A Time of Fear: Book Three of The Time Magnet Series

by Russell Moran

  For the past few weeks I’ve hated Joseph Monahan. After I found out he was one of the conspirators I hated him with an intensity I didn’t know I had. But as I spoke to him I found it hard not to feel pity. But that’s not what I was there for. I was there to see if Joe Monahan could help us avoid the approaching disaster.

  “Joe,” I said, stepping into the truck-wide breach he had opened, “what happened to you?”

  “Janice, Honey, I’ve been asking myself that question for years.”

  It must have been 10 years since he’s called me “Honey.”

  “I lost my mind in a belief system that I confused with religion. It all came so natural, one logical building block piling on top of the next one, until there came a time when blowing up an aircraft carrier with 5,000 people on it seemed like a next step, a simple extension of where my mind was heading all those years.”

  “Did you ever change your mind,” I asked, “did you ever question what you were about to do?”

  “Yes, I did. I started to have doubts. It started years ago. I have been trained and indoctrinated for years that non-Muslims were heathen, and that the true path of God called on me to do whatever I could to destroy them.”

  “Destroy them?” I said. “Do you include me in the word them?”

  He started to cry again. I realized that I had to steer this conversation away from emotional issues.

  “Yes, you,” he said. “Can you believe that my twisted beliefs turned me against you, the woman I love? I thought of you, like the others, as a barbarian. But as the day of the attacks approached, I started to have real doubts. As I did my work aboard ship, I would look at my fellow crewmembers and think about the plan to kill them. I started to wonder who the real barbarian was. Can a just and loving God inflict such suffering? You often took me with you to Mass. In my radical mind I put up with it, although I thought it was an apostasy. But as my doubts crept in I started to read the Bible you kept next to the bed. Then I met that guy Father Rick Sampson, a good friend of Captain Patterson. I started to like him and we even had lunch a few times. He has such a simple joyous love of God. When I would ask him why he loved Jesus so much, he would say things like, ‘Hey, Jesus loves me, and he loves you, so I’m just reciprocating.’ When I asked him if Jesus helped him, he said that he couldn’t live without Jesus. I remember Father Rick’s favorite expression, ‘Give it up for God.’ Father Rick lives a religion of joy.”

  “Janice?”

  “Yes, Joe.”

  “Would it be possible for me to see Father Rick again?”

  “I will try to make that happen,” I said. I meant it.

  “But Joe, were you prepared to carry through with the plan even though you started having doubts?”

  “No, absolutely not. I wasn’t going to go through my part of it, and I had begun to take steps to make sure none of the other Navy men did their jobs. You Thanksgiving Gang people thwarted the plan, but I would have stopped it if you hadn’t.”

  I hoped Bennie was in high alert on the other side of the mirror. There was no diagram for how this conversation was supposed to go, so I figured that it was time to get to the most important issue of all, the upcoming attacks.

  “Joe, do you know anything about another series of Thanksgiving Attacks, a Plan B, so to speak?”

  “Janice, you’ve come to the most important question of all. The answer is yes, I do know about the upcoming attacks. If I may make a suggestion?”

  “Go ahead, Joe.”

  “I assume that on the other side of that one-way mirror are agents of the FBI or the CIA. May I suggest that they join us? There isn’t much time before the attacks.”

  Chapter 22

  Within 30 seconds of Joe’s suggestion, Ben and Buster walked in. I was glad to have some professional firepower in the room. Introductions were obviously up to me. Before they came into the room Buster said into my ear piece that I was not to tell Joe that Bennie is known as the Bullshit Detector.

  “This is Benjamin Weinberg, a detective with the NYPD and currently Deputy Agent with the CIA. Agent Gamal Akhbar is a senior CIA Agent. We call him Buster.”

  Because Joe’s hand shackles prevented him from extending a hand, or even standing up, they all just nodded toward each other. I moved my chair to the right to enable Buster and Ben to sit directly across from Joe.

  ***

  “Mr. Monahan,” said Buster, “we’re hoping that you can help us prevent an unthinkable disaster. From what we’ve heard, I think you may be the key to stopping the attacks. My first question involves your position with al Qaeda. Are you a leader or do you hold the same status as the other naval officers?”

  “Yes,” said Joe. “I am in a leadership position, I’m ashamed to admit. I know much more detail than the other officers.”

  “Do you know where, when, and how the plan will be executed?” said Buster. “Do you know where the bombs are?”

  “No, I don’t know where the bombs are.”

  Bennie tapped Buster on the sleeve, signaling that he wanted to ask the next question. Bennie had caught a whiff of bullshit.

  “Mr. Monahan,” said Bennie, “you say that you’re in a leadership position, but yet you say that you don’t know the most important part of the puzzle, where the bombs are. Please explain.”

  “Gentlemen, al Qaeda has been studying the American military and law enforcement for years. In the Navy, as well as the CIA, there’s a critical doctrine known as ‘need to know.’ You guys are totally familiar with this rule, I’m sure. It’s a simple but important part of security. The fewer people who know a secret, the less the chance of it being leaked. Plan B has not yet been fully explained to me. I can tell you that the plant that holds the bombs is similar to the one in Detroit, only somewhat smaller. I can also tell you that the bombs have a much higher yield than the one- kiloton weapons meant for the ships. The Plan B bombs are10-kilotons, close to the size of the Hiroshima bomb. They are also suitcase nukes, each one weighing about 100 pounds. But the one thing that I do not know, because I didn’t yet have the need to know, is where the bombs are located.”

  “Mr. Monahan,” Buster said, “sometimes problems are solved or at least uncovered by the smallest bits of information. Please think, is there anything that came to your attention

  in the past few months that may be significant, even if you don’t understand it. Countless innocent people will die unless we can find the answer.”

  “Believe me sir, I want to help. I don’t want blood on my hands; I don’t want the dead weighing on me. But I can only give you the information I have.”

  Bennie was staring at Joe so intently I thought he’d burn a hole in his head. He was scribbling notes so fast I thought his pad would catch on fire.

  I decided to weigh in.

  “We used to play chess a lot,” I said. “I’ve never been able to beat Joe. He memorized the board. Also, if I ever mentioned to him that I was missing something and I thought it may be in the basement, Joe would be able to locate it in an instant in his mind. When it comes to objects, words, or images, Joe has a photographic memory.”

  Buster then looked at Joe and each of us.

  Joe rubbed his face, his shackles tinkling as he did so. Buster started to ask him a question, but Joe closed his eyes and held his hands palm out as if to say, “please let me think.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Joe in a loud voice. “I have no idea of the location, but I definitely recall seeing an aerial photograph of the ‘Plan B’ bomb plant. Do you have any graph paper? I can sketch it for you.”

  I’m never without graph paper. Call me nuts, but to pass time I often sketch industrial designs of a project I’m working on. I handed Joe a piece of graph paper. Bennie opened the table drawer and found a pencil.

  “Okay,” said Joe, “I’ve got a clear image in my mind of what the area looked like.”

  I noticed Buster suddenly lean back, crack his knuckles, and stare at the ceiling, smiling. He looked like a guy who j
ust won a poker hand.

  “Janice,” Monahan said, “You’re the engineer. I’ll describe the images and you do the drawing.”

  One of the structures, apparently a tank of some sort, was round, it’s diameter almost as wide as the width of the bomb plant. We were all thinking the obvious: satellite images. The more details in the drawing, the easier to detect it from space or from a surveillance drone.

  I chimed in, giving my perspective as an engineer.

  “Joe, can you give us any idea about the dimensions of what I’m drawing?”

  “Yes,” said Joe, “I do know that the width of the plant is exactly the same width as the Detroit building. The visual ratios of all the other buildings and structures are correct; they’re burned into my memory.”

  “Bingo,” I yelled. “We’ve found the Rosetta Stone! We have an image of what the place looks like from above.”

  Buster splashed some cold water on my enthusiasm.

  “We’re a hell of a lot closer than we were a few minutes ago,” said Buster, “But I remind you that this is a gigantic country. Satellites are great, but the amount of data we have to sift through is enormous.”

  Buster then announced it was time for a break. He wanted to scan the drawing and send it to his team at CIA headquarters.

  Chapter 23

  I called Max Williams, the warden, and asked if we could have a few sandwiches delivered. The CIA Director had clued him in that we were involved in something critical, and that he may have to bend a few rules. Max is a team player and couldn’t be more helpful, even though room service isn’t on the normal list of Leavenworth amenities.

  Buster called to the guard and told him to unshackle Joe’s hands. The guard cleared it with the warden and unleashed our talkative prisoner.

  Joe seemed pleased to be uncuffed, as he massaged his wrists and thanked Buster. Then Buster reminded him that we’re all armed, so it really wasn’t much of a security breach. Joe actually laughed.

  ***

  Before we broke for lunch, Ben, Buster, and I huddled for a quick conference out of Joe’s hearing range.

  “Bennie,” said Buster, “next to Monahan, you’re the most important guy in this building. Tell us, Dr. Bullshit Detector, are we hearing the truth?”

  “Like I always tell people,” Bennie said, “my job is to find out if the witness believes what he’s saying. If he doesn’t, he’s lying. I have a 12-part checklist of things I look for, including eye contact, perspiration, hand movements, vocal inflections and other key ingredients. I could go under oath right now and put my medical license in escrow. This guy is telling the truth. No bullshit whatsoever. If he’s lying, your friendly shrink, Bennie Weinberg, has met his match.

  After lunch, we planned to learn a lot more about what my husband knows. I think we’d all like to hear his thoughts on Frank Thompson, aka Ayham Abboud. I knew I did. Bennie thinks Monahan seemed comfortable with me, and wanted me to continue to be a part of the interview.

  Buster agreed. Well I’m glad Bennie thinks Joe feels comfortable with me. I’m still adjusting to this whole surreal experience about me being in the same room as Joe, a man who, until today, I deeply hated. I’m about to play the heavy again, and the knot in my stomach tells me so. Once again, I’m frightened, I admit it. I better watch my tongue. Fear turns my language obscene. No shit.

  Buster decided to leave Joe unshackled for the rest of the meeting. Good move I thought. He seems to open up more with his hands free, which should come as no surprise.

  Chapter 24

  “Joe,” I began, “please tell us what you know about a man named Ayham Abboud.”

  “I’ve known him for over 20 years, ever since I was a high school senior. As you all know from your investigations, four other American kids and I went on a school trip to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia in 1994. The trip was run by an outfit called The Center for Open-Minded Youth and funded, I later learned, by the government of Saudi Arabia.”

  “Do you have any thoughts you’d like to share about The Center for Open-Minded Youth?” I asked.

  “Sure,” said Joe. “It was really nothing more than a brainwashing organization, a little group designed to foster homegrown American moles, future terrorists. Dr. Weinberg, as a psychiatrist you would be impressed by the many ways they infiltrated our minds.”

  “Was Ayham Abboud one of the mind infiltrators?” I asked.

  “Ayham Abboud has always been a mystery to me, although I really liked the guy and looked up to him like he was my big brother. The other kids did as well. Ayham was just a few years older than us, spoke perfect English; well, he was American, and was able to relate to all of us, and us to him. I’d have to say that he was one of the mind infiltrators, but there was something about the man that just seemed so natural. I know this sounds crazy, given all the evidence, but I always felt that he was just going through the motions, like he had an agenda that was different from what it appeared to be.”

  “Did you see him over the years, or was Riyadh your last contact with him?”

  “Oh, definitely I saw him, at least twice a year. He was the one who convinced all of us that we should become naval officers, our alternate identity. In the early years we didn’t know why, but about two years ago we learned of the Thanksgiving plot. When he told me about the operation, he seemed almost deadpanned, like he was delivering words somebody else gave him. So he introduced me to a future of mass murder, and it was then that I began to have doubts. I should hate the guy, and this is going to sound completely insane, but I still kind of like him.

  To tell you the truth, I have a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t want the attacks to happen either. Just a gut feeling, but it’s there.”

  “Beside your gut feeling, Joe, is there any objective reason that you think Abboud may have turned against the plan?”

  “Well, yes, definitely yes, an objective reason.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “He’s missing, disappeared, gone. He was supposed to be one of the top men in the plot, but about a month ago he just vanished.”

  “Was the al Qaeda leadership concerned about his disappearance?”

  “Concerned? They went nuts. Look, there are two possible explanations. One, he could have been killed by the CIA.”

  Joe looked at Buster, who didn’t blink or say a word.

  “The second possibility is that he was taken out by al Qaeda, and they’re just faking their worries about him. From what I could tell, he knew everything about the operation. If he’s alive, I hope he realizes that there’s a big target on his back.”

  “Do you know that for certain,” Buster interjected, “or are you speculating?”

  “Just speculating. Again, ‘need to know’ is the policy. So, anyway, I hope he’s okay. I know it sounds weird, but there’s something about the guy that I still like to this day.”

  “He’s doing just fine,” said Buster.

  What did I just hear? Bennie and I looked at each other like we just saw, or heard, a ghost. Frank’s identity is supposed to be Tippety Top Secret, and here’s Buster telling Joe that he knows “Abboud” is alive. Well, Buster’s the boss and this is his call.

  Joe looked at Buster wide-eyed, more surprised by what he just heard than Bennie and me.

  “I’m sure it’s out of my place to ask,” said Joe, “but if I may, how do you know that Ayham is alive and well. Do you have him in custody?”

  “Yes, it is out of your place to ask,” said Buster. “You will learn more soon.”

  We’d been talking for six hours, and it was 4 PM. Buster announced that it was a wrap for today.

  “Okay, folks, we have a lot of work to do. We’re going to meet with Mr. Monahan again soon, but for now we’re going to call it a day.”

  “Joe, I’ll be in touch with you shortly,” said Buster. “Before 10 AM this morning I thought of you as a terrorist killer. Whatever brought about your awakening, I just thank God it happened.”

  “If you don’t
mind,” I said, “I just have one more question, based on what Buster just said. Was there one thing that convinced you to turn away from terror?”

  “Yes, there was one primary motivation for my awakening, one person. His name is Sheik Abbas Haddad and he is now in charge of the operation. I’ve observed his actions

  and speeches over the years. He’s a man who kills for the love of killing, as ruthless a human being as you can imagine. Unlike me, he is a man without doubts.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” said Buster.

  Our meeting with Joe Monahan finally came to a close. He was led away by the guards after we exchanged what can only be described as a friendly goodbye. Buster reminded him that we would need to talk to him again soon.

  “Okay folks,” said Buster, “our plane, via Air CIA is waiting for us at the airport. We’ll fly directly to Langley. Get some sleep on the flight, because we’ll be meeting with Director Carlini as soon as we get there.”

  Buster made a quick secure briefing call to Director Carlini, who likes to know in advance what a meeting is all about. After this mess is over, you will have to pay me a lot of money to sit in another meeting.

  Chapter 25

  The meeting I dreaded finally happened. Seeing my husband was an event that had me scared out of my wits. Thank God for Bennie for helping to make it a bit more tolerable. But when we all got the shock, the shock that Joe Monahan had actually turned and wanted to help us, we were in a state of stunned disbelief. My fear of meeting him has now been replaced with a strange numbness. I’m emotional roadkill.

  I’ve always loved animals and feel terrible whenever I see one suffer, whether it’s a dog, a bird, or a squirrel. I guess that goes for human animals as well. I saw Joe suffering, and although I deeply hated him before the meeting, I now feel a strange sadness.

  I also feel a sense of completion. Besides hating Joe Monahan, I was also tearing myself apart. After all, I was the one who married the guy. But after our meeting I know that I married a man who went astray, big time, but he’s also a man who has a heart and decided to reclaim his humanity and help prevent suffering, not cause it.