The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel Read online

  Nick then read them their Miranda warnings and the cell leader said, “None of us has anything to say. We all wish to speak with our lawyer.”

  The six were handcuffed and transported to JTTF headquarters in Manhattan by ESB personnel and Harry. Pop and Nick remained to execute the search warrant for the weapons and documents relating to the attack.

  The rest of the hits at the two section chiefs’ locations and all their cell leaders’ locations had gone just as smoothly. All the ESB teams made their entries rapidly and proficiently, and no shots were fired. When the Jersey guys hit Boussara’s house they came up empty. As the elusive area leader had never been physically observed, many questions arose concerning him. Was it possible that no one was ever in this house at all? Did the section chiefs just use this place as a meeting ground? Did there actually exist an area leader?

  The previous night Boussara had decided to change locations, as he had many times in the past. He chose a safe house in the North Bronx, but not the one he occasionally used to meet with a section chief. This one was not known to anyone but himself. He packed up all the plans and papers into one briefcase. After midnight, he slipped out of a side window unknowingly avoiding the CCTV cameras trained on his front and back doors, and crossed through two backyards which let him out onto a side street. He took a circuitous route through the neighborhood, and arrived at the Newark train station forty-five minutes later. By three a.m., he was soundly asleep in the bedroom of his small bungalow in the Bronx. He couldn’t wait for Wednesday to arrive when he would watch the news reports from the safety of this location. He dreamed of the death and destruction that would happen, and he smiled broadly in his sleep.

  By seven o’clock Tuesday night, all the arrestees were in custody and being interviewed by teams of detectives. Lieutenant Campbell said, “All of you did a magnificent job today, but we’re a long way from being done. Cell members and cell leaders are being interviewed now, but I don’t anticipate much information to be forthcoming. This team will interrogate the two chiefs tomorrow when we are fresh. And it might be helpful to let them sweat it out over night. The area leader, if he ever did reside there, is gone from the Newark house.”

  “How about the plans?” Walt asked. “We picked up a lot of stuff along with all their weapons, especially from the chiefs’ locations.”

  “I have the intelligence guys scrutinizing them now. They promise a full report and analysis by tomorrow morning. Let’s call it a day now, and it has been a long day. For tomorrow, try to get in here by nine. And we’ll do the interviews of the chiefs after we get the intelligence briefing. And then we have some big decisions to make.”

  “Such as?” Mansfield asked.

  “We have two unknown section chiefs and around fifty potential terrorists still on the loose in Manhattan. We’ve kept a tight lid on this so far, but do we think that is a good idea going forward?”

  “I see where you’re going,” Walt said. “Those guys may continue with their part of the plan, since they don’t know the rest have been scooped up.”

  “What makes us think they won’t go ahead with their part anyway, even if they do know?” Nick asked.

  “That’s why we have to think carefully before we jump,” Campbell said. “We’ll decide after the interviews and briefing. By then we should have more and better information to base our decisions on. Let’s go home.”

  The interviews with those arrested produced nothing. The two chiefs refused to speak, except to smile and utter a few self-serving comments: “Our arrest does not matter.” “There are many others out there who hate you as much as we do.” “We will never stop.” “You will all be destroyed.” And, of course, they all requested to speak with their attorney, Faysal Pervez, of the ACLU. That request was denied.

  After the intelligence briefing Pop said, “What do we do next? Do we go public or not? The intelligence reports are scary, but unfortunately we don’t know all the targets, only that there are twenty kamikaze-type planes involved in these attacks.”

  “And we don’t know how many planes are supposed to attack each target,” John said. “Are there twenty different ones, or only four or five?”

  “Can I offer a couple of suggestions?” Harry said.

  “We’re listening,” Walt said.

  “If you decide to go public, take the two cell phones we confiscated from the chiefs and turn them on. When the news of the arrests hits the airwaves, wait to see if anyone calls, like maybe the mysterious Boussara?”

  “Brilliant!” John said. “No wonder they made you a detective.”

  “I do have one more suggestion,” Harry said. “Send guys out to all the area airports, especially the smaller ones. Search the ownership records for any planes owned by those companies that own the safe houses, or any other phony sounding company. If you get any hits, stake them out until the pilots arrive.”

  The team members all looked at each other in disbelief. Why hadn’t one of them thought of that? Basic detective work. Finally, Walt said, “You embarrass us, Harry. We’re the seasoned investigators here, and you put us to shame. But thanks for the embarrassment. We’ll run this by Campbell, and I’ll make sure he knows where it came from. And we better get the big bosses to notify the Air Force right away of the situation.”

  The story topped the opening five minutes of all the noon news broadcasts as the excited anchors related the details of the takedown of the terrorist organization. The release from the NYMPD and the JTTF said, “Papers found at the locations of the roundups indicated those arrested belonged to OBL-911, the same group whose planned attack last May was also foiled. They were planning more attacks in the New York City area today. The scope and nature of the attacks were not disclosed by police spokesmen. Leads developed after the initial takedowns led to the arrests, thus far, of over 40 suspected members of OBL-911, and they are being interviewed and held in custody pending arraignment on a variety of charges. We hope to have more details at our six p.m. broadcast.”

  Muhammed Fayez Boussara, as was his usual practice, tuned into the midday news. He watched in disbelief as a repeat of May’s failure blasted into his brain. It couldn’t be happening again! What went wrong this time? The attack was only three hours away. There was only one way to find out. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Alomari.

  The Task Force members were sitting around the conference table. The TV was on, but turned low now after the OBL-911 story aired. They stared at the two cell phones in front of them. At 12:09, Alomari’s phone rang. Walt picked it up and said, “Yes?”

  “Wael, have you seen the news?”

  “Boussara, this is not Alomari. This is special agent Walter Kobak. It’s all over, oh great Eastern Area Leader. We got all your chiefs and cell leaders, and they are a talkative bunch.”

  Boussara hung up. He was shaking. He called a second chief, Shoab Aziz.

  Walt answered again and said, “Sorry, Boussara, he can’t come to the phone. He’s reviewing his ten page statement.”

  The number of Boussara’s phone, no doubt a cell phone, came back to the Desert Wind Specialties Company, which was the listed owner of Boussara’s Newark house. No help there, and there was no way to locate him. Lieutenant Campbell came back to join them and sandwiches arrived. The lieutenant chewed a bite of his pastrami on rye, swallowed and said, “Let’s try to figure out what Boussara would most likely do now. But before we do, I have received some good news. When I was with the assistant director, he conferenced in the police commissioner, who said he will commit whatever resources we need in the search for the planes—the entire NYMPD—I believe, was how he put it. Let’s try to get inside the mind of Boussara. Time is running out. I’m guessing it’s set for today’s rush hour.”

  “If he stays with the original plan to attack today and Friday,” McKee said, “the effect over the two days will be limited.”

  “Do you think he’ll concentrate all the remaining forces on one day?” Nick asked.

  “I think h
e might. His nuts are in a vise now. The leadership of OBL-911 will turn the handle tightly if he doesn’t make a big splash. But exactly when is still unknown.”

  “My guess is still he’ll do it all this afternoon,” Walt said. “He’ll forget about the Friday synagogue attacks. He just doesn’t have the manpower or weapons to make it happen. He’ll have all the planes hit the targets today, and concentrate his remaining manpower on Penn Station and the other transportation hubs, probably at the height of the afternoon rush hour.”

  “We cover everything, as best we can, beginning right now,” Campbell said. “And like Harry said, we have to find those planes and stop them before they get off the ground. Any progress yet, Walt?”

  “We have a hundred detectives and agents on the way,” he said.

  “Do you think the public should be alerted to the possibility of an attack this afternoon?” Jerry asked.

  “I discussed that with the assistant director,” Campbell said, “and the current thinking is a panic would occur that could possibly result in more deaths than from the attack itself. It’s all now on us to stop it before it can happen.”

  “Just peachy,” Dick Mansfield said.

  Boussara did not dwell on the disaster for long. He knew he had to accomplish the most devastation with what he had left. Bin Yousef would be highly displeased if all the money and planning that went into this operation resulted in no, or minimal, damage. And Boussarra knew a displeased bin Yousef would have him executed at the first opportunity. He did not believe the Task Force infidels—those they had captured, especially the section chiefs, would never talk. But they didn’t have to talk because their plans had been seized, and he knew the plans of the chiefs would tell just about everything—everything except the exact time of today’s attack, which he wisely communicated only verbally to them. Although the authorities probably knew about the planes, he remained confident most, if not all of them, would successfully reach their destinations intact. And as far as manpower, he had two fully staffed sections left, but the planes were the key.

  His reasoning was remarkably similar to the JTTF, and he also arrived at the same conclusion that today should be the day for the all-out effort. As much as he had wanted to kill the Jews in their synagogues on Friday night, that was not now possible. But the three planes that were to simultaneously attack St. Patrick’s Cathedral would still do so, only now today, and in coordination with the others. The planes would hit their targets followed by the all-out attack by his reduced force of jihad warriors. Yes, this would work well. It had better work well, for the sake of his head.

  After Boussara finalized the plans with his two remaining section chiefs, he called Zacarias al-Rahim, in Washington, DC, to inform him of the changes. “Praise Allah, Boussara. How are the plans going?”

  “Not well, my friend. Let me explain.”

  Zacarias was understandably angry and upset over the arrests, but agreed with Boussara the revised plan would be almost as effective as the original one. He said, “I will get the word out to the pilots of the three planes that were supposed to hit the cathedral on Friday. They will be directed to now join today’s attack with the same target. There should be no problem as the planes are all fueled, loaded with explosives and ready to go.”

  “Thank you, Zacarias; you have been of much help to me these past months. I know we will succeed today.”

  “Praise Allah we do. If we fail, bin-Yousef may not allow us to live.”

  “I am most painfully aware of that.”

  “Are you going to stay in the New York Area during the attacks?”

  “I was thinking of once again joining you in Washington. I can fly down on the shuttle and be there with you just as the attacks begin.

  “My home is always open to you, my leader. We will watch the destruction on the news together.”

  By two p.m, the members of the Joint Terrorist Task Force, supplemented by one hundred NYMPD detectives and FBI agents, were surveilling nineteen planes owned by known phony companies. The planes had been found at four different small regional airports in Long Island, New Jersey and Westchester County. Each plane was now being observed by four detectives or agents who were armed with their automatics plus two twelve-gauge shotguns. With them at each location was a sharpshooter from ESB armed with a high-powered, .223 caliber scoped rifle. The rest of the group was desperately searching for the last plane.

  Twenty minutes later the surveillance teams became more alert. The suicide pilots should be arriving to man their planes shortly. The last plane still had not been located. At 2:24 the team sitting on a Cessna at Republic Airport in Farmingdale, Long Island, observed a Middle-Eastern man walk toward it. They jumped out and ordered him to halt. He ran to the plane despite the shouted warnings and Police Officer Mickey Wells of ESB put a .223 round into his back. As the pilot fell he pushed a button on the heavy bomb jacket he was wearing. The resulting violent explosion destroyed half the plane, and all of him.

  Similar situations began to play out across the other airports. None of the suicide bombers surrendered when given the opportunity. Eleven managed to blow themselves up, and seven were shot so skillfully by the ESB sharpshooters they were unable to push the button on their bomb jackets.

  At 2:30 the hangar doors on a building located on a large estate in Rockland County, owned by a Sudanese sheikh, slid open. A Piper lumbered out onto the oiled-dirt runway, piloted by twenty-seven year old Fahid Ahmed Khan. In addition to his bomb jacket, which was now plugged into a detonator button located in the nose of the plane, several duffle bags of high explosives, also wired to that button, were packed tightly in all available spaces. The plane’s weight made it wobble and shake as it took off toward New York City. Fahid’s target was the west side of the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, the observation deck, which should be packed with visitors on this hot July afternoon.

  Fahid knew a shutdown of all flights in the New York area had just gone into effect, and fighter jets in large numbers were in the sky, but he felt he had an excellent chance to get to his target. He steered his plane straight down the Hudson River at maximum speed. The control towers at several airports picked him up on radar, but he refused to acknowledge their orders to set down. Two F-16’s in the area were notified and began to close in on the Piper. The skyline of Manhattan loomed clearly in Fahid’s vision. In thirty seconds he would turn sharply to the east and, right at the appointed time, he would smash into his target and enter paradise. As Fahid began to turn his straining, explosive-laden plane toward the building, he spied the F-16 out of the corner of left eye. The F-16’s pilot, Major Bert Masters, realized it was now too late to fire his missiles with the Manhattan skyline directly in front of him, so he opened up with his machine guns. One of the bullets caught Fahid in the shoulder, causing him to dip the nose of the plane, as Masters’ jet was forced to veer away.

  Edward Morales, the office manager of a financial investment firm on the 73rd floor of the Empire State Building, had given his nine employees an early break for the long holiday weekend. He was tidying up in preparation to leave, and reached for the cord to close the window blinds. He recoiled in horror as Fahid’s Piper came directly at him, crashing through the window, and exploding with a huge blast and fireball.

  New York’s Bravest had learned their lessons well from the 2001 tragedy at the Twin Towers. The firefighters responded with speed and precision, and evacuated the building and extinguished the blaze in less than a half hour. Miraculously, no other lives were lost and the grand old building on 34th Street was in no danger of collapse.

  When word reached the JTTF that a plane had hit the Empire State Building with one known casualty and minimal damage, John McKee said, “I would be surprised if they went ahead now. We have their ground targets covered like a blanket with uniformed and plainclothes personnel.”

  “True,” Nick said, “but maybe they feel they have to make the most of this opportunity to save face with their leaders.”


  “We’ll know soon,” Campbell said. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed, and a few prayers may be in order, too.”

  As Boussara and al-Rahim watched CNN, so did the two section chiefs in Manhattan. When the news story of the lone plane crashing into the Empire State Building broke at 3:20, but no other plane attacks were reported, all four began to worry. The chiefs had their eight cell leaders scattered around the target areas, and had checked with them at 3:10. Nothing had happened. Lady Liberty still stood guard in the harbor and the Brooklyn Bridge and Freedom Tower were unscathed. At 3:42, the CNN news anchor broke a story of several possible attempted hijackings of small planes at local airports with reported gun fire and explosions. “Reporters are en-route now,” he said. “Perhaps more attacks have been foiled.”

  The two Manhattan chiefs received a call from the enraged Boussara ordering them immediately into action at locations where they could kill as many infidels as possible. “Get them all to Penn Station and Grand Central Station,” he said. “They should be packed solidly with homeward bound commuters anticipating the weekend to come. Hit them with everything you have.”

  Boussara hung up the phone and turned to Zacarias. “Let us pray our warriors kill enough infidels to assuage bin Yousef’s anger.”

  Section Chiefs Shoaib Aziz and Wassem Idris received the call on Idris’s cell phone at his apartment on Orchard Street in lower Manhattan. Boussara had left no doubt as to what their jihad warriors must accomplish. They immediately dialed their cell leaders. Aziz ordered his four to re-group, and attack Penn Station with all their members, at exactly 4:30 p.m. Idris did likewise with his cell leaders, directing them to attack Grand Central Station at the same time.