Craig skimmed down the list and then looked up at Patterson. “There’s over thirty names on this list. I don’t have time to make all these calls.” Patterson pulled out two cell phones from his pocket, placed one in front of himself, and then slid the other one to Craig. “I’ve got Kat’s phone, you’ve got mine. We’ll do this together.”
Staring down at the smart phone at his fingertips, Craig remained apprehensive. “I want to get Omar more than anyone. I just don’t know if this is the right way to go about it.”
“When Omar’s dead or captured, does it really matter how it happened? Will it matter the next day or fifty years from then? No.”
Craig nodded as he looked at his partner, weighing his decision. He picked up the phone and glanced at the list lying between them. “I’m game.” Josh smiled and leaned back in the chair. “But,” said Craig, “there’s one thing I want us to do before you leave here.”
“What’s that?” Patterson asked.
Craig rose from the chair. “Come with me real quick first. We’re going to talk with someone. It’ll be just like old times.”
Patterson tried to stand, pushing against the cane. Craig helped him up and then led him out of the meeting room. There was a person of interest he wanted very much to introduce his partner to.
***
Ghazi lay in a hospital bed in a small, empty room with both his wrists strapped to the side railing. A machine with a dozen different screens was beeping in the corner near him, monitoring his vital signs. He was alive, that much he knew. But he no longer knew if he wished to be. Paralyzed from the waist down he was helpless. A metal brace encased his entire body, holding his neck in place and making it difficult for him to move even slightly.
This is it, he thought. They’ve got you now.
He could never go back. He had been operating as an unofficial informant for Homeland Security for over a year. But in that time, he was actually sniffing out those in the US. government who he felt sympathized with the cause of disenfranchised refugees from the Middle East. Ghazi’s secret goal was to get as many young fighters flown into the United States as possible and increase their numbers by thousands.
In return for access to information, even some it top secret, he threw the government some information—crumbs—on lower-level rival factions: gang members from South America. Radical Muslims leaders he didn’t like. And anything else that drew attention away from the ISIS sleeper cells. It was Ghazi’s plan and his plan alone. If Omar had gotten so much as a hint that Ghazi had been talking to officials within the US government, retribution would be swift and brutal, even though his intentions had been entirely loyal to ISIS, if not to Omar.
Ultimately, he believed Omar lacked the ambition and skill it would take to turn ISIS into the equivalent of the Taliban in Afghanistan. ISIS was indeed growing in America, but they weren’t gaining footing as a mainstream faction. Years prior, when he had heard US officials discuss moderating their stance on the Taliban to win the war, his plan had been formed.
He would work to have ISIS recognized as an official organization; one the US would have to negotiate with, not out of strength but out of weakness and capitulation. Omar would never understand. He was too driven by prophecy like some mad cleric. It was all up to Ghazi. At least, until he was shot and captured. Now everything had changed, and he was going to have to strike a deal of his own.
The door creaked open, and his eyes went to the figure stepping inside the room. It wasn’t the two armed guards from outside, but someone else. When he took a few steps closer, Ghazi was able to identify him. The sight of his dirty-blond hair, five o’clock shadow and bruised face infuriated him: Agent Davis.
Craig stepped into the room with another man, who hobbled with a cane. He then stuck his head outside to assure the guards that everything would be okay. The door slowly closed. As Craig walked closer to him, Ghazi wanted to hop up from the bed and tear him to pieces. The murderer of his good friend Ma’mun. The man who wouldn’t stop interfering with their plans. The person who represented everything that he hated about Americans. The man who had condemned him to this bed. But he could do nothing. He couldn’t even move his legs.
Craig walked to the corner of the room and pulled over a chair for his partner to sit in. Ghazi’s eyes followed him the whole way, even being unable to move his head in its metal brace, he was determined to miss nothing.
“What are you doing here?” he said in a dry, quiet voice. “I have protection, and I don’t wish to speak to you.”
Patterson adjusted his chair and stared Ghazi down as Craig approached the foot of his bed.
“You’re a very popular man downstairs,” Craig said. He began counting on his fingers. “I mean everyone wants to talk with you. The FBI. The CIA. Homeland Security. You must feel very special.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Ghazi said, looking away. “I only wish I had shot your wife and child when I had the chance.”
Patterson looked at Craig, concerned that he would lose his composure and lash out.
As he leaned against the bed railing, Craig’s eyes ran down the length of Ghazi’s crippled body and then back up again to his face. “I hope they’re taking good care of you. I really do.”
Ghazi said nothing.
“And before you get your abundance of visitors, I’d just like to ask you some questions. Simple stuff, really.”
Ghazi looked away from Craig, not saying a word.
“If you answer them correctly, I’ll be a happy man. Answer them poorly, and my partner, Agent Patterson over there, is going to be very upset.”
Craig moved over to the side of the bed and leaned down on the end of the mattress next to Ghazi. He signaled to Patterson while talking close in Ghazi’s ear. “He’s got nothing to lose. Not someone you want to mess with. His family was killed in one of those port explosions that your people are so proud of. Right off the coast of Florida.”
Ghazi grew increasingly uncomfortable as he gripped onto the side railings and pulled on his restraints.
Craig stood up and backed away. “Now, I’m a professional agent. I’m willing to put personal vendettas aside, and I’m not going to let him hurt you, even given your crimes.” Craig walked near Ghazi’s left leg and touched the sheet that covered it. “Even though you took my family into the woods at gunpoint. Water under the bridge, Ghazi.”
Patterson remained silent, trying the coldest stare he could muster, even as the pain was beginning to reverberate in full force throughout his body. Walking away, Craig stopped and pivoted back to Ghazi. “Speaking of water, I want you to tell me all you know about this water plant.”
Craig looked at him, waiting for an answer.
“Go to hell,” Ghazi said softly. His eyes glazed over in indifference.
“Dr. Patterson,” Craig said. “It’s time that we examined Mr. Ghazi’s reflexes. What do you say?”
Patterson heaved himself up from his chair, shaking as he regained his balance. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
With each push of his cane, Patterson moved closer to Ghazi, staring at him. Ghazi looked away nervously and began to perspire as Patterson got closer. Stopping at his leg, Patterson leaned down and gently poked it with his finger.
“Do you feel anything?”
Ghazi stared ahead, unresponsive.
Patterson pushed harder. “How about that?”
“What is your game?” Ghazi lashed out. “You must know that I cannot move my legs. You paralyzed me!”
Patterson held a finger to his chin like a doctor. “Hmm. Well that’s too bad.”
He took a step back and raised his cane up in the air.
Ghazi’s eyes widened. “Hey! Hey!”
Patterson brought the cane down in one forceful swoop, smacking it against his leg. Ghazi screamed out of fear. His leg remained still, even after being hit. Craig ran to Patterson to keep him from falling.
“Careful there,” he said into his partner’s ear. “Why don�
��t I take over?”
“I can do this, Craig,” Patterson said. He then turned to Ghazi and brought his cane back to the floor, leaning on it.
“I guess you really are paralyzed, Mr. Ghazi. You are what we call a paraplegic, which means you suffer from complete paralysis from your torso down. You must have taken a shot to the spinal cord.”
“Go to hell!” Ghazi said. His eyes flared with anger.
Craig stepped in. “Should we continue this examination, or do you want to give us some information about the water plant?”
Ghazi closed his eyes and began singing to himself in Arabic.
Patterson outstretched his hand. “Now I’m really curious to find out what other injuries he may be suffering from. Let’s try his abdominal reflexes.”
Another swift smack of his cane went into Ghazi’s side. He screamed out in pain and pulled at the restraints holding his arms. Before he could even register the pain, Patterson reeled back and swung again at his other side, across his ribs, pummeling Ghazi like he was a sack of potatoes.
Ghazi screamed in anguish. Tears streamed from his eyes. Saliva drooled from the side of his mouth. Another hit came to his chest. Ghazi choked and gasped, crying out for help.
A knock came at the door. The doorknob turned, but it was locked.
“Hey, you all right in there, Agent Davis?” one of the guards asked.
Craig flashed a look at Patterson then at the door. “Just fine, Officer Winston. Our detainee was just having some back spasms.”
Ghazi twisted and turned in agony, but couldn’t break free from the restraints.
“Let’s move up farther,” Patterson said, raising his cane.
“Wait!” Ghazi cried out.
“What was that?” Craig asked as he leaned closer.
“I said stop!”
Patterson slowly lowered his cane, but still held it out while balancing against the bed.
“Tell us what we want to know about the water plant. And no bullshit!” Craig said.
“I-I will talk. Just no more…” His voice began to drift. Craig began to hope that they hadn’t gone overboard and killed him.
“It’s in Lincoln, Nebraska,” Ghazi said, moaning.
“I know that much. We have Ma’mun’s laptop, remember? I found an ocean of documents on it. What I want to know is what we’re dealing with. How many men? What do we face? What artillery do they have?”
Ghazi struggled to speak between his rapid breaths. “You will never make it past the gate.”
“Why’s that?” Craig asked.
“At least a hundred men. All heavily armed. Twenty-four hours a day. Lookout posts that extend a mile from the plant.”
“When are they expected to make shipment of the poison water supply? Where is it going?” Patterson asked, cutting in.
Ghazi’s eyes opened wider. He looked at Patterson with genuine surprise. “How did you know about that?”
“It’s all on the laptop,” Craig answered.
Ghazi said something in Arabic under his breath, no doubt cursing.
“Answer the question!” Patterson shouted. He lost his balance for a moment and nearly fell over. Craig caught him.
“It’s okay. Take it easy.” He pushed Patterson up and left him leaning on his cane as he pulled the chair over for his partner to sit. They both looked at Ghazi after hearing faint laughter. The man was smiling. His eyes were closed as if he were experiencing some delirious fantasy—lost in his own world.
“What’s so funny, Mr. Ghazi?” Craig asked.
The laughter continued. “You…you think you can stop this?” He paused and winced as the laughter increased the pain in his sides. “It is too late…the shipments are well on their way… Five hundred FEMA sites all around the country. Military installations. Emergency shelters. You name it. By the time they realize something is in the water… The panic… The fear… It will be beautiful.”
Ghazi continued to laugh despite the pain as Craig looked at Patterson with deadly seriousness. “We have to get moving now.”
Patterson nodded. “I know. Let’s make those calls.”
Craig wasted no time helping his partner up from the chair and moving him out the door without saying another word to Ghazi. They breezed past the guards, thanking them. Once out of sight, one of the guards peeked in on Ghazi, only to see their restrained prisoner laughing to himself in an empty room.
The Assault
Monday, July 11, 2016
The state capital of Lincoln, Nebraska, had seen much economic and manufacturing growth over the years. And it was within this city where the Hudson Valley Natural Spring Water manufacturing plant resided, on the outskirts of the city and largely isolated and secured.
Lookout posts had been established miles from the plant to alert them of approaching visitors: county inspectors, law enforcement, or just people lost on the dirt roads that led to the plant. They fully expected a confrontation with the government after phase two, and security had been increased tenfold to guard and watch the perimeter of the fifty-thousand square foot bottling plant.
The factory was largely considered an enigma around town. No one was sure who owned it. Hiring policies were strict and selective. The entire operation was very low-key. Supplies and packaging materials would come in through the loading docks and bottled water would come out all throughout the week. The plant had been in operation for decades, but was recently purchased by investors from Dubai.
The sleeper cell operation had been active for a little over a year. Rather than undergoing the difficulty of poisoning the nation’s water supply at various utility companies, ISIS would manufacture their own lethal dose and distribute it to FEMA camps and other emergency sites. Most of what the FBI had discovered on Ma’mun’s laptop was true. The only question was, how far along was the production schedule? How many cases had been shipped, when and where?
***
That afternoon, Omar was in a secret meeting room below the factory production floor discussing the coming launch of phase three. Fifty thousand bottles were palletized and ready to go, and they were close to finishing their first mass shipment of VX-tainted water. Their overall goal was to distribute ten million bottles nationally. The shipments would be making it to the several different emergency centers, and once the initial fatalities began, ISIS counted on the source being discovered. Their goal wasn’t mass casualties, but to spread more panic and fear. And they would increase production from there.
Omar Allawi was very close. Surrounded by a team of high-ranking men, including his most trusted guards, Usaamah and Hamid, he began their meeting. As pleased as he was with the success of phase two, taking over the president’s address, and the nearing of phase three, something else was eating away at him—an unresolved issue involving an American FBI agent.
“I have heard nothing from Ghazi and the others. Nothing from the team watching the FBI agent’s house. Nothing about Ma’mun’s laptop.”
Omar’s voice was calm, as always, but the men around the table noticed his tone rising in anger just before he slammed his fist on the table, startling everyone.
“This is unacceptable!” He paused for a moment, looking around the room. “How is it that we can bring the government of this country to its knees, but we can’t find one man and his family and slaughter them like the pigs they are? Someone tell me, please.”
No one wanted to answer. Fareed, the eldest in the group, and one of the few who did not fear Omar, decided to interject.
“My Commander, if you will. We’ve seen much success so far, but we still have a way to go in establishing our caliphate. Can you see how the endless pursuit of this man could, in fact, distract us from our ultimate goal?”
Omar stared at Fareed, thinking. He crossed his arms and nodded. “Old Fareed, the voice of reason in troubling times. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He then signaled to Hamid, the bigger of his two guards. Hamid walked behind Fareed, grabbed his arm and pulled i
t back.
“Hey!” Fareed said, struggling.
In quick, violent jerks, Hamid twisted his arm and snapped it. Fareed screamed out in pain as his arm broke in several places in a series of pops. Hamid slammed Fareed’s twisted arm onto the table, pulled a long knife from his side, and slashed his palm open. Fareed screamed as blood poured out of the cut onto the table. Hamid pushed Fareed and walked back to where he had been standing in the corner.
The room remained quiet amidst Fareed’s wailing cries. The old man hunched over, clutching his crippled arm. Omar observed him without pity and simply tossed a rag to him. Fareed took the rag and tied it around his fresh, deep wound. He said no more to Omar or anyone else. As he rose from his chair Omar demanded that he stay.
“We’re not done yet.”
Fareed slid back in his chair whimpering like a wounded animal.
Omar looked around the table again upon the stoic faces of his men.
“I welcome constructive criticism, but what I will not condone is ignorance. Finding the FBI agent is every bit as important as anything else. He has Ma’mun’s laptop, which means he has our plans. The military could be on its way here as we speak. Why am I the only one to see this? I want production increased and streamlined. I want our chemicals used to the last drop. And I want mass shipment of our product to commence immediately. Once this happens, we will abandon this factory and reduce it to ash in an explosion that this city will never forget.”
Omar leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “Are we all on the same page now?”
The room erupted in agreement as clapping followed.
“Allahu Akbar!” one man shouted, standing up.
The group shouted out in unison.
Omar slowly rose from his chair as the room quieted. “We are soldiers in Allah’s army. Every one of us. Now is the time to embrace your destiny. And our time is fleeting. Move out!”
***
The eighteen-hour drive had been long and tiring, but Craig and his team managed to make it to Nebraska in under a day. By Monday afternoon he was driving through Lincoln in a white FBI van with both Thomas and Keagan, whom he had convinced to join the cause.
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