Circle of Terror

by Larry Powalisz

  “The Buick is Zuber’s. We found it hidden in the bushes half a block from the building where we executed one of our search warrants. It was obvious he didn’t want us to find it, but some of the officers at my old district are like Labrador Retrievers in heat. They have the knack of finding stuff people don’t want found. The car had altered plates, and it was also observed leaving Milwaukee City Hall yesterday morning. Some bald, white guy left a backpack containing seven big pipe bombs in the lobby. A really alert cop spotted him and saved the day before he could arm the system. She ended up getting a broken sternum when he kicked her, but she’s tough as nails and still gave pursuit.”

  “Damn. That’s solid. So what’s next?”

  “Let me tell my bosses. I’m briefing them at nine. You’re a rock star, Mac. And a rock star with a bottle of that cheap Irish whiskey I now owe you.”

  “Ah, laddy, I love ya. No such thing as a bottle of cheap Irish whiskey, though. You should know that, Declan!”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk at you in a couple hours.”

  “All right. The Chicago PD is here to serve—and to be served.”

  “Later, Mac.” Tomczyk hung up while still laughing at MacCarthy’s comments. This is what it takes to solve crimes. Talking cop to cop.

  It was 8:52 a.m. The buzzer to the main door rang, and the visitor was allowed in. She walked over to Tomczyk’s desk.

  “You’re looking your usual radiant self this morning, Agent Dvorak.”

  “Always trying to schmooze the feds. Any developments?”

  “Just got off the phone with Bill MacCarthy from CPD. You remember him from the meeting, right?”

  “How could I forget? It was like you two were long lost brothers who met for the first time in twenty years.”

  “C’mon, Anne. Was it that obvious we are kindred spirits?” They smiled. “Anyway, he ran Zuber in their databases. Seems he was FI’d by a uniformed squad who was sent to check out a suspicious vehicle across the street from the Biograph Theatre three days before that fake bomb and extortion note were found at the front door. Unfortunately, the two incidents were never hooked up. Turns out the cop handed in the FI card in the next day, then left for a vacation in Hawaii. He was out of pocket when it occurred. Otherwise, I’m sure he would’ve added two plus two. It didn’t get entered into the data base until after the Biograph incident. So the lines were never connected there either.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Well, let’s go in for the brief. Sorry, you’ll have to hear the rerun version of some of this. Great stuff, but I’d wager our bad guy has left Milwaukee. Not sure how he found out we were on his trail, but something sure spooked him.” His mind went back to the female at the nursing home. Should’ve grabbed her name.

  Upon walking into the conference room, Lieutenant Ned Englebort was already conversing with three other intel detectives. Captain Spinnola came in a short time later with his usual “off the storefront window” look of impeccable dress.

  “Morning everyone.” In Spinnola’s hands were two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. “No real meeting starts in any police department until the donuts and coffee arrive. Dig in. Coffee is in the corner.”

  After the scramble of securing donuts and a cup of joe, Spinnola looked at Tomczyk. “Okay, Declan, you’re up. What do we have?”

  Tomczyk meticulously walked them through the previous evening’s events, starting with the undetonated bomb at city hall and his initial interview of Demetrius Simms. He showed a number of photos that were taken of both scenes, including the explosive devices at each entry point, in the speaker, along with several of the victim, her wound, and the pressure switch under her body. He concluded with a booking photo of Richard Zuber and all the information the Milwaukee Police Department had on him. He also related what he had obtained from Detective MacCarthy.

  “Where do we go from here?” asked Lieutenant Engelbort. “How do we know what he did with everything?”

  “My guess is Chicago, but I can’t be positive. I think they have something big planned. They were kind of mirroring things in Milwaukee and Chicago. If Zuber pulled up stakes here, I’d put my money on him going to Chicago to pull the big Kahuna. Unfortunately, we don’t know what that is yet. George from the nursing home said his former dead friend, Idzi Rutkowski, was planning a big hit in Milwaukee. That ended when he and his teenage sidekick blew themselves up making a bomb with over a hundred sticks of dynamite. For some reason, and you can get an FBI behavioral analysis unit agent to either prove me wrong or confirm my theory, I think Zuber wants to become Idzi the Second, thus the whole Mad Bomber portrayal.

  Captain Spinnola sat and thought about it for a moment.

  “While you’re pondering, Captain, a police officer spoke to several neighbors across the street from the warehouse at our second search warrant. They saw a white van parked in front of it at about six last night. Two white males were loading boxes into it. The witnesses weren’t overly concerned because people are moving stuff in and out of those buildings all the time. The one subject matched the description of Zuber, but we haven’t identified the second guy yet. From the description Officer Bicker provided of the suspect at the city hall incident, that’s the second guy. A late-model, windowless, white Chevrolet van was reported stolen four nights ago on the East Side. Driver left the engine running at the gas station when he went in to buy a soda. Here’s the info on the vehicle, along with the license plate number. My guess is those boxes were full of explosive devices or ingredients. I also think they’re going to use cesium chloride somehow. The hospital reporting the theft of the radioactive material two weeks ago said six ounces were taken. We’ve only recovered a fraction of it so far, and that was in the envelope these guys attached to the headstone at the cemetery. That still leaves a lot of bad stuff out there.”

  “Not good.” Spinnola looked over at Agent Dvorak. “What’s the FBI’s stand on this one, Anne?”

  “I’m going to brief my ASAC when I step out of this room. He only had the info up until the close of business yesterday. I think Declan’s right. Let me get back to you ASAP. My suggestion is to get Declan deputized by the US Marshal, giving him federal authority. I also think we should drive down to Chicago and dig further into this guy who was in the car with Zuber. No question in my mind he’s the Chicago connection for the bombing at the cemetery where the cop was killed, along with the other explosive incidents that occurred there, including the two from last night. I’ll get some FBI agents over here to hook up with your detectives and help track down every lead we can about who Michael Zuber is, relatives, and any other associates they can find. Our timeline is unknown, so we better hit the bricks running.”

  “I concur. I’ll call Marshal Evans and get the ball rolling for the deputization sometime today. Sooner the better.” Captain Spinnola looked directly into Tomczyk’s eyes with a laser glare. “Ski, a hell of a job, but nothing less than the excellence you give us every day. Find these miscreants and shut them down before anybody else gets hurt or killed. Do us proud, son! Anne, make sure Declan doesn’t go full Marine on us and kill all the bad guys before we sort everything out.”

  “You can count on it, Captain. I’ll be his sensitive side.”

  “This meeting’s over. You all know what you need to do. Declan, I need all the reports from last night finished before you leave so I can brief the chief.”

  “Anything for you, boss.” Tomczyk closed his eyes briefly, thinking about another marathon day of work, all on two-and-a-half hours of sleep.

  Chapter 29

  CHICAGO: THIRTY-THREE HOURS TO DETONATION

  How’s it going, Spike?”

  He looked up from his position at the workbench in the garage. “Great, dude. These are coming together nicely. I have ten more to make. Have any problems buying the rest of the stuff I asked for?”

  Sam shook his head approvingly. “Got it all. No questions asked from anybody at the store.”

  “Good … if they only knew.
”

  Sam produced two shopping bags full of materials. “Where do you want them?”

  “Right there on the floor will be great. I’m keeping the workbench reserved for the devices so I can start wiring them in series of three when I finish each one. I’ll do the final wirings before we leave. That way I’ll just have to push the timer when we park the van.”

  “No chance of that stuff going off now, right?”

  “Naw. Just like most other explosives. Purrs like a kitten until a detonation device is added. Then the kitten turns into a lion.” He chuckled to himself at the analogy.

  “So why are you making this a timed detonation instead of the usual way we’ve been doing it?”

  “Because we’ll need to get the hell out of there. Can’t risk being around when it blows. I’m thinking total pandemonium, and we don’t need any drama or obstacles that could screw us up or trap us there.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “I was going to give us about fifteen minutes—like we discussed last night. That will be enough to vacate the area and still have a good viewing point for the explosion. Won’t be as personal, but I guarantee this baby will be viewed and felt from a long way off. We’ll still be close enough to be involved. And we definitely want to be upwind from the cloud it creates. I’m hoping the cesium chloride is going to do some serious damage.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” They had to laugh at that. “Just so you know, I got what we need for the paint job. Perfect plan, man. None of those badge-carrying fools will suspect a thing.”

  Twenty-six Hours to Detonation

  It was just before five o’clock when Anne and Declan parked the unmarked squad across the street from Chicago PD Headquarters. They walked inside the now-familiar building, produced their credentials, and were waived through the magnetometers.

  “You know where you’re going?” asked a middle-aged, uniformed officer who looked like he was allergic to a treadmill.

  “Yes, Officer, we’ve been here before.”

  They were let into the intelligence division seconds after buzzing the door. MacCarthy rose from a desk in the corner and came over to welcome them. There were about ten other personnel in the room, working at their desks.

  “How was the trip?”

  Tomczyk spoke up. “Oh, you know. The Chicago Factor is always in the air, but it was easier getting downtown on the expressway than the poor people who had to leave and go north. The Kennedy was great, but that Dan Ryan was not my friend. You guys are all saints for having to do this on a daily basis.”

  “I’d like to say you get used to the traffic, but that’d be lying. I’ll show you what we got on your boy, Rider.” He opened a newly created folder containing papers. “Here’s his arrest record, convictions, sentences, associates, you name it. Where do you want to start? I can tell you the address he gave to the cop the night of the FI with Zuber is no good. According to the postal service and utilities, he checked out of there the end of October. No forwarding address either. He had the same address with DOT and Accurint databases. My guess is he’s hanging his hat with a friend or a chick. In a city of nearly three million people, finding them becomes a daunting task.”

  “We can’t help you much. All we bring to the table is a stolen white van, stolen license plates, and a turd bird from our city with an unknown amount of explosives and WMD material. Not a fair trade. The important thing is I brought two bottles of Irish whiskey. The Jameson’s for you and the Bushmills Black Bush is for the victory party, whenever that happens.”

  “Ah, laddy-boy, you’re a true Irishman.” MacCarthy stood up, holding a bottle in each hand, and addressed his fellow detectives. “See, you guys? Here’s a Milwaukee detective who respects and admires the Chicago PD detectives.” Laughs and comments came from Mac’s newly found audience. He sat back down, looked over at Anne, and raised his right hand. “Special Agent Dvorak, I want you to know the cap off of either of these specimens of beauty will not be removed until the perpetrators of these offenses are on their way to jail and the bombs are safely secured.”

  “Fair enough for me, Detective Mac. I can be a Bushmills person when the time is right.”

  “Now you’re talking. Well, let’s get to work. Do we have cell phone info on Zuber?”

  Tomczyk looked at his notepad. “Not yet. No records, bills, or receipts for phone companies were found for him at either search location. The dead girlfriend had one of the big carriers, but Zuber must have taken the phone and either dumped it or turned it off. Haven’t gotten any pings off cell towers. We have a subpoena for records, but those won’t come until tomorrow morning. I have a detective assigned to tracking down phone numbers, outgoing and ingoing, when we get the info.”

  “Good. Rider just got off parole three months ago and, of course, his PO had the old address also. She had him working at a small machine shop in the Fillmore District over on the West Side. I spoke to the owner this afternoon. He said Rider quit two months ago, only mentioning that he had found a better job with higher pay. Said Rider was a pretty good employee and never asked for a reference for the new position. He gave me a cell phone number that has since been wiped clean. One of those fly-by-night phone companies. We’re working with other internal contacts to find out about the new job, but they’re having glitches and can’t get me current employment info. They still have him at the machine shop.”

  “How about prison mates? Maybe Rider’s rooming with one of his prison homies.”

  “Didn’t go there yet. Good idea, though. Admin staffs are all gone. We’ll have to make it an emergency request. Prison staffs move like frozen molasses sometimes, so it may take a while. I’ll get on the horn when we’re done. What else can you think of at this time?” MacCarthy touched his forehead as his mind searched for other opportunities of investigation.

  “Think we’re good for now. What do you guys do for chow around here? We haven’t eaten since noon, and I need to feed the beast before I go into a lack-of-food coma.”

  “Simple enough. Let me place a call to Joliet Prison and get the ball rolling. By the way, all I can tell you is that we better have this wrapped up tomorrow by five. I have season tickets for da Bears-Packers game at seven. It’s going to be a big game with a bunch of military and law enforcement officers there for the celebration of Soldier Field and—” He stopped mid-sentence and glared at Declan and Anne. “Don’t tell me!”

  Tomcyzk nearly fell out of the chair he had just sat down on. “I knew they were playing against each other on Thursday night, but never even considered something like this being a possible target. Why is this game such a big event?”

  “Soldier Field is the oldest stadium in the NFL, and will be celebrating over eighty years of operation. It was built as a tribute and memorial to all American soldiers who died in wars. Tomorrow night’s a special celebration because of the ninety-five-year rivalry between the Bears and the Packers. There’s also a military/law enforcement tribute taking place during halftime. A number of VIPs will be there, including the governor and the Chicago mayor. Holy balls, that would be a media frenzy if something like this happened!”

  “Guess this is going at the top of the list for possible targets. Going to be tough covering that place and not causing a massive stir.”

  “I’ll say.” MacCarthy was perplexed. “Let me call the lieutenant in here. Looks like your case may have just leaped up into high priority.”

  “Well, this is not very reassuring,” Anne surmised. “Some guys may blow up a major professional football venue in the third-largest city in the United States in twenty-four hours or less, armed with a boatload of bombs, and we don’t have a hill of beans to go on but two guys’ names, without the slightest idea of where they are. Is that about it?”

  “Well, that’s not quite everything,” Tomczyk said, adding to the difficulty of the situation. “We know they have a stolen, white van with Wisconsin plates on it.”

  “Sorry, forgot,” she said, somewhat hopelessly.
/>   “I’m really hungry now.”

  Chapter 30

  CHICAGO: TWENTY-TWO HOURS TO DETONATION

  We’re good on the paint job, Spike. Great idea. I’ll finish the striping tomorrow so it’ll fit right in.” Sam took a gulp from his beer. “Joey and Madman are briefed on the diversion plan and the location. You’ll have to tell them how to detonate that bomb and where you want it placed. How ‘bout we have a final go ‘round tomorrow morning? They’ll be back in an hour, and we can finish watching those movies I got at the store. A couple thrillers, just like we’re going to do.” When he started laughing, he nearly choked on the smoke he had just inhaled from his cigarette.

  “Good plan. And don’t kill yourself. I fell asleep in class when they were talking about that lifesaving shit, so I can’t help out.”

  “Fair enough. We still have some pizza left from last night. You want a couple pieces?”

  “Yeah, that was great stuff.”

  “Told ya.”

  “My butt’s dragging, Anne. I’m going to call it a night. I have got to get some solid sleep tonight. If Soldier Field is the target, we’ll all need to be at the top of our game. If not, we’ll never figure out where Zuber is going to hit and stop him.”

  Anne moved closer and embraced Declan in the hallway of the hotel. She stroked his wavy brown hair and gave him a long kiss. When they finished, she looked him squarely in the eyes.

  “Declan Tomczyk, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

  “Feeling’s mutual, pretty lady.” He returned the kiss. “If you need something, give me a shout. If not, I’ll be in dreamland all night. Meet you in the lobby at six forty-five. Is that good for you?”

  “Perfect. Time enough to grab some breakfast and head out. I contacted our Chicago office. Five people from their domestic terrorism squad will meet us at CPD Headquarters at eight thirty.”

  “Good, we’ll definitely need the help. I’m hoping my MPD boys will be calling with some info from their leads. The call I got from them today was not very promising. They struck out on every place they hit. Good night, Anne. Sweet dreams.”