as well. If we get lucky they may show a view of the alley.”
Castillo listened as Talbot responded. He again shook his head as he answered. “I don’t see a need for Keegan to come here. I’ll call you back when I know more, and then you can determine if you want Sergeant Galvin or any other supervisor from the office to come to the scene.”
Castillo hung up the phone, and began walking back to the location. The neighborhood was slowly coming to life as people began to gather outside of the crime scene tape trying to figure out what was going on. Most he figured, would assume there had been a homicide, as this particular neighborhood in New York City was not a stranger to violent crime. In fact, the precinct in which they were currently situated, often led the entire city in homicides.
As Castillo drew near to the storefront restaurant, he observed Detective Lawrence emerge from the front door. A quick study of the man revealed a white powder like substance—clearly the sheetrock fragments—clashing against the olive green bomb suit. Lawrence waived an arm over his head, signaling for someone to respond. Castillo watched as
an NYPD truck approached. In Castillo’s near three decades in the department, he had never seen this particular vehicle prior to six weeks ago. This would now be the second time; the only other time was the week of Thanksgiving, when it was used to transport a suicide vest to the department range for disposal.
To Castillo, the vehicle looked like a marked white and blue NYPD flatbed truck. On the back of the flatbed was a separate compartment, not obviously connected to the cab of the flatbed in any way, but it was, nonetheless. The compartment served as the storage area for the explosives during transportation. It looked like a giant black cauldron to Castillo.
The NYPD’s Total Containment Vessel pulled up directly in front of the location at about the same time that Castillo did. Castillo looked to Lawrence. “Did you find something?” It was put to him as a question, but in reality Castillo already knew the answer…he even knew how much was found—four hundred pounds.
Lawrence removed his head gear and held it in one hand; his glasses were fogged. He looked at Castillo. “Yeah, we sure did; C-4…a whole lot of C-4. We also found blasting caps and wiring. I’m going to have the blasting caps transported separately. I called for the other TCV we have; it’s in route from upper Manhattan. The ETA is less than five minutes.”
Lawrence put a hand on Castillo’s back. “Come inside. I’ll show you. The C-4 is very stabile so there’s no need to worry.” Lawrence paused before he continued. “I’ll tell you one thing for certain. You guys probably saved a whole lot of lives. The damage that amount of C-4 could do is catastrophic. I’ve never seen that much of it at one time before.”
A chill ran down Castillo’s spine as Lawrence spoke. He no longer felt the frigid temperatures or the ache in his bad knee. He felt jubilation. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He would be able to retire later on in the day knowing that all of the C-4 was now recovered, and all but one of the terrorists had been apprehended. It was a great feeling.
Castillo followed as Lawrence led the way through the kitchen and down the stairway. Lawrence asked for a few members of the Emergency Service team to follow along as well. When Castillo arrived at the partially open wall, he could see hundreds of bricks wrapped in a brown paper. Lawrence grabbed the edge of the broken sheet rock, and with both hands, pulled down a panel creating a space large enough to walk through. He then took hold of a single brick which he offered to Castillo. Castillo accepted the one and a quarter pound brick and read the markings on the wrapping;
C 4
PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES MILITARY
The words were followed by a lot number and a manufacturing date. After inspecting the explosives, Castillo handed it back to Lawrence. “Is it okay if I take a picture with my cell phone before you remove it?”
It was, and Castillo did just that. He walked back outside so he could update Inspector Talbot back at the Joint Terrorist Task Force headquarters. As he walked outside, he could see Frank Balentine ducking under the yellow crime scene tape. He gave Balentine thumbs up as he made his phone call. Members of the Emergency Service team carried out the bricks of C-4—three hundred twenty in all—and carefully placed them in the TCV for removal.
Castillo first updated Inspector Talbot and then caught Balentine up on all that had transpired since the pre dawn phone call precipitated by Tim Keegan’s hunch. The two men stared in amazement as the C-4 was removed. Balentine threw an arm around Castillo’s shoulder. “Thank God this turned out the way it did, Louie. If we hadn’t found it, you can bet somewhere down the road someone would have come back for it.”
Castillo once again looked at the truck parked in front of the restaurant before he responded. “Frank, truth be told…I think they already have returned.”
Chapter 26
Standing among the crowd and watching his destiny stolen away from him was more than frustrating—it was outright maddening. Ahmed Hatif could feel his blood pressure rising with every brick of C-4 being loaded into the NYPD truck. The commotion on the street had awoken him up from his apartment above the bodega, two blocks away. He had heard from the Yemeni man who owned the bodega, that the police were evacuating the area; Hatif immediately knew his plans for New Year’s Eve had been foiled.
The last of the stolen plastic explosives were loaded onto the truck. It slowly began to drive away. The uniformed officers were now tearing down the yellow tape, allowing people to walk past the Halal restaurant where he had secreted the explosives some months back. Hatif would not chance getting any closer; he had seen his name and picture broadcast in the news media shortly after the Thanksgiving shortfall. As he watched his chance at leaving his mark on the Jihad disappear from sight along Brooklyn’s Linden Boulevard, he reflected on the events of the last year which had led him to this very point in time.
It had been just over one year ago, when Hatif had first come to New York City. The dry run, which had been sanctioned by Sheykh Hajjar, had proved to be invaluable. At first, standing among the hundreds of thousands American revelers had been aggravating. But the more Hatif had reminded himself that he was there to learn the best way to kill as many of them as possible the following year, the more accepting of the situation he became.
Hatif had arrived early to Times Square a year ago. He wore a backpack with very few non essential items inside, and he was not surprised to have had the police confiscate it. In fact, he had been testing to see if they would. He walked freely among the crowd up and down the avenues and side streets. As the day grew later, the police began shutting down more and more streets to pedestrian traffic. The officers were shutting the streets down from Forty-Second Street north as the crowd grew. Hatif also noted that vehicular traffic was diverted totally off both Seventh Avenue and Broadway. This meant that Hatif would have to approach from either Sixth or Eighth Avenue the following year when he would drive a truck load of explosives into the crowd.
The Syrian native was not unrealistic though. Once he saw the police presence, and the sheer number of spectators—easily many hundreds of thousands, he realized that he would never get the vehicle all the way to Times Square. He reassured himself and took comfort in knowing that he would still be able to kill or maim hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans when he would detonate the explosives and fulfill his part in the Jihad. His entry in to the afterlife would surely be a grand one.
Further reconnaissance of the area the following day, led Hatif to believe that the best route was from Sixth Avenue along West Forty-Second Street. He would navigate along Bryant Park towards the area where the ball was to be dropped. The plan was for him to drive the truck as fast as possible westbound towards Times Square. People would scatter, and those who didn’t, would simply be run down. Hatif’s plan was to never hit a brake pedal, but rather plow through the crowd until the vehicle came to a stop, and then detonate the explosives amongst the crowd. The sheer number of pedestrians in such a confined area would add to the chaos and leave little room for them to flee without trampling each other. The plan was flawless. The number of casualties would be astounding.
Upon his return to the Afghan training camp, he fine tuned the plans with Sheykh Muhammad Hajjar. The Sheykh had been pleased. The only thing left for Hatif to do was to wait for one year to carry out Allah’s wishes.
From that point forward, things really started to take off for Hatif. Sheykh Hajjar, who was clearly impressed by the tactical assault plan which Hatif had drawn up, began to ask Hatif’s advice on other tactical decisions. Hatif went from one of the suicide bombers, to the combatant in America coordinating and supervising the effort—replacing an angry Murad Zein. It was at Hatif’s own request, that he would still be the final bomber on New Year’s Eve in Times Square.
Hatif’s journeys to and from America were not without their share of close calls. The flight to Canada and his first crossing at the United States border had gone off without a hitch. The first few months also went by problem free. It wasn’t until Nazeem al-Haq had tried to take matters into his own
hands that things began to unravel. Al-Haq’s failure had led to the identity and capture of the other Jihadists. If not for a coded e-mail message sent by one of the men, Hatif would have also been arrested and sitting in a prison cell right now. Still, his personal freedom was no conciliation.
A premeditated escape plan was his saving grace. After crossing back into Canada, he stayed out of sight at the safe house in the small town of Lacolle in Quebec Province. An Al Qaeda sympathizer who lived at the small farmhouse crossed back into the United States and learned that the vehicle Hatif had stolen had been found by the police shortly after his arrival in Canada.
Crossing back stateside late last night had also not been too difficult. Things did get rather dicey though when he went into the train station at Rouses Point to purchase a one way ticket back to New York City. Upon entering the office, Hatif observed it to be empty; save for ticket clerk. As he approached the counter, Hatif noticed a wanted poster of himself hanging on the wall. He was too close to carrying out the attack to take any chances, and instead, walked out without purchasing a ticket.
With time being a critical issue and hundreds of miles between Rouses Point and Times Square, Hatif carefully weighed his next decision. There was only one car in the parking lot; a 2010 Honda Pilot. The logical conclusion was that it belonged to the ticket clerk. Hatif stuck his head back inside the ticket office long enough to announce that the red Honda parked in the lot had a flat tire. Then he waited for the bait to be taken. He withdrew the .45 caliber handgun from his rear waistband and fired a single shot into the back of the man’s head when he exited the office to check on his car.
Legacy and Redemption Page 25