by David Spell
The last thirteen months had been very challenging for the thirty-three year old special agent. When he had been approached by Director Morris, asking if he would volunteer to try and infiltrate a NYC mosque, he had no idea how difficult the assignment would be. The Islamic Mission of New York in Brooklyn was considered one of the hotbeds of anti-American and anti-Jewish rhetoric for the northeast. The leaders of the mosque were all on the FBI’s terror watch list.
The young man had never dreamed that his passion for acting would serve him so well as an FBI agent. From the time that he was in elementary school and onward, Jerome had been involved in theater. Even during his first few years as a G-man, he had continued to participate in shows with the Silver Springs Players, a local theater group near his home in Maryland. I deserved an academy award for this last role, he thought.
He had created the character of Kamari Daniels with help of Director Morris and the small support team of agents who knew his whereabouts and what he was doing. It had taken Kamari six months of attending the Islamic Mission before one of the leaders had spoken to him. Jerome had shaved his head, grown out his beard and always worn the traditional Muslim clothing, consisting of baggy white pants and the long white shirt, along with the prayer cap, fully embracing his new role as Kamari Daniels.
For the first few months, Daniels showed up weekly, praying and reciting the Quran with the other devotees. He also dropped cash offerings into the box every week, using the special envelopes provided by the mosque so that their members could get tax credit. Kamari never did anything to draw attention to himself. He just showed up for every service, participated, contributed, and made small talk with some of the other members.
After half a year of wondering if this was a massive waste of government resources, the undercover agent was finally rewarded. Imam Muhammad Aslam Hassan had approached him at the end of a Friday prayer service.
“Hello, my brother. I am Imam Hassan. I’ve wanted to meet you and have a talk with you. Could you come by in the morning for tea? Maybe around ten o’clock?”
Kamari nodded shyly, looking down. “Thank you, Sayyid. Have I done something wrong?”
The cleric laughed and leaned in closer to the younger man. “No, not at all. I just wanted to get to know you. You’ve been very generous since you joined us and I would like to express my gratitude.”
Daniels gave a slight smile. “Yes, Sayyid. I’d like that. I’ll see you in the morning.”
That appointment for tea turned into a regular meeting with the imam. He probed Kamari for details about his life, family, childhood, faith, and finances. The cover story that the FBI agent used was that his parents had been killed in a car accident twelve years earlier. His father had worked on Wall Street and had set up a generous trust fund for his only son, Kamari.
Hassan had also picked up on the fact that the young man was a bit slow so he hadn’t seemed surprised by the fact that Kamari didn’t work, the trust fund providing him with an easy life and some extra money to give to the mosque. The imam was also impressed by Daniels’ sincerity and longing to grow in his understanding of the Quran. After their fourth Saturday morning meeting, the cleric had decided to go a little deeper.
“Brother Kamari, are you happy with your life?”
“I think so, Sayyid,” Kamari replied.
“The Quran teaches us that we “have been raised to serve others.” Where do you see yourself serving?”
“I’m not sure,” Daniels answered, hoping this conversation was finally getting him somewhere.
“We could use some help around here. Our humble house of worship is located in a very expensive part of the city and we can’t afford to hire anyone to clean for us. Would you consider volunteering a couple of days a week to help us keep the mosque clean?”
“Of course, Sayyid!” the young man replied with a smile and more enthusiasm than he felt inside.
While not looking forward to cleaning toilets or vacuuming, Kamari knew that this moved him one step closer to finding out how deeply Muhammad Aslam Hassan’s roots went into the radical side of Islam.
“May Allah bless you, my son!” the imam exclaimed. “Can you start on Monday?”
Daniels made sure that he arrived early and stayed late on the days that Imam Hassan asked him to work. Evidently, he was doing a good job because after a month the cleric began giving him a private Quran lesson once a week. This was what Kamari had been hoping for as he sat under Muhammad’s teaching.
In public, the imam preached moderation and peace. In a one-on-one setting with a gullible young man, however, Hassan was clearly grooming him for jihad, discussing the more radical aspects of Islamic theology. The FBI agent could sense that Hassan was getting him ready for a deeper dive so he listened intently, nodding as the mosque leader spoke, and made increasingly larger financial contributions, courtesy of the US government.
Kamari had gotten to know several of the other mosque leaders and many of the members. After volunteering for two months, he was now a familiar face around the house of worship. He was always polite, respectful, and willing to do whatever he was asked. During his private sessions with the imam, Daniels had made it clear that he agreed with the need for jihad.
Finally, after being a part of the Islamic Mission of New York for eight months, Imam Hassan invited him to a special meeting one evening. He wasn’t given any details other than the fact that the meeting was at the cleric’s home. When Kamari arrived, he found himself in the living room with eight other men and four women, all of them fellow-members of the house of worship.
Muhammad thanked them all for coming and then spent an hour discussing how Muslims were being targeted by the police in the United States for harassment, and by the U.S. military abroad. Daniels paid rapt attention, nodding as the imam spoke. The Islamic leader told the group that while he couldn’t speak that way publicly, he believed that each of them also held similar views on the need for Muslims to stand up for their rights and to fight back.
These meetings at Muhammad Hassan’s home quickly went from weekly to twice a week. For the next two months the numbers dropped until the regulars became Kamari, six other men, and two women. When Daniels asked their leader about the others who were not attending anymore, Hassan had shrugged.
“Most American Muslims are soft and complacent. They claim to be servants of Allah but when it comes to taking action, they prefer to sit back and enjoy their easy lives in the Great Satan.”
A few weeks later, when everyone arrived at Imam Muhammad’s home, he led everyone outside to a white van.
“We have a surprise tonight. We’re going to meet with a very special servant of Allah.”
The seven men and two women excitedly climbed into the back of the vehicle, Kamari immediately picking up on the fact that there were no windows in the cargo compartment and an added wall that prevented them from seeing out the front of the van. The FBI agent felt a moment of trepidation but swallowed his fear, chatting with the other cell members during their half-hour drive.
There was no way to know where they were when the van had finally stopped. Daniels and the others found that they had pulled inside of a small warehouse and the door had been pulled closed. If he had to guess, the undercover officer would place them in Queens but, at this point, he couldn’t be sure.
The main area of the warehouse was kept dark as the imam led them into a small room with a table and a dozen chairs. After waiting for five minutes, Hassan and a short, bearded man with intense eyes strode into the room.
Jerome was grateful for his training as an actor. The FBI agent immediately recognized Musa Khan, currently number three on the FBI’s Top Ten Most Wanted list. As a federal law enforcement officer, he felt anger rising up within him against the man who had murdered his friend, FBI agent Barry Towers, the previous year. The outline of a handgun was visible under the light jacket that the murderer wore.
As Kamari Daniels, though, he projected a face of curiosity and excitement. Khan
spoke to them for two hours about the injustices that were being perpetuated against Islam by America and Israel. He was good, Daniels thought, at firing up the recruits. Towards the end of his talk, Kamari knew that things were finally moving in the right direction.
“You have been hand-chosen by Imam Hassan to play a part in righting the wrongs that have been done to so many of our brothers and sisters. Continue to pray and read the Quran and do as the imam says. I will be meeting with you from time-to-time as the moment gets closer.”
The group continued their regular meetings with Muhammad, with Khan visiting every two weeks. Their meetings with the Pakistani terrorist were always secretive, though, and never in the same place as before. After the attacks in Washington, D.C. and Trenton, Hassan had told the Brooklyn cell that their time was soon approaching. Muhammad had finally started talking about martyrdom and the glory of killing infidels, the men and women in the cell excitedly nodding whenever the cleric spoke.
“Our leader is putting a plan together in which you all will spill the blood of many infidels,” the religious leader had exhorted them. “I anticipate having weapons for each of you very soon and it is likely that we will attack key targets in New York within the next few weeks.”
They normally met on Mondays and Wednesdays with the imam and attended the regular prayer service on Friday nights. The undercover agent regularly sent messages to his support team, letting them know what he was learning. Kamari had also provided Director Morris and his team the names of everyone involved in the Brooklyn cell.
After the previous night’s meeting, Agent Louis had received a message from Morris alerting him that it was time to pull out. He was ordered to meet with her the next day at 1300 hours in D.C. Jerome was packed and on the road by 2300, arriving in the nation’s capital by 0300, taking a room at the Riggs Hotel, just a block from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Headquarters.
After getting up, shaving and showering, the agent had had breakfast and then gone to buy his new clothes. It felt good to be home he thought walking through the FBI building. Something was different, he felt, not being able to place his finger on it. As he walked into the CT director’s office, it suddenly clicked. The weight of living undercover was off his shoulders. For the first time in over a year, he felt a spring in his step, a smile creeping onto his face as he let Morris’ aide know that he was there.
The counter-terrorism director came out to escort the agent into the conference room.
“It’s great to have you back in the fold, Agent Louis,” she said, smiling warmly as they shook hands, letting him precede her into the large room.
Jerome was surprised by how many people were there, and even more surprised by the fact that they all stood as he entered, giving him a standing ovation. The embarrassed agent managed to nod and wave, allowing Morris to show him where to sit.
After everyone was seated, the director pointed at Jerome.
“Special Agent Louis is the man of the hour and the reason that we’re here. He’ll be honored at a later date for his work in infiltrating an Islamic terror cell. For the moment, we need to discuss how to take it down.”
For the next hour, Valerie’s team discussed the intelligence that Louis had provided, along with what other agents had developed through wiretaps and surveillance. The biggest highlight for Jerome was knowing that arrest warrants had been issued for Musa Khan, Imam Hassan, along with the men and women of the Brooklyn terror cell for conspiracy to commit terrorism and conspiracy to commit murder. After the arrest warrants were served, the FBI would also be serving search warrants for their homes.
“Supervisory Special Agent Toney of the HRT is with us,” the CT director said, pointing at the man on the other end of the table wearing olive green BDUs. “He’ll be in charge of the operation to serve those warrants. Agent Toney, how do we look for in the morning?”
The team leader for the Bureau’s famous hostage rescue team stood.
“Thank you, Director. Everything’s ready. Those of us from DC that are making the trip will leave by 1500 hours so we can get a few hours sleep. We’ll be briefing at FBI HQ in Manhattan at 0300 hours with the Bureau and the NYPD SWAT teams that’ll be assisting us. The field team in New York and the intel that Special Agent Louis provided has allowed us to pinpoint the locations where each arrestee will be.
“The teams will be in place and make synchronized entries at 0500 hours. The suspects will all be brought back to Manhattan to be interviewed by the CT agents you’ve designated, ma’am. After that, they’ll be taken to the federal courthouse for arraignment. There’s no bond set on the warrants so federal marshals will take the prisoners after the arraignment.”
Louis was amazed at how fast everything had come together. The FBI had a reputation for being slow and deliberate. What he had no way of knowing, was that the president had made it very clear to the FBI Director that he had better do everything possible to make sure that there were no more attacks like the ones in D.C. and New Jersey.
As everyone filed out of the conference room, Agent Toney approached Agent Louis and stuck out his hand.
“That was great work, Agent Louis. I’m Jason Toney. There aren’t many agents who could’ve pulled that off and gotten out in one piece like you did.”
“Thanks, Jason. Please call me Jerome,” he smiled, shaking hands with the tactical officer. “It sounds like tomorrow is going to be a fun day.”
“You want to come? I could use you.”
“Me?” Louis laughed. “My tactical skills are probably a bit rusty at the moment. I’m actually heading over to the range now to qualify since I haven’t shot in over a year.
Jason smiled. “No, I’ve got the tactical stuff under control. What I’d like is for you to be with me in the command post in case we run into any issues serving the warrants. You’re the only one of us who knows all these people that we’re arresting.”
“Is that OK with you, ma’am?” Jerome asked Director Morris, not knowing what he was supposed to do now that he was done with his undercover assignment.
“Excellent idea. I’d also like for you to be there for the interviews. I don’t want the suspects to see you but you could sit in the recording booth to monitor the interrogations. As Agent Toney said, you know all these people and your insights will be incredibly valuable.”
“You heard the boss, Jason. I guess I’ll see you at 0300 in the morning.”
Valerie waited until Toney had left the room before speaking to Jerome.
“Before you go and qualify, I need to chat with you about your promotion and your upcoming assignment.”
“My promotion?” Louis asked, confused. “I’m not up for promotion.”
“Yes, you are,” she smiled. “Director Pickard signed a special order promoting you to the rank of supervisory special agent, effective this past Monday. Congratulations!”
“Wow, that’s a surprise. Thank you, ma’am. So, what’s my next assignment?”
“What would you like to do, Agent Louis? The director and I both want to give you your choice of assignments as a reward for your work on this terrorism case. We have openings in Los Angeles, in Atlanta, Dallas. New York, and here in DC for a supervisory special agent. You think about it over the weekend and we’ll meet on Monday at 0900 hours to discuss it further.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, FRIDAY, 0500 HOURS
At precisely 0500 hours, tactical teams smashed open doors and burst into eight different addresses. Two of the male members of the cell were roommates, as well as the two women in the group. With the exception of the married Imam Hassan, all of the other terror suspects lived by themselves.
Within minutes, nine of the eleven warrants had been served with the cell members safely in custody, handcuffed, searched, and hustled outside to a waiting police cruiser. A team of agents then moved in to execute the search warrants, allowing the FBI to search the locations for weapons, explosives, and any other evidence linking them to ter
rorism.
Serving the warrants on Anderson Ware took a violent turn. Ware was the only member of the Brooklyn cell with military experience, having served as a heavy equipment operator in the Army. His time in the service led to a one-year deployment, working in the green zone in Baghdad.
Anderson had quietly converted to Islam during his four-year enlistment. He came to believe that the American occupation of Iraq was unjust and heavy-handed. He had left the Army with an honorable discharge but still had a bad taste in his mouth from his time in uniform and relished the idea of righting some of the wrongs that he saw played out every day on the news.
After returning to the United States, Ware had taken a warehouse job as a forklift driver but spent all his spare time reading the Quran and attending the Islamic Mission of New York in Brooklyn. The former soldier had soon caught the attention of Imam Hassan and the young man was recruited into the group of chosen ones.
He was excited about the opportunity to strike a lasting blow against the police and criminal justice system that was rigged against people of color. Anderson even embraced the idea of dying a martyr’s death, seeing himself as a modern-day hero in the struggle to liberate those who were oppressed. The money for his martyrdom would be split up between his two sons. The boys’ moms had new men in their lives and refused to allow Ware to see them. A trust fund would be set up so that when they turned eighteen, they would each receive fifty-thousand dollars, plus interest.
The former soldier sensed that the time was near. After those two beautiful attacks in D.C. and Trenton, Anderson believed that he and his brothers and sisters in Brooklyn would be able to earn their own spots in Paradise very soon. Imam Hassan had not given them a specific date or time, but had said the man with the heavy accent and the crazy eyes would be visiting them again in the very near future to give them some important news.
