Agent Thomas was one of those men. Despite some of his methods, Baxter respected Thomas. He was an experienced agent. Baxter didn’t necessarily agree with his techniques, and as Baxter pieced together the memories of the assault, he wished Thomas had been more patient and not tried to barge his way into an unsecure building.
All that didn’t really matter to Baxter, though. The bottom line was that good men had fallen in the line of duty at the hands of a piece of shit terrorist thug. He didn’t know the SWAT members of Alpha and Bravo Teams personally, but he knew Thomas had an ex-wife and two little girls.
“So are you going to talk to him or just watch him sweat?” the female voice from behind asked. Baxter turned around. She was a very attractive blonde with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She reminded him of the stereotypical Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders he loved watching during football season in Texas.
“I’m sorry?” Baxter replied. He had no idea who this woman was, but he was still dumbfounded at how hot she was. Her black pantsuit really fit her well.
“I’m Special Agent Michelle Decker from the FBI,” she said, extending her hand. “I’ve been assigned from the Miami field office to continue Agent Thomas’s investigation.”
Baxter shook her hand. He recognized the name from an earlier phone call. She had contacted him to let him know she would be working the investigation and that Kasim would be in the Miami Federal Detention Facility that evening after being treated for his broken nose. She had set up the interrogation for him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he finally replied. He shook off his moment of teenage sheepishness. He was a federal agent, not some high school senior, he told himself. Attractive woman or not, he had work to do.
“Thank you for letting me speak to him on such short notice,” he said, tilting his head toward Kasim.
“No problem, but it works better if you’re in there with him,” she said with a smile. “It is getting late, you know.”
“Right. Well then, let’s get to it,” Baxter replied.
“Do you want me to go in with you? In case things get rough and you can’t handle it?” she asked with a wink.
“I’ll be fine,” he said as he walked out, closing the door behind him.
Baxter walked out of the observation room and into the hallway. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He had been through several interrogations before, but never with an emotional tie. He would have to compartmentalize it. As much as he wanted to walk in and hit Kasim with a phone book, he knew that wouldn’t yield results. He also wasn’t sure anyone even used phone books anymore.
“I want to talk to my lawyer,” Kasim said, looking up at Baxter as he walked in.
Baxter said nothing. He walked in calmly, pulled out the chair, and sat across the interrogation table from Kasim. He sat in silence, studying Kasim.
Kasim had beads of sweat dripping off his forehead. He was tapping his foot nervously on the ground, and his eyes were still darting around the room. The longer Baxter said nothing, the faster Kasim’s cadence became. He was a nervous wreck.
“Mr. Razvi, I’m Special Agent Baxter from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations and the Joint Terrorism Task Force,” Baxter finally said, breaking the silence.
“I said I want to speak to my attorney,” Kasim replied defiantly. “I don’t care to know who you are. I have rights in this country.”
It took every ounce of patience Baxter had to not reach across the table and slam his head into the table. He took another deep breath.
“Mr. Razvi, I understand your concerns, and your attorney will be here soon, but I just have a few questions for you, and I won’t bother you anymore,” Baxter replied calmly.
“No. I want my attorney. You have to give me an attorney. I have rights!” Kasim shook his finger at Baxter.
“Mr. Razvi, you are a citizen of Pakistan here on an expired Student Visa. You are being held in connection with terrorist activities. You do not have rights. You will get your attorney, but you will be tried by a military tribunal and sent to Gitmo.” Somehow, Baxter was still managing to keep his calm demeanor.
“You lie, Mr. Air Force Agent. You lie! Gitmo was closed by your President. I have rights in this country, Aalee told me so.” Kasim’s eyes were wild with a mix of fear and indignation.
“Abdul Aalee is dead,” Baxter said flatly.
Kasim’s expression changed to panic. Baxter allowed the news to sink in for a minute. He could almost see the hamster spinning the wheel in Kasim’s head as he considered the gravity of the news.
“You lie again, Mr. Air Force. Aalee is not dead. He escaped before the infidel arrived,” Kasim finally said rebelliously.
As if on cue, the door opened. Agent Decker walked in with a folder in hand. Baxter saw that it was marked “Aalee Report” and nodded. She placed it in front of Kasim on the table, winked at Baxter, and walked out. He couldn’t help but stare at her butt as she walked away. It was just wonderful.
“What is this?” Kasim demanded.
“Open it,” Baxter replied.
Kasim slowly opened the folder. In it were pictures, taken at the farmhouse, of Aalee’s mangled body and face. There wasn’t much left. Half of his bearded face had been obliterated by the blast. It was barely enough to identify him.
“We received a tip last night as to Aalee’s whereabouts. One of your buddies ratted him out, and now this is what’s left of him,” Baxter said. He intentionally left out the details of the tip being called in anonymously and that Aalee had taken his own life. He didn’t want to give Kasim the satisfaction that his hero might be a martyr. He wanted Kasim to feel like the network had been infiltrated and turned on itself.
Kasim said nothing. He sat in silence, his shoulders slumped, staring at the pictures. His foot tapping grew louder and increased in intensity.
“Now, Mr. Razvi, there’s no reason for you not to help us. Aalee is dead. Help us put together the missing pieces and finish this. Cooperation will be very beneficial to you when you go before a tribunal.”
Kasim put the pictures down and closed the folder. His eyes darted between Baxter and the one-way mirror. He knew he was being backed into a corner.
“No!” Kasim shrieked. “I have rights in America! You cannot make me talk. Allah will give me strength! We are Allah’s soldiers. Abdul died a fierce warrior!” Kasim puffed out his chest and shook his fists defiantly. His foot tapping stopped as he began to feel he had gained the upper hand. He knew the Americans were weak and their freedoms and rights were their greatest weaknesses.
Baxter considered his options. As much as he wanted to, he knew beating the little coward to a bloody pulp would solve nothing, and would probably end his involvement in this case. Kasim was obviously not responding to the kinder, gentler approach. His patience had finally run out.
“Look, you little shit,” Baxter growled, standing from his metal chair. Kasim cowered as if Baxter was about to hit him. “I have tried to reason with you, but you are obviously too stupid to take the hint, so here’s the truth. You are a terrorist. You were involved in the kidnapping of a former US Representative and the murder of an American on American soil.”
Kasim said nothing as Baxter towered over him. He was still staring defiantly at Baxter. Baxter put both hands on the table and leaned closer to Kasim.
“Have you ever heard of ISI?” Baxter’s voice softened.
Kasim’s eyes widened. His defiance instantly melted away. He tried to look away.
“That’s right, asshole. Pakistani intelligence, or more accurately, Inter-Services Intelligence. You’ve heard of them?”
Kasim said nothing.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You see, Kasim, as I mentioned earlier, you’re a citizen of a foreign country. Pakistan, right?” Baxter didn’t wait for a response. “Well, in Pakistan, you don’t have the same rights as you think you do here, would you agree?”
Kasim nodded nervously. He had heard of people being detained by the ISI a
nd never coming home, or worse, returning with missing fingers and toes and a permanent limp. They were ruthless in their interrogation methods, perhaps even more so than he had seen in his fellow Brothers of Freedom.
Baxter stepped back and folded his arms, letting the question hang in the air for a bit as Kasim considered the implications.
“Now, I know you’re not too bright, just being a low-level guy and all, so let me spell it out clearly for you. It just so happens, we have an extradition agreement with Pakistan. Know what that means? It means I have a ticket on a CIA transport with your name on it straight to Islamabad if you don’t start cooperating. And I hear they’re not quite as concerned about rights of suspected terrorists as you think I am.”
Kasim started shaking his head.
“Or, you can cooperate. You’ll get your lawyer and a nice air-conditioned jail cell. I’ll even put in a good word for you. Choose carefully.”
“What do you want to know?” Kasim was almost pleading with him. He couldn’t stand the thought of an ISI agent pulling his fingernails off with a pair of pliers, or cutting his toes off. He would be tortured and die in a rotten jail cell.
“What were you going to do with the Representative and her family?”
“I don’t know!” Kasim screamed. “You have to believe me! Abdul never told me anything. He only told us what to do and how and when to do it. He kept everything secret! I swear!”
The threat had worked. Kasim was scared shitless. Baxter knew he needed to calm Kasim down. At this rate, the nervous little man would give himself a heart attack before he produced useful information.
“Ok, I believe you Kasim, but if you lie to me, our deal is off,” Baxter explained. “Do you understand?”
Kasim nodded.
“Let’s start from the beginning. How did you meet Aalee?” Baxter pulled out a notepad from his cargo pants pocket and began taking notes.
Kasim explained how he had been recruited by a cleric in Pakistan. He received training in the Tribal Region of Pakistan in a camp near the town of Razmak. It was there he received indoctrination training, learning basic armed and unarmed combat, bomb making, and English.
Baxter scribbled notes as Kasim described the operation in Razmak. It wouldn’t be useful for his case, but he knew it would pay dividends when passed on to the intelligence community later.
Kasim continued, explaining how he had made it into the US on a Student Visa, and had to work and attend classes until activated. Initially, he had no idea when his cell would be activated. He and Tariq lived together in a small two-bedroom apartment. They only knew each other, and Tariq kept contact with their handlers in Miami. He had no idea how they communicated, but he suspected it had something to do with the computer.
Then a few weeks before the kidnappings, Tariq came home one day and announced that they were finally going to do Allah’s work. Kasim explained that Tariq briefed him on Abdul Aalee, the great warrior for Allah, and that they had finally received their directions.
Kasim explained how they picked up Aalee from the Marathon Key marina. He was hard to recognize using a picture because he shaved his beard except for a mustache. He was on foot, and had just convinced the Americans that he was there legally. He was still concerned about them though. He thought he was being chased, but they never encountered any roadblocks or other authorities.
“So Aalee stayed with you?” Baxter asked, still scribbling notes on his notepad.
“He slept in my bed, and I slept on the pull out sofa. I thought he would have something for us immediately, but if he did, he didn’t tell us. He had several cell phones that he talked on constantly. Mostly in English, but not always.”
Baxter’s eyebrows arched. “Not always?”
“Sometimes it was in Spanish. At least I think it was. That’s what Tariq called it.”
Baxter continued his note writing and underlined SPANISH on his notepad. “So he got his instructions on a cell phone?” he prodded.
“No, I don’t think so. A few days after he arrived, he made us load furniture in a truck, and then he went to a storage building in Hialeah. Can I get some water?”
Baxter made a drinking motion to the mirror and continued writing his notes.
“Who was he meeting?”
Agent Decker walked in and handed both men water bottles. Baxter made it a point not to stare this time as she walked out.
Kasim took a sip of water and continued, “I don’t know. They never told me anything, but I did hear him say Victor when he was talking to Tariq.”
Baxter wrote down the name and underlined it as well. It was a solid lead, but finding a Victor that spoke Spanish in Miami was a pretty broad search. It would be easier to find a Victor that didn’t speak Spanish.
Kasim continued, explaining how Aalee gave them their instructions. He knew how many people would be in the house and where they would likely be. He even knew how many animals they had. Kasim remembered being impressed by the level of detail Aalee had. He was a great leader.
Kasim described their approach to the house. They parked the minivan down a gravel road out of sight of the main road near the house. When they reached the house, they split up and surrounded the house. Kasim had been told to enter the house from the side, Abdul would enter from the front, and Tariq had the back.
“But then I tripped and knocked over a trash can,” Kasim admitted. “The old man came out and found our van, so I hit him on the side of the head with my gun when he came back near where I was hiding. I thought I killed him. Then I heard a gunshot and ran back inside. Abdul killed the fat woman. I don’t know why.”
The men tied up the hostages then went back outside and dragged the old man back in. They put all of the hostages in the laundry room. Kasim described the ruthlessness of Aalee and his brutality with the handicapped boy.
“So did Aalee use his cell phone while you were waiting?” Baxter asked.
“Yes. He made several calls, and then took pictures of the hostages before he left and put Tariq in charge.”
“Did you happen to hear anything at all? Any names? Do you know who he was talking to?”
“I think it was the same person from the meeting at the storage place. I only overhead him a few times, but I know one time he said Moss.”
Baxter stopped writing. He remembered reading the old man’s statement. It said that Aalee had mentioned his daughter’s name over the phone, and that’s why he feared for her safety as well.
“Chloe Moss?”
“I don’t know. I only heard Moss... It was right before he took the pictures and left.”
Kasim then described the assault by Martin, and Tariq being killed. He thought the CIA had found them and was going to kill them for kidnapping the woman. He was very glad to be arrested.
Baxter thanked Kasim for his cooperation and walked out. Agent Decker was waiting for him in the hallway.
“That was some good work in there,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“Thanks, but I have a lot of work to do,” he said, waving his notepad.
“Yes, we do,” she replied. “I’ll get started on tracking down any locals we’ve been tracking with aliases by the name of ‘Victor.’”
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, in Miami? Good luck with that.”
“Gotta start somewhere. Anyway, hey, the last part, about Moss.”
“What about her? The father said the same thing,” Baxter replied.
“She’s Air Force, right?”
“Yeah, she was killed in the crash off the coast a couple days ago,” Baxter replied, remembering his interview with Martin.
“I read the transcript of your interview. Maybe you should try talking to Martin again. I think he might know more than he’s letting on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Homestead ARB, FL
Air Force Office of Special Investigations, Det 9
Spectre arrived at the OSI building just before 10 AM. He had been called a few hours ea
rlier by Special Agent Baxter, asking for a meeting to discuss new developments in the case. Baxter had been intentionally vague over the phone, causing Spectre to wonder if somehow he had become a person of interest.
He backed his truck into the parking space and got out. The airfield was eerily quiet. All of the military aircraft were still grounded after the incident. There weren’t even jets turning for routine maintenance. At this time of the day on a weekday, it was just weird.
Spectre walked into the main entrance of the tiny, windowless building. The reception area was small, with only a few chairs and a magazine rack. He walked up to the one-way mirror where the receptionist would normally be and rang the buzzer. The building seemed empty.
A few minutes later, the door made a metallic click and opened. Spectre was expecting Agent Baxter, but instead found himself face to face with a stunning blonde, dressed in a gray pantsuit.
“Mr. Martin?” she asked, only opening the door halfway.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied awkwardly.
“Have a seat. We’ll be with you in a moment. We’re just going over a few new notes.”
Spectre nodded and sat down. He had no idea who the woman was, but she certainly had his attention. It was almost distracting. He hoped she wasn’t planning to question him. He was sure he would end up saying something inappropriate if she did.
Spectre grabbed the latest copy of Sports Illustrated from the nearby magazine rack and settled in. He flipped through the pages, but was paying no attention to what he was looking at. His attention was still on the startlingly hot blonde that had just walked off.
Closing the door behind her, Decker walked down the hallway past the empty OSI offices and made a left into the conference room where Baxter was still going over the notes.
Special Agent Michelle Decker had been on the fast track in the FBI since her first assignment. A law school graduate, Decker had briefly worked for her county’s District Attorney’s office before deciding she wanted to be on the frontlines, investigating rather than prosecuting.
Spectre Rising Page 14
