The Man Who Lost His Shadow, page 15
“Okay, so obviously all four of you are curious about who we’re Deep Mining, right?”
They exchanged looks and nodded.
“Is this – is this related to the Bremmer Plaza…?”
“Pretty easy guess, yup it is,” Neal Singer nodded.
“I didn’t know the NSA was involved…”
“Well, technically, we’re not. In fact, no one but the higher-ups at NSA and the people in this room knows anything about this operation. Not the other agencies, and certainly not the media. And we’ll keep it that way. Now, why exactly are we doing this?” Neal sighed, “well, we at the NSA like to make sure there’s nothing big going on that’s not on our radar. Sure, right now this feels like a normal run of the mill mass shooting. But we make it a policy to know about threats, and this one popped out of nowhere, and that’s not a good sign.”
They nodded, perhaps realizing that from the excessive amounts of pictures with family and kids. The guy in the photo looked absolutely harmless.
“This is our suspect. Mohamed Iqbal, 34-year-old father of three. He’s an elementary school teacher, and by all accounts, he’s a gem of a person. Not a single bad thing about him. That’s what makes this so interesting. We need to figure how such a person ended up gunning down over 250 people in cold blood. So, are we all up to speed?”
He clapped his hands and pointed to the wall, and promptly the projector turned on and bathed it in blue light.
“Alright, let’s get started. Let’s split the screen into four parts first. Lou, put a map of the city and his phone movements over the past six months on the top right corner.”
The top right corner of the wall showed a GPS map of the city.
“Now put up Social Media on the top left.”
The top left corner displayed Facebook and Twitter posts, modified into a stack of bubbles.
“Okay, now let’s go through every day and find out who exactly this guy has been talking to, where he’s gone, what he’s seen, everything.”
By the time they were done, Neal Singer knew they’d find every skeleton in the teacher’s closet.
*
“Mr. Finch, is there something you know about Mohamed Iqbal?”
Arnold Finch looked puzzled for a moment, but the man who asked him the question didn’t buy the expression. Agent Murphy shook his head and turned to the lead FBI Agent. “I don’t trust the CIA for a goddamn second. I’m sure they know something about this fellow that they’re not telling us.”
“I assure you, sir, the CIA is not keeping any secrets from you,” Arnold Finch insisted, “we are just as curious about the suspect as you are. Which is why I’m here now. Now Agent Harris, could I begin my interrogation?”
Agent Harris thought for a moment before he replied. Something about the man dressed in a t-shirt and jeans gave him pause. It wasn’t that the fellow was too casually dressed; the CIA had a different style from the Bureau, and he was fine with that. But there was something about the fellow’s energy. As though he was itching to ask a question to the teacher.
“Mr. Finch, I’ll give you ten minutes. But like my counterpart at the ATF mentioned, I hope you or the CIA are not hiding anything from us. This is still an FBI investigation, and if there is pertinent information that’ll help with the hunt for the suspects, you are obligated to hand it over. Is that clear?”
Arnold Finch nodded with a smile, as though he thought the words were just a formality. “Now if somebody can show me to the room?”
He moved towards the door and was about to leave when he stopped and looked alarmed. “What that?” he asked, pointing at the screen that had been switched back to the video feed from the interrogation room camera.
“I don’t understand,” Agent Harris said, wondering what the man was pointing at.
Arnold Finch closed the door and shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. I was under the impression that I would be able to interrogate the suspect…. privately.”
The room reacted instantly, and Agent Harris had to signal for them to be silent. “You must be joking, Mr. Finch,” he finally said, sounding more incredulous than angry. “What could possibly make you think that we’d allow you to interrogate a suspect in our investigation without watching it take place?”
None of them could see it, but Arnold Finch’s mind was racing in an attempt to find an answer. He’d known very well that they might be watching. But once he entered the conference room and saw the screen filled with the mugshot of the dead terrorist, he’d hoped that problem was solved. And now he had to come up with a way to get what he wanted. Five minutes alone with the suspect.
“I’m sorry, but that’s the policy we’re following, Agent,” he said with absolute confidence. “The CIA cannot risk having sensitive information leak like this. None of you are cleared for this level of intelligence.”
“Are you shitting me?” Captain Wilson roared. “This is a domestic investigation, sonny. Your agency doesn’t operate within America, remember? So, on this soil, we tell you what to do, not the other way round!”
Agent Harris held up a hand even as he nodded along. “Look, Mr. Finch, there’s no way we will ever let you speak to the suspect alone. Besides, everyone in this room is a law enforcement official. If there is anything truly classified the suspect knows, we’ll arrange for a debriefing. But there’s no time for hiding information.”
Arnold Finch’s face was impassive. “There are people within the CIA itself who wouldn’t know such sensitive information, and we cannot have local police knowing them.”
“Hang on,” the lead ATF Agent said before Captain Wilson could react in outrage. “What are we talking about now? Are you treating Mohamed Iqbal as a terrorist?”
A moment’s pause. “Possibly.”
The ATF Agent looked puzzled. “You just said you had no idea about this person. I take it that means he never appeared on your radar. We have been sitting here for the past two hours, digging up his history, and as far as we know, he hasn’t even left the state since he arrived in this country! And now you’re telling me that he knows ultra-sensitive information that poses a security risk?”
“Unless there’s something else…” Sterner suggested. He was old enough to know the art of saying enough to elicit curiosity. Everyone turned towards him silently. “There can only be one reason why you’ve arrived here so quickly. And it can’t be because the FBI found the dead terrorist. Even if they did immediately inform you, or it raised a red flag, that would take a battalion of CIA officers and lawyers at least half an hour to get here. But you were already nearby. You practically showed up faster than pizza delivery. Why is that?”
Even the captain seemed alarmed by the suggestion.
“Is there something you’re implying?” Arnold Finch asked, losing some of his patience. “The CIA never even knew this – this teacher existed, but if he said that he was with a group of terrorists who committed an act of mass murder, then regardless of how ill-informed we are, we are duty-bound to interrogate him. This is a matter of – for god’s sake, what is that?”
He paused, and the faint sound grew a little louder. The door burst open, and two uniformed officers sought Captain Wilson’s permission before rushing towards the television and switched it to a news channel.
“Sharon, as we were saying, this is mobile footage from one of the protestors in front of the 102nd Precinct, and it looks like….”
The footage on screen was all too familiar to the men in the room. Someone had held up a camera and recorded the FBI truck parked outside the side exit of the Precinct. The footage was shaky, but it was easy enough to make out that the person placed in the truck was then yanked out and back into the building.
“Now we’ve just got this footage from a protestor on location, and they’re saying that the FBI was trying to transfer the suspect to another location. Joining us is Jason Ackerman. Jason, what do you make of this?”
“It’s pretty obvious, Jim. My sources within the police department have told me that the FBI was planning to transfer the suspect to another location, and then possibly place him in a psychiatric facility.”
“A psychiatric facility? Why?”
“That’s just it, Jim. As I’ve told earlier, the FBI is trying to make this fit their narrative, and by claiming the suspect requires medication and constant supervision, they can silence him and at the same time further the theory that this was all done by a mentally ill person with access to guns.”
“The son of a bitch is lying through his teeth!” The captain snarled, but he caught the look on the other men’s faces. “What? What is it?”
“Well, he’s not fully wrong,” Agent Murphy remarked dryly, saving Agent Harris the responsibility of explaining. “Your detective did threaten the suspect with claims of psychiatric treatment.”
Before the captain could retort, Agent Harris cut in. “The real question is, how the hell is this guy getting this information? You’re Precinct is filled with rats, Captain!”
Captain Wilson looked like he’d been suckered punched. “How the – well what about –” He limply pointed towards the men around him and then realized they’d all been in the room the whole time.
“I hope there’s a better explanation for all this, Jason,” the anchor said with exaggerated concern. “It’d be a shame if our top law enforcement agency was actively trying to push a political agenda and twist the truth to do it.”
Jason Ackerman nodded solemnly, and then the camera cut to footage from outside the 102nd Precinct. The microphone caught the anchor’s sudden gasp. “Dear lord, that’s quite a crowd, isn’t it,” he managed to chuckle off-camera, and Jason Ackerman simply watched the footage of over a thousand men brandishing rifles and shouting boisterously.
“Is this live?” Dr. Halpern asked in disbelief.
“No,” the Captain muttered. “This is about five minutes back. Right now, there’s definitely more than a thousand people out there. Jesus Christ, do you know what could happen if something tips them off?”
Agent Murphy looked alarmed. “Maybe it’s best if additional men were deployed? Just to make sure this crowd doesn’t get out of hand.”
Captain Wilson looked somber, all trace of defiance snuffed out. “I’ll talk to the Commissioner. We definitely need to think of some way to contain this damn thing. But the main thing,” he added with more urgency, “is we need to get them off our back. When the hell’s the press conference?”
He and the lead ATF agent looked enquiringly at Agent Harris, who shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It’s been postponed. I – we need to figure out what the suspect knows. Right now I don’t plan to just cut him loose and issue a press conference, not if he knows something we don’t about the terrorists.”
“Then go talk to him, why don’t you?” Captain Wilson asked, feeling irritated. Four hours ago, he was in charge of a relatively quiet Precinct. Now there was a huge mob outside armed with guns, and a crazy suspect who kept spinning circles around them inside.
“Yes, that’s what we intend to do. Mr. Finch, I think we sho-”
He paused, looking around for the CIA Agent. “Where did he go?”
One of the ATF Agents spoke up. “He stepped out to take a call, I think.”
Agent Harris came out of the briefing room and looked around. “Hey,” he finally asked one of the uniformed officers. “Did you see the CIA Agent?”
The officer looked confused.
“A guy in t-shirt and jeans came out two minutes ago?” Agent Harris rephrased.
The officer nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s in the interrogation room.”
“What the –”
Instantly the lead FBI Agent flew down the hall, and straight onto the interrogation room door. It was locked.
“Hey!” He yelled, slamming on the door. “What the fuck! Open up!”
The men in the briefing room came out. “What’s the –”
“The son of a bitch’s locked himself in!” Agent Harris yelled, triggering the men to burst forward. Captain Wilson roared for his men to get the keys.
“Open that goddamn door!” he cried.
*
Governor Barlow was back in a new suit, despite the nurse’s suggestion that he should rest some more. “Your blood pressure is a little worrisome, Governor,” she said in a motherly tone, and though the middle-aged man appreciated the concern, he could barely stop himself from rushing her out of the room. “I’m fine, nurse. I just want to look presentable for a while. Well-wishers coming in, you understand. I promise I’ll be off my feet the whole time!”
The nurse relented and smiled, though it faded a little as she walked out of the room and passed by two men who looked like they were from the military. She had a feeling they were about to engage her patient in some serious talk regarding the shooting, and she didn’t like the feeling of him getting too worked up.
The nurse had no idea how accurate and yet how far she was from the truth. The two men who entered the room and promptly locked the door behind them were not currently employed by any branch of the United States Government. They were private contractors, men who worked in areas normally grey in color, and too troublesome for an official badge. They were no-nonsense men whose only motivation was money and therefore weren’t troubled by paperwork or legality or even ethics. Governor Barlow had called them yet dreaded the meeting.
Without even attempting to engage in small talk, the two men drew up chairs and sat down next to the bed. They ignored the Governor’s aborted attempt at a handshake and eyed the awkward Chief of Staff.
“I take it you are the one who called us on behalf of the Governor?”
“Er, yes. It was an important matter, so we thought it best to meet immediately.”
“Okay. What can we do for you?”
The Chief of Staff exchanged a glance with his boss and then decided to start. “Well, as you might have heard, there was an assassination attempt on the Governor’s life a few hours ago…”
“We didn’t hear that. Only rumors. Has it been confirmed?”
The Governor stepped in. “Gentlemen, there has not been any official confirmation on that regard. But suffice it to say, we know for a fact that this was a personal attempt on my life.”
He paused, expecting them to react in some way, but they just listened intently. “Er – so the thing is, we want to hire you for a job. One that’s – a little off the straight line.”
“Obviously. Else you could have gone to the cops or the FBI or any other agency in town,” one of the men said in a matter-of-fact manner. “So why have you asked us here? What do you want us to do?”
It was clear their approach was troubling the Governor, who shot a quick, uncomfortable glance at his Chief of Staff.
“They have a suspect in custody, you see,” the Chief of Staff said. “And – well, we’d like you to take care of him.”
It was too blunt for both his and the Governor’s taste, and they immediately looked like they wanted to take back the words. But the two seated men merely nodded curtly and considered the statement for a moment. “You are referring to the teacher the FBI has in custody at the 102nd Precinct?”
“Ye – yeah, him.”
“You are sure he was personally targeting your life, Governor?”
“Definitely,” Governor Barlow said, nodding vigorously for emphasis. “He has a vendetta against me.”
The men looked at each other, dissatisfied with something. “If that is the case, why not let the FBI handle the matter?”
This time around the Governor had a better, firmer answer. “Because those assholes are going to stick him in a psychiatric ward and treat him like a wounded bird that needs fixing. And he’ll be out a decade from now as if nothing happened.”
They considered this answer for a moment.
“So your answer is murder?”
The word made both men flinch. “We – we want you to handle him,” the Chief of Staff said, as though it was a clarification.
“You want to kill him before he’s out of range and in a psychiatric facility, is that it?”
“Look, can you handle it or not?” The Governor suddenly said, losing his cool. “I was told you were competent in this matter. If not –”
One of the men held up a hand to silence the elected politician. “We are the only ones you know who are capable of doing this on such short notice. You are aware of that. The question is, do we want to?”
There was silence for a few moments as the two men observed their hosts, as though trying to make up their mind.
Finally, one of them said, “You realize our firm does not operate in terms of cash, when it comes to matters such as this?”
The Governor nodded solemnly.
“We are doing this because of who you are, and your potential value to us in the future. I hope the terms are clear in that regard.”
“Yes – yes, we’re aware,” the Chief of Staff said nervously.
“You are looking for something immediate?”
“Yes,” both of them said together.
The two men stood up and stepped forward to extend their hands. “Okay then. It will be taken care of. We will make sure the suspect is terminated before he leaves the Precinct. That is the agreement. Is it acceptable?”
Governor Barlow averted his eyes subconsciously as he shook the man’s hands. His Chief of Staff did the same.
The two men released their grip, nodded curtly, turned around, and left without another word. The Governor and his closest ally were left to wonder if they’d just made the biggest mistake of their lives, or the best decision, or a little bit of both.
“What do you think?” One of the men asked as they walked down the underground parking lot.
“I might be wrong,” the other one started.
“But?”
“But I doubt the suspect managed to kill almost 300 people in that Hotel and still failed to kill the Governor. It feels a little too…incompetent.”
“The Governor was injured.”
“It was a flesh wound on the arm, yes?”
