“Katey girl, ya don’t know that for certain. And besides, the money’s not fer you, it’s fer Liam.”
“But Uncle Mike, there’s sure to be strings attached. No one gives anyone a sum of money that large without wantin something in return.”
“I know. I know, that was my first thought too. But when I asked him why he was doing this and whether he’d be hangin around, he said he would never set foot in this country again. He said, ‘Flynns take care of our own.’” O’Malley took another drink of tea and continued, “Anyways he told me Danny Duffy told him I could be trusted to hold the money for Liam. So I went to see Duffy first thing this mornin. I told him about Flynn comin by and all, except for the amount of the gift. I figured he didn’t need ta know all that. Duffy wasn’t at all surprised to hear of it. Nor did he question my concern that Flynn would want something in return.”
“So Duffy says, he doesn’t expect to be seein Flynn back in the states anytime soon, if ever. When I asked why, he gave me one of them looks like it was none of my affair. Then he said if Flynn wants to provide for his son it’s a blessing for sure and for us not to act so high and mighty like a bunch of toffs. Duffy’s a hard man fer certain, but he owes me and he’s always done right by me. If Duffy says we’ve nothing to be worried about from Flynn, I’d bank on it.”
“I don’t know Uncle Mike, with great fortune comes great complications,” she said and sighed.
“Well we’ve time enough to decide what to do about the money. But fer now, you and the boy can come back home and we can start putting our lives back in order. Kate, can you tell me how a level-headed young woman like you could get involved with the likes of a man like Flynn?”
She told him about the Michael Flynn she had fallen in love with – a young man who desperately wanted to break away from his family and live an honest life, like normal people. His talent on the pitch was his way out. He promised Kate they would be married and he would take care of both her and their son.
“So what happened?”
“The Flynns would not let him go. Uncle Mike, they broke his leg so he couldn’t play football. They wanted to insure that he would honor their tradition. We agreed that I needed to leave before they took Liam to Ulster. His family would never allow the boy to escape his destiny. When he showed up here I was afraid he changed his mind.”
Shona Cohen checked the papers, the local TV news, and the Internet for reports about the arrest of those responsible for the attack on the Mall. Except for a sketchy story about a botched attempt to steal art from the Barnes Foundation, there was nothing that she could find that shed light on what had happened to Ari Nooris and the rest. The lack of news spoke volumes to her that they had been taken into custody. The Barnes story did not elaborate on whether all of the art had been recovered. It was still conceivable that Nooris and the masterpieces were sailing their way to Curacao. She knew in her heart, however, that if that were the case Ari would have found a way to let her know.
If Ari and the team had been taken into custody, the authorities were probably looking for her. She had been carefully trained for such a contingency and was confident that she could move about without any real threat of capture. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Her long red hair had been shorn and dyed a deep black. The special contacts she wore had changed her green eyes to brown. The rimless eye-glasses and eyebrow piercing all combined to create a tough-girl, butch feel. She would fit right in at the 12th Air Command on Samson Street later tonight. She had been told that the club accommodated a more mature clientele and that it was likely she would be able to hook up with her quarry there. Shona had decided that Ari would want her to complete the mission, likely her last before she left.
FORTY-SEVEN
When he left the Fourth District Regan drove over to the Grape Tavern to check on Kate and Liam. He could hear Kate singing as he entered the kitchen. She was sitting at the counter with the pastry bag in her hands decorating the chicken pot pies with ‘GT’ dough initials that graced one of the Tavern’s signature dishes. She turned and smiled at him.
“What’s wrong? You look like you lost your best friend,” Kate asked as he entered.
“Oh nothing really, I thought we were about to get a big break in the murder investigation Izzy and I have been working on, but we hit another stone wall. But you seem to be pretty chipper,” he said as he sat down on the stool next to her.
“That I am,” she nodded still smiling at him.
“And to what do you credit this display of contentment?”
“Liam and I can move back here. We won’t have to be intruding on your parents’ hospitality any longer.”
Regan was taken aback by Kate’s declaration and asked, “Kate, are you sure that’s a wise move? I mean, aren’t you concerned about your and Liam’s safety? Believe me you’re not an imposition, if that’s your concern.”
“No, no. Your parents, your entire family have been wonderful. It’s not that at all. It’s just we have nothin to fear now.”
Kate told him about Flynn’s visit with O’Malley and O’Malley’s follow-up with Danny Duffy. Regan knew that Duffy was the head of Philadelphia’s Irish mob.
“So you believe that Flynn is going back to Ireland, never to return,” Regan said.
She nodded.
“But how can you be so sure?”
“That’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about. You see Flynn left something for Uncle Mike to hold for Liam, and I’m not altogether sure about how to handle it. Ya know, whether to keep it or not.”
“What exactly did Flynn leave in O’Malley’s safe keeping for Liam?”
“A Swiss bank account with 500,000 Euros.”
Regan whistled and said, “That’s a lot of ‘I’m sorry I missed being a better father to you guilt money.’”
“I know,” she replied. “I’m concerned about the amount of the trust fund and where it likely came from. Flynn’s a scoundrel and God only knows what he’s done to amass such a fortune. O’Malley told me not to be hasty and jump to conclusions that might turn out to be unfounded and all.”
“So what are you going to do? Are you going to return the money?”
“Well, as O’Malley has already pointed out, it’s not up to me. Flynn named him the Trustee, ‘don’t ya know,’ seems Danny Duffy, who both O’Malley and Flynn hold in high regard, vouched for O’Malley’s good character. Can ya imagine that? Anyway, I wanted your advice. I’m not comfortable with any of this; I don’t want Michael Flynn having anything to do with my son. I especially don’t want Liam beholden to Flynn, even if he remains an ocean away.”
Jack shook his head and replied, “Seems to me we have some time to think this through. For now, I’m not so sure I feel comfortable with you and Liam moving back here, at least until we confirm that Flynn is gone. Besides, I like having the two of you with my family and me.”
“You do, do ya?”
He nodded. She leaned over and kissed him. “Well, we don’t have to move back to the Grape, we could move in with you. If that’s allright; I mean I don’t think Liam would mind.”
Ossberg and Keel, his counterpart at the FBI, had been given clearance by their superiors to transport Ari Nooris and Rabinowitz to Gitmo for more comprehensive interrogation. Good luck, he thought. There was no way either of those two would break, regardless of the methods the CIA would try. They were hard case professionals who would never let their guard down. Avi Nooris would remain in their custody for the time being. Perhaps he could provide them with more useful information that could lead to the apprehension of the assassin Shona Cohen. Ossberg still found it hard to accept that the attack on the Mall was nothing more than a distraction for the Barnes robbery that had gone terribly wrong. But why would former Mossad agents plan a terrorist attack on U.S. soil?
The State Department had plans for Nazeur. He would be used to barter with the Saudis. Nazeur’s involvement in a number of sophisticated international financial transactions created com
plications for both countries. Ossberg was more than happy to hand him over to the diplomats. He had more than enough on his plate.
He turned his attention to the other hot file on his desk, an investigation involving the Carrington Group, a multi-national hedge fund. He was looking for a reason to remove the classified status Homeland had designated for the investigation. As far as he could tell the allegations surrounding the Carrington Group’s various enterprises as a money-laundering operation for Al-Qaida had not yielded any hard evidence. The Carrington Group invested in and sometimes operated a vast array of businesses throughout the world. Its latest ventures involved trash recycling operations that converted human waste into energy pellets.
Carrington, through various questionable business arrangements, had secured long term deals with municipalities throughout the country. When they targeted Philadelphia as the site for its next super recycling plant, the Carrington advance team brought its well-funded operatives onto the scene looking for corrupt politicians and others, in this case crooked municipal employee union leaders, to bribe to obtain the requisite approvals and to clear away the opposition. Carrington had hired none other than Dorothy Wiggins as local counsel, no doubt for her contacts among the local unions and politicians who could be helpful in securing the contract.
Homeland became suspicious of Carrington when an incident in Detroit exposed a potential for mayhem on a catastrophic scale. The Detroit operation, either intentionally or otherwise, included a group of Al-Qaida sympathizers who tried to convert the recycling operation into a delivery device that could disseminate toxic waste into the municipal reservoir. Luckily the infrastructure of the municipal water system was in such dire shape that the state government was already in the process of assuming responsibility for the utility.
When the state authorities began the inspection process they immediately discovered what the terrorists were trying to accomplish. Homeland and the FBI set a trap and quietly eliminated the threat. Now that Carrington was on their radar, Homeland and the FBI were carefully monitoring any new ventures in which it became involved. The Philadelphia operation was no exception. As far as Ossberg could see, it followed the same pattern as other municipal takeovers.
The players in this market were, once again, a handful of corrupt politicians and union leaders. Ossberg’s predecessor claimed to have an “insider” who had been providing him a steady stream of what appeared to Ossberg to be worthless information. There was absolutely nothing that resembled a terrorist threat as far as he could tell. If he could convince his superiors that there was nothing here, he could declassify the file and turn it over to the local authorities. The file included a surveillance video that would have significant impact on more than potential criminal indictments for public corruption.
FORTY-EIGHT
Regan rushed out of the courtroom in which the preliminary hearing on one of the top prelates of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia had been convened. Monsignor Peter Polanski had been charged as the architect of the cover-up of rampant child abuse that had been recently exposed in the Philadelphia church. Philly, like many other dioceses throughout the country and beyond, was dealing with the problem that had been ignored for decades. In this case, the egregious nature of the crimes and the Church’s response was almost too much for Regan, a former altar-boy, to comprehend.
During his cross examination of the defendant he received a text from Izzy Ichowitz to contact him immediately. Ichowitz had never texted Regan before. Regan wasn’t even aware that his friend knew how to text, so he figured whatever Ichowitz wanted to discuss must be pretty important.
He stuck his hand in the path of the closing elevator doors and heard someone say, “Jesus Christ couldn’t you wait for the next elevator!” When the doors opened he saw the only occupant in the car was Dorothy Wiggins. Wiggins smirked at Regan and said, condescension dripping from every word, “Assistant District Attorney Regan, guess you must be involved in vitally important business on behalf of the Commonwealth.”
Regan stared at her for a moment and said with an equal measure of sarcasm, “Ms. Wiggins, it’s always such a pleasure to see you.”
Wiggins’ face turned scarlet with the affront and responded, “Pretty cocky for someone who hasn’t been able to come up with a suspect in the Meagan Larson murder.”
“Oh, we have a suspect,” he replied.
“You do- who?”
He turned to face her and said, “Ms. Wiggins, you know I’m not at liberty to share that information with you. I’m sure you’ll find out in due course.”
They rode down the six floors in silence. When Regan got out of the elevator and was certain Wiggins was not within earshot he called Ichowitz.
“Izz, what’s up?”
“Jack, Ari Nooris and Nochem Rabinowitz escaped.”
It took Regan a few seconds to process Ichowitz’ message, how could that have happened? “Izz I thought the feds were shipping them to Gitmo!”
Ichowitz told Regan that the two Mossad agents walked away from their FBI escorts while they were being transported from the temporary confinement at Fort Mifflin.
“So three dangerous former Mossad agents, Nooris, Rabinowitz and Shona Cohen are on the loose?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oy-vey,” Regan said.
“You can say that again, boychik. I’m at the PAB. Why don’t you come over and join in on the fun?”
The ease with which Nooris and Rabinowitz had escaped from custody stunned Howard Keel, the Philadelphia FBI SAC. He knew that if the two former Mossad agents-turned-terrorists were not quickly apprehended, it would mean the end of his career. He cursed himself for summarily dismissing the local authorities’ offer to assume custody of the suspects they had captured on Sheik Nazeurs’ yacht. He now realized the hubris of assuming that his agents were superior to the local police.
The so-called joint federal and city task force was assembling at the Philadelphia Police Administration Building, everyone but the police referred to as the “Round House,” to try to come up with a strategy to re-arrest the two escapees and apprehend the others involved in the attack/ art heist.
After the FBI and Homeland agents ‘responsible’ for the escape had completed their report they were excused from the meeting.
“Commissioner, your department has more assets available to help us find these individuals. Can you fill us in on the PPD’s actions?” Keel asked.
Commissioner Regan described the comprehensive dragnet his department had set up to find the terrorists. Six hours had passed since they had escaped custody. The Philadelphia Police had recovered an abandoned vehicle that Nooris and Rabinowitz had used that they had stolen from one of the Philadelphia Airport long term parking lots. The fingerprints taken from the vehicle confirmed that the escapees had stolen the vehicle. The Police also found the yellow jump suits the FBI had clothed them in when they were taken into custody that they had left in the stolen vehicle.
“We found the Mercury Mountaineer on Kingsesseing Avenue, about five miles from the Philadelphia Airport. Our canvass of the neighborhood failed to uncover any leads. We issued an APB for both men. We had already issued one for Shona Cohen. So far none of our personnel have had any luck,” Regan reported. “Photos of all three have been released to local media outlets.”
After he had completed his report and the meeting broke, Keel waited as the rest left. “Commissioner, can I speak with you privately?” Keel followed Regan into the Commissioner’s office. He sat down on the leather club chair in front of Regan’s desk and sighed. “Looks like we…I mean I really stepped on my dick,” he said.
Regan shrugged his shoulders in a “what can you say” kind of gesture.
“Do you think we have any realistic shot of recapturing these guys?”
Regan stared at the ceiling as he contemplated his response. After a moment of silence he said, “Howard, we know a great deal about Ari Nooris. He’s lived in this area, on and off, for twenty years. He knows t
he city, and he’s well known in this town. That cuts both ways. We have our people on high alert. Who knows?”
“How about his family?”
Regan shook his head. “They left for Israel before any of this. We asked the Lower Merion police to check on their residence, just in case.”
“Anything show up on the surveillance cameras?”
Regan shook his head and smirked, “The late Mayor Gallo paid some pal of his over $17 million to install this state-of –the-art surveillance system in Center City and in high crime areas. They were supposed to provide us with 24/7 coverage at a fraction of the cost of beat patrol officers. Turns out, half of the cameras never worked, and the other half only work half the time. All that money could have been used to hire an additional 100 officers. What a waste!”
“So I take it you’re not optimistic,” Keel said.
Once again Regan responded with a shoulder shrug.
Keel sighed and said, “I should have taken you up on your offer to take custody of those two ‘gonifs.’ Is that what your man Ichowitz called them?”
Regan smiled and nodded. “Look, there’s no percentage in second guessing yourself. We’re covering every escape route we can. If they try to leave the area …”
“John, don’t kid a kidder. They’re in the wind and likely will never be caught.”
“Howard, can I ask you something?”
Keel nodded.
“What can you tell me about Homeland’s surveillance of Nooris’ activities?”
Keel stared at the ceiling as he composed his response and shook his head. “You didn’t hear this from me.”
Regan nodded.
“Homeland is acting on the Agency’s behalf. Nooris and his people had been the subject of the CIA’s interest for quite some time. They suspect Nooris as the muscle behind some international hedge fund, the Carrington Group. Although Carrington has a number of legitimate businesses, it’s really a money laundering operation on an international scale. They’re also involved in black ops.”
Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk Page 26