The Point Of A Gun: Thriller

by Steven W. Kohlhagen

  “No. I am a poor man who came to this country to seek a better life for my family. I have no enemies.”

  “How does a poor immigrant come to own an apartment building in the middle of Columbus, Ohio?”

  No answer.

  “Then tell me, Gaal, where were you two nights ago? In the middle of the morning?”

  “In the back of a car.”

  Licht leaned back, struck by the earnestness of this man.

  “In your car?” the JTTF agent asked.

  “No. The policemen showed me the car this morning before they brought me here. I had never seen it before. It’s not my car. They say it was stolen.”

  “Please explain how that could be.”

  “The doctor said that a parking lot attendant found me asleep in the back of a car at this address,” and he handed them a public parking card. “The police couldn’t wake me up, so they had me taken to the hospital.”

  “How did you get into the car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Humor me, Gaal. Think back. What is the last thing you remember before the hospital?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that since I woke up and they wouldn’t let me leave. I remember leaving work, going to my room, and going to the Islamic Center.”

  “For prayers?”

  “Yes, for prayers and for a meeting.”

  “Meeting with who.”

  “Three of my tenants.”

  “How many tenants do you have, Gaal?” Licht broke in.

  “Six.”

  “What was the meeting about?” the FBI agent again.

  “They wanted to borrow some money from me.”

  “For what?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Tell us about your six tenants.”

  “They were each Somalis. We all belonged to the same Islamic Center.”

  “Is it unusual for your tenants to want to borrow money?”

  Gaal hesitated for the first time. His earnestness dissolved into something approaching the beginning of wariness.

  “No,” he said. Then more carefully, “We are all very poor. Often Somalis ask other Somalis to help them.”

  “What did they want the money for, Gaal?”

  Now speaking much more slowly and much more softly, “They didn’t say.”

  “Let’s take a break,” the agent said.

  “Sure,” Licht said. He stood up and turned toward the door, then turned back around. “Just one more question, Mr. Gaal. Do you know if any of your tenants had explosives in your building? Do you know if any of them are Muslim jihadists?”

  *

  The two asked a sergeant if they could use an office and he showed them in to a vacant room. Two desks and two telephones.

  They watched as Gaal walked out of the interrogation room, only to be shown back in by one of Columbus’s finest.

  “Do you know if that apartment building contained any known terrorist suspects?” Licht asked the agent.

  “If so, nobody briefed me. Nobody we were watching. Our record here in Columbus is pretty good. We think we have that Islamic Center pretty much locked down. I think we’ve arrested fifteen over the past five years. The only thing we’re now missing is encrypted communications among a handful.”

  “Do you think you can get Nancy Moffett on the phone?”

  The agent looked curiously at Licht, then went over to the desk and dialed a number.

  “Is Moffett in?” he asked after identifying himself.

  “Who wants to know?” came back the voice.

  “Certainly not me. Tell her the Professor has a question for her here in Columbus, Ohio.”

  After the line transferred two times, “Hello, Moffett here,” came a new voice.

  The agent handed the phone over to Licht.

  “Hello Nancy.”

  “Licht?”

  “Yes. I’m with your lead JTTF agent here in Columbus, Ohio. I have two questions for you.”

  “And I have one for you.”

  “Okay. You go first.”

  “I thought you were retired.”

  “I unretired. I’m working for the White House and the DNI on antiterrorism now.”

  “Okay. Good to know. Your turn.”

  “Are you Samms?”

  The JTTF agent looked at him. Puzzled.

  After a long silence, “Nancy? You still there?” Licht said.

  “Ah. That makes sense. Licht. Of course. You’re working as the secret spy on us behind the scenes with the President. Makes sense. No, I’m not Samms. Why are you suddenly coming out from secrecy now, Professor?”

  “You already used your quota of one question, Moffett.”

  She laughed. “Okay, then, what’s your second question?”

  “Can you please fax me the names of any Somalis at the address I’m about to read to you in Columbus, Ohio that your people and NSA and maybe JSOC had under surveillance until recently?”

  He read her the address of the former apartment building.

  “That’s the building that somebody blew up the other night, right? The JTTF and HSI there in Columbus should have those. You don’t need me.”

  “Humor me, Nancy.”

  He handed the phone back to the agent and headed out to the rest room.

  *

  The two walked back into the room together.

  Gaal’s body language had changed. He no longer seemed so happy to see them. So eager to help.

  “So,” the agent said, “Mr. Ibraahin Ali Amir, you were getting ready to talk to us about your tenants when we agreed to take a break.”

  “Do I need a lawyer to be here with me?”

  “You are not suspected of any crime. We have no reason to believe you blew up your own building. You are under no suspicion of any kind. We are here merely to help you find out what happened to your building. By the way, were your belongings in the building?”

  “Yes, everything I have in America was in the building.”

  “Even your money?” Licht asked.

  “No. I am in America now. My money is in the bank.”

  “So you lost everything you own in this destruction?” the agent asked.

  “Yes. Except for my money. But you did not answer the question whether or not I need a lawyer. The Islamic Center has a lawyer for us if I need one.”

  “We will tell you if you are suspected of blowing up everything you own or of any other crime. If that happens, we will advise you that you can get a lawyer. Mr. Licht and I have no reason to think you are guilty of anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What did you do, where did you go after you met with your three tenants at the mosque?”

  “Not at the mosque. At the Islamic Center.”

  “Okay Gaal, where did you go after the meeting?”

  “Two of us went to dinner at a nearby café. I think you call it a diner in America.”

  “Did you agree to lend them the money?” Licht interrupted.

  “At dinner?”

  “Either at dinner or at the Islamic Center meeting.”

  He became cautious again.

  “I think I told them I would think about it. But my memories of the evening are all very vague. I remember very little after the evening prayers.”

  The JTTF agent started again. “Do you remember dinner?”

  “Only very vaguely.”

  “What did you do after dinner?”

  “I went for a walk?”

  “Where?”

  “I remember wanting to walk to the campus.”

  “The Ohio State campus?”

  “Yes. It is less than an hour’s walk from the apartment. The campus is very beautiful. I work all day in the bank and spend much time in the Center. I like to walk to the campus sometimes. It is often my only chance to be with grass and trees and water.”

  “Did you walk to the campus that night?”

  “I can’t remember. Everything is very vague after work.”

 
“Did you walk anywhere else?”

  “Yes, I now remember going by the Center to pick up some things I had left there?”

  “Then what?”

  “Then, I walked home.”

  “Do you remember anything about the walk home? Did you go to the campus, for example? ”

  “Yes, I have been thinking very hard about what happened. I don’t remember whether or not I went to the campus, but I got to a street corner. And I saw a young woman across the street. And then I don’t remember anything else.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “I have no memory of talking with her. I saw her. And then I woke up in the hospital.”

  “What do the doctors think happened to you?”

  “They say I was shot.”

  “A gun?”

  “No. A very strong medicine. I think they called it tranquil medicine.”

  “A tranquilizer?”

  “Yes, that’s it. A tranquilizer. The doctors said I was shot in the chest with a very strong tranquilizer dart. That it knocked me out for almost twelve hours.”

  “Tell me, Gaal,” Licht said, “what did the young woman look like?”

  “It was very dark. And it is still so vague in my head.”

  “Was she a large African woman?”

  “No. She was small.”

  “Was she African? African American?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “White? A young white girl?”

  He shook his head. Thinking. “No, not a normal white girl. She was darker. Maybe Latin? Maybe Asian?”

  “Could you describe her or pick her out of a lineup?”

  “No. It was dark. And I’m having trouble seeing her even in my head.”

  Licht passed him a sheet of paper.

  “Gaal, are these your six tenants?”

  Gaal looked at the sheet of paper. Looked up.

  “Yes. These are the names of my tenants. How do you know them?”

  *

  That afternoon, Licht, now accompanied by the JTTF SAC, the Columbus HSI agent, and a Columbus police detective, met with the manager of the hotel across the street from the pile of rubble that had been the apartment building.

  “I have the pictures you asked for. Of all the customers who checked out the night of the explosion and the next day.”

  He handed copies to each of the four men.

  “Anybody just leave without checking out?” the HSI agent asked.

  “No. I personally accompanied the maids to every room with a registered occupant and verified that the occupants are still here. Although frankly, that’s only five rooms. Understandably, everybody else checked out the day after the explosion.”

  The four didn’t respond. They were sorting through the pictures.

  “These all from your surveillance system”? Licht asked.

  “Yes, the room number associated with each customer is in the lower right hand corner of each photo.”

  “There’s no room number for the young Asian woman.”

  “Right, we don’t have her registered at all.”

  “That reminds me,” the police detective said, “one of our cops reported that he had seen a young Asian woman on the corner of the street between the hotel and the apartment building very late that night. Said he offered her a ride to her car and she said no.”

  Licht looked up at that. “How quickly can you get him here? See if it was this woman?”

  The detective shrugged. He pulled out his phone and stepped from the room.

  “She wasn’t registered. How often does she show up in the cameras?”

  “Every day.”

  “Was she always alone?”

  “No, she was seen with that man there,” pointing to one of the pictures.

  “Once? Often? Always?”

  “Several times.” He handed him several photos. “Otherwise alone.”

  Licht looked very carefully at the several photos of the man and the couple. It was possible it was Cheese. Take off the bushy moustache, the sun glasses, and the long hair. It could be Cheese.

  He looked at the girl. Leafed through five or six pictures.

  Then more slowly.

  Bingo.

  She was definitely the girl from the D.C. restaurant that night Cheese had approached him. He stifled a laugh. He distinctly remembered the Chinese girl bellhop in Have Gun---Will Travel, ‘Hey Girl’ he was pretty sure her name had been.

  He looked up. Turned to the JTTF guy. “I want the room this guy stayed in scoured for fingerprints. As thoroughly as the FBI as ever scoured. I want the identity of this girl.” Pretty sure it would turn out not to be ‘Hey Girl’.

  “What about the guy?”

  “Him I know.”

  *

  One hour later they were with the Deputy Ohio Fire Marshal investigator, the insurance investigator, and a Columbus police detective.

  “Any more evidence of any fatalities in there?” the JTTF agent asked.

  “No,” said the police detective. “We’ve turned all the human evidence over to your people. Nothing back yet.”

  “This was no accident,” the insurance investigator said. “We both agree on that.” He looked over at the Fire Marshal inspector and got a nod in return.

  “This was deliberately, and very professionally, set to blow up this building and everything in it.”

  “Any guesses as to who could have done it?” the FBI agent asked.

  “One of the fire department people, a former SEAL, told me this demolition looks precisely like something out of the SEAL manual.”

  “I agree,” the Fire Marshal investigator said. “This is the work of a trained professional.”

  “Or someone very good at learning from the internet.”

  “Somebody wanted to make very, very sure that something in this building was destroyed,” said the police detective.

  “There was one more thing,” the insurance guy said. “Something odd.”

  “What’s that?” Licht asked.

  “We found evidence of six explosions that occurred after the ones that demolished the building. These occurred within the building itself. Six, separate detonations. Almost certainly caused by the fires in the rubble.”

  “What’s your theory on that?”

  “It’s as if six of the apartments each contained one set of explosives. Almost like an inventory in an armory, but not kept together.”

  “Maybe the armory was under the building.”

  “No. The footprint was totally different. Under the building? That was a demolition expert. The other six were small. To me, it looks as if they were to be used by bombers. Totally different architects. Totally different end uses. Possibly suicide bombers.”

  *

  The next morning, Licht walked into the police station.

  “Morning Professor,” the JTTF agent said.

  “Morning. We have anything?”

  “Two things. One nothing, and the other something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “First, there were no prints anywhere in the hotel room.”

  “None?”

  “It had been completely wiped down. The only prints were the cleaning lady’s. And barely any of those.”

  Licht made a face. “That must be the nothing. What’s the something?”

  “Quantico has examined all the remains. Six distinguishable, dead males. If there were any others in the building, they left no trace.”

  “Can I have a copy of that report?”

  “Sure. Also, the detective said he needs to meet with us.”

  The agent left and came back shortly with the detective accompanied by another Columbus policeman.

  “Licht,” the detective said.

  “Yes?”

  “This is the man who saw the girl that night. He’s positively ID’d her from the photos.”

  “Sorry, but that won’t help us now. We heard your theory that she was a hooker leaving the hotel. But that isn’t consistent with what els
e we know. But thank you, officer.”

  The cop looked disappointed. Said, “There are two other things, though, if I may?”

  Licht felt bad about cutting him off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. What else do you have for us?”

  “I took the pictures to the owner of the building. To Gaal.”

  “What did he say about them?”

  “He was unsure. He said it could have been her. But it was so dark, and his memory is still so vague. But it could be her.”

  “Thank you, officer. That solidifies some things for us. Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome. Um, there is one other thing.”

  Licht’s shoulders slumped. “Yes?”

  There was a knock at the door. Licht looked relieved. “Come in.”

  “This just came in for you. Marked urgent.” He handed him a piece of paper.

  “Thank you.”

  Licht took the piece of paper. Read it, handed it to the JTTF agent.

  “The girl was caught on TSA film at the Cincinnati airport,” Licht said. “No sign of the guy at any airports yet. She flew from Cincinnati to Dallas about four hours after the explosions. Her Ohio driver’s license said her name was Rita Moreno. Absolutely no sign of her after Dallas.”

  “Well at least we have her name,” the agent said.

  Licht just stared at him.

  “Oh. Rita Moreno. The dead actress. Right.”

  Licht turned to the two policemen. “You said you had one other thing, officer?”

  “Yes. The owner of the apartment building, Gaal, said the doctors gave him this. He says when the police delivered him to the hospital they placed this with his belongings. The police said it was in the car, but he says it’s not his. He thought maybe we could learn something from it.”

  He handed Licht a business card, with “BK” written by hand in all caps on the back. Licht didn’t really have to turn it over, but he did anyway.

  “Samms of the Paladins” was written on the front of the card.

  Chapter 36

  Linda Simmons looked at her watch. 2:10. Licht was ten minutes late. Unlike him. They had called from the front desk when he first arrived. He’d had plenty of time to get here by now, she thought.

  A knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Hey, Linda.”

  “Hi Professor. You forget where my office was, or are you slowing down in your old age?”