by J. C. Fields
JR looked up. “Do you see any paper scattered around the cubicles?” His hand swept the air toward the cubicle farm.
Kruger shook his head. “No.” He took a sip of coffee as JR returned to his reading. Hearing a slight humming sound, Kruger looked around the room. “What’s that noise?”
Joseph pointed toward several tiny speakers on the window ledges around the outside wall of the conference room. “Noise cancellation system. JR is using the same technology some luxury cars use to cancel outside noise. He claims it also prevents anyone from eavesdropping on conversations in this room.”
Chuckling, Kruger said, “JR, no one is looking for you anymore.”
Looking up again from his reading, JR removed his glasses. “So you say.”
Shaking his head and turning to Joseph, Kruger took another sip of coffee. “How do we start this new endeavor you’ve gotten us into?”
“Good question.”
JR closed the file he was reading and slid it over to Joseph. “As I told you before, I’m not comfortable using the porthole they’re providing.”
“I understand that.” Joseph nodded. “Sean and I believe you should use the compromise you suggested. The only ones to know will be the three of us.”
“Okay, then I’m good. I have an idea of how to start, if you’re interested.”
Both Kruger and Joseph nodded.
“I’ve been thinking we could start by canvasing Facebook and other social media sites.”
“Won’t that take a lot of resources, JR?” Kruger’s expression was grim.
“No, not as much as you think. Since Joseph first approached me about this exercise, I’ve been thinking about writing a program to troll those sites. It’s more complicated than it sounds, but that’s basically what it does; troll.”
“Troll for what?” Joseph asked.
“Keywords, pictures, hate speech, you name it. I would need guidance from Sean on the nuances for the program routine, but it could do it without monitoring.”
Kruger pursed his lips. “I’d have to think about that for a while, but I can provide a start. What about the NSA data? It could be more beneficial.”
“No problem there. I already have a computer sifting through it with a routine I wrote a couple of years ago.”
The meeting lasted another hour as the three men finalized how to move forward. When it was over, JR said, “I know both of you think I’m too paranoid sometimes, but I just don’t trust the motives of politicians. Are they setting both of you up for a fall?”
Joseph didn’t reply. Kruger grinned slightly. “Maybe. But we have an ace up our sleeve.”
Both JR and Joseph looked at Kruger. Joseph smiled and returned his gaze to JR. “You, JR. You’re our hidden ace.”
***
Joseph excused himself an hour later and left. Kruger made another cup of coffee and sat down next to JR at one of the cubicles. “Have you had a chance to look for Randolph Bishop?”
“Yeah, I haven’t found anything since Everett Stewart went through customs at the San Francisco airport. He hasn’t used a credit card or checked into a hotel. He just vanished.”
“I was afraid he would. Bishop’s smart and probably has plenty of funds available to him. He must have driven to Brenda Parker’s house. Unless he has another alias, how did he get a car?”
“Fairly simple. When you buy a car from an individual, all you need from them is a bill-of-sale and the title. If there isn’t a lien on the car, the title would be in the possession of the owner. It’s the buyer’s responsibility to register the car. In some states, the car’s license plate stays with the car and other states with the owner. At this point, no one would know Bishop bought the car. He could have used Stewart’s ID or another ID we don’t know about. If he’s paid cash for the car, gas, meals, and hotels, he’ll be impossible to track. There are thousands of family owned motels across this country that love cash. They don’t have to report it as income, so there is no record the individual renting the room was ever there. Very neat. I’ve done it myself.”
Kruger furrowed his brow. “I know how it works. We know he was in Rockford at one time. I doubt he’s still hanging around.”
“I would agree. But from there he could have driven anywhere.”
Standing, Kruger started pacing. “Can you do the same thing on newspaper websites with this trolling routine as on Facebook?”
JR frowned. “Hmmm... Hadn’t thought of that. What would we be looking for?”
“When Bishop kills, he does it viciously. He leaves a signature. In St. Louis, the four women were strangled and left nude in the same rock quarry. Brenda Parker’s was a ritual killing. Bishop left biblical references written on the wall in Brenda’s blood. I would think if you started the routine looking for vicious unsolved murders that occurred since his arrival, it might be a starting place.”
“Hmmm…” JR stared at his computer screen for several moments. “Yeah, it’s a start, Sean. I can set the routine to monitor all of the major news services and all of the newsprint groups.”
Kruger was quiet for several minutes. “JR, he’s back for a reason. I don’t think it was to kill Brenda Parker, either. He has something else planned.”
“Yeah, but what?”
Shaking his head slightly, Kruger sighed. “I wish I knew.”
Chapter 14
Chicago, IL
Bassel Safar knelt on his prayer rug facing the east. An app on his cell phone reminded him of Fajr, morning prayers. Bassel was new to Islam, having been drawn to the faith while serving as a supply sergeant in Bagdad before the American withdrawal in 2011. He was 21 at the time.
His father, Ahmad Safar, and mother, Nona, were Coptic Orthodox Christians living in Egypt. Ahmad was a professor of religious studies at the American University in Cairo and Nona a legal secretary at a large legal office specializing in business consulting for importers. When Ahmad was offered a tenured position at the University of Chicago, they left their beloved Egypt in 1985 to escape the increasing violence toward Christians by Islamic fundamentalists.
Their dream of becoming naturalized citizens was realized in November of 1989. Bassel was born the following January. Growing up, he was known as Barry. Despite the cultural diversity surrounding his father’s occupation, Barry felt isolated as he grew into his teenage years. Shy and withdrawn, he had few friends and made little effort to make new ones. During his freshman year at the University of Chicago, his parents were killed by a drunk driver one night on their way home from a reception for a new professor at the university.
His world collapsed. Without a family support system and resources, he withdrew from school and joined the Army.
On his return to the states, he started using the name Bassel again, finding it better suited his new-found pride in being from Egypt. The Army allowed him to understand who he was without the influence of his parents constantly reminding him he was an American citizen and to embrace their adopted country. He refused to ignore his heritage. He wanted to understand its culture and religion. Since Egypt was mostly Sunnis Muslims, he embraced their interpretation of Islam.
His experience in Iraq also gave him another gift: a seething hatred of American society.
On July 20, 2012 James Holmes, wearing a Blackhawk Urban Assault Vest and carrying a Smith & Wesson M&P 15 rifle, a Remington 870 Express Tactical shotgun and a Glock 22, entered a Century 16 movie theater. When he was done, twelve movie-goers were dead, and seventy others were wounded. Bassel absorbed every word he could find about James Holmes, studied where he made mistakes and followed his trial in detail.
On the day James Holmes was sentenced to twelve life sentences, plus 3,300 years, in prison, Bassel started making plans.
***
“The file you need to see is on this thumb drive.”
JR handed the small storage unit to Kruger. He slipped it into a USB port on his laptop and clicked on the file when it appeared on his screen.
After fifteen min
utes of study, Kruger looked at JR. “How did you find him?”
“YouTube. The trolling program works better than I anticipated. I got a bunch of hits, but this guy’s rants are getting more aggressive. He’s also an admirer of James Holmes.”
Kruger nodded. “Has he bought any firearms yet?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Not the exact models, but similar to the types Holmes purchased. He doesn’t have a criminal record, so all of his weapons were purchased legally.”
“His military training suggests he might not be too familiar with assault weapons.”
“Trust me, Sean, he’ll know how to use them.”
Staring at the driver’s license picture of Bassel Safar on his laptop, Kruger remained quiet. After several minutes he asked, “Does he have an email account?”
“Several.” JR nodded. “One he uses for his job, very benign. Boring, actually. He has a Gmail account he uses for personal business; it too is boring. But he has one well hidden from prying eyes that he uses to contact overseas jihadist. It—is not boring. He knows his way around computers, Sean.”
Kruger looked away from the laptop and stared at JR. “Better than you?”
With a slight grin, JR shook his head.
“How did you find the hidden email account?”
“Well, let’s say he clicked on a link in his personal email account he shouldn’t have.” JR gave Kruger a half smile.
Frowning, Kruger returned to staring at the picture of Sahar. “I probably shouldn’t ask for more details, should I?”
“Probably best.”
“How deep are you in his computer?”
“He can’t sneeze without me knowing it.”
Pointing to several items purchased by Safar, Kruger frowned. “Looks like he’s getting ready for an urban assault with all of this tactical gear.”
JR shrugged. “Not a crime to buy any of it. But the fact he’s spread his purchases around to various suppliers denotes forethought and planning. Buying any one of these items by itself tells us nothing. Together they paint a dark picture.”
Kruger withdrew the thumb drive from the USB port and put it in his jeans pocket. He closed his laptop and stood. “Keep monitoring him. We may have to send Sandy and his team to keep an eye on this guy.”
JR nodded.
***
The opening of the new Star Wars movie was two weeks away. Bassel smiled when he discovered the number of screens on which the latest installment of the popular movie franchise would be showing. The internet was a wonderful place. Over the past six months, while Bassel was accumulating his arsenal, he also was acquiring a wardrobe for an appearance in the pre-movie parade at the movie theater.
He would attend as a Storm Trooper Commando.
He was confirmed after sending a picture of himself dressed in his outfit. All he would need to do was sign in at the movie theater three hours before the first showing, and he would be told where to assemble with the rest of the parade participants. His plan was simple: participate in the parade and once inside the theater, well, he would not make the mistakes James Holmes made.
***
Looking through half-readers, retired Special Forces Major Benedict “Sandy” Knoll scanned the file on the laptop in front of him.
Joseph sat next to Sandy in JR’s conference room. Across from them were JR and Kruger. Sandy looked up over the half-glasses. “You found one, didn’t you?”
JR and Kruger nodded.
“Damn. Are we too late to stop him?”
Kruger shook his head slightly. “Don’t think so. But the window of opportunity is closing. He fancies himself an improvement on James Holmes. So I believe he will follow Holmes’s pattern of attacking a movie theater on an opening night of a major motion picture.”
“Do we know which one?” Knoll looked back at the laptop.
JR said, “Click on the file marked ‘Comparison.’”
Knoll moved the mouse and pressed the left side. A split image appeared with the left side showing a picture of a figure clad in black body armor holding an exotic looking rifle. On the right side was a photo of similarly clad figure also with an exotic looking rifle.
Looking up from the screen, Knoll looked at Kruger. “Guy on the right has a Beretta ARX 160 without a clip. Don’t recognize the one on the left.”
Kruger smiled. “That’s because the guy on the left is from the fantasy world of Star Wars. His weapon doesn’t exist. The guy on the right is our target.”
“Shit.”
Joseph nodded slightly. “That’s an understatement. JR and I couldn’t figure out what the one on the left had to do with Safar, but Kruger filled us in. It seems there’s a new Star Wars movie opening in two weeks. Our friend Safar is an admirer of James Holmes, who killed twelve and wounded seventy in a Colorado Cinema 16 on the opening night of a Batman movie. Safar submitted the picture on the right to a theater management company as an audition for a Star Wars promotional parade they are planning opening night. He was accepted to march in the parade. We think he’s going to use the parade as a ruse to get into the theater and then start firing his weapon.”
Knoll continued to stare at Safar’s picture on the laptop. “Huh.”
“This is the first one we’ve been able to isolate, Sandy.” Kruger pointed to the file. “It might be a false positive, but I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I.” Knoll stood. “I can have three guys in Chicago in less than six hours. I’ll head that way tonight. What are my rules of engagement?”
Kruger gave Knoll a grim smile. “I would prefer an arrest, but don’t let him harm anyone.”
Knoll nodded and smiled. “We won’t.”
***
Sandy Knoll watched Bassel Safar enter the high-rise office tower in downtown Chicago. “What floor is his office on?”
Jimmy Gibbs looked up. “Thirty-second floor.” Gibbs was in his late thirties, a recent retiree from the Seal Team Three and one of Sandy’s newest recruits. Average in height, he was lean, tanned, black haired and dressed like a downtown Chicago commuter. “CPA firm named Chambers, Hall and Dvorjak.”
Knoll frowned and looked at Gibbs.
Gibbs shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a junior accountant. Working on his CPA. Not well liked, but they put up with him because he’s fast, works long hours, and exceedingly good on a computer.”
“I’ve heard that.” Knoll looked up at the building. “Do we have surveillance on his house?”
Gibbs nodded. “Larry and Johnny are on it.”
Knoll nodded. “You stay here; I need to take a look at his house. Call me if he leaves the office.”
***
Dressed as an employee of the local utility company, Knoll casually walked to the rear of Bassel Safar’s row house in southern Chicago. Using a slim tool from his wallet, Safar’s back door yielded to Knoll in less than fifteen seconds. Inside he stood still, listening to the empty house. The place smelled of cumin and onions, but the only sound he heard was water filling the ice maker in the refrigerator. After it filled, he heard only silence. After clearing the ground floor, he cautiously climbed the stairs to the second floor. Ten minutes later, he determined there was nothing incriminating in Safar’s bedrooms and bathroom. He headed down to the basement level and stood at the bottom of the stairs surveying the open space in front of him. Only a washer, dryer and a ping pong table met his gaze. Nothing on the three levels suggested Bassel Safar was planning a terrorist attack.
He walked the perimeter of the white-washed, wood-paneled basement and returned to the stairs. Nothing. Just as he was about to head back up, a mark on the floor next to the dryer caught his eye. Kneeling next to it, he placed his index finger on the mark and felt a slight indentation in the concrete. Standing up, he saw, between two planks of the paneling, a barely noticeable separation. On further examination, he saw the well-hidden outline of a door. He stood still as he sta
red at the well-concealed invisible entry. Not knowing what else to do, he pushed on the left side of the door closest to the dryer.
The door popped open.
Inside was pitch black. Using the flashlight app on his cell phone, Knoll pointed the bright light into the gloom of the newly discovered room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Chapter 15
Buckhead District, Atlanta, GA
Judith Day’s interview with Stephen Blair continued to unsettle her as she waited in Zimmerman’s luxury apartment. She had been practicing more than twenty years, and this was the first time she walked out of a therapy session scared. Not just scared, but completely terrified about what the patient was capable of doing. She was on her second Glenlivet when Thomas Zimmerman entered.
“Judith, what the hell happened at Stephen’s?”
She studied the empty glass and swirled the barely melted ice cubes. “I’m not sure, Tom. He scared the hell out of me.”
“I gathered that from your phone call, but...” Zimmerman paused, struggling for words. “How could Stephen possibly scare you?”
“Well, he did.”
“Judith, Stephen is not a violent man. You have to be mistaken.”
“Thomas, I saw pure evil in his eyes. There was no gentle soul behind them. I really can’t describe it any other way. Evil. Pure evil.”
Thomas stared at her, unable to say anything. Finally he cleared his throat. “Exactly what happened, Judith?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The session started out fine, except he wouldn’t look at me, which is normal for individuals afflicted as Stephen is. However, as we got further into the session, when he did look at me, his eyes would bore through me like I wasn’t even there. I detected little emotion from him. People with Stephen’s condition generally are afraid and reclusive. Not Stephen. He was more narcissistic than anything.”