The next day we met with our aspiring author/clients. I can’t even describe the scene. Three guys of modest means were told that they were suddenly multi-millionaires.
Dee and I agreed that it was overkill for us to be in the Witness Protection Program any longer and we returned to our apartment after conferring with Rick Bellamy. Rick assigned an armed guard to watch our building.
Dee was in Wisconsin all day at one of her endless academic conferences. Her cell phone was turned off. I’ll wait till tonight to tell her about my big settlement in the wrongful imprisonment case.
Chapter 42
“Matt, it’s Jack Logan. How are you feeling, buddy? Hey, congratulations to you and Dee for getting Al Yamani that great book contract. I always worry that a person in the Witness Protection Program often wilts away and loses every skill he ever had. See if you can get a book deal for the other two guys. Oh, and also congratulations for settling the case against that scumbag Karam. I read that the amount of the settlement is strictly confidential, but I hope it was big.”
“Well, Jack, let me just say that I’m still smiling.”
“But that isn’t why I’m calling, Matt. I want you to come to New York to meet somebody important. Brush off your provisional FBI badge. My secretary will arrange your travel plans.”
“Who do you want me to meet, Jack?”
“A guy who you’ve heard me refer to—our mole, Imam Mike. He called and wants to meet me.”
“But isn’t he the guy you were worried about?” I said. “I recall you saying that the last time you saw him he lied to you.”
“Yes, and I have a feeling he wants to come clean about something,” said Logan. “I want you to meet him because you know as much about those NFL characters as anybody. I also want your skeptical mind on the case. Our friend Buster from the CIA will be at the meeting too, as well as Bennie Weinberg. We want a professional bullshit detector with us. How’s the day after tomorrow? Meet me at Federal Plaza at 10 a.m.”
***
Jack had told me that they always meet the mysterious Imam Mike at a restaurant in Central Park. But he thought this meeting might be extremely sensitive, so he told the imam to meet us at Federal Plaza in a heavy disguise. I’d been told that Imam Mike was a master of masquerades.
I sat in the conference room with Jack and Buster from the CIA. The Imam was due in two minutes. I looked at my watch.
“Don‘t worry,” Jack said. “Imam Mike is the most punctual guy I’ve ever met.”
We heard a knock on the door and Jack opened it. A guy with white hair and a flowing white beard walked in. He wore a blue uniform with National Cleaning Contractors stenciled on the front. As soon as Jack closed the door, the man pulled off his wig and the fake beard and tossed them onto a chair.
“I prefer your female costumes, Mike,” Buster said as he chuckled.
“Thanks, wiseass,” Mike said. “Hey, I notice that Bennie Weinberg, my favorite psychiatrist, is here. Do you guys think I need therapy?”
Jack introduced me to Imam Mike. The guy strode over to me, looked me square in the eye, and gave me a strong handshake.
“Nice to meet you, Matt. Heard a lot about you. Thanks to you and your wife, that Sideswipe Conspiracy went nowhere.”
“And a hell of a lot of thanks goes to you, Mike,” said Buster.
“It’s always nice to exchange pleasantries with you, Mike,” Jack Logan said, “but let’s get to the point. You asked for this meeting. What’s on your mind?”
“Whenever we get together,” Imam Mike said, “it’s because I’ve got something, some information that you guys want. Well this time it’s me who wants something.”
“What is it you want, Mike?” said Jack Logan, a slight frown appearing on his face.
“I want my fucking credibility back.”
“Are you referring to our last meeting when you lied to me and Buster?” Jack said.
“Of course. I was lying through my teeth and you guys knew I was doing it.”
I noticed Bennie Weinberg staring intently at Mike. Jack had told me that Imam Mike was a straight shooter. The only doubts they had about the guy was after the meeting they told us about.
“Mike, I’ve known you for a long time, a lot longer than Jack has,” Buster said. “Yes, we both knew you weren’t being straight with us.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Buster. I was fucking lying to you.”
“Okay, you lied. As soon as we brought up the NFL the Not For Long people, you shut up like a clam. Do you want to discuss that now?”
“Yes, and I’ll tell the truth. How’m I doin so far?”
Buster laughed.
“We’ll give you a truth-telling grade at the end of our meeting, and Bennie will sign off on it. So tell us what you know about this strange group of people, Mike.”
“Yes, there is a group of people known as NFL. I think the best way to describe them are radical reformers. Like me they got fed up with the endless slaughter of innocent people. They got fed up with a cultish belief in something that started in the Dark Ages. They got disgusted with Sharia law and its subjugation of women and dumbing down of children. NFL, as you know, stands for Not For Long. It means that they intend to stop radical Islam in its tracks, that its time is limited. But unlike me, they have turned to violence, big-time violence. They are one tough bunch of fuckers.”
“How did you hear about this group, Mike?” I asked.
“A lot of my contacts could be described as reformers, a whole lot. A few months ago, my contacts would talk about NFL in hushed tones, like they were afraid of something. Thing is, I’ve never heard any incident where one of these NFL types harmed anyone who wasn’t a radical. Whacking radical Islamists seems to be their reason for existence.”
“You may be interested to know, Mike, that I was kidnapped and drugged by some of these NFL types recently. They gave me sodium pentothal, truth serum, so they now know everything that I know.”
“Holy shit, Matt” said Mike. “Is that what your black eye is all about?”
Apparently Dee’s makeup had worn off during my flight.
“They didn’t beat me. The black eye is from me falling to the pavement, still drugged, after they released me. I’ll tell you more about it later, not that I have a lot to tell.”
“Mike,” Jack Logan said, “my wife is a homicide detective.”
“Yes, I know. She used to be with the Philadelphia Police Department, but recently took a job with the NYPD. She’s a very pretty woman if you don’t mind me adding.”
Buster cracked up. “And you people call me a spook. I’ve got nothing on Mike.”
“Yes, Bonnie is quite pretty, and thank you for saying so,” Logan said. “How did you meet her?”
“Every week or so in the newspapers, Jack.”
“Have you gleaned that Bonnie Logan seems to have developed a specialty of investigating mass killings of Muslims?” Logan said.
“Yes, I’ve gotten that from the papers,” said Mike. “She’s been the lead detective in some of the big recent killings.”
“There’s a big similarity that Bonnie has noticed in these shootings, and I’ve noticed it as well,” Logan said, “Care to guess what it is, Mike?”
“My guess is that they were all carried out with military precision. That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because the NFL is stuffed to the rafters with former military people, combat veterans mainly. My contacts have told me that in order to get into one of their elite units—yes, they have elite units—you have to be a combat vet.”
“I’m going to ask you a straight question, Mike,” said Buster. “Are you a member of NFL?”
“The simple answer is no, the complicated answer is ‘I don’t know.’ There’s no doubt about it, I share some of their values, but I don’t share their preference for violence. Nobody ever tried to recruit me, but I think that they see me as a fellow traveler, sort of like your client Al Yamani,
Matt.”
“You know about Al?” I said. “How can you know about Al?”
“They’ve been keeping his secrets hidden on the front pages of major newspapers, Matt. I know your guy is a budding novelist, and I know he’s a reformer, like me. I’ve read his first book, The Sands of Destruction. He’s a pretty good writer, but he risks getting beheaded every time he sits down at a keyboard. He’s really critical of radical Islam. I keep my mouth shut, as you guys well know, otherwise I’d go from being a useful mole to a dead mole. Your client, on the other hand, puts it right out there. I guess that’s why you have him in the Witness Protection Program.”
“How the hell did you know that?” Jack Logan asked, loudly.
“Hey, Jack. You guys are always amazed at the shit that I know. So I’ve just amazed you some more. But don’t worry, nobody seems to know his location. If I find out, I’ll call you immediately.”
“Okay, guys, before we go any further,” Jack said, “I want to summarize what we’ve been talking about. We know there’s an organization called NFL, which stands for Not For Long. They’re a group of radical reformers who aren’t afraid to kill jihadis in large numbers. Mike has told us that they like to recruit American combat veterans to conduct their raids. Would you guys say that about summarizes where we are right now?”
“Hey Jack,” said Imam Mike, “you haven’t mentioned the fucking 10-ton elephant in the room.”
“And what, pray tell, is the 10-ton elephant that I’ve been ignoring, Mike?”
“The big question, Jack—why should any of us care? The NFL is the lesser of two evils, no? Yes, they’re bad guys because they go around killing people, but they kill the right people.”
“I’ll give you the simple answer, Mike,” Logan said, “The three of us who you’re talking to have the responsibility to uphold the United States Constitution, including Matt, an attorney who’s been sworn in as a provisional FBI agent. I know that may sound like some corny high school civics stuff, but it’s no bullshit. We’re law enforcement, and we don’t get to pick sides.”
“All of which brings me to an important point,” said Imam Mike, “which I haven’t discussed so far. I’ve been fucking with your heads.”
“Mike, are you saying you’ve been lying to us again?” Buster asked.
“No, Buster, there’s a difference between lying and fucking with somebody’s head. I’ve been playing devil’s advocate with you guys, especially when I asked you if any of us should care about the NFL. I said that they’re the lesser of two evils, but I’m about to show you that they may be equally evil.”
I felt like an electric jolt went through the room. Mike, it was obvious, was about to drop a bomb.
“Something tells me you know a lot more about this NFL outfit than you’ve let on so far, Mike,” said Buster. “Can you tell us about its inner workings, its command and control, and most importantly, what they’re really up to?”
***
“NFL is an evil organization,” Mike said. “That’s the first thing you need to get into your heads. The Soviet Union fought the Nazis, but that didn’t make Stalin a cuddly puppy did it? So NFL kills radical Islamists. So far so good, but suddenly it starts to get weird, weird and scary. I told you that they actively recruit American combat veterans, and not just Americans. Here’s their goal, sweet and simple: They want to conquer and control the Middle East, especially the oil fields. The organization is run by one of the strangest and meanest bastards I’ve ever heard about. He goes by the name Bartholomew. His last name is Martin, but he never uses it. He’s a genius, plain as that. He graduated from Annapolis, then went to Navy SEAL training. He finished up his service as a SEAL lieutenant. He’s one of the richest people in the world. Bartholomew is the head of a securities outfit called Metro Metrics. They’re right here in Manhattan. On the side, he runs one of the most successful hedge funds in the country. Ever hear about some dude running a big hedge fund on the side? He financially supports a lot of the operations of NFL, but don’t think of him as a philanthropist. And don’t think of him as a reformer like Martin Luther. Think of him as Benito Mussolini. He’s looking for hearts and minds, but only as a road to power, and once he gets it we’ll long for the good old days of Osama bin Laden.”
“Mike,” said Jack Logan, “how do you know so much about this guy?”
“From two of my most trusted contacts. They both used to work for him, starting when he was a vice president of Amazon. They followed him to Metro Metrics, and almost to the NFL. They backed off big time once they figured out what he was up to. Both of these guys, like me, are fed up with radical Islam, but they told me some stuff about Bartholomew that scares the hell out of me.”
“I’m surprised Al Yamani or one of the other bombing defendants never mentioned his name to me,” I said.
“I’m sure they never heard of him,” Mike said. “Remember, my contacts came up through the corporate ranks with this guy. He’s secretive to a point of invisibility. Just Google him and you’ll see what I mean. Very little information is out there on this man, which is surprising for a CEO of a successful investment company.”
Mike,” Buster said, “can you tell us some more about this Bartholomew so I can try to wrap my head around this guy?”
“Besides secrecy, Bartholomew is obsessed with collecting data. He learned that at Amazon, a company famous for knowing everything about everything. He reprimands people when they express opinions, asking them instead for numbers to back up their assertions.”
“Do your contacts think he’s dangerous?” I asked. “I mean because they left him, are they afraid he’ll do something?”
“I wish I could be more specific, but my guys tell me that occasionally someone would simply disappear under strange circumstances, including Bartholomew’s fourth and most recent wife. From what they say, his tactics aren’t like ISIS, but he takes care of business with a hammer when he needs to.”
“Mike, talk to me about recruiting,” Buster said. “Over the years we’ve all become experts in how radical Islam recruits people. They look for young disaffected people without a purpose in life. Maybe they’re unemployed, but that’s not necessarily so. We’ve seen plenty of fresh-faced young jihadis who came from comfortable middle class families. Radical Islam gives them a purpose, a cause to live for. And they also throw in 72 virgins on the side to sweeten the deal. Most of their recruiting seems to come from radical websites, which we track carefully at the CIA.”
“Buster,” Mike said, “have you noticed recently that a lot of the radical websites have gone dark, like disappeared?”
“Godammit, you’re right. We’ve noticed a bunch of these sites disappearing over the past month or so. Are you saying that this NFL outfit could be taking them down? That would take a hell of a lot of technological know-how.”
“And they have a hell of a lot of technological know-how,” Mike said. “Remember I told you that they only recruit combat veterans for front line duty? Well, they also do heavy recruiting for back-office support.”
“Okay, let’s narrow this to an important point,” Bennie Weinberg said. “What is it that NFL can provide that the romanticism of radical Islam can’t?
“Two things, ideology and money.” Mike said. “First is the issue of ideology. NFL offers these young people a variation of what radical Islam does; a cause, a reason to live. The NFL people point to the jihadis and convince skeptical young minds that NFL provides a way to combat evil, the evil of strict Sharia law, and the evil of killing innocent people. It may not have the romantic appeal of an ideology from the Dark Ages, but it is a cause. And, unlike Sharia law, these young men aren’t told to keep their dicks in their pants. The second thing that the NFL offers these kids is money—a lot of money. Besides his vast hedge fund wealth, Bartholomew has been active in investing in oil production, refining, and sales. NFL has effective ownership of three large oil fields in Kurdistan, and a refining facility in good old New Jersey. They also own a few gold min
es in Africa. The oil money alone supports the salaries of a huge number of recruits. Good money, regular money. I’m telling you guys, this Bartholomew is one smooth motherfucker.”
“So if I understand you, Mike,” Jack Logan said, “Bartholomew and the NFL want to gradually nudge out or kill radical Islam and replace it with themselves.”
“That pretty much sums it up, Jack. Soon we’re going to see political entities, actual states, run by Bartholomew and his NFL, although not under that name. And don’t expect those states to be liberal democracies,” said Mike. “More like fascist dictatorships. We’ll see one totalitarian regime replaced by another.”
“I’ve got to take this to the White House,” Jack Logan said. “Keep a toothbrush packed and ready guys.”
Chapter 43
A week after my meeting with Imam Mike, I spent a night in Dallas, Texas, where I went to take a deposition on one of my personal injury cases. I opened the door of our apartment at 6:15. Dee wasn’t there to greet me as usual.
“Hey, hon, I’m back from the Lone Star State,” I yelled.
She walked into the room holding her iPhone. She looked angry about something, angrier than I’d ever seen her.
The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) Page 18
