by James Rosone
Rahal cleared his throat.
No backing out now, he thought.
“Well, Sarah, that is interesting that you begin the discussion with that point. Yes, I’m a Muslim, and I am proud of it. However, my reaction is the same as I imagine any American citizen’s would be. I am shocked and horrified at the atrocious attacks that have taken place throughout the Chicago area.”
“Sorry, I only meant that, as a Muslim, aren’t you concerned about the public backlash that has been taking place toward people of your faith?” Sarah pressed.
“Of course, I am always concerned about any violence or threats of violence toward any person in this great nation,” Azim responded. “I do not justify or condone any such acts. However, I do feel that a lot of this animosity has been allowed to grow in that when such tragedies occur, the leaders within the Muslim community have been largely silent. We need to be out there publicly declaring that these horrific events are a perversion of the teachings of the prophet Mohammed. That’s why I’m planning several regional meetings with various leaders of our faith to try to address this issue.”
“Are you not concerned, then, about your own safety, and the safety of your religious leaders, given the current climate?”
“Of course I’m concerned. We will take appropriate actions to protect ourselves. I also know that it is critical that we as a community begin to identify those who may be marginalized and trending toward radicalism before they strike. I say to all my fellow brothers and sisters in the faith tonight—if you see something, say something. It isn’t just a trite expression. It could very well save lives.”
“Indeed…Congressman, there has been a lot of buzz, especially coming from the Republican Party, that the refugee program needs to be shut down altogether. Doesn’t that disproportionately affect people of the Muslim faith?”
“Listen, I’m all for letting in refugees whenever possible. However, something has clearly gone wrong with our ability to safely vet those who are entering the country. It is obvious that something needs to be done to recalculate how people are cleared. Possibly, the departments that are performing the interviews might also need additional resources, but I don’t think that it’s wrong to take a step back and make sure that we are being thorough. Those attackers killed people from all walks of life—including Muslims. If you ask me, we need to be the most concerned about the people here first, and then bring in other people once we are absolutely sure that they are safe.”
“The leaders of your party are conveying a very different message. Do you not have compassion for those poor souls who are just trying to leave war-torn nations?” asked Sarah. It was obvious that she was a little annoyed at the answers he had given thus far.
“My heart sincerely goes out to them, and I think that we might be able to pursue other ways to help protect them, such as establishing safe zones or working with our partners in the Middle East to accept more of the refugees from within the region. However, that doesn’t mean that we have to accept subpar security here. I have never been about toeing the party line one hundred percent. Some things are just right.”
Ms. Bridger seemed flabbergasted. She fumbled through a few more questions. Finally, Congressman Rahal ended the discussion by saying, “We all need to stand together as Americans. If you are a non-Muslim and you see someone with a head covering, don’t assume they are a terrorist. They may be just as frightened as you are. Instead, say to them, ‘If you are with me, then I am with you. How can we help support each other during this time?’ If you are a fellow Muslim, and you see someone who seems frightened by you, try to go out of your way to get to know them. Show them that you are just as concerned about this country as they are and let them know that you abhor radical extremists as much as they do. We can fight this, but we need to be able to discuss it openly. We cannot be afraid.”
There was a brief pause, and then a producer said, “That’s a wrap.”
Azim breathed a sigh of relief. He had done what he had wanted to do, no matter how unpopular it might be.
Chapter 26
Catching a Break
Chicago, Illinois
Police Command Center
Captain Jordan walked quickly over to Chief Monroe’s office. His secretary stood up as he approached, ready to stop him from barging in and disrupting her boss.
“Lisa, I need to talk to him right away,” barked Captain Jordan.
“You aren’t scheduled on his calendar until this afternoon. He’s in an important meeting right now and is not to be disturbed,” she replied. Although the Chief of Police’s secretary was much shorter and thinner than Captain Jordan, she wasn’t intimated by his towering presence.
“Look, we may have found a break in the case concerning those Chechens that attacked the police stations,” he asserted.
Lisa’s eyes grew wide with surprise. She buzzed her boss. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt. Captain Jordan is here with some very urgent information.”
There was a brief pause, and then the chief buzzed back. “I’ll be out in one minute.”
Everyone knew Chief Monroe hated being interrupted, which was not necessarily an asset in his line of work. However, he had come to know Lisa as being a very effective gatekeeper. If she said it was important, he trusted her.
A moment later, Monroe stepped outside of his office, his face tense. “Jordan, just please tell me this is worth my time. I’ve got that megachurch pastor in there—you know, the one that’s always complaining about police brutality. I need to try and get him on our side.”
Captain Jordan announced, “Sir, I think we’ve found a way to track down all of those Chechens that attacked our police stations.”
Chief Monroe’s expression softened. “I’m listening,” he said.
“Our officers have reviewed every CCTV camera in the city, and we finally figured out how they were able to get away. After each police station massacre, the attackers that survived switched cars a short distance away. Then again, after each grocery store attack, there was another switch. They appeared to have the cars set up, waiting for them. Well, we’re working on enhancing the images of the license plates, but we should have at least one readable plate within the hour.”
“Well, this is good news,” said Monroe. “Once you’re able to identify the numbers, obviously, we want to put out a BOLO on any plates that we can read. If you can track it down to some kind of safe house, set up a raid with whatever SWAT resources you can throw at it. Don’t be skimpy—these guys are heavily armed and obviously know how to fight. But let’s try to move on it at night and see if there is any way to capture any of them alive. I want their intel.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied Captain Jordan.
“All right, is there more? I need to get back to it,” said the chief.
“No, Sir. I will set out your orders right away, and I’ll give you any updates as I have them.”
Chapter 27
Bread and Bullets
Special Agent Yousif Mansour of the FBI had just finished loading his last thirty-round magazine for his M4 assault rifle. He made sure to place one tracer round halfway through the magazine and three more as the last rounds. This would help him know when he was about to run out of ammunition during a firefight. As he placed the magazine in one of the ammunition pouches on his IBA, he looked at the other members of his SWAT team. They all had the same determined look on their faces as they readied their equipment and weapons for what might turn out to be a real gunfight.
Through exceptional police work, the Chicago Police intelligence division had been able to identify and track down the location where the Chechen terrorists were currently holed up. The FBI had immediately dispatched several agents to begin surveillance of the location and to establish the details of who all may be there, and what the security for the facility might entail. The farmhouse that the Chechens were using was situated about six hundred yards back from a country road outside of Elgin and had a small barn structure about fifty yards from the
main building. Because the property was more set back, they would have a bit more work before they could be sure how to proceed.
After twenty-four hours of surveillance, it was determined that there were roughly eight members of their cell at this location. All but one of the getaway vehicles that had been used in the last attack appeared to be stored in the barn to help keep them out of sight. The main building was a two-story traditional-looking farmhouse with a wraparound porch, which had several rocking chairs peacefully sitting on it as though the house were full of cookie-baking grandmas. As part of the surveillance of the farmhouse, the FBI had deployed about a dozen miniature drones that were the general size and appearance of dragonflies to begin infiltrating the farmhouse and gather more real-time intelligence.
One of the dragonfly drones had flown into the barn and done a sweep of the inside to identify any potential booby traps and count the number of vehicles present. Two more dragonfly drones had settled into positions above each of the entrances to the farmhouse, providing exceptional views and audio of the people coming and going from the farmhouse. One of the terrorists had left an upper-floor window open, presumably to allow some fresh air in. With that new access point, the FBI sent several more of the drones into different points within the farmhouse, providing them with an exceptional picture of exactly what they were going up against.
Each of the Chechens had their own IBA. From the looks of it, each IBA was fitted with ceramic plates, which meant they would provide protection against high-caliber bullets and handguns. The SWAT team would need to make sure they were using armor-piercing rounds if they hoped to take these guys down. Every one of the Chechens was also armed with a modified short barrel AR-15, forward grips, tactical sights, and a pistol and knife strapped to one of their legs. The FBI didn’t spot any explosives, but that didn’t mean there might not be some present and not yet detected. They did spot two rocket-propelled grenade launchers, although they had no idea how many rockets they had for them. This was probably the one weapon that concerned them the most.
As Agent Mansour walked around to the briefing table and took his seat, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Their FBI SWAT team was one of the best in the country, but they had never gone up against a well-armed and determined terrorist cell. While they felt they had the proper training and equipment, they wondered if this might be a better mission for the military Special Forces guys to take on.
Special Agent in Charge John Deeks walked up to the front of the room, getting ready to address the crowd before him. In the room were a total of thirty-two SWAT members that would lead the assault against the farmhouse. Another thirty DEA agents would act as the second wave to back them up, should they need additional SWAT members. Deeks surveyed all of their faces, then seemed to puff out his chest in pride.
He cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent. “All right, listen up, everyone. Agent Bishop briefed you all on the layout of the farm, the location where the suspects are likely to be found, where their weapons are located, and the plan of action to breach the farmhouse. This is going to happen quickly. You guys will need to move swiftly and take them by surprise. They’ve already proven that they know how to fight and are not afraid to die for their cause.”
Using his pen laser, he pointed to a projection of the farmhouse on the wall. “We will have sniper teams located here, here, and here. Once you guys throw your flashbangs in the house, our snipers will immediately engage any targets they can see. They’ll look to take one suspect out each before you guys breach the house. When you go in, make sure you mark your targets and take these guys out.”
Agent Mansour raised his hand to ask a question, and Deeks nodded for him to speak. “So, right now, the plan calls for us to approach the farmhouse on foot just after dark. While this is an excellent silent way to approach, it also means we are out in the open for a few hundred yards in every direction. If they have someone watching the perimeter or any night vision goggles, they’ll see us and may be able to engage us before we can get into position. Do you think we can go in using the vehicles instead?” Several of the agents around him began to nod their heads in agreement.
“That’s a good question and something that we too are concerned about,” Deeks acknowledged. “That’s why we’ve placed sniper teams in three different positions to provide an overwatch for the assault team. While it is risky having the assault teams move in on foot, our concern is that if we approach the farmhouse with vehicles, they will hear them coming and be more prepared for us. Due to the location and layout of the farmhouse in relation to the tree line and distance from the road, we believe this is the best way to approach the suspects.” His explanation garnered a lot of nodding heads from the SWAT members. This was probably the best trade-off they were going to get.
“Anyone else have any questions?” asked Deeks, hoping to hear crickets. No one else raised their hand.
“OK then, let’s go ahead and keep this briefing short. Everyone get your gear and weapons ready to move. We’re going to be staging out of the Army National Guard armory in Elgin, and we’ll leave in the next thirty minutes. So, make whatever final arrangements you need to right now, and let’s do this.”
Everyone dutifully began to grab their IBA and weapon cases to take to the waiting vehicles. Once they left the federal building in downtown Chicago, the team of FBI and DEA agents would have a ninety-minute ride to the Illinois Army National Guard armory in Elgin, which would place them no more than five miles from their target location.
As the federal agents drove to the staging area, twelve ambulance crews were pulled from around the area and told to report to the National Guard armory as well to act as medical support, should they be needed. The Illinois National Guard also had two medevac helicopters, which would be on standby at their armory locations closer to O’Hare Airport, ready to provide additional medical support in case of a crisis.
*******
It was nearly 1130 hours when Jamaal Nassir and his coworker, Becky Hawkins, pulled up to the Army National Guard armory on Raymond Street in Elgin. Their Panera Bread store had received a large catering order the day before from the National Guard unit, asking if they could deliver food to feed roughly two hundred and fifty people the following day for lunch. The Guard unit had placed similar orders with their store in the past, so they didn’t find anything unusual about it. The owner’s son was a member of this particular unit, so he often provided them half-off lunches or a number of free lunches to support the troops.
When they pulled up to the armory, it wasn’t an ordinary day. They noticed nearly thirty black SUVs and dozens upon dozens of FBI and DEA SWAT members gathered in different groups around the armory, assembling weapons and talking animatedly amongst themselves. This was a lot of activity for a Thursday afternoon, especially since the Guard unit typically trained on the weekend, and usually the first weekend of the month, not the third weekend.
Jamaal knew exactly why they were there.
They must have found the farmhouse, he realized.
While he and Becky unloaded the food and began to get everything set up, his mind raced. He had to get out of there before these guys launched their raid, and he needed to warn the cell that an attack was coming without being detected.
It took him and Becky nearly thirty minutes to get everything set up for the government agents. Then the line formed, and everyone began to dig into the various sandwiches and soups that had been brought over. Now that they had completed the delivery, they were free to head back to the store.
Once they arrived, Jamaal told his supervisor that he was suddenly not feeling well and needed to go home early. Jamaal had always been a hard worker and had never called in sick before, so his boss let him leave without much resistance.
As Jamaal got into his vehicle, he saw it was already almost 1400 hours. It was still March, so it would be getting dark soon, in another two and a half hours, maybe three. He didn’t have much time.
*******
&nbs
p; Aslan Maskhadov had just woken up from a short nap when his burner phone buzzed. He reached over and swiped his finger across the phone, unlocking it so he could see who had sent him a text message. At first, he didn’t recognize the number. Then his eyes grew wide as he realized who it was. It was from one of the two outside observers they had established in the town to help monitor the area and let them know if their cover had been discovered. The message read, “FBI, DEA agents at National Guard armory. They know where you are. Will probably raid tonight after dark.”
This knowledge startled him. At the same time, he had known this would happen eventually. The Americans might be soft people, but they were incredibly resourceful and technically savvy. Aslan looked down at the phone again, thinking for a minute. He replied in a group chat to both observers. “I received Jamaal’s message letting us know about the imminent attack on us. If possible, you two should carry out your own assault against the FBI agents at the National Guard armory before they reach us. Use the weapons that we gave you and try to catch them off guard.”
Within a matter of moments, two responses rolled in. “Acknowledged. I know what to do,” and, “I will comply,” read the texts.
Aslan wasn’t sure if the farmhouse was bugged or not, but clearly the FBI knew where they were hiding. He signaled for the others in the farmhouse to walk with him to the barn. As they approached the building, he signaled for everyone to pile into the Ford Excursion and to stay quiet until they were all in there. It was cramped, but all nine of them fit inside.
