The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel Page 9

  “Take it easy, Pop,” John said. “You couldn’t have known—none of us could have known—this was going to happen. We just underestimated their cruelty.”

  “Their fanaticism would be more like it,” Walt said.

  “Whatever the reason,” Pop said, “I will not make the same mistake again. We now know how to deal with OBL-911 now—if you get my drift.”

  “We get it,” Walt said. “We most certaintly get it.”

  “OBL-911 is sending a loud and clear message,” Pop said. “To us and to their own members.”

  Muhammed Fayez Boussara was moving rapidly along with his attack plans. He had called a get together of his four section chiefs and opened the meeting by saying, “We will soon embark upon the greatest mission against Satan since the destruction of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, despite our recent temporary setback.”

  There were murmurs of approval, and they all clapped enthusiastically. Boussara smiled and continued, “The target remains the same, and it is only one—New York City. Get more safe houses for meetings and weapons storage. Make sure all your cell leaders are making their members aware of the sacrifices they must make. They must be willing martyrs.”

  “My leader,” Section Chief Shoab Aziz said, “can you be more specific on the timing and the scope of the mission?”

  “You anticipate me, but I can, and will, be more specific in both areas. We will attack on July 3, the day before the start of the four-day holiday weekend. The targets are the same as those we planned to destroy in May. We have no reason to change them as we are certain, despite Ramzi’s death, the authorities have no information that could harm us. The destruction of September 11, 2001 will pale in comparison to the damage we will inflict this time with a successful mission.”

  Wael Alomari asked, “Will all details be as before?”

  “That’s why you are all here. You will tell me. Should we attack exactly as planned in May? Or perhaps make some modifications that will enhance the damage? Spend a few hours now, and consider the talent at your disposal. We have jihad martyrs wired with explosives, and jihad warriors with automatic weapons and hand grenades, for personnel targets. You can also count on many small aircraft loaded with explosives. I will also assign the cell members from Ramzi’s section to be split among you. I want you to plan for synagogues, financial institutions, tunnels and bridges, commuter stations such as Penn and Grand Central. As for buildings the just completed so-called Freedom Tower, the Empire State and St. Patrick’s Cathedral are prime targets. Wouldn’t it be nice to see the Statue of Liberty topple over in chunks?”

  He looked at his watch and said, “I have business to attend to elsewhere, but I will be back in a few hours. Be ready to brief me at three.”

  They all moved to a dining room which had been set up in conference fashion. The spacious table was surrounded by seven chairs, and the room had a chalkboard, an easel with magic markers and numerous pads and pens. The chiefs were elated. Finally, despite their recent temporary setback, OBL-911 was going into action.

  When Boussara returned to the room, it was obvious they had been working hard. The easel’s pages were almost all used, and the chalkboard was covered with diagrams. “It looks like you have been busy. Aziz, can you brief me on the group’s conclusions?”

  “Yes, we would like to spread the attacks over two days. After we strike with the planes and most of our ground forces on Wednesday everyone will be lulled into the feeling it is all over. But we will then hit the synagogues on Friday evening. That will give us maximum casualties during the rush hour commute on Wednesday, and also during Sabbath services.”

  “Excellent,” Boussara said. “And where will we position our glorious martyrs?”

  “Broadway shows, famous restaurants, crowded subway stations and the two big commuter train stations.”

  “Agreed,” Boussara said. “We will get together again in two weeks. I will notify you of the location and time. You have done good work so far. Praise Allah. Our time is at hand.”

  Two weeks later, after the four section chiefs were assembled in the conference room, Boussara announced, “Our great leader, Khalid al-habib bin Yousef, approves our plans and passes on his wishes for our success. But let me remind you all he will not tolerate another failure. After the two attacks, we will send our releases to the press and TV people. The main message from OBL-911 will be: We have proven you are not safe in your streets, in your synagogues, in your mass transit and in your workplaces. All support for Israel must cease. If the policies of the United States do not change, you will not be safe in your homes. Our attacks will not stop until our mission is accomplished.”

  There was silence in the room and then the section chiefs broke into smiles and applause and shouts of “Allahu Akbar.”

  “Can we begin to communicate some of these details to our cell leaders?” Aziz asked.

  “Not yet. During this coming week I want all weapons and munitions checked and in place at your headquarters. We should have to meet only once more before we attack. That meeting will be next Friday, June 28. All plans will be finalized at that time. Only after that will you give your cell leaders the attack dates. I do not want our jihad warriors to know of their assignments until July the second, just one day prior to the attacks.”

  “How many planes are coming, my leader?” Wassem Idris asked.

  “I will have the final count by our next meeting, perhaps twenty.”

  When Wael Alomari arrived back in his Brooklyn home he wondered where Boussara would assign his section. Somewhere, he hoped, where his men could cause maximum death and destruction. He had been assigned two members from Ramzi’s section—Abu Alnanni from cell number three and Zubayr Rassam from cell number one. It was time to personally meet them, do a thorough evaluation of their dedication and capabilities, and assign them to the appropriate cell. Using the telephone numbers provided by the lawyer Pervez he summoned them to a meeting the following night.

  “He’s coming out,” NickFaliani said to his surveillance partner, FBI agent Mike Corona.

  Corona, a grumpy, rough-talking, fourteen year veteran was certainly not the hot female jokingly requested by Nick. He said, “I hope this fucking Abu finally leads us somewhere. I’m sick of sitting in this car for all eternity with you.”

  “You’re no fucking joy to sit next to either, partner.”

  “A-a-h, don’t take me seriously, Nick. I just hate surveillance jobs.”

  “No sweat, Mike. Let’s notify the other teams that we’re going to trail him.”

  After confirming by radio that none of the other three cell members were on the move, John McKee said, “Go careful, guys. He’s our only hope right now.”

  “Ten-four,” Nick said as he moved the unmarked sedan in a slow, close pursuit of Abu.

  Five minutes later, Mike got on the radio and said, “He’s going up the El stairs to the N train. We’ll follow on foot. Maybe one of you can follow the train underneath the tracks.”

  “We’ll do that,”Jerry Campora said who was with his long-time steady partner, Dick Mansfield.

  “Keep us informed,” McKee said.

  Abu got off the N train after four stops and walked into a residential neighborhood carefully looking over his shoulder on numerous occasions, but failing to detect Nick and Mike. He entered a small two-story home and remained inside for the better part of an hour. He came out smiling and walked, briskly now, back to the train station and back to his home.

  “Let’s hope that house holds a big shot, like one of those section chiefs,” Nick told everyone over the radio.

  “We’ll make this our new surveillance target beginning at dawn tomorrow,” John said. “Let’s call it a night.”

  Two days had passed and Wael Alomari had not appeared. On the third day, June 28, at 9:15 in the morning, the section chief, identity not yet known by the Task Force, finally made his move. Pop and Harry followed him on foot to the elevated subway line where he boarded a Manhattan bound N
train.

  Twenty minutes later Pop got on the radio and said, “We just pulled out of the Atlantic Avenue station. Next stop is in Manhattan.”

  Alomari got off at the WTC station and walked to the PATH platform where he boarded a train to Newark. When Pop relayed this information, Walt broadcast to all units, “Everyone head for the Holland tunnel.”

  By the time the PATH train pulled into the Newark station, all six members of the team were there. Jerry was the first to spot Wael on the street, with Pop and Harry following behind. Wael took a cab to #417 Redford Street. He walked to the rear of the house and was gone. The four teams took up observation positions, and ten minutes later another Middle-Eastern man of approximately forty years of age, walked up to the house and around to the back. Unknown to the Task Force, he was the last of four chiefs to enter.

  Boussara reviewed his section chief’s plans. There were names assigned to the machine gunners, grenade throwers and martyrs. The names were meaningless to him. He said, “Are you all certain of your selections? Were they made carefully?”

  They all nodded their assent and Boussara continued, “Gentlemen, I have here our final plan of attack.”

  He handed out a paper-clipped package to each chief and said, “Day one, Wednesday, July 3—building targets are: The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, City Hall, the Freedom Tower and the Brooklyn Bridge. Resources are seventeen kamikaze planes—three for the statue, two for City Hall, four for the bridge, four for the Empire State and four for theTower. Personnel targets are Penn Station, Grand Central Station and the WTC underground concourse using all we have of machine gunners, grenade throwers and jihad martyrs. The planes will strike at precisely three p.m. I anticipate a mass exodus out of the city. The train stations will be crowded way beyond the rush hour norm. We should be able to kill many thousands.”

  “Magnificent,” section chief two said.

  “Now for day number two, Friday, July 5. Forty synagogues will be targeted throughout the five boroughs. Not the structures themselves, but personnel targets only—officiating rabbis, and as many worshipers as possible. Resources are forty machine gunners and forty grenade throwers. And now for the final house of worship, not a synagogue but the crown jewel of New York’s Catholicism—St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The main personnel target is the Cardinal. Resources to be utilized are four jihad martyrs, six machine gunners, three grenade throwers and,” he paused for effect and smiled, “and three jihad kamikazes, the divine wind from Allah. They will arrive after the initial ground attack. One will blast right into the front entrance, and two will take out the twin spires.”

  The chiefs applauded and cheered, slapping each other on the back.

  “Let the work begin. Divide up the targets among you. I will be available to resolve all disputes. You shall not leave until we have the finalized plan. Be kind and gracious to one another. All the targets are worthy of your talents. Proceed in harmony. If I have to arbitrarily make the assignments, no one will be pleased.”

  As the chiefs pondered and postured, the members of the Task Force, now with the back-up of the New Jersey Task Force, watched and waited.

  Finally, the meeting in the house had resolved all the differences with the not so gentle prodding of Muhammed Fayez Boussara. Alomari was pleased with his assigned tasks—four Broadway theaters during Wednesday’s matinees and two of the largest synagogues in Brooklyn on Friday. He left the house down the walkway to the street.

  “Here they come,” Walt said. “Get ready to go. Wait, it’s our friend from Brooklyn. Let him go. We know where he lives.”

  The rest of the chiefs came out a few minutes apart and the tails began with one member on foot and his partner in the car. “Let’s keep each other informed guys,” Walt said. “We’ll decide where to meet to compare notes as things develop.”

  The three section chiefs on foot all ended up, at staggered intervals, at the Newark PATH station. Each had a Task Force member on his tail, and all three took the train to Manhattan.

  By four p.m., all the team members plus the two Jersey teams were assembled to exchange information on their successes and failures. From the radio transmissions, Walt knew the tails on two of the chiefs had been lost before they could be followed to their final destination. He began, “Our guy was pretty easy. He took the number 2 train to the Freeman Street station in the Morrisania section of the Bronx. He went into a house on Bristow Street.”

  “We thought our guy would be easy, too,” Pop said. “He took the uptown A and got off at 135th Street. I lost him in the crowd near City College.”

  “Jerry, what happened with your guy?”

  “Sorry, Walt. “My guy disappeared, too. He got off at WTC, went up to the street and vanished into Chinatown. There must’ve been a street fair. I’ve never seen such a huge crowd before, and I’ve been a New Yorker all my life. He just got swallowed up. At one point when I was very close to him he turned around and I got a full view of his face, and damned if he didn’t have blue eyes. I turned away to avoid him seeing me and when I turned back he was gone.”

  Harry laughed out loud, and Pop shook his head knowing exactly what he was thinking.

  “What’s so funny?” Jerry asked.

  Pop said, “When Harry was in uniform he didn’t have a high regard for some of the members of our exalted Detective Division. He has amassed a collection of comments that sort of all begin, ‘He calls himself a detective? Why, he couldn’t detect…’ and then he has a variety of scurrilous ethnic endings like, ‘a Mick in a saloon, a Jew in Borough Park, and a Polack in Greenpoint.’ You get the drift. I would imagine he now has a new one—‘Jerry Campora? He couldn’t detect a Chinaman in Chinatown. Not only that, he couldn’t even detect an Arab in Chinatown.’”

  “Right on, Pop,” Harry said. “A raghead with blue-eyes no less.”

  They all laughed heartily at Jerry’s expense. “All right, all right, lay off me,” he said. Then he, too, had to laugh out loud. “You know, something like that could stick with you the rest of your career.”

  “What next?” Nick asked.

  “We need to watch the Jersey location and the ones in the Bronx and Brooklyn,” Walt said. “Assuming these guys are the section chiefs they may be calling their cell leaders in to brief them soon.”

  One of the Jersey guys said, “Try to get a couple of cameras up with videotape capabilities like we are going to install in Newark. In fact, we’re going to try to place one on the front and back doors.”

  “Good idea,” Walt said. “We’ll get that done here, too.”

  Later that afternoon, Wael Alomari paged his four cell leaders and told them to report for a meeting at his location on Sunday, June 30, at four p.m., and to come by car. He wanted the meeting to end after darkness had fallen. It was time to distribute the arsenal. Four young men arrived at staggered intervals, and when they left an hour later, they were all carrying what appeared to be heavy suitcases in each hand. As they disappeared out of the range of the closed-circuit camera, each was successfully tailed by a JTTF team to his home or apartment.

  That evening unusual activity also occurred at the Bronx house on Bristow Street and a scenario similar to that which happened in Brooklyn earlier that day resulted in the discovery of four more cell leaders’ locations. The Jersey Task Force team observed no activity at the Newark location.

  7

  On Monday morning, July 1, the entire team plus those from the Jersey office, was listening to Lieutenant Campbell. “Let me re-cap the situation of what we know, or think we know.” He went up to the chalkboard and said, “Let’s start at the top. We have what appears to be one guy, who we have not yet seen, at this location in Newark where the four section chiefs meet and get their marching orders. Let’s call him The Boss, although we believe he is officially known as an area leader named Boussara. His four chiefs control sixteen cells—four in Brooklyn, four in the Bronx and eight in Manhattan. That means eighty cell members out there ready to do bat
tle.”

  “Don’t forget the sixteen assholes that were released from jail and all probably absorbed somewhere among the cells,” McKee said.

  “Right you are,” Campbell said. “Ninety-six heavily armed jihadists ready to wreak havoc in the city. Now for the big questions—when and where?”

  “Maybe the long Independence Day weekend?” Harry said. “Seems logical if we feel they’re getting close.”

  “Yes,” Campbell said. “It’s the start of the real summer season, and the maximum number of people will be trying to get out of the city at that time—and it’s only two days away.”

  “And we can figure the likely targets are the same as we listed back in May,” Walt said. “Let’s work it out.”

  “I hate to bring this up,” John said, “but what if our area leader has no more meetings and we never see these two Manhattan section chiefs again?”

  “A possibility we’ll have to deal with,” Campbell said.

  Nothing had occurred Monday night at any of the eight cell leaders’ locations. It looked like tomorrow, Tuesday the second, would have to be the day to give instructions to their cell members if the attack was indeed planned for the third.

  Each location had a four-man unit from the Emergency Services Bureau in the area assigned to them that would make the initial entry. Gone were the days, except in the movies, when two detectives armed only with their five or six-shot revolvers, kicked in the door in one stroke and blasted the bad guys to pieces. The beat cops and squad detectives had finally learned to swallow their macho pride of having to be first in the door by noticing a lot less of them were the subject of an inspector’s funeral. They finally accepted the help of ESB with gratitude and admiration, and the ESB guys assured them they didn’t want the arrests. They said, “We don’t carry arrest forms, only toe tags.”

  On Tuesday afternoon, July 2, all eight cell leaders met with their cell members to distribute the final instructions for the next day’s attack. Pop, Nick and Harry, along with their ESB team, moved into place after the last of the members entered the first floor apartment in Brooklyn. Pop gave the signal and the entry team crashed through the front door in less than ten seconds. The cell leader and his five cell members surrendered meekly in the face of the overwhelming force. Harry said, “You’re all under arrest for conspiracy to commit terrorist attacks.”