Targets of Revenge

by Jeffrey Stephens

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  FEDERAL PLAZA, NEW YORK CITY

  SANDOR AND FERRIELLO took their cars to the CIA field office in downtown Manhattan. After checking in with the assistant director in charge and saying a quick hello to a couple of agents Sandor knew, they were shown to a small conference room where they phoned Raabe on a secure line.

  “Please tell me you have something new.”

  “We do, but it doesn’t seem to fit,” Raabe said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “The group at NCTC has gone back, reviewing earlier phone calls, analyzing the discussions. There’s an incredible amount of chatter about the need for cars.”

  “Cars?”

  “Over a hundred of them in one conversation.”

  “Why would they need all those cars to spread anthrax?”

  “That’s what I mean,” Raabe said. “It doesn’t fit. If you’re going to spread anthrax, you do it in some sort of confined space. Indoors is obviously the ideal environment, but it could work in a stadium or some other outdoor location with a concentration of people.”

  “Not the best choice, though. A gust of wind can clear the stuff out before it does maximum damage.”

  “Exactly. So why would Adina arrange for a hundred cars? Or more?”

  Sandor thought it over. “Let’s assume one or more of them is going to be the means of delivering the anthrax. What if the rest of them are being used as decoys? This way, if we get too close, he’ll have all the cars scatter, making it impossible for us to know which one is carrying the goods.”

  “No way. I mean, if he had a hundred identical cars with identical license plates, maybe I could buy that. But there’s nothing in these transcripts to indicate they need a particular model or type of vehicle.”

  Sandor nodded, then looked to the police detective. “I’m putting you on speaker,” he told Raabe. “Bobby Ferriello from the NYPD is here.” Then Sandor asked what Byrnes thought about this.

  “He’s stumped too. Thinks it sounds more like a carjacking ring than a plot by Adina.”

  “But there were calls about this back and forth to Venezuela.”

  “Until recently.”

  “And a call today to a private plane.”

  “Right.”

  Sandor nodded. “This is classic Adina. He’s got a secondary plan, maybe even something to cover the first. Or the other way around. Do we have anything at all on the location of all these cars?”

  “Not yet. As I told you, the phone calls came from Washington Heights. We managed to pinpoint one of the early calls to a coffee shop on 207th Street. Not very helpful. The best guess here is that they’re somewhere in that neighborhood, but keep in mind they might not even all be parked in one place. The discussions were vague, but the message was that they need vehicles. They may be coming from all different directions.”

  “Damn.”

  “You said it, brother.”

  “What about the lead in the South Bronx?”

  “The DHS is on it. As I told you, they’ve been keeping an eye on that mosque.”

  “Anything interesting going on there?”

  “I was coming to that. They had a gathering of their congregation tonight, a closed-door session. Supposed to be a discussion about improving multi-cultural relationships in the community.”

  “Don’t tell me when the meeting broke they went running to a local parking lot and jumped into a hundred cars.”

  “No, wise-ass, but I did get word that six of them left the place around twenty minutes ago and headed for the subway.”

  “What’s so unusual about that?”

  “Spotter said they appeared to be a bit nervous, heads on a swivel, that sort of thing.”

  “We having them tailed?”

  “DHS has people on it and your friends at the FBI have been notified.”

  “The DD’s task force was told?”

  “Everyone’s up to speed. This may be nothing more than six guys going to town for the evening, but our leads are thin so we’re tracking everything.”

  “Descriptions?”

  “Six men, all look to be in their twenties or thirties. Two black, four appear to be Middle Eastern. Casual dress. No indication they’re armed.”

  “Of course not. If they’re involved in anything here, then they’re on their way to make a pickup, not a delivery.” Sandor turned to Ferriello. “Any thoughts from an experienced street cop?”

  Ferriello hesitated. “Six suicide bombers on their way to be fitted up?”

  “It’s a stretch, but I have a sick feeling in my stomach telling me the same thing.”

  “Maybe not, though,” the detective said. “Get back to the cars for a second. They would make sense if they’re using them to split up a large delivery of narcotics in the next couple of days. The shipment we’re after may be more than a ton of product. Once it gets here, spreading the risk would be smart.”

  Sandor, who had been leaning over the speakerphone in the middle of the conference table, decided to have a seat. “Maybe,” he said. “But then you’ve got a hundred runners chasing around town with millions of dollars of coke. Not sure that would sit too well with the Russkis in Brighton Beach.”

  “Good point,” Ferriello admitted.

  “So how do the boys from the mosque fit in?”

  “Hold on,” Raabe said. They listened to him have a brief discussion with someone in the background, then he returned to the phone. “Our six friends just took the number-four train into Manhattan.”

  “We’re already in Manhattan. I’m heading for the car; let me know when you find out where they get off.”

  “Will do,” Raabe said and hung up.

  Sandor hit the OFF button on the circular speakerphone, then looked up at Ferriello. “It may be a nothing lead.”

  Ferriello nodded.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to get back to Brooklyn.”

  The policeman shook his head. “You heard my captain. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Then we have two serious issues you need to understand. First, my agency has no jurisdiction here. Second, we’re dealing with terrorists, and I’m not interested in taking prisoners.”

  “We’ve met before,” Ferriello reminded him. “And I might be helpful to you, since I do have jurisdiction.”

  “You’re already way out on a limb. Staying there is not likely to be a wise career move.”

  The detective laughed. “Are you kidding me or what?”

  They looked at each other for a moment without speaking. Then Sandor said, “All right, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I won’t.”

  Sandor stood up. “Then let’s go.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  NEW YORK

  ALEJANDRO AND JORGE made the drive into Manhattan without incident. At this time of night there was not much traffic heading south, and both had been to New York before so they had no trouble finding the hotel in Times Square.

  The building was enormous, rising more than fifty stories above Broadway, with a huge covered parking facility in the center. The north side of the building was connected to a theater featuring live performances. To the south, the building featured a large, multilevel movie complex.

  Alejandro pulled up to the sign in the midst of the reception area that said “Stop Here,” where he was immediately greeted by an African-American valet. Alejandro gave the name on his bogus passport, the name in which their reservation had been made. Then he and Jorge climbed out of the rented sedan.

  “Will you be staying with us long?” the pleasant young man asked as he jotted the license plate number on the parking receipt.

  “Three nights,” Alejandro said, knowing that he would be gone in just a few hours.

  “It’ll be a pleasure to have you here. Need help with your luggage?”

  There was no way around this, as Adina had warned them. They should not be juggling six thirty-pound cases, not without drawing unwanted attention to themselves.
“Yes, that would be helpful,” Alejandro said, then reached inside the car and hit the button that popped the trunk open.

  The valet grabbed one of the brass trollys and wheeled it to the rear of the car. “Cool luggage,” he said.

  Jorge was standing beside him to oversee the transfer of the hard plastic suitcases. “Yes,” he said, forcing the friendliest tone he could manage. “They hold up very well when the airport baggage handlers start tossing things around.”

  The young black man nodded. “Six, huh? Don’t they whack you for extra bag charges? You oughta just get yourselves a couple of big ones.”

  “Good idea,” Jorge said, then watched as the cases were placed on the trolley.

  “I’ll check in,” Alejandro said. “You can stay with the luggage.”

  Jorge nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” the valet said with a wide grin, “I got your stuff covered.”

  “It’s not you we’re worried about,” Alejandro told him. “This is New York, right?”

  The young man laughed, then led them to the sliding electric doors.

  “By the way,” Alejandro said, “we’ll be needing the car again in a couple of hours. Just so it doesn’t get buried in your parking lot.” He held out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Like I said,” the valet told him as he made the money disappear with the dexterity of a pickpocket, “I’ve got you covered.”

  ————

  As Alejandro was checking in at the front desk of their midtown hotel, Adina was using the navigation system in his rented car to find his way to meet Miguel Lasco. His destination was a restaurant, just off Interstate 684 in Westchester County, located in what appeared to be a large old house that had once been the main residence of a country estate. He pulled into the parking lot, turned off the car, and waited. There had been no indication he was followed, but taking an extra minute or two was the sensible move.

  Convinced he was safe, he got out, took hold of the attaché case he had brought with him, climbed up the steps to the veranda, and entered the front door.

  Lasco had no idea what Adina looked like, but Adina had a description of the small, dark-skinned man. He spotted him seated in a booth, just off the bar area.

  “I see my friend there,” Adina told the hostess who was standing in the small foyer, then walked past her.

  As Adina approached, Lasco started to get to his feet. Adina sat him back down with a firm look and an almost imperceptible shake of his head. When he reached the table he laid the case on the bench and slid in behind it.

  “It is a great honor to meet you,” Lasco said in a hushed voice.

  Adina frowned. “It is always sunny in Caracas.”

  “Ah yes,” Lasco replied with a look that said he had forgotten himself. Then he gave the required response. “Except when the clouds come from the north.”

  “Good. You are Lasco. My name need not be spoken.”

  “Of course. I was not sure you would come yourself.”

  “I believe you are due that respect,” Adina lied. He would have preferred not to have come to the United States at all, but changing circumstances required the involvement of both him and his men to ensure the success of this operation. He was frankly disgusted at the notion of playing the role of bag man to this greedy little Venezuelan, but with Alejandro and Jorge in the city he had no other option.

  “Thank you,” Lasco said.

  A waitress appeared and Adina requested a glass of their best red wine. Lasco already had a beer in front of him.

  “Will you be needing menus?”

  Adina had no interest in dining with Lasco, but he suddenly realized he had not eaten all day. “Give us a few minutes,” he replied, sending her off for the wine.

  “Things are in place,” Lasco said. “Everyone is ready.”

  “I should hope so,” Adina said as he gently patted the attaché beside him. It contained a portion of the cash given to him by Mateo. “This mission is well planned and well funded.”

  Lasco did his best not to look in the direction of the case. “Our friends in the Bronx are also prepared.” He hesitated before adding, “We were surprised to hear that some of them will be meeting with your men tonight.”

  Adina concealed his anger. Lasco had no need to know men were being sent from the mosque in the South Bronx to meet with Alejandro and Jorge. Ever the master of compartmentalization, there was no need for Lasco or any of his people to be told about the anthrax attack. They had a different task. Providing them information beyond that would only create unnecessary danger. “There are various matters to be addressed tonight. Nothing is being kept from you that would affect your role.”

  Now Lasco could not resist peeking at the attaché.

  “Nor is your role being diminished in any way, if that is your concern.”

  Lasco’s face said there were other concerns. “These couriers from the mosque, I have been told they are carrying detonation devices.”

  “They are,” Adina reluctantly admitted. Another breach in the chain of communication. “Why should that be a concern for you or your people?”

  Lasco drew a deep breath. “Please be assured that our respect for you is of the highest order. We have taken risks and will be taking even greater risks, as you know. But our young men,” he continued, his voice even quieter now, “they are not suicide bombers.”

  “Please,” Adina said with some alarm as he quickly looked around them, “be careful.”

  “My apologies.” Lasco lowered his voice to a whisper. “All I am trying to say is that we have designed an operation from which all of us should walk away unscathed. The last-minute introduction of detonators, for purposes that have not been shared with us, is a matter of grave concern to the members of my inner circle.”

  Adina sat back against the hard bench. The assault to be carried out by Lasco involved numerous automobiles, some of which had been rigged with combustibles that would only be triggered once his drivers were safely distanced from the point of attack. He could understand why the sudden appearance of detonators, especially in the hands of extremists, was troublesome. Perhaps Lasco’s men feared they were to be made human sacrifices as the final stages of this terrorist strike were played out.

  Adina actually began laughing just as the waitress brought his wine and placed two menus on the table.

  Interrupting what she thought to be a jovial exchange between two friends, she said, “We have some specials, if you’d like to hear them now.”

  “Later,” Adina said as he waved her away, then turned back to his companion. “I see why you are worried, I do, but be assured you have nothing to concern yourself about. The detonators are intended for another target entirely.” He was not about to divulge his plans for the six Al Qaeda operatives or the use of those timers with the cases of toxin.

  It was evident that Lasco was not satisfied. “I take it you are not prepared to tell me about this other phase of your operation.”

  Adina looked him squarely in the eyes, quickly gauging the impact of either refusing the man’s request or granting it. He said, “I trust you, and you must trust me. These items have nothing whatever to do with your objectives.” Now it was his turn to lower his voice. “Once you have accomplished what you set out to do, I have men setting up these devices within the financial district,” he lied. “To add to the destruction.”

  Lasco nodded, wanting to believe him. “The financial district,” he repeated.

  “Don’t you see, once your men have done their job, that area will be especially vulnerable. We could not bring those sorts of devices through Customs, so we enlisted the aid of our friends in the Bronx.” As Lasco mulled it over, Adina added, “I entrust this information to you and you alone. For the security of my men, it would be best if you did not tell anyone else.”

  “Of course. You have my word.”

  Adina tried to appear relieved at having put Lasco’s mind at ease. What Lasco was thinking, however, was something else entirely.


  “Now let us talk about something pleasant. You have something for me,” Adina said as he gestured at the paper bag beside Lasco. “And I have your money.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  NEW YORK

  TIMUR VAKNIN RECEIVED word from his bouncers that it was safe to return to his nightclub. The authorities had made their move, as expected. Ferriello had arrived in the company of that annoying federal agent Sandor, this time brandishing a search warrant. After rummaging around his private office, they took Ivan in handcuffs and left.

  Sudakov was an imbecile, he grumbled to himself as his driver turned onto the street behind the old building that housed Little Siberia. What sort of fool would endanger a hugely profitable business by becoming involved with the likes of Rafael Cabello? Did Sudakov really believe that the infamous Adina had abandoned terrorism for narcotics smuggling? What a jackass.

  Now Vaknin and his club were being targeted by every federal authority from the FBI to the DHS. His organization and their operations had been placed under a microscope as never before.

  Sudakov, you stupid bastard.

  The car came to a stop by the alley that led to the basement entrance. Vaknin needed to get to his office to see what had been taken and, perhaps more important, what remained. Not even Ivan knew of the existence of the safe he had installed beneath the floor. Hopefully that was intact, along with all the cash he kept there.

  Taking the driver with him he strode quickly down the long, dark passage, removing the key from his pocket as he approached the rear door to the building.

  ————

  From the rooftop across the street, the lookout for the third SWAT team spotted him. “We have visual confirmation,” the officer advised into his microphone.

  “Is it Vaknin?” the team leader asked.

  “That would be affirmative. Looks just like his picture. Walking toward the rear entrance with one other man.”