The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter 20

Diana had been working on her book for two weeks. Besides her teaching load at the university she was also working on a feature-length article for
The Atlantic
, as well as helping me on the
Yamani
case. Dee had just called me to say that she had enough research to begin a first draft.

At 6:30 p.m. I walked into our apartment. Dee was already there, the dining room table littered with papers. She walked up to me and we kissed. But something was off, something was different.

“Hey, hon,” I said. “How about a smile?”

“After I tell you about my research, you tell me if I should smile.”

I sat at the table. It may sound like a small thing, but it’s rare when Dee isn’t smiling. A smile is like the default setting on her pretty face. It’s sort of like there’s always a smile in there just waiting for an excuse to pop out. She wasn’t smiling. But she did have my attention.

“Why don’t you go freshen up, Matt. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

I went into the master bathroom, took a quick shower, put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and rejoined Dee in the dining room.

“The big three weren’t alone, Matt.”

We were starting to call the three defendants in the mall bombing cases the
Big Three,
Al Yamani, our client, Mickey Sidduq, Georgina’s guy in New York, and Jake Almeth, Jerry Blackwell’s client in San Francisco—the
Big Three
.

“A lot of people are, or were, writing critical stuff about Islam. I’ve come up with 36 Muslims who wrote serious critiques about their religion. Twenty are novelists, ten could be described as journalists, and six are non-fiction book writers.”

“Dee, you said ‘or were’ when you just referred to these writers. So are they or
were they
writing stuff about Islam?”

“Of the 36 people I’ve identified as writers who are critical of Islam, 27 are dead—
fucking dead
. That’s 75 percent of the reform writers. I dug further. Of the 27 dead guys, only three died of natural causes. One guy was in his 80s and died of a heart attack. One was 75 and died of cancer. And the third guy died at 65 of emphysema. Of the remaining 24 dead people, 19 were shot, two beheaded, and three died in explosions. Are you still wondering why I’m not smiling?”

“Are you thinking about Al Yamani, Dee?”

“Yes, I’m thinking about Al Yamani, as well as that guy Mickey and the one called Jake. If you and the other lawyers are successful in getting these guys off, what kind of life expectancy will they have?”

“Remember, Dee, Al Yamani spoke about this weird new group, the NFL. Unless we can have our guys delivered permanently into the Witness Protection Program, maybe those tough guys will cover their backs.”

“On that subject, Matt, let’s talk about this NFL stuff—
Not For Long
. What do
you
think about them?”

“Well, I don’t know a hell of a lot about them, and apparently neither does our client. But he does know of their existence—a group of anti-jihadis. Part of me likes that there’s a shadowy group that’s on our guy’s side, but part of me is suspicious as hell. Bottom line, even if we may silently cheer them on whoever they are, you can only describe them as lawless vigilantes. I guess you haven’t discovered anything about a secret anti-jihad group in your research.”

“Not a thing. From what I’ve read so far, and I still have a lot more to go, the writers only mention other reformers. I did most of my research with digital copies of their writings. I searched for ‘NFL’ and came up with nothing except one guy mentioning that his kid was in the NFL draft and got picked up by the New York Jets. It seems that this NFL will just be in the background of whatever it is we do. It may be
our
background, but they are the underground.”

“Hey, Dee. Let’s think about a few of the news stories in the past week. A well-known radical Islamist professor got whacked in Egypt. A guy who radicalizes teenagers was shot in Yemen. And, a bit closer to home, that nut-case from Evanston, Abdul Ishak, was killed just two nights ago on the Southside. A truck sideswiped his car and drove him into a barricade. They found the truck in Indiana. It was abandoned. I asked Woody to make a couple of calls. There were absolutely no fingerprints in the truck. So Ishak, like the others, got killed. If this weird NFL group really does exist, it appears they’ve having a busy season.”

Chapter 21

“Hey, Bonnie, congratulate me and give me a hug,” Jack Logan said to his wife.

“Sure, babe. For what?”

“I just got off the phone with Sarah Watson, Director of the FBI. Get this. She’s offered me the position of head of the Counterterrorism Task Force. It’s a huge promotion and a lot more pay.”

“It’s also a lot more aggravation, Jack. And besides that, isn’t the Counterterrorism Task Force located in Manhattan? That’s a hike from Philadelphia.”

“More good news. Sarah has a well-known reputation for caring about her agents’ family lives,” Jack said. “She made a few calls, and the New York Police Department is looking for a homicide detective. Sarah knows all about you and went over your background with the NYPD commissioner. The job is as good as yours. Based on Watson’s recommendation the NYPD brass agreed to make a huge exception for you. Normally the NYPD would never hire a detective in a lateral move from another police department. The pay level is the same as Detective First Grade, and it provides $20,000 more than you’re making now. Technically, your title won’t be detective but something like Special Assistant to the Commissioner, a civilian position. But for all practical purposes you’ll still be a detective and that’s what cops will call you. And after 20 years with the Philadelphia PD, you’re vested in your pension. There’s nothing keeping us here in Philly, so what do you say? Hell, we both grew up in New York, so it’s not like it will be culture shock. Let’s become a couple of New Yorkers again.”

***

Jack Logan opened the door of his new office at 26 Federal Plaza in Manhattan. He and Bonnie had found a comfortable apartment in the Greenwich Village section of Manhattan, a block away from his old friend and predecessor Rick Bellamy, who is now Secretary of Homeland Security. Bonnie was assigned to NYPD Headquarters at 1 Police Plaza, a short walk away from Jack’s office and also not far from their apartment. His phone rang. It was Rick Bellamy, calling from Washington to congratulate him on his new job, the same one that Bellamy had occupied for a few years. “Develop a taste for Maalox,” Rick said. “You’ll have your share of
agita
.”

The Logans had been married for 20 years, and were both 42 years old. They met at NYU when they were students, and married six months after they graduated. They had two sons, both in college. The Logans had a strong marriage, fueled by the fact that they loved each other. Jack was six feet tall, with a blond crew cut and a muscular build, kept that way because of his rigid workout routine. Bonnie, also blond, wore her hair in a pixie cut. She was 5’9,” slim with an attractive, athletic body.

When they were in Philadelphia, Jack and Bonnie often worked on the same cases. Jack’s former position with the FBI was as a narcotics investigator, a job that often saw its share of homicides. Bonnie loved her work as a homicide detective. She worked on cases that were managed by others, leaving her with the challenge of analyzing the facts and solving puzzles without the blizzard of paperwork that the officer assigned to a case had to worry about.

***

Bonnie had been on her new job for three weeks when she walked into her office on a bright September morning. Her phone rang. It was Joel Fenster, the Chief of Police himself, saying that he had an assignment for her. She thought this was an odd procedure, because any assignment would normally come from a deputy commissioner or chief of detectives.

“Bonnie, there’s been a big shooting at the NYU Islamic Center on Thompson Street. Get there right away.”

In her many years as a homicide detective, Bonnie had convinced herself that she could handle any kind of scene, no matter how revolting. She had a firm rule never to bring the gruesomeness home with her, although she and Jack often discussed their cases. What she found when she ducked under the yellow police crime scene tape at the Islamic Center hit her like a baseball bat.

“Oh my God,” she said to the captain in charge of the crime scene, “do you have a body count?”

“This is fucking unbelievable, detective. We have 95 bodies, and there’s no evidence of any explosion. This was done with guns. Our forensic people from CSU (Crime Scene Unit) have just started to sort this out, but they think that there were a bunch of shooters, based on the relative orderliness of the bodies. As far as we can tell—but we still have a lot of bodies to examine—every one of the shooters got away.”

“Captain, do you have a preliminary thought on what happened here?” Bonnie asked.

“I avoid jumping to conclusions, detective, but I think this is a terror-related execution. Who are you calling?”

“My husband. You may have met him, Jack Logan. He’s the new head of the FBI Counterterrorism Task Force. He needs to know about this.”

“Hi Bonnie, I already heard about the shooting at the Islamic Center. I assume that’s what you’re calling me about. I’m just outside right now.”

Jack Logan flashed his badge and ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape. He walked toward the entrance past a group of uniformed NYPD officers. Thanks in large part to his predecessor, Rick Bellamy, the old bullshit competition between cops and FBI people was almost a thing of the past. An officer led him through the front door, where Bonnie was waiting for him at the command post. They moved toward each other but suddenly pulled back. Their natural inclination was to exchange a hug and kiss, but they had both disciplined themselves over the years to keep up professional appearance in public.

“Holy shit,” Jack said.

“Is that your professional opinion, Agent Logan?”

“Yes, it is, wiseass. Knowing you, Bonnie, you probably have this 90 percent figured out already. So give me your take on what happened here.”

“This mosque has been on the NYPD radar for years, as the captain-in-charge told me. It’s a gathering place of extremists and radical activities, including speeches and plans.”

“It’s been on the FBI and CIA watch list too, Bonnie. If I said that publicly I’d probably be the subject of a
New York Times
editorial. It’s a Sunni mosque, and not very popular with the Shiites.”

Ever since 9/11 every law enforcement officer in the country had to keep abreast of radical Islamic culture. Jack knew, as did Bonnie, that the Sunni Muslims had no love for the Shiites, and the feeling was mutual.

“Let’s review a bit of history, Bonnie. Maybe it will help us to understand this shit. The Sunni branch of Islam believes that the first four caliphs after the Prophet Mohammed were the true successors. The Shiites believe that only the heirs of the fourth caliph, named Ali, are the legitimate heirs. So that clears it all up, no?”

“No, Jack, I’ve been studying this stuff for years, just like you, and I still don’t get it. Are we telling ourselves that this carnage has something to do with a succession dispute from the seventh century?”

“I don’t get it either, Bonnie. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We can’t conclude that this shoot-out was pulled off by Shiites. At this point, we just don’t know. Let’s look at what we’ve got in front of us.”

“Jack, you were in the Marines. Give me your gut feeling when you walked in here.”

“My gut told me this was a military operation. It was a carefully planned military action,
not
a wild shoot-out.”

“On that point, Jack, here’s what we know right now. First, look at the position of the bodies. They were lined up in neat rows on their knees, obviously at prayer when the shooters opened up. The CSU people will report their findings, but from the angle of entry wounds on just a few of the bodies and the blood splatter marks, it appears that the shooters were lined up, maybe evenly spaced across the back of the room.”

“Type of weapons used?”

“From the shell casings it looks like at least one M16 was used, or an AR-15, the civilian version. We’ll know more when the CSU people are done.”

“Bonnie, how the hell can a group of guys just walk in with a bunch of guns and start blasting?”

“We’ve found pieces of duct tape on the bottom of that long bench at the back of the room.  I’m thinking that the shooters walked in looking like worshippers, reached under the bench to get the weapons and started firing. Of course, that would indicate inside help, someone who taped the guns to the bench.”

“Any reports of gunfire from any witnesses?”

“Yeah, quite a few people called 911. There would have been a lot more, but the shooting occurred around sunrise, the time of the Morning Prayer or
Fajr
—around 6:30 a.m.”

“How long till the first police car arrived?”

“Jack, you know as well as I do that cops are notorious bullshitters when it comes to reporting response time. But we’re just a few blocks from Police Plaza, so for the time being I’ll accept what I’ve heard, which is two minutes.”

“Wow, Bon, these guys got out of Dodge fast. They must have had a getaway car waiting for them.”

“With fully automatic machine guns in the hands of people who know how to use them, they could have done their deed in 30 seconds or less.”

“How many survivors, Bonnie?”

“Only six, if you can believe that. One guy wasn’t even wounded. He was lucky enough to be behind a pillar when the shooting started. He was probably busy hunkering down for his life. Two are in critical condition, but three have wounds that I’ve been told aren’t life threatening. The CSU people can do more here than I can. Hey, Jack, green isn’t a very becoming color on your face.”

After almost 20 years of homicide work, Bonnie had trained herself to ignore a bloody crime scene.

“You’re more accustomed to scenes like this than I am. I don’t know how you can take it. I need some fresh air. Care to join me?”

“Sure. Over the years I’ve learned to get used to something like this. But 95 bodies in one room is a bit much even for me.”

“Do you think you’ll be home late tonight?”

“I’ll probably be working for a couple of days straight with time off for naps. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home. But I’ll tell you what I want to do.”

“Let me guess, watch a feel-good movie on TV?”

“You got it, Jack. How about a nice classic like
When Harry Met Sally
? We haven’t seen it for over six months.”

“Count on it. See you soon, honey.”