“Director, someone new showed up at evening prayers. I have his picture. I have a feeling he may be someone we should check out,” DePalma said as he handed the photo to Conway.
Conway glanced at the picture and said, “That would mean I’d have to disclose to Ossberg the fact that I have you at the mosque. He’d insist that we share whatever intel you provide with the FBI.”
DePalma nodded his head. “Director, I understand, but I got a funny feeling about this guy.”
Conway waved his hand at the agent and said, “Listen son, for now let’s just see what develops. We can share this with them later.”
After DePalma left, Conway looked at the photo again and put it away in the mosque file in his credenza and locked the drawer. There’s no fucking way he was going to share his intel with the FBI. He hated Ossberg, who he knew had been placed at his agency to spy on him. Conway would bring Ben-Ali down and get all the credit for it. He was not about to allow Ossberg or anyone else to share in his glory.
Had Conway shared his undercover agent’s photo with the FBI, the facial recognition program would have revealed that the tall stranger with the green eyes who showed up at the New Age Mosque was Yousef Alawaite. Alawaite was reputed to be one of Al-Qaida’s most accomplished bomb-makers. Conway’s obsession to become the star of the show, his paranoid refusal to share intelligence with his sister agency, would inevitably lead to disastrous consequences.
Ben-Ali’s driver dropped Alawaite off near the mosque where he had parked his car earlier that afternoon. The used Corolla was so beat up he knew no one would bother to steal it. He limped over to the car, making sure to keep his face away from the front of the mosque. He had carefully studied the area immediately surrounding the building the day before he made contact. Virtually all of the abandoned buildings that had lined the west side of Ridge Avenue across from the mosque had been cleared. The few remaining buildings on the block did not provide a vantage point for a surveillance camera that would produce any relevant data for whoever was watching.
He figured that whatever agencies had placed equipment at the site would have inserted their cameras on or near the front of the building. The Mossad would have mounted it above the entrance, maybe on the electric junction box that was connected to the building, thus avoiding detection if Ben-Ali had the building swept for surveillance equipment. In any event, he was careful not to allow any clear view of his face when he entered the mosque.
He drove west on Ridge to Fairmount Park. At this hour he could easily detect anyone tailing him as he drove across the Strawberry Mansion Bridge and down the ramp to the Martin Luther King Drive that ran along the west bank of the Schuylkill River towards Center City. As he drove east on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, he noticed the nearly completed Barnes Museum with the Norris Brothers Construction Company sign on the chain link fence that had been erected around the site.
He drove south on 19th Street around Rittenhouse Square and several blocks beyond, constantly checking to make sure he had no tail. He turned left on Washington Avenue and doubled back twice more until he was satisfied that no one had followed him. He parked his car under the elevated I-95 highway and walked five blocks to the apartment he had rented on 2nd street.
After he checked the apartment to make certain no one had entered it, he placed the call.
“It went well,” Alwaite said.
“Good.”
“When will we proceed?” he asked.
“The fourth; can you have everything in place?”
“Not a problem.”
“Good. And make sure you tell the Imam the date and that he is absolutely not to make any comment about it.”
“But you know Ben-Ali is not capable of keeping such a secret.”
“That is exactly what I expect.”
Alawaite smiled and asked, “Is our man en route?”
“Yes.”
TWENTY-ONE
“Vito, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Mickey Saunders said has he held Vito Coratelli’s hand in both of his. “Junior tried so hard to emulate you. Please sit down. What can I do for you?”
After he took his seat Coratelli stared at Saunders and slowly shook his head. He sighed and said, “Mickey, I believe your condolence is truly sincere. You knew Junior since he was a child. You and I have known each other for over forty years. We have faced off against each other on countless occasions.”
Saunders smiled and nodded.
“Because I know you so well, I feel I must warn you that I could always read your tactics in court. You could never bluff me. That’s why you never prevailed.”
The smile on Saunders’ face vanished, “Vito, why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I know you were involved in my son’s murder. No, please, don’t try to deny it,” Coratelli said cutting him off and holding his hand up to emphasize his admonishment. “As I told you, I can see through your lies. So do not disrespect me or embarrass yourself.”
Saunders remained silent, his face flushed red and his eyes narrowed.
“Mickey, I did not come here to insult you. I know you did not murder my son. Perhaps you never intended to hurt him. But I do know that you were involved. You need to realize that whatever role you played, you are extremely vulnerable. The District Attorney’s people are putting their case together as we speak. They will be placing you under arrest very soon. You need to protect yourself.”
“Are you offering to represent me?” Saunders asked.
“No. I’ll be a prosecution witness in the case against you. They know you were part of the court house fiasco. Junior left me with documents that will help expose you and the others.”
“So what are you saying?”
“You are in this thing way over your head. The others involved will make you the goat, or worse.”
Saunders stared at him and finally asked, “What do you mean worse?”
“Mickey, they will do to you what they did to my son,” Coratelli said as he stood up to leave Saunders’ office.
“Vito. Wait.”
Coratelli left the room without turning back.
Regan had already obtained a court order to bug Saunders’ office; however, unlike the federal agencies, the Philadelphia District Attorney’s office did not have the equipment or personnel to deploy the devices in time to capture Saunders’ reaction to Coratelli’s visit.
“Izz, what do you think Saunders is doing?”
“If Vito is as effective as I believe him to be, Saunders is in full panic mode. He’s trying to figure out who gave him up,” he replied.
“Do you think he’ll come to us?”
“Eventually, but first he’ll try to see if he has another play.”
“Coratelli is going to see Chief Justice Fogerty next. The Chief isn’t exactly known for his testicular fortitude. His reaction ought to be interesting.”
Kate and O’Malley were in the bar area evaluating the impact the new menu had on the Grape’s bottom line. Between the improved quality of the kitchen and the unique addition of the celebrity bartender, Melody Schwartz, last month’s revenues had exceeded all expectations.
“O’Malley, someone told me the food critic from the Inquirer was here last week. They want to send a photographer to the place to take pictures of the Fish and Chips and a couple of the other dishes. They also want a picture of Melody mixin her special blue martinis. According to the photographer, the critic is going to give us his highest rating, something to do with bells,” Kate said.
“That so,” O’Malley replied.
“Yes, and whenever he does that, business really takes off.” Kate paused, reading her uncle’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “What’s the problem?”
“It’ll just encourage more yuppies to barge into the place like they own it. Ya know the hoity-toity types from Gladwynne and Wayne.”
“Uncle Mike, I know you miss some of the regulars. And I realize that the Grape was just a neighborhood bar…”
“What
’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Nothin, nothin at all, it’s just that this isn’t the old neighborhood anymore. This part of Manayunk is changing. Young professionals are moving in, and we have to change to accommodate them, or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else we’re out of business.”
O’Malley looked past Kate and said, “Sorry Mister, the bar’s closed. We don’t open until 12 PM.”
Kate turned and stared at the man standing at the door.
“’Lo Katey,” he said. “Don’t you look pretty in your chef’s outfit and all.” He smiled at her. “And you must be Uncle Mike.”
O’Malley could tell by Kate’s reaction that she was not happy to see the stranger. He was tall and lean. His head was completely shaved. His face had that dark stubble that was all the rage. He was handsome in a rugged way, and he had Liam’s piercing blue eyes.
“Flynn, what are you doing here? I thought they locked you up for good.”
“Now, Kate. Is that anyway to greet an old friend?” he said as he walked into the bar.
“Flynn, we’re not friends, and you’re not welcome here.”
“That so,” he said and walked over to where Kate sat, towering over her and no longer smiling.
“Look it, I just happened to be visitin your town and I says to myself, ‘Whyn’t I stop by and see how Kate and my boy are doin?’”
“We’re both doin fine without the likes of you hangin around. So why don’t ya jest get out of here and stay away from Liam and me and out of our lives.”
He scowled at her and said, “Nah, I think I’ll stay around for awhile and see how you and the boy are doing.”
“Mister,” O’Malley said. Flynn looked up and his eyes narrowed as he focused on the business end of the sawed-off double shot gun O’Malley had pulled from behind the bar and pointed directly at his chest. “My niece said you’re not welcome here, so if I were you I’d just turn around and get out while you still can.”
“Old man, don’t be pointin that thing at me unless you’ve got the nerve to use it.”
“Flynn, or whatever your name is, if you don’t get your ass out of here by the count of three, I’ll have yer remains shipped in a bag back to Ireland.”
Flynn stood there and said, “That’s not very hospitable of ya.”
“One.”
“Uncle Mike, please put the gun down. It will be allright…please?”
O’Malley reluctantly lowered the weapon.
“Uncle Mike, can you give me a moment?”
Kate motioned Flynn to take a seat at the booth near the door. She sat down opposite him.
“Flynn, you promised me you’d leave us be. You agreed it was all for the best.”
“Well, things change. Maybe you and the boy should come back.”
“No, Flynn. Your family will never change. They’ll do to Liam what they did to you. I will not let that happen,” she said.
“Kate, it doesn’t have ta be that way. You, me and the boy can have a life together,” he said and grabbed her hand. “Look at me and tell me you don’t still have feelins for me.”
She looked directly in his eyes and said, “Flynn, go away and leave us be as ya promised.” She removed her hand from his, stood up and opened the door.
“Kate I’ll be leavin for now, but I’ll be back to see…”
O’Malley cocked the shot gun.
Flynn smiled and turned and said, “And I’ll be seein you too, old man,” as he walked out the door.
O’Malley watched as the man walked east down Main Street.
“Christ Kate, don’t tell me he’s Liam’s father.”
She nodded.
“What in the hell were ya thinkin when you hooked up with the likes of him?”
“It was over nine years ago. I was so young. He was the leading scorer on the Galway United club in the Premier League,” she sighed. “The next thing I know I’m pregnant and he’s back in Galway. What I didn’t know is that his family was involved in the ‘Troubles.’ They’re a dangerous bunch. Uncle Mike, I came here to get away from him. I don’t want Liam to have anything to do with Flynn or his people.”
“What’s he doin here? He doesn’t strike me as the kind would come over jest to see his son,” O’Malley said.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s up to no good.”
“Well, if I so much as see his smug face anywhere near you or the boy, I’ll blow him back to Galway,” O’Malley said.
TWENTY-TWO
“Any further developments on the mystery man who visited the mosque?” Howard Keel the SAC asked Rico Valdez who had reported for his briefing.
“No, he hasn’t returned to the mosque. According to our friend, Ben-Ali has not made any public comment about who he was or why he was there. However, there is someone we may want to watch,” Valdez said as he took a photo from his file and slid it across the conference table to his boss.
“His name is Abdulla Mohamed. He showed up at the mosque around a month ago. Our friend tells me that Mohamed has been a regular attendee at services and asks an unusual number of questions. He fits the profile of someone Al-Qaida would want to indoctrinate. He’s young, well-educated and unemployed.”
Keel studied the picture and said, “There has been a lot of noise about something big that’s about to happen. Ben-Ali’s latest webcast even made a reference to the Fourth of July as a national celebration we would find memorable, whatever the hell that means.”
Valdez nodded. “Yes you can almost feel it. There’s a great deal of activity at the mosque, too.”
“You’re certain the tall man with the limp has not returned?” Keel asked.
“Affirmative.”
“OK, let’s put a tail on this guy and see what develops,” Keel said as he pointed at the photo of Abdullah Mohamed. “I’ll ask our Washington office to check with Langley to see what they have. I’ll ask Homeland if they have anything on him too.”
Vito Coratelli suggested that the Chief Justice meet him at the club house at the FDR Golf Course in South Philadelphia. The FDR, more commonly referred to as ‘The Lakes’ because it was a flat links course that frequently flooded, is where Coratelli and Fogerty would sneak on to play a few holes back in the day when they were teenagers. It was also the place young men from South Philly would take their dates for more intimate encounters after dark.
“Chief, thanks for meeting me,” Coratelli said when Fogerty approached the booth in the back of the club house at which Coratelli was waiting for him.
“Vito, I haven’t been back here since my first campaign for District Attorney; must have been twenty years ago,” Fogerty said. “How are you my friend?” he asked as he embraced Coratelli.
“Metz-a-metz. Believe me I know Junior had his shortcomings, but to die like that. I don’t know what this world has come to.”
“I know, I know,” Fogerty shook his head.
“Bob, I must tell you something that you will not want to believe, but that you need to know.
“What?”
“You have been betrayed by your friend Mickey Saunders.”
“Betrayed by Mickey? How?”
“Mickey was involved in my son’s murder.”
Fogerty stared at him and said, “But that’s impossible. I thought your son’s death was an accident – an overdose. Besides, Mickey has known you for almost as long as we have known one another. Mickey was there when your son made Communion. He could never have been involved in anything like that.”
“Bob, it’s true. He has not served you well. Mickey is tied up with Gallo and some others. He wanted to make a killing on the Family Court House deal. They were going to set you up to take a fall on that.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Nevertheless, it is true. The District Attorney will be obtaining arrest warrants very soon. You need to deal with this right away, before the DA moves.”
“But how? What can I do?”
Cor
atelli smiled and said, “I will help you.”
A warehouse in North Philadelphia had been leased for Yousef Alawaite to use to meet with the sleepers and prepare them for their journeys to paradise. The warehouse was a former machine shop on Lehigh Avenue near 28th Street. The liquidator hired by the bankruptcy court was unable to unload many of the large milling machines that had been abandoned by the former owner of the facility. They remained rusting away where they had been abandoned when the lights had been turned off. The place still smelled from the degreasers and other toxic chemicals that had not been banned when the business was operating twenty-five years ago.
Alawaite had cleared a section near the rear of the first floor behind a large drill press in front of the filthy windows that faced east. He placed a large prayer carpet there. Alawaite had disabled the overhead lights at the front of the building. The machinery and storage lockers at the front of the warehouse created enough of a barrier that would prevent anyone driving past from seeing what was going on inside the building.
Since Alawaite knew the mosque was being watched, he told the Imam he needed an alternate site at which to train the “volunteers.” A devoted member of Ben-Ali’s inner circle knew the owners of the warehouse. Ben-Ali assured him they would ask no questions and would not disclose to anyone the mosque’s request to lease the facility as a training site for Ben-Ali’s army. The anti-Muslim environment in the city required a trained force to defend the mosque against the Jews and the ignorant masses they controlled.
“As-salamu ‘Alaykumu,” Alawaite greeted the sleepers Bashir Amet, the mosque’s chief of security had ushered into the warehouse. Alawaite stood at the edge of the prayer carpet facing them, his back to the eastern wall.
“Wa ‘alaykumu s-salam,” they responded in unison.
He removed his boots, stepped forward onto the carpet and turned his back to the sleepers. He raised his arms and held his hands palms forward to recite Takbeeratul-Irsam in prayer.
Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk Page 14