Galvin turned his palms up and shrugged his shoulders. “Well?”
“I told you last time, Sarge, every night that I’m out here I’m looking to collar up…and how about Chinese?”
“Sounds like a plan, Tim; just head over to Dunkin Donuts so I can get a cup of coffee before we start the hunt.”
Keegan threw the car into gear and made a left hand turn on Snyder Avenue. He passed a dark blue Chevrolet Impala parked across from the precinct’s parking lot. Neither Keegan, nor did Tommy Galvin, ever give the car a second look, or even notice it.
*
Nazeem al-Haq, like he had done so many days over the past two weeks, sat outside the Sixty-Seventh precinct between the hours of five and six in the evening. Finding out the hours in which the rookies worked was easier than he had ever imagined. Al-Haq had looked up the Sixty-Seventh Precinct on line and learned that the third Thursday of every month, the commanding officer held a community council meeting. The forum was open to the public and al-Haq had attended October’s meeting. The officer running the meeting had informed those in attendance that the rookies worked from five-thirty in the evening until two in the morning. He also said they would primarily be on foot posts along some of the major commercial strips in the precinct.
Al-Haq had paid his due diligence. Almost every night that he had sat there, he’d observed Police Officer Tim Keegan get into a marked police van and dropped off on a foot post with other cops. How to proceed had been the dilemma. He didn’t want to jeopardize his mission, but he needed to see Keegan dead.
He must pay for the sins of his father.
At first, he considered following Keegan home from the precinct as Keegan got off from work at two am, but that was not feasible. His contact had told him not to miss any days of work as any small change in his routine could draw unnecessary attention. So instead, a frustrated al-Haq continued to report to his midnight shift at the gas station.
About a week ago, he inquired from another worker at the gas station if he knew where he could get a gun. The man seemed taken aback by the request, and al-Haq explained it away as him being afraid to work the overnight hours alone because of robberies. He felt the man accepted his story as plausible, but thought it best not to pursue the issue anymore. Instead, the dilemma gnawed away at every fiber of his being.
The conflict of interest was too intense for him. Should he carry out his mission in the name of Allah and earn the redemption that he had been promised; or fulfill his more baser need—one of revenge. It was possible to accomplish both, but if he were to get caught in the process he will have once again failed his brothers in Jihad.
If only there was a safe way to contact Murad Zein.
He knew that Murad would put him on the correct path. The two of them had grown so close during their time together in Afghanistan, and they shared an inseparable bond. Zein had also lost family members to an unprovoked attack by US forces and had agreed with him that revenge would be acceptable…if not necessary.
Al-Haq threw the car in gear and followed the white and blue police car from a safe distance. He was still unsure of what to do. He took a quick glance at his right wrist, where a faint glow of red illuminated from inside the sleeve of his jacket. He came prepared just as he had last night, but knew the more prudent thing—the thing which Allah would want of him—was to wait until Thanksgiving Day and carry out his attack on America. If Allah was truly with him, maybe Officer Keegan would be working the parade and he could satisfy both ends of his conflict.
After a brief deliberation, al-Haq had made his decision. Today, just like every other day for the past couple of weeks, al-Haq would return home leaving his ghost out there to haunt him. He watched as the police car pulled into a Dunkin Donuts parking lot on Nostrand Avenue. He pulled to the curb long enough to see the cops park the car and get out.
James Keegan…you’re time will come. It may not be today, but your time will come.
Al-Haq’s anger had once again clouded his thoughts before he realized that he was staring at the younger Keegan; Timothy, not James. He watched as Keegan and the other officer walked into the donut shop. Keegan laughed as he held the door for the other officer. The sight of the man’s laughter sent al-Haq into an immediate rage.
He took a deep breath and did his best to calm down. He checked his side view mirror and pulled away from the curb. He drove up to Linden Boulevard and made a right turn heading back to his Queens apartment. He needed to stay focused. Intellectually, he realized this; emotionally was another story. He pulled the car over in of an abandoned parking spot next to a fire hydrant along Linden Boulevard. He silently prayed to Allah for strength and guidance.
Chapter 10
The time that it took to sort through the amount of information which they needed to was painstaking to say the least. Louis Castillo—along with his counterpart Frank Balentine—had spent the majority of the past week sitting in front of a computer screen trying to find any leads on a man named Nas, Naz, or any deviation thereof. All of their leads went cold rather quickly.
They searched through the data base of those entering the country legally through Canada as was suggested by the man who turned himself in at the US Embassy in Tel-Aviv. They also realized that if a terrorist had come into the country with the intentions of carrying out an attack, the likelihood of him going through customs was minimal—still, every angle had to be investigated.
The variety of names similar to Nas or Naz seemed endless as well. Nas, Naz, Nasir, Naseem, Naseer, Nazeer, Nazeem, Nasreen, Nashra; there had to be dozens. They didn’t even know if they were looking for a first name or a surname. Castillo’s eyes began to burn as the names all blended together. The frustration for the entire team was evident, but they had to be vigilant and make sure that no stone was left unturned.
“Dinner!”
Castillo looked up at one of his fellow detectives who had gone out on a meal run. He carried two pizza boxes from the Italian restaurant and brought them into the kitchen area in the back of their office. The break couldn’t have come at a better time for Castillo. He removed his reading glasses and set them down in front of his keyboard before heading to the kitchen.
After pouring himself a cup of soda and retrieving his baked ziti from the box, Castillo sat at the large round table in the lounge area of his office. The television hanging on the wall was tuned to the six o’clock news, although nobody seemed to be paying attention to it. Balentine sat next to Castillo. “You come up with anything, Frank?”
“Only dead ends, Louie. I thought I may have found something, but it looks like another dead end. There was a guy named Naseer al-something or other, that crossed into the US from Point Roberts in Washington State back in June. His name and general description matched that of someone on the terrorist watch list. He took up residence in Los Angeles so I thought that maybe I was on to something—you know, because we’ve been hearing California may be targeted as well.”
Castillo nodded. “So what happened?”
“I called the L.A. field office. They went out to his apartment building and picked him up. They still have him in custody, but they’re pretty sure he’s not our guy.”
“Of course it wasn’t our guy.” Castillo made no effort to mask his mounting frustration. He took a sip from his soda before continuing. “I’m not sure if I told you that I’m leaving at eight tonight. Jessica’s coming home from college for the Thanksgiving break. Sharon is picking her up at LaGuardia at seven-thirty.”
“Yeah, you told me.”
Trying to feel his partner out; “I feel bad leaving you with so much work to do.”
Balentine was quick to respond. “Don’t give it a second thought, Louie. We have a dozen guys working this, and it’s just one dead end after another.” He added with a smile. “I think we can survive without you for a few hours. Just make sure you give Jess and Sharon a big hug for me.”
*
Nazeem al-Haq had decided that Allah would decide not onl
y his fate, but also that of Officer Keegan’s. Having driven for nearly ten minutes along Linden Boulevard before making a u-turn, he was sure that Keegan and his partner would no longer be at the Dunkin Donuts. He would, however, go back and check. If they were still there, then he knew he had Allah’s blessing to go ahead with exacting his revenge on Keegan.
He arrived at the parking lot and the police car was no longer there. Al-Haq was disappointed, but took this as the sign that it was from Allah. He sat in the lot for a moment in silence to thank Allah for his guidance.
He pressed the power window button to allow for some cool autumn air into the car. The cool air felt good blowing against his head as he went back to Linden Boulevard. He unzipped his black down coat and tugged at the suicide vest that he wore beneath it. He opened the vest to feel a cool breeze against his sweaty chest.
Keegan will live for another day.
He turned once again onto the main thoroughfare and headed back to Queens. He reflected further and decided he would no longer come to the precinct every night to stalk Keegan. Had Allah wanted him dead, he would have still been in the Dunkin Donuts. With Thanksgiving only two days away, there was no need to come back here. Al-Haq had decided that he would remove all temptations by staying away. He reached into the pocket of the suicide vest and removed the newspaper article. He stole a peek at Keegan’s picture as he drove before putting it back in his pocket.
You and I will meet one day in the afterlife James Keegan.
*
Keegan placed the radio to his mouth and gave back the disposition. “Six-Seven training auto to central; be advised you can mark the drug sales a 90-X—unfounded job.”
“10-4 training auto 2327. That was from Utica and Church?”
“Affirmative central; one UF 250 prepared.”
Keegan and Galvin stood next to the man they had just stopped regarding the radio run of suspected drug sales. He was in his late teens wearing a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and tan Timberland boots. He stood nearly six feet tall and wore his hair in cornrows. Not finding any drugs, or any other evidence to support that the male was selling drugs, he would be free to leave once Keegan filled out the Universal Form number 250 as was required by the NYPD anytime a person is stopped, questioned, or frisked.
Keegan copied the man’s name, address, and date of birth as well as his physical description on the back flap of his memobook so he could later transcribe it on to the department form. Galvin explained to Keegan the importance of filling out the form, especially now with the NYPD under the watch of a federal monitor. Keegan handed the man back his driver’s license and got back into the car.
At Galvin’s direction, Keegan threw the car into gear and drove off. Galvin explained that once you were done with any sort of forcible stop, it was best to leave the scene before making any notes. Remaining on the scene could lead to further interaction with a person already unhappy with having been stopped and could also lead to civilian complaints. Keegan took in everything that Galvin had to offer. Wanting to learn how to do police work the right way and become the best cop that he could be was Keegan’s biggest aspiration; with Galvin as a mentor, Keegan knew that filling his father’s shoes could one day be a possibility.
Keegan made a right hand turn onto Linden Boulevard and as they approached King’s Highway, Galvin suggested they pull over and catch up with the required entries in their respective memobooks. The intersection was one of the busiest in the command; three major thoroughfares—Linden Boulevard, Kings Highway, and Remsen Avenue—all crossed at this one junction. A police presence at a location with such a high volume of traffic was always a good idea, Galvin explained. Seeing a police car often served as a warning to drivers to slow down and be more careful, thus lowering the potential for motor vehicle accidents.
Both officers made notations, recording any notes which they felt were important regarding the radio run and the stop they had just conducted. Keegan had a good feeling about the night. He knew that every car tour that he got with Sergeant Galvin would prove to be a valuable learning experience for him.
*
Car 2327, it cannot be…could it?
Nazeem al-Haq slowed down as he approached the red light at Kings Highway on Linden Boulevard. He was in disbelief when he saw what he was almost certain was the same police car number he believed Keegan had been in. The car was just sitting there—waiting for him on the side of the road. Al-Haq slowed down glancing to his right as he passed.
Keegan! Thank you Allah for showing me my destiny. Now give me the strength to carry out your will.
Al-Haq carefully contemplated his best course of action. He made a quick study of his location and surroundings before deciding on a plan of action. Seeing a gas station on the corner, he realized that Allah had given him yet another indication of what he needed to do. His Impala was the first car at the red light in the right lane of traffic…only two car lengths ahead of where Keegan’s police cruiser was parked on the side of Linden Boulevard. The cross traffic was rather heavy at this time of the evening, but that didn’t matter to al-Haq.
Once there was an opening from the northbound traffic, al-Haq stepped on the gas, flooring the pedal, and propelling the car through the steady red light. He leaned on his horn; making sure Keegan couldn’t miss his invitation. Cars from both directions slammed on the brakes skidding to a halt in an attempt to avoid the Impala. There were rear end collisions on both sides of Kings Highway. Al-Haq didn’t make it through the intersection unscathed, but it was a minor collision in the rear quarter panel which hardly even slowed him down.
Al-Haq calmly pulled into the gas station on the corner of Remsen Avenue and looked in his rearview mirror. Once he saw the police car’s light bar jump to life, he took a deep breath. He firmly grasped the trigger in his right hand and put his thumb under the lip of the safety device just as he had practiced so many times over the last forty-eight hours.
While he knew in his heart that many would be disappointed in him for not carrying out the plot on Thanksgiving, he knew that his friend Murad Zein would understand and still follow through with his part of the plot. Al-Haq also thought of Muhammad Sheykh Hajjar. He would probably be disappointed as well—especially after giving him a second chance—but still, detonating a bomb right next to gas pumps during rush hour at one the city’s biggest intersections had to count for something. The explosion was bound to be gloriously catastrophic.
Al-Haq fixated on the rear view mirror and watched as the police car navigated its way through King’s Highway and circumvented the minor fender benders he’d caused. It finally made its way into the gas station. Al-Haq watched through his rear view mirror as the police car came to a stop only a few feet behind him as the doors opened. His heart began to race as the officers stepped from the vehicle. Through the mirror he locked his eyes on Timothy Keegan. Al-Haq took a deep breath and for one last time, thought of his son…and the man that he held responsible for never having met him.
*
“What the fuck was that all about!?”
Galvin threw his memo book on the dashboard and directed Keegan to go after the dark colored Chevrolet Impala that had just recklessly disregarded a red light and caused a handful of traffic accidents on King’s Highway.
Something didn’t seem right to Galvin. Maybe if he had been in an unmarked car it would have been possible for the man not to realize that the police were right there, but they were in full uniform in a marked police car. Galvin’s instincts warned him to proceed with caution.
As Keegan pulled into the gas station directly behind the Impala, Galvin gave Keegan some last second advice. “Be careful here. Usually when someone does something like that, they’re trying to get our attention. The guy could be a livery cab driver being robbed. Be real alert when you walk up to the window. Make sure there’s nobody lying down in the backseat with a gun.”
As Galvin opened his door he unsnapped his holster and took out his nine millimeter service
weapon. Noting Keegan hadn’t said a word, Galvin raised his voice, “KEEGAN! You heard what I said, correct?”
“I heard you, Sarge,” removing his own gun and slowly getting out of the car.
Galvin’s heart began to race a bit faster as the vehicle’s sole occupant exited the car with his hands in the air. There was a moment of unwind as Galvin felt maybe this was not the serious crime he had thought it was. It appeared that the man was alone and the possibility of a simple DWI or even mechanical failure was always feasible.
The man said nothing at first and made no attempt to flee. Galvin watched as Keegan holstered his gun and began to approach. Then the man slowly lowered his hands, holding them straight out in front of him with his wrists touching one and other towards Keegan. The man said something to Keegan.
Galvin couldn’t hear what the man had mumbled as Keegan made his approach, but when he saw the man extend his arms to Keegan, he saw something which instantly turned his temporary calm into pure terror—the glow of a flashing red light illuminating from his right hand. The hairs on the back of Galvin’s neck stood up; his body went flush with heat. Galvin noted the man’s right hand was in a fist, but there was something inside of it, and his thumb was on what could only be a triggering mechanism.
“Keegan, watch out!”
Instinctively, Galvin brought his gun up to eye level just as Keegan charged the man.
*
There was a distance of less than ten feet which was about to pay back a debt of over twenty years in the making. Al-Haq knew detonating the bomb from this distance would surly kill Keegan as well as the other cop, but he wanted Keegan closer. He wanted to at least plant the seed that the younger Keegan was dying for his father’s sins. Keegan closed the distance to about five feet; “Arrest me again, Lieutenant Keegan.”
Keegan, clearly confused, put away his gun and reached for his cuffs. He noted that Keegan glanced at the other cop just as the other cop shouted out the warning. The yelling had caught al-Haq off guard and startled him—his finger momentarily coming off the triggering mechanism.
Legacy and Redemption Page 11
