Counterfeit Lies

by Oliver North

  The target was fighting to stay awake, his eyes growing heavy. He wasn’t expecting company at this hour and was startled by the sound of the doorbell playing the first few notes of a traditional Korean ballad. Rising slowly from his wingback chair, the man shouted, “Who is it?” as he approached the door.

  There was no response.

  “Who is it?” he asked again, perhaps thinking it was a delivery of some kind. From surveilling the block over the past few days Kareem knew FedEx or UPS sometimes dropped off a package and rang the doorbell without waiting for a reply, but never this late.

  With still no answer to his third inquiry, the target peered out the window, scanning in all directions, and saw nothing.

  The assassin moved directly in front of the door, his focus straight ahead, his weapon just below the eyepiece. He rang the doorbell a second time. When the porch light came on, the assassin didn’t flinch, remaining steady, prepared to strike.

  The target hollered, “Yes!” then made the final mistake of his life. He put his eye to the security peephole.

  When Kareem spotted the resident peering through the tiny opening, he raised the semi-automatic two inches and fired a single round. The suppressor minimized the muzzle flash, but the sound of the .45-caliber echoed against the heavy wooden door. It was louder than the assassin expected and he hoped he hadn’t attracted a neighbor’s curiosity. The gunman casually picked up the spent shell casing and put it in his pocket.

  A wicked smile covered the woman’s face as she watched a pink spatter flood the living room and the man crumble to the floor, his life extinguished in an instant, his account closed.

  Kareem and his companion retreated down the driveway toward the Honda. They entered the vehicle, holding the doors closed, but waited until they were down the block before slamming the front doors shut.

  The woman gave the assassin a congratulatory stroke of his thigh, and when he glanced over at her, she provided an approving smile. Turning right at Olympic Boulevard, the murderers disappeared into a steady late-evening stream of Los Angeles traffic.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAY 2

  TUESDAY, APRIL 29

  The mosque on Olympic Boulevard was in a run-down strip mall tucked away in the far corner of the complex between a bakery and a dry cleaners. It was no mega-mosque or Islamic cultural center like those being funded by Saudi oil money. In fact, most, including nonpracticing Muslims, didn’t know the facility existed. The call to prayer didn’t echo throughout the business district signaling believers of the hour. Most worshippers came and went without much fanfare.

  The space had been a used clothing store, which should have benefited by the economic downturn, but like many businesses in the area it too failed. Even the secondhand-clothing market was impacted by the double-dip recession, and the Korean property owner was only too happy to find a new tenant.

  Now the building answered the religious needs of those practicing Islam and living in the immediate neighborhood. The tiny facility consisted of three rooms and a single restroom: the larger area was used for prayers; the smaller area, meetings; the third room, a tiny office, doubled as a storage facility.

  Though there was an authentic air of legitimacy to the mosque, it served a greater purpose for those members wishing to impose their own brand of sharia law upon America. Not every one of the several dozen in regular attendance sought self-segregation nor desired to participate in violent jihad. They evidenced no pent-up hostility toward the United States and had assimilated into Los Angeles’s multicultural society. Many loved America and the freedoms and opportunities this country provided, but among those worshipping at the religious institution was a group of men who supported the pro-jihad, anti-America, anti-Jewish rhetoric flooding the terrorist websites. They believed in an ideology of hatred, demeaning all religions while extolling Islam.

  These men viewed jihad as a violent, offensive confrontation against the enemies of a global ummah, a unified Islamic state. The Koran imposed such an obligation: “And fight them until there is no more dissent and the religion will be for Allah alone.” It was their duty to pursue the infidels throughout the world, killing those who refused to submit to the will of Allah. “Fight and slay the pagans wherever you find them. Seize them and beleaguer them, and lie in wait for them in every stratagem.”

  The men were sleeper activists who would not be seduced by the infidel’s culture.

  The mosque provided a safe haven, serving as a staging area for terrorist activities. It birthed plans to destroy the kafirs, nonbelievers who were not worthy of an earthly life and were destined for hell.

  Thanks to political correctness and the First Amendment, it was almost impossible for the FBI to monitor the happenings at any mosque. Since 9/11, government officials at all levels had gone out of their way to appear tolerant, inclusive, and accommodating. Politicians obscured the origins of violence, twisting uncomfortably in public hearings, and refusing to attribute terrorist acts to any one belief system. Whenever possible they blamed a lone wolf acting outside the religious norm or misguided social outcasts seeking a perverted meaning to life. America’s tolerance and self-imposed social engineering fueled the cause of those at the mosque. Presidents called Islam a religion of peace, with Muslim outreach a top priority for successive administrations. Christians opened dialogue while educators and politicians sought to answer the question “Why do they hate us?” and came up essentially empty, offering feckless concessions and indefensible appeasements.

  More than a decade after 9/11, the efforts of law enforcement were mostly ignored or criticized. Several dozen terrorist attacks had been disrupted. Yet when a plot was discovered and a terrorist act prevented, the media quickly found fault, dismissing the investigation as government-inspired entrapment, blaming informants or paid operatives. “Experts” described the “root causes” of “extremism” to be inadequate education or limited economic opportunities and unemployment. Rarely would an academic or journalist acknowledge that radical Islamic terrorists frequently used children, the mentally challenged, and the infirm to do much of their bidding.

  When Army major Nidal Hasan murdered thirteen at Fort Hood while shouting “Allahu Akhbar!” it was called “workplace violence”—not terrorism. When two young “students” from Chechnya killed three and wounded more than two hundred at the Boston Marathon, it was a “failure” for law enforcement. After alert civilians stopped Richard Reid and Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab from setting off bombs aboard aircraft headed for U.S. cities from overseas, the media described the events as intelligence failures. Those in the stands love to hurl epithets at those on the field.

  The six men arrived at the tiny mosque for sunrise prayers and stood around outside before entering. They were convinced their terror cell, operating in plain sight in one of America’s largest cities, remained off the government’s radar. . . . And they were right.

  As the sun began to creep above the horizon, the heavy traffic on one of Los Angeles’s busiest streets provided the cover they needed for a dangerously open conversation.

  “Where is he?” asked one.

  “Have you heard from him?” asked the smallest of the six men, looking around for Kareem.

  “He called me last night. The deed is done,” said Mohammed, the leader of the cell, who wore his leathery and scarred face as a badge of honor.

  “That is good.”

  Mohammed smiled. “It is better to be the hunter than the hunted. Before peace there must always be war . . . or surrender. Although I wish to one day destroy this godless nation in its entirety, we must never forget that our ability to cripple the Great Satan can also rest in the small victories that go unnoticed and are not linked to the cause. We shall discuss this further after sunrise prayers. Let us go in and give thanks to Allah for last night’s victory.”

  The words of Mohammed bound the men to the terror pact; they collectively basked in this most recent, yet seemingly inconsequential, success as they followed the
ir leader into the mosque.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jake Kruse and Trey Bennett were sitting in Trey’s Ford Fusion just down the street from the entrance to the CBS Studio City lot. Those walking past, more concerned with midmorning auditions, paid no attention to the two men.

  Jake smiled at the question and answered with bureaucratic perfection, “I used a force-multiplying instrument to successfully stop the lethal threat.”

  “You shot them,” said Trey.

  “Okay, I shot them.”

  “You’ve been in so many shootings, you’re beginning to sound like OPR,” said Trey, referring to the FBI’s dreaded Office of Professional Responsibility.

  “It’s all how you write up the paperwork,” said Jake, offering a lopsided grin before passing a worn pillowcase to Trey. “This has the wallets and weapons from the two hijackers last night. I cleared both weapons and there isn’t much in the wallets, but maybe you can come up with something.”

  Trey set his coffee in the cup holder before peering into the bag. “San Diego got an agent down there right after you called. The locals didn’t seem too concerned and welcomed the Bureau’s help. The agent called me this morning and said it didn’t even make the paper.”

  “Those guys weren’t virgins. I’m sure once they do some digging a few open investigations get closed. The video and audio tapes from the cab are also in the pillowcase. After you listen to it you’ll see it was righteous.”

  “I didn’t doubt that it was.”

  “I dropped the container off at their warehouse about two this morning.”

  As Trey was poking through the pillowcase, he said, “We should be able to pick up the delivery schedule from the phone traffic. We’ll let a couple of small loads get through but then intercept the bigger deliveries with a traffic stop en route to the ultimate destination. It’s worked so far and they haven’t linked it back to you.”

  “I’m still golden with Tommy. How do you want to handle this latest issue?”

  “We have to play it out.”

  Jake smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. I always enjoy the chance to take down a lawyer. I’ll set up a meet for tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Through the window Kareem spied Mohammed sitting near the back and strained to look at ease as he entered the tiny diner across the street from the mosque. The prison convert suspected by the look on Mohammed’s face he was in for another subdued tongue-lashing. Kareem had missed sunrise prayers . . . again. He had been admonished before about his lack of submission, which some saw as a lack of faith, but self-discipline and punctuality were never his strongest characteristics, even prior to his conversion.

  He debated lying to Mohammed, telling him he had gone to another mosque or performed the ritual at home. The fifth-century Chinese author Sun Tzu, in The Art of War, stated, “All warfare is based on deception.” Kareem was at war on an urban battlefield, and this morning might be a time to hone his skills, exercise deceit, and practice the art. Besides, Muslims believed in taqiyya, lying to safeguard oneself or to protect Islam. Kareem anticipated his pride was about to be attacked and might demand protection.

  For months Kareem questioned whether he should move to another mosque, maybe one where more African-Americans attended. If not for Mohammed, he would have left shortly after he first began worshipping at the strip mall facility, which had been recommended by a visiting imam at the prison. Kareem was the only homegrown convert. The others, born in the faith, emigrated from Iran, West Beirut in Lebanon, or Syria’s Shiite community.

  He heard the rumors and backstabbing. Many recent failed terrorist plots were the actions of converts; men and women radicalized through the Internet, who brought too much attention to the jihadist agenda. Kareem had been lumped into this pot of offenders and for all his bravado, his ego was fragile. He sought acceptance and never felt welcomed, except by Mohammed, who nurtured him, praising his skills and devotion.

  Mohammed clearly articulated the cell’s mission: impose Allah’s word on America so Islam would reign supreme. The means of accomplishing that goal seemed clear to a man of Kareem’s limited religious background, yet for some, even those in the cell, it was not as defined as Kareem would have liked. The ex-con had an all-or-nothing vision of jihad.

  Kareem had studied enough in prison to know Israel was not the problem, as many who were ignorant of the cause’s true mission espoused. The Koran demanded all nations submit to Allah. The nation of Israel served as a fashionable excuse, a convenient scapegoat, for the current call to arms, but Israel wasn’t even a recognized state when Muslims conquered the Middle East, North Africa, and most of southern Europe centuries earlier. As Kareem recognized from his readings, a homeland for the Palestinians wouldn’t halt the efforts to implement sharia in America or worldwide.

  Since he was taking risks others in the cell were unwilling or unable to take, maybe this morning was the time to be assertive. Kareem prided himself on never backing down from anyone in prison or on the street, so why was he fearful of the cell’s leader? Kareem towered over Mohammed and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Even larger OGs, or Original Gangsters, as the gang members in the hood referred to them, never instilled this much apprehension in the convicted felon. Though Kareem was still questioning his own religious foundations, he believed Mohammed had been ordained by Allah.

  The ex-con had heard whispers of Mohammed’s heroics in Lebanon during the most recent battle with the Israelis in 2006. It was rumored Mohammed was a member of Hezbollah, the Party of God, and trained by Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps—the IRGC. Each time Kareem broached the subject, Mohammed dismissed the inquiry, reminding the novice jihadi that only through Allah could the cause succeed, and no one should seek individual glory.

  In many ways the cell was autonomous, with Mohammed making the tactical decisions without much overseas input or oversight. It had been that way since he arrived in Los Angeles in 2009. Taking the “long route” from Beirut to California wasn’t easy. It had taken him three months to travel by sea from Lebanon to Caracas, then by ferry to Panama and a dozen bus trips through Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, and north up Mexico’s west coast to the cross-border tunnel in Tijuana.

  But in the end, it was worth it. Since being smuggled into the United States there had been thousands of telephone calls, text messages, and emails between Mohammed and his Quds Force masters. Buried in trillions of NSA metadata files there were records of these communications. Yet for more than five years his true role as the leader of an Islamic terror cell had gone undetected.

  Though government surveillance had failed to detect the cell’s existence, the aggressive financial investigations by the FBI and Treasury agents in recent years made it difficult for the cell to receive funds. Mohammed was often forced to seek his own funding to recruit new jihadis for the cause or to move Hezbollah “sleeper agents” across the border into the States.

  Kareem not only sought Mohammed’s approval but was constantly looking for ways to benefit the cause. He hoped for a more prominent role for himself in the cell, and knew his aggressive ideas were not embraced by those who feared going beyond the safe confines of the mosque.

  Kareem offered his hand and cautiously took his seat. The waitress approached with a second pot of tea and dropped a menu on the table.

  “We missed you this morning,” said Mohammed.

  Kareem only nodded.

  Maybe it was Mohammed’s leadership skills but he chose not to admonish the newest member of the cell. “Well done last night. Allah be praised.”

  Kareem breathed a protracted sigh, a smile now growing on his face. “Allah be praised.”

  “Do you still believe we made the right decision?” asked Mohammed.

  Kareem nodded.

  “The fact you were successful only reinforces the belief Allah chose to honor our decision.”

  Kareem blew on the steaming tea before taking a sip, then said, “W
e couldn’t let Sonny live. He told Candy he was working for the cops. We couldn’t take a chance.”

  “What about the other one?” asked Mohammed.

  “They both need to go but setting him up might be tougher. He’s part of Yeong’s security team.”

  “You are wiser in those ways because of your street experience in this country,” noted Mohammed.

  Kareem’s smile grew. “Even if we’re wrong, it’s two less infidels.”

  Mohammed wanted to smile but didn’t. “We can’t resolve every question with a bullet.”

  Kareem shrugged as the waitress returned. Kareem quickly glanced at the menu, then said, “I’ll take two eggs scrambled and pancakes.”

  “Would you like bacon or sausage with that?”

  Kareem shook his head as she turned toward Mohammed.

  “I’m fine. Just the tea,” said Mohammed.

  When she left the table, Mohammed smiled and said, “I guess your cover is still intact if she offered someone devoted to the cause pig for breakfast.”

  “Do you think she’s an undercover fed who doesn’t understand our beliefs? I hear they can be pretty stupid,” whispered a smiling Kareem.

  Suddenly serious, Mohammed said, “Americans are not stupid, but they are easily distracted. Look how excited they got about Russia and Ukraine. They also believe in diversity and believe we are a minority in need of protection.” Mohammed laughed with contempt. “But they are ignorant of our ways and our calls for jihad. Though our fatwas have been most public they attribute these holy proclamations to religious ‘fundamentalists.’ The American media even refers to the imams who issue these fatwas as ‘conservatives.’ ”

  Kareem was no longer smiling, focused now on his spiritual mentor.

  “The Americans are fools. The ‘true believers’ number in the millions. Allah’s army actually outnumbers the American military. We have infiltrated their entire society. We live on their college campuses. We have supporters in their media, in their courts, even in their big businesses, who want to proclaim they are ‘inclusive.’ Like you, Kareem, we have sought out brothers in their prisons. Americans who remain neutral are on our side. Theirs is a nation of apathy, too consumed with depravity, self-indulgence, and decadence. They allow us not only to exist but to thrive.”