by Camden Mays
“You OK?” Hannah asked.
Cameron reached in his bag and grabbed a prescription bottle.
“Pain meds?”
“Anti-inflammatory. Shoulder. Forgot to take them today.”
“You sure you’re OK? I mean…I know you went through hell.”
“Yeah, so did you.”
“I know, but I saw parts of the report.”
“Huh? How did you get the report? It’s classified.”
“I didn’t say I got the report; I just said I saw the report. Looked intense.”
He gave her a wry look.
Cameron grabbed the bottle of water sitting in the holder in front of him. He took a swig and shook his head. As he gathered his thoughts, he realized he had a blanket on him. He held the edges up, looked at Hannah and sheepishly muttered, “thank you.”
“Psh! Wasn’t me,” she said pointing her thumb at Albright.
“Oh…thanks Jason,” he said turning red with embarrassment.
“Yeah, I’m not really the care giving type, if you haven’t figured that out already.”
“That’s OK, as long I’ve got Jason.” Cameron winked as he regained his composure.
“McCune wants you to call,” Albright said.
“Geez, how long was I out?”
“Maybe an hour. We’re landing in about thirty minutes. And the captain wanted to know if you would like to see the cockpit and get a set of wings.”
“Oh God, I’m never going to live this down.”
“She took a picture,” Albright said, wanting nothing to do with it.
“And I recorded the snoring, too.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“What are you, a hundred? You sure sound a hundred.”
Cameron raised his eyebrow. “Was it that bad?”
Hannah widened her eyes and nodded her head back and forth. Albright shrugged, and offered condolences, “it wasn’t that bad.”
“OK, sorry about that,” Cameron said and then started packing things up for the landing. He fastened his seat belt, and Hannah smiled at him as she buckled in across from him. This girl is an enigma, he thought. Either she is letting her guard down with playful banter, or she is trying to say we’re just friends. I hope it’s not just friends, he thought.
It was nearly midnight by the time the team concluded the meeting at the FBI Division office on Wilshire Boulevard. An FBI agent drove them east on the 10 and then north on the 110 exiting just north of the Convention Center. They decided staying closer to the surveillance operation at the conference was a better option than somewhere near Westwood.
The FBI point team on the surveillance had set up a post at the Luxe Hotel and worked to establish camera feeds from everything around the Convention Center area. Between the conference and agency personnel, the hotels in the area were near capacity. The Hilton on Grand was the closest available option for their stay.
CHAPTER 20
INTERSTATE 40 - Arizona
For nearly half an hour, al-Himyari watched the same semi-truck get close and then fall back. He swore it was the same truck behind him that he had jockeyed back and forth with earlier that morning when he left the rest stop.
He decided to pull off at the next off-ramp, fill up the tank and let the truck pass. The mileage sign showed Winslow six miles ahead. Later came the billboard for a name brand truck stop. That will be his exit.
Al-Himyari pulled the car around to the pumps and began filling up. He kept his head down but watched as cars and trucks came and went, the drivers unmindful of the terror his network was destined to bring to their country.
What! That truck that he was concerned about entered the truck stop. He watched it drive over to the lot around the corner of the building and out of his line of sight. Al-Himyari released the handle of the gas nozzle and shoved it back in the holder. He quickly got in his car and drove around to the trucker’s side of the large lot.
He eased around attempting to avoid being seen by the suspicious truck. He drove up a little further and saw an empty lane between two big rigs with long trailers. He looped around and pulled the car to the backend of the lane. From there he couldn't see the mystery truck or the entrance to the truck stop. His car should be out of sight. He thought.
Al-Himyari exited the car and walked behind the trailers three lanes over to find the wary truck. He did his best to look inconspicuous, but he knew he was in the open. He lifted himself to the driver’s side of the large sleeper cab and peaked into the window.
Over on the passenger seat, he saw a Yeti cooler and aluminum clipboard with drivers log and manifest papers. He looked over the dash and up to the visor seeing a photo of a young man dressed in his army uniform. The door was locked, so he stepped down and decided to risk the exposure, going inside the truck stop. He needed to avoid the cameras as much as possible.
Donning his baseball cap and sunglasses, he kept his head down and went into the facility straight for the bathroom. As he was relieving himself at the urinal, a large man stepped up beside him. He glanced to his left and was stunned causing his aim to go off the mark. It was the trucker he had bumped into at the Essex Rest Stop in California.
“Whoa, you gonna to get some on your shoes,” the trucker said casually.
“It’s you. Are you following me?”
“Now why would I be following you? You seem sorta nervous there, partner.”
“What? You have been following me. I’ve seen your truck go back and forth. I slow down, and you slow down, I speed up, and you speed up. Why are you following me?
“Exactly, why would I follow you? You got nothing to hide, right?”
Al-Himyari left the restroom and walked toward his car, the trucker grinned and meandered behind him. Al-Himyari started his car and was ready to speed off, lose his follower and take a different route. But the news station on the car radio interrupted his thoughts as they reported on the story about a missing UCLA student and the hunt for two men.
A new plan, al-Himyari thought. He remembered the trucker’s photo on the visor and thought of a different approach. He surveyed the paper map and found a place that would work. Two birds, one stone.
He needed new transportation, and there was something about the man’s smugness that tore at al-Himyari. He could not stand the arrogant and smug Americans.
He continued east on I40 allowing the trucker to follow him. After some time, he pulled the car over under an overpass about a mile short of the Petrified National Forest exit. He opened the hood and waited. In a matter of minutes, the trucker approached, al-Himyari could hear the gears shift down as the trucker slowed. His trap had worked.
The truck pulled over to the wide shoulder in front of al-Himyari’s car and the air brakes released. The driver looked in his side mirrors, opened his glove box and took out his Ruger LC9. He ejected the clip to check his 9mm ammo and reinserted it.
“Just to be safe,” he said looking at the photo of his soldier son. He stepped down from the rig and slid the small handgun in the larger pocket of his camo cargo pants.
“Please, leave me alone. I don’t want your help.” Al-Himyari was determined that the cat and mouse game would be played his way.
“Look, we’re just headed the same direction is all. I’m pretty good with engines and all, why don’t you let me take a look.”
“You think I’m an idiot?” al-Himyari said. “I’m also good with engines and can drive the rig just like you.”
“Really? OK, amigo.”
“That’s right I drove fuel trucks for the Kuwait army that kept your military’s machines running during your first gulf war,” he lied. He had driven fuel truck for the Iraqi’s during that war.
“Well, I’m sure your country is grateful for your service.”
“I was shot at and lost family members for your cause, and came to America and because of my appearance, I’m subject to your prejudice. All you see is an Arab man.”
The trucker took his cap off and wiped his
forehead with his sleeve. His son fought and died for people like this man. The old man’s exterior was penetrated, and his heart was troubled that he had indeed been discriminatory.
“How can I help?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
✽✽✽
Los Angeles, CA (Tuesday Night)
Hasim wore sweatpants and a hooded sweat jacket with a towel from the fitness room wrapped around his neck. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and entered the guest business center of the JW Marriott. He plopped down into the office chair in front of the public computer.
The piece of paper rested between his fingers as he opened the internet browser. He shifted it to a privacy tab and typed in his web destination. Referring to the note, he entered a username and password in the appropriate fields on the screen and now had access to the personal calendar of Jessica Cameron.
Tabbing through course schedules and events for the next day, a morning class, study group, followed by two sessions in the afternoon. The impact would be so much smaller now that his plans required changes. Hasim hovered the mouse over the study group event on the calendar and recognized his opportunity.
The study group was scheduled to meet at the Covel Commons dining hall during lunch at 12:30. Perfect. It would be easy access and that time of day and the fifty-seven hundred square foot hall would be at near capacity.
The commons had been considered as a target but ruled out in favor of the higher profile event. Now as a fallback plan, it would do. The basics were the same. Place the canister at an air intake and release the gas into the ventilation system.
With his plan set, Hasim returned to his room and sought to get some rest before the big day. He packed his bags and laid on the bed fully clothed and ready for a quick exit if needed. He stared at the ceiling. It was his moment in history — a moment that would send a message to the infidels and provide restitution for Hasni.
Once they executed all of the plans, the AIJB planned to release a video praising Allah and men who carried out his will. It would put the Western World on notice and send a specific message to individuals within the counterterrorism intelligence community to expect to pay a very high personal premium for their actions.
CHAPTER 21
Los Angeles, CA - LUXE HOTEL (Wednesday Morning)
At 08:30 Albright and Cameron followed Hannah Jacobs into the large suite the FBI had blocked off. Dozens of agents flowed in and out of the room that hosted a slew of monitors and audio equipment. Video feeds from the area CCTV traffic cameras, and local businesses were scanned.
There was a large bay of monitors and tables in the center, but also four different banks of monitors, two to each side of the central area. Each bank had the name of the hotel it was surveilling written on a white paper on top. These were the four different hotels where the suspected AIJB members had reservations. None of them included the JW Marriott.
There were also camera feeds from the field surveillance. Each of the four members was carefully followed on their journey to the convention. Other agents had been positioned at the Conference Center itself with several in the security room monitoring events there.
Cameron marveled at all the resources utilized. He asked the Special Agent in Charge, Adam Waltuch, how he could help and was pretty much told just to stay out the way. He gave Hannah a frustrated look, and she merely shrugged her shoulders. Time seemed to drag by.
He shot a text to his daughter.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said, and Hannah nodded.
He left the Luxe hotel and took a casual stroll down Figueroa Street toward the convention center. His phone buzzed.
“Hi, Dad!”
“Hey, Sweetheart.”
“Everything OK? I was surprised to hear from you.”
“Yes, everything is fine. I just had a moment and wanted to call. I’m in LA for a couple of days. I was hoping to see you, in fact, I thought it would be great if you came back home with me and got a jump start on your spring break.”
“What, I don’t understand. I’ve got classes and a mid-term. I can’t leave.”
“I know, but…”
“I mean I’d love to see you while you’re here, but I can’t leave.”
Cameron decided this was better done in person.
“Yeah, OK. Maybe tonight, I’ll see how this project comes along and give a call later.”
“OK, Daddy. I love you.”
“Love you too, Sweetheart.”
Cameron had reached the convention center and decided to walk through the Gilbert Lindsey Plaza around the front of the Staples Center. Moving felt nice to his weary and bruised body. He thought he would take a long way around to get back.
He crossed Chick Hearn Court with a moment of nostalgia remembering the Laker’s announcer from his youth in Southern California. Nothing like having Vin Sculley for baseball and Chick Hearn for basketball. He scrolled through his emails as he walked up Georgia street lifting his head to see Olympic Boulevard ahead for his right turn to get back to Figueroa and the Luxe hotel.
There was a text from Grace. She had accepted an offer on the house, and it was going into a thirty-day escrow. Great. This is all I need right now, Cameron thought of the hassle of moving while working on this mission. He put his head back down to respond and was startled by the honk of the service van that nearly hit him pulling out of the Marriott parking garage.
“Sorry, my fault,” he yelled to the driver, putting his hands up for the van to pass. The young man in blue baseball cap and sunglasses put his head down and drove away.
Cameron arrived back in the FBI suite, and Hannah waved him over. He stood looking at the monitors in the middle.
“We have our first arrival,” she said pointing to the screen with a bouncing body cam following the suspect into the Convention Center. “He parked at the Conference Center.”
The room began to scramble with activity.
“OK, where’s the suspect staying?” Waltuch asked.
“He has reservations at Hotel Indigo,” an agent said pointing to one of the designated banks.
“Shh, everyone. Turn up the audio.”
The undercover agent following the suspect spoke through his coms, “Suspect is at the registration booth. Looks like he’s picking up conference material.”
The room watched the feed as the suspect walked right past the undercover agent who called out his handoff. “Number three, you have the ball.”
“This is number three, I have the ball,” came the reply and agents switched to her camera feed.
“Suspect appears to be heading back to his vehicle.”
“This is number one; I have visual on the suspect, we are in position in the parking garage, ready to tail the vehicle.”
“Copy that. Number five stay at the convention center. The second suspect may stop there first as well, he’s about twenty minutes out. The team at Indigo Hotel will trail suspect number one when he arrives there.”
“Number five, copy.”
Waltuch got everyone’s attention.
“OK everyone, let’s get ready at Indigo.”
“On it.”
After a couple of minutes, the team watched the dash cam view of the trailing car.
“Suspect is turning left on Olympic.”
“OK, he should be continuing up a couple of blocks and turning right to get over to James Wood, it’s a one way.”
“Copy.”
“Hold on, the suspect’s turning left on Georgia Street…Suspect is turning into the self-parking for the JW Marriott.”
“Shit!” Waltuch shouted. “Did he change rooms?”
An analyst in front of her laptop replied, “No digital evidence of that, sir.”
“Shit! Who do we have at the Marriott?”
“Agents Wern and McCreery, sir. But they’re in suits and not on our coms.”
“Get ‘em on the horn and tell them to keep their asses in that security room monitoring th
e cameras. We don’t need them blowing this. Who is the closest UC?”
There was too long of a pause and no time.
“I got it,” Hannah said grabbing the nearest laptop roller bag.
“Go! Go!” Waltuch said handing her a set of coms.
“Suspect is entering the parking garage elevator with a large black roller suitcase.”
“OK one, stay put. Agent Jacobs is headed to the hotel lobby to intercept. Number five what’s your twenty?”
“Ten minutes out.”
“Shit!”
Cameron knew she needed back up. “I’m going over!”
“No! You stay the fuck here. The last thing I need is a CIA officer getting in the middle of this.”
“Fuck you! I’m going over.” Cameron followed after Hannah.
“Damn it!” Waltuch slammed his notebook down on the table.
Jacobs raced out of the Luxe and across busy Figueroa over to the Marriott, pulling the tie out of her hair to let it flow and take on a little different look. She slowed as she got to the main lobby and Cameron caught her arm.
“I’ve got your back,” he said holding the door for her. The two entered the contemporary lobby designed to promote conversation in a pseudo-intimate setting. They found a table and sat across from each other to have the best view from both vantage points. Hannah pulled some papers out of the roller bag as if she was having a meeting with Cameron.
“This is Jacobs; I have a visual on the suspect.”
“Jacobs we have our guys inside the security room on a line and will relay their information.”
“Copy that,” Hannah said smiling and handing a paper to Cameron as if she was talking to him instead of her coms.
The suspect crossed from Hannah’s line of sight to Cameron’s.
“Looks like he’s headed for the registration desk,” Cameron said.
They waited a few long minutes.
“He has a room key,” Cameron relayed.
