The Ticking Clock

by Daniel Roland Banks

  Hafsah gave him a dazzling smile. “Yes. That is very good. Thank you”

  The security guy nodded and went through the door, closing it behind him.

  I knew the people who worked security at these venues were usually bouncers in clubs or off duty cops. This guy was a bouncer.

  He was only gone about a minute. When he came back out, he held the door open for “Nadia”. I started to follow her in, but he held up his hand.

  “Just the lady, pal.” He said.

  Hafsah smiled at him again. “It is alright. He is with me.”

  The security guy shrugged and I stepped past him, following Hafsah inside. The security guy had just let an armed man through the door, all because of a fake name and a pretty woman’s smile.

  Inside we were immediately greeted by Aaron Parviz, who rose off a couch where he’d been seated next to Nat Baha, sans the sombrero and bandolier guitar strap. A quick scan of the room told me there were about a dozen people inside. There were the four musicians, six visitors of one kind or another and the two of us.

  The room itself was unremarkable. It was appointed as a dressing room/living space, but could be quickly converted to another purpose. In the living space, the furniture consisted of a couch, two upholstered chairs and a coffee table. At the far end of the room was a huge lighted mirror above a long counter with folding chairs in front of it. The counter top held the usual assortment of cosmetics and associated sponges and tissues, etc. that were ubiquitous in dressing rooms. Against one wall there was a metal locker and a free standing clothes rack with a shelf on top. Most of the costume accoutrements were all hanging there, the sombrero and the matador hat on the shelf. There was a door in another wall I figured probably led to a restroom.

  All the other people in the room were standing and conversing. They checked us out with a glance as we came in.

  Aaron Parviz was still dressed in the traditional garb he’d worn on stage.

  “Hello, Nadia. I’m so glad to see you.” Parviz said, putting an arm around her waist and turning her toward the couch.

  Hafsah stiffened at his intimate touch. I could see Nat Baha was offended by this inappropriate violation of the teaching of the Prophet. In Islam there are strict rules about how men and women are to interact in public, especially as it relates to touching. He was displeased with his associate.

  He glanced at me.

  Nadia began making introductions.

  “Aaron, this is my friend Earl Hightower. He is a record producer. He is very impressed with the band.” Hafsah said, as she stepped away from Parviz’ unwelcome closeness.

  “How do you do”… Parviz mumbled. He ignored my offered handshake. “Nadia, I want you to meet Nat Baha, our lead axe. Nat, this is my friend Nadia Ahmed.”

  “As-salamu alayki, sister.” Nat Baha said, inclining his head toward Hafsah. He didn’t bother to get up from the couch.

  “Wa alaikum assalam wa rahmatu Allah.” Hafsah replied.

  Nat Baha seemed pleased by this response. He looked over at me.

  “As-salamu alayka.” He said, with the same nod of his head.

  “Uhh, thank you, Mr. Baha.” I replied.

  “A pity you don’t speak Arabic, Mr. Hightower. How do you do?” Baha said, with a patient smile.

  “I’m real pleased to meet you. That was a stellar performance, simply stellar.” I said, reaching across the coffee table to shake his hand. I intended to be the personification of obsequiousness.

  “Aaron, you have been rude to our guests. Shake Mr. Hightower’s hand. Is this not the teaching of the Prophet? Salla Allaahu ‘alayhi wa salaam.” Baha instructed.

  “Of course, please excuse me, Mr. Hightower. This is a big night for us, and I suppose I’ve forgotten my manners.” Parviz said, offering his hand.

  We shook.

  “Please be seated.” Baha said, indicating the two unoccupied chairs.

  Hafsah and I sat down. I observed she had her hands folded in her lap and her eyes were slightly downcast whenever she looked in Nat Baha’s direction.

  “Perhaps our guests would like some tea. Mr. Hightower, I suppose you would prefer something stronger…” Nat Baha started.

  “No, no. Thank you, no. We can’t stay. We’re on our way to meet some other folks for supper. Say, would y’all like to join us?” I offered.

  I saw Hafsah cut her eyes at me.

  “That would be delightful, I am sure, Mr. Hightower. Unfortunately, we cannot do so. We have been invited to join Mr. Coltrane on stage at the end of his performance. Perhaps another time…” Nat Baha answered.

  “Yeah, about that, what do you say we get together and talk about getting this band a bigger audience?” I suggested.

  “Again, we are otherwise occupied this evening.” Baha reminded me.

  “Sure, sure, I understand. I meant later on, sometime in the next couple of days.”

  “That is a possibility. May I have your card?”

  I fumbled out my card case and handed him my generic business card. All that was on it was my usual fake name Mr. Earl Hightower, and a phone number. The card stock was excellent and the embossing was top shelf.

  “Now, that number is my personal number. I always have that phone on me. You can reach me anywhere, anytime.” I informed him.

  “Next week, Mr. Hightower will be doing some business with the Superior Sound Systems studio, here in Tyler.” Hafsah informed him.

  Baha nodded.

  “Listen, maybe I should be talking to your manager…” I said.

  “Mr. Parviz is the founder of the band, and the business manager. Aren’t you, Aaron?” Hafsah said, returning her attention to Aaron Parviz.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Well, fine then.” I handed Parviz a card as well. “Boys, you give me a call. We can set this up.”

  The two men exchanged a look.

  “Inch’ Allah.” Baha said.

  “Is that a restaurant? Do you want to meet there?” I asked.

  Baha smiled a tired smile.

  “Americans, you never bother learning anything about other peoples, cultures, or languages. Perhaps we will meet again, if Allah wills it, Mr. Hightower.”

  “Good, that’s good. Do you live here in Tyler, Mr. Baha?”

  “I am a man of the world. Today I am here, tomorrow, who can say?” He replied.

  I caught Hafsah’s eyes as they flared a little.

  “Well, I can promise you, if you can give us even a few days, we can make a demo you boys can be real proud of.”

  “Time will tell. Isn’t that what you Americans say?” Baha said, standing up.

  “Sure. Wait, are you saying you aren’t an American?”

  “I am a citizen of Islam, Mr. Hightower.”

  “Where’s that?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

  He stiffened and replied, “That is a discussion for another time.”.

  “OK, sure. It doesn’t matter though. You don’t have to be an American. You can play your guitar like nobody’s business. That’s what matters.”

  “Thank you for saying so. If you will forgive my rudeness, I must ask you to go. Indeed, Aaron, it is time to clear the room. We must prepare to go on stage.”

  No more than a minute later, we found ourselves out in the corridor with the other ousted visitors.

  36

  Standing in the hallway outside the concert hall, I looked at my watch. I was analyzing the meeting we’d just had with Nat Baha. I was sure he’d been very interested in the opportunity to make a recording. It was clear to me there was little we could do by way of capturing him at this time, in this place.

  Turning to Hafsah I tried to bring her around to my way of thinking.

  “Well, we could go back to our seats, or head for the truck. We told Tony and Christine we would join them. Which would you prefer?”

  Before she could answer, my phone buzzed. I saw Tony had texted me the name of the place we were supposed to meet them.

  Hafsah h
ad pulled her phone out and was typing a message.

  “That was Tony. He told me where we should meet them. Let’s head on over there.” I suggested.

  Hafsah looked at me with a strange, kind of distant look.

  “Yes, you should do that.”

  “What did you say?”

  “John, thank you so much for all you have done. I don’t know if we would have been able to find him without your help. My team and I will take it from here. You should go meet your friends. Tell them I am very happy for them and give them my love.”

  “That’s not going to happen….”

  “Let’s go outside, where we can talk more privately.” She said. She turned and headed toward a big steel roll-up door at the far end of the corridor. Beside it, there was a smaller door under an exit sign. I hurried to catch up to her.

  Outside, we found ourselves on a loading dock. There were two big cargo trucks and a smaller rental truck backed up to it. In the backs of the larger trucks we could see a couple of pieces of electrical equipment and piles of cables and moving blankets. The door of the smaller rental truck had been pulled closed. Clearly, this was the place where the band equipment was loaded and unloaded. The musicians would also come and go through here to avoid the crowds. Beyond the trucks were two, huge customized buses. Those would be the tour buses for Kyle Coltrane and his band. I figured the rental truck had to be what the Honky Tonk Bronc’s were using. Out in the secure area where the tour buses were parked, there were a couple of dozen other vehicles.

  Hafsah carefully studied all this.

  “Yes, this is the place. We’ll kill him here.” She said, thinking out loud. She turned to me, not meeting my eyes.

  “John, this is where I must leave you. My team and I will finish this. I must scout the area, Good bye.” She turned away from me, headed for the stairs at the edge of the loading dock.

  I grabbed her by the arm and spun her around to face me.

  “No. Not like this. You don’t get to just waive me off. We’re in this together. We’re meant to be together. Together in this, at least.”

  Hafsah met my eyes.

  “No, John, I cannot ask you to do this,” she choked.

  “You promised me if there was a way, we would try to take him alive. Let’s do that.”

  “I, I don’t know…” she was searching my eyes.

  “I do. Besides, there are only four of you, against four of them. If there is a fight, the odds are even. I’m your ace in the hole.”

  Hafsah looked confused.

  Me and my idioms!

  “There are only two men, John. My cousin Hakim, and Aaron Parviz.” Hafsah observed.

  That was why she looked confused.

  “No, all four men are here, Hafsah. When we were backstage, I saw Abdul Suliman moving band equipment and Jahander Khalid was in the room talking to the other band members. Remember, you also promised to help stop all of them before they commit a terrorist act.”

  Hafsah nodded thoughtfully.

  “This is going to be more complicated than I realized.” She said.

  “You need me and I need you.”

  She nodded and put her face against my shoulder. I wrapped her in my arms.

  “See, we really do need each other.” I whispered in her ear.

  I was thinking about whether I should call Jack and alert him to what we’d found. He probably had some DHS agents already on site. He’d indicated he was planning to do so.

  I concluded that after what happened at the farmhouse where my friend Gary was killed, I would never again trust the federal government or my old friend, Jack McCarthy.

  Whatever was coming tonight, we would have to handle it without the aid of Uncle Sam.

  Hafsah and I trotted down the stairs and out into the secure area where the tour buses were parked. I figured the mix of cars, SUVs and pick-up trucks parked out there probably belonged to people working the show. Even this far away from the building, we could still hear the music, a steady rhythmic sound punctuated by wild crowd noise.

  A set of headlights blinked on, then off.

  Hafsah turned to me and said, “It is time for you to meet my team.”

  I didn’t know how they’d done it, but the black Chevy Tahoe which Hafsah and I’d used when we went on the picnic, was now parked in the secure lot. Those were the headlights that flashed.

  As we approached the vehicle, there was just enough light I could see a figure in the driver’s seat. Two people emerged from the shadows between the cars, one on each side of us.

  I reached for my gun, but Hafsah put her hand on my arm.

  “They are with me.” She said. “David, Benjamin, this is John Wesley Tucker. John, this is David Goldstein and Benjamin Mordechai.”

  I shook hands with the men, who I now recognized from previous sightings.

  “That’s Anke Wolfe in the Tahoe.” She said.

  Hafsah indicated the driver should join us.

  When the tall, blonde-haired woman approached us, Hafsah made the introduction. “John, this is Anke Wolfe. Anke, John Wesley Tucker.”

  “So, we finally meet the mystery man,” Anke said, with a wink.

  I didn’t know for sure if she was referring to me or Muktallah/Baha.

  “We have a little time. I’m going to change clothes. John, please tell them what you told me. Then, we must plan what we are to do.” Hafsah headed to the back of the Tahoe and opened the hatch. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but then I wasn’t really supposed to be watching. I turned my attention to the three people near me.

  “As you may know, Hakim Muktallah is inside the auditorium at this moment. Using the name Nat Baha, he’s performing with the local band, the Honky Tonk Broncs.” I checked my watch. “They will be on stage with the headliner, Kyle Coltrane, in about fifteen minutes. That will be the end of the concert. What you may not know is that Muktallah has trained with at least three local jihadists to commit acts of terrorism here in East Texas. You may’ve had eyes on a couple of those guys. All four of them are connected to the band, and are in the auditorium right now. There may also be others we don’t know about.

  Hafsah wanted to kill Muktallah as he came out of the auditorium, but once the concert is over there will be too many people coming out the back. We don’t know if they will be armed. If you try to kill him and anything goes wrong, it could turn into a blood bath. Even if it is possible to single out Muktallah for assassination, it would leave the other members of his jihadist group to do whatever they have planned. We need a new plan.”

  “John is right.” Hafsah said, emerging from behind the Tahoe. She now had her hair tied back, under a black baseball cap. She wore the dark grey t-shirt over the same grey urban camouflage cargo pants she’d worn to the picnic.

  “We can’t risk an altercation here. There are four terrorists, not just one. We must hit them somewhere when there are fewer innocent bystanders.”

  “The others are not our concern, Hafsah. We came for Muktallah. We need to isolate him and take him out.” David said.

  “The mission has changed. We must take all of them. If we do not, the other jihadists will strike and kill countless numbers of innocent people. Muktallah has been our sole focus, because of what he has already done, yes, but we are also to prevent him from doing something similar to his past exploits, here in the United States. We were sent to stop him from killing Americans. Just killing Muktallah alone will not do anything to stop whatever they have planned to do. If we kill him and leave the rest, we will have failed in an important part of our mission.”

  “I’ve heard nothing of the sort from Jerusalem.” David said.

  “There has been no time to confirm this with Mossad. Muktallah is still our primary target, but we must stop the others as well. I have promised this to John.”

  Anke said, “I agree with Hafsah. She is the lead on this and, as always, the situation is fluid. We can’t wait to hear what Jerusalem says. We must decide a course of action right now.�
��

  “Time is of the essence. We know where Muktallah is, at this moment. If it is too dangerous to try killing him as he emerges from the building, he is still our primary target. I say we follow him and take him out, tonight, as soon as possible. If we can get the others at the same time, it is good. If not, we alert the local authorities and let them handle it.” Benjamin said.

  Hafsah looked at me.

  Whatever was to happen, it couldn’t happen here. There were too many innocent lives endangered. If somehow the majority of the other people left the venue before the terrorists came out, we might get an opportunity. Otherwise, nearby, there were thousands of people who would be trying to leave the concert and get out on the roads.

  “I think they’ll wait until the crowds have gone, they’ll load their equipment before they try to leave this place. Even so, there’ll still be dozens of people coming out the back, and coming right where we are. Can you set up a sniper somewhere nearby to hit Muktallah, without endangering anyone else?”

  We all scanned the area.

  “No, if I could get on top of the building, I might get a shot, even from on top of one of those busses. But there is too little light, too little cover and, as you said, too many other people.” David indicated.

  “If he comes out here to a vehicle, can you converge on him as a group and take him down?” I asked.

  Benjamin shook his head.

  “That is unknown and difficult to prepare for. We don’t know if he will be alone, what vehicle he might go to, or even if he will come out here.”

  “Well, we now have about ten minutes before the concert is over. Shortly after that, the back door of the building will slide open and people will be loading equipment and heading for their cars. We’d better have a plan.” I concluded.

  37

  We threw a plan together. We all understood that this plan, like all plans, would be good for as long as it lasted. No matter how well thought out and prepared, a plan seldom lasts past the first contact with the enemy. This plan had been made on the fly.

  We decided to act based upon the opportunities presented. If the opportunity presented itself, we would take Nat Baha whenever, wherever. That was the plan.