The Bombmaker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  They fell silent and the elderly man cleared his throat. “Over my complaint, they insist on examining your genitals, sir. I assure you they’re only interested in weapons.”

  Michael showed some of his fear. They can’t understand me, but facial expressions and behaviors are nearly universal. He looked at the three impatient men and debated how to proceed. Could be a ruse to justify beating me up. Could be a legit offer to avoid touching me and degrading themselves. Could just be a bully move to humiliate me. What is most likely to get me and the triggerfish out of here with the least damage? Michael quelled the rising apprehension in his chest, imperceptibly rotated his hips a little further clockwise, and turned his focus directly toward the elder, who again stood to Michael’s left.

  “No, please tell them--” Movement!

  As he hoped the muscle swung a leg up to Michael's groin, and he turned his hips left to deflect the bulk of the impact. The contact retained enough force that he didn’t have to add much acting to drop to his knees in pain.

  Muscle backed up as though expecting a fight. Seeing no advance from Michael, all three pointed and laughed while the kind elder stepped in to protect him from further assault. He shouted at them while Michael composed himself and exaggerated the not-insignificant pain they’d inflicted. Unibrow and The Loudmouth moved downstairs, still shouting at the old man, but Muscle had to first stomp on Michael’s laptop.

  After they’d gone, the elderly man knelt next to Michael. “You should leave right away. They claim to have granted you five minutes. Please accept my apologies, as those men do not represent my culture and faith like they believe they do. Unfortunately,” he explained and meekly averted his gaze, “I am powerless to stop them without endangering my wife and grandchildren.”

  “I understand. Did they say when I could come back?” Michael looked up and the man’s incredulous expression made him laugh. His insides hurt, which helped to stifle his laughter. “Seriously, can you ask if tomorrow’s okay?”

  Michael retrieved his messenger bag and the undamaged triggerfish, and then slowly stood.

  His advocate gently clapped his left shoulder. “I like you, Mister Desantos. I’m confident you’re about to help many people.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Please let me clean this up. Do you want help walking?”

  “No, but if you wouldn’t mind escorting me out, just in case I need another translator, that’d be great. I’m not sure the next conversation will end this well.” Michael moved closer to the door to #415, which also placed him in better view of the camera he saw still concealed in the corner of the stairwell landing below him. Now Gerard can see I’m upright and vertical. This shit had better be worth it. He risked a glance toward the target’s door. Not a peep from inside that apartment. He’s either paranoid, deaf, or dead.

  May 9, 08:07am

  13 Rue du Corbillon. Saint-Denis, France.

  Michael and Gerard sat in the leased parking garage office and watched the monitor array before them. Several bags of frozen couscous sat piled on Michael’s groin to reduce the pain and swelling. After seeing the confrontation and Michael’s relatively peaceful departure, Gerard had stepped out to a local market and purchased the bags. Michael checked his phone, saw he had no updates on the sniffer results, and shifted the makeshift cool-packs. Priests aren’t supposed to father children, anyway.

  Michael focused on three of the ten monitors that best displayed Abrini’s apartment, and Gerard watched the overall activity on the other seven. “Are we sure he’s still in there?”

  “Yes, unless he grew wings and took flight.” Gerard sipped at a large takeout coffee. “The first thing I do each morning is to scroll back through the videos to see if anyone entered or left his apartment, and then, the building. The only new item I noted this morning was a beggar, a homeless man, stumbling down the street. He walked off to the south without going into the building, though.”

  Michael readjusted the frozen bags, sipped from a takeout coffee Gerard had also provided, and tried to keep his tone from betraying his interest. “What time was that?”

  “Just before five-a-m.” The cop looked at him for a long moment, and Michael stayed focused on the monitors. “You’re very concerned this morning about a simple beggar and Abrini’s absence. Is there something I should know?”

  Michael met Gerard’s gaze and allowed no change to his expression, despite the imminent lie. Gotta be convincing. “No, no reason. Just haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “That’s his normal habit. He stays locked up for days at a time. Most of the neighborhood will be asleep by now, actually.” Gerard stretched in his chair. “If only we could get our hands on a telephoto camera, and maybe a helicopter to plant one of my small ones on his balcony.”

  Michael stared at the monitors and sipped at his coffee. Is he feeling me out? Does he know?

  Gerard scoffed. “Pointless, anyway, there’s no way to get it up there, anyway, right? Even if we did, how would we ever get down?”

  Michael risked a glance at him to assess the man’s intent and tried to change the subject. “You have access to anything like that, helos or fixed-wing aircraft?”

  The French cop dismissively waved his hand without looking over. “Ahh! No use to us, it takes weeks of paperwork. Unless we can manufacture a climate change emergency, then my government will give us all we ask for.”

  Michael chuckled at the man’s antics and returned to the monitors.

  “How soon will you have data returns from the triggerfish?”

  Michael looked at the device, which rested on the floor beneath the desk, and saw its lights functioned normally. “As long as we leave it running here, it'll keep feeding data to my analysts, so, whenever they find something interesting to pass along, I guess. I’ll ask, but they know this is a priority.”

  Gerard, too, watched the device for a moment. “As long as it’s here, mimicking a cell tower and recording electronic data, are you also certain it won’t make us a target or give away this location?”

  Michael shrugged. “I doubt it. Abrini would require tech beyond most everyone but the government to find us.”

  Gerard sprung forward in his seat and zoomed one of the camera views in, and Michael looked over to that monitor. Two men came into view, one of whom he recognized as the imam from the mosque in Abrini’s building.

  “Ce putain de traître!”

  “What?” Michael looked closer at the two men.

  “That, fucking, traitor! That man,” Gerard fumed and pointed at the second Middle Eastern man on the screen, “that is my boss! The esteemed Lieutenant Algeri, the very man who closed this investigation! He directed me and my teams out of this neighborhood two days ago, and, now there he is, consorting with the enemy!”

  Michael grimaced at the cop’s choice of words, as well as what his collective suspicions about both men meant now that they were together. I can’t tell Gerard the imam might be on the US Terror Watchlist, that’s too inflammatory until we know for sure. “Do you know something specific about the imam or his mosque?”

  “He runs an Islamic school around the corner, a madrasa, in addition to the mosque. I don't have to know anything specific, I need only know he’s flourishing in a garden of snakes without ever having consumed one.”

  Michael didn’t have any intel to dispute Gerard’s assessment, but, despite the probable malice, he didn’t have irrefutable evidence to damn either man. I think his job and its inherent biases have got the better of Gerard’s judgement.

  “Well, that settles one thing. I'm not walking away from this investigation, no matter what.” He looked up at Michael with barely controlled outrage evident on his face. “You’d better be committed to seeing this through, regardless of what it means. If not, I’d rather work alone than count on a man of questionable fortitude.” Gerard stood up and shoved his chair back into the wall. “I have to place a few phone calls. Please excuse me.”

  Michael watched him
storm off and considered his position. He had to manage the inspector’s actions well enough to prevent his implosion for another few days. His work cell vibrated in his pants pocket. Upon retrieving it, Michael saw John had sent a series of encrypted messages. He opened that specific app and read through them.

  Good work, shithead. Jacques is pissed as hell about the Reachback. It’s managed though, and well worth it. The HazMat sniffer recorded new compounds similar to those it already knew, and the chemical analysts confirmed the reading: Triacetone-triperoxide [C9H18O6]

  Michael’s insides tightened at the acronym. TATP. Big boom kinda shit, and too damned easy to make at home.

  How soon can you get in there and confirm the air reading? The app’s cursor blinked at him and emphasized that John awaited his response, so Michael thumb-typed the answer.

  I have to wait until Abrini leaves or I know he’s asleep. Apartment’s too small to sneak in otherwise. At least one of us will be killed or arrested if he confronts me. I need you to check US Terr WL for name: MAHMOUD ALGERI, approx 40YO, French natl. Connected to imam.

  The cursor blinked back at Michael for several seconds.

  I’ll get to it on my end, you do the same. We’re short on time. Be thorough but be damned fast. Stay frosty.

  Michael closed the app and tried to imagine any other way into Abrini’s apartment without first killing or incapacitating him. I’ll need another night to establish his patterns and come up with a way to get rid of Gerard. He’ll ruin everything.

  May 9, 10:36pm

  The Oremus hotel. Paris, France.

  Once locked and secure inside his hotel room, Michael completed his nightly Compline prayer ritual and poured another double single-malt from the restocked minibar. The peaty liquor lasted only one gulp before Michael set the rocks glass back on the long dresser above the concealed mini fridge. He’d told Gerard he needed to sleep a few hours before coming back before sunrise, but Michael actually wanted to review the balcony cameras and triggerfish data without the cop looking over his shoulder.

  He retrieved the intel packet from the overt safe inside the closet and sat at the desk to find a path forward that didn’t force him into the kill mission he still feared he couldn’t avoid.

  While skimming back through the packet for any data or analysis he’d missed or forgotten, Michael logged into his encrypted Wi-Fi camera feeds, which his triggerfish also helped provide, and reviewed the activity captured there. Seeing the apartment lights out at the moment, Michael scrolled backward and realized Abrini had kept the blinds drawn most of the day. He doesn’t want us to see what he’s working on.

  He next opened the secure comms app and texted John. It’s probably early afternoon wherever he is, so the old man should be available to provide some guidance here.

  Mere seconds passed before John called him back. “What’s the news, shithead? You finished over there yet? I’ve been waitin’ for your damned call.”

  Michael wished he could laugh at the dry humor. “Not finished yet. Do you have any intel updates?”

  “Yep, lemme see.” Papers rustled in the background. “Based on the water usage, it looks like there’s four to five people living in 105 and 213, even accounting for all the added bathing and washing that prayer ritual requires of compliant Muslims. Can’t find anything that associated them with Abrini, though, so it’s probably nothing. Don’t go makin’ friends with ‘em just yet, but there’s too many other reasons they might wanna keep their man’s names under the government radar for us to worry about.”

  “What about the watchlist?”

  “Nothing yet,” John continued, “we still don’t know for sure if that imam or that Algeri fella’s on there or not. Let’s see. No help from the postal records. Wherever you set up the triggerfish, it’s still working for ya. The desk nerds are looking into which devices are using V-P-N and privacy software, and they think they can use that to tie traffic to his particular apartment. We won’t see exactly what he’s saying or doing online, but we might know if he goes dark. Don’t ask me how they know that shit, I don't got the comprehension or vocabulary for it. I’m old enough that I hafta believe ‘em.” John paused. “How did you find the apartment, anyway?”

  “I got cameras into the interior stairwells, and just got lucky,” Michael lied. “Matched the photo in the intel packet to the man going inside.” John can’t ever know that I partnered with an outsider, regardless of how well our interests align for the moment.

  “Those aid worker docs came out alright, then. Must’ve at least bought you the time you needed.”

  “They let me get out alive, so, they did their job.” Michael didn’t want to bother with greater detail on his entry and forced exit.

  “So, then, the most important info. We know for a fact that he’s makin’ explosives, T-A-T-P, specifically, but I ain’t lookin’ to have you arrest him. It helps us confirm we’re on the right track, and the cops can use it later to prove his crimes, but it ain’t the absolute proof of his true intent. He could be one-a those environmental whackos from the 80s that’s gonna blow up a dam somewhere to protest altering the natural path of rivers. We gotta have more, Andrew, it’s just that damned simple.”

  “That’s what I’m looking for. Abrini only leaves every few days, and only for about an hour. I don’t think that’s enough opportunity to get inside the apartment to investigate this, and I don’t want to confront him before I know how to proceed.”

  "How do you already know he only leaves every few days? You ain’t had those cameras up that long.”

  Michael swallowed hard, knowing he’d just screwed up. “That’s, well, I guess it’s an assumption I’m making based on what I’ve seen so far. He hasn’t left for work, or school, and doesn’t have friends or company over, so I thought--”

  “You can’t go around presentin’ your assumptions as facts, goddammit! That’s how shit goes sideways and people get their heads broke for no good reason. We clear on that?”

  “I’m sorry, yes, I’m clear.”

  “Look, I know what it feels like being on your end-a this.” John paused and softened his tone. “I also understand how frustrated Jacques was with the sniffer gettin’ burned on that Reachback thing. Don’t sweat it. Shit happens, and that was much-needed data. Just means he’s gotta go out and find another one, that’s all. Nobody we care about got hurt. The sniffer will still function, but you can bet the next time it connects with Reachback, they’re gonna ping the location to go out and find it. Until you pushed that button, they thought it was destroyed in a commercial fire last year. If I were you, I’d make sure the device settings don’t let it connect to anything else, just to be safe. What else you need right now?”

  “I just need suggestions on furthering the investigation. If the cops swoop in to arrest him, things might go very badly, but I also can’t risk waiting indefinitely for the perfect opportunity to come along.”

  “In my former life at the ‘old shop,’ ya might say, I’d have already put rounds in the man’s head, just based on the chemical sniffer returns confirming all the allegations against him. That’s enough for me to have taken his life. But, in this role, this new life I’m tryin’ to carve out here, we don’t yet got enough to save his soul. Ironic, ain’t it?”

  Michael smirked at the reality. “Different rules of engagement, that’s the problem for both of us.”

  “The thing you gotta keep in mind, Andrew, is that we’re not responsible for preventing Abrini from doin’ whatever he’s gonna do, even though we sure wanna try. All we can do is to make ourselves available for God to use us as tools, however he sees fit. Maybe He's got another plan in motion and we aren't part of it.”

  Michael paused before asking a personal question of a generally impersonal man. “How would you sleep at night if we’re wrong, either way?”

  “Same as I’ve said before. I’m just a gravedigger. I sleep like a baby most nights, except when I don't.” John cleared his throat and returned to busine
ss. “So, the way I see it, you just gotta keep up a real tight and close surveillance package until Abrini gives you a chance to slip inside and confirm or dismiss the allegations. Good enough?”

  Michael nodded his acceptance. “Yep. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Stay frosty, shithead.”

  The call ended and Michael set the phone beside him on the desk. I wish I had another double, and I’m also glad I don’t. He stood up and began prepping his gear for the next day’s needs. Now that Gerard had confirmed he’d climbed onto Abrini’s balcony without alerting the cop, Michael thought he might get a chance to resolve this inquiry in the coming days. Nice to know what both the adversary and the accomplice can and can’t do. I might still delay my own death or damnation, after all.

  May 9, 6:45pm

  8 Rue de Corbillon #415. Seine-Saint-Denis, France.

  Abdel Abrini spread his map of metropolitan Paris across his writing desk and reviewed the handwritten notes he’d taped in place. Each note showed, in Arabic, the team and approximate detonation time. He scowled at the thought of “approximate,” which was an estimate only because he couldn’t yet say whether the bombers would detonate on their own, or if his backup timer would send them on to judgement. I can only see this through by leaving nothing to chance.

  Abdel had even estimated casualty rates and death tolls based on similar events and expected crowd sizes at each of the sites. He’d used his engineering background to identify sites that offered potential secondary detonations, such as a petrol station near the Champs Élysées and its predictable fuel tanker deliveries. Abdel celebrated the grand purpose, and simultaneously feared its necessity.

  To distract himself and alleviate his apprehension, Abdel started with the estimated detonations and worked his way backward in time until he reached the appointed hour for him to leave his apartment and deliver the backpacks. Eleven near-simultaneous detonations across the city, and at very specific targets designed to show the superiority of Mohammed, blessings be unto him, over the Jews and Christians who denied his prophecies and conspired for centuries to fabricate an alternative existence. God punishes nonbelievers, and that fact will again be plain in less than two days’ time.