by Bob Hamer
“Don’t go there, Matt.”
The two exited the car.
They were preparing to interview Abu Sayyid al-Doori, the victim teller of a recent bank robbery.
Dwayne pulled all eight victim teller interviews and had an analyst complete background checks on each. Six of the eight tellers were Middle Eastern immigrants, two males and four females. A seventh was female and married to an Australian. She was using her married name but was born in Syria. The eighth victim teller, a female, was a graduate student at UCLA and had no known Middle Eastern connections.
Al-Doori was born in Egypt and came to the United States as a student in 1999. He was a permanent resident and had applied for citizenship, which could happen as early as next spring.
This was one of eight reinterviews that teams of JTTF agents would conduct this evening.
Dwayne exercised supervisory privilege and picked one of the two male tellers: al-Doori. Dwayne spoke to the agent who interviewed the Egyptian. The agent recalled al-Doori was shaken, as were many tellers by such a traumatic experience; being face-to-face with a bank robber is pleasant for no one. But the agent remembered one witness thought the robber lingered in the line until al-Doori’s teller window was available.
The apartment complex had a security gate; and just as Matt and Dwayne approached, one of the tenants, a female who looked to be in her early thirties, exited. Dwayne smiled and held the door as the tenant was leaving. Both casually walked in.
“That was easy. Some security,” said Matt. “We both have guns, and you look like you belong on a wanted poster.”
“Thanks. Act like you know what you’re doing, and you can get away with almost anything.”
“That’s how I’ve managed to fool the Bureau for these many years,” said Matt.
“Yeah, but in your case, we have to continue to employ you. If we loosed you on society, it might upset the delicate balance of good versus evil.”
They continued walking until they came to unit nine. The lights were on, and Matt could hear the television. Dwayne knocked on the door. Someone came to the window and peeked out. Dwayne held up his badge and credentials to the window. Within a few seconds, the door opened, but the security chain was still attached.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Mr. Abu al-Doori?” said Dwayne.
“Who are you?”
“Sir, we’re with the FBI. If you are Abu al-Doori, we’d like to talk with you.”
“I am Abu. What is this about?”
“About the bank robbery.”
Al-Doori hesitated. “It is late. Could we do this at the bank tomorrow?”
“Sir, it shouldn’t take long. We just have a few follow-up questions we need you to answer. We’d like to do it tonight if at all possible.”
When al-Doori cracked open the door, Matt realized he was watching Al-Jazeera television. The door closed. It took a little longer than Matt thought was necessary to unlatch the chain and open the door. Just as Matt began to knock again, the door opened.
Matt and Dwayne entered the room and displayed their credentials identifying them as FBI agents. They took a seat on the couch. Abu offered them something to drink, but both declined. Al-Doori’s roommate was taking a night class so they were alone in the two-bedroom apartment.
Dwayne began by asking detailed background questions about al-Doori, including his family history, marital status, and the circumstances behind his coming to the United States.
The TV was still on, and al-Doori watched that rather than look the agents in the eye.
Al-Doori said his family remained in Egypt, as did his fiancée. Once he obtained his citizenship, he planned on returning to Egypt, marrying his fiancé, and returning with her to the U.S.
Dwayne then carefully reviewed al-Doori’s previous statement and confirmed its accuracy. When Dwayne asked if al-Doori had anything to add, al-Doori responded by saying, “What is this all about? I thought the robber was killed? It was in the papers.”
“You’re correct. The robber was killed, but we are doing some follow-up investigation,” said Dwayne.
Matt began to get impatient with the speed at which the interview was proceeding. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “You can watch CSI: Baghdad some other time. We’re with the Joint Terrorism Task Force. We aren’t with the bank robbery squad.”
With a sweeping motion of his arm, Matt cleared the coffee table of several magazines, knocking them to the floor. He spread before al-Doori surveillance photos of Rashid, several crime scene photos from Plummer Park, and an autopsy photo.
“Look at these photos. Is this the man who robbed you?”
“Yes.”
“Prior to that day, had you ever seen this man?”
Al-Doori shook his head, looking at all the photos a second time, stopping at the crime scene photos. “Never.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. The only time I ever saw this man was when he came into my bank that day.”
“We have evidence to the contrary.”
Dwayne maintained his eye contact with al-Doori but was unaware of any contrary evidence.
“I don’t know what you mean?” said al-Doori.
Matt picked up the most gruesome crime scene photo, a color photo of Rashid’s head, turned to the side, lying in a pool of blood. “This man worked for a terrorist organization. We have evidence you are associated with that organization.”
“That is not true.”
Matt raised his voice, ever so slightly, “But it is, Abu, and unless you decide to cooperate tonight, not tomorrow at the bank, not next week in jail, not from Egypt where I will see you’re returned after you complete your prison sentence, you better tell us all you know about Rashid. No half stepping, my friend. It’s a felony to lie to an FBI agent, and you’re lying when you say you don’t know him.”
“I am not lying. I do not know him.”
Matt never wavered and leaned in closer. “You know of him. You know of the organization. You knew about the bank robbery in advance.”
Al-Doori said nothing.
Matt continued, “My next phone call is to the United States Attorney’s office and then Immigration. I’ll see to it they begin processing you immediately. This country does not harbor terrorists or those who support terrorism. You supported terrorism. We know it and you know it.”
Matt paused, waiting for a response. He was beginning to think the strategy was failing.
Al-Doori said nothing.
Matt leaned in closer and raised his voice slightly. “After you complete the jail sentence and the deportation procedures, you can spend the rest of your life in Egypt. You will not be welcome here, and neither will your wife or your children. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Al-Doori looked down at the photos again. “You don’t understand. I had to.”
“Had to what?” asked Matt.
“I had to cooperate with them.”
“We know that. Tell us about it.” Matt was bluffing but the bluff worked. He had no idea what al-Doori was about to say.
“I want to be a citizen. I want to live in the United States. I want my fiancée to join me, and I want my children to be born here. I am grateful for the opportunities this country has to offer.”
Matt interrupted, “You have a strange way of expressing your gratitude.”
Al-Doori hung his head but continued, “Several weeks ago a man came to my apartment. He knew about my family and about my fiancée. He knew where they lived and showed me photos of the house where my fiancée’s family lives. I had never seen this man before, and I have not seen him since. He knew I worked at the bank. He told me he needed my help for the cause and, if I cooperated, nothing would happen to my family in Egypt.”
Al-Do
ori choked back tears, but the emotional response didn’t move Matt, who glared at the Egyptian.
Al-Doori continued, “He said I would receive a phone call one night and, the next day when a man came into the bank to rob it, I was to give him all the money I had. He said he would only ask once. If I refused, someone would die. If I agreed, no one would ever contact me again. If I went to the police, he would know, and everyone in my family would die. He told me the bank was insured by the government, and it was that same government, the government of the United States, that had been responsible for all the problems in the Middle East. He said the West must pay for defiling the land of Allah.”
Al-Doori picked up a photo of Rashid. “I knew when I saw this man in my bank he was sent for the cause. I did not want to give him all the money in my drawer, but I had no other choice. I was afraid. I was afraid for my family. I have not heard from anyone since that day. When I saw on the news this man had been killed, I was even more frightened. I have told no one about this. Not my roommate, no one in my family, not my fiancé.”
Both Matt and Dwayne believed al-Doori. His explanation made sense and he seemed sincere. Although al-Doori was guilty of conspiracy, his defense of duress would probably prevail. There was no sense seeking an arrest warrant that evening. They had the information they wanted.
Matt concluded with a few final questions and al-Doori’s assurance he would tell no one of the visit until he heard again from the FBI. Al-Doori was all too happy to cooperate.
The bank robberies were part of a scheme to support terrorism. To prevent future robberies would require a strategy not ready to be employed that evening. The tentacles of terrorism were spreading beyond the rumored attack on an unknown date.
Chapter Forty-Three
Matt was uncertain how he was going to handle the Thanksgiving holiday. Caitlin’s mom loved to entertain, and the holidays were her chance to shine. Matt called her “a regular Martha Stewart without the felony conviction.” She usually prepared a feast for Thanksgiving with enough food to feed a platoon of Marines. She would be disappointed if he were a no-show. Matt would be expected to join Caitlin’s family for the celebration, but he felt an obligation to the children at the clinic. He couldn’t tell Caitlin’s parents about the undercover assignment, but when he said he had to work a four-to-midnight shift, Caitlin’s mom accommodated his work schedule by moving the meal to noon.
Omar said he was driving to San Diego for Thursday and Friday and would be returning Saturday afternoon. When David invited the out-of-town staffers to his house for Thanksgiving and Ibrahim accepted, Matt invited Caitlin to help him host a Thanksgiving dinner at the clinic for the children.
Matt alerted the surveillance team, who were less than thrilled they would be spending Thanksgiving on the road. San Diego has a sizable Middle Eastern community and was a temporary home to some of the 9/11 hijackers. The FBI could not take any chances a significant meeting might occur on a holiday. In fact, it made perfect sense. Matt often joked, “Crime takes no holiday,” so why should terrorism be any different. The 24-7 surveillance of Omar would continue.
Since Matt had an undercover budget, he decided to spend part of it treating the children to a traditional Thanksgiving, turkey with all the fixings. He wasn’t sure how he could justify the expenditure to the Bureau accountants, but a little creative writing would do the trick. He could justify the costs because it helped “maintain his cover” and “enhanced his credibility with the target.” The bean counters bought that argument before so he would attempt it again.
Every room at the clinic was occupied. Sixteen children had been brought to the United States for medical treatment. Most were severely burned, but several like Shahla were amputees. David arranged to get the necessary plastic surgery for the burn victims, not only for cosmetic reasons to treat the horrible scars but also to provide new skin allowing the body to function as normally as possible. Matt’s heart ached each time he saw these young people who suffered so terribly through no fault of their own.
Matt hired a local caterer to prepare the meal—turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, and a strawberry fruit salad. Caitlin baked pumpkin pies for the event.
It was Caitlin’s first visit to the clinic. He proudly showed off the facility but conspicuously avoided pointing out any rooms he painted. To do otherwise might remind her of the painting she had been nagging him to do for the past six months.
A minimal staff was on hand for the evening.
Caitlin and Matt brought the children into the cafeteria and filled each of their plates. Caitlin led the group in prayer. Since only two of the children spoke English, few may have appreciated her heartfelt thanks not only for the food but also for each of the children.
Like Matt, Caitlin’s heart broke as she saw the pain and suffering reflected in the faces of each child. Most managed a weak smile, but more often than not the children had vacant, faraway looks in their eyes. Caitlin hovered over the children like a mother hen, giving hugs and extra helpings of any food they desired. She was particularly pleased the pumpkin pie was so well received. It was a treat few ever experienced, and each giggled as she topped off the dessert with Reddi-wip. Of course, Matt, being the child who refused to grow up, delighted each child by directly squirting whipped cream into opened mouths. Even a language barrier couldn’t prevent the satisfaction of the sweet delicacy.
Matt’s joy, however, abruptly halted when he received a call on his cell phone from the SOG team leader. Omar had not gone to San Diego. He was exiting his car and walking up the entrance to the clinic. It was too late to hustle Caitlin out of the clinic, but he warned her of the unexpected visitor just as Omar entered the room.
“Omar, I thought you were going to San Diego for a couple of days?”
“Yes, I planned to go, but I slept late this morning; and by the time I got up, it seemed as though I wasted the day, so I decided to stay here. I had no one in particular to see there and thought I would just come here and spend time with the children.”
Matt stumbled with a response. “That’s too bad. San Diego is a beautiful city. I’m sure you would have enjoyed seeing it.”
“Maybe some other day I will go,” said Omar, who was looking at Caitlin. “Is this your wife?”
“Yes.”
Matt introduced them, and Omar immediately asked about Jaana, remembering the telephone conversation he overheard when Jaana was originally hospitalized.
Caitlin was struck by his apparent sincere concern for Jaana’s well-being and his offer to help in any way he could. He proudly told Caitlin he was in the bone marrow donor program and was looking forward to the day when he could help someone who needed a transplant.
Following dessert, the three returned the children to their rooms and cleaned up the cafeteria. Caitlin and Omar spoke for quite some time, often outside of Matt’s hearing. Caitlin carefully watched her responses but generally seemed to enjoy the conversation. Omar was more talkative than usual, which aroused Matt’s suspicion.
The evening ended and they said their good-byes.
As Matt and Caitlin were walking to their car, Caitlin said, “I don’t know what to make of him. He seems sincere, but then I don’t know how a terrorist is supposed to act. I’m still trying to figure out Jaana’s father.”
“My point exactly.”
“At first I was nervous, but he put me at ease rather quickly. I guess my first UC assignment, smuggling a kitten into the hospital, better prepared me for tonight’s adventure.”
“I’m really sorry to have put you through this. I certainly didn’t expect him to show up. I didn’t even think to call the surveillance team to confirm whether he went out of town. They wouldn’t have called except they saw my car parked in the driveway in front of the clinic when Omar pulled up.”
“I survived. It was actually exciting. I don’t want to do
it full time, but I am beginning to understand the rush.”
“What did he say when I was in the kitchen cleaning up?”
“He talked mostly about his work here and in Afghanistan, but he also asked about you in a roundabout manner.”
“How so?”
Caitlin had trouble expressing her thoughts. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t know if he was probing or just trying to make conversation. He mentioned the trust fund and how nice it is you don’t have to work for a living. I had no trouble agreeing with him there. I still can’t get over the fact you get paid to play cops and robbers, something you did for free as a child.”
“Get to the point.”
“He talked about you being a paramedic and investing in stocks. It was almost like he was trying to get me to confirm your cover. Maybe I’m just a little paranoid. I know I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have. Does it bother you he met me?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to say anything to Dwayne?”
“No. He probably wouldn’t care, but this was a big no-no tonight, and I don’t want to put him on the spot by forcing him to report I disclosed a sensitive undercover operation to a non-Bureau employee. No sense getting OPR involved until after I save the world from the vise grip of terrorism.”
Caitlin shook her head and kissed him on the cheek. “I didn’t think this was exactly kosher, but thanks for letting me come. Those kids are precious.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Caitlin took a personal day at school and picked the perfect morning to take Jaana to the clinic. It had been almost four weeks since the surgery, and Jaana was recovering nicely. She immediately began weekly chemotherapy treatments to kill any lingering cancer cells. The side effects were predictable. Her hair fell out, and the nausea from the chemo usually lasted a day following each treatment. It was difficult to explain to a seven-year-old why something that made her sick was actually good for her, but at least for today her gray pallor was gone. Most importantly, the joy in her countenance was back.