Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (75 page)

Abdullah finished the letter, folded it up, and handed it to Omar. Omar took the letter and stuffed it in the pocket of his robe.

"Very well," he said. "Bring the boys inside. I want to get a look at this cargo before we get sidetracked."

Omar turned and walked back to the factory as the Dubai group, ten men in all, pushed the captives, Nasser and Sean, along toward the looming warehouse. Militants on the loading dock hauled the remaining crates inside and pulled down the rolling doors. Drivers of the cargo trucks shut off their engines and remained seated, patiently waiting at the wheel. All that remained outside was a team of guards who methodically patrolled the grounds of the factory in rotations day and night.

Inside the warehouse receiving area, Omar walked around the large wooden crates lined in two rows of four. He was pleased to see that more weapons and ammunition had arrived, but he was even more thrilled upon examining two bulky, metallic containers sitting off to the side, both latched shut. He whispered in Ghazi’s ear and then rejoined the Dubai group, waiting patiently nearby. Ghazi then called out to the floor crew.

"We need an inventory of every weapon, explosive, and box of ammunition in these crates."

A diligent crew of men wearing black bandanas around their heads converged on the crates and began splitting them open with crowbars and electronic drills. Ghazi walked by and glanced inside each as it was opened. They were filled to the brim with packing straw. With a clipboard in hand, he directed the men to unload each box and lay the equipment out in an orderly fashion. A bonanza. Just running his finger down the packing list on his clipboard was overwhelming:

5.56mm M16 rifle x 30

M60 machine gun x 22

762mm AK-47 rifle x 25

M60 fragmentation grenade x 12, explosive, C4 x 50

And there was more where this came from. The men pulled the weapons from the crates, tossing straw to the side, and laid them out in rows as Ghazi walked by and got his count. All the while in the distance, on the production floor, he could see Omar mingling with the Dubai group with Usaamah and Hadir at his side.

He didn't like the way Omar was playing a more visible, active role. It seemed too risky. Ghazi was always suspicious of possible spies lurking in their organization. Most of the militants, aside from Omar's inner circle, had never seen him before. But with Ma'mun dead, Omar had little choice but to take direct charge. 

"Get back to work!" Ghazi shouted at the men, who had stopped to take a break.

Soon enough they had the weapons, ammunition, and explosives completely unloaded. A plethora of rifles and machine guns, oily and glistening under the warehouse lights, was a comforting sight. The resupply had been delivered to them at a crucial moment. The metallic containers remained tightly sealed. No one was to touch them. The men soon got to work unloading the last crate which contained chemical protective masks.

Omar walked back over to them with the Dubai entourage, examining their new shipment with great enthusiasm. He clapped his hands together and thanked them for getting everything so quickly unloaded.

"More work is upon us, my brothers. We have to make sure these weapons are cleaned and functional." He pointed once again to Ghazi. "Be sure that it happens."

Ghazi nodded and approached Omar, out of earshot of the rest of the men.

"A word with you please, Commander," Ghazi said.  

"Whatever it is you want to say, say it here in the open," Omar responded, holding his arms out in an inclusive way. The Dubai men looked back at Ghazi with suspicion. 

Ghazi stepped forward. "I don't think it's right that you're walking out in the open like this. The men cannot concentrate.”

Omar seemed as perplexed as the Dubai group seemed amused. "What on earth are you talking about?" he asked.

"I'm talking about keeping you safe, which is my sworn duty. Why did they bring those two boys here?
Prisoners
brought to our factory? This is an egregious lapse in security."

Omar turned and then looked back at Ghazi. "I’m glad you brought that up. I want you to talk to them. Find out what they know."

Ghazi blinked, staring into nothingness. "Me? I don't understand."

"I want you to oversee the interrogation. Their outcome I'm placing entirely in your hands."

Ghazi hesitated.

"Do it now, and leave my sight!" Omar shouted, startling everyone standing nearby.

Ghazi nodded and slowly stepped forward, turning toward a back room where they were holding the boys. "Yes, Commander."

He suspected that it was another task given under unfavorable circumstances, but he complied anyway.

The Race to Get Home

Craig drove straight through the night, now nearing the end of an eight-hour trip, trying to get home before sunrise. After narrowly escaping the ISIS factory in Detroit, his focus was on home, and a Maryland suburb, just outside the city of Rockville. He was confident that Rachael and Nick had made it safely to the cabin—the only place he knew they would be safe.

As he coasted along the highway with Husein staring out the window of the passenger seat, Craig was also confident that his house was being watched. Despite that, he felt a need to investigate. There was also his ammunition supply. He had to get it. But most of all, he had to know if someone was there.

He had no phone, no wallet, nor money. For gas, they had to use what cash Husein had on him. There would be no stops on their trip. No calling the FBI or anyone in the government until he was certain that his wife and child were safe.

The last day was a violent blur. The faces of the many men he had killed in order to escape captivity never left his mind, a surreal collage, frozen in horror.

He felt disoriented. The news on the radio suddenly brought him back to reality.   

"A motorized FBI convoy transporting several key terror suspects was reportedly attacked by militants while en route to an undisclosed location on I-95 outside Washington, DC. The attack, which left five police officers, three agents, and eleven suspected militants dead, has further shocked officials already stunned by earlier terror attacks on US ports.

“The Islamic State has not yet taken responsibility but, according to experts, is the assumed aggressor in the port attacks, which have killed an estimated... four thousand people."

The announcer paused as if overcome.

He then continued,
"Ladies and gentlemen... I... there are no words during this dark hour. May you all be safe with your families and loved ones, and May God still save this country."

The broadcast suddenly went to another announcer as Craig took a deep breath, trying to comprehend the number of reported casualties. 

Headlights from an approaching vehicles appeared in his rear-view mirror, causing him to slow down. Having a stolen van with no identification on him and a Chechen foreigner in his passenger seat, Craig didn't want to risk a run-in with police, or worse, with the terrorists he knew would never stop trying to find him. The car behind them moved into the left lane and passed, a four-door Prius with a young couple seated in the front. Craig took a breath of relief.

Nearly eight straight hours of radio provided little more information than he had previously known. Craig did learn, however, that it had been two nights since the port attacks.

The date: July 10
^th
, early morning. He was certain that the government was mobilizing for war, but no such declaration had yet been made. He teetered between fearful disbelief and acceptance. His country was under attack, and the Islamic State had an undeniable advantage: they were already operating from within.

Another newscaster continued,
"The president spoke briefly yesterday to extend his gratitude to first responders and their tireless efforts to treat wounded victims of the port attacks.

“He then promised quick and resolute action against the perpetrators, vowing that they will be brought to justice. However, many experts believe military action is problematic. First, they say, ISIS has not taken official credit for the port attacks. Second, they add, sleeper cells are difficult to engage, as they are always on the move."

Husein turned to Craig. "So is it war?" he asked.

Craig leaned forward and turned down the volume. "I don't know. Things aren't so clear anymore."

Husein's head tilted to the side in confusion.

Craig attempted to elaborate. "What I mean is that ISIS is not a conventional enemy. They’re a terrorist network who have no country of origin we can declare war on.”

"Is there anything
we
can do?" Husein asked.

Craig glanced over at him. He thought of the laptop resting on the bench seat behind them. He hadn't had a chance to look through it yet, but he clung to the hope that there was some useful information that would reveal the inner workings of their terror network. He then looked at the fuel gauge as Husein waited patiently for an answer. They were on half a tank, with a hundred twenty miles to go. It was nearing four a.m. and more cars were starting to appear on the highway. 

Craig cleared his throat. "Husein, we've been lucky so far. Which is more than can be said about thousands of other Americans. We're going to find safety at my cabin. That's the first priority."

"The news didn't even mention my aunt. They said nothing of finding her"—Husein suddenly stopped and looked down—"body.”  Saddened, he looked at Craig. “Why are they second-guessing everything? It's obvious that ISIS did this."

"The media is playing it safe. People want answers, rightfully so. ISIS knows this, and they're deliberately keeping the public guessing. That way they can spread further panic and confusion."

"I heard Ma'mun's men talking about phase three. What's phase three?" Husein asked.

"I don't know. When did they reach phase two?"

"The port attacks?" Husein said.

Craig shook his head. "No, according to them, that was phase one. What happened to two?"

Husein reached back to grab the laptop. "Why don't I take a look?"

"No!" Craig shouted. Husein froze. "Don't touch that laptop. Understand?"

A silence came over them. The engine hummed as air sucked against the plastic bag covering the window Craig had smashed out in the back. Husein slunk back in his seat, not saying a word.

Craig glanced over, somewhat remorseful. "No offense. It's the only piece of evidence we have. The only chance we have of stopping any of this."

Husein nodded. "I understand."

They crossed the state line into West Virginia. Police cars, with their lights flashing, were everywhere at the welcome center. They passed a blinking electronic sign that read, "Governor Declares State of Emergency." Craig could only imagine what for. He gripped the steering wheel and remained focused on the road, not going a mile over the speed limit. None of the police cruisers seemed to take interest. He drove on, with his eyes darting between the road and his rearview mirror as red and blue lights flickered in the distance.  

"We'll be at the house soon, Husein," Craig said, almost as if reassuring himself. "Don't worry." He was anxious to see his family, but going to the house was necessary—for the supplies alone. 

Husein looked out the window as billboards passed them by. A vague purplish tint had formed on the horizon under the night sky. Sunrise was near, and with it a new day. He felt fortunate, if not for anything else, to be alive. After seeing so many people perish in the past days, Husein was certain that death was the worst possible outcome.

They pulled into Craig's neighborhood close to sunrise. He slowed the van and stopped a few blocks from the house then shifted it into park. Husein's head shot up, and he rubbed his eyes as he looked around. It was a typical suburban neighborhood, slightly upscale with nice-looking homes down both sides of the street.

Freshly cut yards and brick houses seemed to be the norm, although the street was quiet. Vehicles were parked in the driveways, but no people were outside. Blinds and curtains were drawn on every window in view.

"Lots of people scared right now, I imagine." Craig lifted his arms up and stretched. "This is what we're going to do," he began. "There's a good chance my house is being watched. We're going to have to go on foot, through the backyard, and investigate for ourselves. Once the coast is clear, we’re going to grab some supplies and my ammo stash."

"Why must we go to your house? What if they're inside? It could be an ambush," Husein said.

Craig turned the ignition switch off and reached in back for his rifle. "We’re not going to be able to protect ourselves at the cabin without ammo. I need to get cash, my passport, and my back-up credit card. Important stuff. The essentials. Understand?”

“Yes,” Husein said. “I guess so.”

“As long as we’re careful, we can pull it off.”

He slapped the magazine in the AK and pulled the handle back to the rear, loading it. He then reached over into the back seat, carefully lifted the laptop, and slid it under his seat. "Are you ready?" he asked Husein.

“I think.” 

"Great. Let's move."

They stepped out of the van and walked along the cracked pavement of the narrow two-lane street, flanked by houses. Birds fluttered among the trees. Squirrels scurried beneath the tall elms. Above, the sun shined brightly. It would be a perfect morning for a walk under different circumstances.

They walked down the street toward a three-way stop. Craig kept a close eye out and told Husein to keep watch behind them. As they passed a few more houses, Craig stopped and pointed ahead at the next stop sign, where there was a residential intersection.

"This is close enough. My house is the next street over."

A white-haired man in pajamas walked out the front door three houses ahead of them and instantly took notice of Craig standing in the street, armed with a rifle. The neighbor froze in his tracks, his eyes widened. Craig raised his arm in a friendly manner.