The Observer (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 3) (21 page)

“I told Kevin a thousand times to hit back twice as hard and twice as often, but he’d just show up home after school with a new bruise, clothes all torn up and that look of a coward in his eyes. He’s a pussy, Derek. I hate to say it, I really do. But my son's got no balls to stand up for himself. You think he’s a terrorist? Hell man, you’d have to drug him, strap a bomb to his chest, drop him off in the middle of some place and detonate the bomb yourself. He ain’t got the balls for work like that.”

After Daniel Washington moved on to his ninth beer, and started telling Derek how angry he was that his father changed their last name to “Washington” to better fit into the American society, Derek finished his second beer, thanked Dan for his hospitality and waited at the nearest street corner for the taxi he had called to arrive.

“If you see Kevin, tell him his mom misses him and that he should stop by to see her sometime,” Dan slurred as he shook Derek’s hand. “He’s a good kid, that Kevin. Just wish he would grow a set.”

Derek learned very little about Kevin Washington. He confirmed that Kevin had surrendered his life in Queens, moved into an apartment above the mosque run by the IUIEEO and Badr Irani. He learned that Kevin was a meek and mild young man who never stood up for himself. He was someone that others overlooked, never considered as being important or as someone having value. Kevin’s opinion was one that few sought out. He never had a girlfriend and probably spent more nights lost in numbing sadness than wrapped up in excitement for the next day.
 

Kevin was taught his place in this world by his father, who was content in a life of ignorance and intentional haziness. Though Derek had no experience profiling a suicide bomber, he imagined that Kevin Washington was exactly the type of person that terrorists would seek out. Someone they feel they could manipulate. The type of person that ill-intentioned groups could heap praises upon, knowing that he had never known what being recognized felt like. Once the deceitful were set in place, the process of securing their prey would come in progressive stages. Step by step, task by task, Kevin (and the thousands of other lost souls recruited for acts the recruiters would never do themselves) would lose hold of who he was and morph into someone convinced that their sole purpose in life was to complete a hideous, murderous act.

Those that carried out the evil plans were so often praised by other followers who hear only of the intended and well-planned story while the rest of the world sees them as evil, twisted and foolish killers. The truth is between the narratives. A suicide bomber, before their vest is strapped to their bodies and the detonating trigger is released, lived a life of untold griefs, joys, defeats and victories. Whether by a life event or by manipulations, the actual trigger that sets death racing out from twisted and torn-apart bodies, happened well before their destined-for event. For Kevin Washington, Derek sensed the vest of death was designed and assembled, piece by piece, in a small, one story ranch in Queens. The trigger, which Derek was driven to prevent
 
from ever being used, was proffered under a progressive series of lies disguised as praises.

As he waited for the taxi, Derek thought of young girls who give up their lives, move to Hollywood with dreams of making it big. So often, all it takes is a horny agent with the bare minimum number of contacts in the industry to turn an innocent girl with dreams of stardom, into a virtual sex slave. Kevin Washington was given a pamphlet filled with promises instead of a business card with the words “Hollywood Agent” written on it. He was given a place to live, a job to do, and education. He was given a purpose and made to feel both a part of something and that his life mattered. He wasn’t told to “grow a set,” to hit back or to blend in and be like the others. He wasn’t reminded that he wasn’t gifted with intelligence or good looks, but was made to feel that he was someone the world would respect, if only there was a way for the world to learn about his greatness.

As the taxi pulled to the curb, Derek climbed in the backseat, gave the driver the address of Badr Irani’s mosque in Manhattan, and felt a strange stirring in his gut. The stirring was telling him that Kevin Washington, now known as Aahill, had to be found.

***I***

“Crown, I think that Kevin Washington might be our guy.”

“How did your visit with his parents go?” Crown asked.

“I only got to meet his father,” Derek replied. “I learned enough to believe that Kevin was recruited by Irani, convinced that he was more important than he could ever imagine and may either be the bomber I need to stop or at least a big part of whatever the hell it is that is being planned down here.”

“I’ll let Nikkie know. Maybe you finding out more useful info will help get you out of the shit storm you’re in.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your assistant,” Crown said, the tone of her voice clearly revealing her impatience explaining things already explained, sounded clearly through the voice-altering security app, “has met with the NYPD and had a phone conversation with the area director of the FBI. You’ll be glad to know that neither suspect that you are involved in the terrorist plot. Nor do they think that you were responsible for the bombing in your hotel. But the FBI does have a BOLO for you. In case you’ve forgotten, a BOLO is ‘be on the lookout’ for a particular person. In this case, you are that particular person.”

“I know what BOLO stands for, Crown. Remember, I used to be a cop.”

“Nikkie spoke with a Detective Patrick Connor at the NYPD. He told her he met with you after the Abdul-goes-boom incident.”

“That’s true. He seemed like a good detective, but he also seemed suspicious of me.”

“Not really,” Crown said. “He told Nikkie that he felt you were in way over your head and that the FBI shitheads that hired you left you out to dry on your own. He suspected that they were trying to cover their asses in case something really bad happened down there. Like they had no way of stopping whatever was being planned and were more concerned about the optics of them not being able to stop the bombing. They hired a bunch of freelancers probably to show how hard they were trying to stop the attack. Anyway, Connor never thought you were involved in anything illegal.”

“Good to know,” Derek said. “And the FBI?”

“That’s a whole different ball of dung. Nikkie told me that the FBI is running around like headless chickens. You already know about Marissa Rica, Mark Henderson and Juan Cortez, right?”

“Crown, I was the one who told you about them. Remember?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. Nikkie is a wealth of information compared with you, so I just assumed that any useful info came from her. Anyway, the FBI definitely wants to talk with you to see what you do and don’t know, but Nikkie said that there’s something else going on with them. The person she spoke with seemed more concerned about what you may know about Rica, Cortez and Henderson than the terrorist plot. I can smell a pile of dog shit from two hundred yards and right now I can smell something pretty bad coming from that FBI office from all the way up in Ohio.”

“You certainly have a way with words, Crown.”

“I get it from my mom. So, Nikkie is doing some digging and I’m still pulling info from the local FBI office up here. You do whatever the hell you need to stop the next bombing, and Nikkie and I will handle the rest. What’s your next step?”

“I’m back at Badr Irani’s mosque,” Derek said. “Not sure how, but I need to get into the apartment above the mosque to see if Kevin is there.”

“If he is our dude, you better be damn careful. If we’re right, anyone sniffing around won’t be treated well by his handlers.”

“Can you pull up the floor plans for this building? See if there’s another way into the apartment besides walking into the mosque.”

“Give me the address,” Crown said.
 

***I***

Like many of the buildings in Manhattan, the four-story building that housed Badr Irani’s mosque had a fire escape attached to the rear. Derek walked around to the side of the 30-story office building to the right of the mosque, then down the narrow alleyway. The mosque building was either squeezed in between its towering neighbors or they were constructed beside the mosque, leaving no alleyway on either side. Once he reached the rear of the buildings, Derek found himself on a narrow road, crammed with 6-yard dumpsters, a few parked service vehicles and assorted trash that didn’t quite find a home in any one of the dumpsters.

He moved towards the rear of the mosque and, without hesitation, started climbing the rusted metal ladder of the fire escape. He wondered why the fire escape’s final ladder was extended and then decided that he didn’t care. All he thought was what he would do if he reached the fourth floor apartment and saw Kevin Washington, a/k/a Aahill, milling about the small, two room apartment. As he climbed the fire escape, Derek was careful to make as little noise as possible. As he passed the draped windows of the second floor, he could hear the sounds of muffled voices and brief laughter spilling out from the mosque. He paused, stilled his body and breathing, and strained his ears.

“….things are prepared….Aahill is secured in….”

“….warehouse.”

“For the most part, yes. ….considerations and assurances….”

“…..timing, again, is critical.
 
I trust your understanding?”

“Of course. …..distance is important……certain evacuation of island.”

Derek remained still until the voices faded away. Once he could hear nothing coming from the inside of the mosque, he scrambled up the steps of the fire escape until he reached the landing.

He peered through the dirty window and saw a small, dark studio apartment. He could see no movement inside. He pushed the window open, grateful that the occupant neglected to secure the window lock. As he crawled in through the open window, Derek caught a glance of three men making their way towards the back of the mosque. Not pausing to see if the men noticed him, he dropped himself onto the studio apartment’s floor. He could hear the men three stories below discussing something, but was unable to make out any words. Seconds later, the sound of a starting car filled Derek’s ears with relief.

Derek stood after crawling further away from the window. The small apartment was lit only by the diffused light pouring in through the window, giving the apartment a grayish, muted tone. He stood silently, making sure that his loud entrance wasn’t noticed by anyone, then, after a few moments of hearing nothing, began moving around the room.

The apartment was empty. No furniture, clothing or any sign that the apartment was or was recently occupied remained. Derek bent and swiped his hand on the floor.

“Not even a trace of dust,” he
thought
.
“Place was scrubbed clean.”

He made his way to the bathroom and was met by the lingering stench of chlorine hanging in the air. The fixtures were removed, leaving an utterly sterile and empty room.

As he walked back into the living area of the studio apartment, Derek’s eye caught the unmistakable whiteness of an envelope tucked into the grates of the heating vent on the wall directly across from the bathroom. Only a small corner of the envelope was visible, suggesting to Derek that someone tried to hide it from view. He bent down and removed the envelope, broke the seal, removed the single sheet of paper inside the envelope and read Kevin Washington’s handwritten letter.

“Dear Mom and Dad

“I think that I am doing something that won’t make you very happy with me, but I don’t think that I have much of a choice anymore. There is a lot of things that happened since I came here, and my mentor is saying that I am the chosen one and that my destiny is to be a great person and that my name will be written next to all the other great ones.

“I don’t know what that means, but if it is true and you can read that list and see my name, I hope that you are proud of me. My name has never been written in any list of great men, so I am pretty excited about that. I asked Badr where people can read the list but he only laughed and said the list is written in history and in the hearts and minds of the book of truth.

“I am leaving my apartment in a couple of hours and am going to another place. I am being prepared for my entrance, at least that is what Badr and the other men told me. They told me to take a nap before they come to get me, but I am too nervous to sleep so I decided to write you this letter. I know that you were never proud of me and that I wasn’t the son you wanted. I am sorry about that. I wish that I could have been smarter or could have done better at sports or something, but I guess the only thing that I am good at is what I am doing tomorrow.

“Badr told me to not say anything to no one but I got to thinking that if I didn’t tell anyone than no one would know my name and wouldn’t know what name to write on that list of great men. I think my name will be Aahill but you can always ask to have my real name written next to my other name. Okay?

“There is a lot of things that I don’t know all about but I do know that you shouldn’t go to any pubs on the upper east side tomorrow after work. I don’t remember the name of the place but it is the pub with all the dark glass on the front and the doors look new and are dark glass, too. One of the men who went there with me yesterday said that the glass will cause more damage to people who are walking outside. So, I wish I could tell you the name of the pub but I just can’t remember for sure. As dad always said, better safe than sorry! Just don’t go to any pubs at all just to be super safe.

“Anyway, I am a little scared but Badr said that Allah will calm my nerves and make strong my soul, so I guess I will be okay.

“I hope you’re proud of me and that you get to see that list and see my name.

“Your son.

Kevin”

Derek shoved the letter into his pocket, climbed through the window and made his way down the fire escape.

***I***

“Crown, Kevin Washington is our guy. I found a letter hidden in the heating vent of his apartment that he wrote to his parents. Crown, Washington has no idea what he is about to do. These bastards have brainwashed an innocent kid.” Derek could hardly contain his anger as he walked towards his unknown destination. “The kid is simple minded. Has no idea what the hell he’s being asked to do.”