“Okay,” said Lt. Leo, “Operation Betsy is now under way.”
“I know that operation names don’t mean anything, but how did you come up with that one?” asked the colonel.
“It’s the name of the cat I had as a kid,” said Buster.
“Gentlemen, let’s make Buster’s little kitty proud,” said the colonel.
Chapter 67
Angus MacPherson stood next to a bulldozer in Tucson, Arizona, the site of the first of five planned shopping malls. Photographers and reporters from local newspapers crowded the scene to memorialize the occasion. Carmella McGrath, Mayor of Tucson, was also on hand for the ribbon cutting.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the Mayor, as cameras clicked, “we’re here on a wonderful occasion. With all of the horrible violence of the past few weeks, we can take pride that our city is on the move – a move of peace and prosperity. Our country has terrible enemies, but today we can enjoy a new future for Tucson, a future brought to us by our good friend Angus MacPherson. This beautiful new shopping center will mean jobs, jobs, and more jobs.”
And a body count that you won’t believe, thought MacPherson.
“Mr. MacPherson, give us a smile,” said one of the photographers.
MacPherson managed a tight grin. So with or without Ellen Bellamy, the construction plans moved forward. MacPherson had his mind on another plan, not in Arizona but in Tenafly, New Jersey. He could think of little else since his meeting with Rick Bellamy. He looked beyond the reporters and photographers at a man standing on the edge of the crowd. The man was one of his al-Qaeda handlers. MacPherson closed his eyes and imagined shooting the bastard.
***
That afternoon, the President of the United States would give a speech that would change history.
Chapter 68
CIA Director Bill Carlini was in New York at 26 Federal Plaza to meet with us. At 11:45 a.m., he walked to the head of the table. It was Saturday morning. Recent events had scratched the idea of taking weekends off. The subject of Operation Betsy and the soon-to-begin rescue of Ellen and the MacPherson women was not on the table. The operation was so sensitive that Carlini didn’t want to discuss it in the open. The others at the meeting included General Dwight Simon, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and FBI Director Sarah Watson.[AB30]
“Before we begin our meeting,” said Director Carlini, “we’ll listen to President Reynolds who is about to address the nation.” He clicked the remote at the TV. “I think this will be one of the most important speeches he’s ever given.”
The President walked up to the podium.
“My fellow Americans. I speak to you today, not as a man who has all the answers, but as the man you elected to lead our great nation. The events of the past few weeks are the culmination of evil itself. There’s no way to sugar coat it, and I won’t. Our nation, indeed the freedom-loving world, is under attack from a faceless enemy, an enemy that doesn’t answer to any government, an enemy that has nothing to negotiate, an enemy that is dedicated to one goal – the destruction of our way of life. I’m not going to lie to you and say that we are faced with a perversion of a religion. We’re faced with perversion itself, a perversion that wears a mask of religion, but it’s only a mask.”
He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. The man looked, well there’s only one way to put it, the President looked nervous.
“World War III has begun,” Reynolds continued. He paused, looking straight at the camera. He said nothing for 30 seconds. “You heard me right. The world is at war. It’s not any kind of war that we’ve ever seen before. It’s not a war that was declared by a nation state. It’s a war that has been declared by evil men who desire to kill in large numbers. It’s a war that makes no sense, a war that is carried out against innocent civilian men, women, and children. It’s a war that knows no boundaries, waged by an enemy that doesn’t recognize the Geneva Convention or any other form of civilized behavior.”
He took another sip of water, something he seldom does.
“Is this a war that will end? Will there be a day when we sit down with enemy leadership and sign a document? The answer to both of those questions is no. There will never be an Armistice Day holiday to celebrate the end of World War III because the enemy has no single source of leadership. The war will end when the enemy decides to embrace humanity, not to kill indiscriminately. But in the meantime, we will fight this war. With our allies all over the world, we will fight to preserve human freedom and dignity. We will fight to keep the enemy off guard, and strike at its heart. God Bless America.”
***
Our meeting room was as silent as a mountaintop. We just heard a shocking speech, a speech that was obviously written with one goal – to level with the American people, and the people of the world.
Carlini turned off the TV and walked to the head of the table.
Whenever I saw Carlini talk, I was impressed with the guy’s cool leadership. His job consisted of managing one crisis after another. He always did so with a calmness that I found inspiring. But this morning, Carlini didn’t look his usual smooth self. He looked shaken, just like the President.
“You’ve just heard the President say what a lot of us have thought for a long time. World War III has begun.”
Carlini let his words linger. He didn’t follow up with an immediate explanation or ask for input. The President just announced something that hit us like an explosion. I looked at General Simon, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the country’s top operational military man. He looked at Carlini and nodded in agreement. Carlini looked at Sarah Watson and simply said, “Sarah?” inviting her comments.
“I agree with the President’s assessment,” said Watson. “He’s our Commander in Chief, so I have no option but to agree. We’ve met with the White House staff, as well as General Simon here. It’s an inescapable conclusion. The West is at war, an undeclared war. The reason the war is undeclared is because there is no nation to declare it. Of course ISIS calls itself a state, an Islamic State, but it isn’t a country in any historical sense. No, this war has been declared by a vast network, and I do mean vast. The network, as we all know too well, consists of radical jihadists the world over. Since the attacks of 10/15 and the sinking of the two cruise ships, we’ve concluded that we have to be on a war footing. Gone are the days when a suicide bombing in a crowded bazaar in the Middle East is front-page news. Sure, we’ll still read about those incidents, but we’re now involved in something much bigger. After the attacks of 9/11, the radicals avoided direct assaults on the American homeland. That all changed on 10/15. We’re now under attack in a way that we’ve never imagined.” She looked at Carlini.
“I’d like to hear your thoughts, Buster,” said Carlini.
“There’s only one possible solution,” said Buster. “We have to infiltrate. It’s going to take an army of operatives, far more than we’ve ever used before. Al-Qaeda and ISIS have figured out that they have to lay low and conceal their identity. We’re seeing less proselytizing and open recruiting. Traffic on radical websites has slowed to a trickle. They have figured out that we can track the visitors, and they’re lurking in the shadows. Our database is being choked off. We need to feed it information or else the list of terror suspects will be worthless. I hate to say this, but we’re going to need a gigantic network of observers watching, listening, and reporting. The only way this war will ever end will come from within Islam, from religious leaders who decide it’s time to take a stance. Until then, our country will be a very different place to live. I think the President just teed up that ball.”
“Buster, have you begun recruiting operatives?” asked Carlini.
“Yes, sir, and it sickens me, but it’s what we have to do. We’ve got to feed information to the database because our usual way of gathering facts just doesn’t work. The only thing that will stop this country from being run like the Gestapo is careful oversight from the Senate Intelligence Committee. As a spy, I hate being questioned, but as a
n American I welcome it.”
“Director Carlini,” said a loud voice over the intercom. “I suggest you turn on the television, sir.”
Chapter 69
Everyone in the room let out an expletive. Some groaned. Some said, “Now what?” Some just said, “Oh, shit.”
“This is Wolf Blitzer reporting for CNN. We have just gotten word that a bomb has exploded in the Bryant-Denny Stadium where the game between Alabama and Notre Dame had just begun. The bomb went off behind the Notre Dame bench on the fifty-yard line. We have a live video feed, but the scene is too grisly to show our audience without editing. What I can tell you is that the view is one of utter devastation. Bodies were flung hundreds of feet, and a large section of the stadium seats is gone. It had to be a large bomb to cause such a gigantic explosion. We go now to Sam Tillery, a reporter with our CNN affiliate in Tuscaloosa.”
“Wolf, the scene here is utter chaos. I’m looking at the site of the blast from the broadcast booth, and to say that it’s sickening would be an understatement. Besides the bomb blast, the violence continues right before my eyes. Panic has gripped the crowd, and the exits are choked with people stampeding, trying to escape. It’s too early to report deaths or injuries, but I can tell you from what I’m looking at, the death toll will be high. And it will continue to mount as the panic spreads.”
“Sam, excuse me but I’m getting a report of another breaking story,” said Blitzer.
Blitzer paused while holding his right hand to his earpiece. Despite his television makeup, his face looked pale.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve just received a report that there has been another explosion at a college football game. Florida State was about to kick off to Oklahoma at Doak Campbell Stadium in Tallahassee, Florida, when a bomb exploded in the restaurant overlooking the field. The restaurant, which holds 450 people, collapsed and fell onto the seats below. We haven’t gotten a report of injuries or deaths, but the stadium is absolutely chaotic. The first responders are being overwhelmed by the panicked crowd. This explosion occurred two minutes after the terrorist attack on Bryant-Denny Stadium in Alabama.”
Blitzer, normally a seasoned pro, looked like he was about to throw up.
***
“Notice that Blitzer used the words terrorist attack,” said Watson. “Nobody doubts what we’re up against.”
“Folks,” said Blitzer. “We’ve just heard the President of the United States inform us that World War III has begun.”
Blitzer looked down. He seemed to be groping for his next sentence.
“At this time a lot of people are asking a question,” said Blitzer. “Is there anyone in the Muslim community who wants to stop the killing? Any one at all?”
Chapter 70
“Rick, it’s Buster. Please come to my office. I just got a call from a guy I want you to meet.
I’ll tell you about him when you get here. I also called Bennie. You’ll see why.”
Bennie Weinberg and I walked into Buster’s office. His normally immaculate desk was piled high with papers.
“Let’s go into the conference room,” Buster said. “The guy will be here in about 20 minutes. This could be bullshit, which is why I asked Bennie to be here. The man’s name is Muhammed Bushariff. He’s a Muslim cleric and the imam of a mosque in Brooklyn.”
“Is he from the Middle East, or is he one of the homegrown types we’ve been talking about?” I asked.
“He was born and raised in Brooklyn, but both of his parents immigrated [AB31]from Saudi Arabia. He speaks English without an accent, just a hint of Brooklynese. I met him a couple of times on different investigations. He’s one of the few clerics who would give us any assistance at all. He’s always been polite and quite helpful on occasion. One time he even called me to volunteer some information about a guy on our watch list. I sometimes get the feeling that Bushariff would like to change careers. There’s nothing about him that could be described as radical.”
“Can we trust him?” I asked.
“Hey, that’s our job to decide. In this room, we have an FBI agent, a shrink, and a spook. If we can’t figure out if he’s for real, who can?”
Buster’s assistant knocked on the door. “Mr. Bushariff is here to see you.”
Our guest walked in. Bushariff was a thin man about 5’11” with a medium length beard. He wore a conservative suit, not Muslim garb, except for a taqiyah on his head. Buster introduced us and we all shook hands. I noticed the guy had a firm grip and looked me right in the eyes when he shook my hand.
We sat around the conference table. Buster asked Bushariff to sit at the head. Buster has a keen sense of protocol, and he figured it would be polite to give Bushariff a prominent spot at the table.
“So, Muhammed, what would you like to talk to us about?” asked Buster.
He took off his taqiyah and threw it on the table.
“I’ve had it,” he said loudly. “I’ve fucking had it.”
I’d met a lot of Muslim clerics over the years, but this was the first time I heard one launch an f-bomb. Bushariff took a deep breath and expelled it with force.
“I’ve been going through a religious crisis for some time. I was born a Muslim and raised a Muslim, and never questioned it. It was my faith. Whenever there was a radical Muslim terrorist act, I would always say a few words at the mosque, things like, ‘this is not our way,’ or ‘some of our brothers have strayed from the path of righteousness, but ours is the path of peace.’ Shit like that. What I wanted to say was, ‘Who are these crazy fucking people?’ Like all Muslim clerics, one of my jobs is to do PR for the faith. When was the last time you heard a cleric denounce terrorism like he meant it? Your typical imam, and I hate to say it because I’ve done this myself, would say something like, ‘we denounce terrorism but, we also denounce the terror committed against Muslims.’ Always a fucking but. When the Twin Towers came down, you heard constant bullshit about how bad it was, but – always the but – the men who did this were provoked by injustice, blah, blah, blah. It started to dawn on me that I’m a human being, an American, and I unwittingly share membership in a club full of savage animals.”
Muhammed stopped and took a deep breath. He looked like he wanted to put his fist through a wall. This guy was really worked up. He was genuinely pissed.
“Muhammed,” said Buster.
“Call me Mike.”
“Okay, Mike, are there many more like you who share your discontent with terrorism?”
“Not nearly enough, Buster. Hey, look at the numbers. Estimates vary all over the place, but I’ve read the polls and so have you. It’s scary. If only one percent of Muslims worldwide are radical, that translates into 15 million people. I read a Pew Research poll taken in 2013, which found that 19 percent of Muslim Americans believe suicide bombings in defense of Islam are at least partially justified. That’s almost a fifth of American Muslims. The global average is 28 percent in the countries they surveyed. I mean, holy shit, a lot of people out there are okay with the bombings of the past few weeks. The college football game bombings on Saturday finally put me over the edge. My daughter is good friends with the sister of the Notre Dame quarterback. That poor kid’s body got blown all over the fifty-yard line.”
“Mike,” said Bennie, “my wife is a college professor and an expert on the Middle East. She tells me that even she can’t figure out what the hell is going on. Do you have an opinion why the West is so hated?”
“Well, look at it this way, Doctor Ben. Remember that study done the year after 9/11 about Arab countries. The people on the study commission were 100 percent Arab, so the report can’t be accused of bias. The report found that in 700 years, the number of books translated into Arabic in all Muslim countries combined was less than the number of translations in Spain in one year, and Spain is the smallest country in Europe. Ignorance is bad enough, but when you have millions of people who are content to live in the dark, they’ll listen to anything.”
“And yet you’re still a Muslim?�
� said Bennie.
“In name only. My faith has been shattered by the non-stop killings. The past few weeks have fucking cemented it. If I said that in some circles I’d have my head chopped off.”
“Mike,” said Buster, “are you aware of any developments concerning what we call ‘homegrown’ jihadis, people who are otherwise Western but have converted to radical Islam?”
“Yes. I’ve talked about this with some other imams, guys I think I can trust. All of a sudden, I noticed that these ‘homegrown’ types weren’t showing up at the mosque. My friends confirmed it. Then I met a guy who I knew as Ali. I said the usual to him, ‘peace be with you brother Ali.’ He immediately corrected me and said that I should call him Bill, and that his last name was Jackson. I asked him why and he said something I’ll never forget. He said, ‘Jihad is best waged from the shadows. I want to be invisible to the infidels.’ These fucking people are hiding from you, Buster.”
“Mike,” I said, “can you help us?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m here for.”
He handed me a list of names.
“These are men who used to worship at my mosque. They’re all what you call ‘homegrown.’ And here is a list of names given to me by other imams. I didn’t jot them down but memorized the names when they told me about them. Looking over my shoulder has become a regular form of exercise for me.”
“I suggest that you be cautious, Mike,” said Buster, “very cautious. Please, just act normal. If, or I should say, when, there is another terror attack, just issue your standard mild denunciation.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Buster. Remember those newspaper reports a couple of years ago about Ahmed Muzir, an imam in Michigan. He went on a tirade, furiously denouncing terrorism from his pulpit. That guy had a pair of brass balls. He was also killed, beheaded after a sermon. I want to help in any way I can. But I’d like to keep my head attached to my neck if at all possible.”
The Shadows of Terror Page 13
