Special Agent

by Daniel Roland Banks

  We no longer believe in truth or the Creator. We are rejecting the very things that made America great.

  We chose to discard those common beliefs and values we once cherished in search of personal freedom and self-expression. Now we are just as common as dirt, having nothing in common, except animosity toward each other. Every day, the lines that divide us are becoming wider and more pronounced.

  ‘A house divided cannot stand’.

  Very soon now, America will no longer be a beacon in the night, not even a flickering candle. If we don’t return to our roots, our once great nation will become just another forgotten contribution to the dung heap of history.

  By the way, the United States of America is the only country in the Americas that has ‘America’ in its name, so it is appropriate for us to call ourselves Americans. We just can’t do so with any pride, anymore.” The first commentator concluded.

  The next commentator, a lady attorney from California, had a different point of view.

  “That’s where you are wrong, my friend. America is greater now than she ever was. We Americans have never held the torch of liberty as high as we do today.

  Americans are embracing multiculturalism and tolerance. Americans respect and appreciate alternative lifestyles. No longer are we hung up on the worn out and oppressive Judeo/Christian ethic that oppressed women, minorities and members of the LGBT community. Americans celebrate the diversity of other beliefs and traditions.

  Personal freedoms are more valued and ever increasing, state by state. Equality for women and minorities is improving and we are becoming less gender dominant.

  We are providing quality education and healthcare for all Americans.

  We are making immigration easier for our southern neighbors. Americans are learning to put aside our imperialism in favor of becoming a part of the global community and the new world order.”

  “Every day, in every way, we are becoming a better America,” she concluded.

  The third commentator, a young man with a syndicated radio show, took a different tack.

  “Yeah…I agree we are becoming…We’ve been becoming for about three hundred years. The problem is we never became. A great country? We never arrived at that destination

  Life isn’t better for minorities in America. Oh, sure you can say, “Well, we’ve finally reached equality, we had a black president”. But one bi-racial man’s success is not the same thing as equality for all. Life is very hard for people of color in America, whether in the inner city or the Deep South.

  Where is the promised opportunity? Where is the quality education? Where is the equality?” He began.

  “Meanwhile, the unemployment rate for black Americans stays in the double digits nationwide. We Americans keep people living in abject poverty on reservations and in the inner-city, while other people are living in ‘Mc-Mansions’, in the suburbs. So, don’t tell me we are all equal. Don’t tell me a black woman in America has the same earning potential as a white man. You say we are learning? Have you visited an inner-city public school? Some say we no longer have slavery in America, but many of my brothers and sisters are enslaved. They can’t get free of the system. They can’t get free of the city. They can’t get free from poverty.

  Where is the freedom? Where is the hope? Where is the opportunity? I don’t see it. So, I gotta ask you. What’s so great about America?” He concluded.

  There was a knock on my door, so I turned off the TV. I didn’t need to hear the fourth commentator’s opinion. There is no end of opinions. Americans tend to be myopic. God’s timeline is not known to those of us who are His servants, but His eternal plan is.

  A better topic of discussion would be, in light of the scriptures, where do human beings see the condition of this world, at this point in their limited understanding of time? Now that would be a discussion worth watching, but we’ll never see it on a major news network.

  When I opened the door, I found Department of Homeland Security agent Jack McCarthy, waiting on the landing outside my apartment. This was not a surprise visit, I had been expecting him. I was not expecting him to come in disguise.

  “Is it clean?” He asked.

  I knew he wasn’t referring to the sanitation standard of my housekeeping. He was concerned my apartment might be bugged with electronic eavesdropping. It’s just one of the many things Jack has in his own bag of tricks.

  I nodded, but turned the TV back on anyway. The TV would prevent anyone from being able to monitor our conversation from outside the apartment.

  “That’s some get-up,” I observed. “It’s not Halloween yet. Are you trick or treating?”

  Jack now sported a bushy mustache and he had gained about forty five pounds since I had seen him earlier in the day. I knew the glasses he wore were not prescription. He was carrying a fully stuffed paper grocery bag, from a Brookshire’s supermarket.

  Jack shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Is all this cloak and dagger stuff really necessary?” I asked.

  “I don’t know who might be watching your apartment.”

  “Oh come on, really?”

  He shrugged again. “Wait till you hear what I have to tell you.”

  “Well then, let’s get to it.”

  We both took seats on the sofa. Jack began to pull photos and documents out of the grocery bag, spreading them out on the coffee table.

  “You were right. Her name isn’t ‘Hafsah Mohammad’. It’s Hafsah Bashir.”

  We were looking at a still photo taken from the video my office security cameras had recorded earlier in the day. There were other pictures as well.

  “Her mother was Lebanese and her father Egyptian. Long story short, we believe she works for Mossad. We’re pretty sure she’s an Israeli intelligence asset.” Jack said.

  “Yeah, I figured it was something like that.” I said.

  “We knew she was here in the U.S. She flew into L.A, six days ago. Then she disappeared.”

  “Pretty easy for people to disappear, even with you Homeland Security types watching, isn’t it?”

  “She’s a pro, John. She has contacts and resources all over the world. There are about three hundred and twenty million people living in this country. DHS can’t watch them all.”

  “”I understand. I’m just rattling your cage.”

  “This guy,” Jack said, tapping another photo, “is Nazim Bahadur, a/k/a Hakim Muktallah. This is the most recent photo we have, and it is several years old. He was born Saudi, but he has several passports and claims Islam as his only nationality. He’s a bad, bad boy. He dropped off the radar about six weeks ago. He was on the active radar because he’s probably responsible for a number of killings of Israelis and others, in various locations around the world. He’s the prime suspect in that murder in Barcelona where several people, including the British Ambassador’s wife and child, were machine gunned to death.

  When he flew into Mexico we completely missed him. He must have been using a new alias. I don’t have to tell you what all this means.”

  “Hafsah said he might be using the name Nat Baha. He probably has a passport in that name.”

  “It could be. It would explain why he was able to escape Europe and why we missed him in Mexico. We’ll add that name to the list.”

  “Where was this ‘Mr. Baha’ trained?” I asked.

  “When he was still just a teenager known as Nazim Bahadur, he fought with the Taliban in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Since he adopted the name Hakim Muktallah, he has fought with Hezbollah and trained Al Qaida, ISIS and other fighters, in Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Yemen, even in Sudan, The last few years he has been acting as a solo assassin. He’s traveled the world killing enemies of Islam. He’s been everywhere.”

  “Do you think he’s really here, now?”

  “What do you think?” Jack asked, sadly.

  “I think there would not be any reason to send a Mossad agent into East Texas, without alerting our intelligence people, if he weren’t actually
here.”

  “There’s that, and something else you should know.”

  “What?”

  “He really is Hafsah Bashir’s cousin.”

  I considered all this new information and what it might mean.

  “Jack, why would a Mossad agent come to me? This Baha/Muktallah cat is an international terrorist. Why didn’t they alert the CIA and the FBI to get them to help track this guy down?”

  “Mossad conducts the international intelligence operations for the nation of Israel. The Israelis have another agency, similar to our FBI, called Shin Bet. Shin Bet handles most of the internal, domestic intelligence operations in Israel. While Shin Bet will often interface with the FBI, Mossad usually doesn’t play well with others.”

  “Why is that? We’re allies, right?”

  Jack waggled his head back and forth, indicating his ambivalence.

  “The Israelis do whatever they think is best for Israel. There are many reasons Mossad doesn’t like to work with the CIA or the FBI, especially in matters of imperative secrecy. Most of what Mossad does is clandestine and highly illegal, under the laws of every country they operate in. Also, Mossad operates with far fewer layers of bureaucracy and less accountability than any one of our federal agencies, which are all interconnected on some level. You’re aware the more people who know about a thing, the more likely that thing will not remain a secret. For those reasons and others, Mossad prefers to handle their most sensitive intelligence ops themselves. It appears, in the last few months, they have made getting Muktallah a priority. They missed him in Spain. Evidently , they don’t plan to miss him here.”

  “Come on, Jack, it looks like Mossad is running a clandestine op on U.S. soil, without any interface with our government. If it gets out, there will be no end to the stink.”

  Jack nodded. “That’s exactly the reason they didn’t alert the CIA or the FBI.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you work for Uncle Sam? Isn’t this precisely the kind of thing DHS does, coordinating all of the agencies involved in protecting America?”

  “DHS has a number of different functions. As for informing other agencies…I have some liberty with my discretionary powers. If Mossad needs some room to operate in taking this guy out, I’m willing to give it to them. They’ll make him disappear, and no one’s the wiser. On the other hand, Mossad sending a single agent, and her contacting you, worries me just a little. It makes me wonder if she somehow knows you have a connection with me.”

  “I don’t see how. I haven’t had any connection with you for several years. You weren’t even here a month ago.”

  “I think we need to keep it that way. She doesn’t need to know you’re working for DHS and the FBI.”

  I didn’t like the way he had phrased his comment.

  “I don’t work for the DHS or the FBI, Jack. I’m an independent contractor. I’m not answerable to you or anyone else. I may choose to work with you on this, but I do not work for you.”

  “Ok, fair enough. The point remains, she doesn’t need to know about our working relationship.

  “I’m still wondering why she came to me.” I said.

  “Well, it’s not complicated. If I was looking for someone in this area to do what she is asking you to do, you would be my first choice. You are known to be a trustworthy and efficient private investigator. She has no contacts in East Texas. It makes sense for her to get with somebody local who is familiar with the area and has the right connections. Actually, Mossad probably chose you, not Ms. Bashir, personally. They would have supplied her with some background on you. She probably knows more about you than you can imagine.”

  “How would Mossad know anything about me?”

  “How do you think?”

  I held my hands up in acquiescence.

  “There is something strange about this, though.” I mused.

  “What is it?”

  “She practically told me who she is. That false last name “Mohammad”, letting me know there was an Islamic connection. Hafsah admitted her mother was Lebanese. She told me Muktallah/Baha had been in Spain recently, and then she tried to feed me that lame story about him being a musician looking to find a recording contract. I had concluded she wasn’t some relative seeking a missing family member. She even hinted she was hunting Mr. Baha to kill him.”

  “That’s why you came to me with her picture.”

  “You told me about the concern local jihadists were planning an attack. Jack, this isn’t just about some local guys who have self-radicalized. There is a foreign terrorist right here in East Texas. He came here for a reason. There is an obvious connection to the case you’re working. Are you sure you don’t have to get the FBI and the CIA in on this thing now?”

  “You leave that to me. For the moment, the fewer people who know about this, the better. We already knew there would be someone coming to train and organize the local cell. We thought we would pick up some sort of electronic traffic that would alert us. We didn’t expect a foreign trainer would just sneak across the border and show up here. I’m in charge of this operation. I’ll inform Langley of this particular wrinkle, if and when I think the time is right.”

  “This guy isn’t just a trainer, Jack. He’s a killer.”

  “That’s precisely why Ms. Bashir is an asset. She knows him. She knows how he thinks and operates. She has experience dealing with people like him. This is what Mossad does best. We need her and we don’t need any interference from some federal oversight committee, a politician with loose lips, or to find ourselves detoured and bogged down by a multi-agency power struggle.”

  “You must have left a digital trail researching Hafsah and Hakim. You’ve raised a red flag somewhere. Somebody is going to be asking you some hard questions. I don’t see how you’re going to avoid it, Jack.”

  “That’s my problem, John. Do you really want to see FBI Special Agent, Doug Booker involved in this?”

  “No. I think he has enough on his plate dealing with the fallout from the raid on the Righteous Army of God hate group, where so many people were murdered.”

  “We’re agreed then. We’ll keep a lid on this as long as we can.” Jack said, solemnly. “I’ll start looking into the weapons angle. They’ll need to acquire fully automatic weapons, grenades and some other type of explosives, if they don’t already have them.”

  “Jack, you’ve been watching these people for quite a while, you would know if they were getting explosives and weapons.”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” He replied, wryly.

  He began to put the photos and files back into the grocery bag which he folded into a thin flat package. When he had tucked it into his waistband along with the other padding under his shirt, he headed toward the door.

  “What should I do? Where do we go from here?” I asked.

  Jack stopped and looked me in the eye.

  “Ms. Bashir hired you to help her find a terrorist in our midst. That man intends to commit an act of horrible evil. You can help her, John. You can do that. Find this guy and stop him.”

  *******

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank all the major news organizations who daily bring us their well-honed stories of horror, tragedy, and the corrupt condition of this present world. It makes the work of writing fiction so much easier. All any fiction writer need do is expand on the news of the day.

  You can’t make this stuff up.

  *******

  “These three remain; faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is love.”

  A note from the author

  Thank you for reading my book! I would love to hear from you. You can contact me at my website ~ www.danielbanks-books.com or follow me on Facebook ~ https://www.facebook.com/DanieiRolandBanks.books

  I certainly hope you had as much fun reading this book as I had writing it. If you liked it please tell a friend - or better yet, tell the world by writing a book review on the book’s description page on Amazon.

  E
ven a few short sentences are helpful. As an independently published author, I don’t have a marketing department behind me. I have you, the reader. So please spread the word!

  And, to make it a little more fun, if you write a review, e-mail me and I’ll send you an excerpt from one of my works in progress along with a little note from me.

  Thanks again.

  All the best,

  Daniel”