Chapter 24
By now, Deni was resigned to his fate beyond bars, the only question was how much longer did he had to live? Hope was a word that had lost meaning for him. There was no more hope, just another chime of the clock. As he sat patiently waiting for Marsha, he wondered, did one want to approach death with his mind intact, or completely mad?
Marsha entered the interview room and set her briefcase on the table, flipped it open, and pulled out her notebook. She sat down across from him. “How are you feeling?”
“As good as can be,” he said.
She sat back on her chair and stared at him. “So, we’ve been through the ideological motivation and emotional and mental state, today I want to talk about the incident. Tomorrow we will be meeting with the prosecution to walk through the entire event. You and I need to be on the same page. I need to know everything, hear me?”
Deni nodded obediently.
“Why bomb? Why the fairgrounds? Why the 4th of July?” asked Marsha.
Deni chuckled. “The 4th of July is the perfect time to bomb. Most would expect it would be a bad firework. They would blame incompetent fire marshals or something. We figured it would be harder to find the cause of the explosion.”
“But isn’t the point of terrorism to take credit for an action?” questioned Marsha.
“Only if it is fame and glory you are after. Retaliation doesn’t need a name,” he said and then edged forward on his seat. “Once you see someone die, murdered, once I saw all those pictures of murdered and maimed children, something changed. I saw pictures of children that were blown to pieces, their bodies shredded. I saw children so disfigured by chemical warfare and uranium testing, they no longer looked human. Their faces so distorted they
looked alien. Once you see it, it is easy to become desensitized. It’s like pornography. The more porn you watch, the less you can appreciate romance. The more death and destruction you see, the less you see life. It’s how it is at home now in Chechnya. Bloody violence has become so mainstream, no one barely notices then another bomb goes off.”
He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Here in America, it is different. Another mass shooting is commonplace. It is hardly worth mentioning in the media, unless white school children are murdered. See, Americans prefer guns, other parts of the world prefers bombs. There are other ways more sinister like spiking the water system with poison, or releasing gasses in the air. Bombs, let’s face it, are the most dramatic and make, well, an impact.”
“There is also a disassociation with the target. With bombs, you don’t have to look at your target. You don’t even have to put a face to the people you kill,” said Marsha.
Deni bit his lip and said nothing.
Marsha sighed deeply and continued. “So you downloaded the instructions on the internet.”
“Anarchist’s Cookbook, we wanted to support America. The US is such a funny country; it provides all the tools necessary for any violent dissent against its own government. All you need is the money and the willingness. It doesn’t really matter who lives and dies, as long as someone is making a profit. Look, people died, but Amazon and many local shops profited.”
“That’s a very callous attitude. How long did it take for you to become so callous?”
Deni shrugged. “Not long really.” He patted his chest. “You see much of it was already there. You can only see so much, take so much, until you break. The effects of alcohol and dope only last for so long. I dunno, everything stopped making a difference when I realized my life had more meaning being bad than good. Look, it’s not that I think Americans are bad, or evil; it is just they are ignorant, gullible and selfish. You see all these protests, well-meaning protests against the government and corporations, but then it stops when they don’t get immediate gratification or it gets too hard. Americans cannot handle anything if it is uncomfortable, so they stop.”
“Does that mean it is okay to terrorize?” questioned Marsha.
“A little jolt never hurt,” joked Deni sarcastically. “Americans have been brainwashed into believing they are the best country in the world. American pride is so bad that people cannot see their own arrogance, their own flaws. Because of this pride, Americans cannot bring themselves to admit they are not the world’s peacekeeping heroes.”
“Did you purchase any of the bomb making supplies?” asked Marsha.
“No.” He chuckled. “I was there for moral support.”
“Where did your brother get the money?”
“Capital One,” Deni said with a smile. “He kept spending; they kept raising his limit. I hope they are not expecting to be repaid.”
Deni followed Mikail into Schwab’s gun shop in Lancaster with the friendly ringing of a bell. An overweight, cherry-cheeked clerk in a red polo shirt greeted them with a wide smile “Welcome boys. How can I help you?”
“We’re looking to buy a few guns and some powder,” replied Deni. “Jimmy Miller highly recommended this place.”
“That Jimmy Miller is a good kid. Are you friends?” asked the clerk.
“I dated his sister,” replied Deni.
“Well, I see. How can I help you boys today?”
“We need about,” Deni started and then glanced at Mikail, “fifty pounds of black gun powder. We’re looking for something that burns fast.”
“Sulfur free black powder usually has the fastest burn rate.” The clerk lifted a container off the shelf. “Fifty pounds you said.”
“Yeah,” replied Deni and then walked over to Mikail who was checking all the semi-automatic shot guns. “Find something you like?”
Mikail turned the gun toward the clerk’s back and gazed at him through the sight. “Yeah.” He lowered the gun. “Look around. I’ll buy you one.”
“What do I need a gun for?” asked Deni.
“Defense,” replied Mikail flatly.
The clerk overheard their conversation. “Yes, every young man needs something to defend themselves. Do you go to school around here?”
“He goes to Temple,” replied Mikail.
“Oh son,” the clerk said to Deni, “Temple’s in the worst neighborhood in Philly—all those minority folks. Heck, I commend your big brother for looking out for you. I’ll even give you a twenty percent discount.”
Deni glanced around the shop. He could really care less about having a gun, but he allowed Mikail to buy him one. “Sure, why not.”
“How many guns did your brother purchase?” asked Marsha.
“He bought four for himself and one for me, plus the gunpowder,” said Deni.
“You alluded to the FBI agents that you had some backing or influence. Do you recall any names?”
“I really don’t. My brother had this online network of people. Whoever he talked to, he kept it from me. He said I would be shocked to learn who they were, but I didn’t ask.” Deni leaned forward. “Mik would not come up with this on his own; I know that. He had to have been influenced or encouraged by someone.”
“Did you ever hear him talk to someone, read any emails?” Marsha asked.
“No, Mik was kinda a loner and I didn’t search his computer.”
“How about you? Do you believe in the conspiracy theories?” asked Marsha.
“Conspiracy theorist: such a meaningless phrase. One man’s conspiracy is another man’s truth.”
“What do you believe?”
“I don’t believe Lee Harvey Oswald, or Sirhan Sirhan acted alone if that’s your question,” replied Deni. “Someone presents enough evidence to prove their theory and then I would give it consideration. I would put nothing past the US government, the FBI, and the CIA is a fucking joke. The American media doesn’t broadcast all the CIA’s international connections. They are tied to some unscrupulous organizations that cause a lot of instability in parts of the world.”
“Huh, okay. Did anyone in your brother’s network help?” asked Marsha.
“As I said, I don’t know if they helped, but they encouraged. Causing instabil
ity in regions around the world is a way to take control. The US goes into the Middle East, sells weapons to dictators, funds rebel groups and causes unnecessary wars that results in instability and thus America gains power and influence mostly for oil and profit. There are groups here in the States that would like nothing better than to make Obama look weak and the country unstable. They do so they can regain power. It’s not brain surgery.”
Marsha sat back and digested all of Deni’s rambling. She had realized he had detached himself so much from humanity that he was able to justify every action intellectually. This would hardly appeal to the sensitivities of a jury. Instead of suppressing pain and heartache, he had begun to suppress love and kindness.
“What are you thinking?” Deni asked.
“Just curious as to when you yourself stopped being human. When did you close your heart? Was it Hector’s murder?” Marsha asked.
Deni reclined in his seat. He said nothing.
Lying in Deni’s dormitory room bed, Heather lifted her head onto her palm and stared down at Deni. His eyes were wide open and he bore the vacant stare of a dead man. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” he lied. He couldn’t confess to Hector’s murder or his brother’s plot. He couldn’t tell her about his emotional and mental prison.
“Don’t lie to me. I can tell just by looking in your eyes. Something is wrong,” she pressed.
Deni pushed her off of him. “Jesus, can you leave me alone! Why do you always gotta be on me? Why do you always gotta know what I’m thinking and feeling?” He crawled out of bed and slipped into his underwear.
“Uhm, because I care about you, is that so fucking bad?” asked Heather.
“Yeah, it kind of is. Ever since we met, you have always been picking at me, trying to fix me!”
Heather laughed. “Dude, if that’s what you think, you are sadly mistaken. I have absolutely no desire to fix you. I happen to love you for what you are.”
“And what do you know about love? You won’t even convert for me!”
She got out of bed and started to dress. “You are so consumed with bullshit, you know that? I don’t know who’s been poisoning your mind. Who is it—your mother? I know she never liked me. I know she never thought I was good enough for you.”
“You, good enough for me? Well hey there princess, I don’t think Dr. Atkins thinks I’m good enough for you, unless I make a lot dough to give you a lavish lifestyle like you’re used to.”
“Fuck you, Deni! Are you so pathetic to believe that our friendship and relationship has anything to do with money?”
“How the hell am I to provide for you like your daddy? I can’t afford to buy you a BMW!”
Heather slapped in him the face.
Deni rubbed his jaw and laughed. “That didn’t even hurt. You hit like a girl.”
“I can’t believe you,” she said and then started to cry. “I fucking drove two hours in the middle of the night to bail your skinny ass out of fucking jail and this is how you thank me? If I’m so offensive, why didn’t you call your brother? I’m sure Mik would have been down here in a jiffy to get you out.”
Deni didn’t respond. There was no way in hell he would call Mik to bail him out, especially not after Hector’s murder; there was no guessing how he would react.
“Huh, why didn’t you call your big brother?” pressed Heather. “Why did you call me?”
The answer was an obvious one; he trusted Heather. “I wanted to get laid,” he said instead.
Heather chuckled. “I would like to believe that, however that box of condoms next your bed indicates you don’t have a problem getting laid. You didn’t need me to drive down here to get a little action.” She sighed. “I get it. You and I are falling apart. I had hoped we could have had a future together, but you’re just using me.” She grabbed her purse and then turned to him. “I would do anything for you. I love you that much, but it is painfully obvious to me now that you’re just taking advantage of my love.”
“Heather wait!”
Heather stopped at the door, but did not turn around.
Deni paused and choked out his words. “I’m not allowed to love you. I’m not allowed to be with you.”
“What?”
“It’s the way—the Muslim way. Marriages are arranged and then love grows between the couple. Love between a man and woman shouldn’t, doesn’t exist outside marriage,” he said, but didn’t believe the words he spoke.
“Uh huh, so, if you weren’t allowed to love me, what were we doing for the past two years? When were you going to tell me this? All that talk of trying to get me to convert and you couldn’t love me anyway! What the fuck?”
Deni lowered his head and stared at the floor. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Heather stepped toward Deni and stared into his eyes. “Who’s in there? Who’s possessing you today—your mother, your brother? You haven’t always been this way. I’ve seen you defy your brother. I’ve seen you stand up to your mother. Why now aren’t you allowed to love me?”
Deni stepped away from Heather. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Heather swung her purse over her shoulder. “That’s for damned sure.” She walked out, slamming his dormitory room door on the way out.
Deni stood frozen, wanting to chase her. He wanted to yell out to her that he loved her too, but he couldn’t; he simply couldn’t drag her into his madness. He slumped on his bed and lowered his head into his hands. It’s all over now, he thought.
Deni rocked back in his seat and placed his hands on his lap. It was the very moment love walked out of his life that he knew nothing would ever be the same again. The one he trusted most, the one who stood so strongly behind him, left. There was no one to blame. Heather needed to move on; she deserved better and he couldn’t drag her down into the despair of his life. He glanced up at Marsha and lied, “What makes you think I ever had a heart?”
Marsha grinned at him like she could see straight through him. It unnerved him. “Let me explain something to you. You sit alone in solitary believing this whole world revolves around you and your ideology. What you don’t realize is there is an entire investigation going on outside these walls. The forensic labs are doing all the testing to corroborate your story and the story of eye witnesses. It is not just you sweetheart; there will be a long line of witnesses on both sides of the aisle.” She leaned and looked directly into his eyes. “You need to make sure you’re telling me the truth, because there are other witnesses. There will be other testimonials.”
“Yeah so,” said Deni but her statement struck a nerve. What were other people saying and who were these people?
“Are you sure you’re telling me everything; you’ve not forgetting something?” she asked again.
“I have no idea what you are suggesting,” he said.
Marsha rose from the table and leaned over toward him. “Think about what you did and didn’t do and be prepared to answer for it.”
She left without another word. Shortly after, the guard came in and lifted Deni from his chair. Marsha’s statements confused him. He had absolutely no idea what she was referring to, but then that night and everything after was a complete blur.
Chapter 25
Marsha took a seat alongside Deni at the interview table as the prosecutor and his assistant sat on the opposite side. Deni was a little more than nervous after Marsha’s warning yesterday. He wondered what more they had on him? Does it have to do with Hector?
There were no pleasantries to start the meeting. The prosecutor began immediately. “Walk us through what happened.”
Deni looked at Marsha, feeling unsure. Walking through the entire event would be an admission of guilt. Marsha nodded at him to continue, so he did. “It was around seven o’clock when we, my brother and I, each marked a spot on the grass near the front of the crowds where the fireworks display would take place. My brother spread out a blanket and then set down a wicker picnic basket. I set down a plastic cooler and se
t the blanket on top.”
It was a warm, humid evening with a slight breeze in the air. The Reading Fairgrounds was alive with energy. The ferris wheel and other rides lit up the evening. Games were played and large stuffed animals were won. Faces were smudged with ketchup, mustard and the powdered sugar of funnel cakes. No one had any inclination of the terror that would arise in a couple of hours.
Before the crowds gathered for the fireworks show, Deni and Mikail walked through the open fields and set down picnic coolers and blankets. Mikail spread his out as if to be an actual picnic, while Deni placed his cooler on the ground and the blanket on top. He made no care for ceremony.
Later, fireworks’ spectators filled the large open grass field, surrounding Mikail and Deni’s picnic blankets. Lovers lounged on blankets, parents sat on lawn chairs as children ran around excitedly waiting for the show. Deni retraced his steps back to where he set down the cooler to make sure his space was still saved¼it was. Across the field he spied Mikail who gave him the thumbs up. Deni reached in his pocket for his cell phone; it would be moments before he texted the number to detonate.
The prosecutor dumped two cell phones on the table before Deni. With a pen, he pushed them toward him. “These are you and your brother’s prepaid cell phones. Do you want to tell me the difference between the two?”
“One is black and one is blue?” questioned Deni.
“No. One has two texts about two minutes apart, the exact time the bombs detonated; the other has none,” stated the prosecutor. “Do you want to tell me why?”
Deni sat back in his chair and bit his lip. He glanced at Marsha, who encouraged him to answer. “I fucked up.”
“How exactly did you fuck up? Did the phone not work? Did it not detonate the bomb or did you flake and forget the number?” questioned the prosecutor.
The Insurrectionist Page 24
