by David Spell
“I know,” Morris replied. “Everyone is busy. I just got off of the phone with Director Pickard and he made it clear that this case is now our top priority. I’m going to let Agent O’Reilly give you the background on what we’re dealing with.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Joe responded, locking eyes with Daniel. “We’ve received intelligence, good intelligence, that there is a twelve-member cell here operating out of the Center for Islamic Studies over in Dearborn. We think they’re on the clock to launch an attack in Detroit on the same scale as the ones in DC and Trenton.”
All of this was news to the DSAC and he swallowed hard.
“Why weren’t we notified earlier? We have some very good agents and could’ve already been working on this.”
“This intel just came into HQ a couple of days ago. We moved on it immediately and Director Pickard chose to have CT work the case.”
“What do you mean the ‘intel just came in?’ How’d we get the information?”
“I can’t tell you where it came from, but our source is good.”
Morris spoke again over the speaker phone.
“Agent Ward, the president has made it clear that there will be no more terrorist incidents. We’re all working to make sure that he’s correct. Gentleman, I need to get back to work. Agent O’Reilly, call me if you need anything or if you have any news.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe answered, disconnecting the call.
“That’s what we’re working on,” O’Reilly said. “Do you know of a Imam Abdul Mawdudi?”
Ward shook his head. “No, who is he?”
The younger agent saw a look of disapproval in the older man’s eyes.
“He’s one of the leaders at the Center for Islamic Studies over in Dearborn and has been on our radar for the last five years, mainly because of his inflammatory rhetoric. One of your agents, Marcus Poole, has been regularly updating a file on Mawdudi on the CT database.”
“I don’t know what every single one of our agents are working on,” Daniel shrugged dismissively.
“This is probably a good one to be in the know on. The imam visited Syria three years ago. He evidently took a roundabout trip so that we couldn’t track him. He was right. We missed it and only found out later that he had been there for a few months, getting some weapons training.”
“What does this have to do with why CT is in Detroit?” the DSAC asked impatiently.
“The imam has been in contact with Musa Khan. They’re planning big. We believe there’s a seventy percent probability that this building is going to be one of their targets.”
“That’s all speculation,” Daniel said. “The Bureau has been looking for Musa Khan under every rock and coming up empty. You guys are just shooting in the dark.”
A flash of anger crossed Joe’s face and he paused a moment before answering, controlling his emotions.
“Look at the targets for the previous attacks in DC and Trenton. They went after federal buildings, courthouses, and law enforcement offices. We haven’t made this public yet, but a cell was taken down last week in Philadelphia. Eight people, a cache of AK-47s, plus we raided a warehouse full of more ammo, suicide vests and a car that had been wired with explosives.
“I don’t give a shit whether you believe me or not, Ward, but we’re not going to let this cell launch an attack. You heard Director Morris. We need some more people and we need them now. My plan is to expedite this investigation and have warrants in hand within a week.”
“A week?” Daniel asked, smiling as if he was dealing with a simpleton. “From what you’ve said about this case: the number of suspects, the scope of the investigation, and the all the other variables, it’ll take a couple of months to put all this together.”
O’Reilly locked eyes with the younger man. “Help me or get out of the way, Ward. If you’re not up to the job, I’m sure the director can find someone who is. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“Are you threatening me?” Daniel managed to stammer, his face turning red.
Joe leaned back in his chair, opened a folder, and studied the contents, ignoring the other man in the room. The DSAC angrily stood and stomped out of the office.
“Asshole,” O’Reilly muttered, shaking his head.
DEARBORN, MICHIGAN, WEDNESDAY, 2015 HOURS
Imam Abdul Mawdudi was worried. He drummed his fingers on the desk in his small office at the Center for Islamic Studies, waiting on the eight men and four women to arrive. They were meeting three times a week now to study the Quran and prepare for their sacrifice. The cell members knew that their time was close but the imam had not heard from Musa Khan in over two weeks.
When they had last spoken, Khan had informed the imam that he would be calling in a few days and was coming to Dearborn, bringing someone to complete the training for the volunteers that he had recruited. The instructor would make sure that each soldier of Allah knew how to use their AK-47, along with some basic tactics. He had expected a phone call or text the previous week. Musa had also told him to watch the news, implying that another attack was imminent. Instead of another battle in the jihad against the Great Satan, the news had been full of the normal dribble that poured forth from the American media.
It wasn’t like the Pakistani to not be in touch. In the past, he had always done what he said he was going to do. This former American soldier was also supposed to be coming but Khan had not alerted Abdul as to a timeframe. Musa had made it clear that an attack in the Detroit area was imminent, but things had been quiet since the victory against the infidels in Trenton. The Pakistani had never entrusted the imam with his cell number, always choosing to initiate the contact with what Abdul assumed were burner phones.
Even though Mawdudi didn’t know what Khan’s primary target would be, they had discussed several key places in which they could kill the most infidels. In the previous talks between Abdul and Musa, the Patrick V. McNamara Federal Building always came up as an excellent target. It housed offices for the FBI, Secret Service, Veteran’s Affairs, the IRS, and many other government agencies.
With a team of twelve warriors, ready to give their lives for the cause of Allah, the imam could even split the team in half, sending six of the soldiers to the Theodore Levin United States Courthouse, a block away from the first building. This two-pronged attack would devastate the Americans, keeping their infidel blood flowing in their streets. What would Khan think of this idea? What did the terrorist mastermind have planned and would he be angry if I launched the martyrs on my own?
The weapons and explosive vests had been delivered a month earlier and were waiting in a storage facility a few blocks from the mosque. What should he do? The cell members were excited and ready to give their lives for the cause. While no one other than Musa knew all the operational details or the scope of their missions in different U.S. cities, the volunteers had all been following the news, the first two strikes coming within a week of each other.
The men and women that Mawdudi and Khan had recruited were asking when they, too, would join the jihad. Musa had stressed over and over that once the attacks started, there would be no let up. The Americans must suffer and striking them repeatedly in a short amount of time was the best way to make this happen.
What if the Pakistani had been arrested or worse? What if he never contacted me? Abdul wondered. The imam was sold out for the cause and couldn’t bear to think of all their hard work being wasted. The biggest challenge for Mawdudi was that if he did move forward without waiting for Khan, he had no way of guaranteeing that the families of his martyrs would receive the money that Musa had promised. Would these warriors continue with their mission even knowing that there might be no compensation for their loved ones?
Abdul flipped open his day planner. Without the ex-special forces soldier to train his people, the imam would have to be the one to take them through a familiarization course on the AK-47. The three months that he had spent in Syria had provided him with some weapons training along with a rudiment
ary knowledge of explosives. It had been several years earlier and he hadn’t touched a gun since then.
One week, he finally concluded. I will wait one more week to hear from Musa and then we will act. I can at least give these warriors the basics of using an AK. I’m pretty sure I can help them get their explosive vests on without blowing myself up, he thought with a wry smile. Yes, next Wednesday will be our training and final preparations day, with Thursday the next phase of the jihad being launched.
Having made the decision, Mawdudi suddenly felt relief. A weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Surely, this is Allah’s guiding hand. He heard the door open and several voices as the recruits arrived for their meeting. Tonight, we have many things to talk about, the imam told himself.
PATRICK V. MCNAMARA FEDERAL BUILDING, DETROIT, MICHIGAN, FRIDAY, 1145 HOURS
“We got it!” Special Agent Jerome Louis exclaimed, bursting into O’Reilly’s office, dropping a piece of paper onto the desk.
Joe picked up the form, studying it intently. A moment later, he nodded slowly and laid it down, motioning for the younger man to have a seat. The older agent noticed the bags under Louis’ eyes. None of them had gotten much sleep over the last week.
“Good work getting the wiretap. I want it monitored 24/7 and everything recorded.”
“I already gave the order,” Jerome replied, stifling a yawn.
O’Reilly nodded, staring at a spot on the wall over Louis’ head, clearly lost in thought. Finally, the taskforce leader spoke.
“So, Agent Louis, if this was your op, what would be your next step in taking down this cell of terrorists?”
Jerome was still a bit in awe of Agent O’Reilly, even though the two men had been working well together. Louis took a moment to compose his thoughts.
“One, what you said earlier, 24/7 coverage of Imam Mawdudi’s phone. Next, I’d update Director Morris that we got the wiretap. Third, we should notify HRT what we are working on so that they can move their assets into place for when we need them. Fourth, I would also keep our surveillance teams in place watching the mosque, the imam’s home, and the cell members, just in case he chooses not to use his phone.
“That group in Philadelphia were together in one house with Aaron Richards prepping them. The cell I infiltrated in Brooklyn was told that we’d relocate to the warehouse for two days of preparation before our mission. It seems likely that the imam will bring them all in for some final training and prayer.”
“But how will we know when that is?” Joe asked. “They’ve been meeting several times a week already. What will let us know that they’ve become operational?”
“Maybe, when they change the time they’re meeting and come in during the day?”
“I think you’re right. Have the wiretap and surveillance teams alert us to any changes in meeting schedules and anything else that we should know about. Let’s implement everything you just mentioned. I’ll call the director if you’ll notify HRT. Let’s start sending some of our people to the hotel to get some rest. You, too, Jerome. After you take care of those things, go get a nap. I need you and the team fresh.”
Louis nodded as he stood. “Yes, sir. Thanks for the opportunity to be a part of this.”
O’Reilly shrugged. “You earned this and your promotion. I think this case will probably be my last one before I hang it up, but I think you have a bright future ahead of you.”
The younger agent was surprised by the senior agent’s candid remarks.
“I appreciate it. I’ll try to learn everything I can from you before you retire!”
After Jerome left, Joe got up and shut his door. His first call would be to Director Morris. His second call, though, would be to one of his friends at the Agency. If those listening devices were still in place on the windows at the mosque, he would know real time what Mawdudi was up to. This could be the factor that kept any of his people or the local cops from getting hurt.
The career G-Man marveled at how quickly he had changed. A few years before, he would never have considered working with the CIA. The two organizations existed for different reasons and had different philosophies. At the same time, they were both committed to protecting the United States and its citizens. As he dialed the director’s number, a sudden yawn overtook him. Maybe after these phone calls, I’ll go get a nap myself, he thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RONALD REAGAN WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT, WASHINGTON, D.C. TUESDAY, 1605 HOURS
Major Wang Lei Chen had had an excellent visit with his counterpart at the Chinese consulate in Washington, D.C. Captain Huang wasn’t the brightest agent in the Ministry of State Security-International Intelligence Division but he was competent enough to follow orders. He had been thrilled to receive the dossiers that Chen’s team had created, based on the intelligence received from Aaron Richards.
The major had spent two days with Huang “talking shop” as the Americans would say, comparing notes and discussing strategies to further China’s goal of becoming the world trade leader. On Tuesday morning, Wang Lei had made sure to pay Chinese Ambassador to America, Wang Yesui, a courtesy call, enjoying tea with the Oxford educated diplomat. As far as Chen knew the ambassador was in the dark about his most recent activities. Now, it was time to fly back to Toronto and to get back to work, doing everything that he could to create chaos and disruption in the United States.
Chen accepted the glass of wine from the smiling flight attendant as he seated himself in his first-class seat of the Air Canada flight. His ever-present bodyguard, Tan Yunyi, sat across the aisle from him. Yunyi had been recruited from the Thor Commando, the most elite SF unit in the Chinese military. Even though Tan was not armed on this commercial flight, the major knew that his bodyguard was more than capable of protecting him from any attacks, having been trained in a variety of Chinese kung fu systems.
Wang Lei opened his iPad to check emails as the crew started their safety briefing. He glanced around, his head on a swivel, checking out the people seated near him. For some reason, the Chinese agent had felt that he was being followed all day. Inside the airport in Washington that feeling had only intensified. As he looked around the cabin, however, no one caught his attention.
A young blonde woman sat behind him on the opposite side of the aisle, headphones in place, already dozing, her short skirt revealing enough thigh for Chen to stare an extra moment. A small Asian, probably Korean, sat in front of him, typing away on his computer, working until one of the attendants asked him to stow the laptop for takeoff. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him. I’m probably just being paranoid, he thought. Chen knew that he was on the CIA’s radar but his diplomatic passport assured him that he was safe from being detained. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the plane was in the air, knowing that he would be in Canada in an hour and a half.
The flight touched down in Toronto at 1745 hours and taxied to their gate. Yunyi led his boss off of the airplane, steering them towards baggage claim. The bodyguard took his job seriously, hating the fact that he was unarmed. The terminal was packed as several other flights arrived at the same time. Tan kept glancing around to make sure that his boss was OK. The major had always treated him well and Yunyi appreciated that, glancing at his cell phone, relieved to see the text that their ride from the consulate was already outside waiting in front of the terminal.
As they approached baggage claim, people surged all around them, everyone in a hurry to catch their connecting flights or to retrieve their bags so they could get home to their families. The bodyguard led the way, using his thick physique to make a path through the crowd. Tan quickly spun around, hearing Chen grunt and a woman squeal. A blonde in a short skirt had somehow collided with the Chinese agent and fallen to the ground, her purse landing beside her. Wang Lei stopped and bent over to render assistance as the crowd parted, moving around the chaotic scene. Yunyi’s eyes immediately went to the pretty lady’s crotch, her red thong grabbing his full attention.
Chen suddenly st
ood upright as people continued to hurry by, rushing towards baggage claim. The Chinese agent grabbed at his right leg but did not say anything, turning back to help the woman to her feet.
“I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have been looking at my phone. I’m so clumsy!” the embarrassed young lady said, as Chen handed her the bag that she had dropped. She flashed him a beautiful smile. “Thanks for your help,”
Wang Lei nodded at Tan and they continued on their way to baggage claim. As they waited for their suitcases to come out onto the carousel, the bodyguard noticed that the color had drained out of his boss’s face.
“Are you OK, sir?”
“Something stung me back there when I was helping that girl up,” Chen answered, rubbing the back of his right leg. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get our bags and get out of here. I need a cigarette.”
Yunyi could tell that something was wrong. He had never seen Wang Lei’s face look so pale, perspiration beading on his forehead. Tan quickly grabbed their suitcases and hurried his boss towards the exit. The car was waiting at the curb, the diplomatic plates keeping the police from moving them along. As Tan opened the back door for his protectee, Wang Lei stumbled, almost falling as the bodyguard helped him into the backseat, the spy now clutching at his chest with a pained expression on his face. Yunyi hurried into the front passenger seat and motioned for the driver to go.
“Sir, you don’t look good. Should we go to the hospital?”
When Tan did not receive an answer, he turned around, shocked to see Chen lying motionless across the seat.
“Drive us to the hospital!” Yunyi yelled at the driver, as he reached back towards the major’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “Hurry!”
Jennifer Hughes, Stephen Chan, and their support team of Jay Walker and Chris Norris spent the night in Toronto, flying back into Ronald Reagan Airport the next morning, their mission accomplished. The NSA intercepted a call at 1850 hours the night before from the bodyguard to the Chinese ambassador in Canada, letting him know that Wang Lei Chen had died of a heart attack at the North Toronto Health Center Emergency Room. The doctor told Tan that he had already been dead for at least the fifteen minutes that it took to drive him to the ER. The medical staff did everything they could to revive the diplomat but his heart would not start working again.
