Wolf Trap (Casey Reddick Book 1)

by Charles DeMaris

  “I…uh…”

  “What’s wrong Prescott, cat got your tongue? How many are dead because you didn’t act? How many? 500? 1000?”

  “We don’t have an exact figure. We’re still trying to ascertain…”

  “Cut the crap, director. I had solid intel and passed everything on to you, everything. You could have prevented this, and I have proof.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Proof that you knew this attack was going to happen and did nothing. What did you do, pass the buck to the FBI?”

  “This was a domestic threat…”

  “So that’s it. I drop that information in your lap and you do nothing. You passed it to the FBI and they did nothing. Why, you didn’t trust the info?”

  “You’re obviously one of these private intelligence outfits trying to play spy. You should leave that to the professionals.”

  “Well, the professionals sat on their butts and let hundreds of Americans die, while this private outfit gave you info that could have saved their lives. Their blood is on your hands, director.”

  The president was not liking what he was hearing.

  “Director Prescott, is this true? Did she give you info that could have prevented this?”

  “Mr. President…she sent a file…”

  “And you did nothing. Nothing at all. I will not have such incompetence in my administration. I expect your resignation on my desk within the hour. That will be all. Oh, and Miss…who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  “Jenny will suffice. You don’t need my last name. Give the director…er…former director, his phone back. I’ll call you back on yours.”

  The desk phone rang shortly after and Jenny was put through.

  “Jenny. What did you send Prescott?”

  “Check your email.”

  President Brooks opened the file and started to read through it.

  “Very thorough and to the point. What kind of operation are you running? You do know the legality…”

  “Yeah, spare me the lecture. We only wanted to help. I know previous administrations have slashed the budget and you’re thinly staffed. You could use the extra eyes and ears. We don’t worry about red tape around here. We only came across that information yesterday and I had my man compile that report in under an hour. Can you move that fast? I don’t think so. We only wanted to help. How did your people miss that one? It was all over the internet yesterday. Sleeper cells woke up and were singing like canaries and you missed it. Do you have any idea what would happen if I released this information to the media?”

  “They’d crucify me.”

  “Not just you. America doesn’t need this right now. Public confidence is poor enough as it is. You know as well as anyone how divided this country is. You can work with us. You can let us operate and you can trust the intel I send you. We can also give you deniability. We have the ability to gather intel that if you were caught…you know what I mean.”

  “I think I can follow you. Is this line secure?”

  “Better encryption than you have, I can assure you. Check your email. I’ll send you a secure way to contact me if you need to, and I’ll want a contact as well, someone I can work with, someone we both can trust.”

  “Well, Jenny, it appears I have to find a new DCI. I’ll put him or her in touch with you as soon as possible. I apologize for the ineptitude of Mr. Prescott.”

  8

  Casey and Wilma exited the elevator and Casey went straight to his workstation while Wilma stood there gawking.

  “You must be Mrs. Reddick,” Jenny said, “Sorry…”

  She enveloped Wilma in a hug.

  “Your son is working with me to try to make sure days like today don’t happen.”

  “But, this happened.”

  “We tried to warn them, but they didn’t listen. We won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Uh…guys…think I got something here,” Ahmed said.

  “Show me,” Jenny said.

  “The phone that set off the bomb. I think it’s the guy’s actual phone, not a burner.”

  “Why would he use his own phone to trigger the bomb?”

  “Like I said earlier, I don’t think he thought this through real well. I mean, re-wiring the bomb took some thinking, but you would think he would have used a different phone. Probably thought the call would be lost in the shuffle. Anyway, look at this.”

  Jenny looked at the screen and there was a full bio of the owner of the phone.

  “Talib Ibrahim, 24 years old, has a small apartment in Norwood. He’s on the move, but not headed toward home.”

  “Where is he headed?”

  “Assuming his phone is with him, looks like he’s headed north. He’s on 71, but he didn’t stop in Norwood. Just passed Oakley couple minutes ago, still heading north.”

  “I wonder where he’s heading.”

  “Who knows, but I know one thing. Someone needs to have a chat with this guy.”

  “What’s that other screen you got up there? You got his car and everything?” Earl asked.

  “After I got his name from the cell phone account, I checked and found a car registered in his name. Matched the car we got leaving the bus station. Same car the bum approached. 2004 white Chevy Impala. Got the plate number and everything.”

  Earl motioned for Casey to follow him and walked across the room.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Casey asked.

  “After this mornin’, I don’t know what I’m thinkin’. Just know that dude killed a lot of innocent folk and he needs to be stopped. Not sure who we can trust. I say we go get ‘im.”

  “How do you think we can do that?”

  “I got an idea. I’m gonna call Clyde. Get in your car. I’ll follow you in my truck. I think Clyde will want in on the fun too.”

  “What do you think your wife will say?”

  “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, brother.”

  A minute later, Jenny looked around for Casey and he was nowhere to be found.

  “You seen Casey?”

  “He was pretty dirty, probably went for a shower,” Ahmed said.

  “Okay, I’m going up to my office. Let me know if I need to see anything. You’re doing a great job by the way.”

  Ahmed conferenced in Earl, Clyde, and Casey. Earl and Casey were leaving the parking lot and Clyde was following from his house. Soon enough they were all heading east.

  “Okay, guys, Jenny’s upstairs. I have Talib stopped at the moment. Looks like he’s at the corner of Montgomery and Kenwood. Buying gas probably.”

  “Hopefully he’ll be moving before we get to 71 so we know which way to go.” Earl said.

  The three of them drove across 275 and when they were passing 75, Ahmed came back on the line.

  “He’s back on the highway and heading north. How far away are you guys?”

  “Passing Sharonville right now,” Casey said, “Should be at 71 pretty soon.”

  A couple minutes later Ahmed was back, “He took 275 East. He’s not that far ahead of you and he’s not going fast. Doesn’t want to get pulled over, I figure.”

  “Reckon we oughta step on it,” Clyde said.

  They sped up and within a few minutes they had visual on the Impala, going the speed limit in the right lane.

  “Okay, guys, I got front, Clyde can take rear, and Casey, you get on his left. We just ease him off the road,” Earl said.

  Earl sped up and passed the Impala, easing back into the lane in front. Clyde got behind Talib and still he was not aware what was happening. Then when the pickup truck in front of him started slowing down, he put his turn signal on and looked to the left for an opening to pass the slow truck. There was a car right there.

  Casey started drifting toward his lane and Talib had to go onto the shoulder to avoid being hit. It was then he noticed that the pickup truck in front of him and the SUV behind him were also pulling off and slowing down. When he came to a stop, Casey moved ahead and pulle
d off, backing up to join Earl. Earl and Clyde were out of their vehicles before Talib had time to react. By the time Casey exited his car, they had Talib out of his car and Clyde was tying his wrists behind his back.

  “Hey, what about my rights?” Talib said.

  “We ain’t cops,” Earl said.

  Casey walked up to him and punched him in the mouth.

  “What about my sister’s rights, you murdering bastard?”

  They secured Talib and put him in the back of Earl’s truck and headed back toward the office.

  “We got him, heading back now,” Earl said.

  “Would it not be a good idea to bring back his car as well?” Ahmed asked.

  “Probably, but we don’t exactly have an extra driver at the moment.”

  “I figured as much, got a wrecker heading that way. Getting it towed to a gas station close to here, that one off the exit. Uh oh, guys, boss lady heading this way.”

  “Earl, is that you on the line?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Where are you, and where is Casey? I’ve looked all over the building.”

  “Got you a Christmas present.”

  “Christmas isn’t for another seven months.”

  “Store had a sale, couldn’t pass it up. Got it gift wrapped and everything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Got you your very own terrorist. I know you’ve always wanted one. Reckon we could have a nice chat. He might have all sorts of stories to tell.”

  “You just went out and nabbed him?”

  “Well, I had some help.”

  “That was dangerous.”

  “Dangerous was trusting someone else to act yesterday,” Casey said, “If we would have acted, maybe my sister would be alive.”

  “I set this up as an intelligence gathering company. I never intended us to do the field work, too.”

  “Maybe we need to rethink things.”

  “Guys, maybe we should talk more when you get here.”

  “Sure, just have Ahmed look for any leverage we might have on this guy.”

  Jenny turned to Ahmed and asked, “Would it be correct to assume you helped them?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “Well, I’m not happy that you went behind my back, but you showed initiative. Can I also assume this was my husband’s idea?”

  “It was, but I thought it was a good idea.”

  “Why is that?”

  “What you have here, it’s impressive. What we can do is a little scary. Seems that human intel is better than electronic sometimes.”

  “Where’d you get that idea?”

  “Probably in a book or a movie, but it makes sense. This guy might know stuff that we can’t get our usual ways.”

  “And you think he’ll just tell us over a cup of tea?”

  “Hadn’t really thought that far. Is that why Earl asked about leverage?”

  “Probably. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’m digging here. He’s radical enough to go through with the bombing, but he went out of his way to avoid being a martyr. He has something to live for. We find out what that is, we have our leverage. No family in the States, so we can rule that out.”

  “Do you think he’s just afraid to die?”

  “Everyone is sometimes, but these radical guys who martyr themselves are so sold out to their ideology they think paradise awaits them the moment they die. It’s a glorious way to go out and when you go, Allah welcomes you with open arms. To someone with nothing to live for, this seems like the best option. Just look where most of these guys are recruited from.”

  “They’re mostly from poor areas?”

  “Mostly. Sometimes you will see one with some education or money, but normally the ones with the education and money are the ones sending the poor ones to die. Sadly, it’s been that way throughout history, and not just among Muslims.”

  “You have a point, but what do you think our friend has to live for?”

  “I don’t know, but…wait a minute…look here.”

  “What am I looking at?”

  “You see his phone records? Look at this number. He’s been calling this number several times a day, mostly at night. Why don’t we find out who that number belongs to?”

  A few keystrokes later, Ahmed had a name, and a few minutes later had an entire bio on the screen. Miriam Samara was 23 years old, had recently graduated from Xavier, and was living in Milford.

  “Looks like our bomber has a girlfriend. That explains where he was headed when we got him. Not too smart on his part.”

  “Do you think she’s part of this?”

  “Not likely. He’s been over here lying low, waiting for the moment, he’s lonely, meets a nice Muslim girl. Hey, he’s a young man…and she’s kind of cute. Can’t say I blame him.”

  “Keep your head in the game, Ahmed. How do you plan on using her?”

  Ahmed dialed her number and on the third ring she answered.

  “Hi Sarah, we still on for tonight?” he asked as he activated a tracer program.

  “There’s no Sarah here. You must have a wrong number.”

  “Just my dumb luck. I meet a nice girl and ask her out, and she gives me a wrong number.” He repeated her number and asked her if that was the number.

  “Yes, that’s my number, but I’m not Sarah.”

  “Well, sorry to bother you. Guess I’m free tonight.”

  He disconnected the call, but not before he had a location.

  “Looks like she’s home. I have an idea.”

  He dialed Casey’s number.

  “Hello.”

  “Casey, it’s Ahmed. Where are you now?”

  “Passing Tri County, why?”

  “Stop at Best Buy and pick up a Go Pro or something like that with good resolution, something that can transmit. I’m sending you an address. Get the camera and head there. I’ll email you.”

  The elevator from the gym opened and Avi Zielinski walked in.

  “I got your message,” he said to Jenny, “Where’s Casey?”

  “Still out. Earl and Clyde are heading back with the bomber and he’s following up on another lead.”

  “Just the other day you said you weren’t going to use field agents.”

  “I still don’t like the idea, but after today…”

  “Sometimes it’s the best way to go. Is that Mrs. Reddick sitting over there? I think she needs company. We can talk later.”

  “Mrs. Reddick,” he said to her, “My name’s Avi. May I sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  “How you holding up?”

  “Not so good.”

  “I lost a daughter 25 years ago. It doesn’t get any easier. I wish I could say it does. You just learn to deal with it.”

  “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Nobody does. We’re not supposed to bury our kids.”

  “How did you handle it?”

  “I prayed, and got drunk. Probably should have stuck with the praying.”

  “I’m tryin’ to pray. I really am. Just wonder if the Lord’s listenin’ right now.”

  “Sometimes God plays hard to get. I don’t know why. He’s just like that sometimes.”

  “That doesn’t help much right now.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Just thought you could use someone to sit with.”

  “Oh, I miss my baby. Why the Lord have to take her so soon…whole life ahead of her…”

  Her words blended into sobs as she leaned her head against Avi’s shoulder and gave in to her grief.

  9

  Casey rang the doorbell and waited. A minute later Miriam Samara answered the door. ‘She’s quite the looker,’ Casey thought to himself.

  “Ma’am, I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”

  “Who are you? You look familiar.”

  “Casey Reddick, ma’am. Could I speak with you for a moment?”

  “The football player?
What do you want with me?”

  Casey held up his phone with a photo of Talib.

  “Do you know this man? He might be in trouble.”

  “My Talib? What kind of trouble could he be in?”

  “May I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Miriam offered him a glass of water and they sat down at the kitchen table, where he opened his iPad and showed her a video. It was the traffic cam video taken from in front of the Greyhound station that morning.

  She had a bad feeling when she saw the video.

  “That’s his car. What was he doing there?”

  “Just watch the video. This was taken five minutes before the bomb went off.”

  She watched Talib hand a package and a photo to a homeless man and drive off. The video showed the man slip something into his pocket and then walk into the station, holding the package and looking at the photo. The video rolled for nearly five more minutes, showing people entering and leaving the station, before the camera caught the beginning of the explosion and went blank.

  She stared at the screen, knowing what she was seeing and refusing to believe it.

  “The explosion was triggered by a cell phone call, from this number.”

  He showed her the number and she began to cry.

  “That’s his number. Did…he…did he…”

  “Yes, we believe the package he handed the beggar was the bomb and he triggered it with his phone when he got far enough away. It appears that he gave the beggar a photo and told him to give the package to that person.”

  “I…I…can’t believe this. He…such a kind boy…”

  “My sister was in the station, with her fiancée.”

  Miriam broke down and sat there sobbing for nearly ten minutes before she regained her composure.

  “Is he running? Can I help you get him?”

  “We already have him, but you can still help us.”

  “What can I do.”

  “Simple. We need to know what he knows, but my friends and I are squeamish. We don’t want to hurt him, not physically.”

  “If you don’t want to hurt him, take me there. I’ll do it for you. How many died?”

  “We’re not sure yet. More than 100, maybe 200.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Can you act?”