by David Spell
“We found Khan,” Donaldson told him. “He’s in the custody of Philadelphia PD at one of the local hospitals. I’ll text you the location. It sounds like the cops have some big charges on him to go along with everything else you guys are going to lay on him.”
After Joe woke his partner up in the adjacent room, they dressed and were on the road in fifteen minutes. Showing his FBI credentials had the desired affect and he was directed to the surgery waiting room on the third floor. Two uniformed officers, one with sergeant stripes on his uniform, and two plainclothes officers were huddled in one corner of the room.
O’Reilly and Louis approached the four men holding their FBI IDs out.
“Who’s in charge here? I’m Special Agent O’Reilly and this is Special Agent Louis. We’re with the FBI.”
The four Philadelphia officers looked at the two newcomers with disdain. The older of the four, a tall thin man wearing a gray suit finally spoke up, clearly not impressed.
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Harrison. What can we do to help the FBI this morning?”
“Lieutenant, we heard that you folks have someone in custody that we’ve been looking for.”
Harrison crossed his arms and locked eyes with the agent.
“Oh? And who might that be?”
Jerome wasn’t happy with the cold reception the cops were giving them. He had been sleeping soundly when Joe had awakened him by banging on his door and was not in a mood for games.
“The guy who’s in surgery right now,” Louis answered curtly.
The lieutenant nodded slowly, an amused smile crossing his face.
“We don’t even know who is. He had no ID on him and has been in and out of consciousness. What makes you think that he’s someone the Bureau might be interested in?”
Before Jerome could respond, Joe spoke up
“Lieutenant, can you and I take a walk?”
The police officer stared at the big FBI agent in the rumpled suit.
“Sure.”
As they stepped out into the hall, Joe decided to lay all his cards on the table.
“Lieutenant, I can’t tell you how I know, but I’m reasonably certain that the bastard they’re operating on is Musa Khan.”
The detective shrugged. “Who’s that?”
O’Reilly stopped walking and locked eyes with Harrison. “He’s number three on our most wanted list. He’s behind the recent attacks in DC and New Jersey, and he murdered an FBI agent last year in Philadelphia.”
Surprise registered on the police officer’s face before he responded.
“I helped out on that case. Agent Barry Towers, if my memory serves me.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, he was a good kid and would’ve had a great career.”
Harrison eyed O’Reilly suspiciously. “And now the FBI is going to come in to swoop him up after we’ve caught him for you?”
“Not necessarily,” the FBI agent answered. “I know you have charges on him. I’m guessing there will be no bond?”
“Three counts of attempted murder, kidnapping, and false imprisonment. Yeah, I think no bond is a safe assumption.”
O’Reilly nodded. “When they’re done operating on him, we’ll get his prints to confirm his identity. After that, let’s see what the doctor says about how long he’ll be in here. You guys bagged him and I’d like to see Philadelphia PD get the recognition for that. Obviously, the federal charges that we have for multiple counts of murder and terrorism will take precedent over the local charges, but our investigation is still ongoing.”
The FBI agent paused. “Let me talk to my superiors later today and see how they want to handle it. The only thing I would recommend is that you assign plenty of security for him. He’s very dangerous and an escape risk. I don’t want to lose him again.”
“Thanks for being candid with me, Agent O’Reilly. We’ll do whatever we can to assist.”
Khan was finally rolled into a recovery room at 0515 hours. Agent Louis had a CSI team member from the Philadelphia field office get a set of the terrorist’s fingerprints while he was still sedated. After Jerome uploaded the prints, the confirmation came back almost immediately that the suspect was exactly who they thought he was.
WYNNEWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA, SUNDAY, 0730 HOURS
Ishmael had not slept after the phone call from Musa. He had Googled the location for the park on his phone, but had clearly heard the police yelling at Khan. The sounds of a struggle had come through, along with a dog growling.
Before they had discovered the phone, Ishmael heard one of the officers say, “That’s a good boy, Max! Way to get the bad guy!”
A minute later, a strange voice said, “This is the Philadelphia Police Department. Who’s this?”
Ishmael had quickly disconnected, hoping the cops couldn’t track the call. What do I do now? If the police have Musa, everything could come apart. The African-American didn’t believe that Khan would talk but if he had, a SWAT team could already be on its way to the safe house.
He sipped a cup of coffee as he watched the five soldiers of Allah eating their breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and fresh fruit. Musa had indicated that they would launch their attack tomorrow. The least Ishmael could do was give them a few good meals before their sacrifice. The white guy had loaded a plate with food and taken it to his room, choosing not to eat with the others.
That didn’t matter to Ishmael. The former soldier was a good teacher and had prepared these young men to survive as long as they could before they paid the ultimate price for their faith. He would finish their training today by the early afternoon. I should probably speak with Aaron Richards and get his thoughts on what we should do, Ishmael pondered.
After his conversation with Richards, Musa had told Ishmael that the white man seemed to truly hate his country. Aaron had clearly betrayed whatever oath he had taken as a soldier. Maybe he’d be willing to help me prepare these guys to do their thing tomorrow?
The forty-six year old Ishmael had converted to Islam as a young man, the teachings of the imams at the Masjidullah Mosque resonating inside of him. He had considered himself a moderate Muslim until fifteen years earlier. His baby brother had joined the Army right out of high school and after training, had been deployed to Iraq.
Their father had left them and their mother when Willie was only eight. Ishmael had been more of a father than brother to Willie. He had been so proud of the young man for graduating high school, something that he had not done. Ishmael had been less thrilled about his brother’s decision to join the military. Willie had not followed in his brother’s footsteps of converting to Islam, happy as a nominal Christian.
As a Muslim-American, Ishmael understood the reasons for the war in Iraq and Afghanistan but could never support the killing of his brothers, no matter how misguided some of them were. When he and his elderly mother were notified of Willie’s death from a roadside bomb, something snapped inside of Ishmael. He felt the loss deeply and began speaking with the imams at his mosque about his desire for revenge against his country for taking his brother away from him.
Eventually, he had been introduced to Musa. The Pakistani understood his pain and had taken Ishmael under his wing as they planned multiple attacks against law enforcement and political targets in different cities. Khan had never even hinted that Ishmael should become a martyr himself. Instead, the terrorist seemed pleased to have someone whom he could trust to look after and prepare the recruits for their big day.
Musa had given his helper the location for the upcoming attacks the previous week and the two men had discussed the best approaches as they pored over maps that Khan had provided. The problem now was that if Khan was out of the picture, Ishmael had no idea where the car bomb was being stored. The second challenge was transportation for the rest of the soldiers.
Khan had indicated he would have another vehicle staged nearby that the martyrs could use to drive to their targets. The only thing at the safe house was the van that Musa had rented. Ishmael’s Ford Focus was pa
rked at a parking deck forty-five minutes away, the car that Khan had asked him to loan the former soldier. Would Richards be willing to help him? After learning that Musa had been arrested, would he walk out on them?
Ishmael carried a 9mm Springfield XD pistol tucked into his waistband but realized that he would be no match for the former Green Beret in a shootout. What if the soldier decided to take the van and leave? Could we stop him? Ishmael did know one thing that seemed to motivate Aaron Richards. Maybe it would work one more time.
When Richards came out of his room at 0755 hours to throw his breakfast trash away, he nodded at Ishmael, seated at the table with the five cell members.
“I’m ready to start whenever they’re done eating.”
“Okay. Can I talk with you first?”
“Sure. Where you want to go?”
Wordlessly, Ishmael walked into the garage, making sure Aaron closed the door behind them. The African-American leaned against the van and sighed, looking at the other man.
“What’s up?” Richards asked.
“We’ve got a problem. I think the boss may have gotten arrested.”
Aaron did not respond, merely raising an eyebrow in surprise, letting the other man continue.
“He called me late last night.”
Ishmael related the conversation and what he had heard over the open line.
“What do you think? Look, the boss trusted you. That’s why I’m telling you everything. I’m not a soldier or a martyr and I need a little guidance here.”
Richards shook his head in disgust. How could one of the world’s most notorious terrorists get taken down by the Philadelphia Police Department?
“I’m sure you do, but I think it’s gonna be time for me to head out. I doubt your boss is the type to talk but if he did, I want to be long gone before the FBI shows up.”
The black man nodded. “I can pay you extra if you’ll stick around until tomorrow afternoon and help me get the team ready to go.”
“Was tomorrow the big day?” Aaron asked.
“It was,” Ishmael nodded. “They were supposed to attack around midday.”
“Where at?”
“I don’t want to say anymore unless I know that you’re willing to help.”
Richards locked eyes with the other man. “I need another twenty grand to go with the twenty-five you already owe me.”
Ishmael shook his head. “I can’t do that much. Musa kept the cash and just gave it to me as I needed it. I can pay you an extra five thousand.”
The muscular man shook his head. “Make it ten, for a total of thirty-five and I’ll do what I can to help you.”
Ishmael did the math in his head. That would only leave him with five thousand dollars, but at this point, unless Khan miraculously showed up, the operation was going to be over after the attack in Philadelphia.
“I can do that. Why don’t you do your thing for a few hours and then you and I can talk. I’ll show you the maps and everything. You tell me what you think. Musa already had everything planned but we’re going to have to make a few changes now.”
Aaron grunted in acknowledgement. “Let me get to work.”
The Muslim watched the other man walk back inside and heard him tell the recruits to meet him in the basement. If Richards really is willing to help, maybe we can actually pull this off tomorrow.
WYNNEWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA, SUNDAY, 1045 HOURS
“Alpha One to Alpha Four,” Chuck transmitted. “How are we looking?”
“Alpha Four to Alpha One,” Jimmy’s voice answered softly, “we can hear some activity in the basement but no one has come outside.”
Jones and Estrada were in a hide observing one end of the suspect location, while Fleming and Smith were seventy feet away, watching the other rear corner, the basement door just fifteen yards in front of them. The residence was a long, brick ranch style home with the basement running the length of the house. A large deck jutted out from the residence, thirty feet from Jimmy and Hollywood’s perch.
“Alpha One’s clear. Alpha Two, anything different on your end?”
Andy’s whisper came over the big man’s earpiece. “We can hear someone running a course in the basement. We’re only getting bits and pieces of it but it sounds like he’s teaching on movement to cover.”
“Alpha One copies. I’m about to send out Bravo team and see what they can stir up. We’ll all be their backup. I’ll be in the area in a vehicle.”
Chuck glanced over at Chole and Jennifer in the living room of their vacant house hideout. They were both standing in front of a wall mirror in the corridor that had been left behind from the former resident. They had applied their makeup and were checking their outfits. Wilkerson had managed to cover the bruising that was still present around her left eye. Her stocking hat would cover the stitches on her ear.
“You ladies ready?”
Before they could answer, McCain’s phone vibrated with an incoming call from Tu. They had just spoken an hour earlier. Donaldson had updated him on the fact that Khan was in custody and the FBI was upping their involvement. Chuck had briefed the former Green Beret on their plan to get eyes inside the address where Musa had been spending time in the Philadelphia suburb.
“Hey, Tu, we’re about to send out Jen and Chloe.”
“Sounds good. I was hoping the Bureau was going to step in and take over but O’Reilly just called and said that the federal judge wouldn’t sign the search warrant for the house y’all are watching. He said that the FBI can’t show sufficient probable cause for why they need to search the location. You guys be careful. I don’t want to see y’all getting into a situation over there that’ll bite us in the ass.”
“I hear you, Tu. Andy and Scotty are close enough to the basement that they can hear someone teaching a class on tactics. I’ll let you know what the ladies turn up.”
Around the corner from McCain, in the unfinished basement of the target location, Aaron Richards took the five martyrs-to-be through drill after drill on shooting and moving to cover. As the men worked, the former soldier thought through his conversation with Ishmael. The smart thing would’ve been for Richards to have packed up, called Ashley to come get him, and get the hell out.
The extra money was a definite factor in his choosing to stay, but it was more than that. As a special forces soldier, part of his job was to create bonds with the guerrillas that he was training. In a warped sort of way, he felt a sense of loyalty to these terrorists who were going to be attacking targets in Philadelphia tomorrow.
What if Musa had talked and revealed this address? What if the FBI or Philadelphia PD’s SWAT teams were on the way? There’s still time to leave, he thought. I could take the van and be on my way. At the same time, Aaron didn’t believe that Khan would divulge any information. He was a terrorist but he was also a professional intelligence agent. It would be very difficult for the police to get the Pakistani to say anything that he did not want to say.
But what if he had? Or what if the FBI found anything on his phone or computer to lead them to this address? Richards took a deep breath. I guess I’ll kill as many of them as a I can and go out in a blaze of glory, he thought.
Chuck drove by the house, the front of the residence partially concealed by trees. The garage was on the right side of the structure, the doors closed. There was no indication that there was anyone home, but the surveillance teams had heard activity in the basement. After reaching the end of the street, McCain turned around and drove by a second time, this time stopping around a slight curve, out of view from the target location.
The two women were dressed conservatively. They would have preferred to be wearing skirts for the roles they were playing, but they were limited to what they carried in their go-bags. Both wore jeans, with Hughes wearing a black sweater. Her slim 9mm Glock 43 pistol sat on her right hip in an inside-the-pants holster. Wilkerson wore a gray t-shirt and a navy-blue windbreaker, with the gray hat covering her head. She carried her Glock 43 in an appendix hol
ster. They were both wearing their earpiece transmitters and a cross pin on the front of their clothes. Inside the cross was a tiny digital camera that sent images back to Chuck’s phone and Gabriella’s laptop.
“Time for you and me to wrap this up, Jen,” Chloe said, with a smile.
“You know it. Good to be working with you again.”
“We just want some intel, ladies,” McCain reminded them. “No drama, please! If you can get anyone to the door, snap some photos on the hidden camera. I’ll be parked right here, listening to everything that’s said. The other four guys are right behind the house, so the cavalry is close if you need us.”
“We should be OK,” Hughes said, grinning. “Although, I’ve wanted to shoot a few Jehovah’s Witnesses myself when they woke me up early after a long night.”
After speaking with Richards earlier, Ishmael had loaded fifteen thirty-round AK-47 magazines. He was disappointed that Musa had not brought any explosive vests on his last visit. He had planned on bringing those over today, but with Khan out of the picture they would have to make do with what they had. With the training that Aaron had given them, the soldiers of Allah could do a lot of damage before becoming martyrs and entering paradise.
When he finished loading the mags with 7.62x39 ammunition, Ishmael realized that they now had an extra rifle. Coco would certainly not be needing it. He quickly filled the mags for that weapon as well, before loading the AK and chambering a round. He wasn’t an expert but Ishmael had always been interested in guns and had shot an AK several times. After setting the selector to “Safe” he stood the weapon in the corner, next to the doorway from the kitchen into the corridor adjacent to the front door. If the pigs do show up, I’m ready for them, he thought.
The other loaded magazines, were stacked on the kitchen table. He glanced at the digital clock on the stove. 11:05am. I guess I need to get started on lunch for the soldiers. The door from the basement opened as the team took a short toilet break. Richards followed them into the kitchen.