Once a Noble Endeavor

by Michael Butler

  Planner got in his office at the facility in Fort Meade at about seven thirty most mornings ahead of the traffic, and when he arrived today he had a message from Brennan requesting an immediate call back.

  “Nick, what’s up?”

  “Johnny I think they are using a profoundly simple way of identifying each other: numerology—assigning values to letters in English, adding them up and coming up with an identifier. It is simple but it works.”

  “I’ll have the cryptanalysts take a look, but who knows, you may be on to something.”

  “I am going to have the Met interrogators follow up on this thing. Maybe it has some mileage,” Nick said.

  ****

  During the second day of interrogation, the Met officer pursued a new line.

  “Doctor Patel, you like numerology, is that right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And sometimes you simply add up the values of a name with A = 1, B = 2 and so forth, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is often done.”

  “What is the value of your first name?”

  “Kiran equals fifty-three.”

  “What about your last name?”

  “Patel equals forty-four. I don’t hide these things. Numerology is widely practiced.”

  “What is the value of the name Khan?”

  “Khan. Give me a moment. Khan equals thirty-four.”

  “What about Aaffia, AAFFIA?”

  “Let me think. Aaffia would be twenty-four.”

  “Do you know Aaffia Khan?”

  “No sir.”

  “Do you know Bhiren al Mohammed?”

  “Yes sir, we were acquainted, but I have not seen him for many years.”

  “From where do you know him?”

  “My mosque, the Iigraa Islamic Center in Beeston.”

  “What does the number 311 or 124 mean to you?”

  “Nothing, except… 311 is a popular government non emergency telephone number in many places.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Professor, we can hold you for twenty-eight days before we charge you, probably for terrorism. You better begin to extricate yourself right now, because you are in a bloody lot of trouble.”

  “I have done nothing.”

  Nick watched the interrogation with a sinking feeling that perhaps they had the wrong guy. Yeah, it all fell into place, but it was too easy and Patel was too goddamn honest. A terrorist would never be that forthcoming about knowing a connection was being made between him and a notorious bomber.

  Back at the embassy, Nicky was sitting deep in thought when the secure phone rang.

  “OS Brennan.”

  “Nick, it is John. I think you got it, but the numbers 311 and 124 still have far too many meanings. It is a safe bet that Khan emailed someone unknown and that set off the phone call, but the other numbers are too speculative. The relationships between 3 and 11, 31 and 1 and how about 3 1 1 individually or even in reverse. It is basically meaningless.”

  “John, it means something, and these guys aren’t getting real exotic, so we have to figure it out. I think that phone call is a last check on the device. I think that Bhiren will send an email and arrange a phone call just before the next big operation. But if Patel is the guy, you know, the chemist, and I don’t think he is, unless we flip him he won’t receive the email and the call. He is still on break and nobody knows he is gone, but how the hell do we make this happen?”

  “Nick, you are right, of course. If Patel isn’t the guy, we are wasting valuable time.”

  After he had hung up the phone, Nick again sat pensively, trying to think the whole thing through. “If not Patel, then who else can it be?” Nicky said to himself softly.

  Nick went into Corey Rooker’s office and took a seat at Corey’s long conference table. “Corey, I think we have the wrong guy.”

  “The wrong guy? What do you mean, the wrong guy?”

  “Yeah. I think Patel, based on his demeanor, his obviously honest answers and his background, is not the chemist.”

  “But in fact he is a chemist, he had the email in his account, he had the baseball cap, he fits the physical description, his office looks over the phone booth. I’ve been an FBI agent for fifteen years and the case against this guy is airtight. What you want is a confession.”

  “I was a cop for twenty-one years. I don’t mind a confession, but I don’t need one. The piece that doesn’t fit is Kiran Patel. Kiran equals 53 and Patel is 44; neither fits inside the message 54. He is not going to confess because he has nothing to confess to. The Metropolitan Police have had him for three days. Pretty soon his son is going to start to wonder where dad went, and that could be a problem. I suggest we ask the professor to call his son and claim he is out of town on an unexpected research matter.”

  “We can ask.”

  “He’ll do it, Corey, you know why? Because he is cooperating. I have another request: ask them to have him call the kid early when I can be in Leeds.”

  “Why?”

  “Corey, I want to do a covert surveillance. I want to follow his son. I need your blessing.”

  “I’d have MI-5 help, but I think they’d think you are nuts. The kid does not fit the physical profile, he is not a chemist and isn’t associated with the university. Go ahead, you got the training, but it is just between us unless you come up with something, of course. If the professor cooperates, I’ll have the call go out to Mahesh tomorrow at about nine in the morning. And by the way, Nick, I am going with you. You don’t know how the hell to drive on the wrong side of the road.”

  “Thanks, Corey, that did occur to me.”

  Chapter 13

  Mahesh and Hasan Tanweer were sitting in the living room in Professor Patel’s apartment having just returned from the laboratory.

  “Where is your father?”

  “He left a note saying he was going out of town on business for a few days.”

  “That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. The university is on break, and he has often traveled during the intersession. I think it is fine.”

  “Mahesh, are you going to go down to London and connect with al Mohammed?”

  “Yes, I’ll go to the storage room tomorrow afternoon. We have to put together the fine points. We are getting close now. Next time you must come with me. You have to speak to him to check on the final details related to the device.”

  “Yes, I know. I am still working on the size of the explosive material and its stability. It should be ready for him to construct in a couple of days.”

  “There is no time. It must be sent out as soon as you have put it together. Has Bhiren already begun to collect all the peroxide?”

  “Not yet, but he has a source which he is using, and Khan had a lot left over that Bhiren still has. I am also going to the hawala dealer today and making arrangements to have money waiting for Bhiren when he arrives in Brooklyn.”

  Tanweer nervously left the apartment and returned to the laboratory to continue the calculations needed to put together a “big” bomb that is resistant or at least tolerant to gentle movement. He knew that the package Bhiren would carry could not be large and the formula had to be very precise. The bomb in Grand Terminus Plaza hadn’t exploded, so he wasn’t working off a base of elaborate experience. The school bus explosion in London only required a simple device.

  ****

  The next morning the landline at Patel’s apartment rang. Looking at the caller ID window, Mahesh recognized his father’s cell phone number.

  “Hello, Father. How are you?”

  “I am doing fine, Mahesh. Something came up and I had to go to London on business—a research project I am working on. What are your plans today?”

  “I am just going out to meet some friends later. Is there anything I can do for you? Why did you not take your car?”

  “I got picked up. I don’t need anything, everything is up to date.”

  �
�When are you going to return?”

  “In a few days, maybe a week. I’ll let you know.”

  “Well, I will be here waiting for you to return.”

  Later in the afternoon, Mahesh Patel went out and got into his father’s small Austin. With only the two of them, the Patels had two small family cars. Mahesh always used the Austin. Not burdened with a full-time job, he often took long car trips around the area. As he pulled from the car park onto the street, he made a habit of looking around for any suspicious activity or strange characters. He didn’t want to be followed and made some effort to avoid that possibility.

  Across the street, parked beneath a thick leafless tree with the profile of their dark small car broken by a series of stout bushes, a form of camouflage, Nick and Corey were immediately “eyes on target.” As Corey pulled out to follow the target, he let Patel get several hundred feet in front.

  “Nicky, I can stay back here so long as he travels on these country roads, but if it becomes more congested, I will have to move closer.” They drove for about ten minutes when Mahesh got on highway M-1, a major road that connected Leeds to London.

  “Rooker, I think we are going back from whence we came.”

  “Me too, but let’s wait and see. He will be easy to tail on this roadway.”

  As they approached Aberford, the M-1 highway merged with highway A-1 (M), the first urban-connecting roadway in the UK. Now about three hours into the trip, the pair of autos passed into Greater London and Edgware and then Brent Cross. Brennan had been approximately right: they were back where they started. Nick and Rooker followed Mahesh as he headed south on highway A-5 to a point near Regent’s Park.

  Mahesh began to steer the Austin into a right turn onto a side street in a westerly direction. He then made another right, now northbound across traffic, and then another right, now eastbound. It was obvious he was trying to see if he was being followed.

  “Nicky, I don’t think we’ve been burned. How about you?”

  “Nah, this guy is an amateur—no attention to detail.”

  After two more right-hand turns, Mahesh pulled into a car park on a side street in Finsbury. Corey pulled to the curb three hundred feet away, conscious of the possibility Patel might suddenly drive away. He didn’t, he just parked the car and remained seated in it for a moment.

  The lot was across from a small wooded municipal park. Patel again looked around as he got out of the car and then seemed to aimlessly walk toward the park. On the crushed pebble paths he strolled in a sort of serpentine manner, all the while changing direction and stopping and moving unpredictably. Nick and Corey stayed put in their vehicle, as they had been trained, and just watched him from afar. Apparently satisfied that he wasn’t being watched, Mahesh came out of the park at the intersection of Dulas and Everleigh Street.

  Brennan and Rooker decided to follow Patel more closely. Nick walked away from the intersection to walk around the block and then back to Dulas and Everleigh from the other direction. Rooker, meanwhile, with a newspaper in hand, sat on a park bench four hundred feet from the intersection. As Nick began his short journey, Mahesh walked around the block in the opposite direction. Rooker reluctantly decided not to move, relying instead on Nick’s skills.

  After Nick had made a left, he was shocked to look up and see Patel walking directly in his direction. They were going to pass each other and their eyes might meet. Unable to advise Rooker by radio, he continued on. Remembering to act naturally, Nick walked briskly past the target and simply smiled looking into Patel’s eyes. Patel looked away. As Nick made the next left, he heard footsteps behind him. It was Mahesh. Nick made another left and was now headed back to the intersection and his place of origin. Patel followed. Shit, I’ve been burned, Nick surmised, but to Nick’s surprise the ever suspicious Mahesh dropped back and went through a doorway into an unmarked, apparently vacant segregated storage area in a long, flat brick building adjacent to the intersection and across from the park.

  Rooker had never moved, and watched from the park as Patel took out keys and opened the glass door entrance. Once inside, Patel disappeared into the darkness inside the building. Nick never hesitated and simply walked down Dulas Street. In short order Corey followed.

  “Nick, let’s quickly go around the building and see if there any other exits or entrances.”

  “Okay, I’ll go this way. He’s already seen me. You can walk past the front.”

  Besides the glass door Mahesh used, there were no apparent access points except for two large metal garage doors that were operated by chains. The whole structure appeared empty, and it was obvious that the front had been subdivided into some kind of office or perhaps business quarters. There were no address numbers or business markings on the warehouse exterior.

  Inside the storage room, Mahesh sat in front of his Dell computer and made VoIP contact with Bhiren al Mohammed, who received the communication on the other side of the globe by way of a computer in Newport, Vermont.

  “Bhiren, Hasan will complete the instructions in a day or so. He will get them out expeditiously. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, I have all I need, and I will schedule the attack in the name of Allah after I have fully prepared. Is anyone suspicious of your activities, and am I still the subject of a broad search?”

  “Yes, your image is still broadcast over here, but no one has targeted us. We have seen no suspicious activities, and I have been very careful coming to this communication point.”

  “Good. I will send an email to arrange our final communication to discuss a proper formulation before the event.”

  While unaware of the conversation inside, outside Rooker and Brennan were operating on another “frequency.” They were trying to figure out how to coordinate a surveillance handoff to the proper local authorities.

  “Corey, let’s call Bradford and ask MI-5 to start a covert surveillance. I suspect this kid is in the terrorist business up to his ear lobes.”

  “I agree. We’ll wait for them and then we have to get back to the embassy. I need to talk to the CIA station chief. I think he was right, we were chasing our asses!”

  ****

  The next afternoon, a dreary wet and cold Saturday, Nicky and Joann went to the legendary Borough Market, near the London Bridge. With a large glass cover over a stark metal skeleton, the market was filled with produce and foodstuffs and resembled an enormous street bazaar.

  “Nick, this is amazing. We don’t have anything like this in New York. Look at all the lunch places inside those stalls!”

  “Jodie, don’t act so excited, they’ll know we are tourists. To beat high prices we have to say and do what the locals say and do.”

  “Yeah, like with our accents they are going to think we are from Shoreditch,” Joann said, referring to the famous London neighborhood.

  “Oh yeah? Listen to this. I’ll have an order of bangers and mash, mate.”

  “‘Mate’? Mate is Australian!”

  Nick and Joann spent the afternoon exploring the market without buying anything.

  Intrigued by Jodie’s mention of Shoreditch, the couple decided to go to the East End area, deemed the most exciting for dining in the town. “Hey, Nicky, this reminds me of Brooklyn without all the pizza places.”

  “Shoreditch is supposed to be dodgy and inexpensive. How much is a pound worth again?” Nick said, staring at a menu taped to the front glass of a storefront restaurant.

  After a hearty late lunch, consisting of stew and two pints of stout, Joann announced, “See, now we can say we are from Shoreditch, sort of.”

  ****

  On Monday morning, Nick arrived early at the embassy where Rooker, Mickey Bradford, the lead police inspector, an interrogator from the Met and the CIA boss were already meeting. The discussion surrounded what to do with Professor Patel. While all agreed he was probably not involved with terrorism, they couldn’t be sure. If they held him, Mahesh, their newest suspect, might figure out what was going on. If they released him, they fear
ed he would tell Mahesh. The dilemma obviously provided two situations which were equally unfavorable—a Hobson’s choice.

  The interrogation through the questions asked gave Kiran Patel at least the ability to suspect a nexus to terrorism and maybe even a connection to his son. The professor might even be protective of Mahesh. Maybe Kiran actually was a terrorist. There was no way of knowing. All agreed, after all, it certainly looked like Kiran in those videos.

  The Met interrogator made a suggestion, “We have only held the professor for five days, let’s change the environment and use different and less austere methods and continue to hold and question him. He remains the subject of suspicion and possibly involved, although our confidence in that position is fading.”

  Nick interjected a thought, “I think we just need a little more time. If we can hold him through the week and he continues to cooperate by calling Mahesh and reassuring him, we may make some progress.”

  At that, Bradford’s cell phone rang, and he left the room to take the call. In his absence, all agreed to at least five more days of detention for the professor, after which they would reconvene and prepare for the next move. Within ten minutes Mickey returned to the meeting and made a loud announcement, “We’ve got several things to consider: the safe spot on Dulas Street has been secretly examined and has a computer with a VoIP hookup. The hard drive has been copied and is being analyzed. We have attached a listening device to the active computer with a silent alarm to provide real-time surveillance. Agents and police will maintain twenty-four-hour coverage of the location, and we are having the ISP and the VoIP service provider give us everything they have.”