Living Stones

by Lloyd Johnson

  He looked around again, in both directions. Finally reaching into his pocket, he opened the door with a key and disappeared inside.

  Chapter 60

  Ashley had approached a group of three women sitting at a table. She looked ashen and couldn’t stop shaking. “May I join you?”

  They looked up, surprise registering on their faces. “Ah … sure,” one of them said, shrugging her shoulders. “Sit down.” She smiled.

  “I’m sorry,” Ashley replied as she sat down. She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. Her hands shook. She fought tears, blinking several times and swallowing repeatedly.

  Another of the women put her arm on Ashley’s shoulder. “Are you in trouble?”

  Ashley sniffed and reached in her purse for a tissue. “I may be. But I’m also concerned for my friend. I don’t know what’s happening or where he is.” She looked at her watch—eight-thirty. “I’m afraid to call him right now.”

  “Whatever is going on, you are safe with us. Would you like us to stay with you for a bit? We’re just having iced coffee and chatting.”

  “That would be wonderful. You’re so kind.” She scanned the area for any security guards and didn’t see any. “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” another of the ladies asked.

  “You’ve already helped.” Ashley sighed deeply. “Why don’t you go on with your conversation and I’ll just sit here for a while, quietly. I need to think.”

  “No problem,” one woman said. “We’ll pretend you’re not here so you have time to collect your thoughts.” And they resumed their conversation quietly.

  Ashley closed her eyes and remained silent, remembering the confrontation with the bomber in detail. She shuddered inwardly. He hadn’t come after her with a knife or a gun, and it had been several minutes now. But he could be hiding and still shoot her.

  She felt somewhat safe with the ladies. But where is he? Had he left the store? Is he hiding somewhere? And where is Najid? He took off down the aisle after the man. Are they fighting? Is Najid OK? Is he trying to catch the guy? Maybe he’s armed and Najid’s in trouble.

  Ashley sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and began to pray under her breath. As she opened her eyes, Ashley saw one of the women looking at her.

  “Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Ann. You look calmer. That didn’t take long.”

  Ashley took her hand and smiled. “I’m Ashley. Yes, I feel better now. I guess I should give credit where it’s due. I prayed to God.”

  Her new friend glowed. “We understand. Ashley, this is Mindy and Pat.”

  They shook hands all around. Ann continued, “Pat and Mindy have to get home to put their kids to bed, but I have time to stay with you for a while. Is that OK?”

  “I’d love it. I really appreciate all of you.” Ashley stood up. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “Tell me about yourself,” Ann said. “You talk like you’re not from Seattle.”

  “You’re right. I’m from Oklahoma.”

  “Ah ha! ‘Where the wind comes sweeping down the plain.’ ” Ann smiled. “That’s my favorite musical of all time.”

  Ashley nodded. She knew every song in “Oklahoma” by heart. Ashley learned about Ann, and then began to tell her story. The minutes rolled by as they shared at first tentatively and then more deeply. Ashley told of the bombing.

  “Oh!” Ann jerked upward, her hand covering her open mouth. “I knew you looked familiar. I saw your picture in the paper just after the synagogue collapsed. Oh, my goodness!” She stared at Ashley. “Weren’t you in Harborview Medical Center?”

  “Yes. I had surgery, but I’m fine now.”

  “And they haven’t caught the bomber yet, I understand. He could be anywhere in the world by this time.”

  Ashley shrugged. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Is that why you’re so upset?”

  “Yeah, it’s related. But also I’ve lost my friend, Najid. I don’t know where he is. He may be in danger. He told me he’d be back.” Ashley reached into her purse, not knowing whether it would be safe to call him. So she texted a question and waited, staring at her phone. No answer.

  “When?”

  “I’m not sure, Ann. It’s nine-thirty now and will be getting dark by ten or so. Your family is expecting you home. Why don’t you go? I plan to stay here until Najid returns.”

  “Do you think he will come?”

  “I think so. If he doesn’t, I’m calling the police.”

  “Maybe you should call now?”

  “I think I’ll wait. He’s reliable and resourceful. He’ll be back; I’m sure of it … unless he has met with some kind of trouble.”

  “I’m not leaving, Ashley, until I know you’re OK.” Ann pulled out her cell phone. “Honey, I’m a bit delayed at the store, so I’ll be home later than planned. Love you.”

  The women talked further. Ashley worried about Najid. The guy could have a gun. Najid could be lying somewhere, injured or dead. He wouldn’t keep her waiting if he could call. She should text him again. But maybe it would be dangerous if his phone even beeped. She would just wait. She checked for messages again. Nothing.

  Ashley did talk about her trip to the Middle East without mentioning the abduction. Ann seemed eager to hear the stories. She knew little of the area and didn’t seem to know why the West Bank got its name or who lived there. She had heard of Palestinians and assumed they were all terrorists, and how could you negotiate with such people? Ashley tried to explain by telling several stories of Palestinian families she had met. Ann stared at her wide-eyed. She had never heard such things, or about walls or checkpoints. Time flew by.

  Ann glanced over Ashley’s shoulder, listening to the stories. She suddenly screamed, “Ashley, someone’s coming fast!”

  Ashley jerked her head around, panic on her face. She leaped to her feet and ran into Najid’s arms, laughing and crying all at the same time. They hugged for several moments. Ashley grabbed his hand and led him to the table. Ann’s eyes stared, raising her eyebrows.

  “Ann, this is Najid, my friend.” Ashley looked at him. He looked sweaty, his shirt wet under the arms. She had to hear what happened, but that would have to wait. At least he seemed OK. He smiled and shook hands with Ann.

  “Ann here has taken care of me for the past two hours, Najid. She has been wonderful. I had never met her before.”

  “Good.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I appreciate your care of Ashley. Let’s celebrate with some tea!”

  Ann shook her head and started to laugh.

  “Oh, you don’t like tea?”

  “No, no, Najid,” she sputtered. “It’s … it’s just the whole thing tonight. Some things in life seem unbelievable until you experience them. The tea at ten-thirty on top of everything else that’s happened to you guys just struck me funny.”

  Najid chuckled. “OK. What drink would you like? I’m buying.”

  He soon brought back one decaffeinated coffee and two herbal teas from the counter. “Ashley, are you alright?”

  “Oh, Najid! I’m fine since Ann and her friends were here. But I’ve been worried sick about you. But what about you? What happened?”

  Chapter 61

  Najid told the story beginning with his tracking and then losing the bomber in the store. At the end of the account, he explained why he’d waited so long behind the big bush, with a dead cell phone. He needed to find the address number on the house and couldn’t see it until he got close. So he waited until it grew dark and it seemed unlikely that the bomber would be looking out through the window. With that, Najid pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and showed it to Ashley. “That’s the address of the bomber.”

  Ashley sat spellbound, pondering Najid’s story. She gazed at Najid and couldn’t speak. Tears welled up again, and she wiped them away. Ashley sighed deeply and wilted. “It’s almost over.”

  Then she leaped to her feet. “We’ve got to call Gordon Appleby! The FBI
needs to know! What am I doing sitting on this information, now that we have the guy’s address? Ann, would you take us home quickly? I’ll call Appleby as we go.”

  “Follow me!” Ann shouted as they ran for the car.

  Ashley speed dialed the number.

  “Hello. Appleby here. Who is this?”

  “Mr. Appleby. This is Ashley Wells, with Najid. We just got some important new information for you that could be very helpful.”

  “Stay right there. Are you home?”

  “I will be in ten minutes.”

  “I’m on my way!”

  Over the next few minutes in the front room of Ashley’s house, Gordon Appleby listened to her and Najid tell the story of meeting the bomber in the store and the adventures that followed. He peppered her with questions until he seemed satisfied that Ashley knew that the guy she saw was indeed the bomber. Najid’s details of the guy’s escape lent further confirmation. The FBI would want every detail. Najid handed him the slip with the bomber’s address.

  Appleby suddenly stood. “You two are amazing. And Najid, I have rarely seen such bravery and smarts outside our organization. I’ve got to get to a secure phone now, arrange a stakeout, and work out plans for a search and seizure immediately. The vulture may fly away soon.”

  Chapter 62

  Gordon Appleby began arrangements with Seattle Police while he drove to his office. Within minutes, they parked a dark, unmarked car across the street from Robert Bentley’s apartment, with two officers charged to prevent his escape.

  Gordon raced to his office and called his boss in Washington D.C. on the secure line.

  “Appleby here. Are you awake?”

  “Appleby, this better be necessary. It’s, let’s see, two in the morning, and I’m in the middle of a great dream.”

  “We may have found the culprit in the Seattle bombing.”

  Gordon heard his boss stirring as though getting out of bed. “OK, I’m awake and at my desk.” He heard a chair scraping the floor, and a brief silence. Then, “You found the bomber? Give it to me!”

  “We may have.” Gordon related the story Najid and Ashley had told him. “It sounds real and bona fide. I think we should investigate the lead.”

  “Get a stakeout on his residence right away.”

  “Done. The police have it in place as we speak.”

  “Yeah.” Then silence for several moments. “We are getting closer on this end by following the money trail of the imam. We haven’t found him yet. And with his aliases and accounts, we can’t come up with who lined the imam’s pockets in Seattle. Maybe we just moved past that … Get warrants for a search and for the guy’s arrest before he can destroy his hard drive.”

  Gordon called the U.S. Attorney he knew and the on-call federal judge shortly after midnight. He explained all the evidence to date to both of them. By two a.m. he had picked up the signed affidavit drafted by the attorney at his home and driven to the judge’s home to obtain both search and arrest warrants for one “name to be determined” at the address given him by Najid.

  Meanwhile, the Seattle police had assembled their emergency Special Weapons and Tactics team for counterterrorism operations. They prepared for the possibility of explosive materials as well as guns. Five men stood ready for action by two-thirty in the morning. They met Gordon at the Capitol Hill precinct of the Seattle Police and raced off in an armored vehicle by three a.m.

  Gordon radioed the officers in the stakeout vehicle. “Any activity?”

  “None so far, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll be there with the SWAT guys in five minutes. You can join us to surround the house, and we’ll move in on it.”

  “Roger. Affirmed.”

  They moved silently through the darkness. Two regular-duty police officers and three SWAT team members guarded the entire perimeter of the house. Gordon and the remaining two special officers approached the front door and knocked quietly, guns drawn. Gordon’s pulse raced. The porch light flickered on. The door opened slightly. An old man in pajamas peered out from behind a safety chain with a shocked look on his face.

  Gordon raised a finger to his mouth then whispered, “FBI, sir. Please unlock the chain and step out quietly.” Gordon showed him his FBI credentials. “Please turn the porch light off and do not turn on any lights in the house. Do not make any sound except whispered answers to my questions.”

  The man complied then stepped out to the porch and quietly away from the house into the darkness, visibly trembling. “What’s this about?”

  “It has nothing to do with you directly, sir. This is about a young man who we think lives here.”

  “You mean Robert? I don’t know what he’s been doing. He stays in his room most of the time now.”

  “Do you have his last name?”

  “Oh yeah. Bentley. Robert Bentley. Pays his rent every month on time, by check.”

  Gordon showed him both the search and arrest warrants by penlight. “We didn’t have his name until now. We have reason to believe he could be involved in a serious crime. This is a search and arrest as part of our investigation. So we are asking for your cooperation in quickly answering a few questions. You are the owner of this property?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are there other individuals in the house that we need to protect?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a dog or any animal that would make noise?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe Robert Bentley is not here now?”

  “No. I heard him moving something heavy across the floor just an hour ago. Woke me up. It sounded like dragging a dresser over to the door on the north side of the room. It’s right above my bedroom.”

  “So there may be a dresser blocking the door. Are there any backstairs where someone could escape, or windows?”

  “No. It’s a small house, one stairway with just two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. There are two windows in his room and also in the empty one.”

  “Is the door to the empty room open?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I keep it aired out. There’s no one living there now. The bathroom door should be open too. It’s directly ahead as you come up the stairs. Robert’s door is on the right as you reach the upstairs hall.”

  “Robert could have explosive material with him and use it. We would like you to wait safely in that vehicle across the street. One of our officers will escort you there before we go inside. Are you willing to do that?”

  “Yes. But could I go back in to get some things I can’t lose?”

  “No, sir. We cannot allow that. We need total silence. Surprise is one of our best means of avoiding injury to anyone or any property. Now we need to move. The officer next to you will escort you to the police vehicle for your safety.”

  A SWAT officer silently signaled the team on the perimeter of the house by a red light flash that they were going in, guns drawn. Gordon and the two SWAT officers crept silently up the pitch-black stairs to the top, finding the small hall and the open bathroom door ahead.

  Through their night vision goggles they saw the right-hand door clearly. The SWAT officer who looked like a football lineman raised his right leg and smashed the door open with a huge kick, pushing the dresser clear across the room. With the loud crash, the three men leaped into the room shouting, “Police! Hands up.” They focused an intensely bright light on the far wall and bed, momentarily blinding its occupant. Robert Bentley squinted into the light as he bolted upright and leaped toward his laptop computer. A SWAT officer tackled him, pinned him on the floor, and quickly bound Robert in handcuffs. They dragged him to a chair and turned on the room lights.

  Chapter 63

  While one officer guarded their prisoner, Gordon and the other one searched the room for any evidence of explosives or weapons. They found a small pistol only, loaded. Gordon again displayed his FBI identification with his picture, and examined Robert’s wallet and driver’s license.

  Gordon told Robert his
Miranda Rights. He had gone through this so many times he could say them in his sleep. “You are being arrested. I have here both search and arrest warrants signed by a federal judge, based on a legal affidavit that states there is some evidence to believe that you have committed a serious crime. We will detain you as a suspect only, in jail, pending further investigation. That will include questions of you. Do you understand … Robert?”

  Robert looked down, refusing to look at the warrants and refusing to speak.

  “You have certain rights under the Miranda law. They include the right to silence. You should understand that anything you say could be used against you in court. You have the right to counsel, a lawyer, before answering any questions. Do you understand?”

  Robert offered no response.

  “You can choose to answer my questions now if you wish. What is your name?”

  Robert remained mute, refusing eye contact.

  “Alright, gentlemen, please escort the prisoner to your vehicle and bring back in the owner of the house with an escort to get a few clothes and essentials,” Gordon said. He pressed his radio activation button. “I’m asking the team to come up here with latex gloves and containers for gathering evidence. Contact the bomb squad with a dog to sniff out any missing explosives. We’ll ask the owner to leave briefly until that sweep is finished.”

  They took pictures of everything in the room. With many gloved hands obtaining evidence from Robert’s file drawers, scraps of paper, CDs, iPod, smartphone, and most importantly his laptop. The passport picture matched his driver’s license one. Gordon noticed a Pakistan visa dated in March. The team labeled everything, including where they found the item in the room. Finally they carried it all down and loaded the plastic containers in the SWAT vehicle with Robert caged in back. They drove to the Federal Detention Center in SeaTac not far from the airport. Robert, heavily guarded, walked with the SWAT officers into a room for pictures and fingerprinting. Then his jail door clanged shut.