“I’m going to take a guess, and my gut tells me it’s the right guess. I think Imam Mike is one of them, maybe not the muscle end, but I think he plays for the NFL.”
***
I felt like shit. In my line of work when you find an inside guy, a mole, it makes your life easier. And it makes the country’s security a lot safer. And when you find a mole whom you’ve learned to trust over the years, it’s like a gift from God. But now I can’t be sure that I can trust Imam Mike. I felt like I was on a boat next to a dock in a storm. And my hands were tied behind my back. And somebody cut the lines.
Chapter 28
“Jack, we need to get together,” Bonnie Logan said to her husband.
“We just had breakfast two hours ago, Bon. Miss me that much?”
“Wiseass. I want to show you the CSU report on the mosque shooting. I’ll be at your office in five minutes.”
“Agent Logan will see you now, detective.”
“Jack, you were in the Marines, so maybe you can help me to understand this stuff. I felt like I was reading a summary of a military operation. The CSU people have completed their work, and here it is. I’ve investigated more shootings in the past 20 years than I can remember, but this one was different. Remember how we talked about the precision of the attack? Well this report looks like a script for an action movie.”
She put a series of diagrams on his desk.
“Here’s the analysis of the shooting patterns. I was correct when I assumed that all the shooters stood in the back of the room and opened fire. I was also accurate that the guns had been taped to the bottom of the long bench. Yes, there’s no doubt that there was an inside accomplice. But look at these patterns. Not only were the shooters lined up, but they stood a few feet from each other. It’s obvious that each shooter concentrated on a specific part of the crowd. The angle of trajectory shows that this was no wild gunfire. It’s almost as if they were on a shooting range, carefully firing at specific targets.”
“I see what you’re talking about, Bonnie. This was one carefully planned operation. Any word on the weapons used?”
“Yes. From the shell casings and spent rounds we know that all of the shots came from M16s.”
“So this was a military style hit with military weapons. Anything else, Bonnie?”
“Yes, something big. A cleric from the mosque is missing, a guy named Abaid Farooq. He serves as the building manager among his other roles. The guys I interviewed all said that they didn’t see him that morning. They all thought it was odd because he’s a constant presence at the mosque, checking lighting, furniture arrangements, temperature, and stuff like that. He’s gone. I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that he was the inside man, and he was second in charge of the entire place. He probably went with the shooters in the getaway car.”
“Do we know anything about this Farooq guy, Bonnie?”
“I called Diana Blake. Remember, she’s Matt Blake’s wife, the guy who represents the defendant in the Chicago Mall bombing case. She’s writing that book about reformers you told me about. She found his name mentioned in two of the non-fiction books she’s researched. It could be a name coincidence, but it’s a lead. Diana is a hell of a resource. I think Farooq may be a star player for the NFL.”
“I have to meet with Secretary Bellamy and that CIA guy Buster in a couple of minutes. I want to take this stuff with me.”
***
Buster and Jack walked into Rick Bellamy’s New York office. The purpose of the meeting was to bring Rick up to date on their meeting with Imam Mike.
“I’m going to let Buster take the lead on this, Rick,” Jack said. “I know that the two of you have been close to Imam Mike for years. Then I have some interesting things to tell you about the mosque shooting.”
“Rick,” Buster said, “you and I have been close to Mike for a long time. I’ve always thought about him as the best mole we ever had. You and I learned over the years that we can trust him.”
“Buster,” Rick said, “this build-up to your story is quite fascinating, but would it offend you if I asked you to get to the fucking point?”
Buster laughed. “Sorry, Rick. I’m usually a get-to-the-point kind of guy, so I’ll get to the point. Mike lied to us. Jack and I completely agree. Bennie Weinberg isn’t the only guy in town who knows how to spot bullshit. Jack and I have been investigators for too many years not to be able to spot a lie.”
Rick Bellamy leaned back in his chair. Then he leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk, his face in his hands.
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Bellamy said. “You’ve just shocked the living shit out of me. Please go on. What was Mike lying about?”
“He lied about the secret group we’ve been talking about. As soon as we brought up the subject of the mysterious NFL, Mike transformed before our eyes. He started to perspire, kept fidgeting with his napkin, and couldn’t look either of us in the eyes. He knows something about this outfit, and he ain’t talking.”
“We’ve always known Mike for what he obviously is, a reformer,” Bellamy said. “He even refers to himself that way. He’s a big fan of that woman Ayaan Ali Hirsi, the reformer of all reformers. So what the hell made Mike turn the other way?”
“Hold on Rick,” Buster said. “We just told you he lied to us. But I don’t see anything that tells me he turned at all. Mike is a reformer, and he may have started to hang around with some bad-ass reformers. Mike is still about as non-radical as you can get.”
“Buster,” Jack Logan said, “I know you’ve told us before, but I’m going to ask you again. Does the CIA have operatives on the inside? I know you don’t like to admit it, but you have be up-front with Rick and me.”
“Of course I have guys inside,” Buster said, “but they’re inside the other side, the jihadi side. We get feedback all the time from our moles about terror activities. And the most important mole has always been Imam Mike. But now we’re talking about another whole group of people, a group that we know diddly squat about.”
“But you’re convinced that Mike knows about them. How can we get him to open up to us? The thought suddenly occurs to me that as Mike feeds us information about pending terror activity, he feeds the same stuff to this NFL group.”
“Well, not just terror plans,” Jack Logan said. “If that attack on the mosque was pulled off by these people, it tells me they have a huge intelligence apparatus and they’re not only interested in upcoming events. They just want to whack radicals.”
Bellamy got up from his chair and walked over to the window with his hands on his hips. He cracked his knuckles and slowly walked back to the table.
“I’m going to indulge in some idle speculation, guys,” Bellamy said. “I’m telling you that I’m not formulating any plans but I’m just thinking. Am I clear?”
“Rick,” Buster said, “we’ve known each other a long time. Go ahead and speculate.”
“Okay, let me pull this all together into its basic elements. Collectively, our job is to keep America safe. And keeping America safe, over the past few years, has meant fighting radical Islam. With me so far?”
They both nodded.
“So now we find out about some secretive group of rough characters who call themselves the NFL or Not For Long, or whoever the fuck they are. Their job in life, from what we’re starting to piece together, is to wage war against radical Islam, the same people we’re fighting. So, concerning this group, I suddenly have a big question, for me as well as for you two, and here it is: Why should we give a shit?”
Jack Logan stood up and walked over to the coffee service. He worried that he may seem insubordinate, but as Director of the FBI Counterterrorism Task force, he didn’t have a menial position and he knew his voice had to be heard.
“Here’s my take, Rick, and I know it’s idle speculation. I’ve been an FBI agent for a long time. If there’s one thing that’s become part of my soul, it’s that I enforce the law. I don’t pick sides. I don’t hold grudges. I enforce
the law. What we just saw the other day at that mosque was the slaughter of 95 American citizens. Hey, guys, I’m not preaching, but I’m just reminding us of who we are. If this group is intent on attacking American citizens, whether we’re fond of those citizens or not, don’t we have a simple obligation to stop them?”
“Jack, you’re absolutely correct. But just to play this thing out a bit more, I have a simple fill-in-the-blank question. The enemy of my enemy is__________?”
“My friend,” Buster and Jack said simultaneously.
“Right,” Bellamy said, “but we all know that little quiz isn’t something that guides our legal system. If we’re fighting the same people as this NFL outfit, what’s the difference between us? That’s not a hypothetical question. What’s the difference?”
“The United States Constitution,” Jack and Buster both answered.
“Of course that’s the correct answer. In the dark recesses of our minds we may wish that we could pull off some of the shit that these NFL people are engaged in, but as I said, that’s only in the dark recesses of our minds. In our conscious thoughts we know that we can’t act that way. As Jack said, we’re law enforcement people, and we’re sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States.”
Bellamy stood up again.
“So to get back to my original question, please remind me what it was.”
“I believe you asked, ‘Why should we give a shit?’ ” said Buster.
“And here’s the answer to the question ‘Why should we give a shit?’ We should give a shit because we have to give a shit.”
He turned to Jack Logan.
“Jack, before we wrap up, why don’t you go through the CSU report that your wife gave you about the mosque shootings.”
“In light of our discussion, I’m just going to summarize it. The mosque attack was a carefully planned event and it was military in its meticulousness and precise execution. From the ballistic evidence and blood pattern analysis it was clear that the attack was planned. We also found out that it was an inside job. The second man in authority at the mosque is missing, presumably gone with the shooters. So nothing in this report conflicts with what we’ve been talking about. But I have a wrap-up question, if I may, Rick.”
“Sure, Jack. Go ahead.”
“You summarized by saying that we should give a shit because we have to give a shit. So to continue with our vulgar little question, how big a shit do we have to give?”
“Let’s not go there, Jack. Let’s not go there.”
Chapter 29
Ten men stood in a cage the size of a medium panel truck. They were shoeless and all wore long brown robes. One man stood in a corner of the cage, holding onto the bars and weeping.
A man knelt on the ground next to a winch, his face completely obscured by cloth except for an opening for his eyes. He released the brake on the winch, pressed a button, and the cage slowly descended to the water below. Twenty other men, all with their faces covered, stood in a line facing the lowering cage. The captors faced the captives. One man recorded the scene with a video camera. All of the men were armed with AK-47 automatic machine guns.
The men in the cage began to shout, some screamed, as the floor of the cage reached the water. The man in the corner continued to weep. The latest execution method of the Islamic State continued toward its completion.
One of the captors stepped forward and faced the camera. He shouted, “No death is too painful for the enemies of the Islamic State. This is the way we kill rats.”
Ten of the lined-up “captors” suddenly stepped back two feet, in a precision move that they had practiced. They raised their rifles and fired at the other captors, each shooting at a pre-determined target. One of them ran to the electric winch, put on the brake and stopped the motor. By then, the cage had been lowered two feet into the water. The other captors all lay dead. He reversed the direction of the winch, took off the brake, and the cage gradually began to rise. When it cleared the water, one of the gunmen entered the crane from which the cage was suspended. He positioned the cage over dry land and lowered it.
The men in the cage screamed praise at their saviors. In a spontaneous display of thanks, they hugged the men who freed them. “Who are you, brothers? May Allah bless you,” one of them shouted.
The leader of the group of rescuers walked up to the men who had just left the cage. He raised his hands to ask for silence.
“It doesn’t matter who we are, said the man. Just remember NFL. The darkness of Islam is Not For Long. You are now free. In the building behind me you will find a table covered with food. Also on the table are keys to the four trucks parked next to the building. There are also four maps on the table. You will find a bomb detonator on the table as well, with a red activation button on the top. After you’re done eating and after you’ve moved the vehicles to a safe distance, press the detonator and the building will be destroyed. I suggest that you depart as soon as possible. May Allah be with you.”
He motioned to his fellow rescuers. The group got into two waiting vehicles and drove off at high speed.
***
Usman Massoud, the new station manager for Al Jazeera America’s New York office, prepared the conference room for an editorial meeting of 15 people. Al Jazeera America, a Middle Eastern media company, began its operations in the United States in 2013. It was praised by many American commentators for its balanced journalism. But many saw it as a propaganda outlet for the forces of radical Islam. The debate was ongoing, but it was clear to many Western journalists that since the Arab Spring of 2010, Al Jazeera networks across the world had taken on a political stance.
Massoud turned over the meeting to Zayan Hussein, the editor-in-chief. Four major stories demanded attention that day, including an update on the mass shooting at the Islamic Center in New York.
Massoud had left the door to the conference room open for better air circulation. Besides the 15 men at the meeting, there were only two other employees in the office.
Six men walked into the conference room, each taking positions on either side of the door.
“Can I help you?” Massoud said, a sudden look of fear on his face. Without saying a word, each of the men took a pistol from his holster, raised it and fired at his target. The pistols were all equipped with silencers, which are really sound suppressors, not silencers. But it avoided a loud roar that would cause alarm on the floors above and below.
All 15 of the journalists lay dead at his position by the conference table.
The men walked calmly out into the hallway. One of them shot the two remaining employees. They took the elevator 12 floors down to the ground level, walked out the door and climbed into a waiting vehicle.
***
Joel Fenster, The NYPD Chief of Police, called Bonnie Logan in her office.
“Got another mess for you, Bonnie.”
“How many, chief?”
“Fifteen people, all in one conference room, and two others in an outer office. It happened about five hours ago. My guess is the shooters used sound suppressors and that’s why we only found out about it a little while ago.”
“Oh, my God, chief. When I was with the Philadelphia PD, I’d get one, maybe two at a time.”
“Welcome to the Big Apple, Bonnie. I called your husband at the FBI. He already knew about it and will meet you there. Captain Bill Rennie is the officer in charge at the scene. It’s the offices of Al Jazeera at the Manhattan Center on 34th Street. A car is waiting for you.”
“I’m about to visit a murder scene where 17 people were shot,” Bonnie said to her police driver. “Any guess what it’s going to look like?”
“I’m glad I have another assignment uptown, detective. Enjoy.”
Jack Logan was already standing outside the conference room when Bonnie arrived. He looked at her and shook his head. They entered the room.
“Anything look familiar, Bon?”
“Yes. I expected to see more of a mess, but this looks like another disciplined
operation.”
She slowly paced back and forth across the back of the room by the door. As was her procedure, she avoided stepping on any blood spill to avoid contaminating evidence. Also, stepping in blood just plain sucks. She was about to yell some questions to the CSU people, but as she watched them go about their work, she realized they were doing exactly what they were supposed to do— measuring distances, taking blood samples, collecting spent shells, and snapping dozens of photos
“Any guess as to the guns used so far, Ms. Alderman?” she said to one of the CSI investigators.
“Based on the spent shells, so far they look like 9 millimeter pistols, detective. Not exactly cannons but good enough at close range.”
“I’m guessing there were four to six shooters,” Bonnie said. “What do you think?”
Alderman smiled. She had worked with Bonnie Logan before, and was starting to respect her as a solid homicide detective.
“That’s my guess, detective, four to six. We have to assume it was a group of gunmen, not a lone shooter. One guy couldn’t have done this without the crowd reacting and causing a scene of chaos.”
“Jack, notice that there aren’t any bullet marks on the walls above the level of a body. This wasn’t a wild shooting. Whoever did this took careful aim and shot directly at his target. The only marks on the walls are from bullets that exited a body. Also notice that each body is either still in his chair or on the floor right next to it. They didn’t have time to even think about ducking for cover. Look at that guy, the third on the left. He’s still holding a coffee cup in his hand. These poor bastards went from life to death in an instant.”
“Why do you think it took so long for somebody to call the cops?”
“I’m guessing that they used sound suppressors. Everybody in this conference room, and two other employees in the outer office have been killed. Captain Rennie just told me that the person who made the call was from the insurance company on the floor above us. She told him she needed a document signed and that’s when she walked in and saw this mess. Her story sounds plausible as hell. So four or six guys just walk in, open fire with sound-suppressed guns, shoot the shit out of the place, and walk out. I bet they didn’t even run.”
The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) Page 11