Enemy Among Us-A Jordan Wright Thriller

by Randy Reardon

  NORTHERN LIBERTIES NEIGHBORHOOD OF PHILADELPHIA

  Sergeant Larry O’Meara rose from the table and grabbed the check. “Come on, rookie. Time to get back out there and ensure the safety of the citizens of Philadelphia. Tonight, dinner is on me.” Heading to the cashier, he looked around. He’d been coming to this restaurant his entire eighteen and a half years on the force and, in two months, he would be eligible for retirement. He already had a job lined up, working at his brother-in-laws’ sporting goods store in Montgomery County, and was counting the days when he would hang his gun and badge up for good. O’Meara had enjoyed his years as a cop and counted as his best friends the guys he’d gone with through the academy. But, he was ready to go. The last year was one worth forgetting. Five fellow officers getting gunned down had been enough — more than enough. He was tired of coming home to his wife and knowing she’d been crying while he was gone. Several of his buddies were already off the force and seemed to be having the time of their lives. He was ready to join that club. But, first things first, he had this new rookie to train.

  Sheila Brown hadn’t always wanted to be a police officer. It was true that her Uncle and three cousins were on the force, but she never really saw herself in the blues. She’d married young and had three children. Then, her husband decided to move to Florida — without his family — and she found herself alone and in need of an income. Starting at Wal-Mart, she eventually became part of the store security team. That was where she met Larry, the responding officer on most occasions when she’d caught a shoplifter. She appreciated how Larry always kept the dignity of the person, even if they had committed the crime. He’d taken a liking to her and felt she was an ideal candidate to join the ranks of the blue line. Every time there was a new cadet class being formed, Larry dropped off the information, until finally he made her meet him for lunch and they filled out the application together.

  She fell in love with the job. She excelled at the Academy and graduated second in her class. Larry put in a special request to be her training officer. Spending the last two and a half months together, she had learned more from Larry then she’d ever imagined — not just about the job, but how best to do it. They took the time to meet people and get out of the car and know the folks in the community. Larry had become her mentor, and she dreaded the reality that, in two weeks, her training would be over and she would be reassigned. She also was disappointed that the man who had pushed her into this career would be leaving the force.

  She got up from the table and pulled a few dollars out for a tip. She stopped to say goodbye to a few of the regulars she’d gotten to know along with the staff at the restaurant and followed Larry out the door.

  Larry drove tonight and so she walked around to the passenger side. They had been given one of the new Dodge Chargers the department had introduced as patrol cars. They were the first cars where the interiors had been designed to accommodate all of the computer equipment officers carried with them. Being both roomy and fast, Larry loved it and liked to take it onto interstate ninety-five at least a couple of times each shift to really open it up.

  “This could get me to sign up for another four years,” Larry would always say when he got the chance to really show what the car would do. While Sheila wished it were true, she knew it wasn’t.

  They pulled out of the diner’s parking lot and resumed their patrol. With the recent cut backs in the city’s budget, they were one of only three cars on patrol in their district this night, when usually there would have been, at minimum, five. Sheila grabbed the radio and notified dispatch they had returned from dinner and were in their sector.

  The next hour was routine. They had one traffic stop for a car with a broken taillight and Sheila had handled it. As they got back into the car, the radio squawked with the report of an armed robbery at a convenience store a few blocks from their location. Sheila responded to the dispatcher that they were in route and started to flip on the light bar and the siren.

  Larry grabbed her hand. “Traffic’s light and we’re just a few blocks out. Best to go in quiet and not to panic whoever is in the store.” There was a reassuring sound from the engine compartment as Larry urged the Dodge down the street. With all green lights and only one red – they coasted through it anyway — they reached the “stop and rob,” as Larry called the store. Larry took the cruiser around the corner and entered the side parking lot. Just as Larry and Sheila pulled up at the store, two suspects raced out of the store and jumped into a car that was backed into a space.

  Before Larry could maneuver the police car to block them, the suspects’ car shot out of the space, over the curb and slid into a turn and headed down the street. The convenience store clerk – Sheila recognized him – ran out of the store and shouted in Hindi-accented English, “Get them! They’ve got guns! Be careful!”

  Larry punched the Charger’s accelerator, and peeled out of the lot and onto the street, “Only job in the world where you get paid to break traffic laws!” Larry remarked as he flipped on the lights and siren.

  “Unit 31-A in pursuit of armed robbery suspects driving dark blue late model Chevy Impala,” Sheila began as she notified dispatch. She recited the license plate and, almost simultaneously, ran the plate through their on-board computer, to see if the vehicle had been reported stolen. Sheila gave their position and direction of pursuit. “Need backup. Over.”

  “No other units available in your sector at this time, A-31. Units being dispatched from adjoining districts, A-31. Over.”

  “We copy that, dispatch. A-31 Out.”

  Stealing a quick glance at each other, Larry and Sheila knew they were going to be alone on this one.

  The suspects’ dark blue Impala accelerated. Sheila felt herself pressed deeper into the seat and secured her seatbelt. Larry murmured, “Hang on, Rookie.” The Impala started to turn, its rear end fishtailing, the driver’s side front tire bounced over a curb as the vehicle turned onto a side street. “Shit! That driver’s good,” Larry snarled through clenched teeth. “Hold onto something!” Larry commanded as he tapped the Charger’s brake pedal simultaneously with turning the all the way right.

  “I’m gonna be sick!” Sheila announced to anyone interested as the Charger’s rear end swung around and the front end was abruptly pointed better than ninety degrees in the other direction. Larry’s foot was already pushing the accelerator to the floor as the Charger cleared the curb, swerved once and was back in the pursuit.

  The Impala made another turn just like the last one and so did the Charger. “Girl, they are in trouble, these guys. Just ran a yellow light and failed to signal their intention before that turn. Hey! Look at that! They got a brake light out, too!”

  “Larry!”

  “These guys know the Northern Liberties as well as we do, Sheila. I don’t think they’re going to turn down some blind alley,” The Impala cut diagonally across a grocery store parking lot, and nailed a shopping cart that created a firestorm of sparks as it crashed into a Cadillac. “Ouch,” Larry noted. The supermarket was at the boundary of the residential and commercial area through which the chase had so far taken place, the Impala flew into an area of light industry, warehouses and small manufacturing firms.

  “Whatever they’ve got under the hood must really be something, Larry,” Sheila told him, raising her voice as the engine noise from the Impala and the response from the Charger started drowning her out. The Impala did another one of its fast turns and Sheila shouted, “I know – hang on!”

  “You got it, Rookie!” Larry tapped, turned and punched, as tires squealed. Sheila thought to look down at the computer. The Impala was on a hotsheet. The Impala made still another lightning quick turn as Larry yelling, “One more time!” As the Charger nosed into the side street, Sheila braced her hands against the dashboard, Larry jammed on the brakes. The car they were pursuing had stopped directly in front of them, the car doors were open.

  Sheila reached for the microphone to notify dispatch, her right hand reaching
for her Glock as she saw Larry unlimbering his old .38 Special service revolver. It was only then that she looked up and through the windshield. Sheila didn’t know a lot about firearms, but watched movies and newscasts enough to recognize assault rifles when they were pointed at her. Both assailants were out of the Impala and shooting into the Charger.

  “Holy Shit! Get down, Sheila!” Larry yelled as bullets shattered the windshield. He heard a groan and saw the mike fall out of Shelia’s hand as she fell back against the seat. Larry scrambled over the console and shoved Sheila to the floor. Sheila stared as the side of Larry’s skull furthest from the window exploded in streaks of red and grey, then exploded again as part of Larry’s face seemed to fall away. Shelia felt the full weight of Larry on top of her as the firing outside stopped. She knew she’d been hit and could feel the pain. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. She saw the mike hanging by her and tried to grab it.

  Sheila spat blood from her throat as she keyed the mike. As she listened to herself, her voice sounded odd, it made a gurgled sound. “Shots fired. Two officers down. Two officers down. Heavily armed suspects. Officers need assistance! Unit 31-A needs assistance!”

  “State your location, 31-A. Over.” The calm in the dispatcher’s voice suddenly infuriated Sheila, and she thought for a moment. But, she couldn’t remember. Her mind was a blank and her ears were still ringing from all of the gunfire.

  She keyed the mike. “I don’t know. We’re several blocks from the last location I called in. We’re in the warehouse district.”

  “Roger that. Units are in the area. Are you able to activate your siren? Over.”

  “Yes. Stand by.” Sheila continued to turn the siren off and on for what seemed like an eternity.

  Sensing someone was near, she wondered if the gunmen were coming back after hearing the siren and realizing they had left someone alive? She tried reaching for her Glock, but it was wedged under her.

  “Larry? Sheila? Are you guys in there?” She knew the voice. It belonged to Bill Callahan, the other sergeant for the district. “Oh, my God, Larry! What happened?”

  “I’m here, Bill, under Larry.”

  “I’m going to get you out, Sheila. The paramedics are here now.”

  She felt the car door open and the dome light came on. Bill pulled Larry out of the car and placed him on the sidewalk. Reaching in for her, he took out a knife to cut away the seatbelt and lifted her out. Paramedics were waiting with a stretcher and Bill placed her on it. A thin line of blood drooled from the left corner of her mouth.

  “No. No, take care of Larry first. I think he’s hurt worse than I am.”

  “Sheila, Larry’s gone. We’ve got to take care of you.” Bill Callahan got his first actual look at Sheila. He wondered if it had been smart to move her. She had several visible wounds. Both of her arms were bled from various spots and there was a wound to her neck. It didn’t look good. “Get her to the hospital as quick as you can.

  Sheila’s last view of the scene was of more units arriving and the reflection of all the lights flashing off the buildings and the echo of the police radios.

  “Bill! Get whoever did this to Larry. Make sure you get them.” Shelia cried out.

  Bill watched as they put her in the ambulance, then walked back to the bullet riddled police car. He spotted Larry’s well-worn .38 Special revolver, much of the bluing rubbed off by years of carry. He picked it up. Weighing his dead friend’s weapon in his hand, Bill rasped, “I’m going to get whoever did this to both of you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  COMMAND CENTER ACROSS FROM AKMED’S APARTMENT IN SOUTH PHILADELPHIA

  Surveillance personnel had gotten pictures of the other men with Mustafa, now being run through various databases for identification. The van had come back as a rental from the Able and Ready Rent-a-Car lot in the Northern Liberties. Since it wasn’t part of a national or even regional chain, there was no database to access. The rental company was closed for the evening and Jordan cautioned against making an in-person inquiry, since it was important not to set off any more alarm bells.

  Jordan, Kate, Max and William were in the middle of the debrief with the alley team when they heard a commotion, originating in the main room of the command center. All of them rushed into the main room. The faces of the agents there were ashen. All work had stopped.

  “We just got a report of two officers down, needing assistance.” Frank walked up to the group. “We don’t have any more details.”

  Jordan and the others waited with the rest of the team. The radio traffic was fast and clipped. One of the officers tried to gather additional details and was on the phone with the precinct where the shooting occured.

  With the last transmission, which Jordan couldn’t make out, several of the officers threw things to the floor or hammered fists against tables or walls. Murmured obscenities rolled like a wave across the room. Frank looked at Jordan. “There’s one cop dead at the scene and the other is being rushed to the hospital. It’s going to be touch and go for her.”

  One of the officers, who had been on the phone, came over. “They were on patrol and got a call about a robbery at a convenience store. As they pulled up to the store, the suspect’s car left and they pursued. About five minutes away, a witness says the perps stopped their car in the middle of the street. When the patrol car stopped behind it, the two bastard shits piled out with automatic weapons and they just fired into the patrol car. The officers didn’t even have a chance to get out or get off a shot. The perps emptied their magazines, jumped back in and took off. The witness got a license plate and a good description of the car. It matches the plate and description one of the uniforms gave to dispatch when the pursuit began.”

  “Okay. Nothing tells us this is related, but I don’t want to dismiss it as having no connection at all. I also realize the team needs to get a resolution on this, so let them have the time they need. Anything we can throw down to Washington to pick up, let’s do it.” Jordan had been in these situations before and he knew it was futile to try to pull the team back on task until this situation resolved itself. He understood the heightened emotions coming on the heels of the recent deaths of five other officers. He wanted to be respectful in an obvious way, because the respect was sincere.

  Twenty minutes later, radio traffic reported that the killers’ car had been found, the assault rifles left on the backseat, which made no sense. The weapons would later be determined stolen, since selective fire assault rifles weren’t available in ordinary firearms stores because they required stringent special licensing procedures. The area was quickly cordoned off and all available units converged on the area. Two Bell Long Ranger Police helicopters were in the air, sweeping the area with high intensity LED searchlights. A short time later, one of the suspects was located in an alley behind a commercial warehouse. As officers approached, the suspect produced a small handgun, put the muzzle in his mouth and took his own life.

  Officers searched the area and found a warehouse door had been jimmied and began a search. A body was found inside shot to death and the belief was it was the other suspect. A closer inspection of the weapon used by the suspect who had shot himself in front of the police revealed that three shots had been fired. The suspect inside the warehouse had been shot twice in the back of the head.

  The phone rang and one of the agents picked it up. He didn’t say a word in reply to whoever was on the line. He put the receiver back in its cradle.

  “The other officer just passed away. She was just a rookie. Had some kids and no husband around. Shit.”

  Chapter Forty

  SOUTH PHILADELPHIA

  Mustafa pulled into his driveway. The brakes squeaked as he brought the van to a halt. Aziz and three other boys were in the back of the truck. They were the oldest of the cousins and those that would be leaders for the mission. Tonight, he would be giving them details for the first time. If Allah willed it so, they would be not only ready to hear what he was about to tell them, but also exci
ted by the opportunity this presented them. If they showed enthusiasm, then he would know that his work was complete. It would also ensure the mission would reach a successful conclusion. If any of them balked, he would have to make changes. He couldn’t afford to have someone in a key role who was not one hundred percent committed to carrying out this act of revenge against the detestable American infidels.

  Mustafa turned to face the boys before stepping out of the vehicle. “Remain in the van. I’m just running in to get a few things. We will not be staying here tonight.”

  Originally, he’d planned on working with the boys here but, he’d recently become suspicious. He thought he’d seen some different cars in the neighborhood and felt more than ever that he was being watched. His house was empty most of the day while he was at work and, when he returned, he always found the tells he had placed where he had left them. Yet, he still felt as if someone had been inside. The latest incident with Akmed had only heightened his uneasy feelings.

  He’d arranged to use the home of one of the people who worked with him. They were away for a short vacation and had offered Mustafa their home when he’d told them a story about his house needing to be fumigated and that he would have to stay at a hotel for forty-eight hours. They had quickly offered for him to use their home, relating how they would like to have someone there to prevent a break-in. Mustafa felt Americans were so gullible. You could spin any story to them and win their sympathy. How pathetic, so he had reminded himself to leave some evidentiary clues in their home, so they might be considered suspects. He smiled to himself at the thought.

  He went into his house and grabbed the bags he’d packed earlier and placed at the door. He locked his door, ensured the tell was in the proper place and walked back to the van.

  It took them about forty-five minutes to head out of Philadelphia and across the Walt Whitman Bridge into New Jersey. They arrived at a one-story bungalow, probably built in the fifties which was surrounded by homes of the same basic look, though some had additions. All seemed to be in modest disrepair, needing paint, new roofs and other cosmetic improvements. He pulled into a driveway after checking a piece of paper and verifying the address. Everyone jumped out, grabbed their bags and headed into the house.