The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  “Have your guys tail them, Kevin, wherever they go, but don’t stop them. Hold on, the other phones are lighting up.”

  The team members grabbed the phones, took down the information, and gave the same directive they heard Harry just give Kevin. All the Syrians thus far identified were now on the move.

  Harry told Kevin to keep in touch and then said, “Let’s order dinner in. I don’t think we’ll be going home anytime soon.”

  The phones rang continually as the information developed throughout the evening. Both Syrians on the West coast had boarded non-stop flights to DC, and both had stopped at a Fedex location prior to their departure, where they shipped two medium-size cartons to the same location in DC. The agents intercepted the packages and removed their deadly contents before allowing them to be re-shipped, now filled with equal weights of canned vegetables.

  The Syrians from Miami and Atlanta did likewise, shipping several small boxes to the same DC address. The two jihadists from Boston and Philly, however, flew to New York, shipping their boxes to a New Jersey address in Fort Lee. It didn’t take the team long to figure out bin Yousef’s plan. He was coordinating his forces for just two attacks this time, and the targets were New York and Washington.

  “Finally, a break,” Nick said.

  “It’s a break all right,” Harry said, “but we still have two bad guys in DC, and four in New York, with their poison gases intact. And where are the dirty bombs?”

  “Most likely at those two addresses where the packages were sent,” Pop said. “Have we got eyes on those locations yet?”

  “Yes, we’re waiting to hear,” John said.

  When the teams in the field reported in, the news was not good. Both addresses in Washington and Fort Lee were locations of private mail box drops. They would have to sit and wait until the packages arrived, and then wait some more for someone to pick them up.

  “Dammit,” Harry said. “Wait, wait, and wait some more.”

  After the members of the Task Force had moved from their homes to different locations throughout the metropolitan area, Mounir and Hamid’s tasks became much more difficult. Armed with newspaper photographs, and with careful surveillance at 26 Federal Plaza, they had succeeded in locating all but two of the team members—Kobak and Faliani. This information disappointed bin Yousef, but he realized with the killing of Campora and the attempt on Cassidy’s wife, the rest of them would figure out they were being targeted and scurry to new locations. But at least they would get a few more, including Cassidy. He laid out his plans for the final attack. “We will have six of us here in New York,” he said, “and six in Washington. All of us will personally take part in this effort, including Fasiym and I.”

  “But, great leader,” Mounir said, “you should not be out on the front lines, you should…”

  “Nonsense. I appreciate your concern, but I have fought many battles, and I should be part of this one.”

  “I agree with Mounir’s concerns,” ali Hassan said, “but I will honor your wishes, my leader. How shall we proceed?”

  “The three nuclear devices will be detonated in Washington. We know we cannot get near the Capitol, White House or Washington Monument, but the secondary targets of the Smithsonian Institution, the Lincoln Memorial and the Holocaust Museum should be easily accessible. We may not kill more than a few hundred, but the radiation will last for years, making those places unusable.”

  “And all our poisons?” Hamid asked. “How do you wish those to be employed?”

  “For maximum deaths—both here and in Washington—subways, large buildings, indoor arenas, transportation hubs and the like. But first we will use a small amount of our arsenal to kill those five braggart members of the New York Terrorist Task Force.”

  While listening to the ravings of his leader that might lead to his own death, Fasiym ali Hassan finally saw a chance to implement his plan—if he could get bin Yousef to go along.

  “Khalid, let me be the one to kill that arrogant infidel, Cassidy.”

  “He is mine, Fasiym.”

  “No, you must not endanger yourself out in the open. I will do it.”

  “Fasiym, I am touched by your devotion, but…”

  “No buts, my leader. You are far too valuable to jeopardize. Allow me to be your general in the field.”

  “He is right,” Hamid said. “You cannot be lost to our cause.”

  Bin Yousef paused and looked at the three men with admiration. “Your loyalty and devotion are commendable. Reluctantly, I will accept your advice.”

  “When shall we strike?” ali Hassan asked.

  “Tonight, when the Task Force members arrive home, kill them and their families, using the choking nerve gas. Mounir, do you have the locations?”

  “Here they are, my leader,” he said, handing him a piece of paper.

  “Mounir, you take John McKee, and Hamid take Charles Hunter. When our two fellow jihadists arrive, assign them to Richard Mansfield.”

  “We better head back to Fort Lee now,” Hamid said. “Our two new arrivals will be picking up their packages and meeting us at our apartment.”

  “Yes,” bin Yousef said, “and when the four of you have finished with the Task Force infidels, return back to your place and plan the attacks for the morning rush hour. You come back here, Fasiym, after you dispose of Cassidy, and we will plan your targets for the morning together. The five of you should have enough supplies of poison for four targets each. We will kill hundreds of thousands. Tomorrow we will finally be victorious.”

  20

  Harry picked up the phone and flashed the crossed fingers sign of luck to the team members. He listened a minute, then said, “Wonderful, bring them here.”

  Good news?” Pop asked.

  “The guys from the Jersey Task Force followed the two Syrians to an apartment in Fort Lee. They went in the door with them, and got two more Syrians with a load of canisters of poison gas.”

  “Any sign of bin Yousef?”

  “No.”

  “And the nuclear devices?” Alicia asked.

  “No, again.”

  The phone rang again, and it was the DC area Task Force. “Their surveillance also paid off,” Harry announced. “They got all six of them down there, and all their poison gases, and three suitcase bombs which are driving the Geiger counter crazy.”

  They all breathed a sigh of relief, and John said, “That seems to leave just bin Yousef and ali Hassan unaccounted for.”

  “Do you think they’ll personally spread the poisons?” John asked.

  “I believe that’s why they came here,” Harry said.

  Ten minutes later, still awaiting the arrival of the four Syrians, the phone rang again. Harry listened a few moments turning whiter and whiter. His knees began to buckle, and he had to reach for a chair. He said, “I’ll be right there.”

  The receiver dropped from his hand.

  “Harry,” Nick said. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “That was Susan,” he said in a low, shaky voice. “Ali Hassan has got her and Lizzy at gunpoint in our hotel room. He also has an unopened canister of poison gas sitting on my kitchen table. He wants me there immediately. He claims he wants to cut a deal.”

  “He wants to kill you, Hoppy,” Pop said. “That’s what that murdering bastard wants.”

  Harry dialed his apartment. Susan answered and he said, “Put ali Hassan on the phone.”

  Ali Hassan said, “Did you not believe your wife, Inspector?”

  “What do you want?”

  “A deal, just as your wife told you.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “You shouldn’t be talking. You should be rushing over here right now. The lives of your family, and your friends in the Task Force, are at stake. Come quickly—and come alone and unarmed.”

  The line went dead and Harry said, “I’m going, guys. I have to.”

  “We’re all going with you,” Walt said.

  “No,” he said, and looked over at
his team. “Just Pop. Will you come with me, Pop?”

  “Sure, Hoppy. Let’s saddle up.”

  They pulled up in front of Harry’s hotel, and both checked their body armor and went over the plan one more time. “Here’s my gun, Pop. We go up together. When I go in, you lay back by the door with the machine gun. Here’s a spare key. Use it only if you hear shots. I don’t want you walking into a cloud of poison gas.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  Harry knocked on his hotel room door. Susan opened it and let him in. He was greeted by ali Hassan, who had an Uzi in his hands, trained on Harry’s midsection. “Let us sit in the kitchen,” he said. “Your lovely wife has made a pot of tea for us. Would you care for some?”

  “I’d rather get down to the business at hand.”

  “Very well. He motioned with the Uzi for Harry, Susan and Lizzy to sit around the kitchen table. Harry spotted the green canister, sitting ugly and threatening, on the tabletop.

  “As you wish, I will get right to the point. I have become convinced, especially after your President’s comments, that our goals can never be attained. Bin Yousef does not agree.”

  “You told bin Yousef of your misgivings?” Harry asked.

  “Of course not. I am not a crazy person. I have been sent here tonight to kill you and your family, and others will shortly be sent to kill four more of your team and their families.”

  “Which four?”

  “For my safe passage to Saudi Arabia, and with immunity from prosecution for my past deeds, I will give you the names and current locations of the jihadists, so you may intercept them before they leave on their missions.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Fasiym. They are already in custody.”

  “I assumed there would be no deception between us. I heard you were a man of honor.”

  “I am, and I am not lying. We followed the two Syrians from where they picked up the Fedex packages to the apartment in Fort Lee. They were arrested, along with Mounir, Hamid, Shoab Aziz and Wassem Idris. We also arrested all the Syrians in Washington, with their entire cache of poison agents, and their dirty bombs.”

  “Congratulations, Inspector Cassidy. I am not surprised. I, for one, never underestimated you or your team.”

  “Thank you, but it now seems you lost your bargaining chips.”

  “I have lost some, but as you Americans say, I have the ace-in-the-hole—bin Yousef himself—and the knowledge of the whereabouts of his hidden millions.”

  “Let’s get specific, Fasiym. Spell it out for me.”

  “I will lead you to bin Yousef so you can capture him, or kill him, which would be preferable to me. I will remain in your custody for two weeks and allow you to de-brief me. I will tell you all I know of OBL-911 and al-Qaida, truthfully and without reservation. At the end of that period you will transport me to Riyadh. I will direct you to the money and to the locations of the remaining members of the Last Crusade in Syria. I will need some of that money to rebuild my life.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten million dollars.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it, Inspector.”

  “I’d like to call Washington and run it by my boss.”

  “Yes, but how do you feel about it?”

  “Not too good about letting you off the hook.”

  “I guess I can’t blame you.”

  “Why didn’t you just flee New York tonight when you left bin Yousef?”

  “That option crossed my mind, but as you see, you have already captured a lot of us. I could never rest knowing bin Yousef was out there with the knowledge I deserted him.”

  Harry nodded and dialed Jim Driscoll. His secretary said he was in briefing the president. “Good, put me through to both of them. I want the president to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  Fasiym picked up the other telephone and listened as Harry briefed Driscoll and President Morgan on the details of the proposed deal.

  “Do you believe he is on the level?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Isn’t he apprehensive we may renege on the deal once we get bin Yousef and the money?”

  “I’m sure he is, but I’m giving him my word. I will not betray him by going back on the deal. I’d also like that assurance from both of you, so I can move on bin Yousef before he gets suspicious.”

  “Tell ali Hassan,” President Morgan said, “he’s got his deal.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll get back to Jim when we get bin Yousef.”

  “Good hunting, and good luck to you and your team, Cassidy,” the president said. “Our prayers will go with you.”

  Harry hung up, as did ali Hassan. Fasiym bowed, placed his Uzi on the table next to the gas canister and said, “I place myself in your custody, Inspector. May I pour you a cup of tea now?”

  “How about we have a fresh pot after we take down bin Yousef?”

  “An excellent idea,” he said.

  Harry went to the door and motioned for Pop to come inside. He explained the situation to him, then asked ali Hassan, “Where is he now, and how do you suggest we get him?”

  “He is in an apartment in a building in Westchester. I will give you a key.”

  “Is he heavily armed?” Pop asked.

  “He has a Beretta, and an Uzi, and my supplies of poison gases I was supposed to use tomorrow.”

  “Where are they located?”

  “He keeps the Beretta in his waistband. The Uzi is on the table next to him when he watches TV, and the poisons are stored in a closet in the bedroom.”

  “Will he be in bed now?” Harry asked.

  “No, he is awaiting my return. We are supposed to watch the television together to savor the reports of your team’s deaths as they appear.”

  Pop’s eyes opened a bit wider as the realization of what Fasiym had just uttered sank into his brain. “You mean you found out the location of my new home?” he asked.

  “Yes, and also Mansfield’s and McKee’s. Our men were unable to find Kobak’s and Faliani’s new locations. There was not enough time because bin Yousef was eager to strike right away.”

  Pop shuddered at the thought of what might have happened to him and Vera, and his friends on the team, and their families.

  “I need you to come with us to bin Yousef’s apartment,” Harry said. “We need details and exact locations of doors, windows and weapons.”

  “I will if you insist, but I’d rather not. I do not think it’s necessary. Oh, I forgot about the chain on the door.”

  “He’s got to see your face in order to open the door?” Pop asked.

  “Yes, unless you force the chain,” he said.

  “How strong is it?”

  “It’s flimsy. One good shot with your shoulder should be sufficient to snap it.”

  “Let me have the key,” Harry said. “Write down the address and the exact location, and draw a sketch of the layout of the apartment for us.”

  Harry called the office and John McKee expressed deep relief when he heard his voice. After Harry assured him he, Pop, Susan and Lizzy were all well, he said, “We’re bringing ali Hassan in now. Get everybody suited up with their body armor and assault weapons. We’re going to Westchester to pay a visit to a certain Mister Khalid al-Habib bin Yousef.”

  “All right, Harry! We’ll be ready.”

  “This is it, I guess,” Susan said.

  “Yes, honey, this is it. When bin Yousef goes down, OBL-911 goes down, and the terror finally ends.”

  “Dad,” Lizzy said. “You are the boss, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And bosses, as do the generals, stay back and let the young soldiers do the fighting, right?”

  “No, honey, this boss goes in first.”

  “But he’ll have this soldier right next to him,” Pop said. “This old soldier. Isn’t that correct, Boss?”

  Harry smiled at his old friend. He would have preferred anyone else on the team to crash through
bin Yousef’s door with him, so as not to expose Pop to any more danger tonight. But he knew Detective First Grade Charles Hunter, on his last crusade, would never concede that position. Harry clasped him on the shoulder and said, “Of course, Pop, I wouldn’t have anyone else but you. Why would you even ask?”

  Fasiym ali Hassan was placed in a concrete cell. All the remaining members of the New York Joint Terrorist Task Force headed out the door into the night, one more time, for one more battle—the battle they all hoped would be the final one against OBL-911. Before they left the Syrians had arrived, and initial attempts to obtain information proved useless. John McKee gave them a parting threat, “We’ll be back with the head of your great leader in a bowling bag. Maybe then you will be in a chattier mood, especially you Wassem, you blue-eyed bastard.”

  They drove up to Westchester together in one large van including Assistant Director Walt Kobak who insisted on going saying “I don’t care what my position is now. This team has been together from day one and I’m going to finish off OBL-911 with this team.”

  Pop and Harry would hit the front apartment door, and rush bin Yousef as he sat watching television. Dick Mansfield and John McKee would be the backup team, and enter right behind Pop and Harry. Nick and Walt would position themselves on either side of the door in case bin Yousef was able to break free.

  Forty-five minutes later they were all in position. Harry placed an electronic listening device against the door to apartment 2E. He crouched down below the peephole, and after listening a few moments, he crept away from the door and whispered, “I hear the news on the TV. Are we ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” Pop said, carefully slipping the key provided by ali Hassan into the lock. The key turned quietly and smoothly, as did the doorknob. Pop eased the door open a half inch, and then nodded at Harry. Harry nodded back, and Pop quietly pushed the door open to the extent of the safety chain. Harry smashed hard into the door with his shoulder. The chain held fast. Flimsy? Hadn’t Fasiym said ftimsy? He hit the door again. The chain still didn’t break, and now he heard movement inside. He reared back and smashed the door again as hard as he could, and this time it sprang open amidst a spray of splinters from the doorframe. Pop saw the bedroom door shut, and heard the lock slam home. “Shit,” he said, pointing to the table by the TV. “Looks like he took his Uzi with him.”