The Shadows of Terror

by Russell Moran

  Fortunately, most office buildings have surveillance cameras facing the entrances. The trains, on the other hand, were more difficult. Almost all train platforms have cameras but there are none inside most of the trains. So we were looking for people carrying a bag or briefcase or who wore bulky clothing.

  Zeke has a mind like an Oracle database, so his job was to sort the possible identities as they came in.

  We had five building bombers and seven train bombers to identify.

  Zeke stood at the flipchart and wrote the names of the suspects, one by one. Nobody said it, but we all expected to see men in their 20s or 30s with swarthy complexions and Arabic names. Political correctness and good investigative work don’t go together. We were all mentally profiling.

  “Dolores Abernathy,” said Zeke, “suspected bomber of the New York Stock Exchange. In this video, you can see her looking around and then pulling a cord on her coat. When we slow down the video, we can see that the blast came from her body. Here’s what we know. She was 25 years old, of Irish and German heritage, went to Catholic schools right through college. When she was 21 years old, she was arrested and convicted on an aggravated [AB13]assault charge for swinging a bat at a cop during a peace rally. She converted to Islam during her 30 days in jail, and her Islamic name is Fatima Chatwa. She’s been on our watch list since then.”

  “Timothy Lavaro is suspected of bombing the building we’re sitting in, based on the video. He was 23 years old. Both parents are Italian. He was convicted of drug dealing three times and was on parole. We have no documentary evidence about his religion, but his Facebook page shows an Arabic message, translated as, ‘All Infidels must die.’ In 2008 he travelled to Syria.”

  “I’m going to step back for a moment,” said Zeke, “and give you a rundown on the 12 suspects we think we have a handle on. You may want to take a sip of water before I go any further.”

  “Of the 12,” Zeke said, “not one is of Middle Eastern descent. All are between the ages of 21 and 29. Five, count ‘em five, are women. And this is interesting. Every one of them is Caucasian. I keep telling you folks that white people can’t be trusted.”

  “Very funny, wise guy, said Director Auletta. “Great work as usual, Zeke. Let me interject a couple of observations. Ever since ISIS split off from al-Qaeda, we’ve watched this phenomenon known as ‘homegrown terrorists.’ Since last year Western authorities have identified dozens of

  Muslim converts who travelled to Syria or Iraq to learn how to wage jihad. A lot of Americans fit the description of a homegrown jihadi. What Zeke just showed us is the new face of terror, the new face of radicalism, the new war. This morning’s events tell us one thing – it’s no longer business as usual in this fight. Gone are the days of profiling, the days when we searched for guys who look like Mohammed Atta. The new enemy could be sitting next to us on a bus or a plane. I’m not sure what this means, at least not yet anyway. Does it mean that cops will stop and frisk people at random? Does it mean people can’t wear bulky coats or carry packages? I hope you all saw something that I noticed looking at the videos. The suicide bomb vests are a lot slimmer than they used to be. So far, I didn’t see a person wearing a coat or jacket that I could describe as bulky.”

  “Director, if I may interject,” I said. (I never call her Barbara in public.) “As Zeke pointed out, 11 of the 12 people we’ve ID’d so far are on our watch list. We may have to tighten up on our surveillance.”

  “Rick,” said Auletta, “after what I’ve seen this morning, my inclination is to shove a tracking device up the ass of anyone we have suspicions about. But, of course, we live in the land of the United States Constitution. So we see this guy, Timothy Lavaro, with his radical Facebook postings. Maybe it should raise some eyebrows, but what he did was perfectly legal. Do we assign an agent to physically track anybody we suspect as a radical? Sorry, guys, but as FBI agents we know it’s our job to think out of the box, as difficult as that may be. And now, we have a new friggin box.”

  We heard a knock on the door. I opened it and an assistant said, “Mrs. Bellamy is here to see you, sir.”

  I had alerted everybody that Ellen would be meeting with us. What Ellen had to tell us would blow our minds as much as Zeke’s presentation.

  Chapter 11

  Meeting be damned, I walked up to Ellen and wrapped my arms around her. We kissed, probably far too long for the circumstances, but I was consumed by the fact that she was okay.

  Everybody in the room knew Ellen from our many social outings. Ellen and Barbara Auletta are good friends.

  “You guys look like hammered dog poop, if you don’t mind an independent critique,” said Ellen.

  We all laughed. Ellen has a way with people.

  “Rick tells us you may have some useful information, Ellen,” said Auletta.

  “Yes, but I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. This is an official meeting, and I’m just an everyday civilian without a security clearance.”

  “Hon,” I said, “remember, for better or worse, that you married an FBI agent. The FBI knows more about you than you know about yourself. Standard practice when an agent gets married.”

  “Well that makes me feel comfortable,” Ellen said, “sort of like a microbe on a Petri dish.”

  “Don’t sweat it Ellen,” said Barbara. “Every one of our spouses went through the same wringer. And if it makes you feel better, because the FBI knows so much about you, I’m hereby appointing you as Special Deputy Ellen Bellamy, FBI. You’ll get a stipend, but just don’t expect health benefits or a pension.”

  “In that case, I think I’ll take some advance pay with one of those sandwiches over there. I haven’t had lunch yet.”

  Auletta apologized for our lack of hospitality. She asked Zeke to summarize his report to bring Ellen up to speed.

  ***

  When Ellen finished her sandwich, she opened a large file and took out its contents.

  “Rick and I were talking about the newest architectural assignment that I recently landed. I was all excited. Whenever I get a large project I...”

  I coughed loudly and stared at Ellen. I hoped she wasn’t going to tell them how horny she gets when she lands a big project.

  Ellen looked at me, winked, and continued.

  “My passion is large projects. I get, well, fulfilled.” She winked at me again. “Rick was a little shaken by some things I told him about a Mr. Angus MacPherson, the head of MacPherson International. I’ll go into detail about the strange shopping center designs he wants me to work

  on, but first I want you to know about some other interesting things I’ve learned recently. The past few hours of hell made me think.”

  Ellen was about to deliver an electric shock to our meeting.

  Chapter 12

  “How did you come to meet this Mr. MacPherson, Ellen?” asked Auletta.

  “He called me out of the blue. I had just won an award from Architectural Digest for a shopping center I worked on in Minneapolis. I guess he was impressed with the design. He asked me to meet him at his office on Park Avenue. That was eight months ago. Since then I’ve come up with the preliminary design and drawings for all of the shopping centers. Rick agrees with me that the designs make no sense from a business point of view. MacPherson seems to want to sacrifice a ton of retail space and rental income for aesthetic reasons.”

  Ellen walked over to a cork board on the wall and tacked up one of the drawings.

  “Notice how the ceiling panels are all sloped inward. I recommended standard sheetrock for the construction, but MacPherson insists that they be made of stainless steel. Although it will be beautiful, it will cost a fortune.”

  “But what’s wrong with a wealthy guy blowing his money?” asked Agent Michele Hannon. “Fat cats spend fortunes all the time to create a legacy for themselves.”

  “That’s a possibility, Michele,” I said, “but this guy is well known as a smart investor. Hey, it’s possible that he’s suddenly become an artiste, but I look at
it as a possible red light – a possible dot. I have no idea why at this point, but it’s something we should be aware of. Ellen, you said that you found some other interesting stuff.”

  “Yes, and I’m not sure what it means. MacPherson, you may be surprised to know, is the nation’s biggest investor in security firms. Either through his own company, MacPherson International, or through holding companies, he controls the majority of private security companies in the nation. That includes any airports that aren’t manned by TSA agents. If it’s private, chances are 90 percent that it’s controlled by MacPherson.”

  “What are your thoughts on this Ellen?” asked Auletta. “You have my full attention when I hear that something as critical as security is controlled by one man, but why do you find this strange?”

  “Vertical integration is the answer, Madam Director. He also owns or controls most of the suppliers for the projects. Before I turned to architecture, I was trained in business. I have an MBA from Wharton, not to brag, but to show you that I know what I’m talking about. Just as the sloping ceiling panels in the shopping centers make no sense, neither does his control of the vast majority of subcontractors. You’d expect him to farm out the work. It may seem like a good idea, but when you drill down, it doesn’t stack up economically. A developer like this would normally let out projects for bids, opting to pay fees as needed rather than keep a huge payroll with health insurance and pension costs. But he controls everything, including hiring and firing.”

  “Does any of this connect with the bombings this morning?” asked Zeke.

  “All I know are the facts, Zeke,” said Ellen. “MacPherson owned the security firms that worked all the railroad and transit lines that were hit this morning.”

  “Holy shit,” Zeke said.

  “How could that be?” asked Auletta. “The Metropolitan Transit Authority provides security here in New York.”

  “You would think so. But in the past four years, because of municipal budget cuts, transportation agencies across the country have farmed out part of their security to private bidders. I haven’t researched it yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the private buildings that were bombed this morning all had MacPherson-supplied security.”

  Ellen was freaking me out. How did she know this stuff, and why didn’t she ever mention it to me? She seemed to know what I was thinking. Come to think of it, maybe she did tell me but, as usual, I wasn’t listening to her.

  “I became fascinated with the workings of MacPherson International,” Ellen said. “I never even mentioned it to Rick because I couldn’t see anything suspicious, just strange business decisions. As I watched the horrible news this morning, it suddenly dawned on me. I don’t know if this means anything, but Rick always says that when things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be, they could be clues to something bigger. I guess my detective husband is rubbing off on me.”

  “Big question, Ellen,” said Agent Lopez, “how did you find out about all this?”

  “It’s all hidden in plain sight on the Internet.”

  “Rick,” said Auletta, “I’m assigning you to investigate MacPherson International. Ellen and Zeke will be on your team. Find out whatever you can about the mysterious Mr. MacPherson and his companies. Ellen, do you have a problem investigating a client?”

  “No, I don’t. This could all amount to nothing, but if there’s any connection between MacPherson and terror, I’m all aboard to do whatever I can.”

  Ellen’s on to something, I thought, something interesting.

  Chapter 13

  It was November 5 – three[AB14] weeks since the bombings of October 15. Already “10/15” had become a sad part of the American lexicon, right up there with 9/11.

  Ellen, Zeke, and I scoured every bit of information about MacPherson International. We looked at reports from securities analysts, magazines articles, and even a book entitled, Angus MacPherson, The Scottish Bill Gates. Zeke and I interviewed a dozen security heads from the various MacPherson firms. We told them it was a routine check. Not one of the people we interviewed gave any hint that something was amiss. We then investigated each of the people we interviewed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  After three weeks of intense investigation, we had nothing on MacPherson that even hinted at wrongdoing. It seemed that MacPherson is an incredibly talented businessman, but the only pieces that still didn’t fit were the strange designs for the shopping centers. Ellen told us that MacPherson wants to open the five malls on the day after Thanksgiving, next year, Black Friday. That makes perfect sense. If you’re going to launch a retail project, doing so on the busiest shopping day of the year is simply good business.

  I interviewed a stock analyst who convinced me that owning the security companies that guard your businesses could be a sound move, although he agreed with Ellen that it was out of the ordinary.

  MacPherson was clean. But something in my gut told me not to close the file.

  The MacPherson shopping mall plans still didn’t make any sense. We’d soon find out why.

  Chapter 14

  After three weeks, Ellen and I took what seemed like our only break since the attacks. We sat on the sofa sipping wine after a light dinner.

  If there’s any such thing as objective beauty, Ellen is it. She’s 38 years old, 5’9,” blonde, with an amazing body that she keeps in shape with her daily workout. And she isn’t just physically beautiful. She has a kindness about her for everybody she comes into contact with. She isn’t just kind, she’s patient – a handy trait if you live with me. She’s an award-winning architect and smart as hell. Sounds corny perhaps, but Ellen is also my best friend. I think she feels that way about me too.

  “Just hold me, Rick. We haven’t talked about it much, but when I heard the FBI building was bombed, I thought I’d die. When you finally reached me on my cell phone, I felt like I got a new life. Also, I notice that you’re listening more to what I have to say. Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

  “It’s been a few minutes, hon, but I never tire of hearing it.”

  “So where the hell are we now, Rick? It looks like my MacPherson suspicions were just that, suspicions with nothing to go on.”

  “As I said, babe, I’m not closing the MacPherson file. Here’s where we are, in answer to your question. In less than an hour on 10/15, a bunch of suicidal creeps have changed American life. That’s the simple answer.”

  “Rick, do you really think our lives have changed?”

  “Hey, look around. Ridership on public transportation has shrunk to a trickle. The mayor has banned private cars in the city unless they’re occupied by at least four people. I spoke to my cousin yesterday, the guy who’s in the telecommunications business. He says that his business is booming so much he can’t hire people fast enough to keep up with the demand. It seems that American companies are finally looking at telecommuting as the normal way of doing business, not just an alternative for blizzards and hurricanes. Before anybody enters a building, they have to submit to a search. After 9/11 it was just airplanes. Now it’s a nightmare just trying to get to work.”

  “I’ve noticed. I wish I had an FBI badge like you.”

  “Forget the badge. I wish you had a gun. As a matter of fact, I want you to get a concealed carry permit. You’re my wife and you’re also a prominent architect. I hate to think of you as a target, but I don’t want to take any chances. I also want you to get checked out on an assault rifle. I know a guy in the NYPD who can move the paperwork fast.”

  “I can’t believe that less than a month ago I would never have thought to carry a gun, but I think you have a point, Rick. I still hate the idea.”

  “I have to go to a meeting at FBI headquarters in D.C. on Tuesday. I’ll feel a lot better when you’re armed. I can train you on how to use the guns.”

  “How romantic. ‘So what did you and Rick do for the weekend? Oh, the usual. We went to the shooting range.’ ”

  “To change the subject,” I said, “I can use a shower.
It’s been a stressful day.”

  “I have a couple of new yoga positions to show you,” she said.

  “In the shower?”

  “Why not?”

  “Can I have a clue?”

  “I’d rather let you connect the dots.”

  Chapter 15

  Sarah Watson, Director of the FBI, called a meeting with Barbara Auletta, Zeke, and me at FBI headquarters in Washington. It was November 11, and we were still trying to discover anything we could about the bombings of 10/15.

  When we walked into Watson’s office, I was surprised to see William Carlini, Director of the CIA, along with a tall Middle Eastern-looking guy who I had never met.

  “Folks,” Watson said, “it’s my pleasure to introduce CIA Director Bill Carlini, a man who I know you recognize. Next to Director Carlini is CIA Agent Charles Atkins, also known as Gamal Akhbar, also known as a bunch of other names. We call him Buster. I’m going to summarize what we know about the bombings of 10/15, which isn’t a hell of a lot. Of the 12 terrorist bombers, we have a positive ID on 11 of them, which is pretty good. But we find ourselves in uncharted waters. After every terror investigation, we expect to find a lot of Middle Eastern names. But we’ve found none. They are all “homegrown” fanatics, recruited by God knows who, people who exchanged their status as American citizens for the cause of radical jihad. I’m going to ask Director Carlini to fill you in on Buster.”