The Prosecution of General Hastings
Page 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Harry Kincaid drove Pete Von Karmenn back to the boarding house that Pete had called home for the weeks following the bombing. Von Karmenn introduced Kincaid as another writer friend and told the owner he needed a room for the night. The old man seemed to think nothing of it and for the cash that was offered in advance, assigned Harry to the room next to Pete’s. After settling in, Pete knocked on Harry’s door just as Kincaid’s cell phone began to vibrate. Kincaid motioned Pete into the room while he answered the call.
“Si, Roberto, what have you got?” asked Harry.
Back at the Nation’s Capitol, Bobby Lawson had finished a late afternoon run around the trails of Theodore Roosevelt Island. He had returned to his high rise apartment in Arlington in time to shower and dress for a dinner of pizza and maybe some TV across the river with Annie Wilcox. He had been soaking wet from his shower when he heard from one of his sources at the FBI. What he heard and read seemed serious enough to immediately pass on to Kincaid as Harry had requested earlier.
“Farooq Aziz,” answered Bobby. “I just got his FBI profile emailed to me from the Special Agent in Charge of the Detroit Field Office. He’s a pretty mean hombre, Harry.”
“Oh? How’d you get the profile?”
“I’ve always been impressed with the efficiency of the FBI guys when they get a request from Jack Tully,” Bobby answered.
“You went straight to the top, eh? The Director’s Office?” asked Harry.
“Like I said, it seems to speed things along,” Bobby replied. “Farooq Aziz… formerly Jimmy Stamps. A very unhappy black man from Detroit. Hard to believe, huh?” Bobby paused, but got no reaction. “He’s the son of a woman who worked the assembly line off and on at GM. No mention of a father.”
“You’re reading that?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, off of his profile. Let’s see…” Bobby continued. “He grew up on the streets, with multiple run-ins with the law. Hmmm, burglary, armed robbery, car theft, assault and battery… Doesn’t seem he missed any of the check boxes…”
“Yeah. Go on,” said Harry.
“Ah, here it is… Incarceration… Looks like he bounced in and out of most all the correctional facilities in the Detroit area. Yeah. Here. He spent three years and three months in the federal pen outside Chicago. That’s where he was introduced to Islam. He got paroled two years early. Changed his name to Farooq Aziz back in Detroit soon after he got out.”
“So, strike another one up for rehabilitation in our federal prison system,” Harry remarked.
“Yeah, right,” Bobby went on. “He became active in the Majid al Wahiri mosque in suburban Detroit, but seemed it wasn’t radical enough for him. He had a very public altercation with the Imam there. The next thing the Bureau lists is that he left the country, probably for Yemen.”
“A world traveler, huh?” Harry asked.
“Hang on a sec…” Bobby said. “Let me read through this… Oh, here. He turned up again in Detroit for a short time, more militant than ever. Next thing it says is that he is believed to be operating somewhere in South or Latin America working with radical cells in that area. His stated goal is to destroy ‘the great Satin and bring America to its knees.’ How’s that for loving the land of your birth?”
“Well, it sure looks like they’ve got him pegged,” Harry said. “We understand he’s splitting his time between Colombia and Mexico… buying weapons for his terrorist organization.”
“Like I said, pal, a pretty mean hombre,” Bobby said.
“Okay, man,” Kincaid responded. “ I appreciate the info.”
“Anything else I can do for you, Harry?” Bobby asked. “I’m running a little late. Gonna take Annie for one of those incredible pizzas at Match Box, then back to her place for some TV watching.”
“Oh. Why thank you so much, Roberto,” Harry chided. “I do hope that I haven’t bitten off too much of your social time.”
“Take care of yourself, Kincaid,” Bobby chuckled and ended the call.
Harry turned to Pete. “Well, we were right about Aziz. I declare that his usefulness here in this life has expired. I say we assist him in hooking up with all those virgins those boys have waiting for them.
“A logical next step,” Von Karmenn remarked. “But I’d like dibs on him since he seems to have been the one who lit up my hotel room.”
“Seems reasonable, Pete,” Harry said. “Let’s take a quick inventory of our resources. What weapons are you packing? Do you have one of Mesquite’s MX21s?”
“No,” Pete answered. “I’ve got my Beretta 92F. Force of habit. It’s like my American Express card… I don’t leave home without it. I’ve got plenty of ammo for it, but that’s all. How about you?”
“I’ve got an MX21 that Sluggo gave me the other day,” he said. “But I wasn’t expecting it so I’ve got my Beretta also. I’ve also got a couple of small bricks of C-4 I’ve been carrying around in my overnight bag for months. That might come in handy.”
“What the hell are you doing with a plastic explosive in your luggage, man?” Pete chuckled.
Harry could see the humor. He smiled and said, “Honestly I don’t remember why I’ve got it in there. But it’s stable; no danger in just carrying it around.”
“Well, do you have a detonator?” Pete asked. “It’s no good without one.”
“Good question,” Kincaid said. “Let me look.” He walked over to his bed and began digging around in his overnight bag. He began pulling items out and scattering them on the bed. There were several magazines of 9 mm bullets, two or three assorted knives, and a couple of hira-shuriken, also known as ‘throwing stars.’ Pete recognized a wad of heavy duty plastic cable ties wrapped together in a rubber band. There was some duct tape and several other items that Pete couldn’t identify. Digging deeper, he pulled out a small metallic device that was attached to a miniature printed circuit board. “Here we go,” he said smiling. “I can program this to blow with a signal from my cell phone.”
Pete Von Karmenn looked over and just shook his head. “You’re amazing, Kincaid.”