Malik and Knox looked at each other, and then back at White.
“What? I had a hunch, and I got my buddy at the Farm to give me some goods, that’s all.”
The guys just shrugged, and then Malik cleared his throat and glanced over at the SAC, waiting for him to acknowledge him to go ahead and begin. McCoy gave him more of a ‘Go ahead’ gesture with his eye brows, and Malik turned toward the marker board.
“What we have here…is not much. But it will give us a good starting point,” Malik began.
He reached over and took a photo and put a small ball of tape in the center of the back, and slapped it on the far left side of the board.
He continued, “First of all, our first victim was an important man in the city of Cairo, Egypt. Imam Muhammad Ibn Abdullah Mahmud was the Imam of one of the largest mosques in the Middle East. He was a staunch supporter of the Muslim Brotherhood, and he was generally known as a peaceful man. From the data we have access to, the Imam was a very religious man who publicly abhorred terrorism and denounced all the big players – Hamas, Hezbollah, Al Qaeda, etc.”
Malik kept going, “Our assassin came in past a heavily fortified perimeter in a location with plenty of deterrence and means of detection. He was able to sneak up on the victim, considering there were no signs of a struggle or resistance. The killer obviously knew something about Islam, because he mocked the Imam by placing him exactly perpendicular to the direction of Mecca, in which the sajadahs were facing as if to say Mecca, the most sacred of Muslim cities, is not the right city. He also left an iconic image (glancing at Agent Knox’s reaction as he said this) in the victim’s right hand and purposefully set the Christian icon directly next to his heart. So we know the assassin is either prejudiced against Muslims, or wants to send a message. But the gold cross is his only calling card. He leaves no other messages, or signals to let anyone know his purpose.”
Agent White briefly interjected, “Well I have some information that might help, pertaining to the assassin’s skills, but I will wait until John has gone over the Dearborn case.”
Malik nodded, but had more to add, “The assassin’s method of execution is poison. Not just any poison, but a very concentrated venom from a poisonous snake native to various parts of Africa, the Black Mamba. He seems to have an obsession with both religions – Christianity and Islam. As you know, in both religions, the serpent, or snake- has a significant reputation. Agent Knox – I think you’re right about the assassin trying to tell Muslims where they’ve gone wrong. I think the killer is trying to illustrate that Islam is like the poison. I think he is sending a message that says, the spread of Islam throughout the world is like the spread of poison throughout the body. In other words, he is letting whoever discovers these murders know that if Islam continues to spread, the human race will die.”
Agent Knox was impressed. He couldn’t put his finger on it; but he was captivated by the confidence in the sincerity of Malik as he spoke about the killer, who obviously had the upper hand at the moment, and who was an arch enemy of Inspector Sharif’s own religion. Knox had an actual longing to like the guy – this investigator from a different agency; a different culture. He knew they had their differences of opinion and beliefs, but as he watched the Interpol man deliver with confidence what he thought the un-sub was thinking, he felt like he was watching a kindred spirit in action. Malik had finished, and he looked at Knox. Agent Knox took the glance as his signal to go up to the board. He got up with his own photo. He carefully placed some rolled up tape in four corners of his picture, and posted a photo of Imam Mustafa immediately to the right of the first Imam.
He began, “This is the Imam of the largest mosque in the United States. Imam Mustafa is seen – I mean was seen - and recognized by Muslims around the world as one of the great hopes for the spread of Islam. As we all know, the US is not exactly known for its Muslim history. However, whether other countries like us or not, our country has more influence on the rest of the world than any other. What better way to get Islam to become the world’s religion than by infiltrating the most powerful country in the world? Although a rich and powerful man, the Imam has avoided any bad publicity regarding the use of violence or force in any of the influence his mosque, the Islamic Center for America, has on the surrounding community of Dearborn. Mustafa was killed by the same means as his counterpart in Egypt. The venom killed him quickly, but caused extreme pain for a brief moment before he died.”
Then Knox went on to describe in full detail what happened to the body guards and the harem next door. He talked about the lone witness in the entire case so far…and how all she could tell them was how she escaped the black mambas. By the time he had finished, he almost sounded discouraged.
However, Agent Knox took a deep breath and then looked right at his SAC.
“Sir” – he began. “I know it sounds like we don’t have much…but I think I can think like our un-sub. I think I know why he is doing this.”
Malik perked up and was ready to hear further explanation.
Knox continued, “Our subject is angry about something. He is mad at Islam, just as most of America was back in 2001. I think he is associating these imams with something he knows about Islamic jihadists. That doesn’t make him right,” – he looked right at the inspector from Interpol when he finished, “But in his mind I believe he thinks he is right. I think our assassin is an American Christian, who in his own misguided mind, thinks he is doing the right thing.”
McCoy was tapping his temple with the eraser on his pencil as he sat there looking at Agent Knox.
Then he sighed and said in response, “So what both you men are telling me is we have bupkis… except that maybe our killer is one of 120 million suspects, give or take a few – who hates terrorists that claim to worship Allah. Is that about right?”
Malik cleared his throat.
“Special Agent McCoy, we will get more. But we need more time… and we need the killer to attempt to attack again.”
McCoy chuckled, “Son, don’t let the press get wind of you saying that. Anyway, I am glad to know what I had pretty much already read in each of your reports. Ms. White…you said you had something to add. Surely that stack of paper and thin cardboard holds something of interest for us.”
Agent Knox took his seat, and Beth got up with the folder that was on top of her pile.
She jumped right into explaining, “Well, I was busy yesterday and the day before when I had some time away from the boys, and I started thinking about our un-sub’s ability to get around everywhere, totally unseen. I mean it is like he is invisible. I knew that the CIA trains its most elite field agents at the Farm with just the tactics to pull this kind of thing off. I mean they teach them to pick several types of locks; how to blend in to crowds; how to use the shadows on a sunny day to remain in hiding – you name it. SO I contacted a friend of mine who happens to train CIA field officers at the Farm. Since mistrust of Muslims hit an all-time high on September 11, 2001, I had him run down a list for me of the numbers of recruits they have had graduate from their tradecraft and paramilitary training since 2001. That at least cuts down our list of possible suspects of 120 million.”
She paused with a smile at her boss. The SAC just motioned with his hand to continue.
“I also figured our guy, who we have estimated to be about the size of Agent Knox there, was probably ex-special forces. So I had my guy narrow the list down for me even more to all the recruits who made it through who were former Special Forces soldiers. That got us down to a pool of less than 400 people, sir. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a search engine with enough specific capability to narrow it down to recruits who were over 6 feet, 2 inches tall. So that’s why I was late this morning. I just flew in from Virginia. I left early yesterday morning to pick up anything he found. Even though he wasn’t supposed to, he made copies of the recruits whose files are still active (they’re still agents), and he let me have the archived files that were more than 5 years old.
So here they are. I think our guy is in there.”
Jones McCoy’s eyes got real big for a split second, and then he smiled at Agent White.
Then he looked at Agent Knox and laughed, “That’s our girl.”
Malik couldn’t help but be impressed, but Knox wasn’t surprised in the least. He just wished she had let him in on her little get away plans. He and Malik had been going over photographs and running over scenarios or possibilities for how the killer operated so smoothly, without ever being detected. Both agents also needed their rest, but of course Agent White the energizer bunny kept right on working. No wonder they hadn’t seen her.
McCoy straightened up and went back to serious mode.
“Here’s what I want you guys to do. Run down the lead with these files. Hell, start by looking at how short or tall everyone is. That should narrow it down. Any possible suspects who have a particular conservative background – we need to know about them. If we need to look up certain military personnel who have had interaction with any of those leads, let’s make that happen. You guys aren’t doing too bad, after all. Just keep me posted on what you find out. Now get moving on those files,” he finished and abruptly turned to leave the conference room.
Knox and White immediately started gathering their things and left for their office carols.
Before McCoy made it out of the room, Malik gently tugged at his shirt from behind.
“Sir, may I have a moment with you in your office?” he asked.
The SAC simply motioned Malik past him and let him lead the way back to the big boss’s desk.
McCoy showed a welcome gesture to one of the chairs in front of his large oak desk. Malik pulled the door closed behind him as he entered and sat down in front of McCoy.
He began, “Sir, I came in to the office today, fully expecting to have to complain to you afterwards of my suspicions of Agent Knox being unable to work on this case with an open mind. But the more I am around those two, the more I appreciate the opportunity to work with your agency. So I guess I just wanted to say thank you. I thought at first, after learning that Agent Knox was a Christian from the South, that he might have a problem with me working the case alongside him and Agent White. But after getting to know the two agents a little better, and seeing their ability to convey their thoughts and see how they work together, I am more optimistic. Hearing Knox tell us today that he could think like our assassin – that gives us a big advantage I think. So I also wanted to apologize if I caused any tension with my initial arrival to the case,” he finished.
McCoy just sat there and took it in stride.
He replied, “Look, don’t get me wrong; everybody around here knows what a God-fearing boy scout Knox can be. But trust me – he wants to catch our bad guy just as much as you. Think about this for a second…that guy out there is making Christians everywhere look bad. Oh sure, the world may not know about him yet – but they will. It’s only a matter of time. In the meantime, tolerate the boy scout. Also listen to that partner of his. Beth is a rare gem around here. She’ll keep both of you in line. Pleasure to have you working with us on this one, Inspector Sharif.”
He stood up, and Malik followed suit. They shook hands firmly, and the man from Interpol just grinned.
“Please sir – it’s just Malik.”
Malik had finished up in the SAC’s office and left the office for a while, presumably to check in with his home office in Brussels. Knox and White had begun working on the list of capable suspects. Agent Knox had decided he would look at all the heights and weights of the people in the pool of names; Agent White decided to try to focus on any commonality found in the trainings listed in each soldier’s files. While Knox whittled away at the names, using the basic description on each soldier’s profile – he was blown away by how efficiently Beth just opened file folder after file folder, making quick notes in her notepad, then moving on to the next file.
He was just finishing up recording the last soldier’s name on his list and writing his height and weight, when Agent White closed the last folder and looked up.
“I think I am done for now….let’s grab a late lunch.” Knox finished scratching something down, and smiled.
“It’s a date then…let’s go down the street to Burrito Joe’s.”
Burrito Joe’s was a relatively popular Southwestern place that served burritos down the street from their office building.
Once inside the restaurant, Agent Knox ordered a “Joey’s Burrito of Goodness”, and Agent White got a “Home Maker”. The couple picked a quiet corner booth at the back of the restaurant. They sat down to eat, and Knox bowed his head and said a short blessing before eating his meal. When he looked back up, he noticed Beth hold her head up at the last split second.
She gave him a knowing smile.
“Can we talk about something other than work?” Beth asked her law man.
Knox nodded and replied with his mouthful, already taking a huge bite of his burrito, “Sure, babe – anything you want to talk about.”
She laughed at him, and then got somewhat serious again.
“You want to know what I did last night before I caught my red-eye flight back to Detroit?”
Knox nodded as he continued to chew.
She answered calmly, “I read the Bible…one of those Gideon Bibles that you find in the night stands in motels.”
Knox immediately put his burrito down and stopped chewing.
He gave a big swallow, and chased it down with a swig of sweet tea.
“That’s great, Beth! What brought that on?” he asked.
She breathed in deeply, and continued, “Well, I got to thinking that it would be awesome to have the comfort level you have – you know; about the future and stuff – and what comes after all this. I also thought that maybe if I knew more about the Bible and what’s in it, I could better relate to you.”
Knox smiled and took hold of her hand.
“Wow…that means a lot to me. But I want you to know that any questions you have along the way – don’t be afraid to ask. And if I don’t know the answer, we’ll find it together.”
They sat there quietly for a while, finishing their meals and smiling at each other. Neither was in any hurry to get back to the office.
Finally Knox chimed in, “So – heck of a surprise you threw on Malik and me back there. I know McCoy was impressed. You got any more hunches under your belt?”
She nodded, and started cleaning up her mess on the table.
“You know all the training each person has logged in those files? Well, several trainings for different purposes were held at this base or that base, but several of the bases don’t make the list for everyone. But there is one location that jumped out to me that I noticed was on every single person’s file,” Agent White finished with a smile.
Knox asked, “Well, where is it?”
White continued with her knowing smile, “Fort Benning, Georgia.”
15
The Congo
Rumbi – after sunset
The dusty streets were dark; the sun had gone down, and a lot of the people became scarce at nightfall because of the poor infrastructure. Poor lighting and nocturnal predators on the outskirts of town did not make for a good night for anyone. Although far enough away from any savannahs to worry about animals such as lions or hyenas, the town was known for leopard attacks in the middle of the night. The bustling activity at the market in the small town during the day kept the jungle cats away while the sun was up; but because electricity was hard to come by on several of the streets, the leopards became bolder at night, in relation to the brightness of the area in which a person was walking. The activist figured the patrols in the town at night would be minimal for this reason, and he was right. He moved like a leopard through the shadows, donning his customary black attire for his trade. The activist had remained anonymous throughout the day, never making conversation with locals, and never drawing attention to himse
lf. As it got darker, he found a small storage shack near the market, and quickly ran in through a curtain that had been hung over the front of the doorway. While inside, he stripped off all the baggy robes and extra garments. He had his normal equipment that had joined him for all his missions in the last several years. He also placed his new hi-tech night vision shades over his eyes. They made his field of vision appear as if it were still daylight. Now dressed for the occasion, he made his way through the dark, abandoned market place, darting past tables and around empty standing cabinets.
The market was under a large sheltered area that resembled a giant picnic shelter, the size of a city block. Several bamboo posts held up a thatch roof overhead, and the roof was approximately ten feet high. He had to slow down every now and then to hide from some of the soldiers still patrolling the streets. The activist finally reached his destination when he saw the large stack of crates placed near the side of the road at the intersection he remembered. He ran up and knelt down behind the largest crate, and waited to hear the sound of the old military truck. After 20 minutes of sitting with his back against the wall of the crate, waiting silently, the loud rattle of the old truck could be heard meandering its way into town. He got up to a squatting position leaning against the crate, and peeked around the corner to see how far away the truck was. It was slowly approaching the make-shift stop sign of his intersection. He quickly shot his head back behind the crate before the headlights came bearing down on him. Then he heard the sound he was listening for – the squeaky brakes and the hiss of the air that old air brakes make when a truck of its size comes to a stop. Ironic how that sound would mark his exit from the town, just as it marked his arrival. He waited to see that the beam of light from the headlights had come to a stand-still. He sat still as he heard troops of the terrorist guards jumping out the back of the truck and rambling on in their African-French gibberish. He slowly stuck his head out again, and saw that his window of opportunity was closing. He could see a tall figure he guessed to be none other than Mbeki Thimbosa, shouting out orders out behind the truck; but he was sure he could make it under the truck before they were fully loaded up. The driver had gotten out and marched off. The activist figured someone else would be doing the driving back to the terrorist outpost. Seeing that there was nobody watching the driver’s side, the activist made his break for it. He crouched and ran in one fluid motion, and then dropped into a roll, controlling his body so as to not make more than a muffled thump on the ground; the sound drowned out by the heavy diesel of the truck. Once he had rolled onto his back under the passenger hold, he immediately looked up and saw two small places to use as inverted foot holds. He carefully avoided any moving parts of the undercarriage and axles, and reached up and grabbed hold to some metal overhangs. He stayed on the ground staring up and back at the same time, his hands ready to hoist up his weight once the truck was ready to roll. The truck shook each time a new passenger jumped into the back, but this didn’t deter the activist in the least.
Misguided: The Jesus Assassin Page 6
