Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (50 page)

Patterson stopped and looked at Craig. “Third floor, right?”

“Yep. Apartment 308.”

Patterson pushed open the door and led the way as they ascended the dimly lit stair-case. The walls were stained and covered with decades’ worth of overlapping grit. “I'd hate to see the ratings for this place on apartments.com,” he said as they climbed up the second flight of stairs.   

“I think our suspect chose this building for a reason,” Craig said.

“Because he’s poor?”

“Because the authorities are less likely to bother him here.”

“Could be a little of both,” Patterson said.

They pushed past the entrance to the third floor and slowly crept along the glossy concrete floor of the hall. Doors covered in thick, brown paint with tiny peep holes were aligned along each side, and at the end, the hall split off into two directions. Craig followed the number on each door. They were in the three twenties. Most of the overhead light bulbs were either burnt out or flickering. Patterson drew his 9mm from his holster.

“What are you doing?” Craig asked.

“This place looks like something out of a damn horror movie. I'm not taking any chances.”        

“Just keep it low key.”

They followed the hall as it angled right, nearing the teens. Black bags of trash were piled up outside one apartment they passed. “Nice,” said Patterson, who then nearly tripped over a beer bottle, sending it rolling down the hall. “Shit. Sorry,” he said.

Craig flashed him a glance of disbelief and frustration and then shook his head. They came to 308 near the end of the hall, on their left.

“Well. Should we knock?” Patterson said, jokingly.

Craig knelt down, wasting no time, and opened his case. “Keep an eye out for me.”

Inside the case, resting on foam padding, were a laptop, battery and several cords. He pulled out a small device, about the size of a domino, and turned on both the laptop and the camera device to make sure they were synchronized and running. Once everything was in order, he pointed the camera at Patterson, who stood guard.

“Smile, you’re on
America’s Most Wanted
.”

Patterson looked at the laptop and saw himself on screen.

“I’m impressed. The FBI finally invested in webcams.”

“They prefer to call them spy cameras.”

“It does sound a lot cooler,” Patterson conceded.

Craig examined the walls behind him and across from apartment 308. He looked at his watch again. It was close to four. Not a soul was around. There were no sounds of movement from inside any of the other apartments. The time was right.

He planted the spy camera as high as he could above the frame of the door directly across from 308. All it took was one quick turn from his mini-electric screwdriver and the camera was in place. Its lithium battery could keep it powered for up to eight hours.

Craig did another system check, shut the carrying case, and stood up. As tempting as it was to bust down the door of 308, they had other ideas. They exited the building as quickly as they had entered, went back to the car, and waited.

***

Morning came, and Craig hadn't taken his eyes off the screen in his lap. On his third cup of coffee in three hours, Patterson did his best to remain attentive. The street had come alive with movement left and right. A garbage truck roared past. City buses made their stops. People shuffled onboard while others moved along the sidewalks, taking little notice of the two FBI agents sitting in a parked vehicle on the side of the road.

“Two hours and not a single person has walked by that hall camera,” Craig said. Just as Patterson was about to respond, Craig perked up. “Hold on,” he said.

A woman walked past the grainy frame with four young children following.

“Never mind. False alarm,” Craig said.

“Let's hope that Mr. Surkov isn’t a late sleeper,” Patterson said. He looked ahead and noticed a diner on the corner of the street. He could smell the bacon and eggs in the air. “How about I go over there and pick us up some grub?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Craig said, staring at the screen.

Patterson opened the door.

“Wait!” Craig said intensely. 

On screen, a young man exited the apartment and walked out into the hall. He was wearing a hat, an orange summer jacket, and a black backpack over his shoulders. He didn't look a day over seventeen.

“That's our sleeper cell mastermind?” Patterson asked in astonishment.

“I don’t know,” Craig said. “Looks a little too young.”

An older man now exited the room, taller and with facial hair. He had on jeans, a blue summer jacket, and a small backpack as well.

“The tall one. That’s Rasheed,” Patterson said. He fished in his pocket and unraveled a folded print-out of Rasheed’s driver’s license.

“Yep. That’s him,” Patterson said.

Both men had similar square-jawed facial features and thick, curly dark hair, though much of the younger one's hair was matted under his ball cap. Rasheed appeared to be examining his counterpart from head to toe. His mouth moved, but they couldn't hear anything he was saying.

“You got audio on this thing?” Patterson asked.

“Just video,” Craig said.

The younger one unzipped his jacket, exposing a small bulletproof vest with a camera attached to it.

“What the hell is that? A camera?” Patterson asked.

After closing and locking the door, Rasheed pulled a green Adidas ball cap from his pocket and placed it on his head. Both men then walked out of the frame.

Craig shut his laptop, turned and placed it on the back seat behind them after telling Patterson to keep watch.

“We might have to split up,” Craig said. “There’s more than one exit to that building.”

Suddenly Rasheed and his companion walked out the front exit of the building, just as Craig had hoped. Their suspects moved quickly with their heads down, right toward the diner Patterson had suggested going to.

“Ready to do a little legwork?” Craig asked.

Patterson nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Let's move.”  

The Chase

Craig and Patterson kept a careful distance, moving around people and approaching the corner of a crosswalk where Rasheed and his companion waited for the walk sign to flash. Craig could see Rasheed’s green Adidas hat in the small crowd and stopped. Ideally he wanted to keep as much distance as possible and simply observe their activities and where they went.

The light changed, their suspects crossed the street, and Craig and Patterson followed closely behind. Once they reached the next street, Rasheed and the other man stopped in front of “Lee’s Diner”
—
the same diner Patterson had expressed interest in.

Craig watched from about ten feet away as their suspects talked to each other.

“They stopped,” Patterson said, leaning on a newspaper stand.

“I know.”

              “Why?”

              Craig looked at Patterson in disbelief. “I don’t know!”

Rasheed hugged the boy, pulled away, and said a few more words with an intense, un-blinking glare.

Craig tried to looking inconspicuous while keeping a careful eye on their suspects.

Rasheed walked off farther down the sidewalk as the young one took his backpack off and dropped it to the ground in front of the diner. Craig bolted from the newspaper stand and moved quickly in pursuit of Rasheed as he blended into a group of people walking by a Laundromat.

“You watch him, I’ll follow Rasheed,” Craig said, walking off.

Patterson gave him the thumbs up as they split up. Craig moved quickly down the sidewalk, moving as fast as he could without running. He didn’t want to make a scene or have to pull his badge out. Cellphones were everywhere. Anything he did, every movement, could be captured and put on the Internet in an instant. Ahead in a crowd, he could see the unmistakable cap bobbing along.

***

Their other suspect remained knelt at the entrance to the diner, digging through his backpack with his back turned. Patterson approached slowly while looking inside through the wide windowpane in front of him. The tables were full, as was the counter. Patrons—young and old—sipped coffee, drank orange juice, and munched on eggs, bacon, grits, and toast over conversation and the alluring aroma in the air. Servers and busboys moved about in their aprons and hats, trying to keep up with the morning rush. 

As he watched the boy, Patterson thought of the bulging weight of the bag and the vest he was wearing underneath his jacket. The camera. It all made sense. He watched as the boy pulled out two handguns from the bag—one in each hand and stood up.

Patterson immediately pulled out his pistol. “Freeze!”

The boy whipped around, completely startled, wide-eyed and panicked, and fired multiple shots at Patterson without hesitation. Shots flew everywhere: through the diner's glass pane, into the diner’s walls, and directly into a patron’s head. Two rounds hit Patterson right in the gut, taking him down instantly.

Shocked but pumped with adrenaline, Patterson fired back in precise succession from the hard pavement as shell casings fell around him. Onlookers screamed and dispersed in a frenzy at the vivid blast of gunshots. The boy took several shots to the chest and fell down, stunned but not injured. The wind had been knocked out of him, but his vest had protected him. He struggled to his feet, legs shaking, gasping for breath. He then brought himself up with pistols in hand and ran into the diner, right through the swinging doors.  

Patterson lay flat on the sidewalk, looking up into the sky and trembling, trying to get up. Blood gushed from his abdomen like a tapped reservoir. It was like a punch to the stomach that grew more painful with each passing breath.  

***

Craig heard the shots and turned around. About a block down, he could see people running toward him. He then looked for Rasheed, who was standing ahead taking great interest in the shooting behind them. Craig didn’t want to waste another minute. He rushed after Rasheed, pushing his way past pedestrians.

Rasheed’s eyes locked on Craig. He spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction, away from the gunfire, and down the nearest alley. Craig chased him and nearly tripped over an elderly woman directly in his path. Rasheed was out of sight, but Craig continued his fast pursuit with his gun drawn, ready to take him down.

***

              As Darion rushed into the diner, terrified diner patrons rose from their tables and ran to the back of the room. His GoPro camera was recording everything in front of him: the terrified expression of a group of woman ducking under her table, the chaotic and confused movements of a mob of people trying to find another way out, and the screams of a woman at the sight of her male companion lying dead on the table with a bullet through his head.

Darion spoke loudly and calmly, instructing everyone to line up against the wall. “I will not ask you again. Please do not try to escape.”

              More than twenty frantic people huddled together, out of their chairs and away from their tables, trying to keep their distance from their approaching attacker. Servers joined the petrified customers just as a group of cooks came out of the kitchen after hearing the commotion.

              “What the fuck?” a large, bearded cook shouted out, clutching a butcher knife.

He made a quick run toward Darion and was shot three times in the chest. More screams followed as the cook’s body slumped to the ground and the knife skidded across the tile floor. Two other cooks tried to run back to the kitchen but were shot in the back, moments from reaching the door. Cries and screams erupted through the room. No one knew what to do. A shaking, sweaty manager stood up from behind the counter with his arms up. 

              “What do you want?” he cried out, emptying the cash register. “Please. Take it all. Just don’t harm us.”

              Darion looked at the crumpled bills clutched in the manager’s pale, shaky hands.

              “I have come to deliver a message from the Islamic State. Because of your country’s continued aggression against my people, you are no longer safe to eat in your restaurants, to go to your movies, and shop at your malls. The day of reckoning for your crimes begins now.”

              With the GoPro capturing every moment, Darion fired two shots into the manager, sending him spiraling into the stack of dishes behind him. A tower of clean plates fell over, crashing onto the floor. Darion pointed his pistols at the crowd as their screams intensified. Several people jumped out of the way, hid behind chairs, and some under tables. Their behavior and reactions fascinated Darion.

              “Remember, please, that this is nothing personal. But it is necessary.”

***

Craig continued his chase down the alley, closing in on Rasheed just as his green hat flew off. Craig drew his gun and shouted at him to stop. Rasheed instead turned left at the end of the alley and ran to the next block in open view. He then bulldozed between a couple and pushed them out of the way as they tumbled onto the sidewalk, shaken and confused.

“Stop! FBI!” Craig shouted.

He pointed his pistol up into the air and fired. Rasheed ran across the two-lane street and jumped over some bushes into the yard of a nearby house. Exhausted, Craig pushed on. Rasheed climbed over a wooden fence into the backyard and ran on. Craig clenched his aching sides and then pulled himself over the same fence, only to see Rasheed rushing through the backyard and hurdling a divider.

Craig fell into the backyard and maintained his pursuit. Once he made it over the same divider, he watched Rasheed run out into a residential street with such frenzy that one of his shoes flew off. He lost his balance and suddenly rolled onto the pavement. His backpack flew off his shoulders, bursting open onto the street and revealing several pipe bombs.