by Camden Mays
“We should have a full background to review within the hour.”
“OK. Four different members attending this conference in LA. I don’t like it. Even if this kid at UCLA is clean.”
“Exactly, we thought about having the FBI field agents pull them all in for questioning there in LA, but it could backfire. Instead the FBI is setting up a massive undercover surveillance operation of the four targets as well as the convention center.”
“Makes sense.”
“Did you get what you needed from our Israeli friends?” McCune questioned.
“Yes, thank you for making that call.” Cameron was referring to the text he had sent her earlier that day asking if she could work her connections to get additional intel on al-Himyari from the Mossad. He again nodded to Bridgette.
“Yes, ma’am. With the help of the Israeli Intelligence team, we were able to put some missing pieces in al-Himyari’s background. We had known about his wife and children, but we also learned that he had a sister and family that suffered in Afghanistan as well. The brother-in-law was killed as part of the resistance early in Operation Enduring Freedom during a raid on the village of Ghazi Khan.
“The sister and nephew believed to be around eight years old at that time fled to Turkey as refugees. The sister died in the refugee camp; she was found beaten to death. Before she was killed, she had reported that men in the camp, presumably al-Qaida or early ISIS were attempting to influence her son, al-Himyari’s nephew. The nephew disappears into the refuge orphan system, and that’s the last we know about him.
“Oh, and we also discovered that al-Himyari was trained in explosives by Ibrahim al-Asiri before he was killed in our drone strike. So that could explain the ISIS bomb signature in Tucson.”
“Al-Asiri was no joke.” Someone vented.
Everyone nodded in agreement knowing the ISIS master bomb maker’s reputation.
“And you have some information on the notebook?” McCune looked at her watch, knowing she had to speed this up.
Walsh, the analyst, teamed up with Sinha, jumped in.
“I’ll keep it, brief ma’am. The four digits are the last four in preassigned burner phone numbers or numbers on sim cards. The five colors or pages identify the cell group associated with the phone numbers and the numbers one through thirty represent the day of the month that particular phone number would be live.”
“How did you get the phone numbers?” Hannah questioned.
“We pushed area code and prefixes of the location on all of the numbers of the groups under surveillance and got matches from earlier this month. For instance, on the tenth of this month, a call originating from Yemen called this number which we have pinged in Seattle.”
He pointed to the screen.
“Here on the blue page on the tenth, you see that last four digits match. We found calls to all five suspected groups. We assumed each group seems to have had a designated area code and prefix, so we pinged the numbers assigned for each group yesterday and today. Each ping landed us in the location. We believe each month of the Islamic calendar they had a new batch of numbers.”
“OK. I think I understand the ‘how’ it was done now. Do have any information on ‘what’ is being communicated?”
“The FBI has warrants coming through for the phone records, but I think that won’t produce much that we don’t already know. But now that we have actual numbers to reference, the NSA is working to scan any recordings of conversations.”
“OK. Good work everyone. Sorry, I’m late for the JTTF call.”
McCune tugged at Cameron’s good arm.
“Walk with me to my office please.”
Fortunately, McCune’s office was on the same floor, but it was nearly to the other side of the building. They strolled briskly to their destination.
“Any update on Grant Ramsey? Anything from the CCTV scans?”
“Nothing on my end, but I’ll see if Jacobs has anything from the FBI.”
“Cole, I’d really love for us to get to him first, but I’ve put other resources on Ramsey, so you stay focused on the AIJB.”
“Understood.” Cameron’s cell beeped with a text from Amy. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to get back there.”
“Keep me updated.”
“Copy that, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 19
Los Angeles, CA
Reen’s roommate was frantically trying to get someone to pay attention to her pleas for help. Since she lived off campus, the UCLA police department referred her to the West Los Angeles Police station. There she tried to explain her concerns for her missing roommate. She gave her statement to the desk watch, and the female officer nonchalantly looked over the information.
“Ma’am, just leave the report with your contact information, and someone will get back to you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, right now!” she screamed causing heads at the station to turn.
“Look at the text message.”
The officer sighed.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down. Leave the report, and someone will get in touch with you later.”
“I’m not fucking leaving here! I need someone to help me! Why don’t you get off your lazy fat ass and do something!”
The large officer stood up from her chair.
“Ma’am I’ve asked you nicely to leave, and I will taser your ass if you do not comply. Do you understand me?”
“That’s bullshit!” came a shout from the waiting area.
“You're threatening that skinny little white girl. I’m a witness to it.” The gang banger pointed with his tattooed arm.
“That’s right bitch,” shouted his female partner. “You better set your ass down, or I’ll file another lawsuit against this mother fucking place.”
By now, other officers were stirring about, when a uniformed officer in his late thirties stepped into the fray.
“Everybody, calm down,” he yelled with his arms extended gaining control of the room.
“I’m Sergeant, Bowman,” he said extending his hand to Reen’s roommate.
“Come with me, and I’ll see if I can’t help you.”
✽✽✽
Counterterrorism Center - Langley
“You’re not going to believe this.” Amy had been waiting for Cameron to come back in.
“What is it?”
Hannah jumped in, “I just got off the phone with Sergeant Bowman of the LAPD. A couple of hours ago he took a missing person report at their West LA office. The missing person is a UCLA student who was attempting to see her boyfriend, get this, Hasim Rajar.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, it gets better, the girlfriend texted her roommate that her boyfriend’s uncle was there and acting strangely. The police sent over a squad car; the landlord let them in, the place smelled of ammonia and bleach. When Bowman entered the suspect's name in the system, our POI popped up, and he called it in.”
“You think the Uncle could be al-Himyari?
“The age works,” Bridgette said.
Hannah nodded.
“Well, Bowman said the apartment community had camera’s up so we're trying to see if we can get a shot of Hasim or the uncle. I’ve sent a couple of agents from the LA office over to meet Bowman there.”
Cameron paused for a moment and slowly nodded his head in thought.
“Yep,” Hannah said in agreement. “We need to get out there.”
Cameron looked at her bruised hand. “Jason and I can handle this.”
“Screw that,” Hannah said. “I’m officially your liaison, remember.”
“I think I can get more done here, Cole,” Amy said.
“I agree. Keep everyone moving along.”
“You want me to contact Hernandez?
“No, we need to get moving. No time to waste.”
“We have the plane again at Andrews,” Hannah said.
“Really?” Albright asked.
“What can I say the logistics guys
really like me.”
“I’ll say,” Amy deadpanned.
Cameron looked at Hannah’s outfit.
“You guys have go-bags?”
“In the car.”
“OK, I’ll meet you at the elevator in ten minutes, going to try and catch McCune.”
✽✽✽
Los Angeles, CA
Hasim completed the arrangements in the second room he reserved for the others. He left the large suitcases in place and hung the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. He sent a text to four designated cell numbers using a different sim card for each text, giving them the room number, 867 where they could pick up their device. He then removed the last sim card and battery from the phone and dumped them into the trash bin on the housekeeper’s cart in the hall.
Back in his room on the twenty-third floor, he stood at the window and panned the horizon. The sun was slowly setting in the hazy orange sky filled with the exhaust emissions of the gluttonous city. He ordered room service to avoid unnecessary public exposure.
Turning the TV on to the local news, he gasped when he saw his picture and that of his uncle as suspects in the disappearance of a UCLA student. He stared at the TV as they gave details. When the storyline moved to a different report, he switched to another channel trying to ascertain how much they had learned. How had they pegged him so quickly?
A knock at the door broke Hasim’s thoughts. Anxiety rattled his body. Had he been discovered? He eased toward the door when a second knock hit.
“Room Service.”
A small sense of relief rolled over Hasim. “Leave it at the door, please,” he said peering through the tiny spyglass in the door.
“We really can’t do that, sir,” the server said. “Would you like me to come back later?”
“No, please I am not feeling well. I will need to cancel my order.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But no problem, we’ll take the order back.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Hasim realized he was on borrowed time. The engineer in him demanded order and precision. He felt panicked at the thought of the intricate details of their plans that required revisions. He took deep breaths and reminded himself that his uncle warned him of unforeseen challenges.
Hasim recalled his three primary objectives:
First, ensure the devices get in the hands of the other members. Second, use one of the apparatus himself at UCLA on as large and influential of a population as possible. Finally but of utmost importance to Hasni himself, make sure that the UCLA attack results in the inevitable death of one particular student, Jessica Cameron.
Pacing the floor rubbing his hands, he contemplated his options. He had been instructed to go dark after providing the room number of the devices to his associates. The decisions and the consequences were now all his. What would Khal want me to do?
The first objective seems safe now, he reasoned. The suitcases sat in another room. The room was booked under the pseudo-identities provided, not linking his name. He had worn sunglasses and a cap that should make it difficult for anyone to recognize him. His common features worked in his favor.
The plans for completing the attack at UCLA would need to change. His cover was still intact, but he would need to revise the timetable and target.
Originally, Hasim’s assigned target was the audience attending a highly publicized speech by the former Secretary of State at the Pavilion. Jessica Cameron would be there as part of a requirement for her Poly Sci class.
He had researched the details and knew every step to complete to ensure success. The service van, uniform and access cards with the logo of maintenance service providers contracted by the University would still play.
But now, as a wanted man, the likelihood of lasting seven days for the scheduled event was not a wager he was willing to make.
His romance with Reen had cost him the advantage. He cursed her. His uncle had been right. He needed to figure out a way to accomplish his objectives and make restitution for his wayward behavior.
A thought came to him. He dug into his backpack and found the piece of paper from his original research. It would be risky, but it was a way forward for him.
✽✽✽
INFLIGHT
Before takeoff from Andrews, the three westbound team members changed into more casual wear and prepared for the long cross-country flight. The pilots estimated arrival at Los Angeles to be 21:50. Still late, even though they picked up three hours with the time zone change.
They were scheduled to be picked up by an FBI field agent and escorted directly to the FBI office on Wilshire Boulevard to work with the local team to prepare for the coordination of surveillance at the Islamic Conference and efforts to locate Hasim and al-Himyari.
On the flight over, they received updates from the team and continued working the leads. Cameron could not help but think about his daughter a UCLA sophomore. This threat was too close to her for his comfort.
He sent a note to Grace, without giving her any details and suggested that Jess stay in DC until things blew over. He wanted her to be OK with the idea but knew it was Jess’ call to make, and that would be a tough sell.
His body ached, his eyes were red, and waves of pure exhaustion came over him. He was getting edgy and tired of the friggin’ sling for his shoulder injury and these long ass days were wearing him down. In frustration, he pulled the sling off and tossed it over his satchel in the seat next to him.
Jacobs and Albright sat directly across from him with the work table between them. Hannah gave him a concerned look and Albright, not knowing any better, said, “shouldn’t you keep that on?”
Cameron shot him a dirty look.
“I can barely type with two hands, trying to do it with one and a half is ridiculous.”
“Wow, how old are you?” Hannah joked.
Another dirty look flew.
“Sorry!”
“Hey, we might have something,” Cameron said, opening the encrypted email.
“Amy says four of the five groups received a text to the numbers designated for today. Originating in LA, but the text is just a number, 867.”
Hannah scrolled to the email on her laptop. “Yeah, interesting that it is the same number to all four but sent in separate messages from a different originating number.”
“It sure seems like something’s going down with these four, right?”
“Well, from what I understand there’s a force of nearly a hundred people from the FBI. That whole area is going to be covered like a blanket. If something is happening, we’ll get them,” Hannah said with assurance.
Albright added, “The hotline in LA is getting flooded with calls related to Hasim and al-Himyari. The challenge is sifting through to find what’s credible. A missing young pretty college student pulls at the hearts of people.”
“Yeah, but we’re starting to see some leaks about the Feds involvement as well. Hope this doesn’t get away from us.”
Cameron sat quietly realizing his role was secondary now. The ball was in the court of the FBI to bring this to a conclusion. His purpose here was to advise on the AIJB group and assist in the questioning if suspects were apprehended. The Attorney General had made it clear that he wanted a strong case to prosecute in the court of law. But his thoughts drifted. They all resumed working individually on their laptops.
“I can’t imagine,” Cameron said after a couple of minutes.
“Your daughter?” Hannah asked.
Cameron nodded, then gazed out the window into the darkness with clouds illuminated by the moon and stars.
Soon fatigue won out. Cameron’s chin dropped to his chest as he fell asleep sitting upright. Albright and Jacobs chuckled. Albright eased up and removed a blanket from the back cabin and covered him up.
“Cute, I should take a picture of you two together,” Hannah said.
“What?”
“Or you could see how many things you can put on his head before he wakes up.”
“What?
No way, he’d kill me.”
She pulled her phone out and snapped a picture anyway. “Jason.” Hannah motioned for Albright to join her for a selfie as they both leaned in with Cameron in the middle. They got a good laugh, and she couldn’t wait to use it on Cole.
Then Cameron grunted, and the expression on his resting face turned to one of anguish. His eyes darted back and forth under his eyelids, and Hannah recognized the symptoms.
He sat in the back seat on the passenger’s side. He saw the driver turn and fire the Ruger into the head of Amir. The loud blast deafening him and everything became a blur as he drew his Glock from his leg holster and in slow motion, squeezed round after round through the seat back and into the driver. He watched the drivers’ eyes widen in horror as the brass bullets hit one after another into his torso and finally his neck and head.
A bump. He is on one knee with bullets flying in slow motion all around him, seeing his target through the red dot sight, he puts two in him, watching the body fall lifeless. Feeling the breeze of a bullet that just missed his head, he spins to his right and squeezes, the first bullet hit his target in the shoulder and spun him just as the second bullet hit him the back.
A bump. He’s carrying Baker over his shoulder. Feeling the weight of the Navy Seal’s body. His thighs feel like mush. Debris if flying around him. The stench of Baker’s burnt flesh filled his nostrils. His chest is pounding; he is breathing hard.
A bump. There’s the thump in the back, and a pain shoots through his left shoulder as he falls to the ground dropping the burnt blood-soaked fighter.
"Uaah!" uttered Cameron as he was jolted out of his nightmare.
The plane had caught turbulence, and Cameron was jarred against the window side of the aircraft. He rubbed his sore shoulder and tried to collect himself and felt embarrassed. Probably sawed some logs, he thought.
