Boston Strong

by Casey Sherman

  Growing up, their dad, Paul, kept Michelle especially busy. She was a cheerleader and she skied at Lost Valley ski area in Auburn. Every Christmas, Michelle and Danielle would open their stockings and find a season pass to the nearby mountain, which had just two ski lifts and a handful of small trails. But what Michelle loved most was riding horses. From the age of eight, Michelle had begged her parents to pay for riding lessons. She eventually broke them down, and they bought Michelle her own horse for her thirteenth birthday. This was no easy purchase for a family living on a fireman’s salary, but Paul L’Heureux saw it as a shrewd investment for his daughter’s future. Plus, he believed that riding would keep her active and away from teens who were headed in the opposite direction, into trouble. Michelle rode American Saddlebreds and owned and cared for three horses during her teenage years. Her favorite, a horse she named Libby, was also her best friend. She showed in Maine and all over New England. In Maine, she won the year-end equitation awards for her age group, which qualified her for the New England Horseman’s Council in Good Hands finals — the region’s top horse show.

  Michelle kept her horses at Walnut Hill Stables in Cape Elizabeth, a rolling farm town along Maine’s rocky coast. The stables were about half an hour from Auburn, but that did not stop Michelle from riding six days a week. A typical day for her meant arriving at Edward Little High School before dawn, followed by a full day of course work, then cheerleading practice with the Red Eddies pep squad. Michelle would then go home, have a quick dinner with her parents and Danielle, and jump in her dad’s car for the ride to Walnut Hill. Michelle would do her homework while father Paul drove. They would finally return home just in time for a little sleep before starting it all over again the next day.

  Michelle loved every minute of it. Her dad had been right. Riding did keep Michelle busy and away from the high school party scene. In fact, she did not try alcohol until she went away to college at William Woods University in Fulton, Missouri. The school’s riding program was among the top in the country, and Michelle continued to perform at shows, including the prestigious American Royal. After college, she moved back East and settled in Boston, where city life made it difficult to pursue her lifelong passion. Yet she eventually embraced the urban elements of Boston and morphed into a self-described city girl. Boston was perfect because it wasn’t too big. Michelle shied away from large-scale events because she didn’t like the crowds, which is why she had never gone to Copley Square to see her boyfriend, Brian Chartier, cross the finish line. Brian had run the Boston Marathon several times, but each time she stayed as far from the finish line as possible. Instead, she would typically head out to Newton and wave to Brian from Commonwealth Avenue near Boston College and the arduous Heartbreak Hill — the stretch between miles 20 and 21 where, over the decades, many runners have made their last stand. Bustling with partying college students, it was an exciting place to watch the race, but not as frenzied or crowded as the finish line at Copley Square. On April 15, 2013, Michelle made the decision — a life-changing one, as it turns out — to head to the finish line for the first time to watch Brian. A client relations manager for John Hancock Insurance, the major sponsor of the marathon, Michelle took the day off and planned to meet up with friends, have a few cocktails, and watch Brian finish his tenth Boston Marathon. Brian was a workforce manager at Hancock when the couple met and started dating in 2002. Brian was not your typical jock or long-distance runner. He was an average and affable guy who had always been a calming force for Michelle. She often kidded him about his terrible sense of direction and was quietly relieved to know there was little chance that he’d find his way off course during a race this size.

  “Tomorrow will be Brian’s 10th marathon and he is ready to go!” Michelle posted on her Facebook page on April 14. “I am very proud of him!! Even though I think you have to be a little nuts to run that much — hehe. I am also very excited to see two of my favorite friends run their first marathon! It will be a very fun day for them, and I cannot wait to celebrate with them! Best of luck and much love!”

  She was brimming with excitement. The night before, Michelle made signs to cheer on Brian and another friend. The morning of the marathon, she woke up early as usual and went to the gym. After her workout, she went back to her apartment just over the Neponset Bridge in Quincy and took her dogs, Louis and Romeo, for a long walk along Wollaston Beach, letting them have plenty of fresh air because she knew she’d be gone all afternoon and evening. She finished up the signs, showered, and watched the race coverage on TV. As she was getting ready, she got a call from Brian, who was in Hopkinton getting ready to start his race.

  “We’ll be standing on the Newbury Street side on Boylston near the finish line,” Michelle told him.

  “Okay. I’ll see you later. I love you,” Brian replied and hung up. He put his phone in his backpack, which was loaded onto a bus to be driven to the finish line for him to retrieve after the race. Michelle finished getting dressed. She put on skinny jeans and flat shoes. She decided to take the dogs out for one last time before she left. It was a chilly morning. She had her purse all packed up and was ready to go. She stood outside watching the dogs and had a parting thought: Maybe I should put my boots on. Michelle changed out of her flats and put on a pair of black, heavy-duty North Face boots. They were much warmer. She drove from her house down the street to the North Quincy MBTA stop. She hopped on a Red Line train and took it to Park Street, where she got off and met her friend Nicole Morin. They hugged, smiled, and chatted about work and friends as they walked to another friend’s apartment on Beacon Street. They poured a couple of mimosas to celebrate Patriots’ Day and Marathon Monday before they walked as a group to the finish line.

  [6]

  DAGESTAN

  By the early spring of 2012, Russia’s FSB (the successor of the KGB) already had information in its possession about the potential terrorist threat posed by Tamerlan Tsarnaev, thanks to a 2010 interrogation of a Canadian boxer named William Plotnikov. Plotnikov and Tsarnaev appeared to be mirror images of one another. Plotnikov had immigrated to Toronto from Megion, Russia, an oil-rich city in western Siberia, in 2005 when he was fifteen years old. Like Tsarnaev, Plotnikov had studied boxing and had used the sport to help his transition into his adopted homeland. Known as Willy to his family and friends, the tall, lanky Russian was not born into the Muslim faith but instead converted from Christianity in 2009, four years after arriving in Canada — roughly the same time his father, Vitaly, had a spiritual awakening of his own and became a Jehovah’s Witness. Vitaly Plotnikov had emigrated west to ensure that his son was granted an opportunity for a solid education and to keep the boy out of the clutches of Russian gang leaders who had historically preyed on young athletes. Vitaly, a former athlete himself, had taught his son how to box while the man worked for an oil company in western Siberia. When the family moved to Canada, Vitaly could only secure menial work such as stocking shelves at a local supermarket. Like Anzor Tsarnaev, Vitaly Plotnikov saw potential pugilistic greatness in his son and urged William to join a local boxing program. The coach there realized quickly that Plotnikov had the talent and smarts to go far and believed there was Olympic glory in the teenager’s future.

  Plotnikov fought in tournaments around Ontario, where he eventually won two regional championships. As Tamerlan Tsarnaev struggled to adjust to life in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Plotnikov experienced similar growing pains in Toronto. He couldn’t connect with Canadians his age because they dressed and spoke differently. The Russian expatriates that William knew drank too much and drugged too much, so Plotnikov began looking elsewhere for companionship, which he later found inside a Toronto mosque. He connected with a mullah with radical views and soon began reading the Koran and praying five times a day.

  In September 2010, Vitaly Plotnikov returned home from vacation in Florida to find a note on the counter from William, saying that he had gone to France to observe Ramadan. From there, the converted Muslim traveled to Moscow and
eventually Dagestan. His parents never saw him in person again. It would be several months before William made any contact with them at all. Russia’s respected independent newspaper Novaya Gazeta, touted for its investigative reporting, reported that William Plotnikov was detained by FSB counter-terrorism agents in early 2011 and identified as an “adherent of radical Islam.”11 During the interrogation, Plotnikov was forced to give names of other radical Muslims he knew and communicated with, both in person and online. One of the names extracted during the detention was that of Tamerlan Tsarnaev. It is not known whether Plotnikov had ever met Tsarnaev or whether they had maintained a virtual relationship. Tsarnaev once visited a relative in Toronto, but there is no evidence to suggest he met with Plotnikov. Their passions for boxing and jihad certainly overlapped, and Russia’s FSB took the connection seriously enough to alert their American counterparts in the FBI. The Feds reported back that agents had interviewed Tamerlan Tsarnaev in Cambridge and found no links to terrorist activity. “We began investigating Tsarnaev and placed him on record after his name came up in the [Plotnikov] investigation in Dagestan,” an official from Russia’s Center for Combating Terrorism (CEPE) told Novaya Gazeta in 2013. “We pay special attention to foreign nationals or Russians who recently converted to Islam. They are extremely ideological and psychologically vulnerable. They can be convinced to do anything, even a suicide bombing.”12

  Once Plotnikov was released from FSB custody, he burrowed himself into the wooded hills of Utamysh, an insurgent stronghold of three thousand people close to Dagestan’s capital, Makhachkala.

  The only time Plotnikov corresponded with his father, Vitaly, he did so through a Russian social networking site, VKontakte. During those online conversations, William told his father that he no longer had use for material goods as “they won’t bring rewards on Judgment Day that without doubt will come.”13 The young Muslim, now twenty-three, also chided his father for posting photos of William’s mother in a bathing suit on the beach. That particular online conversation got heated over Vitaly’s earnest warning to his son to resist fanaticism.

  “Do you really call me a fanatic just because I have cast aside the false constitution of man and instead took up the law of the Lord?” William wrote on July 23, 2011.14

  It would be the last contact William Plotnikov would have with his father.

  As darkness fell on July 13, 2012, Russian forces raided a farm outside Utamysh, catching the Dagestani mujahideen by surprise, and lit up the night sky with artillery fire. At least seven rebel fighters were killed during the long, overnight battle, including the bearded young man known to villagers as the Canadian. After the smoke had cleared, survivors carried the body of William Plotnikov into the village, where his body was washed and then buried under a stone carved with a crescent moon and star. Weeds were allowed to grow wild over the gravesite in adherence to local beliefs that the flora helps the dead atone for their sins. Before his death, Plotnikov shot a video inside his cramped camp in the forest outside Utamysh. On tape, William and his fellow rebels shared details of their nightly dinner ritual and showed off their weapons. A cheery Plotnikov then compared Russia’s President Vladimir Putin and President Barack Obama to “pigs and monkeys.”

  “We will kill you,” Plotnikov smiled. “We will make plans against you.”15

  Tamerlan Tsarnaev had visited Dagestan at the very same time as Plotnikov’s immersion into the mujahideen. Just days after the young insurgent’s death, Tamerlan fled the region and headed back to the United States. The decision was an urgent one, revealed by the fact that Tamerlan had not waited to pick up his new Russian passport, which — according to his parents — was the reason for their son’s visit to his homeland.

  The killing of Plotnikov also coincided with the death of Tsarnaev’s other likely mentor, Mahmud Mansur Nidal, which occurred just two months before in May 2012. Nidal and his so-called Makhachkala Gang had just orchestrated the two suicide bombings in which fourteen people were killed. The bombs were set off within minutes of each other to kill not only innocent people but also those first responders who had arrived on the scene to help. On May 18, 2012, counter-terrorism troops surrounded the house where Nidal was staying. An expert was called in to negotiate the teen terrorist’s surrender, but Nidal had other plans. In a tense standoff that lasted several hours, Nidal negotiated the release of his mother, wife, infant son, and two friends. During this time, about 150 Nidal supporters showed up and threatened the masked Russian troops, while others stormed the police station where Nidal’s friend Abdurakham Magomedov had been taken for questioning. The next morning, with talks of surrender breaking down, Nidal threw a grenade out of a window toward a military vehicle. The blast was loud but caused no injuries. Masked Russian commandos responded immediately and opened fire on the home. Nidal was killed and the house was torched to the ground.

  Shamil Mutaev, the Russian law enforcement officer who had attempted to negotiate Nidal’s surrender, does not believe the insurgent would have risked capture by meeting with Tamerlan Tsarnaev. Yet a source from the CEPE told Novaya Gazeta that the men had been seen together “on multiple occasions.” Tamerlan’s actions following the raid on Nidal’s home are also curious. The CEPE source told Novaya Gazeta that Tamerlan immediately left his father’s home where he was staying and moved in with other relatives, and that he was rarely seen in public from that point on. When Tsarnaev’s father, Anzor, informed Russian authorities of Tamerlan’s abrupt departure following the July death of William Plotnikov, they refused to believe him. Counter-terrorism agents checked passenger lists on foreign flights and staked out bus terminals and train stations in hopes of spotting the so-called American. “It appears that Tamerlan Tsarnaev came to Dagestan aiming to join the insurgents but was unsuccessful. It’s a difficult process,” the CEPE source told Novaya Gazeta. “First you make contact with the liaison, then there’s a quarantine period — the insurgents check out each person before allowing them to join. After his contacts, Nidal and Plotnikov, were killed, Tsarnaev got cold feet and fled.”16

  When the FSB learned that Tamerlan had made his way back to the United States, they informed both the FBI and CIA, but their requests for a follow-up inquiry went unanswered.

  There is also confirmation that Tsarnaev made contact with a third man while in Dagestan — a distant cousin, Magomed Kartashov, who is considered to be one of the region’s most influential Islamists. A former cop and wrestler, Kartashov is the founding leader of a group called Union of the Just, which routinely denounces US policies and whose members have been imprisoned for abetting terrorist activities. In an interview with Time, an associate of Kartashov recalled meeting Tamerlan Tsarnaev at a cookout along the Shura-Ozen River near Makhachkala, Dagestan, in late June or early July of 2012, at the tail end of his visit. “Folks were saying that he [Tamerlan] was a champion of boxing in America,” the unidentified man told Time.17 The man claims that Tsarnaev had a narrow view of the violence occurring in Dagestan, and that he had referred to it as a “holy war.” Others tried to correct him by pointing out the fact that much of the fighting was amongst the Muslims themselves. The group eventually changed Tamerlan’s mind as he soon began to talk about “holy war” in more of a global context, with America being the ultimate enemy.

  When he arrived back in Massachusetts in July 2012, Tamerlan Tsarnaev was a different man. His Euro-trash days were long gone, and now he sported a dark beard and dedicated the majority of his time to his prayers. He was also a man on fire, known for making loud outbursts inside his Cambridge mosque, especially when the imam granted followers the right to celebrate truly American holidays like Independence Day and Thanksgiving. He was asked to leave the mosque on at least one occasion when he called the imam a “hypocrite.” Tsarnaev’s scorn was not only relegated to his mosque. He also confronted a shopkeeper at the Al-Hoda market on Prospect Street in Cambridge for his decision to sell halal turkeys for Thanksgiving. As Tamerlan continued to spiral out of control, his m
other, Zubeidat — who had been his anchor, his greatest supporter, and the most influential person in his life — decided to move back to Russia. She said the reason was to care for a sick brother, but it was most likely to avoid prosecution for the shoplifting case. Tamerlan, his wife, Katie, and their child were now the only ones left in the Norfolk Street apartment, and it appeared that they would have to move out soon because they could not afford the landlady’s rent increase. With outside pressure continuing to build, Tamerlan lost himself inside his computer: he opened a YouTube account as a platform to post incendiary messages promoting jihad against the West. Tamerlan was also drawn to the digital al-Qaeda magazine Inspire. Written and produced by al-Qaeda operatives in Yemen, Inspire urges its readers to conduct lone-wolf attacks on the West by setting forest fires, ramming motor vehicles into large crowds, and by building homemade bombs. In the first issue of the English-language magazine, Tamerlan read and reread an article called “How to Make a Bomb in the Kitchen of Your Mom.” The graphic accompanying the story showed the skyline of New York City. “If you are sincere in your intentions to serve the religion of Allah,” the article reads, “then all you have to do is enter your kitchen and make an explosive device that would damage the enemy if you put your trust in Allah and then use this explosive device properly.”18 The article recommends that the use of a pressurized cooker is “the most effective method.” The writer, who developed the article under the nom de plume The AQ Chief, takes the reader step-by-step through the bomb-making process and even offers a few safety precautions: