The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (8 page)

Chapter 17

I made a special application to the court to allow my client to use a laptop computer, which I would provide for him. I had to stipulate that the hard drive would contain no browser or other way to access the Internet. No web surfing, no email. Fair enough, I thought. At least he’ll have a word processor to work with. As Al’s attorney I felt I should help him in as many small ways as possible, including encouraging him to keep up with his writing. Al was still in solitary confinement, which can be a horrible thing, but not in his case. Because so many of his fellow inmates were of the jihadi persuasion, if he were released into the general population his life wouldn’t be worth a fucking nickel. My job was to save his life, from the charges against him, as well as from those who would like to see him dead.

“Good morning, Al, you’re looking well despite your chains. I tried to convince the court that all that hardware wasn’t necessary, but the judge wouldn’t buy it.”

“Thanks for trying, Matt. Hey, speaking of thanks, that was great that you got me a laptop. Shit, I’m not even paying you and you shower me with gifts.” He lowered his voice and said, “And thanks for the e-cigarette too. How did you know I wanted a computer?”

“Woody told me that you’re a writer. We looked you up on Amazon, and I bought
The Sands of Destruction
which I’m reading on my Kindle. Interesting book, to say the least. Why didn’t you tell me about it when we first met?”

“I didn’t think about it, Matt. At the time I didn’t think my novels were important.”

“From what I’ve read so far, Al, especially from your preface, it appears that you’re somewhat critical of Islam, or at least radical Islam.”

“I’m also critical of cancer, Matt, which is exactly what those jihadi fucks have turned Islam into.”

“But you still refuse to speculate with me on who framed you. If any radical Islamists are familiar with your book, my guess is that you’re not very popular. Would I be correct?”

“Matt, I’d prefer to let the facts speak for themselves.”

“Which brings me to a question, Al, a simple question. Do you know a guy from New York named Muhammed Sidduq, who also goes by the name, ‘Mickey’?”

Al averted his eyes from me. He didn’t answer. I repeated the question, and he said, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you just answered my question.”

“No I didn’t. I just asked you why you asked it.”

“You’re not a good liar, Al. The way you responded told me that you know this Sidduq guy. Remember, I’m a lawyer. Part of my training is to spot lies, and that’s what you just gave me. So now I have another question. Do you know a guy from San Francisco named Mustafa Almeth?
”

Al looked down at his hands.

“Okay, so it’s obvious that you know Mr. Almeth as well. Al, what the fuck is going on? The three of you have all been arrested for bombing shopping malls. Three defendants in cases with almost identical evidence profiles, and you all know one another. You’re lying to me, Al, and you know it. Time to come clean with your attorney or I just may file an application to be removed from your case.”

I was serious. If my client wants to march toward death, screw it. Of course, Dee would freak out if I did that. She’s my conscience.

“Okay, Matt. What I’m about to tell you is something few people in the world know about —very few. There is a group of people, and Mickey, Jake—oh, yeah, Mustafa prefers to be called Jake—and I are on the periphery, but we’re involved, or have become involved because of our writing.”

“Does this group of people have a name?”

“Yes, it’s the NFL.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Al, I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m serious, Matt. It’s an acronym for
Not For Long
. Mickey, Jake, and I are not— how did that guy put it in
The Godfather—
we’re not in the ‘muscle end of the family.’ ”

“This ‘family,’ as you put it, has a muscle end?”

“Yes, real muscle. NFL is a good acronym, because these guys play rough. It’s a group of Muslims or former Muslims, who have gotten fed up with the way the Muslim faith was hijacked, just like Mickey, Jake, and me. The three of us just write about it, but the other parts of the family are rough guys, real rough.”

“Describe rough.”

“They kill people. They kill jihadis. You may think of them as ‘anti-jihadis.’ They’re not sadistic bastards like your typical Islamist warrior. They don’t behead, burn, or drown anybody. They try to avoid hurting innocent people. But they are killers, prolific killers.”

“So let me ask you a pretty important question, Al. What if these NFL types found out that you just told me about them? What would they do to you?”

“Nothing. They’d probably ask me to stop talking, but the word is
ask
. It may sound strange, but they seem to be ethical people—unless you’re a jihadi—then you get fucking whacked. There’s a war going on, Matt, and you just heard about it from me. It’s true and it’s happening. I’m sure you’ve read in the newspapers recently about a bunch of attacks on radical mosques, terrorist training camps, and radical leaders. Nobody has stepped forward to claim responsibility, like the Sunnis do when killing Shiites and vice versa. No, these were quiet NFL actions. Quiet and deadly.”

“Al, I guess you heard about that radical preacher, Ibrahim Youseff, who got killed a few days ago after appearing on a TV show. Was the group you’re talking about involved in that?”

“I don’t doubt it. Of course I don’t have actual knowledge of it, but all I can say is that it was a classic NFL hit.”

“Okay, Al, you’re spinning my head around. But now this brings me full circle back to the case against you. I’ve asked this before, and I’m asking it again now. Who framed you and why?”

“The jihadis, and I’m including both al-Qaeda and ISIS, have begun a new project of casting reform-minded Muslims in a bad light. The objective is to enable them to say, especially to the American public, ‘See, there’s no such thing as a reform Muslim—they’re all jihadis, just like us.’ So that’s why you see three reform guys, Mickey, and Jake, and me, in the middle of an elaborate frame-up. The objective is simple. They want to cast us as typical radical killers. They can then point to our writings and say we just wrote that stuff to cover up a plot.”

Chapter 18

“Sit,” I said to Dee as I walked in the door.

“Roll over,” she said with a laugh. Always the wiseass.

“I’ve got something amazing to tell you, and that’s why I want you to sit down. I don’t want you to fall over. Our client Al, has a lot more in common with those other two accused bombers. I visited Al in the lockup this afternoon because I wanted to talk to him about his books. He opened right up and talked about his writings. But then I wanted to hit him with an important question, the one that’s been nagging at me. I asked him if he knew Mickey Sidduq, Georgi’s client or Jake Almeth, Jerry’s client. After a little needling from me, he admitted that he knows them both.”

“Oh my God,” Dee said. “This can change everything. Does this mean that these three guys from three different states are all being targeted by the same people? There can’t be any other explanation. They all know each other, and all of them have written books critical of radical Islam.”

“And they’re not alone. According to Al, all three of these guys seem to be distant members of the same family.”

“You mean they’re related?”

“No, think family as in Mafia. Our three guys are connected to a mysterious group that has declared war on jihadis, on radical Islam. Our three guys are peaceful—they just write about their criticisms of Islam in their novels. The extended group, the ‘muscle part of the family,’ as Al puts it, are a really rough bunch. They’re killers, and quite prolific ones. The people they kill are radical Islamists, jihadis.”

“Wow,” Dee said. “There have been a ton of news reports in the past few weeks about groups of radical Muslims getting bombed or shot. I recall hearing about some fiery preachers getting killed too. You mean our client and the others are connected to this group?”

“Well, connected only in a distant way. Al, Mickey, and Jake are peaceful guys. Oh yeah, Al told me that Mustafa, Jerry’s client, likes to be called ‘Jake.’ ”

“Matt, does this group or family have a name? I don’t remember hearing anything about a shadowy group that’s killing jihadis.”

“Yes, they have a name. Get this, they call themselves the NFL. It an acronym that stands for
Not For Long
.”

“So our guy plays for the NFL.”

“Yeah, but he’s more like a locker room attendant. He’s not one of the players on the field.”

“Matt, tell me your thoughts about our big question, the question
why
. Why have these three guys been framed? Why didn’t ISIS or al-Qaeda simply kill our three guys? Why all of the elaborate bullshit with thumbprints and videos?”

“Well here’s Al’s opinion on the subject. Yes, he finally opened up. Al thinks that framing him, Mickey and Jake—shit, this is starting to sound like an old movie—is the beginning of an elaborate but simple plot. The radicals are trying to show the world, and especially Americans, that there’s no such thing as a moderate or reform-minded Muslim. What better way than to show the world that these three peaceful critics of radical Islam are themselves radicals, that they killed hundreds of innocent people. The idea is simple: the radicals want to sell the idea that
all
Muslims are radicals. That will force out the moderates.”

“And if the Jihadis are successful in forcing out the moderates,” Dee said, “then the world will stand in fear.”

“So all of this brings me to a great idea, Dee. At least
I
think it’s a great idea. I think you should start on a new book. The subject of the book should be the writings of Muslims who are critical of radical Islam. With your name on the cover, I think it will sell like crazy. It’s an important topic, and who better to address it than you, professor?”

Dee stood up, grabbed a cushion and flung it across the room, shouting “Yesssss.” One of the many things I love about Dee is her explosive enthusiasm. She even gets enthusiastic about going to the store. She walked over to a shelf and grabbed our baseball gloves and a ball.

“Let’s play catch, honey. It will help me think. Your idea about that book is absolutely fabulous.”

She wound up and flung her fastball at me like it was shot out of a gun.

“Hey, babe, don’t think so hard. I’m going to need a new mitt—maybe a catcher’s mitt with a lot of padding.”

“I can’t believe it Matt. Your idea is brilliant. My agent, Suzie Cohen, has been talking to Harvard University Press about a book on Muslim reformers. They approached her on the subject and told her to talk to me. I’ve been scratching my head about it, and you just came up with the perfect idea—Muslim writers critical of Islam. Maybe we can title it,
The Reformers.
”

“I’m also thinking about our
Yamani
case, Dee. As you research the book I think you’ll come up with some evidence I can use, maybe even some witnesses I can call for the trial.”

“Yesss—Perfect, honey,” she said as she flung the ball at my mitt.

Chapter 19

Professor Muhammed Islama conducted his class at the University of Cairo in both English and Arabic, both of which he spoke fluently. His specialty was “the correct” reading of the Quran. His idea of “correct” had been formed over the 40 years of his life, and some people thought of his interpretations as radical. Even some extreme Islamists consider Professor Islama’s reading and writings on the subject to be over the top. He subscribed to the notion that killing infidels is not only sometimes necessary, but actually a duty for every Muslim.

His students eagerly anticipated his Monday morning class. He would stress the idea that there is no such thing as a moderate or reform-minded Muslim, and that the Quran requires every Muslim to subscribe to his harsh view of human relations.

“The infidel does not have the right to exist,” Islama said, warming to his subject. “Either human beings follow the words of the Prophet or they follow the way of the heathen.” 

A man in the back of the room reached under his seat and came up with a Sig Sauer P226 pistol, a popular weapon known for its accuracy. He pointed it at the Imam’s torso and fired two shots. He then fired a third at the man’s head after he fell to the floor. The gunman was immediately surrounded by four large men, who formed a phalanx around him as the five of them left the stunned auditorium and walked to a waiting car.

The scene inside the auditorium was chaos. Most students ran for exits while a few ran to the stage toward the lifeless body of Professor Islama. A campus security officer ran to the stage where three other guards had already arrived. He told them that he saw the gunman, along with four other men, run toward the East exit (the opposite door from the one they had actually used to escape). All of the security guards ran toward the East exit.

***

Aadhil Ahsan stood before a group of 45 boys, ages 14 to 18. Ahsan was the Director of the Center for Islamic Youth in Sana’a, Yemen.

“Bring me young minds and I shall deliver soldiers to the armies of Allah,” read the inscription hanging at the front of the classroom.

The class began, as always, with a one-hour session of quiet reading of the Quran. Ahsan was a strict teacher, and his most emphatic dictum was that students should never read any book except the Quran. Once a week, three students were selected at random to recite a passage of the Quran from memory. If a kid flubbed a word or two, he would stand in the corner of the classroom for the rest of the day, holding the sacred book above his head.

Ahsan himself had come up through the ranks. As a youth he was a student in the very institution that he now headed. Ahsan had never read from any book but the Quran.

“Why seek knowledge anywhere but from the words of Allah as given to the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon Him. You are here to learn from the only true source of learning. You are not to seek knowledge from anywhere but from the divine source. The infidel will try to entice you with his worldly ways. You are to reject the infidel, and of course the Zionists. You are on the true path, the one true path.”

Shortly after noon it was time for the
Dhuhr,
the
second of the day’s five prayer sessions. The
Dhuhr
was proceeded by the
wudu
, or ablution, where each of the prayerful washed himself in the prescribed way, including his feet. Ahsan demanded that each step of the prayer service be performed “according to the book.”

After the day’s lessons concluded, Ahsan walked the quarter-mile to his small house, which he shared with his wife and four children. When he entered the house his senses were on full alert. It was custom, in the Ahsan household, for his wife, Ehan, along with his children to greet him at the door. But the house was silent. He walked from room to room, calling his wife’s name. His anger began to rise. He had strictly forbidden Ehan to ever leave the house without him or at least without his knowledge.

He walked into the room at the back of the house that overlooked a small garden where they grew dates. A man stood with his back to the door holding a sound-suppressed pistol pointed toward him. In the final moment of his life, he realized that he knew the gunman personally.

***

Imam Abdul Ishak stood before the crowded mosque in Evanston, Illinois. His audience, consisting of only male worshippers, was over 300. Imam Ishak was popular with the people of his mosque because his sermons were never dull. For years he had been on law enforcement and government watch lists, including the Chicago Police Department, the FBI, and the CIA.  But of course he was free to speak, and there was nothing the authorities would or could do to prevent him from spreading his message.

“The laws of the idiot infidels give us the power to eventually defeat them,” he would often tell friends, referring to the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.

His sermon for the day was about Ali Yamani, the suspect in the bombing of the Water Tower Mall in Chicago, just a few short miles from his mosque.

“The heathens say that violence is committed by people they call ‘radical Muslims.’ But the man who is accused of the murders is not in any way a radical. He is an apostate, a reformer as he likes to call himself. He is a man who has written against Sharia law and against the strict adherence to the words of the Quran and the Prophet Muhammad, may peace be upon Him. The man is worse than an infidel. He is a Muslim who has turned his back on the only path to truth. The heathens will soon learn that the violence they complain about is caused by scum like Yamani and his Zionist helpers. They are the violent ones. They are the ones who seek to kill.”

That evening, Imam Ishak drove his car along the Dan Ryan Expressway. He was going to a speaking engagement at another mosque in South Chicago. As he approached his exit, a large pickup truck swerved into his lane, hit the side of his car and drove it into a cement barricade. The truck continued on. Ishak was killed immediately. The autopsy would confirm simply that the cause of death was blunt trauma to the head.

The pickup truck was found two hours later, abandoned on the side of a road in Gary, Indiana. The vehicle was taped off as a crime scene, and both the interior and exterior was dusted for fingerprints. Not one print was found on the truck.