The Shadows of Terror

by Russell Moran

  “What we’ve learned in the last few weeks,” said Bennie, “is that we’re blind and deaf. We can’t afford to be dumb.”

  “I have a gut feeling that al-Qaeda’s plans are at an advanced stage,” said Zeke.

  Chapter 46

  “Peace be with you, brother Bashara.”

  “I remind you, Joseph, you are to use my American name, Phillip Murphy. And I also remind you that you must no longer call yourself Abbas Muktada. You are Joseph Portman. And when you meet a brother, do not say ‘peace be with you.’ The last time I saw you the new rules seemed to have sunk in, but now you’re back to your lax ways. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, broth…I mean Phillip. This will take some getting used to.”

  “And get used to it we must. It is now my pleasure to tell you about your new job. I saw in your file that you’ve had some police training, and it will now become useful to you, and to us. Next Monday, you will report to the office of MacPherson Security Corporation in New York. You are to report to a Bob Margano, a brother who used to go by the name Ali Bukdama before we changed the rules. You will soon be assigned to a major project. I cannot tell you the details of the project now, but you will learn about it over the next few months. All I can tell you is that you will be a key player in a glorious event that will happen next year.”

  “Is this company connected to MacPherson International, the big real estate developer?”

  “Yes, Joe. Are you familiar with the company?”

  “I’ve read about it in newspapers and magazines. The infidel in charge is a man named Angus MacPherson. From what I’ve read, he’s one of the smartest businessmen in the country. Won’t such a powerful man get in the way of whatever our plans may be?”

  “Don’t worry yourself about Angus MacPherson, Joe. Let’s just say we have a special relationship with him. Oh, and by the way, don’t use the word ‘infidel.’ Remember, our mission is to bring glory to Allah in the shadows.”

  “Perhaps, Phil, we shouldn’t say things like ‘bring glory to Allah.’”

  “You are absolutely correct. Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

  “I will see you next week after you meet with Bob Margano and begin your new job. It will be the most important mission of your life.”

  Chapter 47

  Bob McLaughlin finished his fishing and photography trip with his friend Phil Moretti. He had photographed the major bridges in the United States, and looked forward to his next assignment where he could exercise his new skill, drone photography.

  McLaughlin continued on his mission after saying goodbye to Moretti. His work would now focus on electrical substations across the country. According to his research there are 55,000 electric substations in the United States, but only nine are critical. If one or more of those nine stations were put out of business on a hot summer day, it would be a dark day for America, he thought to himself, smiling.

  He brought his 11-year-old nephew Andrew on his trip. What better way to avoid suspicion than to have child in tow? His brother and sister-in-law were delighted that Andrew would be getting photography lessons from a pro. McLaughlin had gotten to know and like Andrew and would often pick him up after church on Sunday to take him on photography trips. His brother often asked him why he didn’t drop in at church occasionally. He would just shrug and say that he liked to sleep late on Sundays. He never told his brother he had converted to Islam.

  He picked up Andrew at his house in Yonkers, New York. Their first flight would be to San Jose, California, the site one of the nine critical substations. In April of 2013, he recalled, snipers fired on that substation, knocking out 17 giant transformers and essentially taking the facility out of service for a month. A large park adjoined the fenced-in area. McLaughlin and Andrew sat on a park bench with their backs to the unit, located about 100 yards away. He piloted the drone helicopter skillfully over the station, flying it over a few other spots as well to avoid any possible suspicion. The helicopter was small, with a rotor span of only 12 inches. He flew it at a height of 200 feet, snapping pictures with the powerful lens of the attached camera. He let Andrew try his hand at using the drone controls. It was just like playing a video game, his nephew thought. “These drones are a fabulous technology,” he said to Andrew. “They make for wonderful picture-taking.”

  They are also excellent vehicles for delivering bombs, McLaughlin thought.

  Chapter 48

  I got home at 7:30 p.m. Ellen greeted me at the door wearing only one of my white dress shirts. I don’t know what it is about a man’s dress shirt on a beautiful woman, but it makes me nuts. She put her arms around my neck and blew a kiss into my ear. We stood in the entrance hallway of our apartment and made out like a couple of kids. As I held her closer to me, I sensed that she could feel that I was in the mood too. Reluctantly, I pulled back slightly.

  “Hey, let me shower away the stress of the day. Why don’t you pop a cork and pour us some wine.”

  “That’s not the only thing I’m going to pop.”

  I wonder if all architects have such a way with words.

  I climbed into the shower, letting the water and soap rinse away the day’s stress. I thought about nothing but the evening to come. After a longer than usual shower, I climbed out and toweled off, opening the door slightly to release the steam.

  “Hey, hon. I want you to take that shirt off because I’m going to wear it tomorrow. But please come here and take it off in front of me so I can make sure you don’t wrinkle it. Hon? Ellen? Hey, where are you?”

  She must be playing one of her sexy hiding games, I thought.

  I went to the master suite. Maybe she was in the bathroom. Not there. I walked all over our 2,400 square foot apartment. Still no sign of her.

  I glanced at the doorway, the last place I thought to look. Oh Dear God, the door was ajar!

  I opened the door fully and looked down the hallway. I ran back inside to get my gun and badge. I’m in excellent physical condition, but my heart pounded like I was an old man who just ran a marathon. I sprinted to the elevator, wearing only my terrycloth robe. Marty, the doorman, must have seen something. Marty sees everything.

  When the door opened on the first floor, I got out, turned right, and started to run to the lobby. Three cops stood there, guns drawn. I kept mine in the pocket of my robe. Like all law enforcement people, I’d been trained not to cause an incident in a confusing situation.

  “Hey, buddy, freeze,” said one of the cops, pointing a gun at me.

  “It’s okay, Mickey,” said another one of the cops. “I know this guy. He’s FBI and he lives here.

  Hey Rick, do you know anything about this?”

  I saw he was standing over Marty’s body. His head was half blown away by a gunshot wound.

  “My wife’s been kidnapped,” I barely managed to croak out. “Less than five minutes ago.”

  “Holy shit. What was she wearing?” he asked as he pressed on his radio. I told him she wore a men’s white shirt and nothing else.

  “That should help narrow it down.”

  “Woman missing and presumed kidnapped from 2 Fifth Avenue less than five minutes ago,” he yelled to the desk officer who picked up the call.

  “Yeah? Wow, okay. Keep me posted, Jack. Her husband, Rick Bellamy, the FBI guy, is with me. You know Rick.”

  I looked at him with eyes like saucers and put out my hands, signaling, “So what happened?”

  “Somebody called in an alarm a few minutes ago reporting a woman matching your wife’s description and manner of dress. A man was seen shoving her into the back of a dark colored sedan. I hate to say this, Rick, but half the fucking sedans in this city are dark colored. The caller didn’t have the presence of mind to note the license plate. Jack Flynn back at the precinct is putting out an APB to be on the lookout for a dark colored sedan with a blonde in the back. We don’t have a lot to go on, buddy. I’m sorry. What can I do for you?”

  “Let’s get my apartment dusted for prints.
Just basic shit, I know. The bastard probably wore gloves.”

  This wasn’t the evening I planned.

  Chapter 49

  I called Buster on his cell phone.

  “Open the door, Rick. I’m standing here right outside your apartment.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I just picked it up on the police radio. They gave her name.”

  “Rick, I know what you’re going through. I need you to think. Try to think. I want all your thoughts so we can start to piece this together.”

  “Buster, this has got to be connected with MacPherson’s wife and daughter. I’m taking a wild guess here, but I think they want Ellen to talk to the MacPherson women. I don’t think this is a typical kidnapping, and I doubt they’re holding Ellen for ransom. They want to use the MacPherson women to get Ellen to talk about the shopping center plan. They want to know what we know about the plan for Black Friday. Who better to find that out from than the architect herself? They’re figuring that Ellen will want to assure the MacPhersons that the good guys are working on the case. If I’m right, Ellen will be brought to wherever the MacPherson women are being held captive. But what the hell does that theory get us? We have no idea where they are. Somewhere in the Middle East probably, but who the fuck knows?”

  “Rick, we know where the MacPhersons are.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Tenafly, New Jersey.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I just found out this afternoon. One of our operatives spotted them. They’re at an al-Qaeda safe house. I should say it’s a place that al-Qaeda thinks is a safe house.”

  Buster’s phone sounded. He answered the call, but all he said was, “Holy shit, got it, got it. Keep me posted.”

  Buster grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes.

  “That was my guy watching the safe house. Your theory’s correct, Rick. A car just brought Ellen there.”

  The simple knowledge that we knew where she was washed over me like warm water.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Rick, we’re in. We’re in deep. One of my operatives arrived at the house today. This guy has been under deep cover for over a year. We’re inside, Rick. I don’t know if that makes you feel any better, but it’s a start.”

  “Any thoughts on a rescue?”

  “Of course, but it won’t be easy. The place is heavily guarded, as you can imagine. I’ve been involved in more kidnapping situations than I can remember, but this won’t be a typical hostage negotiation. Once they know we’re on to them, all hell will break loose. We want to be the ones who inflict the hell.”

  Chapter 50

  I cannot believe what’s happening to me. I’m still wearing only a man’s shirt. One of the turds shoved me into a room and threw me a pair of slacks, a sweater, a pair of loafers, and a burqa. He ordered me to get dressed and to come out of the room with my hair covered by the robe. I wasn’t in a position to argue. The guy then led me down a hallway, took me into a suite, and closed the door. Two women, who I recognized from photos as Margo and Jane MacPherson, were sitting on a couch.

  I introduced myself and looked around the room. I spotted at least four listening devices. Being married to an FBI agent gives you a different perspective on things. I suggested that we sit around a table. Margo MacPherson was beside herself and wouldn’t stop talking and asking questions.

  “What do they want us for? Do you know? And why did they bring you here? What does an architect have to do with any of this?”

  I looked at Margo and put a finger to my lips, signaling that she should shut up.

  “Do you have any writing material?” I asked. “I like to jot down notes when I talk.” I was speaking for the benefit of the bugs on the walls.

  Margo went to a desk and gave me a yellow pad and a pen.

  “This place is bugged,” I wrote. “Let’s be careful what we say. These people have taken over your husband’s business. The reason you’re here is to ensure that Angus follows their orders. They’re planning a terrorist attack on five MacPherson properties next year. My guess is that I’m here so they can learn what I know about their plans. They know that my husband is an FBI agent. Excuse me, but I have to use the bathroom.”

  I tore off the paper from the yellow pad after Margo and Jane read it. I then walked into the bathroom, tore it up into small pieces and flushed it down the toilet. Rick would be proud of me.

  “Tell us how Dad is doing,” said Jane when I returned to the room.

  “He’s beside himself with worry, but your father is a tough man. He’s holding up fine. He misses you both.”

  “So why are you here?” asked Jane, giving me a slow pitch so I could speak to the listening devices throughout the room.

  “I don’t know,” I lied to the bugs. “I’m just the architect for one of Mr. MacPherson’s projects. Maybe somebody didn’t like my drawings,” I said, introducing some lame humor into the conversation.

  “It’s a gorgeous design,” I continued. “Angus – he insists I call him Angus – was involved in every detail. He insisted on a unique appearance, which will make these malls the most beautiful shopping places in the country,” I said, speaking to the bugs. “Each mall will be one story, with beautiful sloping steel ceilings.” Of course, I didn’t mention that the purpose of the ceilings was to concentrate a bomb explosion, killing thousands of people.

  Chapter 51

  “Rick, you know they’re going to take you off this case,” Said Buster. “It’s strict policy at both the CIA and the FBI that an agent with a personal involvement in a case can no longer work on it. The policy makes sense. No matter how professional a person is, when a loved one is in danger, thoughts tend to get cloudy.”

  “You mean I’ll be taken off the case operationally. Don’t even fucking think you’re going to keep me in the dark about what’s going on.”

  “Rick, I’m supposed to say you no longer have a need to know, but we both understand that’s bullshit. I’ll let you in on everything and constantly. I also need your input. You’ve got one of the best detective minds that I know of. We’re going to need it.”

  ***

  My phone went off. I looked at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number. I put the phone on speaker so Buster could hear. I heard what I’d been expecting.

  “Mr. Bellamy, your wife is safe and is on her way to Yemen where she’ll be treated well. Do not make any attempts to find her. If you do, you will not be pleased with the result. I will call you soon with our demands.”

  The phone went silent.

  “Yemen,” said Buster. “The obvious reason for that call was to throw us off. Next they’ll come up with some sort of demand to make us think this is an ordinary kidnapping. The last thing they want us to think about is your theory that they’ll use the MacPhersons to get information out of Ellen. Al-Qaeda combines brilliance with stupidity. But for now, let’s take this as good news. They believe that we think that Ellen is going to Yemen.”

  “So let’s sort this out,” I said. “They’ve told MacPherson that his wife and daughter will be freed after Black Friday next year. Ellen came up with the theory that the shopping mall project is one big lead-up to a gigantic terror spectacular. But why would they want to release the MacPherson women? Both of them have an enormous amount of intelligence to give us. And what about Ellen, admittedly my main concern? When would they release her, and more important, why would they release her? We know that any ransom demand would be a bullshit attempt to throw us off. So my thinking is that they’re going to kill the MacPherson women and Ellen. It’s an inescapable conclusion.”

  Buster rubbed his forehead.

  “You’re right, Rick. Releasing the women would make no sense at all. The three of them can give us so much intelligence about al-Qaeda operations it would set them back years. So let’s take that as a primary assumption in this operation. Ellen and the MacPherson women will be targeted for death, no matter wh
at.”

  I wiped some sweat off my forehead. I noticed my hands were starting to shake.

  “You could use a drink, Rick.”

  “No. Yes, I sure as hell could use one, but I want my mind focused. So, Mr. Spook, any thoughts on what has to be done?”

  “It’s obvious, Rick. We’ve got to get them out. The one thing we know, and they don’t think we know it, is the location. I don’t have to remind you that rescue operations can be dangerous, really scary. Remember Desert One, Jimmy Carter’s attempt to free the Iranian hostages? A well-conceived plan, blown to shit by some bad luck. But we do have a guy inside who will feed us updates when he can. We need to start planning the rescue and wait for the right time. It would be insane for al-Qaeda to kill them before the big date next year. It would completely stop the plan in its tracks. We have time.”

  “Wait a minute, Buster. The MacPherson women are key to the Black Friday plan going off. What purpose does Ellen serve? She’s one smart lady. I’m sure the place is bugged and that Ellen knows it. So if Ellen throws them off and gives them nothing about her knowledge of the plan, what the hell do they need her for? Killing her would help solidify their grip on Angus MacPherson’s mind.”

  “Rick, they wouldn’t harm Ellen. The MacPherson women would freak out on them.”

  “No, they wouldn’t just shoot Ellen in front of them. They’d just tell the MacPhersons that Ellen was taken to another location. Buster, Ellen’s toast. We’ve got to move fast.”

  Chapter 52

  My handler, who went by the name of Ahmed, walked into the room and told me I had to follow him. He said it was time for the MacPhersons to make a video for Angus, and our suite also served as the video studio.