The Terrorist Next Door (24 page)

Chapter
62

“WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU”

Gold strained to hear Battle’s voice through his earpiece as he approached the door behind the podium at the front of the sanctuary. “Talk to me, A.C.”

“African American male,” Battle said. “Bullet to the head.”

“We’re coming in.” Gold pushed the door open and found Battle and three SWAT teamers standing over the body of the caretaker in a windowless room spattered in blood.

Battle looked up. “Driver’s license says his name is Willie Williams.”

Gold tugged at the microphone on his shoulder. “Please tell the pastor that I’m sorry,” he whispered to Fong.

“I will.” Fong lowered his voice. “It’s ten to twelve. You need to get downstairs.”

* * *

“Talk to me,” Fong said. “Where are you?”

Gold was breathing heavily. “Top of the stairs in the lobby.”

He’d stationed two SWAT teamers at the rear door, and two more at the front. Gold, Battle, Rowan, Martinez, and two more SWAT teamers would enter the basement from the stairway in the lobby.

Gold beamed his flashlight down the stairs, but saw only the yellowed linoleum floor. The stench of gasoline was stronger. He listened intently, but he didn’t hear anything. Pointing his weapon and his flashlight in front of him, he moved down the stairs into the darkness. Battle, Martinez, and Rowan followed him. The SWAT teamers brought up the rear.

Gold paused when he reached the bottom. Except for the illumination from his flashlight, it was pitch black.

If this turns into a firefight, there will be no room to maneuver.

His feet stuck to the floor as he moved his flashlight and his service revolver in tandem to survey the musty room directly beneath the sanctuary. The low ceiling was supported by wooden joists held up by century-old steel beams manufactured at the South Works.

Fong’s voice broke the silence. “The video is bad. Tell me what you see.”

Gold swung his flashlight around the cluttered room and tried to get his bearings. A century earlier, the basement had been a social hall where post-service meals were laid out on round tables covered by crisp white linens. Now it was a storage area filled with broken tables and chairs, faded sofas, rolled-up rugs, bookcases, coat racks, and cleaning supplies. The sweet aroma of challah, bagels, fruit, and wine had been replaced by the smell of gasoline.

Gold kept his voice down. “Looks like a junkyard and smells like a gas station,” he told Fong.

“Any sign of Silver?”

“No.”

Gold and Rowan began making their way down the left side of the room. Battle and Martinez led a group down the right. Gold worked his way past two overturned tables, a dozen chairs, a sofa, and countless boxes. The crisscrossing beams from the flashlights bounced off the low ceiling and the faded walls.

Rowan stopped abruptly about a third of the way into the room. He pointed his flashlight at four aluminum tubs filled with gasoline. “Now we know where the smell is coming from,” he said to Fong. “It’s a good thing we didn’t use tear
gas or smoke bombs. Any spark would have blown this place to Indiana.”

“Detonators?” Fong asked.

“Two-way radios.”

“Can you disarm them?”

“Eventually. It’ll take at least twenty minutes.”

A deep voice modified by distortion software boomed from the darkness. “You don’t have twenty minutes, Commander Rowan. If you get any closer, I’ll set them off now.”

Gold and Battle dove behind a nearby sofa. Rowan moved behind a file cabinet. Martinez and his team took up positions behind a bookcase.

Gold heard Fong’s voice in his earpiece. “Can you see him?”

“No.” Gold looked over the sofa and shone his flashlight in search of the source of the voice. He came up empty.

The voice spoke again. “Come in, Detective Gold. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Chapter
63

“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?”

The voice spoke again. “What took you so long, Detective Gold?”

“You’re hard to find,” Gold said. He could smell Battle’s aftershave as they crouched behind the sofa. Fong was speaking to him through his earpiece, but Gold couldn’t answer him. Gold looked at Battle and whispered, “Recognize the voice?”

“Can’t tell.”

Gold whispered into his microphone. “Can you hear everything?” he said to Fong.

“Most of it. Where is he?”

“Don’t know.”

“You want reinforcements?”

“Too dangerous. I don’t know where he is, or if he’s alone. And there are tubs filled with gas down here.”

The voice spoke up. “You still there, Detective?”

“Yes.”

“You need to respond faster. You’re almost out of time.” The voice turned sarcastic. “I see you brought some of your friends.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Detective Gold. I can see all of you: Detective Battle, Commander Rowan, Lieutenant Martinez, and the guys from the SWAT team.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” Fong said.

“He can see us,” Gold whispered, “but we can’t see him. I don’t know if he’s in the building. He could be watching us
with cameras and talking to us through a speaker.”

The voice was growing impatient. “Listen carefully, Detective. I want you to stay put, but I want everybody else out of the building—now.”

Nobody moved.

“Detective,” the voice continued, “you and your friends aren’t listening. I’m going to count to ten. If they haven’t cleared out by then, I’m going to set off every one of those tubs of gasoline. Nobody will make it out alive. Do you understand?”

“Can we talk?”

“One. Two.”

Gold frantically motioned to Battle, Rowan, and Martinez, but they froze.

“Three. Four.”

Gold pointed at the stairs. “Everybody out! Now!”

Battle was the first to move. He shook his head in frustration, then he barreled up the stairs. Rowan followed him. The SWAT teamers brought up the rear.

“Five. Six.”

Martinez finally followed his colleagues. “We’ll be right outside,” he said to Gold.

“Fine. Go. Now!”

“Seven. Eight. Nine.”

“They’re out!” Gold yelled. “Everybody but me.”

“I know,” the voice said calmly. “They showed good judgment, Detective. So did you. Now we can talk.”

Gold used his flashlight to survey the basement again, but he didn’t see anybody. He tried to engage him. “Who are you?” he asked.

“The Islamic Freedom Federation.”

“How many are you?”

“Enough to shut down Chicago—quite easily. We’ve been
so successful here that we’re planning to take our act to other cities.”

“What do you want?”

“You have eight minutes to release Hassan Al-Shahid and drop all charges against him.”

“We need more time.”

“No, you don’t. I know you’re on the radio with Special Agent Fong and Chief Maloney. Tell Maloney to call down to 26th and Cal. I want Earl Feldman to read a statement on WGN TV confirming Hassan’s release and the dropping of the charges. I’ll be watching.”

“How do you know Hassan?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Can we talk about it?”

“After Hassan is released. Otherwise, Assistant State’s Attorney Silver is going to die.”

Gold believed him. “I need to talk to her. Where is she?”

“With you.”

“What do you mean?”

“See those tall bookcases?”

Gold used his flashlight to look around. “Yes.”

“Walk over there, Detective.”

Gold stayed in a crouch and held his service revolver and his flashlight in front of him as he moved deliberately toward a row of bookcases blocking off the rear of the basement. He eased through a gap between them.

The voice spoke up again. “That’s far enough, Detective.”

A single light bulb on the ceiling illuminated. It shined down on Silver’s face, her eyes and mouth covered with tape. On the wall behind her, Gold saw the outline of the menorah from the photo. Silver was seated on a card chair propped against a steal support beam. She was wearing a heavy gray vest. Gold guessed it was filled with explosives. Her hands
were pulled behind her. Layers of tape were wrapped around her chest, the chair, and the beam, keeping her from moving. Her ankles were lashed to the legs of the chair, which was placed in an aluminum tub filled with gasoline. A two-way radio was taped beneath her chin, wires leading to the vest and the gasoline.

The voice boomed. “You now have seven minutes, Detective Gold.”

Chapter
64

“NEXT TIME I’LL BURN THE BUILDING DOWN”

“Seven minutes,” the voice repeated.

Gold crouched behind a chair about twenty feet from Silver, who was struggling against the loops of tape wound around her chest. His eyes adjusted to the light. The voice was coming from somewhere in the shadows behind her. He raised his weapon, but he didn’t know where to aim. He spoke to the voice again. “If you blow up the building, you’ll kill yourself, too. You don’t strike me as a suicide bomber.”

The voice responded with a derisive laugh. “I’m not.”

“You’ll never make it out.”

“I never made it in.”

What the hell?
Gold finally saw a two-way radio mounted on a beam above Silver’s head. He also noticed two small cameras: one pointed at Silver, the other aimed at him. He held his hand in front of his mouth and whispered to Fong. “He isn’t inside the building. He’s talking to me on a two-way radio and watching me through a camera.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you identify the voice?”

“No. He’s using voice modification software.”

“You want me to conference in our hostage negotiator?”

“Not yet. I think he wants to talk to me.”

“Keep him talking. Maybe he’ll give you a clue about his location.”

“I’ll try.” Gold inched forward and whispered to Silver. “Can you hear me, Lori?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

Gold had moved within about ten feet of her when the voice spoke again.

“That’s close enough, Detective.”

You can’t stop me
. Gold took another step toward Silver. As he did, an aluminum trash can behind him exploded. Silver screamed through the tape covering her mouth as flames licked the ceiling and smoke filled the basement. Gold frantically smothered the fire with a rug. He moved back to his position behind the chair.

The voice spoke to him again. “Next time I’ll burn the building down.”

* * *

Fong’s monitors had gone blank. “Talk to me,” he said to Gold. Maloney was leaning over his shoulder. He could smell garlic on the chief’s breath. “I see smoke coming out the front door.”

“Fire’s out,” Gold whispered.

“You want us to send in firefighters?”

“Too dangerous.” Gold’s voice was hoarse. “Listen carefully. I don’t know how much he can hear. Lori is wearing a vest with explosives. She’s taped to a chair sitting in a tub filled with gasoline. She and the chair are taped to a support beam. It’s going to be hard to move her. A two-way radio is taped to her chest with wires running to the vest and the gas.”

“Can you get to her before he sets it off?”

“Not likely.”

“Can you remove the detonator?”

“Maybe.” Gold’s voice was a tense whisper. “I might be able to get her out of the tub, but he’ll be able to set off the vest. He’ll also set off the other bombs. Either way, she’s going to die.”

So will you. Her head will be blown off before she burns to death.
“Get the hell out,” Fong said.

“Not without Lori.”

“Then we’re coming in.”

“Then nobody’s coming out alive.”

Fong’s head throbbed. “What does he want?”

Gold glanced at his watch. “Al-Shahid’s release and all charges dropped. He wants it broadcast live on WGN in the next six minutes.”

Is he kidding?
Fong turned around and looked at Maloney, who spoke directly to Gold.

“You know we’ll never be able to do that.”

“Then find a way to buy me some time.”

* * *

Eleven-fifty-four p.m. The young man smiled as he listened to the audio through an earplug attached to his laptop. He was watching the live feed from WGN. Mojo had just reported that Al-Shahid was being taken to the discharge area at 26th and Cal.

They’re trying to stall
.

He picked up his two-way radio and silently congratulated himself for using the voice-modification software. “Detective Gold?”

“Yes?”

“I just saw Hassan in the release area. That’s progress. I’ll look forward to seeing Earl Feldman on TV.” He was starting to enjoy taunting Gold.

“We’re working on it.”

You’re a lousy liar.

“How can we reach you?” Gold asked. “Can you give us a phone number?”

“The phones are out, Detective.”

“What about an e-mail or text address?”

“I’ll contact you when I need you. In the meantime, you need to focus on Hassan’s release.” As if it’s really going to happen.

“We need more time,” Gold said. “Mr. Feldman is on his way to 26th and Cal.”

Sure he is.
He didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances, but he knew that he could garner even more media time if he stretched things out. He counted to five before he responded. “Detective, this isn’t a negotiation. However, as a gesture of goodwill, the Islamic Freedom Federation has decided to give you a five-minute extension. If Hassan’s release isn’t broadcast live on WGN by twelve-oh-five a.m., Assistant State’s Attorney Silver is going to die.”

And so will you.