The Observer (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 3)

by Phelps, T Patrick

Abdul slowly turned his head towards Derek’s direction. Derek could see the tears streaming down Abdul’s face. His shouting of Abdul’s name attracted the attention of two NYPD officers who quickly approached Derek and began shoving him to a safer distance.

  “I know that man,” Derek protested. “He is the Imam at a mosque in town. I interviewed him this morning.”

  “Good for you,” the officer said, clearly unconcerned with what Derek might have to say.

  “Derek Cole,” Abdul screamed, creating an eerie silence throughout the normally loud Times Square area. “Derek Cole,” Abdul screamed again. “You have killed me.”

  Derek pressed against the officer who was still directing him away from the bomber. “I am Derek Cole,” he insisted. “I’m a freelance detective hired to uncover a planned attack in this city. I have to believe you’ve heard about something being planned. I need to speak with that man. His name is Abdul.”

  “Stay right here,” the officer said, then jogged off towards three men dressed in white shirts, ties and dark dress pants.

  As Derek watched the officer speaking to who Derek assumed to be a detective or an NYPD officer, he saw the officer pointing in his direction. A few seconds later, the officer waved for Derek to join them.

  “I’m Detective Patrick Connor,” the man said. “Tell me who you are and what you know about our friend in the vest.

  Derek gave a brief overview of the case he was hired for. Though he couldn’t tell Detective Connor who his clients were, the Detective seemed to understand Derek’s involvement.

  “I get that you can’t tell me who hired you. Trust me, I understand,” Patrick Connor said. The way he told Derek he understood his inability to reveal his clients was concerning for Derek. He wondered if Mark Henderson had lied about Derek being the only private investigator hired by the FBI to investigate this case. ”Tell me what you know about this suicide bomber.”

  “His name is Abdul Fattaah Huda. He is the Imam of a mosque here in Manhattan. His name and his mosque were on a list that my clients gave me to investigate. I met with him this morning.”

  Derek and Patrick’s conversation was interrupted by Abdul’s yelling. “I want to speak with Derek Cole,” he yelled.

  “You stay at least 30 feet away,” Patrick said to Derek. “The charge he has strapped to his body isn’t strong enough to hurt you from that distance. I’ll be right beside you.”

  As Derek and Patrick walked closer to Abdul, they could hear a mixture of sobs and laughter. “Your visit has killed me, Derek Cole. You owe me.”

  “How did my visit put you in this position?” Derek asked.

  “Make sure my sons are safe.”

  Before Derek could respond, Abdul slowly lowered his head until his forehead was pressed against the concrete's cool, hard surface. He began whispering in Arabic, then released his thumb’s hold of the plunger.

  ***I***

  It was the suddenness that ripped through Derek’s soul. The brief, tearing sound of the thunderously high pitched explosion caused others around him to shield themselves, in fear that the explosives were more powerful than the bomb squad experts had estimated. But Derek stood motionless. The wisps of rising smoke, the putrid smell of burnt flesh and boiled blood, and the splattered remains were all that were left behind. The certain, single accusation followed by a plea made by a desperate man however, would remain in Derek’s thoughts well after the area was scrubbed clean and all traceable memories were collected, bagged and erased from the concrete’s telling history.

  “You okay?” Patrick Connor asked Derek, his voice much calmer than Derek though appropriate.

  “Fine,” Derek stammered. “What the hell just happened?”

  “You need to come with us. Gotta get you cleaned up.”

  It was then that Derek felt the foreign warmth on his face. He wiped his brow with his open palm then stared at the congealing blood clots, tufts of hair and matter he dared not try to identify. Within seconds, Derek felt both his arms being grabbed as he was lead away from where Abdul’s life had ended. He found himself sitting on the bumper of an ambulance as paramedics quickly cleaned Abdul from his face, hands and torso. The skilled paramedics quickly assessed their patient before giving a thumbs up sign to whomever was standing to the right of their ambulance.

  “No injuries,” Derek heard one paramedic say. “Some possible debris in his eyes that we can flush out in a second.”

  “Good,” the unseen voice responded. “Finish cleaning him up, get him something to drink. I’ll be back in five.”

  It was as if he was an observer to the activity around him. As the paramedics asked him questions, Derek heard himself answering in a disturbingly calm voice. He felt the warm solution as it was poured into his eyes but the liquid seemed unable to cloud his vision. He was still seeing Abdul, bowing his head to the concrete and imploring that Derek keep his sons safe. His sons.

  “We need to find Abdul’s sons,” Derek snapped from his observer role and back into the role he was much more familiar with. “He asked me to make sure his sons are safe. Where’s Detective Connor?” Derek snapped.

  “He’s on his way back here,” a paramedic with the heaviest New York City accent that Derek had ever heard said. “Hold on a minute, would ya? Gotta get some stuff out of your eye.”

  “Can you tell me what just happened?” the other paramedic questioned.

  “I can tell you what I saw, who it was that you just cleaned off my face but, if you’re asking me what really just happened, I got nothing for you.”

  “Good enough for me,” the paramedic said. “Detective Connor is headed back our way. You sure you feel okay? Nothing hurting or burning?”

  “Nothing at all,” Derek answered after scanning his body to be sure there was no hidden spot of pain waiting to erupt once discovered. “Just hoping that wasn’t an extreme way to spread ebola.”

  “Hadn’t thought about that. Thanks for putting that in my head.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “It isn’t the best coffee but it’s free.” Detective Connor handed Derek a Styrofoam cup filled with black coffee. “You sure you don’t want something in your coffee to kill the taste?”

  “No thanks,” Derek said. “Black is fine. Just need something to clear my mind up a little.”

  “Well that coffee will do it. I’ve seen doctors put that coffee in a dead man’s IV and watched it bring people back to life.”

  Derek smiled then took a small sip of the miracle coffee. “Holy shit balls,” he said. “This is horrible.”

  “Want that cream and sugar now?”

  “I want my tongue removed from my mouth first. Damn,” Derek said, looking at the cup of coffee in his hands, “someone really has to try hard to make this taste as bad as it does.”

  Derek was sitting with Detective Connor in a small interrogation room located down the hallway from the detective's bullpen. The door was left open, and Derek was assured that no one was watching him through the two-way glass. “And we’re not recording anything you tell us,” Detective Connor said. “We just want to ask you a few things about what just happened in the Square.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I can,” Derek said.

  “And while I know you can’t tell me who your clients are, if I guess who hired you and you were to, um, I don’t know, take another sip of coffee, then I can assume that we are on the same page.”

  “You can ask but I am sure as hell not going to take another sip of that coffee. It tastes worse than whatever was blown into my mouth when Abdul exploded.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought,” Detective Connor said. “Special Agent Mark Henderson’s name ring any bells?”

  “I am not drinking any more of this coffee,” Derek said as he shot a quick smile across the table to Patrick Connor.

  “Henderson briefed our department last week,” Connor continued. “He informed us that intel had picked up chatter that referenced an ‘event’ being planned for Manhattan. Didn’t tell
us too much about it as he admitted that the FBI and all of DHS didn’t have much to go on. Henderson did tell us that the FBI was outsourcing some feet on the street to aid in the investigation. They must be really scared shitless if they started hiring private investigators. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Derek said. “I felt and still feel the same way. I’ve been a freelance detective for a few years now and have never been contacted by any federal agency for my services. It didn’t make sense to me when they hired me and makes even less sense now.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Henderson told me that I was the only outsourced investigator they hired but when I met with Badr Irani, he told me that I was the fifth person asking him questions. I assumed that Henderson was included in that count and maybe someone from the NYPD, but I am thinking that I’m not the only private eye working this case.”

  “You’re not,” Connor said as he stood, walked over to the door and closed it. “As far as I can tell, you’re among 12 others.”

  “Twelve? Are you kidding me?”

  “Afraid not. My department is heading up this co-investigation, so all calls regarding activities around mosques are filtered through me and my team. We’ve been receiving calls from Imam’s all over the city. If you were told to visit Abdul and,” Connor paused, “who was the other guy you mentioned?”

  “Badr Irani. He is the Imam of a UN sponsored mosque. I met with him just before Abdul blew himself up.”

  “So you were sent to visit two mosques, and the other area mosques were probably divided up between the other 11 private eyes. We received complaints from around 15 mosques in the area. Each one with the same complaint: sick of being targeted and demanding that the Police Department leave them alone. We told them we had nothing to do with the investigators visiting them, but I don’t think any of them believed us.”

  “Badr said that he had five visitors. Any from your team visit him?”

  “We don’t make a practice of visiting people unless we have reasonable evidence to suggest they might be involved in something. I’ll check with my team, but I can almost guarantee that no one from the NYPD visited anyone name Badr Irani.”

  “So either Henderson, Cortez or any of the other 11 on the case made the visits,” Derek said.

  “Who’s Cortez?” Connor asked.

  “Henderson’s partner. I met with him and Henderson up in Yonkers yesterday.” Derek thought back on his visit with Cortez and the note that Cortez put in the folder for him. He thought about telling Detective Connor about the note but decided to hold off until he felt he could fully trust him. “Didn’t Henderson bring a partner with him when he met with your team?”

  “Said he was lead investigator on the case. Claimed that the FBI was spread thin tracking down leads all over the country and that they didn’t have the manpower to assign him a case partner. I guess that’s why he hired you and the other 11 private investigators.”

  “He never mentioned a Juan Cortez?” Derek asked.

  “Never,” Connor replied. “But that doesn’t concern me. It is not uncommon for the FBI to only send their lead agent to meet with local authorities. They don’t like to show a sign of force that may be interpreted as them wanting to take over. They’ll show up with one, maybe two agents, then, when the shit hits the fan, agents come crawling out of the woodwork. We know that where’s there one agent, there’s a whole lot more where that one came from. Why are you so concerned that Henderson didn’t mention Cortez?”

  “Something that happened after I left them in Yonkers,” Derek said.

  “You gonna share what happened?”

  Derek paused for several seconds before remembering what Juan Cortez wrote in his note: “Trust no one.”

  “No reason in particular,” Derek said. “First time working with the FBI and am more curious about their procedures than suspicious.”

  Detective Patrick Connor sat silently, staring at Derek while tapping a Bic pen on the notebook in front of him. “Not sure if you’re keeping something from me or not, but I wouldn’t blame you if you are,” he said. “So tell me, what’s your next step in your investigation?”

  “Honestly,” Derek said, relieved that Connor didn’t push the issue of Derek’s curiosity over Henderson not mentioning Cortez as his partner, “I’m not sure. Abdul did ask me to make sure his kids were safe, so I guess that will be my first priority.”

  “We already have two uniforms out to pick them up. If we feel they are in danger, we’ll protect them.”

  “Trust no one,” Derek said to himself.

  “I’m sure you will, but I have this annoying sense of obligation. Abdul said that my visit caused his death and asked me to make sure his kids are safe. Seems like I need to take an active part in their protection.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Connor said. “But not exactly sure how you think you can take an active part in protecting his kids. You don’t have the manpower or a facility that can provide protection. Nor do you have any idea if they are in any danger, who they may be in danger of, or why they may be in danger. How about this,” Connor said as he stood, “once we pick up the kids and the wife, if Abdul was married, I’ll contact you. You can come down and see them and see for yourself that they are safe? Will that satisfy your sense of obligation?”

  “Probably not,” Derek said. “But it will have to do for now.”

  “Listen Cole,” Connor said, his eyes fixed on Derek’s, “we don’t know what we’re dealing with here so, while I can’t tell you to stop your investigation, I can ask you to keep me informed with any progress you make. I’ll share what I can with you but need to stick to our protocols. Deal?”

  “Deal. I’m not a fan of protocols but I trust that you and I are on the same team.”

  “What’s your problem with protocols?” Connor asked as he and Derek walked out of the interrogation room and towards the bank of elevators.

  “When I was a cop in Columbus, protocols got my wife killed.”

  “Didn’t know you were a cop and, sorry about your wife.”

  “Eight years as an MP in the Army and a little over five as a cop.”

  “That’s good to know. Will make it easier for me to convince my captain to share case information with you. Still not sure how protocols were responsible for your wife’s death?”

  Derek gave Connor a 30-second overview of the day Lucy, his wife, was killed in the bank robbery. He told Connor how he could have ended the standoff but was forced to follow protocols.

  “I know that protocols didn’t send the bullet into Lucy’s head,” Derek said as the elevator doors opened, “but they sure prevented me from eliminating the possibility of it happening.”

  “Can I assume that you won’t be following any protocols in this investigation?” Connor said as the elevator doors began to close, separating him from Derek.

  “When it comes to stopping terrorism, there aren’t any protocols to follow.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Derek was no further than 100 feet from the midtown police department before his iPhone began to vibrate in his pocket.

  “Cole, it’s Special Agent Mark Henderson. We need to talk.”

  “Yes we do,” Derek replied. “Where and when?”

  “Which hotel are you staying in?” Mark asked.

  “I’m sure you know that already.”

  “Dispense of the conspiracy bullshit Cole. Can you meet me near the Freedom Tower? Small deli on Barclay Street. 45 minutes?”

  “I’ll be there.” Derek paused. “Will Cortez be joining us?” he asked.

  “He won’t be joining us. I’ll fill you in. 45 minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  ***I***

  The deli on Barclay Street was no wider than 20 feet but extended much further than Derek expected. At least 30 feet past the deli counter, several tables were positioned against the left-hand wall. Special Agent Mark Henderson sat alone at the last table, his back against the rear wall and his a
rms crossed over his chest.

  “You’re early,” Mark said.

  “For you to say that means that you were even earlier.”

  “I see that you’ve met Detective Connor,” Mark Henderson said as Derek sat down across from him.

  “Yes, we had a rather explosive introduction.”

  “Abdul Huda took himself out of any equation that we had placed him in.”

  “One of the last things he said was that my visit caused his death. That sounds to me like his death wasn’t his idea,” Derek said.

  “What else did he say to you?”

  “Just to make sure his kids are safe. NYPD is looking for them and told me that they would bring them into a station and determine what measures are needed, if any, to keep them safe.”

  “Good,” Mark said. “Probably have nothing to worry about, but trying to convince kids that they’re safe after finding out that their dad just splattered himself all over Times Square may be a tad difficult.”

  “I take it that Abdul’s death changes your instructions for me?” Derek asked.

  “First,” Mark said, after checking to make sure that no other patrons were close enough to overhear Derek and his conversation, “tell me what was said between you and Detective Connor.”

  “He just wanted to know about my involvement and why Abdul called out my name right before he blew himself up.”

  “What else?” Mark pressed.

  “He knows that the FBI hired me for this case and he told me that you guys hired a total of 12 private investigators. I found that interesting since you told me that I was the only freelancer on the case.”

  “You’re the only one that I wanted to hire. Based on what just happened in Times Square, looks like I was right. The other private investigators have done nothing but piss people off. They haven’t turned up anything of value. That’s why you’re the only freelancer still on the case.”

  “Not sure if I believe you,” Derek said.