For God and Country: Leona Foxx Suspense Thriller #1

by Ted Peters

  “Something tells me you’ve got a theory.”

  “Yes. I wonder if it’s reasonable.”

  “Try me.”

  “A strike from the air.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Twin Towers were taken down by airplanes flying into them. The president’s surmise is that CUB would like to imitate 9/11 on a smaller scale, mainly because CUB wants to elicit the kind of national fear of Iran that took us into the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.”

  “Mmmmmm. So, the worst case scenario would be a combination: an assassination of the president combined with a terrorist attack blamed on Iran. Right?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “And it would take place tomorrow evening at eight o’clock on the 85th floor of JH, right?”

  “Right.

  “But Leona, you’ve got some holes in the bottom of your theory boat. It’s leaking. Here’s one. Because JH stands between so many other buildings, no one could fly a plane into it. No way to copy 9/11.”

  “Right. How about this? Suppose CUB flies a suicide helicopter right through the president’s 85th floor window.”

  “A helicopter?” Graham thought for a moment. “One more hole in your theory. Where will CUB get a suicide bomber to fly that helicopter? I presume no fanatical Iranians belong to CUB. And suicide bombers are not exactly for hire.”

  “Yes, this is a hole in my theory. Here is how I plug it up. This is a long shot. If Hillar can fly a helicopter with a remote control and make Buck go crazy, couldn’t CUB do the same thing with a full sized whirlybird? Recall that Jarrod Grimes oversaw the flying of drones in Pakistan.”

  “Lee, you’re getting somewhere. Let’s look at one more hole, though. How will CUB blame Iran?”

  “Hey, my theory is almost airtight. Yes, this may be a leak. Will it sink my boat?”

  At that moment Leona’s Droid sounded. In seconds David Ragland appeared on the living room LED. Leona introduced Graham. “What have you got for me, Rags? It’s okay to talk in front of Graham. He’s my partner.”

  “You married?”

  “No, Rags. He’s my partner in crime, so to speak. We work together. Did you learn anything?”

  “Not much. Just one item. Late Monday night two young men—Iranians on green cards—disappeared. They’re brothers, one twenty and the other nineteen. We have a missing person’s report from their mother. The boys have been living at home while attending college. Circle campus.”

  “Young men that age could simply wander away for weeks and then come back. So, is the mother a worrywart?”

  “She has good reason to worry. It was a balmy evening. The whole family was up late. The boys were playing Ultimate Frisbee under the street lights. A panel truck tooted its horn to pass through. The boys separated to make room, but the van stopped. Gunman got out and whisked the two into the van, which then sped off. The younger sister witnessed the whole thing. The mother called the CPD immediately. No traces.”

  “Is this your case?”

  “No. Another detective has it.”

  “Did the little sister give the police a good description of the van? License plate numbers? Anything?”

  “No license plate numbers. But she did see what was written on the side.”

  “What was that?”

  “Evanston Cleaners.”

  “Oh, ouch!” said Graham.

  “Ouch, ouch,” said Leona.

  “Names!” demanded Leona.

  “Jafar and Mohammad Golshani.”

  “Golshani!? That’s Iran’s president’s name. Any family connection?”

  “Don’t know. But there’s a little note in the file that might interest you. It appears that the father is a member of the exiled People's Mujahideen of Iran, called the PMOI. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Not in itself. We’d need to know more,” responded Leona. “The PMOI are a pain in the ass to the Iranian government. They expose human rights violations and such. But I would not think that members of the Golshani family would support the PMOI. So, it’s not clear what all this means. Nevertheless, this abduction could mean that you’ve struck oil, Rags. Thanks a million.”

  “Not so fast, you two. I’ve got a question. You said you saw me on TV. Behind me were two vans, both with ‘Evanston Cleaners’written on their sides. So, what’s the connection?”

  “We’d like to thank you for getting us this information, Rags,” said Leona.

  “Pastor Foxx, I’ve investigated three separate criminal acts resulting in death this week. You have a connection to each one. Why do I get the feeling that you know more than I do?”

  “Just coincidences.”

  “No, Lee, they’re not coincidences. Don’t bullshit me. I wonder if I should have you brought in for questioning.”

  “That would be okay with me, after church on Sunday. You’ll be there for worship, right?”

  Ragland smiled. “Anything else I can do for you tonight?”

  “Not tonight. But I might need to find you in a hurry tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday. And my heart was broken when you didn’t call me. Will it break again tomorrow?”

  Graham sneered. “Maybe both of us will see you tomorrow, Detective Ragland. We’d appreciate you keeping your phone on, especially late afternoon and evening.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “Graham,” Leona said, “I’ve got a feeling that if we’re right about the helicopter, then I bet the Golshani boys will be aboard when it crashes into the Hancock. If they’re PMOI fanatics, maybe they’d become suicide bombers. Maybe.” Leona paused. “Maybe we have just plugged the hole in my theory. I wonder if I should call Bishop Hurley.“

  “Why on earth would you want to call him?’

  “Because he’s spent considerable energy in the last couple years on Christian-Muslim dialogues, both in theology and community cooperation. Maybe he could use his connections to answer a question: Are the Golshani boys likely to pilot that helicopter or should we presume it will be remote controled? We need to sort this one out, and fast.”

  Graham agreed. Leona found the Presiding Bishop’s number in her iPhone.

  “Hello. Hurley here.”

  “Good Bishop, this is Leona and Graham. Can we flick to Skype?”

  “Yes, I’m in my office.” In a moment, Graham and Leona on the couch were looking at Justin Hurley sitting at his desk. The middle-aged prelate sported a well-trimmed mustache and a salt and pepper beard.

  “Bishop, you know that works righteousness will not get you into heaven. So, why are you working so late?” asked Leona.

  “Just got out of a committee meeting. It went on and on. These committee meetings can be a foretaste of hell, you know. I’ve earned more than enough merit to go to the other place.”

  The presiding bishop asked for a “how’s it going?” report from Graham. Graham told the bishop that things were going well, neglecting little items such as the afternoon gunfight on the beach.

  “We’ve got a matter of utmost urgency,” said Leona.”Can we talk to you about it?”

  Graham interrupted by whispering into Leona’s ear, telling her that it was likely that CUB was probably monitoring her iPhone and even the bishop’s phone.

  “Hey, no smooching on the job,” said the presiding bishop.

  Leona took over. “We must talk in person, Justin. Immediately. If Graham and I jump in the car right now, we could make it to your office in 45 minutes. No traffic this time of evening. It’s important. Could you wait for us?”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty on my desk to keep me busy. I’ll alert security downstairs. Come in through the door at 8755 West Higgins.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  46 Friday, Chicago, 10:16 pm

  The two sped through the night in Graham’s Honda toward the northwest side of Chi-Town. Leona pressed Graham on what his assignments would be. “I know it’s late,” she said. “But I wan
t you to contact Holthusen. In person. No phone. Tell him our theory, including the helicopter possibility. Now, here’s the delicate part. Recall that the copter which landed on the beach today was a Long Ranger IV. It was white. Suppose CUB plans to use this very bird. Or, suppose this bird is one of a fleet, all of the same model. Here’s another tumbler that might fall into place: the Long Ranger IV is the same model the president’s security used to transport me to the ship. That one was blue.”

  “Perhaps I see how this tumbles into place,” interjected Graham. “This could mean that on the president’s ship they have what they need to guide the copter, like we guide a drone. Could the homing device on the ship be modified to take over the controls of the terrorist bird? From the ship could they intercept and override the controls of any Long Ranger IV that approaches the JH?”

  “We’re on the same page, Graham. And if they fail to take control, maybe they could shoot it down without making too big of a mess. ”

  “Yes,” added Graham. “I wonder...”

  “You need not wonder alone, Graham. Persuade Holthusen to authorize whatever he needs to get control of the craft that approaches the Hancock. They might have to work all night tonight to ready the technology. One more thing. With Holthusen’s authorization, set up a monitoring team near the foot of the Hancock. Track messages coming in and going out. Be unobtrusive. CUB will have its observers on site, maybe even someone influencing the direction of the copter. I’ll want to have constant communication with the monitoring team.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “By any chance, Graham, do you have another one of those untraceable phones?”

  “Yes, by chance. I got a handful of them. They’re not all hooked up yet for me to trace, but I’ve got a couple in the trunk.”

  “Could you give one to Justin when we meet him? We’ll need to communicate without any eavesdropping.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get one from the trunk and take it up with us. I’ll set it up.”

  Graham drove his CR-V into the circlular driveway in front of the three building complex on West Higgins Road. He parked in the middle, at 8755. Graham opened the trunk and slipped a Droid into his pocket.

  The only building door open to visitors during night hours was watched by a security guard, a college-aged African American woman in a blue uniform. Slender and delicate, she sat within an imposing square desk area, a fortress twenty feet in length, with a nearly chin-high front facade. Her eyes peered over the front edge.

  “Good evening,” she said with a smile of greeting. “It’s nice to have visitors this late. Get’s kinda lonely here.”

  “We’re here to see Bishop Justin Hurley. He’s working late too, ” said Leona.

  “Bishop Hurley phoned and told me you’d be coming. You can go right up.” She pointed to the hallway leading to the Lutheran Center.

  “We know the way,” said Graham. “Thanks. My car will sit there for only a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  Graham and Leona walked the halls to the Lutheran Center and entered the elevator, pushing the button for the 11th floor. En route up, Graham and Leona took each other’s picture and Graham entered their photos and cell numbers into the new Droid's directory. The elevator door opened at the 11th floor. The two were greeted on the opposite wall with a full-sized print of Satao Watanabe’s painting, “Pentecost.” The 11th floor belonged to the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

  The presiding bishop’s corner office included giant windows on two sides looking out over a forest, beyond which O’Hare International Airport could be seen. In the moonlit night, landing flights were visible at half-minute intervals. First the shadow, then the plane itself.

  “How about a good cup of Lutheran gasoline?” asked the bishop.

  The guests agreed and in moments the bishop was back with coffee for all three of them. Graham was ready for small talk. “Leona told me that she drinks coffee only in the morning. Wine is her evening drink of choice. I think she’s trying to look good for her bishop.”

  “Got any wine, Bishop?” asked Leona. All three laughed. Leona continued. “Tonight I need Lutheran gasoline to keep me going.” She sipped from her cup.

  Graham placed the new Droid on the desk. “This phone is for you, Good Bishop.” The presiding bishop reached for the phone and pulled it toward himself, looking curiously at the faces of his two guests.

  “By any chance do you know Jafar Golshani and Mohammad Golshani?” asked Leona.

  “No. I don’t recognize the names. Why do you ask?” said the bishop.

  “They belong to an Iranian family. They’ve been kidnapped. Graham and I need to find them, and quickly. By any chance, Justin, might you have contacts among Muslim leaders who have an Iranian constituency?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Can you call them late at night?”

  “That would be bad manners.”

  “It’s an emergency, for the sake of Albany, Justin. Would they respond if you conveyed to them the urgency of this situation?”

  “Well, I should hope so.”

  “Here’s what we need to find out. First, is the Chicago Golshani family related in any way to Akbar Golshani, Iran’s president? Second, were the kidnapped boys political? Could they be persuaded to become suicide bombers? Third, does either of them know how to pilot a plane or a helicopter?”

  The presiding bishop’s face reflected both intensity and a touch of confusion as he listened.

  “And, I’m afraid, we need this information ASAP. Tonight, if possible,” added Leona.

  Graham spoke. “I have given you a phone that cannot be monitored. I’ve put our exclusive numbers on speed dial. Call one or both of us anytime during the night. Okay?”

  All agreed on how Justin Hurley would be spending the next few hours. He said he’d fill up on Lutheran gasoline. Then he walked the two to the elevator.

  Once the elevator doors had closed and they had a moment of privacy, Graham picked Leona’s right hand up into both of his. He drew it to his mouth and kissed it. Leona allowed this without resistance. Their eyes met. “You are a marvel, Lee,” he said. “When Holthusen and Hurley asked me to protect you, I had no idea how rich a treasure I’d be guarding.” He kissed her hand again, as if dubbing her royalty. With her left hand she reached the back of his neck and pulled him slightly in her direction. Once more they kissed. Their embrace broke with the opening of the elevator doors.

  Walking through the halls from the church wing toward the central building in the complex, Graham and Leona rehearsed their theory, looking for more holes.

  “Let’s go over the motive thing again,” said Graham. “So far the logic goes like this. CUB wants to perpetuate the image of an Iranian threat associated with the development of a nuclear weapon. If, on the one hand, they obtain from you the name of the Tehran saboteur, then CUB would divulge that name to his own government. He would then be eliminated. If, on the other hand, they fail to get that name, CUB will sponsor an act of terrorism that can be blamed on Iran. And American opinion will demand we maintain a hostile posture even without a nuclear threat. This will mean more business for the contractors. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, why are you in danger? Either CUB executes Plan A or Plan B. If you foil them on Plan A, why is your life threatened?”

  “You came to me, Graham. You’re the one who believes I’m in danger. It’s your turn to plug up the hole.”

  “Here’s my guess. CUB’s long range goal of keeping themselves in business could not be met if publicly exposed. Maybe CUB suspects that you’re on to them, or that you just know too much. CUB could not afford a terrorist act and then have the contractors investigated for it. Nor could the CIA for that matter. You’ve become more than merely a source of information; you’re now a threat. They gotta shut you up whether it’s Plan A or Plan B.”

  Leona paused. “Had I been taken away in that helicopter on the beach, I probably would never have returned, whether I
divulged the name or not.”

  “That’s the way I look at it too. If CUB has given up on getting the name from you, then there’s only two options left.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes, two. Either CUB follows through on the terrorist plan or they find Number Thirty, you know, the one other living member of the Tehran death march.”

  “I’m the only one that knows who that is.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits. Now, don’t Budenholzer and Holthusen know Number Thirty?”

  “Actually, yes. They know who, but not where. Only I am in contact with Number Thirty. No one else is. The CIA provided this person with a complete identity change and with a single financial account that appreciates in value so she...I mean he or she...will be supported indefinitely. The records were destroyed. So, Number Thirty is not going to be found. Even so, Number Thirty does not know what I know about the saboteur. This leaves me alone in CUB’s crosshairs, whether CUB knows it or not. And if I won’t divulge the Tehran saboteur, then I certainly won’t endanger my compatriot either.”

  “If CUB gives up on you as a source, then that leaves only one option: terrorism plus eliminating you. And maybe me, if CUB knows who I am yet.”

  “I know who you are. And I don’t want you eliminated.” said Leona.

  “Why, Lee, that’s bordering on the affectionate. Watch yourself.”

  47 Friday, Chicago, 11:54 pm

  Passing through the central lobby of the Higgins Road building, the two approached the security desk. They stopped briefly to chat. “What’s your name?” asked Graham.