Terror Trail

CHAPTER THREE

New York

Calvin James had waited, watching the coming and going of the worshipers. This was his fifth day lingering near the entrance to the mosque. He was expecting Shaia Kerim. After scoping out the mosque for the past few days, Calvin had the man’s habits logged in his mind. Kerim visited the mosque at the same time every day. James saw no reason why he shouldn’t do the same today. It was time to make a connection. Time to see if his new identity would get him recognized as a believer, and a possible recruit for Hand of Allah.

The Stony Man warrior had allowed his hair to grow out. He hadn’t shaved for a few days. He wore washed-out chinos and a long cotton tunic under a faded, much abused jacket. His pockets held a few crumpled bills and some change. He had no cell phone or wallet. The only other item he carried was a well-thumbed copy of the Koran.

At this point in time Calvin James had become Ibrahim Hammid, devoted follower of Allah and totally disenchanted with the U.S.A. Stony Man’s detailed profile, available for anyone who wanted to check him online, had Hammid as a potential troublemaker with leanings toward extremism. The false identity placed Hammid on the edge, isolated and angry at a world he felt alienated from. The intention was to get James accepted by Kerim and eventually by Hand of Allah. It was a long shot, but the only possible lead in to the radical group.

James spotted Kerim as he came into view, heading in the direction of the mosque. The man was tall and lean, clad in Western clothing. A neat beard adorned the lower half of his slim face. His thick black hair was stylishly cut. As Kerim came closer James crossed the street, the Koran clutched in his hands, head down as he recited verses from the holy book. To any onlooker it would appear to be an accidental collision as James shouldered into Kerim, then stumbled awkwardly and allowed the Koran to slip from his grasp. James immediately began to apologize, offering Kerim his heartfelt words.

“Assalam alaikum, my brother. If my clumsiness has offended you it was only my eagerness to seek the solace of the mosque that blinded me to your presence.”

“Wa alaikum al salam. You are of the faith?” Kerim asked. He spotted the Koran lying at his feet and bent quickly to pick it up, examining the worn leather cover and inscription. Le Coran, translated by Muhammad Hamidullah and Michel Leturmy. “This is a rare copy. Where did you get it?”

“My mother gave it to me when I was a child. And schooled me in French so I could understand.”

“Where was she from?”

“She was Algerian. My father was African-American. In the French Legion. He brought us to this place when he left the military. Made my mother leave her home and live in America.”

Kerim sensed the despair in James’s voice.

“You do not like America?”

James took the offered Koran, clutching it to him. He shook his head.

“It has brought us only but despair,” he said. “A godless wilderness populated by corrupt people who mock Allah and all he represents. My father died a year ago. An alcoholic who beat my mother until she died of shame because he could not make anything of himself in America. I have nothing but hatred for this country. It has given me nothing. If I had the money I would leave this place of Satan.” James raised his hand. “I found the mosque and I want to go inside to pray for the comfort Allah can offer me. He will not turn me away, will he, brother?”

“I have seen you here before. Yes? On the sidewalk. But you have not entered. Why?”

“Because I was not sure my faith was enough to allow me to step inside such a holy place.”

“Did you not say you were of the faith? Then that is all you need.”

Kerim laid his hand on James’s shoulder and led him to the entrance.

“Will Allah accept me?” James asked.

“The faithful are never turned from his path, brother. Walk with me and we will talk together after I conduct my business. I am Shaia Kerim. And what are you called, my brother?”

“Ibrahim Hammid.”

* * *

AT THE FAR END of the street, Rafael Encizo lowered the binoculars and picked up the transceiver on the seat beside him.

“He made contact,” he said. “Have to give it to him. He worked it smoothly. Spoke to Kerim, then went inside with him.”

“Stay on watch,” David McCarter said. “If you get a clear opportunity when they come out, see if they leave together and follow. But don’t get made, Rafe. Slightest doubt, back off and we’ll have to wait for Cal to contact us.”

“That’s what I worry about,” Encizo said. “What if he can’t contact us?”

“We understood the risks right from day one. So did Cal. I don’t bloody like the way we’re having to go, but there’s no choice. Call if anything goes down.”

* * *

THE INTERIOR WAS cool. The tiled floor was smooth under James’s bare feet after he left his shoes at the entrance. The silence was broken only by the murmur of praying voices.

“Come with me,” Kerim said. “We will find a place where we can talk.”

In keeping with his character, James held the Koran open, reading in a low voice, speaking French as he quoted from the verses. He portrayed a humble man, someone carrying much unrest inside him.

Kerim paused at a closed door. “In here you can rest in solitude for a time.” He closed his hands over the book in James’s hands. “Seek the truth the Koran holds for you. Allow its strength to become your strength. Let Allah embrace you in all His glory. When I finish my business we will talk, my brother, and with Allah’s guidance we will find your path.”

Beyond the door was a plain room, empty except for a pair of wooden chairs set around a table. As James entered his eyes wandered around the walls and ceiling, but he kept his gaze low-key. He spotted a small video camera in the angle of the wall and ceiling, the lens trained on the table. He suspected there was also an audio link.

“Sit,” Kerim said. “I will be back soon.”

The door closed, leaving James on his own. He understood the restrictions the room placed on him, so he remained as Ibrahim Hammid and maintained his persona. He sat at the table, the open Koran laid in front of him, and began to recite one of the passages. If he was going to convince Kerim of his true faith he was going to have to remain vigilant. One slip and his cover would be gone. If that happened Calvin James would be forced to make a swift return.

James didn’t try to fool himself. If his cover was blown he would find himself in a fight for his life for as long as it took the rest of Phoenix Force to show up. He had no doubts his partners would come for him, but it would depend on how close they were at the time, even anticipating they knew where he was. It might turn out to be a close thing. The time it took Phoenix Force to show up had to be calculated against how long it took for someone to pull a trigger. Calvin James was no fatalist. He simply looked at the facts and took it from there.

Between a rock and a hard place didn’t allow much room to maneuver.

James figured around twenty to thirty minutes had passed before the door opened and Kerim stood there.

“My business took me longer than expected,” he said. “Now we must see to your needs, Ibrahim Hammid. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“My hunger is for enlightenment. My thirst for knowledge.”

Kerim smiled. “All well and good, Ibrahim, but even the most devout must nourish his body as well as his soul.” He stepped outside the door and called to someone to bring tea and bread. “Here in the mosque we have only simple things.”

“Thank you, brother. Your kindness overwhelms me.”

Kerim sat across the table, his lean hands flat on the surface as he studied Calvin James. His gaze was fixed, his dark eyes fiercely penetrating. James held the man’s scrutiny, aware he was being assessed.

“I sense there is much conflict within you, Ibrahim Hammid. Is this true?”

“As much as I am able I wage my personal struggle with America. But I am one man. Alone. I have neither money nor support, so my battle with this nation is little more than within my thoughts.” James gripped the Koran until his knuckles whitened with the tension. “But if my thoughts were reality, America would lie in smoking ruins.”

A tray was brought into the room. It held a copper pot of tea that allowed a rich, aromatic smell to fill the room. There was a plate of bread and a bowl of grapes and figs. Kerim reached for one of the two cups and poured the tea, passing one to James. He took his own cup and sipped the hot brew.

“Eat,” Kerim said.

James took the food. He acted the part of someone who had not eaten well for some time, while trying to keep his hunger under control. He knew Kerim was watching him.

“Here,” the man said, refilling James’s cup. “Tell me, where do you live?”

“I have a place in a rooming house. In the cheapest part of town.”

“Work?”

“In the kitchen of a large hotel. My responsibility is to make sure all the waste is taken outside. A menial job. The wage is small, but it helps pay for my room.”

“Are you treated well enough?”

“It depends on your interpretation of well enough.”

Kerim smiled at that. “Je comprends. Yet such an answer could be considered as paranoid.”

“If you are asking do I sometimes look over my shoulder to see if I am being followed, then yes.”

“And are you?”

“If I could identify them they would not be doing their job.”

“My brother, America is not as free as they make out. Democracy comes at a high price. The ones in charge view the world with suspicion and they feed that insecurity down to the streets.”

“To be directed at us. At Islam and everything it stands for.”

“The Americans want our oil. To get it they declare illegal wars that give them an excuse to invade. They send in their military. Their tanks and warplanes. Against what? Against civilians. Women and children. They destroy our cities. Our sacred mosques. Their disregard for our holy places is outrageous. I have seen the destruction. The death. The heavy boot of the American aggressor crushing everything we hold dear. The infidels want to wipe us out.”

Kerim never once raised his voice. He spoke with absolute control. Calm. Considered. And that made his words more powerful.

“How dedicated would you be to the cause?” Kerim asked, eyes fixed on James’s face.

“As dedicated as necessary.”

“Without question?”

“Yes.”

“To the death?”

“To the death. However Allah sees fit to use me. My devotion to Him has no bounds. If He requires my sacrifice then I am willing.”

“Have you heard of Hand of Allah?”

James shook his head. “I have little contact with anyone, or anything. What is Hand of Allah?”

“We oppose all things American. Our dedication is toward the glory of Allah. In whatever way we can manifest that dedication.”

“A great and good cause.”

“Hand of Allah may have the answer to your prayers, my brother.”

“Give me the opportunity to prove myself. If I can do something, anything, for Allah, then my life will not have been in vain.”

“There is a plan, Hammid. One that will bring much pain and suffering to this place of Satan.”

“Then allow me to become part of it, brother. Let me be one of those who will deliver Allah’s wrath to this godless place.”

“I am in need of believers such as yourself, Ibrahim Hammid. True followers of Allah who need a purpose in life.”

James clutched his Koran. “Where you go I will follow, Shaia Kerim. There is nothing here in this place for me. This desolate land of the infidels is dead to me. I have never been in the military, but if I had a gun I would strike out against the Americans.” He raised the Koran and held it to his chest. “This is my only weapon, but against the American war machine it is powerless.”

“What would you say if I offered you a chance to strike at America? To make a difference?”

“How?”

“By joining a group who are going to visit Allah’s vengeance against the Great Satan. In a way that will bring home the pain of war to Americans at large. Here on their own streets.”

James held himself silent for a heartbeat, studying Kerim’s face. “This can happen?” And when Kerim simply nodded, he asked, “But how?”

“Put your trust in me, Ibrahim Hammid, and I will make this happen.”

James smiled at Kerim. “Allahu akbar,” he said. “Then if He wills it I will follow you.”

“Then go and gather your belongings. Return in the morning and I will take you to a place where you can wait until I make arrangements.” As James stood, still clutching his Koran, Kerim added, “Tell no one. Stay faithful.”

They moved out of the mosque together. James walked away, aware that Kerim had remained at the entrance, taking out a cell and making a call. He did not look back but simply went down the street, maintaining his cover role as Ibrahim Hammid.

* * *

WATCHING FROM his car, Encizo reported in.

“Cal is leaving the mosque. Kerim saw him out and now he’s making a cell call.”

“Check no one is following Cal. T.J. can tail him. Cal should be going back to his room. If it’s safe he’ll call in and update us.”

“You want me to stay on Kerim?”

“If he leaves the mosque.”

Encizo saw Kerim complete his call, then turn and go back inside the mosque.

“Kerim has gone back inside.”

“Stay there. If you see anyone interesting try to get some shots.”

“I’m on it.”

Nothing further happened until Kerim left the mosque a couple of hours later. By then Encizo had been informed about what had happened inside the mosque. He started the car and made his way back to the hotel Phoenix Force was using as a base.

Hawkins had tailed James back to his rooming house. No one else followed James, Hawkins determined. The black Phoenix Force pro went inside and used the cell hidden in his room to update McCarter on what had taken place. He hung around inside his room until it was time for him to start his afternoon shift at the restaurant.

Gary Manning, the lone Canadian on the team, was observing from a distance, watching to see if anyone made contact. No one did, but Manning noticed a lone figure keeping an eye on James, even taking a number of photographs. He called that in.

“Looks like they’re checking up on our mate,” McCarter said. “Probably want a picture for identification.”

“Good thing Aaron had that fake background planted on the internet.”

“Too bloody true,” McCarter said. “Keep a sharp watch, Gary. Let me know if anything happens that shouldn’t.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“He is of African-American descent,” Kerim explained. “His mother was Algerian. She taught him French and instilled in him a respect for the faith. Since he was brought here as a young child he has had nothing but disappointment. He feels nothing but resentment toward America. His life is nothing. I had one of our people check his background on the internet. The man has clashed with the authorities many times because of his disillusionment. Twice he has been arrested for disturbing the peace, so it was possible for his police records to be accessed. He has never been placed on the American watch list because his actions have always been low-key. He is considered a nuisance rather than a threat. But his presence on record shows he is far from content with his life and does not like America.”

“Will his feelings allow him to take that step to becoming an active dissident?” asked the man they called the Prophet.

“I believe so. Only his faith in Allah allows him to survive. He wants to leave this country but even that is denied him because he is penniless. Without papers. His frustration makes him angry. His only crutch is his Koran. He carries it with him at all times. Reads it constantly. It gives him comfort. But he desires to make his mark. To strike out.”

The Prophet considered what Kerim had said. “Why this man?”

“I have listened to him. He is ready. Given training he will fit into our operation. Being African-American he would be able to move around the country less conspicuously than some of our Muslim brothers. He would be able to get into areas without arousing suspicion.”

“Can we trust him? Does he have what we need?”

“I believe so, Prophet.”

“How would you proceed with this?”

“Take him out of the country. Directly to our camp in Yemen. Give him time with our people, as we have done with the others. Instruct him in the use of automatic weapons. Grenades. Return him to America and give him the necessary clothing and finance. Place him in a chosen location and let him wait until it is time. Then unleash him on the American public on the day we choose. Like all the others he will only have knowledge of his individual mission.”

“And if he proves not to be with us?”

“At the camp we will be able to observe him closely. In Yemen he will be under our control, so if he is false we can deal with him easily.”

“Have you spoken of your intentions to him?”

“Only to gauge his reaction. And he has spoken that he wants to join our cause.”

“Then perhaps now is the time. Where is he now?”

“He returned to the mosque as instructed. He was moved directly to the safe house.”

“Talk to him again. If you are sure he is willing then we can make the arrangements to take him to Yemen.”

Kerim nodded, excitement welling as he thought of the interesting time ahead. His protégé would prove to be a vital asset. His indoctrination into Hand of Allah would show how well Kerim had carried out his task. Even the Prophet would not be able to deny his procurer’s skill. It would raise Kerim’s standing within the organization. The plan to infiltrate American cities with his armed martyrs had been mostly Kerim’s, and the Prophet had agreed on the plan.

Drawing Hammid into Hand of Allah would involve some financial outlay. But that was no problem. The group had funding from a number of sources, including al Qaeda. People backed such organizations because it furthered their needs. Encouraged the ongoing war against the infidel West. When the Prophet had once detailed the amounts of money that had been funneled into the Hand of Allah coffers, even Kerim had been surprised. The funds were banked in a number of accounts and were readily available to the Prophet, so any financial outlay was easily deployed. It was a comfort to know the financial needs had been taken care of. Planning an operation was hard enough without having to struggle to gather enough money to fund it.