by Ted Peters
Leona turned to the lanky one on the right, the van driver. “I’m Everett.”
“It would be nice to see you three boys in church on Sunday. Ten thirty. But to what do I owe the pleasure of this particular meeting? And why have you scared the shit out of Hillar?”
“You ain’t afraid, are you, Pastor Lee?” said Scorp.
“Fear is not one of my vices,” she said.
“Good. Usually not ours, either. We’d like to lose our fear of you too. Can we just have a friendly talk?”
A mood of tentative relaxation filled the small room. Scorp continued to lead. “By this time, Pastor Lee, you must’ve figured out that our little incident Monday at the train station was not a street mugging,”
Leona nodded affirmatively.
“Some guy promised us bucks if we would deliver you to him. Big bucks. A lot more than would be in your purse. But we didn’t know two things. We didn’t know that you was, like…a tiger on speed. And, we didn’t know you was, well, a pastor.”
“Are you here to kidnap me tonight? I suppose that by taking Hillar captive you think you can persuade me to not fight back.”
“No such thing,” Scorp went on. “Neither you or Hillar are gonna get damaged by us. We just wanna talk. Maybe we can come to an understandin’.”
Scorp proceeded to explain to Leona and Hillar how his gang, the Woodlawn Stoners, had been approached by some white guy with a job to do. The job seemed simple enough and the money would be good. The Stoners Council of Twenty-One appointed Scorp, Quint, and Everett to do the deed. The white guy loaned them the van, the Evanston Cleaner’s van. Had they been successful at kidnapping Leona, she would have been delivered to the white guy at the Wrigley Field parking lot on West Grace Street.
“So, why don’t you simply kidnap me now and cash in?” asked Leona.
The three in control looked at each other. “Because of Spider,” said Everett.
“Spider?”
Scorp took over again. “Yep. Spider tells us what you been doin’ fer him, and for others on probation. Didya know that yesterday Spider went back to the library? He apologized to the cop. He ‘n’ the cop got ta talk’n,’ and they shaked hands. We think Spider’s got a new friend in blue.”
“I figured Spider was one of yours. He’s got a red tam. How about Spence? What about Trayvon?”
“No, Spencer and Trayvon are independents.”
“What about the Duke?”
“Duke’s one of ours. He’s tak’n his stepfather to the Cubs game Saturday. He’s pay’n fer it. See what good yer doin,’ Pastor Lee? Spider and Duke say you respect them. They’s mighty grateful.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Mr. Chadwick.”
“It’s all the same. Mr. Chadwick’s here because you’re here. You’re the pastor to the neighborhood. Ya might not see us in church Sundays, but you’re our pastor, Pastor Lee.”
“I’m your pastor?” Leona paused to grasp what was being said. “Then, why’d you rough me up?”
Quint interjected, “Cause we didn’t know then. We didn’t know who you was until after Monday, until Tuesday. Spider done tol’ us ta back off when he found out it was you we were roughin’ up. Now, we’re see’n’ things better.”
Leona did not respond immediately. The room was quiet. Leona spoke. “Scorp, did you pull me to safety so the train wouldn’t cut my head off?”
Scorp nodded affirmatively. Leona was momentarily stunned. After the significance of this interchange sank in, Scorp spoke again. “I may be a gangbanger, Pastor Lee; but I ain’t no killer. Neither is Quint nor Everett.”
“I thought you Stoners put dead bodies in trash cans for the fun of it,” said Leona with an ambiguous facial expression. “Just how did you spend your largess from the Neighborhood Recovery Initiative?”
The three Stoners looked at each other with puzzlement on their faces. After a moment of silence, Quint spoke. “Woodlawn got money from the NRI, all right. We got temporary jobs. I stood up on 63rd passing out flyers to our friends, flyers say'n we gotta stop crime. We got paid $8.75 an hour. It was worth it.”
“Yeah, I got paid for marching in a parade with the governor,” added Everett. Then with a grin, he added, “which kinda crime should we be stopping, ours or the governor's?”
A warm smile crossed Leona’s face. Her entire body smiled, even if it was not obvious to those looking at her. Scorp looked into Leona's eyes. “Putt’n it plain, Pastor Lee, we’re ready to change sides. We wanna protect you. We don’t know who these guys are, but they’re not gonna harm you as long as we’re here.”
Leona and Hillar looked at one another. Leona was obviously running something through her mind. “You want to change sides?”
“All three captors nodded affirmatively. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Leona continued to think, then spoke. “How did you know my schedule? You planned your attack. How did you know my whereabouts?”
“Remember, Pastor Lee. You were in the Loop. Did you talk or text with anyone?”
Leona thought for another moment. “Only Hillar. I gave him a heads up on my return to South Shore. I expected to connect with him at the Church Council meeting.”
“Hillar, what did you do then?” asked Scorp.
Hillar, thought for a moment. “Nuth’n.”
“Nuth’n? No mobile phone calls? No texting? No tweeting?”
”Oh, yeah,” said Hillar. “I texted Owl and then finished my homework so I could go to the council.”
“Is it coming together yet?” Scorp asked Leona. “You’ve got a mole.”
“Owl?” exclaimed Leona and Hillar in unison.
“Hillar,” asked Leona, “what do you have going on with Owl?”
“Well,” Hillar said choppily, “Owl and I text or talk a few times a day. To think of it, she asks me what the pastor’s doing. I didn’t think...”
“The white guy,” interrupted Scorp, “told us to connect with Owl. She set us up with where’d you be at what time. We had tried to ambush you before Monday, but we couldn’t catch you by surprise. Monday was our best chance.”
“May I stand up?” asked Leona.
“Sure,” said Scorp.
Leona rose to her feet, held her head in her hands, and began to pace the small room. The heads of the four moved back and forth in unison as they studied her movements, not quite knowing what she was up to.
Leona asked more precise questions about their conversations with the white guy, what else he wanted to know about her, whether he had an accent or not. She incorporated each answer into her thought process.
She took her seat again. “Where’s the Evanston Cleaner’s van?”
“Parked in Woodlawn,” answered Everett.
“Does the white guy know yet that you plan to change sides?”
“No,” all three said in near unison.
“Good,” exclaimed Leona. “I think I want you to kidnap me. I think I want you to deliver me to the white guy.”
The others looked confused, even aghast. Leona instructed Hillar to text Owl that evening, including in his message a report that Pastor Lee would be home alone the next day, Friday, at 11:00 am. Scorp should wait for a message from Owl. He would then call the white guy and also alert the sitting duck at the parsonage. Leona would alert Graham, who would be ready to follow the van to Wrigley Field. Once the white guy showed himself in the parking lot, Graham would take care of the rest.
“Do you gangbangers have heat?” Leona asked.
The three tams looked at each other quizzically. Then, Scorp addressed the pastor, “we can get it.”
Leona requested the three of them bring firearms. Just in case. No, Hillar could not come. He would have to stay in school. He would hear later what had happened.
At Leona’s suggestion, each punched everyone else’s cell numbers into their mobiles. Leona inaugurated her Droid. The group circled and put their hands together in the middle, almost as if it were a basketball team cheer. Leona prayed alou
d. Then they departed.
37 Thursday, Chicago, 10:17 pm
Leona returned to the parsonage as Graham was arriving. Graham parked his car at the yard front walk. Leona asked him to restart the engine. “Head for the Loop,” she ordered. En route she recounted the events of the evening and the plan for Friday. It would be Graham’s job to follow the van in his own car. At the opportune moment, Graham would then take out the unnamed white guy. Exactly what “take out” would mean in this circumstance remained undefined. But it would include extracting from the white guy the terror target of Plan B.
“This could erupt into gunfire,” said Graham. “Also, I don’t have the authority to arrest. Should we get some backup?”
“I don’t want any arrests,” answered Leona. “As for backup, that’s what we’re gonna work on now.”
The two drove north on Lake Shore Drive, on to Michigan Avenue, and into the Loop. “Turn left and then left again onto Wabash,” Leona told Graham.
Once on Wabash, Leona spoke again. “Now, stop here and park with your flashers on.” The car was stopped next to Macy’s. An elevated train rumbled by with near deafening sound on the tracks above their head.
“Early in my CIA training I was loaned for six months to Macy’s,” said Leona. “It was a sort of internship as a store detective. No one knew I was from the CIA, of course. I appeared to be the dumb chick who needed guidance from my seniors. I got to know the security staff. It was wonderful. We became like family.”
Although it was approaching 11:00 pm and the store had long been closed, Leona rang a bell. “Security,” they heard over the small speaker.’
“Is Shmoo working tonight? Tell him it’s Leona Foxx.”
“Leona! This is Ahmed. Come in.”
Security buzzers buzzed. Doors opened. Graham and Leona entered the building and were greeted by Ahmed, a middle eastern man in his early fifties, whom Graham surmised must be an old workmate. “I’ll call Shmoo,” announced their host. “He’s making rounds on the sixth floor.”
When Schmucynski rounded the corner into the aisle, Leona raised her voice, ”Shmoo, are you Pōlish?”
“No,” he retorted. “The word is ‘pahlish’!”
Shmoo hugged Leona, picked her up off the floor, and tossed her left and right, like a father greeting a daughter. “Oh, Leona, it’s sooooo good to see ya.”
Graham watched the greeting ritual at a respectful distance. Then Leona offered introductions all around, including Ahmed. Shmoo invited the group to join him in the staff snack room with its formica tables and vending machines. Once the coffee was poured, Leona got down to business. She focused solely on what would happen the next day.
“Somebody thinks they’ll be kidnapping me. I’m not gonna tell you why. Just know that it’s a fake. It’s a sting. We want Graham to nab the napper. Then Graham will question him, so to speak, about an important matter. Have you got a couple off-duty cops you could make available tomorrow? No, wait a minute. Do you have a couple privates?”
“No cops will be off duty at that time tomorrow. The president’s making a speech at Buckingham Fountain during lunch hour. Every cop with the day off wants to be on duty, because the pay gets doubled. You’ll need ta go private. Yes, I know a couple who could be available. Rent-a-cops who like private security better.”
“Sounds good.”
“Are you certain there’ll be only one kidnapper?”
“No. That’s why I’d like some backup. We need to be ready.”
“I’ll call around tonight. Who’ll pay for it?”
“Graham’s got a budget. He’ll pay whatever their rate is.”
Graham's face showed surprise. Then, he nodded affirmatively.
“Should I ask them to show up at the Wrigley parking lot?” asked Shmoo. “What time?”
“By 11:30 or earlier,” said Graham. “And we need a way for them to recognize us.”
“No problem,” said Shmoo. “I’m coming too. Gotta protect my little Lee. We won’t get anything mixed up.”
“Everyone says they want to protect me. Thanks, but I do a pretty good job of protecting myself, I’ll have you know,“ trumpeted Leona. “One more thing, Shmoo. In the van with me will be three red tams.”
“Ya mean Stoners?”
“Yes. They’re with us. They’re on our side. Remember that.”
“Gotcha.”
Once in the car heading back to South Shore, Graham turned toward his passenger and smirked. “Little Lee, eh!”
38 Friday, Chicago, 1:08 am
Leona had just flopped onto her bed when a spray of color flashed across her forty-inch bedroom LED and she could hear the opening bars of Beethoven's “Joyful, Joyful.” With dispatch she opened the top drawer of her dresser and removed a book-sized computer-like object. After opening the flap, the screen lit up immediately with multi-colored fragments. Looking like an unruly pile of broken cut glass, no form was discernible. Leona waited, patiently.
The disarray danced across her screen. Gradually, something came into focus. It was dark, and remained dark. Leona returned momentarily to the drawer and removed a black veil. She threw the veil over her head, draping it down to cover her face. Then, she reassumed her comfortable position on the bed and stared into the camera on top of her screen.
The convulsing color on the screen gave way to a figure, the face of a person similarly veiled in black. The background walls were also black. A light shone backward toward the wall, leaving the veiled figure in the darkness of the foreground. Leona waited. Eventually, the greeting came. First in Farsi, then in English. A resonant male voice spoke with Cambridge enunciation, “Khadijah, are you there?”
“Yes, Abu Talib,” responded Leona.
“God is good,” exclaimed the male voice with a note of cheer.
“Indeed, God is good,” added Leona.
As the shadow on the screen turned nervously from side to side, Leona could make out a silhouetted profile indicating glasses and a lengthy beard. “I would enjoy exchanging niceties, Khadijah, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
“I have some urgent matters to report to you as well, Abu.”
“Perhaps you should go first,” he said.
“Agreed.” Leona proceeded to tell the man called Abu Talib how the CIA had come back into her life, about Graham, about CUB, and how she was being interrogated about the secret person in Iran countering nuclear enrichment. Although his identity was still protected, the raging political waters seemed to be eroding his dam of secrecy. Even with the shadowy images, the listener's nervous body language spoke of anxiety.
“Despite our encryption and other cautions, Khadijah, can we still be sure this conversation is not being monitored?”
Leona chuckled briefly. “Yes, we can be sure. At least for tonight. My wireless signals leaving the house are in fact being intercepted. I've learned that. I even sent a bogus message, and now CUB is racing around Tehran trying to find someone who doesn't exist.” She laughed again. “My hardwire is mounted on a telephone line that stretches to 79th Street and then linked directly to a satellite. A month ago the city brought a crew to replace a burned out alley light. I watched. No one discovered my cable. So, we're safe for the time being.” Abu could not see Khadijah's triumphant smile, but he sensed it. His smile was similarly hidden in the shadows.
“Now, let me tell you about my situation,” he began. “I have been asked to devise a new technology for uranium enrichment. We will use lasers. When finely tuned, lasers can ionize uranium-235 and the material can be easily collected on a negatively charged plate. As you know, our current use of centrifuges requires large facilities, easy to spot by satellite reconnaissance and easy targets for Israeli bombs. But lasers are small, cheap, and discreet. This is a game-changing technology, Leona. I mean, Khadijah.”
“How quickly does Tehran expect you to be up and operating?”
“Immediately. Well, you know what that means. Soon. They are now procuring the laser techn
ology and identifying a facility site. I don't know its location yet.”
“What are your plans, Abu?”
“This puts me in a difficult situation. By putting me in charge, I will be placed exactly where I need to be to keep slowing the progress toward weapons grade material. But with everyone looking over my shoulder, they will be demanding that I produce positive results within a short period of time. Because of the simplicity of the new technology, I don't know how to sabotage it without discovery.”
“The situation is growing dire,” mumbled Leona. “You've been working alone for so long, Abu. How much longer can you continue to stall and prevent a crisis?”
“I fear my time is running out.”
Silence took over. Each looked at one another, watching the minimal movement of the other's black form.
“Maybe there's something you can do, Khadijah. You know Charles Elliott, don't you?”
“Yes. I met him while studying in Berkeley. He's in the physics department at Cal.”
“Are you in personal contact?”
“No regular contact. Still, if I were to make an appointment...”
“Please make an appointment. As the inventor of this laser process, he knows more than anybody just what the details are. Perhaps he can supply me with the information on how to make the lasers appear to function yet fail to ionize the U-235. We could install the lasers, make them work, and fall short of producing the enriched material.”
“But even if you would be successful, it would buy only a little time. The crisis is coming, sooner or later.”
“This has been the case all along, Khadijah. We've got to get Dodge and Golshani to cut out this saber rattling before it's too late. In the meantime, I still need to stall. Do you think you could get this information for me from Professor Elliott?”
“This means you'd no longer be a Lone Ranger.”
“Well, what am I to do?”
“Here's a problem, Abu. If Elliott agrees to provide me with this information and I successfully transmit it to you, he would in effect become a traitor to the U.S. He's not likely to agree to play this role.”
