“There’s something else you should know.”
“And that is?”
“He really is Hafsah Bashir’s cousin.”
6
Jack’s news was troubling. DHS had sent him here because of a suspected threat from a self-radicalized jihadist cell. Now Mossad had sent an agent to track down a known terrorist. That agent was disturbing me in ways I didn’t yet understand. I couldn’t help thinking about the old adage, “trouble always comes in threes.” While it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, it didn’t come as a complete surprise. It did raise some questions.
“Why would a Mossad agent come to me? I’m just a private investigator in East Texas. This Muktallah cat is an international terrorist. Why wouldn’t they alert the CIA and the FBI to help track this guy down?”
“Mossad conducts the international intelligence operations for the nation of Israel. As you know, they have another agency similar to our FBI, called Shin Bet. They handle most of the internal intelligence operations for Israel. Shin Bet will often interface with the FBI.
Mossad is a different story. They like to handle Israel’s foreign intelligence ops themselves and they don’t always play well with others. There are many reasons they don’t like to work with the CIA or the FBI. For example, Mossad operates with far fewer layers of bureaucracy and less accountability than any of our federal agencies, which are all interconnected on some level. With so many different agencies, committees and people involved, we have a serious problem keeping anything secret. Look at what Ed Snowden was able to do. Knowing this, our Israeli friends like to play their cards close to the vest.”
“Come on, you’re suggesting Mossad is running a clandestine op on U.S. soil. If that gets out, there will be no end to the stink.”
Jack nodded.
“My point. That’s the reason they didn’t alert the CIA.”
“Do I need to remind you that you work for Uncle Sam? Isn’t this the kind of thing DHS does, coordinating all the agencies involved in protecting America?”
“No, you don’t need to remind me. Let’s just say DHS has several different functions. Not all of them are known to the general public. As for informing other agencies, I have some liberty with my discretionary powers. In my judgment, at this point we need to tread lightly, the fewer people who know about this, the better. At the same time, Mossad sending a single agent, and her contacting you, worries me a little. It makes me wonder if she somehow knew you had a connection with me.”
“I don’t see how. I haven’t had any connection with you for several years. You weren’t even here a month ago. You just came here to coordinate with the FBI on the white supremacist operation that got my friend killed.”
The muscles along Jack’s jawline bunched. It was the only indication he was annoyed by my remark.
“I think we need to keep it that way. She doesn’t need to know you’re working with DHS and the FBI.”
“Just to be clear, I’m not working with the FBI. Not after what they did at that farmhouse. And I haven’t forgotten your part in it, so I’m not working with you, either. I only contacted you because you’d already given me a heads up about a possible jihadist threat.”
“Easy does it, stud. I’d no direct involvement in that FBI raid. Whatever happened had nothing to do with me.”
“You must have had prior knowledge!”
“We talked about this, John. The whole thing was orchestrated by SAIC Doug Booker. He has political connections, and he was playing a game none of us could imagine. Try to move on.”
I considered my options. I could live with it for a little while, at least until I knew what Hafsah’s game was, and Jack’s.
“We’ll see. What do you have in mind?” I asked.
“This Nat Baha character means to kill innocent civilians— as many as he can. Hafsah Bashir was sent here to stop him. She came to you. Can you and I work together or not?”
I crossed my arms, taking a moment to frame my answer.
“I don’t like it, but I’ll give it a try. Just you, Jack, I’ll only work with you. I have no interest in getting back in service with Uncle Sam. Don’t send anyone to me in your name, or expect me to report to anyone but you.”
“OK, fair enough.”
“I’m still wondering why Hafsah Bashir came to me.” I said.
“Well, if I was looking for someone in this area to do what she’s asking you to do, you would be my first choice. You’re known to be a trustworthy and efficient private investigator. She has no contacts in East Texas. It makes sense for her to get with somebody familiar with the locals and has the right connections. Besides, Mossad probably chose you, not Hafsah personally. They would’ve supplied her with some background on you. She may know more about you than you can imagine.”
“How would Mossad know anything about me?”
“How do you think?”
I held my hands up in acquiescence. After all, there was some history there.
“There’s something strange about this, though.” I said.
“What is it?”
“She practically told me who she is. The false last name ‘Mohammad’, letting me know there was an Islamic connection. Hofsah admitted her mother was Lebanese. She told me Muktallah had been in Spain recently, and then she tried to feed me that lame story about him being a musician, now known as Nat Baha, looking for a recording contract. I’d concluded she wasn’t some relative seeking a missing family member. She even hinted she was hunting Baha to kill him.”
“That’s why you sent me her picture.”
“I’m guessing you’ve already got the CIA involved on this thing, probably NSA too, right?”
“No. You leave that to me. This is my op. I’ll inform Langley and the others of this particular wrinkle, if and when I think the time is right.”
“Come on, Jack, there’s a foreign terrorist right here in East Texas. He came here for a reason. There’s an obvious connection to the case you’re working.”
“Yes, we knew about the local jihadist cell. We’ve been watching them for a while. After the poorly planned attempts others have made, our analysts suggested there might be some sort of leader coming to train and organize them. We thought we would pick up some electronic traffic that would alert us. None of us anticipated a foreign trainer would just sneak across the border and show up here.”
“This guy isn’t just a trainer, Jack. He’s a killer.”
“That’s why Ms. Bashir is an asset. She knows him, how he thinks and operates. She has experience dealing with people like him. This is what Mossad does best. We need her and we don’t need any interference from some federal oversight committee, or to find ourselves detoured and bogged down by a multi-agency power struggle.”
“You must’ve left a digital trail researching Hafsah and her cousin. You’ve raised a red flag somewhere. Somebody will be asking you some hard questions. I don’t see how you’re going to avoid it.”
“That’s my problem, John. Do you want to see FBI Special Agent, Doug Booker involved in this?”
“No. It would be best if I don’t ever see him again.”
“We’re agreed then. We’ll keep a lid on this as long as we can. I’ll look into the weapons angle. They’ll need to acquire fully automatic weapons, and probably some type of explosives, if they don’t already have them.”
“Jack, you said you’ve been watching these people for quite a while, you would know if they were getting explosives and weapons.”
“You would think so wouldn’t you?”
He began putting the photos and files back into the grocery bag, which he then folded into a thin flat package. When he’d tucked it into his waistband along with the other padding under his shirt, he stood up and turned toward the door.
“You can keep the loaf of bread and the celery, compliments of Uncle Sam.”
“Gee, thanks. Is that it then, you’re leaving?”
“That’s all I have for you.”
“What am supposed
to do? Where do we go from here?” I asked.
Jack turned and looked me in the eye.
“Ms. Bashir hired you to help her find a terrorist in our midst. That man intends to commit an act of horrible evil. You can help her, John. You can do that. Find this guy and stop him.”
After Jack left, I took a moment to reflect on the situation. I knew he’d lied to me at least once. Jack was fully aware of all the players. He’d been sent to East Texas because DHS was monitoring the threat. Someone in his agency, ATF, FBI, NSA or all the above, had kept the local suspects under close scrutiny for some time. Jack knew the weapons had already been procured. If he’d people watching the suspects, he probably would have people watching me. Jack was keeping things from me, in his mind because of the “need to know” policy in matters of national security. To Jack, I was just a pawn in the game. Jack planned to use me as the go-between with Hofsah, and through her, with Mossad. It wasn’t his fault. He was answerable to a higher authority. I’d to wonder who was above him pulling the strings.
That thought made me smile. I knew whoever Jack thought was his boss, was someone whose pay grade was still far below my boss.
I’d to consider my next move in light of my mission on this planet. I try to avoid involvement in the never ending power struggles and political machinations of men. I seek the lost sheep and assist those in peril. I stand between the sheep and the wolves and help maintain the course of events in the time line established by my King.
On occasion the wolves have pulled me away from my primary mission. I’ve found myself chasing wolves, instead of seeing to the needs of those sheep assigned to me. Was this one of those situations? Was this an attempt to lead me away from my mission? I needed to be alert and aware of all the possible pitfalls and snares.
I knew the Department of Homeland Security, through Jack McCarthy, was using me and keeping secrets. There were several things Jack wasn’t telling me. Hafsah was probably doing the same thing, but for different reasons.
The Mossad agent faced great peril in service to others, but her struggle was in matters of the world. My response to her was on some level a matter of the flesh. That temptation is ever with us Shepherds as we travel through this life in our “earth suits”
Did Hafsah’s mission coincide with my mission, or did her presence conflict with my mission? Every person serves in the purpose of someone. Bob Dylan said it best. “Well, it might be the devil, or it might be the Lord, but you gotta serve somebody.”
Who did Hafsah serve? Should I stand aside and watch events unfold?
And there it was. Hafsah was willing to sacrifice herself to defend people she’d never met. Her cousin Bashir was a predator, determined to attack the helpless. He and the pack of wolves he was forming would stop at nothing in the process of destroying others. If I merely observed, I would neglect a duty and an opportunity.
I saw it as my duty to help Hafsah in her hunt for Bashir. My mission required me to help her defend the helpless. To do less in the time I have left, would be wrong.
7
Walking through the throngs of people in the indoor shopping mall, Hakim was almost dancing, he felt so energized and powerful. For all the sublime celestial juice flowing through him, no one noticed him. He was just another face in the crowd, part of the everyday life of the local citizens. These silly sheep had no idea he was a vicious predator disguised in sheep’s clothing. He’d entered their country illegally, he was carrying an unauthorized weapon, and he intended to commit mass murder. Yet, to these sheep he was invisible. It was but one of his gifts. He was like a chameleon, blending in with the local environment, unnoticed until he struck. Soon now, he would strike in this place.
His life’s work had been revealed to him in a vision given by Allah. Had not Allah sent his own heavenly messenger? In all his travels and travails, had he not been led to victory by this angel? Whatever limited direction he’d been given by the leaders of the Caliphate was as nothing compared to that of his guiding angel. Allah had gifted him in several other extraordinary ways.
For as long as he could remember he’d played guitar. Wherever he traveled, the popular western music was blasting from some sort of speaker. Today, after more than thirty years of practice, he could play as well as, or better than, anyone he’d ever heard.
For all his love of western music, he hated with an equal passion, anyone who interfered in the affairs of the people of Islam. This was far too common with the westerners, the European and American infidels in particular. He was a teenager when Osama Bin Laden sent several of his own countrymen to attack America by flying airplanes into their symbols of power. He left Saudi Arabia to join the cause of jihad in Afghanistan as a foot soldier of Bin Laden. His nimble fingers now learned how to tear the life away from his fellow human beings. Adept at hand-to-hand combat, he became skilled with knives, handguns, machine guns and rifles. He learned to make explosives and detonators from compounds and common materials found available anywhere in the world. His skills were in demand throughout the region. In a time when young men his age were blowing themselves up in the process of killing their enemies, he was building the bombs.
At first he was available to whoever would pay him, Sunni or Shiite, killing each other as often as not. He began to train those less skilled than himself. At various training camps he honed his personal fighting skills. He found his true calling—murdering the unsuspecting. For a time he’d wondered if he might be mad, but the angel of Allah changed his thinking. His angel led him to people and places where his knowledge and skills were in demand. He began killing Jews and high profile infidels all around the globe. In all that time, wherever he went and whoever he killed, in the company of the angel he slipped away unmolested. He was that cunning. He felt the constant presence of the angel, leading and directing him, telling him there was a still higher purpose for his life.
His successful carnage had attracted the attention of various police and intelligence agencies. They were determined to capture or kill him. He learned that more than one of the Middle Eastern agencies, for whom he’d done wet work, had betrayed him for little more than political expediency. He’d always been expendable and now he was considered more of a liability than an asset.
In the aftermath of the American’s war against Iraq, following the Arab Spring and the civil war in Syria, the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria had sprung up like a mushroom. The leadership of ISIS saw him as an instrument designed for their particular purpose. He was nothing less than the personification of their ideals. They took him in like a long lost son. At first because of his experience and language skills, he was tasked with training the recruits from western countries. When his trainees proved to be more deadly than the local boys, he was offered elevation to command status. Because he preferred to do things his own way, he’d never been comfortable in any military unit. He’d always hated being in uniform. He asked to be sent overseas to conduct foreign operations for the Islamic State. His request was granted. It served the goals the daesh mission statement. Like him, it was their plan to see Islam conquer the world in the name of Allah. This would be accomplished by reclaiming any lands that had once been part of Islam, any lands where a mosque or mosques now stood and eventually all other lands.
Most of the western nations were ripe for the plucking.
Recruiting disenfranchised young people in these countries through the internet was effective, but they lacked the requisite skill set and often failed to accomplish any meaningful mission. They needed leadership and training. This was work he could do with extraordinary ability. His handlers at the command level secured funding for each operation and provided him with logistical support. Beyond that, they left him to select specific targets and work out the details on his own. His mission in Spain had been a huge success, but although ISIL claimed responsibility for the attack, in the intelligence community all eyes were on him. His handlers in the Islamic State arranged for him to escape Europe and instructed him to make his way
to a group of eager self-proclaimed recruits in Texas, USA. His mission was to train them as mujahedeen, holy warriors of jihad.
Now, he believed everything he’d ever done, all the hard work and personal sacrifice would culminate in his greatest triumph. Here, in this place, he would fulfill his destiny.
8
As if my day hadn’t been long and strange enough already, my phone started ringing the moment Jack walked out the door.
“Good evening, John Tucker, here. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Tucker? This is Priscilla Davidson, Rosie’s friend. Do you remember me?”
“Of course, Priscilla, how are you?”
“I’m worried. Rosie hasn’t texted me since last night.”
“It’s probably nothing to worry about. Maybe her phone is dead, or they’ve used up all the time and data they paid for. You told me it was a pre-paid phone, right?”
“Right, but she would’ve told me if they needed money or something.”
“OK, so it’s probably just a dead battery.”
“They have a phone charger in the truck.”
That was interesting and useful information. There’d been some speculation about Rosie and Jimmy having been seen in a green Chevy pickup, but no real proof. Not only was Priscilla confirming the vehicle was a truck, she knew they had a phone charger in it.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Ummm, yeah. I know they have plenty of gas, so they should be able to keep the phone charged.”
Now, Priscilla was telling me both too much and too little. How could she know how much fuel they had in the pickup?
“Have you been giving them money, Priscilla?”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m afraid something happened to them.” She was almost wailing now.
“Calm down. Just because she hasn’t texted you today doesn’t mean something bad happened. Maybe they’re traveling or there’s somethings wrong with the phone.”
The Ticking Clock Page 3
