I had purposely avoided telling Maggie about the possible Pakistani security threat.
She had been worried enough by my latest undercover work with the suspected terrorists and the drug dealers. I saw no reason to burden her with more concern --- after all, we were being watched and protected by the best that the United States Government had to offer.
Ox and I arrived hours before the first fans would start filing into the stadium.
We passed through all of the security checkpoints and I swear, as the big gamma-ray machine scanned our vehicle, I felt my body tingle.
The National Guard was already on the scene, patrolling the lot decked out in their helmets and carrying automatic rifles.
Helicopters appeared over the stadium every few minutes and I was told that they were equipped with special monitors that could detect radiation and biological agents.
The canine unit was standing by and as in our airports today, they would be sniffing incoming fans for anything explosive.
Somewhere, I had heard that the cost of this gigantic security nightmare was in the neighborhood of ten million.
I wondered if the fans had any idea what was involved in making their day at the ballpark a safe and happy one.
In the early morning, just before the sun’s rays would bring light to the dawn of a new day, seven men gathered together.
They knelt and bowed to the rising sun in the eastern sky, knowing that for four of them, it would be the last sunrise they would ever see.
Mustafa, their leader, spoke in solemn tones, “This day is the culmination of our past year’s work and it is a day that will be spoken of with reverence by our countrymen.
“Your sacrifice will bring glory to our jihad and strike terror into the hearts of the infidels.
“Today, Allah will receive you into the Paradise promised to those who are true and faithful to our cause.
“My brethren, are you ready?”
Everyone nodded.
“Then let us go to our destiny.”
Ox and I were assigned to one of the gates leading into the stadium.
Like all of the other security personnel, we were given little ear buds through which we could receive communications and a little microphone through which we could communicate with the command center.
I likened this to how James Bond must have felt when Q gave him a new toy.
If people thought that airport security was over the top, they were in for a shock at today’s event.
Every bag and every body was thoroughly scanned.
Nothing larger than a purse was allowed into the stadium.
No strollers, coolers, backpacks, umbrellas, or camera or binocular cases were allowed.
Even though all of this had been announced in the newspapers and on TV, people still showed up carrying the banned paraphernalia.
They had to either return the offending items to their cars, thereby giving up their place in line, or surrender the articles to the authorities.
A big part of our job was to calm the distraught carriers of the contraband.
Once past the initial screening for the carry-in items, they would pass through the airport-type screeners and certain fans would then be randomly selected for additional wanding and a pat down.
Everyone entering would pass by an inconspicuous device that could detect and register radioactive isotopes.
One old gentleman set off the alarm in the machine and that brought the Feds running.
It turned out that he had just come from the nuclear medicine department at St. Luke’s Hospital where he had been injected with Carbon-11, a radioactive isotope, used as part of a PET Scan.
After a lengthy discussion in which they determined that the old guy wasn’t a nuclear threat, he was sent on his way.
I had just returned from escorting an irate fan back to his car, when I heard a familiar voice.
“Are you saying that I can’t bring my own beer into the ball park?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s the rule.”
“So if I want a beer, I gotta pay you guys ten bucks?”
“I suppose so, if you want a beer.”
“That just ain’t right!”
I hurried to the front of the line.
“Mary, what’s going on?”
“Mr. Walt, thank goodness you’re here. I packed a wonderful picnic basket for me and Lawrence,” she said, pointing to a container the size of a small bassinet, “and this jerk won’t let me bring it in!”
“Sorry, Mary, I can’t help you. The rules have to apply to everyone. If you want to see the game, I’m afraid the basket will have to stay out here.”
She gave me one of her disgusted looks, “Well, damn!” and shoved the basket into my arms.
I quickly deposited the basket in the growing pile of abandoned goodies and followed her into the gate.
I figured with the way things were going, she would be one of the lucky ones to be herded out of the line for the wanding and pat down.
I remembered her going through the ordeal at the airport before our trip to Hawaii and it wasn’t pretty.
Sure enough, the security guy pulled her out of the line.
He was just running the wand up the inside of her legs when I got there.
“Mr. Walt, how come everyone has to stick one of those things up my twat? What do they think I’m hiding in there?”
“It’s okay, Mary. It’s just a routine check --- nothing personal.”
I looked at the security guy, “Is she good to go?”
I could tell he was more than glad to send her on her way.
I figured I was going to get an earful, but when Mary saw the beautiful stadium, all the bad stuff was forgotten.
“Oh, Mr. Walt, it’s --- it’s --- it’s just too much!”
“It’s going to be a beautiful day, Mary. Why don’t you get an usher to help you find your seat? Enjoy yourself.”
So off Mary went, like a kid in a candy store.
After the majority of the fans were seated, Ox and I were assigned to one of the sections to keep an eye on the crowd.
Unless you have been to one of these events, you cannot imagine the thrill of seeing forty thousand people coming together to enjoy one of America’s favorite pastimes.
Everyone stood for the presentation of the colors and as I listened to the familiar words of our National Anthem, I watched Old Glory waving on the giant screen in center field.
As the last notes died away, Air Force fighter jets streaked across the sky leaving billowing contrails in their wake.
From behind the center field wall, skyrockets burst into the air exploding in showers of brilliant colors.
The words of the announcer filled the stadium, “PLAY BALL!” and forty thousand people cheered.
This was pure Americana, and the idea of a terrorist plot to destroy it was unthinkable.
I remembered Mark’s words, “It’s for the greater good,” and I began to think that maybe he was right.
At the beginning of the sixth inning, Zareef and his three comrades made their way to the outfield area.
In an out of the way spot, they emptied the hot dogs from their metal containers and met with their two brethren that had been working the pyrotechnics.
As the pyrotechnicians loaded the C-4 into the hot dog containers, Zareef and the three others quickly assembled the parts to the detonation devices that they had been carrying with them throughout the day.
When everything was ready, the five men gathered in a circle holding hands.
“For the jihad,” one of them said.
“For the jihad,” they all said together.
“Remember, at the end of the verse when they sing, ‘for its one, two, three strikes you’re out’, that is the moment you detonate.”
They all nodded.
They had to hurry to be in their places in time for the seventh inning stretch.
Between innings, I walked up and down the steps surveying the crowd.
O
n my first pass, I heard Mary’s voice, “Hey, Mr. Walt. Isn’t this just great?”
“What were the chances,” I wondered, “that Mary would be seated in my section.”
I stopped and chatted for a moment with Mary and Lawrence. Maybe it was a good thing that she was in my section. At least I could keep an eye on her.
At the end of each half inning, one of the cute little usherettes would come bounding down the steps and take her place by the rail.
Besides making sure that no one jumped onto the field, the usherettes did cool things like throwing T-shirts into the crowd and leading cheers.
Each time she would pass me on the steps, she would give me a little wave. I noticed from the tag that she was wearing that her name was Julie.
When the National League team made their final out in the top of the seventh inning, the crowd rose to their feet.
It was time for the seventh inning stretch.
Vendors began to descend from the upper walkway with their trays full of cokes, cotton candy and peanuts. This would be their last big haul, as the fans would stock up for the remainder of the game.
The strains of the familiar song filled the stadium and everyone began to sing in unison, “Take me out to the baaaall game. Take me out with the crowd.”
I saw a hot dog vendor going down the steps and was surprised when I saw both Mary and Lawrence wave at him.
He seemed surprised too, but he stopped and waved back.
“Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks. I don’t care if I never get back.”
Zareef’s hands were sweaty as he held tightly to the container carrying the C-4.
He knew exactly where he needed to stand so that the blast would have the greatest impact.
As he descended the steps he looked at the blue sky and fluffy white clouds overhead. It would be the last time he would see them.
When he had reached his chosen spot, he noticed someone waving to him from the seats.
It was Mary and Lawrence, his friends from the hotel.
What were they doing here?
Why were they here of all places?
They smiled and waved and he waved back.
“Let me root, root, root, for the home team.”
He looked down the aisle and saw Julie standing by the rail leading the singing.
Their eyes met and she gave him one of her special winks.
At that moment, Zareef realized that he did not want to die. He didn’t want Mary and Lawrence to die and most of all he didn’t want Julie to die.
“For if they don’t win it’s a shame.”
Zareef looked around and saw a policeman standing a few rows away.
He knew what he had to do.
He just hoped that it wasn’t too late.
I saw the vendor running up the steps in my direction.
He threw his hot dog container at my feet and opened the lid.
“Bomb!” he said. “There are three more --- all with hot dog vendors. You must hurry!”
I quickly keyed the little microphone that I had been given. I hadn’t used it all day. I just hoped that it worked and that someone was listening.
“This is Officer Williams. There are three bombs being carried by hot dog vendors, and you’d better make it quick!”
“For its one, two, three strikes ---”
I saw security officers tackle every hot dog vendor in the stadium and there must have been at least fifty of them.
Over my earplug I heard, “I’ve got one.” Then, “I’ve got number two.” and finally, I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard, “I’ve got the last one.”
“you’re out, at the old baaaaall game!”
As I looked at all the innocent vendors, many of whom lay bleeding, I realized that their suffering was the price that was paid for the greater good.
It was a concept that I was having trouble getting my head around.
I saw Mary running up the steps.
“Zareef, are you okay?”
I looked at Mary, “Do you know this guy?”
“Well sure,” she replied, “he lives at the hotel!”
CHAPTER 18
Homeland Security whisked Zareef away, along with the five other Pakistanis.
The bomb squad removed the C-4 and the All Star Game concluded without further incident.
The Pakistanis weren’t the only ones ushered out of the stadium.
Mary, Lawrence, Julie, the usherette, and I were also taken into custody.
Apparently Homeland Security wanted to be sure that none of us were a part of the plot.
We were taken to police headquarters in separate vehicles and placed in separate interrogation rooms.
As I sat there waiting, I could imagine how Dr. Rhinehart and Amir must have felt when they were taken in the middle of the night.
After what seemed like hours, Mark Davenport entered the room.
“Walt, you certainly have a knack for being right in the middle of things.”
“Let me assure you that it’s not intentional. Trust me when I say that I had no idea that I was standing twenty feet from enough C-4 to blow me to kingdom come.”
“That being said, it was your quick and decisive action that averted one of the greatest tragedies in American history.
“I’m proud and happy to be associated with you --- both professionally and by blood.”
“All I did was react. If Zareef had not had a change of heart, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Do you have any idea what prompted that?”
“After talking with him, it seems that there were many factors, not the least of which was the friendship that was extended to him by the usherette and your two friends from the hotel.
“By the way, did you know he was living there?”
“Not a clue. I leave all of that to Mary. She runs the place.”
“She’s quite a lady --- and I use the term loosely.
“My interrogators have questioned some pretty tough characters over the years and are not easily intimidated, but they’ve never run into anyone quite like her before.”
“I hope you’re not planning to hold her.”
“Heavens no! In fact, the sooner you can get her out of here, the better.”
“So what about Zareef? What’s going to happen to him?”
“Zareef has asked for asylum and in light of the lives he has saved, we’re considering it, but there is one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We have everyone involved with the plot in custody but one man, Mustafa Wasim.
“He was the one that orchestrated the whole thing and he’s in the wind.
“Zareef gave us his location, but the guy was long gone.”
“So why is that a problem? Are you afraid Zareef might have a change of heart and join with him?”
“Quite the contrary. Zareef is now a traitor to the jihad in Wasim’s eyes. If Zareef is freed, Wasim will come for him. We’re sure of it. Zareef will never be safe as long as Wasim is out there and we really don’t want this terrorist on the loose to plan another attack.”
I could see what was coming.
“So your plan is to use Zareef as bait to lure Wasim out into the open.”
“Something like that, but we need your cooperation.”
“So how can I help?”
This one I didn’t see coming.
“We need the Three Trails Hotel. It was Wasim that took Zareef there in the first place and if we release him, we figure that would be the first place he would look.”
“But what about all of the tenants? What about Mary? What about my building? The guy might decide to blow the whole thing up with Zareef inside!”
“We’ve got that covered. We’ll relocate all your tenants to a motel and provide transportation for them until the operation is over.
“My men will occupy their rooms until we catch the guy.
“I even have an operative that could pass for Mary from a distance, and as for your building, would it
really be that much of a loss if it were blown to smithereens?”
I was speechless.
The first thing that crossed my mind was the image of Old Man Feeney clogging up the toilet at the Motel 6.
Then when I considered the possibility that the U.S. Government might have to pay me if this wacko torched the place, I could see that the idea had some merit.
“Okay, I’m in. What’s next?”
Homeland Security moved quickly.
My tenants were relocated to a nearby motel and were paid a daily stipend for their trouble.
Mark had the foresight to put Mary in charge and even gave her the title of ‘Project Coordinator’.
I figured that if we all made it through this operation, Mary would be very hard to live with.
Cameras and other surveillance equipment magically appeared at the hotel and Homeland Security operatives, dressed like my down-and-out tenants, moved into the shabby rooms.
Mark wanted to be sure that Mustafa Wasim took the bait, so he leaked a story to the Kansas City Star naming Zareef a hero whose extraordinary courage had saved thousands of lives.
I discovered after-the-fact that I was to be Zareef’s liaison since he lived in my building, so from that moment on, he and I were joined at the hip, so to speak.
It was decided that Zareef would keep his job at the stadium and since I had to shadow him at all times, I got to see a lot of baseball.
I knew that undercover agents would be watching us every minute of every day, but it was still unnerving to know that an assassin could be lurking in the shadows everywhere we went.
A week had passed and Wasim had not made a move.
I began to wonder if maybe the guy had said to-heck-with-the-whole-revenge thing, but Mark assured me that he had not.
He reminded me that patience was one of the terrorist’s virtues and that they had planned the All Star plot for over a year.
He was convinced that Wasim was merely biding his time and waiting for the right moment.
At first, Maggie was fit to be tied and ready to strangle Mark Davenport for dragging me into another terrorist operation, but as the days went by and she became acquainted with Zareef, she began to soften.
[Lady Justice 08] - Lady Justice and the Watchers Page 15
