Three Days to Forever (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 9)

by Lauren Carr

  “No,” she said. “Upon questioning, he reported that he looked into the file at the request of Muhammad Muiz, special advisor to the President of the United States on Islamic affairs. He wanted to know the name of the shooter because the President wanted to issue that soldier the Medal of Valor.” She added, “The junior lieutenant says he had been instructed by Muhammad Muiz not to say anything.”

  “Then, this Muiz guy turned around and gave that name to his twisted friends so they could put out a hit on David,” Mac replied. “What does the president have to say about his advisor?”

  “He won’t say anything until we give him proof that his advisor is a spy,” she replied. “In the meantime, he and his staff are claiming the junior lieutenant must have misunderstood.”

  “Just like when David gets his head sawed off, it’ll somehow be his fault …” Colonel Frost muttered. In response to Bogie’s questioning look, he replied, “I’m quite cynical about how management conducts its affairs.” He added in a whisper, “I’ve seen it all.”

  The throaty voice from the phone said, “Fortunately, the lieutenant has provided us with copies of the emails from Muiz requesting O’Callaghan’s name and instructing the lieutenant to tell no one.”

  “That’s great,” Mac said, “but by the time Congress gets through the president’s attorney general and teams of lawyers to haul him out of the White House and before a special hearing, David will be dead.”

  “Along with every other red-blooded Westerner that he sets up while having tea and crumpets in the Oval Office,” the colonel said with a nod of agreement.

  “Surprisingly,” Murphy’s commanding officer said, “with just a little bit of digging into Muhammad Muiz’s background, we found that he graduated from New York University with a doctorate in Islamic Affairs. You’ll never guess who his academic advisor was when he was an undergraduate.”

  “Jassem al-Bahdadi,” Murphy answered.

  “Give the man a cigar.”

  “Was the president aware of this when he appointed Muiz to be his advisor?” Mac’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

  “Jassem al-Bahdadi didn’t make the terrorist list until after the president had been elected and had already appointed Muiz to an advisory position,” she said. “Nothing else in Muiz’s background points to his being a spy. He was born in New York City to Muslim parents. He’s a second-generation American. He makes frequent trips to the Middle East—all in the name of his position as advisor in Islamic affairs.”

  “And, of course, if he had meetings with the terrorists, then those were all in the spirit of diplomacy,” Colonel Frost said.

  “Exactly,” she said. “Unfortunately, Muhammad Muiz does have the president’s ear.”

  “If he’s giving the president advice with the motivation of making our country vulnerable to the Islamic nation in order for them to take over …” Jessica shuddered. “That is the perfect position to plant a spy.”

  “Only if you have a president who’s gullible enough to not see what the spy is doing,” Colonel Frost said.

  “His supporters say he’s open minded to the beliefs of another culture,” Hector said.

  The colonel said, “He wouldn’t be so open minded if it was the Southern Baptists beheading—”

  “Look,” Mac stood up to interject, “I’m not interested in taking down a president or exposing inadequate defense for our country and way of life. All I want is to bring David home in one piece and to marry the love of my life tomorrow. If we can save the world while doing it, then I’m all for it. Otherwise, I say call Homeland Security and have them shut down the bomb factory.”

  “That’s what we’re going to do,” Murphy said in a quiet tone that served to calm Mac’s rising temper. “But we can’t go rushing in half-cocked. That’s how we all—including the major—get killed. Before we make any moves, we need to figure out who exactly we are going up against and who or what they have backing them.”

  “Okay,” Mac said with a heavy sigh. “This whole thing …”

  “We all know how you feel, Mr. Faraday,” Colonel Frost said.

  No, you don’t, Mac thought. David is more than a friend. He’s my bother. The only one I have. And if anything happens to him, I won’t even be acknowledged as the brother he left behind. He was startled out of his thoughts by Jessica’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Okay,” she said. “So this Muiz guy, the spy in the White House, gets David’s name and passes it on to the sleeper agent in the FBI …”

  “Not exactly,” Ethan said. “We believe it was a kidnapping of opportunity. Black and Elder were trying to obtain the formula for a man-made form of Ebola that one of their home-grown terrorists had acquired. Coincidentally, that formula ended up here on a thumb drive. While Black and Elder were hunting it down, they bugged Detective Cameron Gates’ phone. She was investigating the murder of Reginald Crane, who they had tortured to death. They were trying to uncover information that would lead them to the thumb drive. As luck—bad luck—would have it, they overheard a conversation she had with Police Chief David O’Callaghan.”

  “They must have recognized his name as one of the ones on the terrorist hit list of American snipers who have taken out principal terrorist targets,” she said. “That list was compiled from information Muiz had obtained using his position.”

  “So they decided to grab David and the formula,” Mac said. “They have David, but they don’t have the formula.”

  “That’s the formula that this Bauman guy was going ape over,” Murphy said. “Because he paid for it, but he doesn’t have it and needs it for his Easter surprise.”

  “That thumb drive is the only thing keeping them in the country right now,” his boss told them.

  “This Neal Black guy comes from a good home, and his mother had money,” Jessica said. “Why would he turn on his country like this?”

  “When Neal Black was fourteen years old, his mother began dating Jassem al-Bahdadi,” Murphy’s commanding officer explained. “Jassem was very well educated. He was an adjunct professor in Islamic history at New York University. He came from money. Because Neal was young and vulnerable, Jassem managed to convert him to Islam.”

  “Jassem was a busy guy.” Ethan switched the slide to a picture of Special Agent Leland Elder. “During the ten years that Jassem spent in the United States, which did include September 11, 2001—just saying—he volunteered as a counselor at a youth center mainly working with fatherless boys. That was where he met Leland Elder, who also became an FBI agent.”

  “It sounds like he was actively recruiting boys without strong father figures to convert to Islam,” Jessica said.

  “Exactly.” the sultry voice from the phone explained. “According to our research, both boys became close to Jassem, who almost became a father figure to them. Yet, neither of them listed Jassem as a reference on their applications to the FBI.”

  “Then how do you know this is fact?” Mac asked.

  “Homeland Security knows all about Jassem’s background,” she explained. “We know he lived in the United States for ten years and volunteered at the youth center. In 2008, he went back to Iraq, where he rose to a principal position in ISIS. A cross-check of the boys we could identify as members at the youth club turned up Leland Elder’s name. Elder came to our attention this afternoon when he tried to murder Detective Cameron Gates.”

  “Black has been a little more difficult to track,” Ethan said. “After he disappeared yesterday, agents from Homeland Security went to his mother. Since we knew that Elder had loyalty to Jassem, we asked her about him, and that was when we discovered that he was a family friend,” he added in a significant tone. “Black’s mother wanted him to go to Yale Law School. When Neal didn’t make the cut, Jassem encouraged him to become a federal agent. Neal failed the psych exam to get into Homeland Security. But he was able to get into the FBI. At the present t
ime, he has an application in with ATF.”

  “I guess he’s lost any chance of getting that position now,” Mac said.

  She said, “Next slide, Ethan.”

  The next slide was of a black man with what appeared to be anger permanently etched into his face. His eyes were dark with hatred. “We believe this is most likely the man providing manpower and weaponry. Ra’ees Sims.”

  “Was he another boy who wandered into Jassem’s Islam recruitment center?” Colonel Frost asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “We found him through good old-fashioned detective work,” Ethan said. “After I killed Elder, I found his burn phone on his body, and we traced the calls that he made with it. There was one call that lasted only a few seconds to a phone number in Texas that is registered to Sims Security. Less than five minutes after that call was made, Elder received a call from a burner phone that pinged off the same cell tower.”

  Mac and Hector exchanged glances.

  “It was a signal,” Hector said.

  “Exactly,” Ethan said. “The last phone call that was made on that burner phone pinged off a town right here on Spencer Mountain this morning. That call was to another burner phone in the same area.”

  “What kind of security company does this guy Sims run?” Jessica asked.

  “Ra’ees Sims is trouble with a capital T,” Murphy’s boss said. “He is very active in the Muslim mosque there and hasn’t been exactly quiet about his support for Islamic extremists. Most of his employees are members of his mosque. The ATF have been watching his company. They suspect him of trafficking weapons to drug gangs and protecting drug shipments for his customers. He then launders his profits from the drug cartels through his company, which we believe is a terrorist cell working under the guise of a security company.

  “Here’s another piece of the puzzle,” she said. “When Sims started his company, he had a big down payment for an office in a nice location right in Houston. He had a lot of start-up money. We managed to track that money to—are you ready for this, Murphy?”

  “I was born ready,” Murphy replied.

  “We followed the money trail to find that Sims’ security company is in reality a shell corporation for NOH Bauman Technologies.”

  “Bauman,” Mac said.

  “NOH Bauman Technologies is a billion-dollar company that has been selling weapons to both us and the terrorists,” Murphy said.

  “Isn’t it illegal for an American company to sell weapons to the terrorists we’re fighting?” Mac asked.

  “Only if they get caught,” Murphy said, “and we can prove that they have been doing it knowingly and willingly. Without proof of that, a massive conglomerate like Bauman Technologies can claim they are selling the stuff to a second party who is turning around and re-selling it to the terrorists.”

  “Bauman is so good at covering his tracks that he can make that claim,” Murphy’s commanding officer said. “He is a controlling stockholder of two major news networks, which is why even when journalists uncover things that are actually common knowledge to us in the military and intelligence community, they can’t get that information out to the public. Journalists have told us that Bauman has been heard saying rather proudly that America will only know what he wants it to know.”

  “Which is why these slimy SOBs keep getting re-elected,” Frost muttered. “If the people knew what we not only know, but also have proof of …” He shook his head.

  “Well, maybe we finally got that proof.” Tristan raised his voice so he could be heard by everyone in the room. He yanked an earbud out of his ear. “I ran the jet’s registration number through the FAA database—”

  “How did you get in there?” Murphy’s boss asked.

  “Don’t ask what you don’t want to know,” Tristan answered. “This plane is registered to Bauman Technologies. It was last seen taking off from Houston, Texas, and was supposed to land at Dulles airport. According to FAA, the pilot radioed that they had engine trouble and were landing at a private airfield outside of Morgantown.”

  “If the plane is registered to this Bauman guy, then we have a direct connection to David’s abduction,” Mac said. “Where is he? I want a few minutes alone with him.”

  “He’s in Paris,” Tristan answered. “I took the liberty of breaking into … never mind. He’s in Paris.”

  “Out of our reach and covering his tracks,” Colonel Frost said.

  “Nathaniel Bauman’s conglomerate owns dozens of planes,” Murphy’s boss said. “He will claim that he had no way of knowing what Sims was doing with it.”

  “By the time all this is over,” Frost said, “he’ll be crying that he is as shocked and dismayed as the rest of America.”

  “Leave Bauman and Muiz to me,” she said in a cold voice.

  “What are we going to do about David?” Jessica asked.

  “We’re going to go get him,” Murphy said, “and bring him home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It had turned into a waiting game.

  The state police and Colonel Frost’s team went out to scout the layout of the farm and airstrip in order to plan their attack. Ethan Bonner, with Tristan’s help, was working on setting up the thumb drive. Murphy would add his special touch at the end.

  After calling Archie to discover that she was indeed asleep, Mac, with Gnarly trotting at his side, went to the police department’s gym, located at the back of the station. He found Murphy Thornton already working out on the heavy punching bag.

  Usually, one or two officers could be found working out. Even though the station was filled, at the moment the gym was vacant, except for the lone young man wearing black sweats and bare feet.

  One punch turned into two, and then three. A series of three was followed by a side kick that sent the bag swinging. “As long as you’re following me, why don’t you be useful and hold the bag?” Murphy suggested with his back to him.

  Still in the dark shadows, Mac was surprised that he had been spotted. Since their cover was blown, Gnarly trotted over and jumped up onto the bench. After making himself comfortable, he laid down, using Murphy’s bag as a cushion for his head.

  After wrapping his arms around either side of the bag, Mac braced himself and pressed up against it. “Jessica told me what you did for her in Grantsville. I wanted to thank you.”

  Murphy let down his fists. With a crooked grin, he shrugged. “You’re welcome.” He quickly added, “I didn’t know she was your daughter at the time.”

  “Now you know,” Mac said in a firm tone.

  The two men exchanged long looks.

  Mac finally broke the silence. “Exactly where have you been assigned in the navy, Murphy?”

  “I’ve been assigned to work on special assignments for the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” he answered before throwing a punch at the bag. “They’re all classified, so I can’t tell you anything else.”

  Catching his breath after the impact of the punch, Mac asked, “Are you a Phantom?”

  Murphy stood up straight and stared at Mac. “What did you just ask me?”

  “Murphy, are you a Phantom?”

  Murphy chuckled. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Let’s see,” Mac said, “You have a boss with no name. You don’t dress like your average navy officer fresh out of the academy. I was a homicide detective in Washington for over twenty years. I’ve met a lot of navy lieutenants and you are …” he searched for the right word “… different from any I’ve ever met before.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Makes a guy wonder.”

  “Well, you met my father,” Murphy uttered a laugh. “I haven’t had an exactly average upbringing.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, Murphy.”

  “That urban legend about Phantoms is relatively new,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I frankly didn’t know those
rumors had made it to the general public yet.”

  “When did they start?”

  “Right after Benghazi.” Returning to the bag, Murphy said between punches, “According to legend, there are those in the armed forces and intelligence community who believe that America and her citizens need to be protected—a primary goal that appears to have been lost among the political infighting in Washington. Some higher-ups did some bureaucratic maneuvering to put together a highly secret team. Its members are hand-picked. At least, that’s what the rumors say.”

  Murphy paused in his punching to catch Mac’s eye. “If such a team is real, their sole mission is to keep our country safe … no matter how politically incorrect our actions may appear to the rest of world.”

  “Is that legal?” Mac asked. “I mean, this team that acts on the orders of someone other than the president or Congress—isn’t that operating beyond whoever’s authority?”

  Murphy stood up straight. “Major O’Callaghan has been abducted by a terrorist group that is being led by a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Email chatter that my team has been monitoring, maybe legally, maybe not according to some folks, says that a massive terrorist group in Baghdad is very excited about getting their hands on O’Callaghan. They plan to make him the main event at a special New Year’s execution.”

  Murphy placed his hands on his hips. “Now, I can tell you exactly what will happen if we follow proper protocol. After a couple of hours of making phone calls up to the White House, who will then call Muiz, who gave this group O’Callaghan’s name, a decision will be made that it will offend the people in Baghdad if we ruin their New Year’s party with a military attack on their party.”

  “I get your point,” Mac said, “but I think you’re being a little extreme.”

  “Tell that to the families of the victims of Benghazi who died after the military was told to stand-down because the administration didn’t want to offend the very terrorists who killed them.” Murphy leaned in to Mac from the other side of the heavy bag hanging between them. “When they’re torturing O’Callaghan in their little preshow to the final execution—all the while streaming it live via satellite to all their terrorist cells across the world—with millions of Islamic extremists hooting and hollering to O’Callaghan’s pain and humiliation—are you going to give a damn then about bureaucratic protocol?”