As he waited for the taxi, Derek thought of young girls who give up their lives, move to Hollywood with dreams of making it big. So often, all it takes is a horny agent with the bare minimum number of contacts in the industry to turn an innocent girl with dreams of stardom, into a virtual sex slave. Kevin Washington was given a pamphlet filled with promises instead of a business card with the words “Hollywood Agent” written on it. He was given a place to live, a job to do, and education. He was given a purpose and made to feel both a part of something and that his life mattered. He wasn’t told to “grow a set,” to hit back or to blend in and be like the others. He wasn’t reminded that he wasn’t gifted with intelligence or good looks, but was made to feel that he was someone the world would respect, if only there was a way for the world to learn about his greatness.
As the taxi pulled to the curb, Derek climbed in the backseat, gave the driver the address of Badr Irani’s mosque in Manhattan, and felt a strange stirring in his gut. The stirring was telling him that Kevin Washington, now known as Aahill, had to be found.
***I***
“Crown, I think that Kevin Washington might be our guy.”
“How did your visit with his parents go?” Crown asked.
“I only got to meet his father,” Derek replied. “I learned enough to believe that Kevin was recruited by Irani, convinced that he was more important than he could ever imagine and may either be the bomber I need to stop or at least a big part of whatever the hell it is that is being planned down here.”
“I’ll let Nikkie know. Maybe you finding out more useful info will help get you out of the shit storm you’re in.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your assistant,” Crown said, the tone of her voice clearly revealing her impatience explaining things already explained, sounded clearly through the voice-altering security app, “has met with the NYPD and had a phone conversation with the area director of the FBI. You’ll be glad to know that neither suspect that you are involved in the terrorist plot. Nor do they think that you were responsible for the bombing in your hotel. But the FBI does have a BOLO for you. In case you’ve forgotten, a BOLO is ‘be on the lookout’ for a particular person. In this case, you are that particular person.”
“I know what BOLO stands for, Crown. Remember, I used to be a cop.”
“Nikkie spoke with a Detective Patrick Connor at the NYPD. He told her he met with you after the Abdul-goes-boom incident.”
“That’s true. He seemed like a good detective, but he also seemed suspicious of me.”
“Not really,” Crown said. “He told Nikkie that he felt you were in way over your head and that the FBI shitheads that hired you left you out to dry on your own. He suspected that they were trying to cover their asses in case something really bad happened down there. Like they had no way of stopping whatever was being planned and were more concerned about the optics of them not being able to stop the bombing. They hired a bunch of freelancers probably to show how hard they were trying to stop the attack. Anyway, Connor never thought you were involved in anything illegal.”
“Good to know,” Derek said. “And the FBI?”
“That’s a whole different ball of dung. Nikkie told me that the FBI is running around like headless chickens. You already know about Marissa Rica, Mark Henderson and Juan Cortez, right?”
“Crown, I was the one who told you about them. Remember?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. Nikkie is a wealth of information compared with you, so I just assumed that any useful info came from her. Anyway, the FBI definitely wants to talk with you to see what you do and don’t know, but Nikkie said that there’s something else going on with them. The person she spoke with seemed more concerned about what you may know about Rica, Cortez and Henderson than the terrorist plot. I can smell a pile of dog shit from two hundred yards and right now I can smell something pretty bad coming from that FBI office from all the way up in Ohio.”
“You certainly have a way with words, Crown.”
“I get it from my mom. So, Nikkie is doing some digging and I’m still pulling info from the local FBI office up here. You do whatever the hell you need to stop the next bombing, and Nikkie and I will handle the rest. What’s your next step?”
“I’m back at Badr Irani’s mosque,” Derek said. “Not sure how, but I need to get into the apartment above the mosque to see if Kevin is there.”
“If he is our dude, you better be damn careful. If we’re right, anyone sniffing around won’t be treated well by his handlers.”
“Can you pull up the floor plans for this building? See if there’s another way into the apartment besides walking into the mosque.”
“Give me the address,” Crown said.
***I***
Like many of the buildings in Manhattan, the four-story building that housed Badr Irani’s mosque had a fire escape attached to the rear. Derek walked around to the side of the 30-story office building to the right of the mosque, then down the narrow alleyway. The mosque building was either squeezed in between its towering neighbors or they were constructed beside the mosque, leaving no alleyway on either side. Once he reached the rear of the buildings, Derek found himself on a narrow road, crammed with 6-yard dumpsters, a few parked service vehicles and assorted trash that didn’t quite find a home in any one of the dumpsters.
He moved towards the rear of the mosque and, without hesitation, started climbing the rusted metal ladder of the fire escape. He wondered why the fire escape’s final ladder was extended and then decided that he didn’t care. All he thought was what he would do if he reached the fourth floor apartment and saw Kevin Washington, a/k/a Aahill, milling about the small, two room apartment. As he climbed the fire escape, Derek was careful to make as little noise as possible. As he passed the draped windows of the second floor, he could hear the sounds of muffled voices and brief laughter spilling out from the mosque. He paused, stilled his body and breathing, and strained his ears.
“….things are prepared….Aahill is secured in….”
“….warehouse.”
“For the most part, yes. ….considerations and assurances….”
“…..timing, again, is critical. I trust your understanding?”
“Of course. …..distance is important……certain evacuation of island.”
Derek remained still until the voices faded away. Once he could hear nothing coming from the inside of the mosque, he scrambled up the steps of the fire escape until he reached the landing.
He peered through the dirty window and saw a small, dark studio apartment. He could see no movement inside. He pushed the window open, grateful that the occupant neglected to secure the window lock. As he crawled in through the open window, Derek caught a glance of three men making their way towards the back of the mosque. Not pausing to see if the men noticed him, he dropped himself onto the studio apartment’s floor. He could hear the men three stories below discussing something, but was unable to make out any words. Seconds later, the sound of a starting car filled Derek’s ears with relief.
Derek stood after crawling further away from the window. The small apartment was lit only by the diffused light pouring in through the window, giving the apartment a grayish, muted tone. He stood silently, making sure that his loud entrance wasn’t noticed by anyone, then, after a few moments of hearing nothing, began moving around the room.
The apartment was empty. No furniture, clothing or any sign that the apartment was or was recently occupied remained. Derek bent and swiped his hand on the floor.
“Not even a trace of dust,” he thought. “Place was scrubbed clean.”
He made his way to the bathroom and was met by the lingering stench of chlorine hanging in the air. The fixtures were removed, leaving an utterly sterile and empty room.
As he walked back into the living area of the studio apartment, Derek’s eye caught the unmistakable whiteness of an envelope tucked into the grates of the heating vent on the wall directly
across from the bathroom. Only a small corner of the envelope was visible, suggesting to Derek that someone tried to hide it from view. He bent down and removed the envelope, broke the seal, removed the single sheet of paper inside the envelope and read Kevin Washington’s handwritten letter.
“Dear Mom and Dad
“I think that I am doing something that won’t make you very happy with me, but I don’t think that I have much of a choice anymore. There is a lot of things that happened since I came here, and my mentor is saying that I am the chosen one and that my destiny is to be a great person and that my name will be written next to all the other great ones.
“I don’t know what that means, but if it is true and you can read that list and see my name, I hope that you are proud of me. My name has never been written in any list of great men, so I am pretty excited about that. I asked Badr where people can read the list but he only laughed and said the list is written in history and in the hearts and minds of the book of truth.
“I am leaving my apartment in a couple of hours and am going to another place. I am being prepared for my entrance, at least that is what Badr and the other men told me. They told me to take a nap before they come to get me, but I am too nervous to sleep so I decided to write you this letter. I know that you were never proud of me and that I wasn’t the son you wanted. I am sorry about that. I wish that I could have been smarter or could have done better at sports or something, but I guess the only thing that I am good at is what I am doing tomorrow.
“Badr told me to not say anything to no one but I got to thinking that if I didn’t tell anyone than no one would know my name and wouldn’t know what name to write on that list of great men. I think my name will be Aahill but you can always ask to have my real name written next to my other name. Okay?
“There is a lot of things that I don’t know all about but I do know that you shouldn’t go to any pubs on the upper east side tomorrow after work. I don’t remember the name of the place but it is the pub with all the dark glass on the front and the doors look new and are dark glass, too. One of the men who went there with me yesterday said that the glass will cause more damage to people who are walking outside. So, I wish I could tell you the name of the pub but I just can’t remember for sure. As dad always said, better safe than sorry! Just don’t go to any pubs at all just to be super safe.
“Anyway, I am a little scared but Badr said that Allah will calm my nerves and make strong my soul, so I guess I will be okay.
“I hope you’re proud of me and that you get to see that list and see my name.
“Your son.
Kevin”
Derek shoved the letter into his pocket, climbed through the window and made his way down the fire escape.
***I***
“Crown, Kevin Washington is our guy. I found a letter hidden in the heating vent of his apartment that he wrote to his parents. Crown, Washington has no idea what he is about to do. These bastards have brainwashed an innocent kid.” Derek could hardly contain his anger as he walked towards his unknown destination. “The kid is simple minded. Has no idea what the hell he’s being asked to do.”
“Anyone see you in that apartment, boss man?” Crown asked.
“If they did, I don’t think I’d still be walking and talking.”
“Who knows? Any chance you still have the letter?”
“Yeah,” Derek said. “Shoved in my pocket. Why?”
“Calm yourself down and go find a place to have a scotch. When you can think clearly, snap a few pics of the letter and send it as an attachment in the BuryMe app. You know how to use the camera on your phone, right?”
“Yes, Crown. I know how to take a picture.”
“Good. I’ll take a good read and share it with Nikkie. She’s gotten in good with Detective Connor at the NYPD. It’s time we bring in the good guys.”
“What about the FBI?”
“What about them?”
“Don’t you think they’d be interested in knowing what the hell is going on with this whole case? They did hire me, after all.”
“I don’t have any problem with the FBI but I do have a problem with the shithead who is pulling the FBI’s strings with this case. Just send me the pics. Nikkie or I will contact you once we have back-up. Don’t you go all freelance on me and try to be the hero. From what I’ve found out about the IUIEEO and their connections, you wouldn’t last a second if you try to stop Kevin all by yourself.”
“I’ve gotten this far without any problems,” Derek said.
“Sure,” Crown said. “Only got yourself involved in a massive man hunt, suspected of being a victim in an explosion, suspected of being a part of a double killing of two FBI agents, and strongly suspected of being associated with a rogue agent who is quickly climbing his way up the Most Wanted list. No problems at all.”
“You actually make a good point.”
“I usually do.”
“The fact that I haven’t been located by the FBI yet, and no one from the IUIEEO group has tried to silence me, leads me to believe that someone is pulling some strings to keep me safe.” Derek paused. “Isn’t it strange, considering all the problems you just rattled off, that I’m not in some interrogation room or lying on a steel gurney inside a very cold room?”
“What are you thinking?” Crown asked.
“That maybe Juan Cortez has more influence than I thought. Maybe he has the ear of some people at the FBI.”
“Or maybe he’s involved with the IUIEEO. Have you considered that lovely option?”
“I’m trying not to think about that possibility.”
“Well maybe you need to get your head out of your ass and start thinking realistically. It makes sense. Cortez uses you to bait Henderson. He probably figured that Henderson would tell his superior that he located you. Enter Marissa Rica.”
“But Rica was about to kill me. If Juan wanted to use me, then why would he put me in a situation where I may have been killed?”
“You don’t save the worm after you catch a fish with it. If you were bait, you were supposed to die. Maybe what he needed was to have Rica and Henderson in the same location.”
“But Henderson killed Rica and was only killed when he went back to the hotel. No way Juan could have planned that.”
“Henderson and Cortez were partners, right?” Crown said.
“And you think that partners know what each other will do in situations after they’ve been partners long enough,” Derek said.
“Exactly. Kind of weird that Cortez went dark on you once Henderson and Rica were taken out.”
“He did tell me not to trust him.”
“Listen,” Crown said. “Find a bar, drink your shit scotch and send me the pics. I think it’s time for you to meet your associate.”
“You mean Nikkie, the woman I hired without knowing and am paying her a salary that I probably can’t afford?”
“That’s her. Get your ass to a bar, do what I told you and don’t forget to tell me the address of where she can meet you. And Cole?”
“What?” Derek said.
“It’s never a good idea to fall in lust with someone who works for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll know what I mean when you see her. Don’t shit where you eat.”
“Wonderful imagery, Crown. Wonderful.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Derek was two deep into cheap scotch when she walked up and stood beside him.
“Derek Cole, I presume?”
Derek glanced up and went instantly silent. “Um, yes. Nikkie?”
“Glad to finally meet you,” she said as she sat beside him on the booth’s bench seat. “You look just like I expected. A little more tired, though,” Nikkie remarked as her delicate smile crinkled her noise.
“Yeah,” Derek stammered. “Good to meet you as well.”
“You look shocked. Didn’t Crown tell you I would be meeting you here?”
“She did. Sorry. I’ve had a long few da
ys.”
“Didn’t Crown tell you that I was a black woman?” Nikkie asked. “I mean, I know she’s a bit rough around the edges, but I assumed that she’d at least give you my description.”
“Well,” Derek said as he swirled the one remaining ice cube in his drink around the glass, “all she suggested was that you were attractive.”
“While I’m flattered, I highly doubt she used the word ‘attractive.’ She probably described me with the same degree of detail as she did when describing you.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” Derek said, instantly liking Nikkie, her approach and, as Crown probably expected, her looks.
“She described you as a hot man, charging towards middle age, with a confused look tattooed into your eyes.”
“That’s more than what I got about you. All I got was that you were ‘hot’ and that I shouldn’t hit on you.”
“Victoria certainly has a way with words,” Nikkie said.
“You probably shouldn’t call her Victoria. She told me that she would do something nasty if I ever called her that.”
“I got the same warning. Mine was that she’d coat my vibrator in cajun pepper if I ever called her Victoria. I thought it was funny, but I really think she’d find a way to do it. I only call her Victoria when I am very far away from her.”
“My warning was piss in my coffee mug. Not to get too personal, but I think your warning sounds worse,” Derek said, instantly feeling his face and neck blush.
Nicole Armani, Nikkie as she was known, was, as Crown had suggested to Derek, very attractive. Her dark skin was flawless; a smooth surface of consistent perfection, interrupted only by her stunning brown eyes and her brilliantly white smile. She stood five foot seven, and her body demanded the attention of men and the envy of women.
The Observer (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 3) Page 17
