American Terrorist (The Rayna Tan Action Thrillers Book 1) (25 page)

The last thing heard before the chauffeur closed the door was Ahmed shouting, “I love America.”

***

Three hours later, the worn-out entertainment emerged from the limo in front of a bar in the hipster Mission Hill district with the age-old promise of “let’s do this again real soon,” but everyone knew this was a one-off experience.
 

As the vehicle door closed, Fatima began watching the news on the car’s flat panel television.

“What’s that garbage you’re watching?” growled Ahmed as he buttoned his shirt. “I never knew you to be a sports fan.”

“I’m not. I think it’s stupid for grown men to be hitting a little white ball with a stick. But we have to celebrate somewhere.”

Fatima made a call. “Hello, Tariq, what do you know about baseball?”

“It’s America’s pastime. It’s too early for football, so everyone follows it.”

“Do they play games on July 4th?”

“Of course. Baseball and Independence Day go hand in hand. A lot of stadiums have special events.”

“And do they have fireworks?”

“Sure.”

“Are there any teams in California?”

“Oh, yes. San Diego. Los Angeles. San Francisco. Anaheim. Oakland. And, if you want to go a little farther north, there’s a team in Seattle, too. Are you thinking of going to a game?”

Fatima’s eyes sparkled. “I certainly am.”

Chapter 33
 

Sometimes the best way to work was to shut off all distractions, hide like a hermit, and focus. It’s great for writers, painters, mathematicians and forensic scientists.

Not so good at trying to figure out what the hell was going on with information that’s contradictory and hard to find from a zillion different sources. Throw in an unexpected two more kids to your family, and that was a recipe for a life of total madness. What was the solution?
 

None, really. Julio and Helena were about to sneak out for an early morning walk when Julio’s ultra-private cell number rang.

“Hey, Don, what’s up?”

“Got something on the Willow City Mall Explosion.”

Now, that’s worth bugging me for.
“Shoot.”

“DNA results couldn’t get me anything and even doing it the regular way took much longer than normal.”

“That indicates someone planned it to be hard,” Julio surmised.

“Yeah, but I got it now. There are four confirmed persons. Three of them are ex-cons that had all been released the previous day from the Santa Domingo California State Penitentiary.”

Julio recognized the name immediately. “That jail’s got one of the highest percentages of radicalization in the country. The imam there is always on YouTube.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t get into their computer system but I figured you’d want to know.”

“Thanks. I’ll get on it. How about the fourth person?”

“Male. Ethnic Filipino. Healthy. No DNA profile anywhere.”

“But he was in California.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great. Thanks, Don. Send the stuff over.”

“I already did. I phoned because you didn’t acknowledge.”

“Tell me about it. Bye.” Julio turned to Helena. “You don’t have to say anything. We’re in it together. I’ll get the kids set up.”

It wouldn’t be much in the way of family time, but at least the whole horde could all be in the same place together.

***

It was crazy time in the main room at CenCom. All the kids were there—playing computer games, reading, watching videos. At the CenCom round table, Rayna, Julio and Helena all had their laptops flipped open; all of them were glued to the screens as they talked and typed. The Geek Freaks sat at a table behind them, working the phones as well.
 

Everything was breaking at once and it was a stream of consciousness free-for-all flow of ideas.
 

There was one rule about the way Julio ran this room: Everything mattered. From this, Julio added the corollary: Because everything matters, never be afraid to throw in any idea, how remote the connection might be.
 

Helena exhaled. “I’ve been calling the East Coast and gradually working my way west.”

“Anything?” asked Rayna.

“Craziness. Everybody’s spiking sales. Fertilizer. Fireworks. Chemicals. Ammunition. Any kind of arms.”

“Everybody wants to protect themselves because of New York and Washington,” Julio said.

“Or they may want to launch a copycat attack,” Rayna suggested.

“Let’s hope not. Last night in California, a few sales here and there more than normal. Not enough to call a spike, but we definitely gotta keep on top of them.”

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” yelled Julio as his fingers flew. “Don’s guys? The prisoners he was talking about? Henry Bench or “Worm,” Ken Kuramoto and Leonard Hall were all radicalized in prison. Even if they’re dead, the ringleader has got to be around.”

“Why?” asked Helena. “Is California that broke that they’re giving early releases to every gangbanger over ten years? Don’t answer that. Track all their internet dealings. Find out who they’ve been talking to.”

“I been running facial rec on all international flights into Toronto, New York and LA from the Middle East. Nothing so far and I’m not sure how much to widen the net.”

“Well, I can tell it’s never enough,” Helena stated.

“That was real helpful,” said Julio sarcastically.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, wow!” one of the techs exclaimed. “We got to check this out from Toronto!”

All eyes focused on the large monitor where a reporter stood in front of a quiet country road where the headline “Breaking News” was positioned in large letters at the bottom of the screen.

“This is Kelly Anderson reporting from the heart of Ontario’s cottage country where it has just been confirmed that the wreckage of a car belonging to Reverend Geraldine Swanson was found this morning. The retired minister had just picked up a newly arrived Syrian refugee from the airport and the two were driving to Reverend Swanson’s cottage half an hour from here.”

A picture of Sabiya showed up onscreen. The reporter turned to the RCMP officer standing beside her.

“That’s her! That’s her!” screamed Jennah.

“Who?” asked Rayna.

“The woman who hurt me! That’s her!”

“Back it up, Julio,” said Rayna.

Julio backed up the news feed and froze on Sabiya’s picture.

“Put up the composite hologram that Lena and I came up with,” commanded Rayna.

Julio typed some more and the hologram of Ahmed was placed beside Sabiya’s screen image.
 

“Put Ahmed’s facial hair and scar on her.”

“Give me a moment, Rayna.”

Julio typed away, using the mouse to fine tune the image. He let go and the images stood by side. The two resembled each other enough that if one weren’t paying attention, one might think they were the same person.

“Brother and sister,” said Rayna softly. “No wonder we were close and far at the same time.” She looked at Helena. “Found anything else?”

“These are the pictures of Sabiya.” Images of Sabiya/Fatima showed up onscreen. “These are her Canadian immigration shots, UNHCR shots, passport photos. Damn!”
 

“Now this is interesting.” Julio put an image up on the screen of a Prius entering the United States. “That car belongs to Reverend Geraldine Swanson. There’s some kind of glitch so we can’t access the shot of her talking to border security.”

“So, if she’s not dead, who’s that in the Canadian woods?”

Helena typed frantically. “Five stores a hundred miles north of San Francisco have had a ten percent increase in daily sales of ammonium nitrate, nitromethane or Tovex.”

“Which means there are probably a lot more sales at stores that aren’t accessible. Mom and pop shops. Independents.”

“Somebody’s building a bomb,” said Rayna grimly.

“Geraldine Swanson bought a one-way ticket from Buffalo to Los Angeles two days ago.”

“Find any security footage, passports, check-in info related to that flight. Credit card purchases, anything.” Rayna started to feel that they might be making progress.

“Canadian immigration says Sabiya burned her hand while cooking a celebration meal. The fingerprints she used to exit the country with are distorted.”

“Hey! Put the picture of the leader in the beheading video beside Ahmed’s hologram,” barked Rayna.
 

Julio quickly complied.

“Adjust it.” Scary stuff. The two almost matched.

“We got it!” screamed Helena. “The three ex-cons were communicating with an online imam out of al Juwat in Iraq. The IP address was from the Mosque of Ali, which just appointed its new head.”

A picture of Ahmed in formal ceremonial garb came up.

“Track him!” Rayna ordered.

“Five years ago, Ahmed and his sister Fatima were students at the defunct Brookside College in California,” said Helena as she typed furiously. “This is the passport Geraldine Swanson used for her flight to Los Angeles.” They all looked. Without a doubt, it was Sabiya.

“There’s a blogger who goes to the Mosque of Ali. He’s stoked about Ahmed. Says it’s time the place was shook up and that he’s so damned proud that Ahmed is going to America to make a speaking tour,” Helena said.

“Holy shit. When was that posted?”

“Yesterday.”

“Where? Where’s he going? And when?” Rayna threw out questions like bullets.

Three geek freaks threw themselves at the task.

“There’s no announcements of any kind about Ahmed or a new Muslim religious leader making any appearances in Los Angeles or anywhere in California.”

“It’s got to be because he’s not going to be speaking publicly. It’s got to be at a mosque or a cultural center or community organization.”

“Just checked fifty most likely organizations that would engage him. Nothing,” called out a tech.

“Must be an invitation-only event,” Rayna muttered.

She wiped her brow. Fatima and Ahmed were in the United States. Three ex-cons connected with Ahmed had exploded a van in a mall. Were they the same group that was likely buying more materials to fulfill Ahmed’s promise to “light up America?” The 4th of July was in two days.

Rayna’s tension level skyrocketed. “There’s a problem. Remember, we said this group had to be just starting off, that they weren’t well funded. Well, something has happened that looks like they’ve got cash to spend. The only thing more dangerous than a terrorist is a terrorist with money. But I think Ahmed’s here for more than the speaking tour. Remember, he finished the beheading video with the promise to ‘light up America’? I think he’s targeting July 4th, Independence Day. Jihad in America on the most important holiday of the year. The day when freedom is celebrated. What better time to make a bold statement?”

“Ahmed got off the plane at SFO earlier today.”

“And so did Geraldine Swanson.”

There was one of those rare moments when nobody said a word—at least not out loud. But they were all thinking the same thing.

This was crazy or synchronicity or fate... but somehow the focus of all their research, internationally and nationally, had led them to this very strong possibility. The target of attack was going to be their home city of San Francisco. In the Bay area, there were more than seven million people and an urban area of about a thousand square miles.

Their job got infinitely easier and more difficult at the same time.

Rayna angled her face toward Barry. “I think I have to hit the road.”

“I’ll go with you.”

All eyes turned to Jennah—no longer innocent, there was a cold, hard yet somehow vulnerable tone to her face. “He raped my sister. She raped me. He killed my parents. I have to be there.”

“Emotion is not a good reason,” said Barry, disagreeing. “Too dangerous.”

Rayna spoke thoughtfully, “Actually, I don’t think it will be dangerous. People would be too polite to harm us. But, more than that, Jennah’s a brand new refugee, vulnerable and fragile. She will be able to open doors none of us can. Once we’re in, I can take it from there.”

Chapter 34
 

They started at dawn’s early light and rolled into Hippieville with their last load by mid-afternoon. Casey’s guesstimate was that they had enough material to put them into the same conversation as the Oklahoma bomber. While they couldn’t take down or damage three hundred and twenty-four buildings in a sixteen-block radius like Timothy McVeigh did, they might be able to take down a block, more than enough to immortalize themselves in history.

Casey, Alex and Freddy must have made stops at more than two hundred different stores of all sizes to get materials for the bombs. But rather than being bored, Alex and Freddy just got more excited as Casey outlined his vision for their future and his own personal conquests.

Casey hadn’t participated in many conquests but, when he was allowed to go, he made the most of it. Using victims begging for mercy as target practice, turning weeping women into sex slaves, turning buildings a hundred years old into rubble with mines made from his own hands... it was golden for Freddy and Alex to listen to.

“But what if you got caught? What if you died? That’s not good,” said Freddy.

“That’s the beauty of what we do,” said Casey. “There is no downside. All of us are called to fight the infidels. That’s a given. But, if you die fighting in the cause of Allah, that puts you into a special category. That gives us seventy-two virgins the moment we hit Paradise.”

“You really believe that?” asked Alex, cautious but enthusiastic.

“Of course. That’s why I’m not planning to live beyond the day after tomorrow.”

Alex and Freddy’s eyes almost popped out of their heads. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not shitting you,” said Casey calmly. “I really believe that and, if you’re not ready to do the same, leave now and go back to shlepping Slurpees at Speedi-Mart.”

“Hell, no. I’m with you, Casey. I can just feel those virgins crawling over my naked body now,” said Alex. “I’ll do them two or three at a time.”

“Hey, before we get there, let’s have some fun,” said Casey, eyes twinkling.

The three guys spent the balance of the day putting Casey’s mine-building knowledge to work. Casey had built a ton of IEDs in Iraq and knew this job like the back of his hand.