Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk

by Neal Goldstein

  “Allahu-akbar,” he began the prayers and the others joined him.

  Following the prayers the training began. The five sleepers/volunteers were all men. The youngest was nineteen, the oldest thirty-five. They had been recruited by Al-Qaida. Some of them had been trained in Yemen. They varied in appearance, height, weight and race. Based on his brief encounter with them, Alawaite had determined that there was also a considerable difference in intelligence among the group. The only common trait among them was a fanatical devotion to Islam.

  Alawaite patiently explained the plan, leaving out critical details including the date, time and location of the attack. He told them about the device they would use, once again omitting the precise information concerning the nature of the explosives and the triggering mechanism. Although he promised he would provide them with all of the details, Alawaite would never disclose the tactical plan he had devised to any of them.

  He would decide over the next several days which of the men would be designated to lead the mission. That individual would be led to believe that he was entrusted with the on-site tactical authority. Such designation was important to create the illusion that they were a unit capable of making necessary changes, even aborting the mission. Of course that would be impossible. No matter what happened, once the men were deployed, the attack would proceed and could not be recalled, regardless of the consequences.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Rico Valdez was relieved of his mosque surveillance assignment to head up the group assembled to tail Abdullah Mohamed. The SAC assigned him three agents, two men and one female agent. All of them were detached from the Baltimore office. This meant they were unfamiliar with Philadelphia and needed to be briefed on all things “Philly.”

  Special Agent Julia Farber asked, “Rico, anything you think we should know before we hit the street?”

  “Yeah, don’t eat a steak sandwich with ‘cheese whiz’ if you’re gonna be on a long stake-out.”

  “What’s a cheese whiz?” she asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it comes in a can and it ain’t cheese, and it gives you terrible gas.”

  Valdez paired her up with Robert Bobrowski, who was an expert in “Black Bag” assignments. He assigned them to insert the surveillance equipment in Mohamed’s apartment.

  “Remember.”

  “We know. No steak sandwich with cheese whiz,” they replied.

  The subject lived on the first floor of a duplex on Upsal Street in the Germantown section of Philadelphia. Bobrowski dressed as a PECO serviceman, rang the doorbell and waited for a response. When he was satisfied that no one could see what he was doing, he placed an apparatus over the lock and accessed the apartment in less than thirty seconds. He knew Mohamed was not at home. He signaled that he had safely entered the apartment. His partner sat in an unmarked car parked across the street from the apartment. She would alert Bobrowski if anyone approached.

  Bobrowski checked for security devices and any measures Mohamed may have taken to detect unauthorized entry of his home. There were none. He quickly surveyed the entire apartment. Bobrowski noted the Spartan character of the apartment. There was very little furniture: A chair, a table and a prayer carpet were the only objects in the living room. There was no television, radio, telephone or computer anywhere. The bedroom had a small chest with a few changes of underwear and socks. Three pair of slacks and five shirts hung on wire hangers in the bedroom closet. In place of a bed a futon was folded up against the wall.

  The bathroom was similarly devoid of anything other than the barest of essentials, toothpaste, toothbrush, several bars of soap and a spray can of deodorant. A single towel was neatly folded on a shelf.

  With the exception of a picture of the Prophet Mohamed there were no pictures hanging on the walls. There were no books and nothing of a personal nature was anywhere to be seen. Abdullah Mohamed left no sign of who he was beyond the Prophet’s picture and the prayer rug. Even the kitchen provided no indication of the man beyond the few items marked with the designation of halal preparation.

  The apartment was spotless. There were no cobwebs or dust mites. Bobrowski wondered how Mohamed could maintain the apartment in such a pristine manner since the only cleaning materials he could find in the utility closet were a rubber bucket and two rags.

  The absence of furniture and personal items limited the places Bobrowski could hide the surveillance equipment. He inserted the devices, checked carefully that he had left no sign that he had been at the apartment and left. Bobrowski had completed the job in less than twenty minutes.

  “Rico, we’re live,” Bobrowski said as Farber pulled away from the curb. “When the subject returns to his apartment you’ll have eyes and ears.”

  “Ski, see anything interesting while you were there?” Valdez asked.

  “Rico, it was eerie. I mean, the subject must be the most devout Muslim this side of Mecca. We need to keep a close eye on this bird. Better check his vehicle for weapons. I figure him for a nut job.” Bobrowski gave him a detailed account of his observations.

  “I’ll let the team watching him know what you found.”

  Valdez hung up and walked over to Keel’s office to fill him in.

  “Boss, this guy may be the lone wolf sleeper we’ve been looking for. According to Bobrowski the subject’s apartment is more like a cell than a home. There’s nothing of a personal nature in the place. No pictures of parents or siblings, no letters, no diary, no computer, nada. We ran his name and picture through all our data bases. There’s no trace of Abdulla Mohamed before he showed up at the mosque, five weeks ago. He paid the rent for his apartment along with the security deposit in cash. No credit cards, no bank accounts. His phone is a prepaid mobile, once again paid for with cash. It’s like he dropped out of the sky.”

  Keel nodded and said, “Our Washington office didn’t have anything, nor did Langley or Homeland.”

  “I don’t know,” Valdez said. “Something about this guy just doesn’t feel right.”

  “Let’s put more boots on the ground. I’ll assign two more teams. If the subject is a lone wolf, we need to make sure he doesn’t catch on that we’re watching him,” Keel said.

  After Valdez left his office, Keel reviewed the file. He figured the cost of the surveillance would run over $50,000 a week. He’d need to run this past his superiors. But with all the noise on the street, and plans for the Fourth of July festivities, he didn’t want to be the bureaucrat who disapproved the expenditure of funds that allowed a nut job to go ballistic. If the shit hit the fan, let his bosses take the hit. Keel was in full CYA mode.

  Even though her back was to him Regan could tell that Kate was upset the second he walked into the kitchen at the Grape. “Everything OK?” he asked.

  She didn’t respond. He walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

  She turned and accepted his embrace.

  “Jack, I’m afraid,” she said and buried her face in his chest.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Michael Flynn, Liam’s father showed up at the Grape this morning. He’s a dangerous man.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “No. But his being here, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it.”

  They sat at the prep counter. “Tell me about him,” Regan asked.

  She told him that the Flynns were one of the most notorious families from Ulster. Michael’s father and grandfather, and all of his uncles and cousins, were members of the IRA. When the violence of “The Troubles” subsided, the family took up more lucrative and equally unsavory pursuits, everything from loan sharking to murder for hire. Of course Katey was completely unaware of this when Flynn, the star of the football club, swept her off her feet.

  The Flynns of Ulster branched out into more sophisticated crimes that brought Michael back to Dublin after Liam was born. He became obsessed with their son and wanted to take Kate and Liam back home to Ulster.

  “I told him I wouldn’t al
low Liam to become a part of his family’s gang,” Kate said. “But he wanted Liam.”

  The Flynns found out that Liam was Michael’s son. His father and grandfather wanted to assure their legacy and made it clear that, with Kate or without her, Liam would be part of the family. Only Michael Flynn’s arrest for a botched heist from the Irish Museum of Modern Art in Dublin disrupted their plans. While he was incarcerated Katey fled to the states.

  “Jack, I thought that by the time he got out of jail he and his people would have lost their obsession with the boy and left us alone. I even convinced Michael that it was for the best. He was supposed to be in prison for ten years. I can’t believe he got released so soon.”

  “Something doesn’t sound right about this,” Regan said. “I’ll check into it and find out how his sentence could have been reduced.”

  “Jack, I don’t want to get you involved in my problems.”

  “Katey, it’s too late for that. Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you or Liam.”

  Mickey Saunders sat at his desk with his eyes closed. His head throbbed and he felt dizzy. He was afraid if he tried to stand up he would fall on his face. He opened his eyes and the vertigo almost made him throw up. Had Coratelli told him the truth?

  When he first heard that Coratelli’s son had been found with a needle in his arm, he was relieved. He wanted to believe that Junior had died by his own hand. He was a loose cannon, completely out of control, and sooner or later his reckless ways would have led him to a bad end. But Saunders knew deep down that someone had helped him along, or worse.

  Coratelli’s warning was probably accurate. He had been blinded by the promise of a big payday. Gallo and Ari Nooris assured him that if he could control Fogerty, they would be able to build the court house on property they owned and his commission would be more than he could earn in a lifetime of practicing law. The bonus would be the satisfaction of exposing Mr. Chief Justice for the fool that he had always been. After all, wasn’t Mickey the architect of Fogerty’s political career? And what did he have to show for it, some pictures hanging on the wall in his office of him standing in the background as Fogerty was sworn into office, first as District Attorney and later as Chief Justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court?

  And Dorothy Wiggins would also be taken down by the scandal. Gallo wanted to crush her too. It all started to go bad when the girl Megan Larson was found murdered in Nooris’ condo. Who had killed her, and why?

  Could he dare turn to Gallo or Nooris? Would he end up with a needle in his arm like Junior, or bludgeoned to death like Larson? Was it too late to ask Fogerty for help, or should he turn himself in and try to make a deal for immunity in return for cooperating with the DA? Saunders was a minor player. Gallo was the big prize. The DA would see that.

  He heard a noise in the outer office. Were they coming for him already? He reached for the pistol he kept in the top drawer of his desk.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The training went slowly at first. Alawaite patiently repeated every step each of his men had to follow to prepare for the attack. He showed them how to get into proper position to assure that the explosive would create the desired impact. He showed them the triggering mechanism they would use to detonate the device, assuring them they could abort if anything went wrong. His assurance was false, and the triggering mechanism was a dummy. The devices were controlled by timers that would detonate each of the sleepers in the sequence he had planned to create total chaos and mass confusion. The sleepers were merely vessels carrying the devices and nothing more.

  Alawaite wanted them to believe that each individual’s role was vital to the success of the mission. A single misstep would ruin the mission. If that happened none of them would make their journey to paradise. He read the fear in their eyes when he brought out the vests they would be wearing. He threw one down on the ground and stomped on it with his heavy boots.

  “You see there can be no accidental explosion. The device can only be detonated by you,” Alawaite said. He could read the relief in their eyes. He had given them a way out if at the last moment any of them had a change of heart. Only one of the sleepers, Farouk, the nineteen-year-old reacted differently. Farouk’s eyes still burned with the fire of his devotion. He showed no sign of indecision. He was ready to make the journey.

  It was a shame Farouk was too young to be assigned leader. Alawaite would speak with him privately and tell him no matter who was designated to be in charge that he was the true leader.

  After four days of surveillance of Abdullah Mohamed, Valdez told Keel they had no indication that the subject was anything more than a religious zealot. Mohamed went to multiple prayer sessions at the mosque each day and returned home. On occasion he would walk, or drive to the Fairmount Park and stroll along the banks of the Schuylkill River chanting prayers to himself. As far as the team could see there were no drops or exchanges with anyone during these excursions.

  The surveillance of his home was similarly unremarkable. Mohamed would pray and study the Koran. The only break in his otherwise incredibly devout lifestyle was the effort he put into cleaning his apartment. He was without a doubt the most boring subject the members of the team had ever been assigned to watch.

  Valdez’s mole at the mosque continued to report Mohamed’s active participation in mosque activities. His obvious attempts to earn the trust of the Imam and the inner circle at the mosque had not yet yielded any positive response.

  “Rico, this is looking like a dead end,” Special Agent Bobrowski said as he finished his shift monitoring Mohamed’s apartment. “I mean, I’m enjoying the local fare, I even had a hoagie at Lee’s Hoagie House like you suggested.”

  “The original place, on Cheltenham Avenue,” Rico asked.

  Bobrowski nodded and said, “I think we should pull the plug.”

  “Ski, I’m coming to that conclusion, but there’s something that just doesn’t feel right about this guy. You know, like they say in the movies, there’s something ‘hinky’ about him. Let’s give it another twenty-four hours and if nothing happens I’ll talk to Keel.”

  The big break in the case came the next day when Farber and Bobrowski relieved the day shift. Mohamed left the mosque after evening prayers. He started his drive back towards Germantown; however, instead of making a right onto the Kelly Drive to the Lincoln Drive, he made a left and headed into Center City.

  “Hello,” Bobrowski said. “Farber, call for back-up. Let’s see where Abdullah’s headed.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Mohamed drove all the way to the Art Museum Circle, driving around the circle two times, obviously checking for a tail.

  “Uh-oh,” Bobrowski said.

  “Ski, it’s OK. Valdez has him,” Farber said. Bobrowski continued east on the Parkway, taking the outer drive and pulling over to wait near the intersection at 23nd Street.

  “This guy is definitely trying to make sure no one is tailing him,” Bobrowski said. Farber nodded.

  Two minutes later they saw Mohamed’s car drive east down the center parkway lanes. Valdez was three cars behind him. Bobrowski followed. When Mohamed went around the Logan Circle twice, Valdez peeled off and Bobrowski and Farber picked up the tail. The subject made a left onto 16th Street. He drove north past the entrance to the Vine Street Expressway and parked his car on the street near Spring Garden Street. Bobrowski continued north and asked his partner who was listening through the ear piece, “Does Valdez have him?” she nodded.

  By the time Bobrowski parked the car, Farber said, “You are not fucking going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “Valdez watched Mohamed go in the service entrance to 1601 Callowhill.”

  He looked at her and said, “So.”

  “That’s the Regional office of Homeland Security.”

  “What?”

  “He’s on the job!”

  Valdez immediately called SAC Howard Keel. “Boss, sorry to bother you at home, but there’s been a development with the
surveillance and you’re not going to like it. It appears that our subject is a Homeland Security agent.”

  There was silence on the line for a full thirty seconds.

  “Boss?”

  “Rico, did I hear you correctly? Did you just tell me that Abdullah Mohamed is on the job?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Keep your team on surveillance and see if they can get some visual documentation. Meet me in my office in thirty minutes,” he said and hung up. Keel checked the directory on his Iphone for Monroe Ossberg, the FBI’s liaison to the Homeland Regional Office. He highlighted the number with the cursor and waited for the connection.

  He picked up on the second ring, “Ossberg.”

  “Monroe, sorry to bother you at this hour,” Keel struggled to maintain his composure. “Does the name Abdullah Mohamed mean anything to you?”

  There was a pause and Ossberg replied, “Isn’t that the person of interest at the New Age Mosque your office has placed under active surveillance?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “Has there been a development?” Ossberg asked.

  “You might say that,” Keel replied. “You’re sure that your only knowledge of the subject is our report of his surveillance.”

  “Howard, should I know something more about this guy?”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Why don’t you meet me in my office in thirty minutes,” Keel said.

  “Should I bring Regional Director Conway?”

  “No, let’s keep this in house, for the time being.”

  There are a surprising number of personnel who work at the Philadelphia FBI office at 6th and Arch Streets on the evening and night shifts. That had not been the case prior to 9/11. Regional FBI offices used to work on more or less regular office hours. All of that changed after the towers fell. Ossberg was ushered into the SAC’s conference room at 2200 hours by a young female agent.

  “Thanks for being so prompt,” Keel said. “This is Special Agent Rico Valdez,” he said nodding in the direction of the agent who sat to his left. “Please sit down.”