by Peter Telep
Just last week Nazari had sent his wife, a Saudi national, along with their five-year-old son back to their apartment in Riyadh, where they would remain until called for. He told his wife that the politics in his department had become untenable and that he wanted to return to Alfaisal. He was working on that transition now. He spoke with them nightly to assure them he would arrive soon. What they did not know, and what he could not tell them, was that once he arrived in Riyadh, they would flee to the tribal lands of Waziristan in Pakistan. There, far away from the reach of the Americans and the Pakistanis, they would reside in a safe house until it was secure enough to return.
Nazari took a seat then swiveled to his hutch. He opened a bottom door and spun the combination lock on a small safe mounted inside. He withdrew the envelope Rasul had delivered, then opened and read it again. The typed, unsigned note had come from a man they knew only as “the liaison,” and he was their direct connection to “the suppliers.” This relationship between Al-Saif and both the liaison and the suppliers had been established through a third party in Africa. The note contained a list of six approved targets, their GPS coordinates, and a tentative operation date and time. Nazari and his colleagues had been studying and reconnoitering those targets and others for the past eighteen months, coming at them from every conceivable angle until they were satisfied with their plan of attack. However, they were powerless without all of the requested materials, and operations to procure those materials and logistical support were now underway.
The length and breadth of the jihadist network in the United States was staggering, even to Nazari. Sympathizers working as “consultants” within the NSA, CIA, FBI and the Department of Homeland Security provided current intel through a dedicated team of couriers. Revelations of America’s intelligence gathering activities included specifics on their tactics, techniques, and procedures; in reaction, Nazari’s group now relied upon hand-written messages delivered by courier or meetings at Islamic centers to pass information in person. Prepaid cell phones were used more rarely, as was the internet. He disagreed with his jihadi colleagues who organized their activities on Twitter and other social media websites. While the use of couriers often delayed communications, operational security was far superior to any online or cell phone contact. Using couriers or face-to-face meetings left law enforcement officials with little more than human intelligence to gather, and when it came to the Muslim community, not everyone was forthcoming, even those with nothing to hide.
In point of fact, the American government was either incapable or unwilling to recognize how vulnerable their intelligence and law enforcement agencies were. Hubris and politics played a large role in perpetrating the myth that Americans were much safer than they were during the days leading up to 9/11. While Islamic consultants were fully vetted within American intelligence and law enforcement agencies, there was no procedure, technique, or device (even a polygraph) that could truly expose the intentions in a man’s heart. Consequently, these consultants engaged in denial and deception activities that kept agencies mired in false leads.
While Nazari had been reassured by his contact in Africa that he could trust both the liaison and the suppliers, he did not. He had demanded to know their identities, but that information was classified for everyone’s protection. Rasul was the only person who had had direct contact with the liaison, and this much they knew: the man was a middle-aged Caucasian about six feet. He spoke English with a decidedly northeastern accent. He always wore a wool coat, a black baseball cap, and sunglasses. He was probably an American and acting as little more than a courier for the suppliers, thus he was not in any position of real power. He had warned Rasul that any attempt to gather intel on his whereabouts or identity would result in an immediate shutdown of all operations. Nazari had been instructed by his colleagues in Cairo to honor the liaison’s request. Careful consideration had been given regarding their relationship with him and with these suppliers.
Therefore, Nazari was supposed to accept help—and remain unaware of its source. Only a fool would agree to those terms. If the situation presented itself, he would pursue these men, learn their identities, and eliminate any leaks in security. Some of the materials had already been smuggled into the United States and his cells already controlled them; some were coming from within via the suppliers, and these he assumed would be procured through bribery, extortion, and other means to get men to do their bidding, or at the very least, look the other way.
Al-Saif was, indeed, the clandestine sword that would pierce the heart of America. While operating under the auspices of the Brotherhood (and keeping their name and operations out of the media, unlike ISIL), the network was led by a six-man core group directed by Nazari. Ahmed Mohammed Al-Nasser, currently employed with Transops Security in Arlington, Virginia, was in charge of forged documentation, IDs, and procuring operational funds through their contacts in Africa, the Middle East, and South America. Mahmoud Fahmi, a broker with Century 5 Properties in San Diego, California, was responsible for the rental or purchase of safe houses throughout the country. Amr Kaseb of the U.S. Islamic Group, a nonprofit created to promote Islam in the community, trained and recruited couriers. Bassem Younes owned and operated Transnational Trucking headquartered in Windsor, Connecticut. He oversaw the transport of all materials and personnel. Sameh Ismail was an international sales associate with Blue Door Arms and Ammunition of Warminster, Pennsylvania. He engaged in the legal sale of weapons abroad and the illegal smuggling of those same arms back into the United States. Every member of Nazari’s leadership team was an American citizen, enjoying all the rights, privileges, and protections granted to them under the Constitution.
In the years following 9/11, Al-Saif’s presence quietly expanded so that operational cells were now present in all fifty states. Each cell was comprised of a bomb-making support cell, a transportation cell, and a strike team. They were issued direct orders by courier and were instructed to report their status back to their nearest “friendly” organization (such as a mosque or Islamic center) by the same means. Secure strategic level communications were conducted through a broader web of couriers connected to these friendly organizations and orchestrated by Amr Kaseb. Sometimes at this level, open emails between organizations could be issued to share information using code words and phrases, and those reports would filter up through one or more associates, then finally reach Nazari.
Now, with six major targets approved, Nazari would begin the painstaking process of disseminating the information to his leadership team and down through the operational cells. He tugged open his laptop computer, and the screen blinked to life with the header and side bar menus of Adobe Creative Suite, a graphics design program he had mastered in recent years.
Chapter Seventeen
“Our enemies will gain Allah’s approval and reach Paradise only if Sharia law is established around the world. They’ll use any means necessary to reach their goal. When they die, their children take over, so don’t let the politicians fool you. We can win battles, but the war never ends.”
—Josh Eriksson (FBI interview, 23 December)
Johnny thrust his shovel into the ground and dug as though under gunpoint and ordered to finish the grave in ten seconds. Beside him, Josh did likewise, and behind them lay Rookie, Bomber, and Musket.
Earlier, a breathless call to Josh had sent the man out to procure two fifty pound bags of lime from a neighbor who worked on a small farm. By the time Josh had arrived, Johnny had already loaded the dead dogs into the back of his truck. If losing them were not excruciating enough, he had been forced to work through his tears and literally smuggle the dogs back to his truck. No one could know. No one.
As they had driven out to the game lands, Johnny found it difficult to breathe. The loss of his prized Gordon Setters, the murders of his brother and his sister-in-law, and the complete magnitude of what he had uncovered in his brother’s office were unimaginable. Despite the gut-wrenching agony of it all, he would remain strong. He had t
o—because he must now take this fight to another level, a level that he had never imagined would take place in his own country, let alone his own town. He, like many others, had believed that fighting in far off lands kept his loved ones safe from the evil lurking outside America’s borders. Oftentimes that was true. But not now. The fight had come home to his house, to his brother’s house, to their entire family.
As Johnny dug, he remembered the day the dogs had come home from the breeder. They were just pups, untrained, barking and chewing up the house. Then he had sent them off to bird hunting school, and afterward, he had spent countless hours with them in the woods. Their companionship and unconditional love made them much more than just pets; they were beloved members of his family and the best lance corporals in the world, hungry and mission focused.
As expected, Josh was in shock as Johnny told him everything, but without hesitation Josh swore he would help. He would do whatever it took. He was his brother’s keeper.
“When we get back, we need to send the girls away,” Johnny told him as they continued to dig. “These jihadis, whoever they are, have been watching me from the beginning. I thought they were long gone.”
“Corey and Willie are at the house now,” said Josh. “So don’t worry about Elina and the girls. We got that covered.”
“We need to get Jada to take them down to our place in the Keys. I mean everyone. Ivonne, Lindsey, everyone. Jada’s the gunslinger. She’s in charge.”
“You won’t have to ask her twice.” Josh lifted another pile of dirt, then began shaking his head. “I’m so sorry about all this, Johnny. Really.”
Johnny finished his hole, then he moved on to start the third one. His eyes were watering again, but he ignored the tears and put his anger into each shovelful of dirt. “What am I doing here, Josh? I’m burying my dogs.”
A mental switch was thrown, and Johnny flung the shovel into the air. With fingers digging into his palms, he lifted his head and screamed at the top of his lungs, sustaining the ragged note until he coughed. The fury made his veins feel as though they would burst through his skin. He was ready to call upon all the evil in his heart... the things he had seen during wartime... the unspeakable. He gritted his teeth. Payment was due. Payment in blood. And he wanted it now. He swung around, looked down at the dogs, and screamed again. Before he finished, the shivers took hold, and his palms were back on his face, hiding the tears.
Josh seized him by the shoulders and got in his face. “You still with me, Johnny? Because I’m with you.”
“Roger that.” Johnny’s voice grew thin. “We didn’t have any kids. Those dogs were all we had.”
“I hear you, but you still have friends,” Josh said. “A lot of friends.”
Johnny pictured Daniel’s funeral, the chapel overflowing with people who truly cared about him, the relatives and Marine Corps brothers alike. He remembered Elina saying how beautiful it all was. He glanced at Josh and nodded. Heaving a deep sigh, he walked off to fetch his shovel.
They returned to digging, finishing the last hole a few moments later. Once they had lowered each dog into his grave and poured in the lime to dissolve the remains and prevent any stench, they stood back. Johnny’s lungs tightened, and the world grew dark around the edges. Josh caught him before he hit the ground, and a second later, he was blinking and asking, “What happened?”
“You almost went down.”
After taking in a long breath, Johnny regained his balance and closed his eyes. “I can’t tell you what this feels like.”
“That’s all right.”
“What do I tell Elina? She loved the dogs more than I did.”
“You’ll know what to say.”
“If I lie, it might be worse.”
Josh squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”
“Just give me another second.”
They stood there, leaning on their shovels. “Best dogs in the world,” Johnny blurted out. He looked at Josh. “I should’ve let it go. They’d still be alive if I didn’t go up to the college and meet that old man. If I didn’t keep pressing.”
“You had no choice.”
“I’m telling you, I should’ve let it go.”
Josh’s tone sharpened. “You knew your brother better than anyone. He wanted to tell you something. You couldn’t let that go. Know why? Because that’s who you are. There was no way you could stop. But they had a choice. They didn’t have to kill your dogs.”
Johnny averted his gaze and nodded. “Thanks for coming. Like I told Willie, I didn’t want you guys involved. You got your own lives.—”
“Which include you and Elina. And your nieces. Don’t forget that.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Been there most of my life. Too late for that. Now listen up, when we get back, we need to do this calmly, by the numbers. You don’t want your nieces freaking out.”
“Roger that. Thanks for coming, Josh. Thank you.”
* * *
The moment he entered the house, Johnny seized Elina by the hand and led her upstairs and into their bedroom. He asked her to sit on the bed.
“Johnny, what’s going on? Why is everyone here? Willie and Corey are playing dumb, and I know you told them not to say anything.”
“Look here, you’re going with Kate and Isabelle down to the Keys. Jada’s going, too. So is Ivonne and Lindsey. All of you are going to hang out down there for a while.”
“What’re you talking about? And where are the dogs?”
He braced himself. He knew this woman. He knew her strength. “Elina, I took the dogs for a walk, but they didn’t come back. Someone poisoned them.”
She looked at him as though he were speaking another language. But then, she studied his expression, as though she had misheard him. “What did you say?”
He told her again.
“Are they okay? Where are they?”
“Elina, the dogs are dead.”
She frowned, took several more breaths, then bolted from the bed. “What did you say? They’re dead? They were poisoned? What’re you talking about?”
“Lower your voice, please.”
She spoke louder. “My dogs are dead?” The first tear struck her cheek, followed by another.
Johnny raised his palms. “For the girls, please...”
She shook her head. “What’s going on? Where are my dogs?”
“You need to sit down. Let me talk to you.”
Her voice cracked. “Johnny, don’t tell me my dogs are dead.”
He hesitated. “I have to.”
She collapsed to the bed, burying her face in his chest. He held her for a few moments until she glanced up and hissed, “Who killed my dogs?”
“Listen to me. Daniel and Reva weren’t just stabbed in a home invasion. Someone murdered them, and it’s not safe here. Those same people have threatened us.”
“Are you crazy? What are you telling me?”
“It wasn’t just a robbery. Someone murdered them.”
“Did they do something bad? Did you?”
“I swear, Elina, I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you to be strong. We can’t put Kate and Isabelle through this.”
Her mouth fell open. “What’s happening to us?” She grabbed him by the wrists and shook his arms. “Who killed my dogs?”
“We’ll find out. I just need you to go.”
“Can’t the police protect us?”
“They’re working the case, but they can’t watch us twenty-four seven. They don’t have the budget or the manpower. It’s just better if you leave. Like I said, Jada, Ivonne, and Lindsey are going, too. You’ll be safe.”
Her gaze met his for a second, but then she stared through him. “I can’t process all of this. I can’t. I want to be in our home. I want our dogs back. I want this to be normal.”
“I know. So do I.”
She broke down again, then caught herself and asked, “What do we tell the girls?”
Johnny shrug
ged. “Surprise vacation. Anything to keep them happy. They can’t know about this. It’s too much right now.”
“You’re right, Johnny. You’re right.” She noticed all the dirt under his fingernails. “Where are my dogs?”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I buried them out in the game lands.”
“Without me?”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to do it quick. People are watching us.”
“Even now?”
“I don’t know.”
She rushed over to the window and peered through the blinds. “Are you telling me everything? I’m warning you, Johnny.”
“I found something in Daniel’s office. A block of cocaine, a note written in Arabic. I don’t know if he was involved or spying on the group, but whatever it was, they killed him for it. At least that’s what I think.”
“Cocaine? Arabic writing? Your brother was a geek. He wasn’t some drug smuggler.”
“I know. It’s crazy.”
“And now they want us.” She whirled from the window. “I’ll talk to the girls. We’ll get packed.”
Johnny closed his eyes, fighting back his own tears. “We’ll be okay.”
He rose and kissed her on the cheek, then hustled downstairs to the man cave, where Josh, Willie, and Corey were waiting for him. He opened his gun safe and began removing his rifles and tossing them on the sofa. He added his shotgun and several pistols to the cache. Then he moved to a locked closet, keyed it open, then returned with a few ammo cans and a box filled with dozens of empty pistol and rifle magazines. He sat on the edge of the sofa and began loading magazines.
