The Bombmaker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  Abdel took a black permanent marker from the desk’s belly drawer. Starting from a common starting point to the south and ending at a common terminus to the north, he drew two curved lines to connect the intended detonation sites. A crescent moon appeared, a symbol that signified to Abdel his submission to one true God, free of equals, partners, or companions. No son, no father, no associate.

  He focused on the final terminus to the north, which had been a recent addition. Having already cut off all communications with both teams of men, neither of which knew about the other, Abdel had only one choice to ensure this final point completed his statement of absolute and unyielding obedience. Despite my selfish desire for another path forward, I cannot ask these men to martyr themselves while I fear to do so myself. If I am to snuff out these other lives to fulfill my obligations to Allah, then I must also give up my own, as my final and most confident act of faith. He encircled that north point and smiled. It stood atop his very building and the mosque that corroded its populace like a cancer.

  May 10, 4:52pm

  Lycée Paul Eluard. Seine-Saint-Denis, France.

  Gerard sat in front of a small bakery, sipped at a subpar espresso, and let an inferior chocolate croissant dry out on his table in the midday sun. He casually watched five targets, all of whom played on the same team in a spirited pick-up soccer game across the street. As their opposing team celebrated a goal, Gerard snapped off a dozen photos of the momentarily downtrodden men. He checked his watch, knowing the game would soon end. He didn’t have the resources to follow them away from the field, but he hoped to photograph them conspiring with Abrini. Well, that’s not exactly possible yet. The analysts tracked a phone that received Abrini’s message to the modem tied to the address where these assholes live, and now, I have to hope they use the same phone while I’m watching them. None of this can be used in court yet, and they might be friends or relatives without also being conspirators. We won’t know shit until someone can get their actual messages.

  He still didn’t understand how Andrew’s analysts had identified the phone and the apartment. Gerard expected real bad guys to use VPNs and end-to-end encryption, but he hadn’t asked a lot of detailed questions and Andrew hadn’t offered detailed explanations. Hell, he probably doesn’t know either, which really means I have nothing to take before a judge.

  He took several telephoto images of the players on the soccer field at the Paul Eluard High School and glanced around to confirm that no one cared. Parisians are too accustomed to tourists and their cameras.

  brrtbrrt

  Gerard saw Sergeant Le’roux was calling. “Antlé.”

  “You’re fucked.”

  “Thank you, sergeant, how’s your day going?”

  “Algeri knows you forged the info on the citations. How stupid are you? You couldn’t even pull over--”

  beepbeep beepbeep

  Gerard glanced at the caller-ID screen. “Sorry, that’s Algeri calling on the other line, surely with good tidings. I’ll call you back.” He inhaled a deep breath, braced himself, and switched calls. “Antlé.”

  “Yes, I know.” Algeri’s elation was plain in his tone.

  “How can I help you, sir?”

  “I fear you misunderstood my directives, Inspector. Is it possible that is the case?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, which directives are we discussing?”

  “The one where you ended the Saint-Denis investigation and helped Sergeant Le’roux. It’s the only things we’ve discussed for at least a month.”

  “No, sir, you were clear.” Gerard picked up his telephoto camera with one hand and snapped a quick half-dozen images of the soccer players. He resisted the temptation to confront Algeri with his presence in Seine-Saint-Denis and demand to know what he’d said to the suspicious imam yesterday.

  “Your actions and your taxi citations suggest otherwise.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gerard tried to assess the man without directly lying to him. “Is there a problem with the citations?”

  “Well, either you had a string of terrible luck, or you’re the worst forger in French national history. Every piece of defendant and vehicle information was wrong.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Well, if it was one, I’d suggest that a common street criminal duped you because you’re an awful investigator. But, for that to happen to one hundred percent of your citations, twenty-five in all, that is something else, is it not?”

  “I don’t know, lieutenant, I--”

  “I’m referring the matter to Internal Affairs, Inspector. You’re fortunate the defendants’ thumb prints all smudged too badly for a comparison, for I suspect they share the same print, do they not?”

  “I’ve never been good at print collection, sir, you can ask anyone around the unit, they’ll agree--”

  “What do you think, Inspector, is the cause of this? I’m interested to hear your thoughts, just to know how stupid you believe me to be.”

  Gerard nodded, even though Algeri couldn’t see him. “I think you have a lot of circumstance and no real evidence, sir, and I’ll just wait for the rat squad to call me at their earliest convenience. My number’s still on their speed dial, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t act so smug, Antlé. I don’t think you’ll walk away from this one, not after you answer for where you’ve been and why none of your citations appear on a single traffic camera anywhere in the city.”

  Gerard shrugged. I forgot about that. The devil really is in the details. “Peace be with you, lieutenant.”

  His superior scoffed at the similar well-wish common to both their religions. “And peace be also with your spirit, Inspector.”

  The call disconnected, and Gerard considered his arrest. I don’t have much time. I hope that Father Andrew, or whoever he is--

  brrtbrrt brrtbrrt

  The cell phone’s caller ID derailed his thoughts. Claudette never calls when she knows I’m at work. He held his breath and answered the call. "Is everything all right?”

  “No, not at all! You’re nothing but a shitty caricature of a man, an idealized picture of a poster-boy cop that everyone else knows doesn’t exist!”

  Gerard grimaced. Bad news travels fast among the cop sewing circles. My people gossip and peck more than old hens. “So, how’s Marie?”

  “What?! When the fuck did you start caring about what happens to your daughter? I just got a call from one of the other wives, and I’m not going to say who, but I know you’re to be investigated and fired for insubordination.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, you know more than anyone. Are you calling to yell, or does Marie need something?”

  His wife’s sneer came through in her voice. “I thought you might actually turn this around when you moved out, Gerard, but at least you get that in your favor. You got to prove me wrong, yet again.”

  Claudette continued to berate him, but Gerard tuned her out and focused on capturing usable images of his five targets. If she gets this anger out on me, maybe she’ll be kinder to Marie tonight, or, perhaps, a little less inclined to call that piece of shit that’s willing to fuck another man’s wife. Her voice grew shriller as Claudette worked herself into a frenzy.

  The scrimmage ended and Gerard’s targets congregated together to change out their shoes, collect their belongings, and leave.

  “Are you even listening--”

  “I have to go, Claudette, I--”

  “What?! You have to--”

  Gerard ended the call and silenced his ringer. Let’s see where these guys go, and maybe who else they talk to. If I’m flushing everything down the toilet, I need to turn up something worth my career suicide.

  May 10, 8:53pm

  13 Rue de Corbillon. Seine-Saint-Denis, France.

  Michael sat alone in the small parking garage office. He alternated between communicating with John, watching Gerard’s ten video feeds, and checking on the two Wi-Fi cameras that broadcasted from Abrini’s balcony. Despite his efforts and prep
arations to move into Abrini’s apartment at a moment’s notice, nothing had changed throughout the day to give him that opportunity. His cell phone alerted him to a new encrypted message from John. Michael unlocked the phone and opened that app.

  No help from the postal records. The building’s too transient, more than 30 names tied to each apartment, but no one named ABRINI. No one at Postal updates the records as people move out or get deported. I asked for help with the Terr WL from my old cohorts, but they need a few days, and we may not have that much time...

  The familiar blinking cursor showed John typing.

  Triggerfish is still active, but suspected target went dark four hours ago. The suspect device has been consistent and active since the triggerfish went live. Could be nothing, could mean he’s going hot and protecting his op-sec. You’re the one on the ground, so your decision. If you’re ready to move, you better find a way in the next 12-24. Copy?

  Michael replayed John’s words in his head. I know enough to kill him, but not enough to save his soul. With nothing else to say, he acknowledged the intel: Copy. Moving.

  The cursor stopped blinking and Michael closed the app. All on me now, the full and terrible weight of the whole thing, regardless of how it ends. I have more backup than I’ve had since Silver City, but I still have to trust my gut and my guns more than anything or anyone else.

  He pulled the balcony cameras up on his smartphone, and saw the curtains still blocked almost all his view into the apartment. With only a little more information, or footage of Abrini building an IED, he’d have to consider passing that on to Gerard and letting him evacuate the neighborhood and isolate Abrini. His soul wouldn’t be saved that way, but all the lives around him might. Michael’s ever-present inner cop accepted that as a positive outcome, so long as he ignored the history of this conflict. The last time French authorities moved on that building, more than 5,000 rounds went downrange in the middle of the city. That risks every life and limb within a mile, and Abrini might just detonate, anyway.

  Michael exhaled and considered the benefit of his remaining ignorance. No, I have to stay at the tip of the spear for now. No one’s at certain risk but me, and the police can always step in if I fail.

  The jingle of keys fumbling in the outer lock announced Gerard’s return. He pushed the metal door open, stepped inside, and secured the door behind him. Gerard raised two large brown paper sacks of takeout to show them off. “It’s nights like this that I wish Férme a Table was real. No one delivers food to this neighborhood at night.”

  Michael sat up and made a show of locking his phone. He needed Gerard to believe he’d just been reviewing new data. “What are your thoughts on tomorrow?”

  Gerard’s expression fluctuated, and Michael thought he held something back. Looks like we both have our secrets.

  “We’re out of time, and I fear we must do something bold and immediate.”

  “What about the consequences to your career?”

  The anti-terror cop set the bags on the folding table in front of Michael. “Fuck the consequences. I’d rather stand trial myself than watch the funerals that follow if we do nothing.”

  “Our cops back home have a saying about that: ‘I’d rather be tried by twelve than carried by six.’”

  “You get twelve judges?”

  “No, one judge and twelve jurors.”

  “That’s terrifying, but I still agree, my friend.” Gerard looked tired, maybe even desperate. “Do you have something specific in mind?”

  Michael leaned forward and waved the phone to remind the cop of his background assets. “I got an update on the triggerfish data. I don’t know how they established the connections, but Abrini’s been communicating with at least one group.”

  Gerard lowered himself into the chair next to Michael. “That’s good, that supports our suspicions, and that he’s not yet operational.”

  “Right. It might be one group. It might be members of different groups. You got photos of the soccer players earlier today, right?”

  “Yes. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m waiting to get the raw data, but the analysts think Abrini has a meeting at one of several locations around the city tomorrow morning. They don’t know if he will attend, maybe, maybe not, but they think the soccer players you saw might be meeting with another conspirator, maybe another group, a cut-out, they can’t be sure because of the encoded messages.”

  “And what will you be doing while I’m driving through the Paris traffic?”

  “I thought I would be most useful here, to keep an eye on the cameras and apartment building, but, if you prefer, I can go with you? I don’t know the city well enough to drive myself, especially if they’re trained to detect surveillance--”

  “I understand.” Gerard looked down at the takeout packages for a moment and absentmindedly moved them around the table. “Alright. Yes, that makes the most sense, so long as you’re confident the information’s legitimate.”

  “I can’t say that, not with absolute confidence, but, based on similar communications over the history of counterterror operations, that’s what they’re thinking right now.”

  “Yes, well, get me the places and times, and I’ll do my part. Just one question.” The cop intently looked into Michael’s eyes as though searching for deceit. “If I do this and leave you here, and Abrini comes out of the building in a suicide vest, do you have the means of stopping him?”

  Michael mulled the question for a moment before realizing Gerard’s intent. He’s had to expect that I’m armed. I’ve already admitted to running an intel op on his soil as a foreign national, so having a gun should be less important. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Good.” Gerard turned back to the takeout boxes. “If you need something with a greater reach than whatever’s tucked in the front of your pants, I keep a rifle hidden on the underside of the desk. I assume you know how to work one.”

  Michael chuckled at the unexpected statement. “That is a fair assumption.”

  “As we agreed two days ago, we must trust one another, especially when we find ourselves alone together, yes?”

  Michael nodded and swallowed his guilt. “Yes, absolutely. Thanks for dinner. I’m going back to my hotel for a few hours’ sleep.” He stood, collected his backpack and immediate needs, and shook Gerard’s hand.

  “Send me the information. God willing, we’ll see one another tomorrow. Peace be with you, Andrew.”

  Michael fabricated a guilt-free smile. “And also with your spirit.” If everything goes really well, or really badly, we’ll never see each other again.

  May 10, 9:27pm (Paris) / 1:27pm (PDT)

  Rural Training Compound. Esmerelda County, Nevada.

  After the day’s end at his clandestine southwestern Nevada training compound, John secluded himself at the desk in his room. He chewed through another handful of Tums Smoothies tablets and read over the most recent intel updates on Andrew’s Paris investigation. The triggerfish and IMSI devices had proved only that the area was a haven for anti-Western thought and hatred without uncovering specific evidence of Abrini’s intent.

  John leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. I can’t let Andrew hang himself so damned far out there, not when there’s so much death and devastation guaranteed by his failure. He don’t seem to mind risking his own life, but I don’t like his odds for success on this one. Time to phone a friend.

  He retrieved his cell phone, ensured the VPN was active and functioning, and routed the call through Japan. A long pause ensued after he dialed the number and pressed Send.

  mmrtmmrt mmrtmmrt

  “Bonjour.”

  “Bahn-jewr, yourself. Can you talk?”

  “Of course.” The man’s heavy French accent and reserved tone never changed.

  “You’re a man who don’t fluster easy, and I got some work that needs tendin’ to over in your neck-a the woods. Get your go-bag ready and stand to post, I’mma probly need your help real bad in the
next day, maybe two.”

  “Where? In Paris?”

  “Yep. One of our own is over there workin’ an investigation now, and shit’s about to turn ugly for ‘im. He can use a friend or two, and I’m hopin’ you can be that guy.”

  The operative’s voice grew apprehensive and skeptical. “This is, uh, clearly violates our op-sec. Are you certain it’s necessary?”

  The aging spymaster scowled. “Let me worry about that shit, just as long as you can keep this between us. No reason for anybody else to know about it. At the end-a the day, if the rules keep you from doin’ what’s right, then what the hell good are they?”

  “I could not agree more. May I know now who I’m helping?”

  John paused and considered the risk his answer posed if they didn’t need Alpha’s help. “Andrew. And you’re gonna need to pick up some gear there in town. We got a local quartermaster, which you wasn’t ever supposed to know about, seeing as how I try to keep you from workin’ in your own backyard. I hope you understand the position I’m in.”

  “I do, and nothing will ever go beyond the four of us.”

  John grimaced at the truth Alpha pointed out. Just adding this one man means four of us will have to keep this secret. “Something you should understand. Remember the training scenario we discussed at camp that night Bartholomew quit?”

  A silent moment ticked by. “Yes. We discussed using a sniper to stop an inbound suicide bomber from driving into a crowd in Saint Peter’s Square, and that hypothetical need demanded our competence with that weapon system.” Alpha inhaled sharply. “Is that what’s happening in Paris, what Andrew is investigating?”