by Bob Hamer
The morning sun reflected off the walls of the conference room, creating an almost halo-like effect over David’s head as he stood at the front of the room. If angels did walk the earth, David might be one, unless he was aiding and abetting terrorism, a question still begging an answer.
David devoted the morning session to discussing witnessing opportunities to Muslims. Matt started to tune out, hearing something about “the painful memories of the Crusades.” Matt looked engaged, but he really wasn’t interested in a history lesson. Then he heard, “We must not ignore history and if we are to succeed in bringing the gospel, we must be sensitive.”
Matt smiled at the thought of being sensitive. He remembered the “camel jockey” comment to Karim that night at the restaurant, and he recently shot Humpty Dumpty. Sensitivity, as Caitlin would attest, was not his strongest quality.
Matt glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be listening except Omar, who was staring out the window with apparent indifference to what was being said.
“Although our understanding may be vastly different on the various issues, Christianity and Islam have a great deal of common themes. The recognition of prophets, the belief that the Torah and the Gospels are holy books, a belief in angels and demons, a judgment day—all of these provide topics of discussion. Muslims genuinely want to please Allah. Their five pillars of faith are all done to seek favor with God. This dedication should be acknowledged and praised. We, as Christians, would do well to adopt the same dedication many of the Muslim faith demonstrate.
“Islam is a religion of rules. Christianity is a religion of relationship, a relationship with Jesus Christ who overcame death. In simple terms your mission is clear. You must help your Muslim friend understand the need for a savior, for the Savior.”
Chapter Forty-One
As Dwayne stood at the window in the FBI conference room, he saw the news vans pulling into the parking lot of the Federal Building on Wilshire Boulevard. Each of the major networks and the local independent stations in Los Angeles were represented. Cameramen trudged into the building lugging their equipment to the elevator and up to the eleventh floor where the press conference was being held.
Standing along the back wall, Dwayne watched reporters jockeying for a position near the front. Dwayne spent almost an hour on the phone the night before talking with Jason Barnes, who was out of town, attending a conference at headquarters. Barnes was supportive of Matt’s plan, and the trade-off was Pamela Clinton would have an opportunity to grab her fifteen minutes of fame in front of the cameras. She agreed to participate in the journalistic charade as long as she could conduct the press conference.
She was punctual, entering the room at the precise time the media office scheduled the conference. Her long, slender figure was accented by the striped, charcoal pantsuit she wore. Her brunette, shoulder-length hair was perfectly styled, not a hair out of place. The media moguls at headquarters would be pleased at her professional appearance. She marched directly to the podium, where she stood, flanked on either side by the flag, and centered in front of the large FBI seal hanging on the wall. A real Kodak moment, thought Dwayne. She looked comfortable in front of the cameras, scanning the audience, and taking a breath before beginning.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Pamela Clinton, the Acting Special Agent in Charge of the Terrorism Section of the Los Angeles Field Office of the FBI. We are announcing today that last evening the body of Yasir Ali Mehsud was discovered shot in an alley off Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica. We have confirmed with the CIA that Yasir was the brother of former al-Qaeda leader Haji Mohammed Mehsud. The latter, along with members of his family, was killed in August of this year in Afghanistan. Members of the Joint Terrorism Task Force are working closely with the Santa Monica Police Department investigating the homicide.”
To Dwayne’s surprise she handled the press with aplomb. Clinton opened the press conference to questions and managed to say a lot without saying anything, carefully crafting her answers to reveal absolutely nothing. Even though she had few skills to investigate cases or handle the rigors of the street, she manipulated the press masterfully.
Dwayne slipped out the back door.
BORIS GREGORIAN LABORED AT the workbench, tinkering with the soda-can-sized canister as Dr. U watched.
Boris laughed at the question. “The suitcase nuclear bombs of my country that are still supposed to exist are more of what the Americans might call an urban legend. They each consisted of three canisters filled with uranium or plutonium, depending on availability. But they had a life span of maybe three years. Any that would still exist are nothing more than radioactive scrap metal. They were just too difficult to maintain. I wish I could get my hands on one. I read once where the Chechen Mafia sold bin Laden twenty such devices for $30 million. What is the old saying, ‘A fool and his money are soon parted’? Who would ever trust the Chechens?”
“So you don’t think he has them?” asked Dr. U.
“If bin Laden has them, why hasn’t he detonated one, and why are you seeking my assistance?”
Dr. U frowned, disappointed Boris couldn’t deliver a real nuclear bomb sending an unforgettable message to the Americans.
Boris took a sip of beer. “It takes more than a suitcase of explosives to do the job you are asking.”
“How large?”
“I could fill a fifty-five-gallon drum with ammonium nitrate and fuel oil, and that would serve your purpose.” Boris laughed.
“That would not be practical.”
“My device will serve your purpose.”
“When can you deliver?” asked Dr. U.
“As soon as the caesium-137 is delivered, I will be ready. Give it a few more days. My people are reliable, but it is still a matter of getting the material to me,” said Boris. “You realize the initial blast will cause the most damage. The airborne radioactive contaminants spread by the explosion will only cover a few blocks but will eventually inflict sickness and possibly death.”
Dr. U smiled and nodded, acknowledging he understood this attack would not have the impact of a true nuclear device. “Our goal is to create chaos as the infidels deal with our newest attack vehicle. I want to watch the panic in the streets as they scramble to determine who and where our next target will be. The clean-up costs alone will seriously impact their economy, and what new bureaucracies will they create to deal with the new round of potential attacks? We shall devastate the morale and the will of a weak people. America is not safe. Her leaders are not safe. We can destroy this country just as we will destroy the Zionist movement.”
Boris loved a zealot. They were so gullible.
“Will it be safe for my man to handle?” asked Dr. U.
“Of course. This container prevents any contamination until the actual explosion. Then it will be dispersed.”
Boris held up what appeared to be a small cell phone. “This device will activate the timer.”
“How far will that be operable?”
“This will work within a few hundred feet.”
“Is that far enough? We are not asking him to martyr himself,” said Dr. U.
“As long as he doesn’t stand around and count the radioactive snowflakes falling around him, America will not be his final battle. But when he pushes this button, he should run like there’s no tomorrow, or there will be no tomorrow for him. History will be written either way.” Boris let out a huge belly laugh. “Not to worry. I will set the timer so he will have lots of time to escape. I, too, want you to succeed.”
DWAYNE WAS AT THE outdoor café awaiting Matt. Several elderly couples were seated at the tables, but there was plenty of room for Matt and Dwayne to discuss their business without curious observers overhearing. There was a slight fall chill in the air, but the bright sunshine made for a perfect autumn afternoon. Dwayne had a stack of Bureau mail for Matt and needed him to initial several rep
orts. Matt pulled up a few minutes late and quickly ordered coffee as he sat down.
“Sorry. I was helping Omar with one of the kids and just couldn’t get away.”
“That’s okay. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? Take a few days off if you need it. The trauma of a shooting isn’t the easiest thing to shake.”
“Really, I’m fine. I’ve been through this before. It’s never easy. But I know I had no other choice. I did what I was trained to do. If I need some time, I’ll take it, but I’m handling it.”
“Is Caitlin okay?”
“Yeah, she has her faith.”
“You’re lucky to have her. Just let me know if you need some time off. We can arrange something.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it. How’d the press conference go?”
“I left early to be on time here, but I didn’t miss much. I have to admit, though, she handled herself like a pro.”
“You mean like a Quantico-trained management marionette.”
“You really do have issues. Maybe we need to up your medication. On your next psychiatric evaluation I’ll recommend that to the shrink. At least when she’s in front of the press, she’s not calling me every ten minutes asking for an update on the investigation. Every time one of the eight people at headquarters who has a piece of this case calls, she immediately calls me for the latest. I want to say, ‘Give it a rest, lady. Nothing’s changed since your last call, ten minutes ago. Don’t call us; we’ll call you.’ I want to say that, but then I think I’d like to go somewhere in this organization, so I bite my tongue and take a breath.”
Matt grinned. “Sure hope I can join the management team someday. The thrill of filling out surveys, answering inane questions from the Bureau, and being tethered to a desk all day just gives me goose bumps.”
“There are some advantages.”
“I’ll stick to the streets. Besides, I wouldn’t want to have to supervise someone like me.”
“We confirmed that Yasir was the brother of Haji, and apparently Shahla is the daughter that survived the blast.”
“That is amazing. The bold move is often the right move. I guess my shoot-first-ask-questions-later investigative technique paid off.”
Dwayne shook his head. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m serious. I know it was a good shoot, but if the wrong people hear a comment like that, it could cause tremendous problems.”
“So how is the clinic involved? Is this all linked to the terrorist plot NSA and the CIA keep reporting?”
“I’m not sure we have an answer. I’m taking a run at David this afternoon. I’ll let you know how that goes.”
“Any overhears on the shooting?”
“I haven’t heard from NSA or the Agency. We’re bound to pick up something. Analysts at the NCTC—”
“The what?” interrupted Matt.
“The National Counterterrorism Center at Tyson’s Corner. Their analysts are privy to every piece of intelligence being gathered on this matter and are briefing the White House on the alleged attack.”
“Alleged? You don’t think something’s brewing?”
“In the words of management, I can neither confirm nor deny. We’re still no closer than we were when we started in terms of a specific incident. But if Rashid and Omar are involved, their visits to Disneyland and the Staples Center make sense. HQ—and of course, now that headquarters rendered an opinion, the Queen Mother is onboard—are convinced those would be the high value targets the terrorists would seek.”
“A packed house at a Lakers or Clippers game or a holiday weekend at Disneyland would exceed the World Trade Center numbers. I wish I knew how to get us the information we need. What’d you get at the Israeli Consulate building?” asked Matt.
“We lifted over thirty-five good latents from the office building. Obviously, there were lots of partials and smudges, but thirty-five is a sizable number. The real task was in the comparisons. We printed the office staff and quickly eliminated them. The coroner gave us a set of Rashid’s prints. We found his prints all over the consulate file and the building maintenance file containing the electrical, plumbing, heating, and air-conditioning blueprints.”
“So we can assume the other side has the floor plans.”
“It sure looks that way,” said Dwayne.
“Would you consider that a high-value target?”
“Not really. An embassy yes, but a consulate? I really don’t think so.”
“So why steal the plans?”
“I’m guessing to build an intelligence base in case they ever need it. But that’s just speculation on my part.”
“Did you identify any other latents?” asked Matt.
“No, that’s just it. Rashid was the only unknown we identified. We could account for every other print.”
“That seems odd. We know from the guard there were four intruders, yet Rashid is the only one who left prints.”
Dwayne took another sip of his coffee. “I’m wondering if Rashid was sloppy and didn’t wear gloves, but the rest did. The evidence tech did a great job. She pointed out several spots where a talcum-like powder residue was left on the carpet. Could have been from surgical gloves worn by the others.”
Dwayne handed Matt his mail and then pulled from his briefcase the initial crime reports and surveillance photos of the bank robberies in which Rashid was a suspect.
“Thought you might want to look at these. We obviously aren’t going to prosecute a dead man, but we’ve linked Rashid to eight bank robberies based upon the M.O., description of the robber, location of the banks, and the time frame of the robberies.”
Matt set the mail aside and began to review the reports and photos. Each report described the robber as of dark or olive complexion, wearing a hooded gray sweatshirt. At least five of the reports identified the green paint on the right sleeve. Some witnesses described the suspect as Hispanic or Middle Eastern and listed his height as five-six to five-eight with a slight to medium build. Matt reviewed the complete set of reports and then perused them a second time.
“How carefully did you read these?” asked Matt as he took a drink of his coffee.
“I just skimmed them. We have our subject, and he won’t be robbing anyone else. I’m tethered to a desk and have surveys to complete, remember?”
“Did you notice the victim tellers?”
“Not particularly.”
“Of the eight reports, six of the victim tellers have Middle Eastern names. I’ve never worked banks and realize L.A. is the ethnic diversity capital of the world, but six out of eight victim tellers, all from the Middle East, seem like more than a coincidence.”
Dwayne took the reports and reviewed the victim teller information. “You’re right. I’m surprised the bank robbery coordinator didn’t pick up on that. When I get back to the office, I’ll pull the files and review the statements from each of the tellers. It could be a coincidence, but I seriously doubt it. Good job.”
“And check this out. Look at these photos.”
Dwayne looked at each of the photos. “Doesn’t show much. The hood is always pulled up. You can’t see his face.”
“No you can’t, but in every photo his left hand is in the sweatshirt pocket. The right hand is holding the money.”
“So.”
“As I recall in the crime scene photos at the park, Rashid was holding the automatic in his right hand. I’m betting the reason he has his left hand in the pocket in the bank robbery surveillance photos is because he’s holding the gun with his left hand. He’s left-handed, not right.”
“Maybe we don’t want to hide you behind a desk. That makes sense. Now how do we find out if Rashid was left-handed?” said Dwayne.
“Hey, I came up with the theory. You come up with the facts
to match it.”
Dwayne rose from the table, leaving the bill for Matt. “I have to get back to a meeting with the Queen Mother.”
Matt held up the check and waved it at Dwayne as he was walking away. “Thanks.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Matt’s cell phone rang as he was driving back to the clinic.
“This is Matt.”
“Matt, it’s Steve Barnett. Just picked up an overhear that may be of interest.”
“Shoot.”
“That may be a poor choice of words coming from you. You doing okay?”
“Yeah, thanks for asking. So what you got?”
“Zerak just got off the phone with his wife. He saw the press conference the Queen Mother held. He said he had no idea Yasir was Haji’s brother and had he known this had any link to al-Qaeda he would have never gone into business with him.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
“That should ease some of the concerns you and your wife have with the father.”
“Yeah, that helps a lot. Thanks.”
ONCE THE SUN SET, the temperature dropped significantly. Tonight it was in the upper forties. At noon it was seventy-eight degrees. Dwayne and Matt pulled in front of a twelve-unit apartment complex in Culver City.
“You sure you haven’t seen him?” said Dwayne as Matt was reviewing a driver’s license photo.
“Dwayne, I’m sure. I’ve met three guys from the Middle East: Omar, Ibrahim, and Dr. U. I’d remember this guy if he showed up at the clinic.”
“I just don’t want to take any chances.”
“We aren’t. Look, you’re short of man power; and for all we know, my charade at the clinic may be one big exercise in futility. If this guy’s a player, I’ll deal with it when the situation arises. I’ll do a Humpty Dumpty on him. It worked the last time.”