CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1) (5 page)

New york City - 2006

Samantha Clarke

   
Jonathan Bradley’s girlfriend, Samantha Clarke, age 32, worked as one of the Assistant District Attorneys in the New York County District Attorney’s Office in Manhattan.

She was an attractive, slim, straight-haired brunette with bright blue eyes, standing 5.6”, quick to smile, but with a mind of her own, and stubborn at times.

Samantha, a native of New Jersey, shared an apartment in the Crossley Apartments on the 240 E 27th St., with a younger woman, Elaine, studying her final year of Law.

Jon and she had befriended each other after they first met in the Greenview Park, where she would go to jog every morning, and where he would sometimes go to play basketball with friends at the courts there. 

It was a chance meeting one morning when they found themselves occupying the same bench in the park, and getting into a conversation.

Sharing almost similar interests, including their career in criminal justice, they felt intellectually attracted to each other, and they crossed their paths more often at the park until going out on their first date.

Her liveliness, her disarming confidence, her candor, and her agile and rational thinking, made Jonathan feel come alive in her company.

While she saw in this tall, rugged, handsome man of becoming astuteness, someone she could easily trust and depend upon his gentle strength for comfort in the event of any eventuality in her life.

Both of them loved the outdoors. They spent many early mornings at the park, jogging on the light gravel, dirt track with areas of cement and asphalt surrounding the grassy landscape with short hill options. Or running the circular waterway completing half a mile per lap each time, while taking in the scenery.

It almost became a routine some mornings to have breakfast together at the nearby restaurants, even at the frozen yogurt shop, or at the cafés or coffee-shops in the next-door mall.

They would spend winter evenings, ice-skating at the rink by the waterfall, and in summertime attending poolside parties. watching the outdoor movies, and the 4th of July fireworks display.

Or they’d be content just sitting on a bench and watching the family picnics, and children at play, dogs on walk or playing about, people strolling by, the ducks swimming in the lake, or cheering up the players at the volley-ball and basketball courts, or watch the soccer games being played.

During the first three months of 2003, Bradley was recovering from his blackouts and injuries suffered in Beirut, Lebanon, which had ended his third CIA tour in that strife-torn middle-east country. He had spent the first two months being treated at the St. Morgan Hospital Center in the New York City.

After his recovery, Bradley was retained by the New York FBI Counterterrorism Unit in the investigation and surveillance of the local suspected militants or extremists with links to the Islamic-Jihadi terrorists, allegedly operating in the City. 

He had taken up residence in an apartment in the Empire building near the Greenview Park, a short distance from the Crossley Apartments where Samantha lived.

They had the chance meeting about this time, which opened the door of friendship and then love for the two of them.

But they never imagined that a sad day would come into their lives after almost three wonderful years of sharing, and were finally just a few days away from tying the knot.

There were some days that they could not meet due to the pressure of their work.  Bradley, in particular, found himself sometimes tied up with his work either out in the field or at the FBI office. Those were the days when Samantha went alone to the park, some days during the evenings. Actually, her roommate would normally accompany her when she was not dating her boyfriend.

***

Victoria Kaye was on the phone when Jonathan entered her office at the St. Morgan Hospital Center. She was Samantha’s psychotherapeutic counselor, and close to Bradley’s age, with good looks and intelligent green eyes.

Victoria looked up at him, still speaking into the phone, “Yes.  He has just arrived. I will talk to you again later.”

Putting down the phone, she waved him to a seat in front of her desk. “Glad you could come, Jonathan.”

“Was it her on the phone?”

“It was.  She still needs time to cope up.  I think you understand that.”

“I’ve no problem with that.  I would be glad to help in whatever way I can. But she simply refuses to see me.”

“Be patient with her, Jonathan.  How long has it been since she was assaulted?  Just about four weeks, isn’t it?  That’s pretty early for her complete recovery.  She is still in disbelief that such a thing would happen to her.  Victims like her take time to respond to treatment.”

“Samantha hasn’t said so, but I believe that she kind of holds me responsible for not having been there for her.”

She had finished her work late that evening and it was only around 6.15 PM or so, when she could get to Greenview Park for her jogging routine.

At the time, the sun hadn’t set that summer evening, but the overgrown trees did cast dark shadows around the circular jogging track, and also elsewhere the trees cast a thick cover of darkness, blocking lights at night, and making some parts of the park appear scary.

She saw only two other joggers; one running ahead of her and the other had just passed by her heading in the opposite direction.  Both of them did not appear to be a source of any threat to her.  Samantha had jogged in similar circumstances before and even alone at times.

Samantha completed her 8-mile laps and walked over to a bench intending to relax for a few minutes before heading to her nearby apartment.  Her sleek Italian light-pink Vespa PX scooter was parked in the free-parking zone.

Though she could see no one occupying the other nearby benches, she could still hear the sound of the activities at the playgrounds in the park.

Just as Samantha decided it was about time to leave, she thought she heard the soft rustle of feet threading the grass behind her bench. 

Then she felt the sudden thrust of heavy breathing on her neck and before she could turn around, a strong hand clamped at her mouth, another hand grabbed at her waist, dragging her over the bench. 

Samantha momentarily stiffened and then struggled to free herself.  She managed to place her feet firmly on the back of the bench and pushed hard backwards. 

This had the desired effect as the attacker fell back off-balance, losing his tight grip on her body.  She also landed on her back near his feet, but quickly rose and started running away from him. 

Before she had barely cut across a few feet, she heard the whistling sound of an object hurtling towards her back, and the last thing she remembered was being hit behind the neck, before losing consciousness.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on her back somewhere in the dark and deserted area of the park. 

Her hands were bound and her mouth gagged with a cloth. 

Pure panic hit her when she saw the hooded man, undressing himself over her. 

Seeing her struggle on the ground, he lowered and straddled her, his powerful knees pinning her thighs to the ground.

Samantha then felt the stunning pain from the two hard blows landing on both sides of her face and head, bringing tears to her eyes, almost losing consciousness.

Next, he had pushed up her sleeveless top and bra exposing her breasts, loosened her sweat pant and gripping it together with her panty, forced them down to her feet, locking them.

She lay there helpless with her eyes shut tight, and her body shivering, feeling the weight of his body pressed against hers as he forced his manhood inside her.      

She gasped and lay motionless, thinking it was almost like an eternity when the rapist stopped and got off her.

But the man was not done yet. After he had watched her lying there helpless and her eyes pleading, it only arose the bestiality in him? 

Turning her over, face down on the grass, the rapist sodomized her, ignoring her mumbled cries of pain.

Finally, he got up and turned her over, and stood looking at her for a few moments, as if undecided.  Samantha was fearful that he was going to kill her then.

Abruptly, he turned to glance around, and started to walk away from her, momentarily stopping to pick up something from the ground, and, thereafter, disappearing into the darkness.

As she struggled to free herself and draw up her pants, she was noticed by one of the official volunteers of the Greenview Park department, doing her rounds at 8.30 PM, who happened to be a clinical nurse at the nearby St. Morgan Medical Center.

The alerted nurse acted at once to call for the ambulance at the hospital’s rape crisis center and the police, proceeding to untie and dress up the dazed and frightened victim of assault.

“I rushed to the hospital when informed, and remained at her bedside while she slept under sedation. When she awoke, she became hysterical on seeing me, and I was told to leave.  So far, Samantha has refused to let me see her or take my calls.”

“You know, she can be stubborn sometimes.  But, rest assured she is coming around.  She has undergone a life-threatening situation and suffers from the rape trauma syndrome or rape related post-traumatic stress disorder that can last from two years to a lifetime.”

Victoria saw the crestfallen look on Jonathan’s face.

“Don’t worry.  She is a strong woman and she is becoming receptive to our therapy.  There shall come a time, when she will herself begin to feel her want for you and will respond to you.”

“Elaine, that’s her roommate, she tells me that Samantha is temporarily staying with her sister’s family in Manhattan.”

“That’s right.  Samantha needs to be away from the Greenview Park area, where her apartment is, until she can take control of her life. When the two of you get together again, perhaps you can decide to move to a different location.”

“For now, my link to her is through Elaine, who keeps visiting Samantha over the weekends. And, of course, you, Doctor.”

“Is there any progress about the police investigating her case?”

“Detective Liza Quadros is in charge of the investigation; it is the NYPD’s case.  The FBI won’t officially interfere unless asked to. But I am told that the police have some leads pointing to a couple of suspects, who she will be taking in for questioning.”

“Formally indicting her rapist will also help to make Samantha feel safe again.”

“I have offered to interact with Detective Liza in my unofficial capacity, should this assist the police nab the rapist sooner.”

Yonkers, NYC 2006

Saturday - 7.25 AM

   
At twenty-five minutes past 7.00 AM, Jonathan Bradley returned to the crime scene area for the scheduled debriefing. 

    During the respite, he had driven to his apartment, relaxed awhile, taken a cold bath, cooked and eaten his breakfast.

    A team consisting of FBI investigators, including the SSA,   Allan Banks and SA, William King, NYPD Detective Lieutenant, Morris Peters and two uniform police officers, the first call respondents, had
already gathered in the landlord’s living room.

    Bradley stood himself a little apart from them, glanced at his watch, nodding politely. “Alright, let’s begin….”

    He paused thereafter to declare, “Incidentally, let me tell you that this debriefing is being recorded as we speak…”

There was a moment’s silence, but none objected.

    The first one to speak was Detective Morris Peters.

“Mr. Bradley, the first to arrive at the scene was Officer Jones Cummins, later to be joined by Officer Andrew O’Brien, “ he gestured towards the two officers standing beside him.

“Notice any activity near the detached house, or any vehicle movement at the time?” asked Jon.

“No Sir.  The whole area was still in darkness.  When I arrived, I saw a few windows go up and the lights turn on at the neighboring houses.  I could also hear voices shouting, more like objecting to whatever the disturbance outside their homes. 

    “As I waited by the patrol-car for the backup to arrive, I heard some loud cries for help coming from one of the neighborhood houses.

    “Officer O’Brien here was just arriving. While he parked his squad car, I shouted out at him to watch over the place as I ran up a little further left and turned towards the driveway of the house from where I assumed the cries for help were coming.

    “The porch at the entrance was in darkness.  Broken glass-pieces on the floor indicated that the bulb had been deliberately destroyed.  I tried the door and found it locked.  I banged on the door and called out, ‘Police… Police officer here!” 

    The incessant cries for help stopped suddenly.  Then I shouted out, ‘I am coming in…’ and kicked the door open.  I stood in the living room, letting my eyes get adjusted to the darkness, and said aloud, ‘Where are you…? Is there anyone else with you?’

    At once, the voice of an early woman replied, ‘In here, inside the store-room, please… next to the kitchen…’

    I tried to find my way towards the direction of her voice, as she continued in a fearful voice, ‘Come quickly… my son is hurt.  He is unconscious…’

    “I located the room, but found it locked and again had to kick it open.  The elderly woman had obviously managed to set herself free.  A piece of cloth used in gaging her, and a length of phone-cable to tie her hands, were lying on the floor.

    “The woman was cradling the head of a younger man on her lap. “My son… he was hit on the head…,” she cried. 

    “I lowered myself to check his pulse.  It was beating alright, though a little slower than normal.  I, at once, called for the ambulance.  But it was headed our way, anyways.

    “Meantime, the woman was worried about her Alsatian dog. I found it asleep in the kitchen before a half-eaten piece of red meat.  It was still breathing but probably stunned by the  intruder.  Later, the lady’s regular veterinary would take care of the dog..

    By the time I had rescued the woman and her son, the other NYPD and FBI squads, including the firemen had arrived at the first scene of crime.

    “Afterwards, I followed the ambulance carrying the injured and unconscious man and his mother to the hospital, and waited there until both were in a condition to make their statements.”

Officer Cummins stopped referring to his notebook, appearing to have concluded his oral report.

    “Officer Jones,” Bradley adopted a formal tone. “Have you made out the official report yet?”

“No, Mr. Bradley.  I will write it after I return to my downtown station.”

Jonathan then nodded slightly at the FBI’s SSA, Allan Banks, who now addressed the rest of the team.

    “This is a classified investigation and is subject to homeland security laws. An official FBI communiqué has already left for the NYPD’s Dy. Commissioner’s Office.

    “The FBI’s Counterterrorism agency has the right to all investigative findings and reports of this case. I hope, this is understood.” Heads nodded.

    “Mr. Cummins,” Jonathan took up the debriefing again, “I take that you have obtained two separate statements from the son and the mother.  Do you have these statements on you?”

    “I have them, Mr. Bradley,” interrupted Detective Morris, waving the two documents before him.”

    Jonathan turned to Cummins again, ‘Officer, you will submit your first report as well to the Lieutenant.  If necessary, we shall call you for a group discussion.”

    Cummins nodded his head in affirmation.

    “Lieutenant Morris, please arrange to have a plainclothes officer posted immediately outside the injured man’s hospital room. Both he and his mother must not speak to anyone, especially the press, about their incident.”

    “I have already warned them,” remarked  Officer Cummins.

    Lieutenant Morris was on his

cellphone asking the Desk Sergeant to dispatch a detective to the hospital ward.

      “Let’s move along then.  Officer O’Brien?”

    Andrew O’Brien reported that a small crowd of neighbors had begun to gather by the time the police backup and the SWAT team arrived almost simultaneously. 

    Since there were no signs of immediate threat coming from inside the house, they waited for the Bomb Squad to give the clear signal before proceeding to secure the exterior and interior locations.  By which time, the rest of the NYPD and FBI personnel had arrived.

    “Thank you, Officer O’Brien.”

    Detective Morris reported next. “I and two other detectives interrogated some of the neighbors who were willing to talk.  No one witnessed who or what started the shootout. 

“At first, they only heard a few shots being fired, then the shooting increased and the blasts got louder.  According to most, it lasted only a few minutes. 

“Afterward, some reported hearing the revving up of powerful car-engines and seeing two cars speedily drive to the front of the house. 

“Others reported seeing the shadowy figures of men, carrying arms, dressed in black, come out of the darkness and run up to the vehicles, dragging a person between them, and drive away in the direction of the highway.

“All the witness stories are more or less the same. 

“As we have seen, the detached houses and the independent houses in the neighborhood are all on one side of the street. There are no houses on the opposite side till the bend in the road, half a kilometer away.”

    He paused to catch his breath, “Tomorrow or rather today, later in the morning, I will have detectives canvas the area for other witnesses who may have noticed something or might have some information about the residents of that house.”

    William King, Special Agent, came in next.  “We have observed the three crime scene places and know what a mess it is.  Except for bodies, the other forensic work including latent fingerprinting is continuing after the short morning break.”

He glanced at this wrist, “From the reports coming in, we can expect to wind up here latest by 6.00 PM.  And, by early next week, we ought to have all the reports available, hopefully including that of the autopsies.”

    “The house must remain cordoned and sealed until the complete investigation and closure of the case,” posited Jonathan Bradley.  

    Then turning to the Lieutenant, he said, “Detective Morris, could you please make it to the FBI’s Counterterrorism Office on Tuesday afternoon around 4.00 PM with whatever the latest developments in this case?”

    “Hopefully.” Morris said, then noticed Bradley’s right eyebrow shoot up.

    “Mr. Bradley, you know how the forensic people work. They can be frustrating at times,” Morris surmised bemusedly.

    “I think, in this case, they will be without any excuses not to cooperate with you, Lieutenant,” asserted Allan Banks, the Senior Special Agent.

    Bradley quickly understood Allan’s intent, and also the lieutenant’s point, both taking advantage of the fact that the debriefing was being recorded and later available for review.

     The debriefing had been going on for little over an hour, when Jonathan thought it was time to conclude.

    Understandably, they hadn’t much to report or talk about this early in the investigation.

    “It is now 8.35 AM.  This preliminary debriefing ends now,” he declared as he switched off the recorder.

***

The newspaper late-news and the national TV channels in the Breakfast News slot briefly mentioned about the shootout  in Yonkers, the inner suburbs of the New York City, apparently between rival drug lords.

Most news reports hinted at a fall-out among drug traffickers, fighting for control of their territories, further reporting the

finding of four bodies, one of them being
allegedly the body of the landlord who had rented out the premises to members of a drug gang. That both the NYPD and the FBI were observed to be investigating the crime scene.

For more details of the gang-war shootout, the media awaited the Police Press Conference scheduled for 4.30 PM that day.

***

As Jonathan Bradley drove away from the crime scene area, he wondered if he would find Samantha’s room-mate, Elaine, at their apartment. 

It’d soon be 9.00 AM, but it was a Saturday morning when there would be no classes to attend.

If she had been out on a date the previous night, then either she’d be spending the night out someplace, or would have arrived home late night, the latter meaning that she’d be sleeping at home until mid-morning.

    Bradley decided that he would not telephone her now, but would drop by her apartment around 11.00 AM or so.

    He had been sending flowers to Samantha at her sister’s place through Elaine ever since she had refused to take his calls.    

    However, there were encouraging signs now that Samantha was slowly getting over her trauma and he would have her back again.

The next time, he decided to include a personal note with the flowers. He truly believed that it was only a matter of time.  Soon, she would consent to meet him.

For now, he was being kept busy with his intelligence work in the FBI.  And, he  had just suffered a setback in the Yonker Islamic-Jihadist terror plot case.

    Instead of extending cooperation, as was expected of them, the Israelis had pulled a fast one on them. 

    He was not without  suspicions about the CIA’s awareness of the whole episode.  It was never beyond the formidable Agency to motivate anytime its hands–off policy in the affairs affecting its hidden-agenda, such as the Mossad’s escapade in Yonker on the American soil. 

    His mind next shifted to the NYPD’s investigation into Samantha’s rape assailant.  The last time, he had met with the lady detective, she had informed him that they had two suspects who needed to be interrogated  thoroughly for evidence that would stand in court. That was a week ago. 

   Almost four weeks had gone by and still the NYPD had not caught and indicted the alleged rapist.

   As any investigating officer would know the first twenty-four hour period of any crime is the most crucial period to find important clues or the offender.  He was now losing patience with the NYPD.

    This morning, he has had his breakfast, if not his sleep.  Why not drop by the detective’s office and learn more?  Perhaps, he would convince her to accept his help in the investigation.

***

Jonathan Bradley was in the act of turning the car and heading towards the NYPD’s Detective Bureau office, when he overheard the dispatcher’s call on the police radio in his FBI car. 

He turned on the volume to listen more clearly. The
911
dispatcher was sending out a call to police patrol cars, reporting a homicide in downtown Manhattan.

    Bradley was momentarily stricken by the sudden awareness of the location. He knew the address only too well.

    The house belonged to his friend and mentor, the retired CIA Vietnam operative.

    Greatly disturbed in mind, he swung back his 2003 model Ford Crown Victoria, similar to the NYPD Police Interceptor, towards the Manhattan highway, praying and hoping against hope that there was somehow a mistake in reporting the homicide at his trusted counselor’s residence.