“Well, maybe somebody impersonating you called our show yesterday and requested to be invited. But I’d like to address a more substantive matter, sir, your opinion of these bombings.”
“Have you seen any group, Mr. O’Reilly, that has come forward to accept responsibility for these terrible crimes? And I remind you that as these crimes were committed, atrocities against Muslims have been perpetrated by America and its Zionist friends. You talk about crimes committed by Muslims. What about the crimes committed against Muslims?”
I could have written this dirtbag’s script for him, thought O’Reilly. It’s the same thing every time he comes on the show.
“So, Mr. Youseff, you have no opinion about the bombings?”
“I have already given you my opinion. Were you not listening to me? It is my opinion that the infidel is simply using unfortunate events to besmirch the great religion of Islam. Islam is a religion of peace. It is inconceivable that you only focus on violence by a tiny group of people to drag our name into your gutter.”
O’Reilly mused that it was time to have a serious chat with his producer. Can the ratings bump be so high to justify this nonsense?
“Well, you’re a stand-up guy for joining us, Mr. Youseff,” O’Reilly lied to the camera. I wish you a good evening.”
***
Ibrahim Youseff, along with his bodyguard, Ali Hassan, walked to a waiting car. The two men climbed into the back seat, and Youseff told the driver to take them to a mosque in New Jersey.
Hassan looked at Youseff and laughed. “Once again you have confounded the fool O’Reilly. It amazes me that he keeps booking you for his show.”
“All he cares about are his ratings. When I’m on the show the ratings soar.”
“That’s because you tell the truth, sir.”
The car pulled up to the mosque in Linden, New Jersey. The bodyguard told the driver to pull around back, a deserted area with few lights.
“Why are we driving to the rear?” asked Youseff.
“We can’t be too careful with your safety, sir.”
As Youseff stepped out of the car, Hassan pointed a 45-caliber pistol at the back of his head and fired once, killing him instantly.
Chapter 15
Dee and I are early risers, but the Yamani case was starting to interfere with our sleep.
At 5:15 a.m. we sat in the kitchen as I read The New York Times, a habit I had picked up in New York. She gave me a shoulder rub as I read.
“I’ll give you a half-hour to cut that out.”
Nobody gives a shoulder rub like Diana Blake.
“We need to take a few days off, honey,” she said. “This crap is starting to interfere with our lives too much. We’re not doing anybody a favor if we burn ourselves out. Today’s Saturday. Why don’t we play a game of catch and then take a long drive? How about the Michigan Dunes? We haven’t been there in a while. Hey, I’m talking to you.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said as I read a front page article about another shopping mall bombing, this one in San Francisco.
“Holy shit,” I said, “you’ve got to listen to this.”
Another Mall Bombing — San Francisco is the Latest Target
By Adam Jenkins for The New York Times
“The third shopping mall bombing in a month occurred yesterday afternoon in the Mission District of San Francisco. At least 100 people were killed and another 75 injured. Pieces of a satchel, which was later found to have contained the bomb, were gathered at the scene. Someone sent a video of a man standing next to the package to the police anonymously. A police department spokesman, who asked not to be identified because of the ongoing investigation, told The New York Times that the man’s thumbprint was found on the bomb detonator, which was lying on a counter. The investigators were also able to obtain a DNA sample. The suspect, Mustafa Almeth, a 26 year-old bookstore employee, is in custody. His lawyer, Jerome Blackwell, stated that his client has been mistakenly identified.”
“Oh my God,” Dee said. “I cannot believe this. A thumbprint, a video, and DNA. Is there a bombing franchise out there?”
“I need to call Georgina. I’ll put her on speaker.”
“Earl Lonergan,” the voice announced.
“Hi judge, Matt and Diana Blake here. We just met with your charming wife yesterday.”
“She told me all about it. I can’t tell you two how happy I am that the nice couple I married three years ago are out of the Witness Protection Program. I only knew you as Matt and Diana for security purposes. I’ll get Georgi.”
“Hi Matt, hi Diana. What are you two doing up so early on a Saturday morning? It’s seven o’clock here so it’s six in Chicago.”
“Georgi, have you read this morning’s Times?”
“Not yet, but I have it right here.”
“Look at page one, left side above the fold.”
Georgina took a couple of minutes to read the article.
“Holy shit, this is starting to sound familiar. Another detonator left out in the wide open, another thumbprint, and another video. It almost seems like it’s the same screenwriter. I wonder if the accused writes books.”
Diana was ahead of the both of us. She opened the amazon.com site on her iPad and searched for Mustafa Almeth.
“A guy named Mustafa Almeth from San Francisco has written three novels,” Diana said. “Here are the titles: Islam in the Shadows, The End of Days Cult, and The Endless War of Religion, We can’t positively ID the guy yet, but I know we’re all making the same deductions. Another novelist who’s critical of Islam and who writes under his own name. I feel like I’m living in a novel myself.”
“I think Jerome Blackwell, Esq. has just joined our team although he doesn’t know it yet,” I said. “I’ll try to get in touch with him in a couple of hours. I hope he works on Saturdays.”
***
At 9 a.m. Pacific time, 11 a.m. Chicago time, I called the number of Jerome Blackwell. The Internet makes it easy as hell to track down a lawyer’s phone number. According to the entry on law.com, he’s a solo practitioner and specializes in criminal law.
“Jerry Blackwell here, can I help you?”
“Mr. Blackwell, my name is Matt Blake. I’m an attorney in Chicago. May I call you Jerry? Also on the line is Georgina Rice, another lawyer. She’s in New York. My wife and partner Diana is also on the line. I’m glad you work on Saturday.”
“I just stopped by the office to check my mail. I’m on my way to play golf. So what’s this about?”
“It’s about your new client, Mr. Mustafa Almeth.”
“You have my undivided attention, Matt. Go ahead.”
I filled him in on the facts of the Yamani and Sidduq cases. I told him about the detonators, the thumbprints, the DNA, and the videos. I also asked if his client was the author of the books that Dee had researched. He confirmed that his client was the author.
“So, Jerry, we have three literate authors who go around leaving thumbprints on bomb detonators and posing for videos.”
“This is fucking unbelievable,” Jerry Blackwell said. “Coincidences like this don’t just happen. This is not a coincidence. Something is going on. Do you have any idea what this could be about?”
“Jerry,” Diana said on the speaker phone, “I assume you have the video of your client. Please email it to me so we can give it to our forensics guy to compare it to the other two videos.”
“Another thing, Jerry,” I said. “Did your guy have a physical exam within a few days of the bombing?”
“Yes! Someone calling for his employer told him to report to a clinic for a routine annual physical four days before the bombing.”
“So did the other two,” I said. “Do you think that could explain the blood DNA and the thumbprint? We may be a little bit ahead of you, Jerry, but we’re as stumped as you are. We need to meet. Georgi, are you up for a trip to San Francisco?”
Our fraternity of bombing suspects just grew larger.
Chapter 16
“This is Shep
ard Smith for Fox News ladies and gentlemen. I have a follow-up on yesterday’s bombing at a shopping mall in San Francisco. As The New York Times reported this morning, the suspect’s name is Mustafa Almeth. All we know at this point is that he is a bookstore employee, but also writes novels. He’s being held without bail. Jerome Blackwell, his attorney, will join us later in the broadcast.
In an unrelated matter, Fox News has learned that Ibrahim Youseff, the fiery preacher who was the imam of a mosque in Los Angeles, has been found dead behind a mosque in New Jersey. He’s an apparent murder victim, and was discovered this morning with a bullet wound to the back of his head. Based on the time-of-death estimate from the medical examiner, Mr. Youseff was shot less than an hour after he appeared on the Fox broadcast of the O’Reilly Factor show last night. We don’t know a lot of details at this point, but we’ll keep our viewers up to date on the latest developments.
In other news…”
***
Dee and I had just gotten off the phone with Jerry Blackwell and Georgi Rice.
“Maybe I’m starting to go crazy, Matt, but do you see any possible connection between our bomber cases and that imam who got whacked?”
“I was about to say ‘how could there be a connection?’ but at this point I don’t know what to think. There’s been a lot in the news recently about bombings in the Muslim world, both here in the States and in Arab countries. Maybe we should start to question our assumptions, not that we really have any assumptions.”
“You know as well as I know, Matt, that we always have to start with our assumptions. That’s the way a lawyer’s mind works, no?”
“Well, if not for you, honey, my assumptions about our client Al would have led me down a dark path. You reminded me to think like a lawyer. Al has you to thank for the progress we’ve made.”
“As soon as I’m done writing that article I’m gonna start to connect some dots,” Dee said.
“Let me know when it’s ready for me to proofread and edit.”
“Hey, Matt, you have enough on your mind. I’ll use an editor at The Atlantic.”
“Dee, I want you to drill something into your pretty head. I am never, ever, too busy to work with you. My work is your work and your work is my work. Have I mentioned how much I love you?”
We hugged.
“That’s the first time today, baby. I love you too. Hey, we didn’t sleep well last night. Let’s take a nice nap.”
She held my face in both hands and stared at me with those beautiful blue eyes as she said that.
“A nap? You mean…?”
“Yeah. That’s what I mean.”
Chapter 17
I made a special application to the court to allow my client to use a laptop computer, which I would provide for him. I had to stipulate that the hard drive would contain no browser or other way to access the Internet. No web surfing, no email. Fair enough, I thought. At least he’ll have a word processor to work with. As Al’s attorney I felt I should help him in as many small ways as possible, including encouraging him to keep up with his writing. Al was still in solitary confinement, which can be a horrible thing, but not in his case. Because so many of his fellow inmates were of the jihadi persuasion, if he were released into the general population his life wouldn’t be worth a fucking nickel. My job was to save his life, from the charges against him, as well as from those who would like to see him dead.
“Good morning, Al, you’re looking well despite your chains. I tried to convince the court that all that hardware wasn’t necessary, but the judge wouldn’t buy it.”
“Thanks for trying, Matt. Hey, speaking of thanks, that was great that you got me a laptop. Shit, I’m not even paying you and you shower me with gifts.” He lowered his voice and said, “And thanks for the e-cigarette too. How did you know I wanted a computer?”
“Woody told me that you’re a writer. We looked you up on Amazon, and I bought The Sands of Destruction which I’m reading on my Kindle. Interesting book, to say the least. Why didn’t you tell me about it when we first met?”
“I didn’t think about it, Matt. At the time I didn’t think my novels were important.”
“From what I’ve read so far, Al, especially from your preface, it appears that you’re somewhat critical of Islam, or at least radical Islam.”
“I’m also critical of cancer, Matt, which is exactly what those jihadi fucks have turned Islam into.”
“But you still refuse to speculate with me on who framed you. If any radical Islamists are familiar with your book, my guess is that you’re not very popular. Would I be correct?”
“Matt, I’d prefer to let the facts speak for themselves.”
“Which brings me to a question, Al, a simple question. Do you know a guy from New York named Muhammed Sidduq, who also goes by the name, ‘Mickey’?”
Al averted his eyes from me. He didn’t answer. I repeated the question, and he said, “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you just answered my question.”
“No I didn’t. I just asked you why you asked it.”
“You’re not a good liar, Al. The way you responded told me that you know this Sidduq guy. Remember, I’m a lawyer. Part of my training is to spot lies, and that’s what you just gave me. So now I have another question. Do you know a guy from San Francisco named Mustafa Almeth?”
Al looked down at his hands.
“Okay, so it’s obvious that you know Mr. Almeth as well. Al, what the fuck is going on? The three of you have all been arrested for bombing shopping malls. Three defendants in cases with almost identical evidence profiles, and you all know one another. You’re lying to me, Al, and you know it. Time to come clean with your attorney or I just may file an application to be removed from your case.”
I was serious. If my client wants to march toward death, screw it. Of course, Dee would freak out if I did that. She’s my conscience.
“Okay, Matt. What I’m about to tell you is something few people in the world know about —very few. There is a group of people, and Mickey, Jake—oh, yeah, Mustafa prefers to be called Jake—and I are on the periphery, but we’re involved, or have become involved because of our writing.”
“Does this group of people have a name?”
“Yes, it’s the NFL.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Al, I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m serious, Matt. It’s an acronym for Not For Long. Mickey, Jake, and I are not— how did that guy put it in The Godfather—we’re not in the ‘muscle end of the family.’ ”
“This ‘family,’ as you put it, has a muscle end?”
“Yes, real muscle. NFL is a good acronym, because these guys play rough. It’s a group of Muslims or former Muslims, who have gotten fed up with the way the Muslim faith was hijacked, just like Mickey, Jake, and me. The three of us just write about it, but the other parts of the family are rough guys, real rough.”
“Describe rough.”
“They kill people. They kill jihadis. You may think of them as ‘anti-jihadis.’ They’re not sadistic bastards like your typical Islamist warrior. They don’t behead, burn, or drown anybody. They try to avoid hurting innocent people. But they are killers, prolific killers.”
“So let me ask you a pretty important question, Al. What if these NFL types found out that you just told me about them? What would they do to you?”
“Nothing. They’d probably ask me to stop talking, but the word is ask. It may sound strange, but they seem to be ethical people—unless you’re a jihadi—then you get fucking whacked. There’s a war going on, Matt, and you just heard about it from me. It’s true and it’s happening. I’m sure you’ve read in the newspapers recently about a bunch of attacks on radical mosques, terrorist training camps, and radical leaders. Nobody has stepped forward to claim responsibility, like the Sunnis do when killing Shiites and vice versa. No, these were quiet NFL actions. Quiet and deadly.”
“Al, I guess you heard about that radical preacher, Ibrahim Youseff, who got killed a fe
w days ago after appearing on a TV show. Was the group you’re talking about involved in that?”
“I don’t doubt it. Of course I don’t have actual knowledge of it, but all I can say is that it was a classic NFL hit.”
“Okay, Al, you’re spinning my head around. But now this brings me full circle back to the case against you. I’ve asked this before, and I’m asking it again now. Who framed you and why?”
“The jihadis, and I’m including both al-Qaeda and ISIS, have begun a new project of casting reform-minded Muslims in a bad light. The objective is to enable them to say, especially to the American public, ‘See, there’s no such thing as a reform Muslim—they’re all jihadis, just like us.’ So that’s why you see three reform guys, Mickey, and Jake, and me, in the middle of an elaborate frame-up. The objective is simple. They want to cast us as typical radical killers. They can then point to our writings and say we just wrote that stuff to cover up a plot.”
The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) Page 6