The Grave Above the Grave

by Bernie B. Kerik

  “I think you just missed them,” the waitress said, smiling. “They left about 20 minutes ago. Eight guys, right?”

  The two agents looked at each other quickly; then Azi said, “Yes, thanks. We’ll catch them on their cells. Meanwhile, let’s have a beer, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” she chirped, as they sat on two stools at one end of the bar. The bartender, a burly Irish fellow whose apron came up to just under his armpits, bounced the two draughts on the bar, and, in the same motion, slid over a wooden bowl of pretzels. When the waitress walked by again, Azi lifted his mug and said, “Cheers.”

  Before she could move on, he asked her if she had ever seen his friends come in before. “Nope, never seen them. I’ve been here for five years now, and I have to say I’m pretty good with faces.” Azi smiled, took another sip of his beer, and his partner took one off his. Azi dropped a few bills on the bar and they left. Once inside the car, Azi got on the horn and called Jones at the command center.

  “We have a confirmed spot,” Azi said, and he gave the name and address of the bar. “They have electronic surveillance in the bar. There are additional businesses on the street that also have cameras. There is also a UPS parking lot on Church and Hudson that must have dozens of cameras.”

  “Good work,” Jones said, and called out to one of her legal team to start working up warrants for every camera on the street.

  “Hold on,” Azi said. “I think I can get the bar’s camera without a warrant. Give me 15 minutes.”

  “Do it,” Jones said.

  Azi and his partner went back to the pub and waved the waitress over. Then Azi pulled out his FBI ID. He explained to her that he and his partner were with the Justice Department. She looked at him quizzically, feeling a bit taken aback and confused about why they hadn’t said they were with the Bureau from the beginning. “Those cameras you have,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “Are they active?”

  “Yes sir. Why? Those guys you were looking for when you came in, they were speaking what sounded like Arabic. That’s why you were looking for them, right?”

  “Right,” Azi said.

  “Come on,” she said as she took the two agents to the back, where a door opened to a set of stairs that led to the basement and a private office. She knocked on the office door, and a middle-aged woman opened it. “What is it, Lylah?”

  “These men are from the FBI.”

  The woman eyed them suspiciously and asked for their IDs. After she carefully looked at each, she said, “So, what do you want?”

  “We’d like to have a copy of your security camera recordings from today.”

  “I guess it’s all right,” she said, and Azi handed her a flash drive. Thirty seconds later, he had the entire day downloaded on it.

  “Thanks,” Azi said. Lylah led the two agents back up the stairs and to the front entrance.

  “Come back sometime,” she said to Azi, with a grin on her face. He waved goodbye, and the two agents got back into their car and called Jones.

  “We got it,” Azi said. “I’ll send it to you right now.” He jumped out of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out a black hard-plastic briefcase. He sat back in the car, opened the case that contained a computer. He turned it on, put the drive into the computer, and clicked it on to Jones’s dedicated line. Five minutes later, every member of surveillance had stills of all eight men on their computer screens and their iPhones.

  Just before 8:30 pm, FBI agents Jones and Chernova pulled into the underground garage at One Police Plaza. Archer was there to meet them and bring them up to the commissioner’s office. Their private elevator stopped on the 14th floor, and Joe Allegra, the chief of department, greeted them. He tried his best not to stare at Chernova, but it wasn’t easy; her beauty was enhanced by the overpowering Chanel perfume. Jones, Chernova, and Allegra walked to the commissioner’s office together, where Gallagher met them and waved them in. “He’s waiting for you,” he said.

  As the three entered the office, Gallagher took the coffee orders, “Coffee, latte, or espresso?” he asked.

  “Latte?” Jones said, smiling.

  “Yeah, he’s got a fucking combination Starbucks and cigar bar in his office, and I’m not sure what else. I’m afraid to go in there sometimes,” Raymond said, and they all laughed. When the lattes arrived, Raymond began, “Tell me what you know. I’ve got to be at Gracie Mansion tonight at ten o’clock to brief the mayor. I also want the chief here to be brought up to speed.”

  “No problem,” Jones said. “I think we’re getting there. We’re going to be set up early tomorrow with extra surveillance teams. As soon as they phone in the morning, we’re going to try to be on top of the areas they’re calling from to see if we can find them. Mila thinks she has some of it figured out, but we’re still missing some of the pieces.”

  Chernova added: “What we know for sure is that their target locations appear to be a Jewish day school on the Upper East Side and a destination somewhere near Wall Street, either the stock exchange or a bank. The cell leader, Samadi, is working with six or seven more players. According to the interpreters on the wire, one is definitely the terrorist who killed Dannis.”

  Raymond then told Allegra to put together a plainclothes detail to saturate those two areas. He didn’t want to wait for any more information. “Maybe our guys will see something before these assholes make their move.” He thanked Jones and Chernova, and said, “Okay, I’ve got to get to the Mansion to see the mayor, and then I’m heading home because Jerry and I are driving up to Albany for breakfast with the governor. I’ll call you guys in the morning as soon as I’m done in Albany.”

  Just after 11 pm, Archer escorted Raymond to the front door of his building, opened the door, and walked in behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone who had been sitting on a couch in the lobby stand up. “Good evening, Jonathan,” Chernova said, smiling as she walked toward them.

  Archer looked at his boss and back at her. “Good evening ma’am.”

  “How’d you get in here?” Raymond asked, feeling a little uncomfortable in front of Archer.

  “I’ve got my ways,” she said.

  As the three of them walked to the elevator, Raymond looked at Archer and said, “I’m good; go ahead. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Then Chernova chimed in, “Yes Jon. I’ll take good care of him from here.”

  Archer stopped dead in his tracks and smiled as the two entered the elevator. “Yes ma’am. I’m sure you will.”

  Chernova followed Raymond into his apartment, and the second the door closed, he pushed her against the wall and kissed her deeply, then left her standing there and walked into the bathroom and closed the door. When he walked out, he found Chernova sitting in a big, cushiony chair, smiling, nude, her tattoos glistening as though they were alive, her dark hair down to her shoulders. “Hello, Commissioner! What a surprise to see you here.”

  He smiled. “No, it’s a surprise to see you here, Mila, considering it’s my apartment. How did you get in downstairs?”

  “I work for the FBI; I have ways.” They both laughed, as he began peeling out of his clothes at the speed of sound. “Nice,” she said, her eyes looking down at him.

  “I’ll take a shower.”

  “I’ll be waiting in bed. Don’t be too long. Understand?”

  Raymond nodded. He turned to the bathroom, then turned his head back. “With handcuffs or without?” She laughed.

  They made love until they were both sweaty and exhausted. Raymond put his head back on the pillow. He was coming back to life, he thought to himself. “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what? I’m not a charity, you know.”

  “I know. I just . . . you’re a gift to me. I don’t know how else to say it.”

  “Then don’t say anything,” Mila said. After a few minutes, she sat up in bed. “Rick, I have so
mething I want to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Listen carefully to me. On my way here, I had a call from an agent at the plant. They’re going back through all the text messages that were found on what we believe to be Samadi’s old phone, right after Jimmy and our agents were killed in Fayetteville. They think they found something. Jones will call you in the morning to tell you, so act surprised. They found a text mentioning you by name.”

  Raymond’s eyes widened. “Me, personally?”

  “Yes. Samadi singled you out for a jihad; he wants to do to you what he did to Sheilah.”

  Raymond paused and pressed his lips together. “I’m sure.”

  “The text said something like, ‘It’s personal’ . . . and to bring him your head.”

  “I’m going to kill this fucker. And then I’m going to get every one of his goons.”

  Chernova put her arms around him. “I will be right there with you, every step of the way.” She paused, kissed him, then said, “Please be careful. You are Samadi’s prize. Your death would be his greatest victory.”

  They came together for the rest of the night, partners in love and partners in murder and death.

  CHAPTER 29

  5:00 pm, Saturday, 9 December

  At five that afternoon, three calls to Samadi’s line were picked up at the FBI command center. All of them ended with the caller praying for success in the coming day against the hundreds of insects, praising Allah, and praying they would see Samadi in heaven. The Bureau was certain now the attack was to be on the Jewish day school; nothing else in that area matched for a target. It was set for 1 pm on Monday the 13th.

  Chernova had the locations of two of thethe callers in less than a minute, one was calling from the vicinity of 67th and Park Avenue, and the other one was down around Wall Street and Broadway. “They’re going to hit the school; that’s the ‘hundred insects,’ and something down around Wall Street at the same time.”

  Jones ordered a surveillance van and four unmarked cars into the area of Park and 67th to try to locate the callers, and the same for the area around Broadway and Wall Street, but both attempts failed. One tech van in each location was disguised as a Con Ed truck. The vehicles roamed the streets with a fishnet machine, something that could immediately pick up electronic serial numbers from close-by phones. The Feds had the phone numbers that the terrorists were using, and hoped the fishnet would locate them, but the callers had immediately shut their phones down after they made the calls, eliminating any chance of capturing the electronic serial numbers on their phones which would have pinpointed their axact locations.

  Jones and Raymond called for a joint meeting of the entire team at FBI headquarters for eight that night. Jones also called in their best hostage negotiation team from Washington, D.C., and asked Raymond to alert the NYPD counterterrorism team leaders, as well as the commander of the emergency service unit, and ask them to attend the meeting.

  In the conference room, Jones stood at the head of the table and laid out her plan. “We’re going to have 100 cops in Downtown Manhattan, to build a perimeter around Wall Street, half in uniform, the other half in plainclothes.” NYPD had already stopped two dozen vans in Lower Manhattan and had turned up nothing. Raymond ordered a counterassault team immediately to be placed inside the perimeter of the New York Stock Exchange, and to have the NYPD technical assistance unit work with the FBI. Jones ordered an FBI sniper and assault team to immediately gain entrance to the school, while the technical unit installed cameras in every hallway, at every door.

  Raymond took over. “We have decided not to close the school on Monday. We’re still not sure what the terrorists’ plan is, but don’t want to alert them by shutting it down. As soon as the kids arrive, they will be brought to one of the two large gyms in the basement that were originally built with the highest sense of security for everyday use, and specifically for this kind of attack.”

  The meeting adjourned, and Raymond asked Gallagher and Chernova to come back to Police Plaza with him. On the way over, in the Suburban, with Chernova next to him in the back seat, Raymond asked her again if she was convinced that Samadi was one of the eight men they’d singled out. “I can’t be 100 percent sure,” she said, “but I don’t think he would want to miss out on the action. There is one thing I would consider, Commissioner.”

  “And that is?”

  “He’s an egomaniac. I’m not sure he’s as willing to die for Allah as the others. None of them believe the bullshit they talk to their underlings as they march them willingly to their death. Bin Laden hid in a compound for five years, Sadam Hussein in a spider hole, as well as Qadafi. They’re all about jihad as long as someone else is doing the fighting, and the dying.”

  Raymond sat back and blew out a stream of air, his eyes fixed on the roof of the car. “He’s the one who killed Sheilah?”

  “No doubt. The voice biometrics from the video in her apartment and the one from the calls are a perfect match.

  Raymond turned to her. “I want Samadi,” he said softly.

  “As much as he wants you,” she said.

  He leaned forward and said to Gallagher, “I’m going to hang out in the office tomorrow; if you’re not doing anything, come see me.”

  He turned to Chernova. “Where can I drop you?”

  “My apartment.”

  Raymond instructed Shelby to drop him and Gallagher at One Police Plaza and then to take Chernova to her apartment. They got out of the car, and Raymond nodded to Chernova and watched Shelby drive off.

  “Staying?” he said to Gallagher, who nodded, no, “I’ll be back nice and early.”

  Raymond looked at his watch. “I’m going to stay in the office tonight. Tell Shelby to be here around 9 am.”

  “Yes sir,” Gallagher walked toward his car, and Archer and Raymond walked toward the elevator.

  The next morning Raymond was up early, went down to the gym on the eighth floor, and worked out for an hour, then spent 30 minutes on the treadmill. Then he went back up to his office and shuffled paper for the rest of the morning. Right around lunchtime as he got to the bottom of his in-box, he found a fat envelope from the attorney he retained to review Sheilah’s will. He opened the envelope and found a letter and about a three-fourth-inch stack of legal documents, some of the pages with yellow tabs attached. He read the letter and first few documents, and broke down in tears. Sheilah Dannis had left him over $30 million. His heart raced as he read each page that he had to sign, which included the opening of bank and investment accounts to where the money would be transferred. Most of what he was reading, he didn’t even understand. By the time he was finished, he was exhausted and drained.

  Gallagher showed up, and they went to lunch and discussed the financial implications of Dannis’s will and trust. “Should I resign? Should I tell the mayor? What happens when the press finds out?”

  “Fuck everybody,” Gallagher said. “It’s no one’s business. As for you retiring? Sure, go home, sit around, and do nothing. In two fucking weeks you’ll be calling me looking for a job. Stop the bullshit. You’re not going anywhere! Take the afternoon off and relax. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  Monday morning, Raymond was up by five, took a shower, changed his clothes, and told Gallagher to meet him at headquarters by six. They were driven to a temporary command center positioned on the Upper East Side, and verified that 100 police officers, both in and out of uniform, had saturated the Financial District. Members of the NYPD ESU and FBI counterassault team were inside the stock exchange, and marked and unmarked cars were spread out over five locations around a loose perimeter, loaded with ESU officers armed with heavy weapons.

  From the command center, Raymond and his counterterrorist commanders, Jones, Chernova and a number of FBI agents, and Gallagher studied the security cameras as the children filed into school and their parents departed. Hostage negotiatio
n and counterassault teams had entered the school at 3 am, and were now staked out on the upper floors, hidden from sight; they placed additional security cameras and were ready to strike or deal, whichever opportunity presented itself.

  The team at the command center was also monitoring the cameras covering Wall Street when a surveillance team on Canal Street spotted a large black Mercedes Sprinter van just like the one they had seen in the West Village near the UPS parking lot coming over the Brooklyn Bridge. Once the van reached the Manhattan side of the bridge, it jumped on to the FDR Drive northbound, and away from the Financial District. The NYPD/FBI surveillance team that was now on the van was convinced that either this wasn’t the van, or perhaps it was heading to the Jewish day school on the Upper East Side. However, when it reached Grand Street, it got off at the exit and headed west. Just as the surveillance cars were ready to break off the tail, the Sprinter made a U-turn and headed back to the FDR Drive, this time going south. The driver came off the drive, heading right toward the NYPD temporary headquarters vehicle, and at the corner of Water Street, made a left, going back toward Wall Street. At this point, everyone’s senses were jumping, after believing that they were on the wrong track.

  “He’s not going to get into Wall Street,” the ESU commander radioed back. “They won’t be able to get through those barriers we dropped at Water and Wall.”

  As the van approached the corner of Wall, it slowed down just a bit, continuing to travel south. The surveillance car radioed, “He didn’t attempt to pull into the block.” After a full minute of silence, the radio came back on: “Surveillance 6 to ESU 2, the vehicle just made a U-turn and is heading north again on Water, and he seems to be picking up speed. He’s making a left on Maiden Lane”; that was two blocks north of Wall Street. “He’s making a left on Pearl, heading back to Wall.”