The Terrorist Next Door (13 page)

Chapter
24

“HOW MUCH TIME DO WE HAVE?”

Every neuron in Gold’s brain was firing as he went back inside Silver’s house and frantically thumbed in a reply reading, “Call me. Need to talk. Gold.” He pressed Send and held his breath.

It went through.

He quickly typed in another e-mail reading, “Don’t do it. Ready to negotiate.” He pressed Send. It went through again.

Battle arrived and joined Silver and Gold in Silver’s living room. Gold’s heart pounded as he spoke to his partner. “He’s setting off a bomb on Rush Street in two minutes. I need to keep this line open to communicate with him. Call Maloney on your cell and tell him I need to talk to him.”

“What about Fong?”

Gold turned to Silver. “See if you can reach him on your landline. I need to call Area 1.” Gold punched in Chicago PD’s emergency hotline on his BlackBerry. He was immediately transferred to Area 1 dispatch. He dispensed with the cop jargon. “This is Detective David Gold of Area 2. I’m running the Al-Shahid investigation. A bomb is about to go off on Rush Street in less than two minutes.”

“Where on Rush?”

“I don’t know. Tell your people to get everybody off the street and away from parked cars.”

“We don’t have time.”

“Just do it. And alert the fire department and the National Guard.” Gold pressed Disconnect. His BlackBerry vibrated again. He had another e-mail.

It read, “You have one minute and twenty seconds to free Hassan. No more warnings. IFF.”

Gold keyed in a reply reading, “Call me now. No questions asked.” His hands shook as he received confirmation that the e-mail had gone through. At the same time, Gold heard Fong’s frantic voice coming from Silver’s landline.

“What’s going on?” Fong yelled. “My people said you just got two e-mails.”

“I did. I sent two replies. You got a trace?”

“No. They were encrypted.”

“Dammit, George. He’s setting off a bomb on Rush Street in seventy-five seconds.”

“Where on Rush?”

“I don’t know. I just spoke to Area 1 dispatch. We’re trying to reach Maloney.” Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated again. “Hold on,” he said to Fong. He saw Mojo’s name on the display. “What is it, Carol?”

“I just got an e-mail. He’s setting off a bomb on Rush Street. Every media outlet in the Chicago area got the same message.”

“So did I. Did he say where the bomb was?”

“No. I was able to send him a reply, but I can’t reach Fong to see if he got a trace.”

“I have Fong on my other line. The e-mail he sent to me was encrypted. He can’t trace it.”

“What the hell do we do now, Detective?”

“I’ll get back to you in a minute. I need to keep this line open.”

“But Detective—”

“I gotta go.” He hit Disconnect. He grabbed Silver’s landline and spoke to Fong. “Mojo got an e-mail, too. You got a trace on hers?”

“We’ve been through this, Detective. We can’t trace them.”

“Then we’re screwed.”

Battle handed him his BlackBerry. “Maloney.”

Gold held the BlackBerry to his ear. “I just got another e-mail,” he said to the chief. “So did Mojo. He’s about to set off a bomb on Rush Street. I’ve already alerted Area 1.”

“How much time do we have?”

Gold glanced at his watch. “Twenty-eight seconds.”

“E-mail him again.”

Gold fumbled the BlackBerry and typed in the words, “Ready to negotiate. Call me. Gold.” He thought about it for an instant and added “Please.” Then he pressed Send.

Gold stared at the display for an interminable moment. He lifted Battle’s BlackBerry to his ear. “No response,” he said to the chief.

“Too late.” Maloney’s voice was a somber whisper. “I need you and Battle to meet me at the corner of Rush and Superior right away. It’s bad.”

Chapter
25

“THREE DEAD, A DOZEN INJURED”

“Three dead, a dozen injured,” Maloney said. The chief’s voice was hoarse as he addressed the television cameras outside the yellow tape near the intersection of Rush and Superior, a block from the Water Tower, in the upscale Magnificent Mile area north of the Chicago River. A few curious onlookers lined up behind the media mob. Otherwise, the street was empty. “The names of the victims haven’t been released.”

Gold’s eyes watered from the smoke. He and Battle were standing next to the shell of a Lexus 350 that had exploded forty minutes earlier. The blast had ignited a fire at the Giordano’s Pizza in a refurbished low-rise. A brigade of firefighters had arrived within minutes and kept the fire from spreading. Police cars, fire engines, and ambulances were parked randomly on the narrow streets and sidewalks. Their flashing lights bounced off the high rises towering over the few remaining brownstones built in the shadows of Holy Name Cathedral after the Chicago Fire.

Gold tried to stay off camera as Mojo shoved a microphone in front of Maloney’s face. “How did the victims die?” she asked.

“A bomb went off in the Lexus, killing two pedestrians. The explosion caused a passing car to flip over, killing the driver. The injured were workers inside the restaurant.”

“Have you identified the owner of the Lexus?”

“Yes. The car was stolen last Thursday. The owner isn’t a suspect.”

“The bomb couldn’t have been detonated by another throwaway.”

“It wasn’t.” Maloney paused to consider how much he wanted to reveal. “The detonator was a conventional cell phone.”

“Have you identified the owner?”

“Yes, but we aren’t in a position to release a name at this time.” Maloney confirmed that the initiating phone was also a conventional cell. “We’ve identified the owner of that one, too. We’ve questioned both people.”

“Is either person a suspect?”

“No comment.”

Gold opened and closed his right fist.
Shut up, Chief
.

Mojo kept firing. “Wouldn’t it be prudent to cut off access to all cell phones in the Chicago area until this perpetrator is caught?”

Bingo!

“We’re considering the possibility,” Maloney said. “We haven’t made a final decision.”

“Eighteen people have been killed in less than twenty-four hours. How many more have to die before you cut off access to all cell phones, Chief?”

Maloney clenched his jaws. “It would be very disruptive. Law enforcement, fire, and emergency responders communicate through cell phones.”

“Our streets are empty, Chief Maloney. Most people would be willing to deal with a little inconvenience to stop the bombings.”

“I am confident we will catch this person very soon.”

Gold’s head throbbed.
You aren’t helping.

Mojo moved closer to Maloney. “I received another e-mail from the Islamic Freedom Federation. Informed sources tell us that it’s affiliated with an Al-Qaeda offshoot in Afghanistan.
Can you confirm this information?”

“No comment.”

Mojo turned and addressed Gold. “Can you?”

“No comment.”

Mojo had the last word. “You’d better figure this out before somebody else gets killed.”

* * *

Gold and Battle ducked behind the charred Lexus and walked over to the FBI Suburban parked next to the blackened valet kiosk in front of Giordano’s, where Fong was meeting with Mike Rowan of the Bomb Squad.

“Same M.O.,” Fong said, “except the detonator and the initiating phones were regular cells instead of throwaways. GPS on the initiating phone was disabled, so we can’t pinpoint where the call was placed, except we know it was routed through a tower on the Southeast Side. Lexus was reported stolen last Thursday from the Wilmette Metra station. Alarm was disconnected. Owner works for Merrill Lynch. She isn’t a suspect.”

Gold asked whether there was any evidence that someone was targeted.

“Doubtful. Parking is tight in this neighborhood. The bomber probably drove around until he found a space near a busy corner.”

“What do you know about the initiating phone?”

“Owner is Beverly Bloom. Seventy-four. Retired legal secretary. No criminal record. Lives at 54th and Cornell, a couple of blocks from Al-Shahid’s condo and the Metra station. She went downtown yesterday on the twelve-forty Metra from 53rd. She got off at Millennium station and met her niece for lunch at the Walnut Room. Didn’t notice that her phone was missing until we called her a few minutes ago. I have people talking to her right now.”

“Was she on the train with Al-Shahid’s brother?”

“No.”

“Any chance they crossed paths?”

“Doubtful.”

An experienced pickpocket could have lifted her phone in the tunnel leading from Millennium station to Michigan Avenue. Gold asked about the detonator phone.

Fong glanced at his notes. “Purchased in June at a Verizon store in Olympia Fields by a woman named Donna Andrews, an administrator for a law firm downtown. No criminal record. Left work early because she wasn’t feeling well. Last saw the phone at Starbucks at Millennium station. Didn’t see anybody take it. We’re going through the security videos.”

Gold’s eyes darted across the intersection. “Anybody see the Lexus park here?”

“A valet at Giordano’s saw it pull in around eleven-thirty. Driver was a young man of medium build who may have had a beard and may have been wearing a black baseball cap. He walked toward Michigan Avenue.”

“Could be the same guy from the museum.”

“Could be.” Fong gestured toward an FBI van parked down the street. “The valet is working with one of our sketch artists. You can talk to him.”

“We will.” Gold glanced at the Lexus. The chance of finding DNA or prints appeared slim. “Surveillance videos?”

Fong gestured
at the restaurant. “A security camera was mounted above the entrance to Giordano’s. It was pointed at the area where the Lexus was parked. My people took the disks to my office. If we’re lucky, it may have caught a shot of the guy who parked the car.”

* * *

Silver’s name appeared on Gold’s BlackBerry after he had completed a brief and unenlightening conversation with the valet. “Why are you still up?” Gold asked.

“Earl Feldman called. He’s willing to let us talk to his client.”

“When?”

“Now. Meet me at 26th and Cal in twenty minutes.”

“I told you that you’re a good lawyer.”

Chapter
26

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHO SET OFF THOSE BOMBS”

Hassan Al-Shahid was a slight man with smooth skin, an unkempt beard, and delicate features. His thin arms were folded, and his eyes stared straight down. “I have no idea who set off those bombs,” he recited in lightly accented English. He looked up at Gold and added, with a smug grin, “I have nothing else to say.”

Earl “the Pearl” Feldman’s rubbery face transformed into a phony smile as he adjusted the gold cufflinks on his monogrammed white shirt. The longtime rabble rouser had ditched the scruffy pony tail and tie-dyed look decades earlier. “Unless you have something to offer us, Detective Gold, the guards can take my client back to his cell until we can work out arrangements for bail.”

Gold felt the anger in his throat as he sat on an uncomfortable card chair in an airless interrogation room in the bowels of County Jail Number 3, the oldest of the interconnected buildings adjacent to the courthouse. He, Battle, Silver, and Fong were sitting on one side of the gunmetal gray table. Hassan Al-Shahid and Feldman sat across from them. The dingy room reeked of sweat. The flickering fluorescent light gave everyone a sickly cast. It was the first time Gold had been in the same room with Al-Shahid since his arrest. It gnawed at him that the remorseless, round-shouldered sociopath had killed Paulie and changed Katie’s life forever. The twerps and the punks always found ways to wreak the most havoc.

“There’s no way you’re getting bail for a terrorist,” Gold snapped.

Feldman corrected him. “Alleged terrorist. You’ve incarcerated an innocent man for more than a month. We came here in the spirit of cooperation to help you catch the terrorist who’s setting off bombs outside.” He shot a disdainful look at Silver. “My client has no obligation to talk to you, Lori. In fact, most defense lawyers would argue that our being here is a mistake—maybe even malpractice.”

Silver didn’t bite. “I hope this isn’t an attempt to set up a claim on appeal that your client isn’t getting adequate representation. No appellate judge is going to find you unqualified, Earl.”

Feldman flashed another phony grin. “I might be willing to grant you that much, Lori.”

So it begins
.

Feldman’s condescending smirk broadened. “If you’d like our help, Lori, you’ll need to rethink your unreasonable position on bail.”

“Not going to happen, Earl.”

“Then we’re done.”

Silver turned and spoke directly to Al-Shahid. “Hassan, you’re only going to make things worse if you don’t cooperate.”

Feldman answered for him. “I’m instructing my client not to say a word.”

Silver was still addressing Al-Shahid. “Then you can just listen. We have the gun you used to shoot Udell Jones.”

Feldman continued to act as spokesman. “
Allegedly
used. You can’t prove Hassan pulled the trigger.”

Silver kept her eyes locked onto Al-Shahid’s. “Nobody’s going to buy that. You’re a smart guy, Hassan. You know you’ll be better off if you come clean.”

For the first time, Al-Shahid darted nervous a glance at Earl the Pearl, who responded with forced bravado. “I like our chances,” the lawyer said.

Silver kept talking to Al-Shahid. “How do you explain the plans on your computer to set off a bomb at the Art Institute? What about the bomb factory you built in South Chicago?”

Feldman shook his head. “I told you we wouldn’t discuss Hassan’s case.”

“Fine. Then tell us the name of the guy who is setting off bombs in your client’s name.”

“We have no idea. My client has been incarcerated illegally for the past month.”

It was Silver’s turn to show some calculated indignation. “Save it for the prelim, Earl.”

“It’s ludicrous to suggest Hassan had any involvement in the explosions. He has no way of communicating with the outside world. He’s in solitary.”

“For his own protection.”

“All the more reason why this is so preposterous. He can’t talk to anybody.”

“He can get messages to the other inmates. Most of them have illegal cell phones. He can talk to his lawyers.”

“Are you accusing me of something illegal?”

“Absolutely not.”

The room filled with an intense silence. Finally, Battle removed the toothpick from his mouth. He spoke to Al-Shahid, but his message was clearly intended for Feldman. “Hassan, let me explain the facts of life to you. You’re going to be convicted of first-degree murder. The only question is whether you’re going to get the death penalty.”

Feldman pointed at Battle. “I’m instructing my client again not to say another word.”

“Fine. Now he can listen to me. If your client answers our questions truthfully and helps us catch the person who’s setting off bombs outside, we might be able to persuade Assistant State’s Attorney Silver’s boss to take the death penalty off the table.”

Feldman’s right eyebrow pushed up slightly. “Is that true?” he asked Silver.

“It’s a possibility.”

“Not good enough.”

“Have it your way,” Battle said, “but this is a one-time offer.”

Feldman pondered his options. “I’m prepared to continue this discussion for a few minutes, but I’m going to decide which questions, if any, we’ll answer. Most important, this conversation is off the record. Nothing he says today can be used against him.”

“That’ll work.” Battle turned to Al-Shahid. “You know Ibrahim Zibari?”

Feldman answered for him. “Yes, he does. He’s the imam of the Gates of Peace Mosque near the university.”

Battle faced Feldman. “I understand your client made several donations to the mosque.”

“He did. Whether you’re a Muslim, a Baptist, or a Jew, giving to charity is a blessing.”

“How is Mr. Zibari going to keep his doors open without your client’s help?”

“He’s very resourceful.”

“He has a substantial financial interest in seeing your client get out of here.”

“If you have evidence that Ibrahim Zibari is setting off bombs, you should arrest him.”

“We will.” Battle nodded to Gold, who took the cue.

“Hassan’s academic advisor is Mohammad Raheem. He thinks terrorism is justified.”

Feldman shook his head vigorously from side to side. “Incorrect. Dr. Raheem is a pacifist. If you think he’s blowing up cars, you should arrest him, too.”

Al-Shahid unfolded his arms and finally spoke up. “You can’t stop terrorism by enacting overreaching legislation like the Patriot Act. You need to go to the root: oppression.”

Gold had touched a nerve. “You’ve been educated at the finest private schools. You lived in a condo on Hyde Park Boulevard. You honestly think you’ve been oppressed?”

“I was referring to the U.S. attitude toward the Muslim world.”

“Now you’re also an expert on how we think?”

“Americans aren’t shy about expressing their opinions.”

Feldman finally stopped him. “That’s enough.”

Gold glared at Al-Shahid. “I understand you exchanged e-mails with Dr. Raheem’s research assistant.”

“Karim had some questions about classes and housing.”

“You know he was arrested for terrorist activities in Iraq.”

Feldman interjected again. “If you think Karim Fayyadh is setting off bombs, arrest him.”

Gold spoke to Feldman. “I understand your client’s family made several donations to an organization called the Chicago Islamic Council.”

“That’s also a matter of public record.”

“We talked to Ahmed Jafar, who runs the Shrine of Heaven Mosque on Milwaukee Avenue. He accepted a substantial gift from your client through the CIC.”

“He did. It’s a worthy organization.”

“We have evidence that the CIC has tried to recruit suicide bombers in the U.S. Was your client in the habit of making contributions to entities affiliated with terrorist organizations?”

Feldman shook his head. “If you think the CIC is involved, you should talk to them. If you think Ahmed Jafar is blowing up cars, you should arrest him.”

“He’s been accused of smuggling weapons.”

“Then you should arrest him. My client isn’t a terrorist.”

“I guess that makes him a garden-variety murderer.”

“Jafar has no connection to the bombs set off in the past two days.”

“Yes, he does. His car was blown up at the Addison El station.”

“You think he blew up his own car?”

“You tell me. Did your client promise to buy him a new one? Or did he simply agree to make another donation so Jafar can buy an even bigger building?”

“My client hasn’t spoken to him since he was arrested.”

Fong finally chimed in. “We’ve been watching Jafar for years. Now we can connect him to two terrorist entities: the CIC and your client.”

“You’ve never proved the CIC has terrorist ties,” Feldman said. “If you could, you would have put them out of business. My client barely knows Jafar.”

Gold started probing for another pressure point. “We talked to your brother,” he said to Al-Shahid. “He told us he’d do anything to get you out of here.”

Al-Shahid’s eyes lit up. “Leave him out of this.”

“People do things to protect their families.”

“He isn’t setting off bombs.”

“Then tell us who is.”

“I don’t know.”

“I sure hope he has a good alibi. Otherwise, he’s going to get a cell next to yours.”

Feldman had heard enough. “We’re done.”

* * *

The young man fingered a stolen cell phone as he watched the red dot move north on California. Gold and Battle had finished their business at 26th and Cal. The dot continued north until it reached Roosevelt Road, then headed east. They were on their way to FBI headquarters.

They’re going to compare notes with Fong. Not surprising
.

He looked at the live feed from the CNN website. He smiled when he saw a “Windy City Terror Attacks” headline superimposed over Anderson Cooper’s shoulder. Not an especially original caption, but it would do. The only thing missing was a voiceover by James Earl Jones. The crawl said that additional National Guard units had been called in, and Homeland Security was thinking of suspending service to all cell phones in the Chicago area.

Do they think that will stop me?

Cooper furrowed his brow and conducted a split screen interview with a retired Navy Seal who had spent five years in Baghdad. After a casual disclaimer that he had no firsthand information about the Islamic Freedom Federation, the Seal proclaimed that the bombings had “all of the hallmarks of an Al-Qaeda operation.”

And you have all of the hallmarks of a pompous blowhard.