Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk

by Neal Goldstein

  Ossberg nodded and said, “We’ll see.”

  After the meeting with the mole was arranged, Ossberg called Keel and filled him in.

  “Monroe, are you telling me Conway bought your line of BS?”

  “Howard, Conway’s your classic school yard bully. I figured once I got in his face he would back down. Besides, I heard a rumor that the Congressman was not very happy about having to intervene to save Conway’s ass when the female agent was going to file charges against him. I think his rabbi is beginning to see his son-in-law as a liability. Make sure Valdez has his people in place. I don’t think Conway’s going back to DC anytime soon.”

  “Agent DePalma, Special Agent Ossberg will be overseeing your assignment,” Simon Conway told DePalma when he reported to the Regional Office for the emergency briefing.

  Ossberg stood up and extended his hand to DePalma, “Monroe Ossberg. I heard you have done some remarkable work here.”

  DePalma shook his hand and looked at Conway, obviously surprised with the news.

  “Director Conway, thank you for setting up the briefing. Agent DePalma and I can take it from here.” DePalma noted Ossberg’s not-so-subtle dismissal of the Regional Director.

  DePalma’s eyes widened in surprise when Conway said, “Yes, certainly, I’ve other important matters to attend to.” DePalma also noticed Conway’s face turned red and he gave Ossberg a look of pure hatred as he left the conference room.

  “You never call, you never write,” Isodore Ichowitz said when the receptionist put his call through to Monroe Ossberg.

  “Izzy, it’s good to hear from you, my friend,” Ossberg replied.

  “The word’s out on the street that Simon Conway stepped on his dick big time. He’s out, and you’re calling the shots. Is that true?” Ichowitz asked.

  “Well, like every rumor you hear, there’s some truth to it,” Ossberg replied.

  “So tell me the emess.”

  “Izz it’s too complicated to discuss over the phone, and right now I’m up to my-you-know-what in alligators. Tell you what, can we meet next week sometime. By then everything should fall into place.”

  “You wouldn’t be shining me on, are you?” Ichowitz asked.

  “Izzy, I would never do that to you. We’re like ‘meshuggeneh’” Ossberg said.

  “You mean ‘mishpocheh,’ as in family. ‘Meshuggeneh’ means crazy.”

  “Yeah, mishpocheh,” Ossberg agreed.

  “Monroe, you’re meshuggeneh if you think I’m buying that line of michegoss, or what you would call B.S. you’re trying to feed me,” Ichowitz responded.

  “Izz, I’m not putting you off. I’m all in on this thing right now. It may turn out that by week’s end, I may be the one on the way out of town and Conway’s back on top.”

  “Maybe if you let your friends help you it will assure a happy ending,”

  “Izz, let me think that over. I’ll get back to you tomorrow either way,” Ossberg replied.

  “The emess?” Ichowitz asked.

  “The emess.”

  “So what did he say?” Regan asked Ichowitz when he hung up the phone.

  “Reading between the lines, it sounds like Conway is on his way out, but the situation’s fluid. I think our friend may be in over his head. I offered to help.”

  “Izz, as far as I’m concerned the jury’s still out on this guy. I think he’s sitting on the video surveillance of Nooris’ condo. I also believe that tape will reveal who killed Megan Larson,” Regan said.

  “I agree, but I don’t understand why he would withhold that evidence from us,” Ichowitz said.

  “Who knows with the feebies.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t call me back tomorrow we’ll know he’s hiding something. In the meantime, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Ossberg’s meeting with DePalma confirmed his suspicions regarding Conway’s rank incompetence and complete lack of professionalism. Among the documents in Conway’s private file was a photo DePalma had taken that the Regional Director had never previously disclosed to either the FBI or anyone in the region. DePalma told Ossberg that he had provided it to Conway several weeks before. DePalma said he took the photo because the subject, who he had never seen before, had been afforded great deference by the Imam when he visited the mosque. According to DePalma, the subject of the photograph had not returned to the mosque since.

  When Ossberg showed Rico Valdez the photo, Valdez told him it was same guy he had noticed limping into the mosque three weeks ago. Valdez told him the FBI was unable to identify him from the surveillance video.

  “It seemed to me like this guy is a player with skills. The way he kept his face away from places where it was likely that a video camera might pick him up, you know I just got a vibe about the guy,” Valdez said.

  “Have you seen him at the mosque since then?” Ossberg asked Valdez.

  “Negative.”

  “Let’s put the photo through the facial recognition data base and see if this is someone we need to be concerned about,” Ossberg said.

  “Did your man have anything else to report?” Valdez asked.

  “No, unfortunately despite his best efforts to attract the attention of Ben-Ali and the inner circle at the mosque, he hasn’t gained their confidence.” Ossberg responded.

  “That pretty much confirms what my inside source told me,” Valdez said. “I’ll let you know if we get a hit on DePalma’s photo.”

  Courtney Wells was restless and lonely. It had been more than a month since she broke off her relationship with Ari Nooris. She was frustrated and perplexed by Jack Regan. Although she acknowledged that Kate O’Malley was attractive, she didn’t believe that the young woman from Ireland was in her league. She was still mystified that Jack had rejected her. Perhaps she should contact Jack’s mother and see if another “accidental” meeting could be arranged. She looked at her messages and saw that Ari Nooris had called again. Courtney never had a lack of suitors when she was married. Now only her former lover seemed interested in pursuing her. Oh, what the hell, she thought as she hit his number on the speed dial on her phone.

  When she parked her convertible on the street in front of the Old Pickle Works, she could see the sign for the Grape Tavern two blocks away. She quickly dismissed the impulse to get back in her car and camp outside the bar to wait for Regan.

  She entered the courtyard and noticed a tall man with a nearly shaved head and a coarsely shaved beard leaving Nooris’ condo. He smiled at her as they walked towards each other. He was ruggedly handsome. She could see him take a slow inventory of her as he approached. He nodded and said, “Good day to ya,” as he walked past her to the street. Had she detected an Irish accent?

  She turned as she got to Nooris’ door. The tall man was standing at the entrance to the courtyard. He was staring at her. She felt the heat of her blush and heard him laugh as he walked away.

  “Who was that man leaving your condo just before I got here?” she asked Nooris.

  “No one important,” he said as he took her in his arms.

  Michael Flynn was still smiling as he got in the Ford Focus Nooris had rented for him. “Cheap bastard,” Flynn muttered as he hit his shin on the steering column. Jaysus, they must have designed this car for midgets, he thought as he put it in gear and pulled away from the curb. So the woman was the reason Nooris had told him he had to cut their meeting short. Couldn’t blame him for that, Flynn thought. She was beautiful and sexy. He could tell from the fire he saw in her eyes as he approached her that she would be a worthy lover. He chuckled as he drove past the bar at which Katey worked. It was a shame he had so many things to take care of, or he would enjoy going back there and sayin hello to the mother of his son and that runt of an uncle of hers. He’d get back to them soon; in the meantime perhaps he would ask Ari to introduce him to that sexy lady friend of his.

  Special Agents Bobrowski and Farber were relieved the Abdullah Mohamed surveillance had been terminated. Except for the final shif
t when it turned out the subject was an undercover agent for Homeland Security, the stakeout had to be one of the most boring assignments either of them had ever endured. After chasing their tails for nearly a week, it turned out that the big shots in Philly were just as screwed up as they were in Baltimore. Now they were assigned to watch Simon Conway, the Homeland Security Regional Director responsible for the Mohamed fiasco.

  “What a pompous ass,” Farber said as she watched Conway strike out again, this time with a woman at least ten years his junior. They had been watching him for the past hour as he worked the bar at the Ritz, the hotel at which he was staying compliments of the Homeland Security Regional Office.

  “I bet he’s putting his bar tab on the Homeland bill,” she said. “There ought to be some law against that, don’t you think?”

  Bobrowski nodded.

  “See that older woman sitting at the end of the bar?” she said. “That cougar’s been sending him hot looks all night. I figure after he has another martini or two, Conway will settle for her.”

  “Bobrowski shrugged and said, “I’m betting on that one over there,” he nodded in the direction of a striking woman in a tight short dress who was sitting at one of the bar side tables.

  “She looks like a working girl to me,” Farber responded. “High class for sure, but still a girl on the make.”

  “Yep, that’s my take,” Bobrowski agreed.

  “I don’t know, I don’t even think this guy can get laid if he has the money to pay the hooker,” Farber said.

  “You may be right, but this beats the hell out of watching Mohamed aka DePalma read the Koran all night,” Bobrowski said holding up his bottle of non-alcoholic beer to toast his partner.

  Two hours later they called Valdez. “You can tell your boss we got our boy,” Bobrowski laughed.”

  “What’s so funny?” Valdez asked.

  “This was probably the easiest money that hooker ever made. I don’t think the surveillance video is long enough to put on YouTube.”

  “Really, he got a hooker?” Valdez asked.

  “Yeah, but only after he struck out with about ten women at the bar, including a cougar who slapped him for making some off-color remark about what he wanted her to do to him.”

  “Do you think we have enough to reason with him?” Valdez asked.

  “Rico, forget about his father-in-law and wife being upset with his extra-marital misconduct. When he sees what a horrible performance he put on, he’ll do anything if we promise not to show the tape to his colleagues.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Brother, the Imam would like a word with you,” Bashir Amet the mosque’s head of security said to Abdullah Mohamed as he was leaving morning prayers.

  “Yes brother,” Mohamed said and bowed his head being careful not to display any sign of emotion in reaction to the summons.

  “As-salamu ‘Alaykum” Ben-Ali greeted him when Mohamed was ushered into his office by the security chief.

  “Wa ‘alaykumu s-salam,” Mohamed responded and bowed.

  “Brother Mohamed, your devotion to our faith has not gone unnoticed,” Ben-Ali said as he gestured for Abdullah to take a seat. “We know so little about you. Will you share with us,” Ben-Ali waved at Bashir and continued, “the details about your life before you came to our mosque?”

  Mohamed aka DePalma launched into the elaborate cover story Homeland had devised in the event he was questioned. He was confident that any back check Ben-Ali and his people conducted would completely confirm his story.

  When he finished he watched Ben-Ali look over to his security chief and nod. The wordless communication between the two must have signified that they had previously vetted him and his responses confirmed their intelligence.

  “Brother, I would like you to meet someone, someone very important to our cause. I will need you to keep all of this between the three of us. Can you promise me you will keep our confidence?”

  “Yes Imam.”

  “Very well, I want you to accompany Brother Bashir. He’s going to take you to see our friend,” Ben-Ali said. He motioned for Abdullah to come closer to him and whispered in his ear. “In order to assure our friend’s safety Bashir will have to blindfold you. Is that all right?”

  Mohamed nodded and Ben-Ali patted his shoulder.

  When Abdullah Mohamed was led out of the meeting by the chief of security, Escobar Rodriquez, the mosque’s janitor, was polishing the floor in the corridor outside the Imam’s office. Bashir Amet stared at Rodriquez and motioned for him to allow them to pass. Rodriquez lifted the head phones he wore to suppress the noise of the machine from his ears and asked Amet, “Jeffe, is it all right for me to finish here before afternoon prayers?”

  Amet nodded and continued to lead the young man down the corridor to the rear exit.

  As soon as he was satisfied that Amet had exited the building Rodriquez picked up a trash bag and walked out the front entrance of the mosque and placed the trash bag with the other refuse that had been staged at the curb for pick-up. He took a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He removed his baseball cap and wiped the head band. Rodriquez replaced the cap with the bill of the Phillies cap backwards and returned to the mosque.

  Rodriquez’s actions were noted by the surveillance team monitoring the camera mounted in front of the building. His replacing his baseball cap with the bill to the back was a signal that something imminent was about to take place, although the precise nature of the event was not clear. The team reacted when the mosque’s van emerged from the rear parking lot and drove past the bodega. Three agents trailed the van in the PECO utility van that had been parked across from the mosque.

  The surveillance team immediately contacted Rico Valdez to inform him of their actions. Valdez in turn called SAC Howard Keel. “Boss, there might be something going down at the mosque. My guy gave the warning signal and we’re trailing the van. It looks like one of the security men is driving.”

  The team trailed the van to an abandoned machine shop on Lehigh Avenue. They took photos of Bashir Amet leading a blindfolded Abdullah Mohamed aka Salvatore DePalma into the rear of the building. The lead agent on the detail immediately contacted Valdez for instructions: Should they move in to assure that the agent is not in danger or wait? The decision was to wait.

  After a half hour ride a still blindfolded Mohamed was led out of the van and into a building. Bashir Amet removed the blindfold after Mohamed was seated in a chair. The man from the photo was seated opposite him. The man smiled at him.

  “Brother,” the man said. “I am sorry we needed to blindfold you. The times are perilous and our mission requires such measures.”

  “I understand,” Mohamed responded.

  “The Imam tells me you are a devout Muslim.”

  “There is no god apart from God, and Muhammad is the Messenger of God,” Abdullah responded.

  “Allahu-Akbar,” the man replied.

  Abdullah waited as the man studied him. After what seemed to Abdullah as several minutes the man asked, “Are you prepared to sacrifice your soul for your beliefs?”

  “If it is God’s will.”

  “Are you prepared to sacrifice others if required?”

  Abdullah looked at the man and contemplated his response. He said, “The Prophet said: ‘God has no mercy on one who has no mercy for others.’”

  The man nodded. “You may go with Brother Bashir.”

  Fifteen minutes after they had entered the building the FBI surveillance team observed Bashir leading a blindfolded Mohamed/DePalma out of the building and back into the van. The team leader was relieved they had made the correct call and had taken no action to blow the agent’s cover. The team waited in place, and shortly thereafter the tall man who had been last seen at the mosque three weeks before limped out of the building and walked west on Lehigh Avenue towards Ridge.

  The subject got on the southbound SEPTA Route 34 bus and rode all the way to Broad Street. He took the B
road Street subway line to 15th Street. The surveillance team lost the subject as he made his way through the concourse – he walked down an empty corridor and disappeared.

  Valdez reported the events to Keel.

  “Boss, this guy’s got skills. I figure he caught the tail right away and knew how to give them the slip.”

  “Rico, any results on facial recognition?”

  “Nada. Either the guy had serious reconstruction surgery, or he just fell out of the sky.”

  “Did the surveillance team go through the warehouse on Lehigh Avenue?”

  “Yeah, the place is totally abandoned.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Saunders noticed the woman as he left his office building and made his way to the underground parking lot at 16th and JFK beneath Love Park. She was drop dead gorgeous, tall and exotic-looking. Her dark hair was cut short, setting off her blue eyes and high cheek bones. Every man she passed stared at her. He caught up to her as they waited for the light at 16th and Market Streets. He slowed his pace as they crossed 16th Street. She turned left and walked towards the parking lot entrance. He caught up with her as they both walked down the stairway that led to the garage entrance. He held the door open for her. She smiled and nodded as she walked past him.

  As he followed her through the door he caught the scent of her perfume. It was subtle and clean, a contrast to the stale urine odor of the garage. She stumbled and dropped the folder she was carrying. As she fumbled with her pocketbook and the car keys she was holding in her left hand, Saunders bent down to pick up the folder that lay on the ground at her feet. She was wearing six inch high heels, and he could not resist admiring the curve of her shapely long legs. She smiled as he handed her the folder. He almost didn’t feel the blade as she plunged it in his ear as he turned away. He was dead before his body hit the concrete surface of the parking lot. She walked away, not bothering to check Saunders’ pulse.