Legacy and Redemption (11 page)

He was certain that he wouldn’t make any more careless mistakes such as those. He would not do anything out of the ordinary from now until Thanksgiving Day; except of course picking up the explosives the week before.

Al-Haq drained the rest of his coffee and deposited the empty cup in the trash as he left. He crossed Forty-Second Street and walked to the entrance of Bryant Park. Although it was a cool November day, there were still a few dozen people seated outdoors of the grill located inside the park. A light jacket was all that was required today. Al-Haq hoped the weather would turn much colder over the next few weeks so a heavier jacket would not look out of place on Thanksgiving Day.

He sat down on a dark green park bench just as a police officer was walking by. “Good day, Officer.”

The officer kept walking with little more than an insincere smile. Al-Haq felt good as he looked onto Sixth Avenue. The next time he would be in this very spot, he would feel even better. He was sure of that.

With only one week to go before Thanksgiving and the official start of the holiday season, sleep had become a challenge for Louis Castillo. In his gut, he knew that the threats were real, but he couldn’t seem to make any headway into the investigation. Castillo had already been awake when his phone rang at a quarter before five in the morning to inform him of the emergency meeting at 26 Federal Plaza.

A weary Louis Castillo walked into the conference room a little after six-thirty and was surprised to see that Frank Balentine had arrived before him; Balentine usually arrived just before a meeting began. Castillo poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine set up in the corner of the room and had a seat next to Balentine in the otherwise empty room. Then Castillo realized that Balentine hadn’t arrived before him; he was wearing the same suit—albeit slightly wrinkled—that he’d been wearing the previous night. A look in his reddened eyes and it was apparent that Balentine had been up all night.

Castillo was nervous, as the implications of such an urgent meeting were almost never good. He had both of his hands clasped around his coffee cup when he first addressed Balentine. “You look like shit. What’s the meeting about, Frank?”

Castillo could see the look on Balentine’s face and instinctually knew it was bad. “Last night just after you left, Director Wolf called the office. An Iranian showed up at the US Embassy in Tel-Aviv yesterday seeking asylum. In return, he started talking about his role in smuggling an al-Qaeda member into the United States. He said it was less than a year ago and that he, along with two other men, met a cargo truck on the Iran-Afghanistan border. He was directed to bring the al-Qaeda member to a mosque in Shandiz where the man was to meet with a contact to provide him with a fake passport and a way into the United States. Supposedly, he was going to go to Canada and cross into the US from there.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“There’s more. As soon as we were notified, Wolf sent one of our agents to Tel-Aviv. The CIA was also sending someone to debrief the man. They had me running background on the guy all night. From everything I can tell, the guy is truly an Iranian national. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s lying.”

“Did he take a lie detector test?”

Balentine nodded. “He did”

“And!?”

“And he passed. It all looks real, Louie.”

As others began to enter the room and fill in the seats around the conference table, Castillo inched closer to Balentine—his sleep deprivation no longer an issue. “Is there anything else?”

Balentine looked Castillo directly in the eyes and deliberately nodded. “Yeah, the man who he drove to Shandiz told him that he was going to New York City where he would be part of a sleeper cell getting ready to launch an attack on America. It’s all too coincidental for it not to be part of what that guy in Germany was warning us about.”

No sooner did Balentine finish than did Castillo’s supervisor walk into the room and sat down next to him. Inspector John Talbot put an arm around Castillo’s shoulder and whispered, “Has Frank caught you up on everything?”

Castillo acknowledged that he had and finally took his first sip of his coffee—not that he needed it any longer to help clear away the drowsiness. Once the room had filled with the usual mix of mostly FBI agents and a few NYPD detectives, Robert Wolf entered with a man Castillo had never seen before. The two men stood at the head of the table with Wolf beginning, “Gentlemen, this is Warren Oliver from the Department of Homeland Security. He’s going to give you as much information as we have up to the second.”

Each of the dozen of law enforcement officers in the room could feel the urgency. There was complete silence in anticipation of whatever Oliver was to say. Castillo studied the man as Wolf introduced him. He was about fifty years old, wearing black Dockers and a white buttoned down shirt with maroon pinstripes. The shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and wrinkled—clearly Balentine was not the only one who had been working all night.

Oliver continued to bring everyone up to speed, occasionally glancing at his clipboard which he’d set down on the conference table in front of him. He grabbed a remote control from the table; turning sideways, Castillo saw his belly hanging slightly over his belt. A man’s picture was projected onto the television behind Oliver. Oliver adjusted the glasses which hung low on his nose as he read the man’s name. “As some of you may have heard, this man is currently in custody in Israel. The information he has supplied so far seems to corroborate the threat that we’ve been hearing about for some time now.”

Oliver picked up the clipboard, reading his handwritten notes. “The source has stated that from what he was told, Al-Qaeda is planning an attack on American soil during the holiday season. Under interrogation, the source also told us that he repeated the transport two weeks after bringing the first man to the mosque. He returned to the same rendezvous point and transported a second Al-Qaeda member to the same mosque in Shandiz. Furthermore, he stated that while these were the only two times that he had taken part in such a transport, he believes it’s been going on for close to a year, so there’s no telling how many people have tried to make their way into the US via this network.”

Oliver ran his hand through a thick head of dark hair—a nervous habit Castillo was guessing. He then clicked the remote to bring up the next image. “This is Muhammad Hajjar; also known as Sheykh Hajjar. We believe him to be the mastermind of the plot.”

Hajjar was known already to almost everyone in the room. He was an Al-Qaeda leader and had once before been on the FBI’s most wanted list nearly a decade earlier. His role in Al-Qaeda seemed to have elevated significantly after the death of Osama bin Laden.

Castillo stared at the image on the screen. There were dark eyes, filled with hatred. As evil a pair of eyes as Castillo had ever seen. He then refocused his attention back to Oliver. “Gentlemen, we are treating this as a very credible threat. As a matter of fact, you’ll hear later on today that the Department of Homeland Security is issuing an alert through the
NTAS
of elevated. So that you all understand the seriousness of this, had we been under the old system this would be either an orange or red alert. We’re also not ruling out upgrading the threat to
imminent
in the upcoming weeks.”

Castillo had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He recognized that if the
National Terrorism Alert System
issued an alert, the threat must be genuine. Since the implementation of the system, an alert of elevated has never before been issued. Castillo’s mouth went instantly dry. He was familiar with Hajjar from prior briefings and reports, but didn’t know that he was that high up on the terrorist groups hierarchy.

“We are also adding Hajjar to the FBI’s ten most wanted list with a two million dollar bounty on his head,” Oliver further explained.

Robert Wolf wanted to make sure that each of his investigators had as much facts at their disposal as possible. “What about the other two men? Do we know anything about them?”

Oliver advanced to the next frame. On the screen appeared a composite sketch drawn by an Israeli sketch artist. “Not very much; the second man didn’t really interact with our source. He sat in the back seat and slept during the drive. The source said he barely remembered him. The drawing you see here is the first man. He’s believed to be in his mid to late forties with a slender build. He sat in the front with him for the entire ride and spoke freely about going back to America for a second chance to fulfill his destiny. The source said he went by the name of Nas or Naz, he couldn’t remember for sure. He’d also told him that he had been deported from the US and that the US military had killed his son.”

Castillo considered everything that the Department of Homeland Security was sharing with them. Clearly the threat was real. Castillo studied the sketch on the screen as Robert Wolf handed out copies to each person at the table. Castillo did his best to commit the image to his memory. He had to make sure that he would recognize the person if they ever did come face to face, or even turned up in a surveillance video.

Oliver’s voice broke Castillo’s concentration. “One more thing guys; I want all of you to stay in the building for the next few hours. Our men are still debriefing this guy in Tel-Aviv. If there are any further developments, I want to make sure you guys get it immediately.”

Castillo picked up the sketch which Wolf had placed down in front of him and stared at it. It was an identical match for Nazeem al-Haq; a man Castillo had never met.

*

The restaurant was empty at this time of the morning which was most likely why the man wanted al-Haq to get there this early. Ahmed Hatif sat by himself in the far corner. Al-Haq nodded and joined him. “As-salamu-alaykum, my brother.”

Hatif returned the salutation as another man entered the store and locked the door behind him. The man stood at the doorway as Hatif stood up and led al-Haq into the kitchen area where he grabbed a backpack laying on the counter. Hatif reached inside and handed al-Haq what could best be described as a rectangular lump of molding clay.

Confused, but nonetheless, al-Haq accepted the clay and studied it. He looked at Hatif in the eyes and then back again to the clay. He pulled a piece apart and then his eyes once again met Hatif’s. “I’m sorry my brother. I do not understand.”

“What you are playing with right there is United States military grade C-4 explosives, my brother.”

Al-Haq’s eyes widened as he looked back down at the substance. “C-4? I was expecting a pipe bomb or two just as I have built in the training camp.”

Hatif smiled. “Do not worry, my brother.” He took the explosives back from al-Haq and threw it to the ground. Al-Haq’s heart nearly skipped a beat as Hatif continued. “C-4 is extremely easy to use and is not volatile in any way unless it is detonated; it is completely stable. There’s no black powder to worry about, and it is far more powerful than anything you’ve ever worked with before. Plus, as you have already seen, it is quite easily molded into any shape.”

Al-Haq licked his suddenly dry lips. “How do I use this C-4?” He had heard of the explosive before, but was totally unfamiliar with it. He had never seen C-4 in person let alone held any in his hands up until a moment ago.

“Inside the back pack, you will find twenty-five pounds of explosives plus wiring and blasting caps. You will mold the C-4 into the shape of the vest that you will be wearing. Think of it as a liner all around the vest. Then you will pack it with as much ball bearings, screws and nails as possible. Any excess C-4, you can place in the pockets of the vest as you would have with the pipe bombs.”

Al-Haq was clear on his instructions. “Yes, my brother.” He peeked into the bag and studied the brick shaped blocks of explosive as well as the blasting cap. “How does it work?”

Hatif took out the wiring and the blasting caps and set them on the kitchen’s stainless steel counter top. He set a block of C-4 next to them. “You need all three of these to interact; without any one of them, it will not detonate.”

Al-Haq picked up a single blasting cap and studied it. It was probably about three inches long and only slightly thicker than a ball point pen. The dark wiring was already attached to one end of the blasting cap and neatly tied in a small bundle at the free end. Al-Haq read the words etched into the side of the blasting caps silver casing—
United States Military
.

Hatif took the blasting cap and shoved the end without the wire deep into the block of the explosives. “It’s as simple as that my brother. Then you hook up the other end of the wire to the hand held detonator. The detonator is no different from the one that you are used to making. Run the wire on the inside of the vest and down through the sleeve of the jacket that you will be wearing on that day. When you flip the toggle switch, you will have fulfilled you part in the Jihad.”

Al-Haq thought carefully about his instructions. With only one week to go, he was very excited. He picked up the explosive and examined the blasting cap and wiring. Removing it from the C-4, al-Haq held the blasting cap out to Hatif. “So this little thing will set off such a massive explosion?”

Al-Haq marveled at the idea of how such a small item could be so destructive, as Hatif nodded his head. “How close do I have to get if the cops see me coming?”

“That is the beauty of the C-4. With twenty-five pounds of explosives, you will have a blast zone kill radius of about fifty feet. Taking the shrapnel into account, the damage will be much greater.”

Hatif put up a cautionary finger before continuing. “I know that in your heart you want to kill as many police officers as you can, and I would like to see that happen as well. But remember, all Americans are our enemy. If you think there is any chance of the police thinking that you are a threat, then you must run into the crowd and detonate the bomb. Families, women, children, they will serve the same message to the Americans as killing their police would…maybe even more so.”

“I understand. I will not let you down. I will try for the police first; if something goes wrong, I will detonate the bomb among the crowd.”

Hatif patted al-Haq on the shoulder and firmly held his hand in place. “That is good my brother. There is one more thing that you should know. If you charge the police, and they decide to shoot you; the bomb will not detonate. As I explained to you, C-4 is very stable and a bullet won’t set it off. You need to manually hit the toggle switch to activate the blasting caps. If they are shooting at you, you must keep advancing until you can throw the switch. Do you understand?”