Legacy and Redemption (9 page)

Tim Keegan woke up in his bed shortly before eleven am. Cathy Quinn’s right arm was draped over his chest as she remained asleep. Keegan had been a bit surprised that she had come home with him the previous night—not that he was complaining. The two of them were clearly attracted to each other, and Keegan had hoped that their relationship would grow into something more than co-workers or less desirable…
just friends
.

He stared down at her as she slept. He loved her fiery red hair. He began to stroke her hair when his touch seemed to awaken her from her sleep. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Good morning,” she said with a smile.

“Good morning yourself.”

“What time is it?”

Keegan looked at his alarm clock on the nightstand next to his queen sized bed. “It’s a quarter to eleven.”

Cathy Quinn sat up in bed and grabbed her previously discarded shirt from the floor. She put it on, covering her bare breasts. She bit her lower lip and gave a playful smile. “Well, aren’t you going to at least make me breakfast?”

Keegan smiled back. “That’s a fair request,” he conceded. “The only problem is that unless you like frozen egg sandwiches or raisin bran, you’re out of luck.”

She giggled. “Ah, the life of a bachelor.”

Keegan smiled before responding. “Or, I can take you out for breakfast. There’s a pancake house not too far from here.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she agreed.

Keegan stood up and went over to the dark brown dresser opposite his bed and retrieved his clothes for the day. He set them down on his side of the bed before continuing. “I just want to take a quick shower first…of course you’re welcome to join me if you like.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh really?”

“Really,” replied Keegan as he grabbed a handful of the two-toned brown comforter and ripped it from the bed exposing a barely clothed Cathy Quinn. He took her by the hands helping her up from bed. She now once again removed the shirt she had just put on, standing only in her panties.

“Well, Tim what are you waiting for, lead the way.”

*

It was ten minutes before noon when Nazeem al-Haq parked his Chevy Impala along Linden Boulevard in Brooklyn. He looked down at the address, comparing it to the building numbers; careful to make sure that he had it correct. Once any doubt was removed, he put the paper above the sun visor. He studied the establishment; it was a Halal restaurant. With no other instructions other than the address and the time on the piece of paper, al-Haq went inside.

It wasn’t very different from any other small take out restaurant. There were six square tables—set in two rows of three. The tables were a light oak with yellow commercial strength plastic chairs set around them. The floors were made up of alternating white and black tiles, which to his approval, were cleaner than most fast food restaurants al-Haq had previously patronized.

Al-Haq studied his surroundings. There were two workers in the store; the first was counter man, the other one manning the grill. There were also six customers in the store at the time. One was a man in his late teens that stood on line. Two were women who had already placed their order and were waiting for their food. Another sat alone at a table, but looked more American than anything else. The last two were seated at a table eating their lunch. Although neither had seemed to pay particular attention to al-Haq as he entered, his money was on them for being his contact. They were clearly from the mid-east and in their late twenties to early thirties. Al-Haq continued to study the men as his thoughts were interrupted. “Can I take your order?”

Al-Haq turned his attention to the counterman. He wore black pants and a collared yellow polo shirt with a matching baseball cap; each bearing the store’s logo. He was in his early fifties and had a short beard. Al-Haq stepped up to the black counter and addressed the man. “I was supposed to meet someone here,” al-Haq tested; looking for some sort of response.

There was no obvious recognition from the man. “So would you like to order, or are you going to wait for your friend?”

Al-Haq, unsure of what he was supposed to do, looked up at the menu as it hung above the counter on the wall. He ordered a lamb kebab with a side of rice and a can of soda. After paying the man, al-Haq continued to try and assess the situation. He watched as the grill man cut a portion of lamb from the spindle with a bright silver carving knife and placed it on the grill. Al-Haq grabbed a can of soda from the freezer next to the counter as he contemplated what the day would bring.

As he waited for his food, the two men who he had thought were possibly his contacts got up from their tables. They deposited their trash into the brown garbage container in the front of the store, placed their orange trays on top, and left. He became slightly frustrated, but realized that he needed to be patient. Once his food was ready, al-Haq took his tray to the table closest to the entrance and sat facing the door.

It made sense that whoever his contact was, would want him to get there first. Al-Haq’s mind raced in many different directions. What if nobody made contact with him? Could this just be a test to see if he would show up and then they would contact him again at the mosque? He certainly didn’t know the answers to those questions…what he did know was that they were all out of his control.

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, not one other person had entered the restaurant. All of those who had been in there, except for the workers, had now left. As a frustrated al-Haq picked at his lunch, a voice from behind him spoke; “As-salamu-alaykum, my brother.”

Al-Haq turned around to see the same man who had met him outside the mosque. Al-Haq immediately stood up and gave the man a brotherly hug. “As-salamu-alaykum.”

“Please sit,” began Ahmed Hatif.

He did and Hatif joined him.

Although al-Haq did not recall seeing the man prior to yesterday, he felt somewhat secure to see a familiar face. At least this way there was no guess work—this was who he was supposed to meet. Al-Haq put the near empty can of soda to his lips trying to quench his suddenly dry mouth.

Hatif motioned to the half eaten plate of food. “You do not like your lunch?”

“No, no, the food is fine,” careful not to insult his host.

“Sheykh Hajjar and Murad Zein both speak very highly of you. They say you have become quite proficient at making certain articles of clothing.”

While the details of the man’s language were somewhat ambiguous, there was no doubt in al-Haq’s mind that the man was referring to the suicide vests. “Yes, that’s very true. It has been a few months, but I have no doubt with the right materials I will be able to duplicate what I have made in Afghanistan.”

Hatif nodded his head. “That is good my brother…that is very good.” Hatif slid his chair closer and put a reassuring arm around al-Haq. “You are going to make history my brother. As the Americans celebrate their beloved Thanksgiving, you are going to detonate the bomb at the Thanksgiving Day parade. It will kill many Americans; and you my brother…you will be with Allah in paradise. You will be a hero of our people and live in eternity. You will die engaging in Allah’s will and your rewards will be endless.”

Al-Haq had a chill run down his spine. “Yes, my brother. I will lay down my life for Allah and his followers. I will kill as many infidels at the parade as I possibly can.”

Hatif slowly nodded in approval. “That is good.”

Al-Haq took a deep breath. “Tell me exactly what I must do my brother.”

Hatif reached to the inside pocket of the light brown blazer he was wearing and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He removed one, lit it and took a deep draw before offering one to al-Haq. Al-Haq’s hands trembled subtlety as he reached for a cigarette. “You will make the device just as you have done many times before,” began Hatif as he held a lighter out to al-Haq. “On the morning of the parade, you will wear the vest underneath your shirt and jacket. You will go early that morning, before the parade is set to begin and wait at Forty-Second Street and Sixth Avenue. You will blend in with the crowd—hold one of those miniature United States flags for all I care—just make sure you blend in. When the NYPD marchers come past, that is when you will run under the barrier and detonate the bomb. Get as close to them as you possibly can; we want as many of those murderous Americans killed as possible. Given your past history with the police in New York City, this should be a particularly satisfying way to get revenge for you. Do you still have the list of emails that were in the envelope?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Memorize them and burn the piece of paper. Do you still have the email account that you were given before you left Afghanistan?”

Al-Haq nodded. “Yes, I do. I haven’t yet used it as Sheykh Hajjar had instructed me not to,” he lied. Al-Haq was afraid to admit to the man that he had used it to send emails to his friend Murad Zein. He was sure that it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, but there was no need to tell the man about his indiscretion.

“Good. If you ever need to contact the people on that list, you will do it from a library. My email address was the first one on there. The other two are your brother Jihadists who will be carrying out simultaneous attacks on Thanksgiving Day. I won’t be specific with their targets, but they are in Chicago and San Francisco. You must go to the library and check the email once a week from today on forward, then twice a day the week of Thanksgiving. If you receive any coded messages from any of us, then you will abort the mission and await further instruction.”

“What kind of message?”

“You should not be contacted at all unless there’s a problem, so if you receive a message it’s more than likely to abort the mission. If you’re contacted or detained by the police or any law enforcement for any reason, you will go to the library as soon as you are able to and send all of us a message that there is bad weather in New York. If you receive any messages about bad weather in Chicago or San Francisco you will abort. If you have any minor interaction with the police and don’t think there’s anything to it, you will still contact me right away by sending a blank email. I will then meet you back here at this restaurant the next day at ten-thirty in the morning. Do you understand everything that I have explained to you?”

“Yes, I do.” Al-Haq could feel the emotions getting the best of him.

Maybe this had been Allah’s plan all along. Maybe going to prison had just been a way of making me stronger for a bigger cause.

He then bowed his head to the man. “Thank you.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, what is your name my brother?

“My name is not important. I am but one of Allah’s soldiers, just as you are.” Hatif stood up. “You only have a few weeks to get everything that you will need and put it all together. Remember, spread your purchases out; do not buy more than one item on a single day, and never from the same store. Exactly one week before Thanksgiving, I will meet you back here at nine am. I will supply you with the one ingredient that you will not be able to pick up from your shopping list.”

Al-Haq immediately understood.

The explosives.

As al-Haq stood up, the man once again gave him a hug. “Go in peace my brother and may Allah be with you.”

*

Keegan finished the last of his pancakes just as the waitress brought the check. Once she set it down, Keegan was quick to grab it. “As I promised, this is my treat.”

Cathy smiled at him. “Thank you. I’ll leave the tip.” She reached into her purse and left a five dollar bill on the table.

The two of them walked out of the restaurant with their arms interlocked. They each knew that this was more than a casual fling. “Tell me more about your dad Timmy; more about your family.”

Keegan pulled her closer. “Nope, it’s your turn. The only thing that you’ve told me so far is that you’re Irish. I want to know more about the girl who took advantage of me last night.”

She laughed and gave him a playful push. “
I
took advantage of
you
? Well…maybe I did. Okay let’s see. I have one brother and I’m my daddy’s little girl. He’s a retired Lieutenant, and he knows a lot of people so you better treat me good.”

Now it was Keegan’s turn to laugh. “Okay, good to know. What else?”

“My dad worked in Queens North Task Force for years before he retired. He was a Sergeant in the Evidence Collection Team before that and a cop in Jackson Heights. My mom is a teacher. She teaches in a middle school in Bayside. We moved to Long Island from Woodside when I was eleven.”

Keegan interrupted, “and what about you? I want to know more about Cathy Quinn…not her family.”

“Well I took Irish step dancing growing up…big shocker there. I went to catholic school my entire life and then went to Hofstra University. I graduated with a degree in Criminal Justice. I interned for two summers at the Nassau County District Attorney’s office before taking the NYPD entrance exam. Hmmm, I think that about sums it up. Oh and wait, I almost forgot. I have a boyfriend named Timmy.”

Keegan again smiled. “You do, do you?”

Tim Keegan felt pretty good about the way things were turning out for him after such a tragic event early in his life. He had followed in his late dad’s footsteps. And maybe Sergeant Galvin had been correct in his assessment; that he had
cop blood
running through his veins. His first collar had earned him the first of what was hopefully to be many awards. And on top of all of that, he had finally connected with the girl that he’d had his eye on for quite a while.
Things couldn’t possibly get any better
.