Heart Strike

by David Bishop

  “There’s a risk, there. Still, yes. I like that. Assuming Templeton gives you a clean bill of health for the company and the CEO. … Let me call Director Templeton. He probably won’t drag his feet if you ask him, but he certainly won’t if I ask.”

  “Agreed. Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  Chapter 37

  The orders Faraj picked up under the boardwalk included instructions that he was to watch for a homeless man with a black covering on his head. He would see him on one of two corners or a park-like area along his route from home to the GU campus. He was to watch for him on alternating days beginning tomorrow. If seen, Faraj was to stop and offer the man food.

  Today was one of those days. Faraj went into a shop four blocks from his rental and bought three glazed doughnuts. Back on his moped, Faraj ate one of the doughnuts, while using his other hand to drive the prescribed route that took him by the two corners and one small park area.

  There he is.

  Faraj pulled to the curb, parked his moped, and approached the sad, frail man sitting under a tree. He offered him a doughnut. If accepted, the beggar had information for Faraj. If he waived off the doughnut, Faraj was to leave immediately and abort his mission.

  “How are you today?”

  The unfortunate nodded. What had, from a distance, looked like a do-rag was actually a black knitted skull cap.

  Faraj extended the open bag, “May I offer you a doughnut?”

  Faraj held his breath.

  Refuse the doughnut. Please.

  The man took the glazed treat, and motioned toward the grass next to him. “Sit.”

  Faraj did. “Only for a few minutes. I’m on my way to a class at the university.”

  The man lowered his head and pushed up the black fabric cap that covered his ears. “What you need for your mission will be available when you need it.”

  “Are we sure this is a necessary mission? I mean, things have changed since I came here over four years ago.”

  “Have you turned from Allah?”

  “Never. If I turn from Allah, may he pluck out my eyes and render me a blind beggar for all my days.”

  “If you fail your mission, I will see this is done, sparing your life to allow you to learn of the shame and retribution your failure will bring upon your family.”

  “I shall not fail.”

  Allah is greater.

  After thinking it in English. Faraj proclaimed it in Arabic. “Allahu Akbar.”

  “Your instructions will be at drop three. Go there tomorrow after sunset.” The old man held up the last of his doughnut and bowed his head.

  Faraj stood, slung his backpack into place, got on his moped, and headed off rounding the next corner. He had to get his moped to a repair shop. It was time for a tune up. A classmate was going to pick him up there and drop him off at the campus. He steered with one hand. The other held his last glazed doughnut.

  Chapter 38

  The next morning, when Ryan Testler arrived at work, analyst Vanessa Bollen was standing outside his door. His office was at the far end of the larger room used by his task force. He went into his office and waved her to follow.

  “Mr. Testler, I apologize for the distraction I caused yesterday. My personal view of Delayed Notice Warrants have no place within our professional report. I indulged myself to the distraction of our work.”

  “Vanessa, look, a lot of Americans have individual views that these special federal warrants are appropriate because they are necessary in today’s world. Others, apparently like you, hold views contrary to what the current law allows. I, too, have my own views on this. The relevant points are that these warrants are legal. And, in this case, they’re vital to what we’re charged with doing. Our job is to prevent a possible, even likely, terrorist attack of unknown magnitude. So, bottom line, are you okay with aiding us, or should I request your reassignment and have you replaced?”

  “I’m okay, sir. Let’s get it done. Truth is, I’m undecided about these sneak-and-peeks. I see the need, but, well, even though I didn’t mention it yesterday, I can appreciate the view of those who see this as a violation of the fourth amendment. Maybe staying on this case will help me resolve my … confliction.”

  Testler stood and shook Vanessa Bollen’s hand. “Mine too. Now let’s get to work. Okay?”

  “Thank you, sir.” Bollen walked out of Testler’s office.

  “Please leave the door open on your way out. The others should be here any minute.”

  Five minutes later, Agent Blackstone came in, then, before the door fully closed, Webb and Dillinger entered. A moment later Analyst Bollen returned, waving something in her hand.

  Testler turned his attention to his team gathered around his desk. “Dillinger, have we pinned our tail on Faraj Arafa?”

  “He didn’t return to his place last night. I’ve got two agents at GU, near his first class. We’ll sight him there and stick with him until this is over.”

  “Damn. Where was he last night?”

  “No telling. He’s a single college man. Perhaps an extracurricular lab class with a co-ed.”

  Testler turned to Vanessa Bollen. “What is it you keep waving in the air?”

  “We got ‘em. Our warrants. Well, this is just an email.” She raised onto her toes, extending her hand above the heads of the others. “The law clerk messaged me. The judge signed our warrants. I sent someone over to pick them up. Our agents on the GU campus confirm that Gamal Mostafa and Faraj Arafa are in classrooms right now.”

  “Really? So Arafa showed up on campus. Okay. Good. Let’s make damn sure we get eyes on this guy and the tracker installed on his moped. Stick to him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dillinger took out his phone and punched open some feature. “According to his course schedule, Arafa’ll be in classes for four hours.”

  “What about Mostafa?”

  “Same. In class, but only for the next three hours.”

  “Let’s get this show on the road. Those warrants aren’t worth much until we put ‘em to use.” Testler stood and grabbed his coat. “I’ll come along. Dillinger, you up for driving?”

  “Yes, sir. Two more agents are waiting outside. We’ll need to take two cars to each scene. They’re younger and dressed to look like students, not SWAT. I suggest we remove our ties and wear a couple of windbreakers, non-issue.”

  “Blackstone, what say you?”

  “We could send the other two agents to Mostafa’s. It’s smaller, while we take Arafa’s place.”

  Tester shook off that idea. “I don’t know how familiar the other agents are with the Middle East. I want to be at both searches. Based on their class schedules, we’ve got time to do one then the other.” Testler grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. “Let’s roll.”

  Dillinger got in behind the wheel. “Arafa has one more class today than Mostafa so I thought we’d start with Gamal Mostafa. Bollen, coordinate the person bringing the warrants to meet up with us in some parking lot near Mostafa’s place.”

  Blackstone slipped on his seatbelt and turned to Testler. “I just got a text. The interrogators are in position in Brazil. The Arimax and its first deck officer, Ali Hamdi Amman, will pull into the Brazilian port in about three hours.”

  “Dillinger, what’s the latest at GU?”

  “I’ve got an agent with the GPS units headed for the campus. He’ll coordinate with the field agents watching Mostafa and Arafa. Those agents will know where their vehicles are and together they’ll get our tracking units installed.”

  “Do you have an update on the soft canvasses of the home neighborhoods?”

  “Yes. Our agents poked around in Mostafa’s neighborhood. Nothing suspicious. Faraj Arafa also came up clean except for one odd contact.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Faraj Arafa is an unmarried Muslim in his early twenties, and one of his closest friends seems to be a Dorothy Mitchum, an elderly, somewhat infirmed, Caucasian woman born in D.C. She�
��s lived her entire life in the area. The authorities have nothing on her. One parking ticket, fifteen years ago, that’s it.”

  “What’s the basis of their relationship?”

  Dillinger stopped at a light. “More than one neighbor mentioned the young Muslim runs errands for Dorothy Mitchum. She cooks for him. We checked her background. They’re not related.”

  “Did our field agents contact Ms. Mitchum?”

  The light changed. “Yes.” Dillinger turned to the left.

  “And?”

  “They see her as a solid citizen. With respect to Faraj, she thinks he’s a fine young man. He’s a good student, never misses classes, and gets top grades. All this we knew from GU. The Mitchum woman freely admitted Faraj runs errands for her. ‘I’d be lost without him,’ was her way of putting it.”

  “The agent’s impression?”

  “He read her as holding back from saying more, but not out of fear. Our agent opted not to press her. His orders were to keep the inquiries superficial. We worked it as an employment background check.”

  “What’s your take on it?”

  “I think we should talk with her. I’d like to wait ‘til after the search. We need to use the window provided by the class schedules to do the searches.”

  Testler clapped his hands. “Agreed. Today might be our nirvana. With some luck in Brazil, we might grab an accomplice, ID the weapon and discover its location. Here, we might identify the planned triggerman.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Then, Agent Dillinger, we’ll regroup and structure a new strategy.”

  Dillinger pulled into a parking area in front of a market. “We’re a couple of blocks from Mostafa’s place. While we wait for the warrants, let me give you a quick overview of what we’re headed into: Gamal Mostafa rents one room in a home owned by a non-Muslim couple in their fifties. The GU student housing office said the couple has rented their third bedroom to students for about ten years. Vanessa Bollen checked out the family. The couple appear to be solid middleclass, both work in support positions. Mostafa has been their boarder for nearly two years. Agent Bollen found nothing to suggest the couple had any suspicious allegiances.”

  Testler leaned forward from the rear seat. “What about today? Are they at work today?”

  “Bollen made calls before we left the agency, both Mr. and Mrs. Landlord are on their jobs. With Mostafa in class, the house should be vacant. Any last instructions?”

  “Our search warrant allows us access only to Mostafa’s room and any other areas of the house where he had free and common access. That would include the bathroom he uses and the kitchen. He parks his car in a paved turn-in off the side of the driveway leading to a detached garage, used only by the homeowners. Subject to finding clear evidence to the contrary, that puts the garage outside our warrant. Keep it tight on this stuff. If you notice something that appears suspicious, but you’re not sure it falls within our warrant, don’t proceed without calling me over.”

  Blackstone nodded. “I called our two agents in the other vehicle. They’re going to park around the corner and enter from the rear, past the detached garage. We’ll go in the front door and let them in the back.”

  As Testler listened, he began shaking his head. “No. Let’s cool it a bit more. This is one bedroom, plus parts of a few others, excluding the garage and the master suite used by the owners who rent the room to Mostafa. We don’t need to gangbang the house. Instruct the other two agents to stay in their vehicles around the corner. We’ll call them in if it becomes necessary. I don’t want us doing anything that could suggest we’ve overstepped the edges of the warrant.”

  A car pulled up alongside. The driver left the engine running and got out. Dillinger rolled down his window. “Here they are. Both of ‘em are signed, terms as requested.” Dillinger took the two Delayed Notice Warrants from the agent who returned to his car and drove off.

  While Dillinger drove the three blocks remaining to get to Mostafa’s rental, Blackstone made the call telling the other two agents to remain inside their vehicle around the corner. Three minutes later, Dillinger pulled their SUV to the curb next door to the target house.

  “Okay, target one is before us. If something’s here, let’s find it.”

  An hour later, Testler, Blackstone, and Dillinger joined Bollen back in their car.

  Blackstone’s voice showed his frustration. “That was a big nothing.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  The others looked at Testler. “What?”

  “We found no Quran and no prayer rug. Not even a miswak stick in his room or bath. The field agents report doesn’t show he attends any of the local mosques. From what I saw in his room, Mostafa appears to not be particularly religious.”

  “Is that it with Mostafa then? Is he off the list?”

  “For all practical purposes, yes. We’ll keep him under surveillance and the audio and video devices are installed and confirmed. We’re not totally through with him. We’ll set up a post to listen. From what we hear we may be able to confirm him out or possibly back in. For right now, we need to focus on the other Egyptian, Faraj Arafa. Alert the other car. We’ll need them on this one.”

  Chapter 39

  Faraj Arafa lived in the second cottage on the left in a cluster of small units with a center courtyard sidewalk. Two buildings before reaching his address, Agent Dillinger pointed out the condo building in which Arafa’s surrogate mother, Dorothy Mitchum, lived.

  At eleven thirty-five, with the sun overhead, Dillinger told the others, “Bollen checked out all six units in the courtyard. Three are occupied by single people who all work days. Those three units are on the east side of the center sidewalk. Bollen confirmed they’re all at work today. Of the three facing cottages on the west side, one unit is occupied by the owner of the property. The owner’s unit is the closest to the back as we enter off the front street. The one closest to the street on that side is rented by a married couple—he works days, she’s a housewife. With some cooperation from local cable television, we learned the stay-at-home housewife regularly turns on her television at eleven and most days it runs steady until around two, then off. Sounds like an afternoon soap opera routine. Hopefully her eyes will be keen on following the plight of her soaps.”

  “The sixth unit is Arafa’s?”

  “Okay. That’s the center unit between the property owner’s and the housewife who figures to be home.” Dillinger turned toward Testler, “How do you want us to proceed?”

  “Tell the other car to park on the street at the end of the back alley. Wait five minutes and walk through the tenant’s rear parking lot. They should walk behind the owners’ rear unit and come up between it and Arafa’s center cottage. This should keep them from being noticed by the housewife in the front unit. We’ll do pretty much the same. In the open, in plain sight. Park around the corner on the street.”

  At eleven-fifty, Blackstone, Dillinger, and Bollen entered the front door of Faraj Arafa’s rented home. Five minutes later, the other two agents, one an expert in installing listening devices, had come around through the parking lot and joined them inside.

  So far, so good.

  They moved quickly. Each agent headed directly to the area of the house Testler had assigned to them. Testler took the bedroom. Blackstone, the small connecting bath. Dillinger’s and Vanessa Bollen’s assignment was the kitchen. The other two agents took the living room, the laundry room, and all the cabinetry and closets not in either the bedroom or kitchen. There was no garage.

  Testler walked over to Dillinger. “Do you know the installer?”

  “Yeah. Morton.”

  “Get him in gear. I want bugs in the land-based phones before we leave. Just like you did at Mostafa’s.”

  “Will do. When Vanessa told me the judge had signed the warrants, I made a call to get the ball rolling on tapping both these guys’ cellphones.”

  Right off, Testler spotted what he had not seen in Gamal Mostafa’s rented
room, a prayer mat. In the closet he saw two twelve packs of Dr. Pepper.

  “Blackstone stopped on his way into Arafa’s bathroom. They call that a Janamaz, don’t they?”

  Testler looked over. “In Iran, yes. In the rest of the Islamic world the prayer mat is called a Sajjada.”

  Blackstone went into Arafa’s bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. A moment later he leaned out of the doorway. “Unlike Mostafa, this guy’s got miswak sticks. The container indicates he orders them from Amazon.”

  Testler raised his eyebrows.

  We need to check that account. See what else this guy’s ordering.

  A Quran lay on the nightstand to the side of the bed, under a shaded lamp. Testler fanned the book and saw nothing. No edges were dog-eared. Nothing was loose among the pages, and nothing was written inside near the front or back of the holy book.

  One hour and five minutes later, the agents quietly left Faraj Arafa’s courtyard cottage. They had planted the audio and video surveillance, and found enough to know he was a practicing Muslim, but nothing that indicated he was a practicing terrorist.

  Halfway back to CIA headquarters, Testler told Dillinger to pull into the parking lot of a strip mall. The second car followed them in. They parked side by side, and rolled down their windows so Testler would be heard by the entire squad.

  “You guys,” Testler pointed toward the second vehicle, “I need your car. Pile out and squeeze into this one. I’ll take yours. I wanna go see Dorothy Mitchum.” He turned toward Dillinger behind the wheel. “When you get back to the office, dig deep into this Faraj Arafa, including his Amazon account. When I come in, we’ll combine what I hope to learn from the woman with whatever you get. We need to find this guy. We need eyes on him twenty-four-seven.”

  “He’ll return to his place, or, we’ll pick ‘im up on campus. We may have already. He’s never missed classes.”

  “He’s never before gotten marching orders for an act of terrorism. If he’s our guy, odds are decent that right now school is the farthest thing from his mind. … Find him!”