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  With the help of a white-robed guard, he pointed in Rashid’s direction. Which man in this crowd was important enough for Sheikh Rahman to point out? Rashid looked behind him, and to either side, but saw no one noteworthy. When the Sheikh began talking about Rashid’s Rambo-like activities in Afghanistan, Rashid swayed on his feet but quickly regained his balance. So then, the Sheikh pointed at me! As a veteran that the young men should emulate. Unbelievable!

  Rashid put his head down and looked at the floor. The Sheikh’s guards were watching him and would report his reaction to the Sheikh. His face glowed with pride. He did not look up until the Sheikh finished talking about him.

  Sheikh Rahman was now speaking about the betrayal of the Egyptian Government and the misdeeds of the great enemy of Islam – The United States. He charismatically denounced the governments of Egypt and America, calling for the destruction of both governments. He blamed western society, especially the United States, for all world problems. He called on the congregation to embrace an extreme form of Islam and denounce American civilization. He demanded complete loyalty. There was no room for moderate Muslims in the new world order. They were Satan’s pawns just as Christians and Jews were.

  Wow! Rashid was mesmerized. Being part of The Impoverished was the right thing, he was sure. The Impoverished could accomplish everything the Sheikh just described, from inside of America.

  The sheikh finished his sermon by encouraging the crowd to steal from American society and lie to Americans so they can achieve their goal of establishing a worldwide Muslim state- a global caliphate. Sandwiched between his armed bodyguards, Sheikh Rahman sauntered from the room. He waved at the cheering crowd as he left.

  Rashid was one with the crowd and earnestly agreed with all the compliments and praise voiced for the sheikh. As much as he enjoyed being here, among his Arabic brothers, he was even more anxious to meet privately with Sheikh Rahman. Still, he took the time to study the faces in the crowd, faces that could be future recruits for The Impoverished. Seeds already planted that needed just a little water to flourish.

  Chapter 12

  Rashid floated out of the mosque and onto the street with the privileged men that were chosen to attend Sheikh Rahman’s special lecture. The crowd dispersed in small groups while Rashid walked to his Bronco alone. He was invited to visit the Sheikh in Bay Ridge; the only Black Muslim in the crowd. Unbelievable!

  As he drove west on Fifth Avenue he remembered Mohamed’s warning about being followed. He detoured at a pizzeria on Forty-First Street for a slice and a soda before driving through Sunset Park. He continued to Bay Ridge via busy Bay Ridge Avenue so he could easily spot and lose a tail.

  Sure that he was not followed, he parked on the corner of Seventy-Fourth Street and Third Avenue. In front of an ice cream store. A “Buy one, get one free” sign in the window drew him inside. He purchased one package of vanilla flying saucers and got a free package of chocolate flying saucers.

  Mohamed’s directions were easy to follow. As soon as he crossed the Street, he spotted a guard from the lecture room standing outside an apartment building on the right side of the block. A bulge of a large caliber handgun poked from under his robe. No doubt, the AK47 was nearby, hidden from plain sight.

  When Rashid reached the entrance to the building, the guard looked him over from head to foot. “What’s in the bag?”

  Rashid opened the bag and the guard peered into it. Satisfied that the ice-cream sandwiches were indeed just ice cream, the guard pointed at the large rod iron entrance doors. “Inside.”

  Once inside the lobby, the guard frisked Rashid from hair to shoes. The guard led him to the fourth floor landing where the other white-robed man from the mosque was standing guard. His AK47 was clearly visible, slung over his shoulder by a strap. Rashid gulped. These men served as the Sheikh’s personal guards as well as his guides. They did both jobs well.

  A door opened and the guard ushered Rashid inside the foyer. Rashid let out a breath when he was greeted by Mohamed and the guard left to resume his post. Mohamed led him into the kitchen and introduced him to Sheikh Rahman’s nephew.

  Rashid held out the bag of ice cream. “Please accept this as a small token of appreciation for your hospitality.”

  “Thank you,” said the nephew. He looked inside the bag. “It is appreciated.”

  He grabbed a pile of napkins from the kitchen table and ushered Rashid into the living room where the sheikh waited in an upholstered arm chair. Rashid waited for the Sheikh to acknowledge his presence. When he did, he complimented him on his sermon.

  The nephew passed out ice cream. They sat and ate. The sheikh caressed his neck and said, “The ice cream soothed my throat as it is sore from lecturing. Now it needs something to heal it.”

  The sheikh nodded at his nephew. Four shot glasses of whiskey were poured and passed out. Rashid took his glass in bewilderment. The nephew noticed his puzzled expression and said, “No need to worry. The sheikh pardons the consumption of alcohol in private and with trusted brothers.”

  The sheikh laughed and said, “Rashid, drink it. I bet you drink alcohol in private. Is it not true?”

  Rashid smiled. “Yes, it is true. Sometimes, not even in private.”

  Sheikh Rahman said, “Mohamed tells me you are anxious to begin our work in America.” The Sheikh put the shot glass to his lips and smoothly swallowed the whiskey. The three men did the same.

  “Let me assure you that our work has already begun. We are a patient people and will succeed in our plans because we persevere. Time is of no consequence. All that matters is that we succeed.”

  When the Sheikh paused, Rashid said, “Yes. I am anxious, but I can be patient. I will do whatever you ask, whenever you ask it.”

  The Sheikh nodded in approval. “We will weaken America and show the Arab world that America is vulnerable, just as we did with Russia. We will attack America overseas and within its borders. The Islamic Jihad will fight the overseas front. The Impoverished will be the American front. You will continue to work with Sheikh Gilani by populating his encampment in Deposit with young men who will execute our Jihad in America.”

  Rashid was stunned. Sheikh Gilani worked with Sheikh Rahman! This was great news. They shared the same ideology but he had no idea they were actually making plans together. What a powerful alliance!

  The sheikh’s voice shook Rashid out of his daze. “Now is the time to plant our seeds, Rashid. We will harvest our crops when they are ripe!”

  Rashid sat motionless, waiting for the Sheikh to speak. Instead, the sheikh dismissed him with a curt nod and wave of his hand.

  The nephew took the empty shot glass from Rashid’s rigid hand. “This way, brother.” He pointed towards the kitchen.

  Rashid left the apartment filled with inspiration. The American Jihad would be splendid. He could not wait for it to begin.

  Chapter 13

  Carmella’s new assignment was to answer the precinct telephone switchboard until the police doctor approved her return to full duty. She was reassuring Mrs. Bradford that aliens did not land on the roof of her apartment building when a middle aged man pushed open the steel precinct doors and flashed a detective badge. Carmella leaned in for a closer look. The name on the man’s identification card was Detective Thomas Malone. She smiled at him and pointed at her nameplate to indicate that she was the person he came to see.

  Carmella spoke into the phone. “Do not be concerned, Mrs. Bradford. We received calls about the noise on the roof earlier. A sector car went out and spoke to the superintendent of your building. He is repairing the roof…your welcome…no trouble at all. Have a good night.”

  Carmella hung up the phone. She shook Det. Malone’s hand. “I’ll be right with you.”

  She requested relief from the Desk Officer. The Desk Lieutenant lifted the microphone from under the huge desk. “Officer Rosen report to the Desk.”

  A minute later, Matt Rosen, still chewing his dinner and buttoning his uniform shirt, arrived
to take over the phones. Carmella mouthed a thank you as she and Malone retreated to the muster room.

  Detective Malone quizzed Carmella about her impression of Richard Carson. “Does he have it in him to go straight? What’s on his RAP sheet? Anything violent? Is he intelligent, street smart, a dummy? What is his family background? What is his religious background?”

  Twenty minutes and fifty questions later, Malone briefed Carmella on his plan to recruit Carson and place him deep under cover in Rashid’s terrorist organization.

  “Have you heard of The Impoverished or al-Fuqra?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so. No reason you should have.” He gave her a quick summary. “The Impoverished is a disguise for the American branch of the terrorist group called al-Fuqra.”

  Carmella put her hands up in puzzlement, “al …what?” she asked.

  “Al Fuqra means the impoverished. Its goal is to establish pure Islamic jamaats by violent methods.”

  “What are jamhoosa whats?”

  Malone smiled. “Jamaats are villages where only devout Muslims are allowed to live. Al-Fuqra’s international headquarters is in Pakistan and is headed by an Islamic extremist known as Sheik Gilani.”

  Carmella’s head spun like a child’s top. “Wait. Give me a minute here. Are you saying that Rashid is a member of a terrorist group that a Sheik started in Pakistan?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “The group began in Pakistan but has expanded into the United Sates under the name, The Impoverished. The NYPD opened a file on al-Fuqra in 1979 when an Iranian mosque was attacked in Queens. The FBI became involved in the mid 1980’s, after there were fire bombings of Hindu, Sikh and Hare Krishna Temples in Michigan, Washington, Colorado and Pennsylvania. So now it’s under JTTF’s jurisdiction.”

  Malone concluded, “Rashid is building a New York based Jamaat for Sheik Gilani. I want to place Carson in that Jamaat as soon as possible. The FBI is concerned that since the Afghan-Soviet War is over, al-fuqra will step things up in the United States. In order to counter future acts of terrorism from the organization, we need someone on the inside. After talking to you, I believe that Richard Carson is that someone. How can we bring him in?”

  “He is calling the precinct tonight. Do you want me to arrange a meeting?” she asked.

  “No, I will take his call. You are out of it now. JTTF will take it from here.”

  Malone looked at Russo’s sunken face and said, “The FBI has a backwards notion that local police departments are filled with Keystone cops. I say that accountants pretending to be investigators should not throw stones. The FBI does not like to share information with local cops. More important, Carson’s safety and his ability to infiltrate this terrorist group depend on the ultimate discretion. You cannot talk about this with anyone.”

  “Of course, I will not say a word.”

  Carmella was struggling to grasp all that Detective Malone had said when Matt Rosen popped his head through the muster room doorway. “Russo, phone call.”

  She swallowed hard. “Thanks Rosen, I will be right in.”

  She looked towards Detective Malone for guidance. He squeezed her shoulder and said, “This is it, Russo. You have done a great job. Now it is my turn to take the reins. Introduce me to Carson and then say goodbye.”

  Chapter 14

  Richard Carson picked up the receiver of the pay phone, searched his pockets for spare change and came up empty. He shrugged his shoulders and pressed the Operator’s button on the faceplate. He asked to be connected to the Seventy Ninth Precinct. He was shocked when he did not hear, “Please deposit twenty-five cents, sir.” The operator dialed the number without fanfare.

  Forty long seconds later, he was speaking with Officer Russo. “Detective Malone from JTTF wants to offer you a deal. I gave you a good recommendation. Do not let me down.” Carmella’s tone softened. “I know that you did not expect your life to go this way; but it is always best to make lemonade when life hands…”

  “…you lemons,” Carson finished. “I heard that one before, Miss Originality.”

  “Hey, smart ass. I am just trying to wish you well without sounding too much like a sap.”

  “Nice try, Russo. Did anyone ever tell you that you stink at corny analogies?”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you suck at saying ‘thank you’?”

  His voice became solemn, “Russo.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  “Russo.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m a little scared.”

  Carmella gulped. “I am scared too, for you. But agree to this deal and one day you will be a hero.”

  “A hero?” Carson paused. “Cool - like John Wayne or Spiderman?”

  “More like Clint Eastward, movie star.” Carmella answered. She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to push Carson back into serious-mode again. What the heck – she decided she would. “Carson?”

  “Yeah?”

  “After I hand this phone to Detective Malone, you and I are not going to be in contact anymore. But if you are ever in a real spot, I want you to look me up.”

  Russo held the receiver out to Detective Malone. He took the phone from Carmella with a reassuring glance and a quick nod of dismissal. Carmella retreated to the still empty muster room. She closed her eyes for a moment and said a quick prayer for Carson.

  When she opened her eyes she saw the vending machines against the wall. She fed six quarters to the soda machine to obtain two cans of Diet Pepsi. She resumed her post at the telephone switchboard. She handed a can to Matt Rosen and made small talk with him to lessen the temptation to eavesdrop on Detective Malone’s end of the conversation with Carson.

  It did not work.

  Detective Malone was all business. He took the lead immediately, quickly establishing his role as Carson’s handler. Malone gave Carson a series of instructions and ended the conversation with a question, “Got that kid?”

  Carson must have gotten it because Malone returned the phone handle to its cradle without uttering another word. He gave Russo a smile and a quick wave. He pulled open the front metal doors and climbed into an unmarked brown Fury parked at the curb.

  Chapter 15

  Tom Malone left the station house like a plane from a runway. He drove right onto Lexington Ave and headed towards the Franklin Ave train station. He hoped to arrive on the elevated platform a minute or two before the train pulled into the station. When Malone reached the corner of Fulton Street and Franklin Avenue he slowed down, surveyed the street for an available parking space. Finding none, he swung the Fury halfway onto the sidewalk. It’s just as well. He wanted to draw a crowd.

  Before exiting the vehicle, he threw the police emergency beacon light on the dashboard. Malone was trying hard to be noticed, he needed an audience. This show would be a waste if the theater was empty.

  He climbed the stairs and flashed his badge at the token clerk. As soon as the metal gate buzzed he pounded onto the elevated train platform, searching every nook and cranny. He made a show of checking the train tracks.

  Malone put his hands on his hips, exposing his holstered revolver, as he clipped his detective badge onto his belt.

  The rear windows of the Bedford Ave Mosque faced this train station. Malone did everything possible, short of writing POLICE on his forehead, to make it known that he was NYPD. He needed someone to look out from those windows. He needed a witness to report his little show to Rashid.

  The train pulled into the station and Malone watched a couple of stragglers detrain. Only one person matched Carson’s description. Malone fell in behind him and matched his pace. Carson strolled towards the stairs, seemingly unaware of Malone’s presence, when Malone pushed him hard from behind.

  “NYPD! Hands on the wall!” Malone ordered.

  “What the …. I did not do anything,” Carson growled as he hugged the wall.

  Malone frisked C
arson. “You have the right to-”

  Carson interrupted. “I have the right not to be harassed by the police. In case you did not hear me the first time… I did not do anything.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re innocent. Like every other mutt with an outstanding warrant.” Malone slapped handcuffs on his wrists. “Come on, Mr. Innocent. Let’s go.” He shoved Carson towards the staircase.

  Carson protested police brutality all the way down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. Malone shook his head as he guided Carson into the back seat of the unmarked police car. This guy is convincing. He is going to make a great undercover cop. He suppressed a smile.

  Carson attracted a good sized crowd with his exaggerated perp walk. Malone tooted the siren so he could maneuver the car through the growing crowd.

  Malone drove west on Fulton Street for a few minutes in silence. He glanced in the rear view mirror. Carson appeared to be in deep thought. Malone decided to leave him in peace, for a few minutes. He made a right turn onto the Flatbush Avenue Extension. By the time he reached the Manhattan Bridge it was time to establish a report with Carson.

  “You hungry, kid?”

  “I could eat.” Carson said.

  “How does Chinese grab you? I know a place in Chinatown that makes the best dim sum. Interested?”

  At the mention of food, Carson realized he was ravenous. “Sure.”

  “Okay, then. Chinese it is.”

  Malone pulled into a parking spot on Canal Street. He slid the keys out of the ignition and told Carson to turn around. Carson turned his back towards Malone, exposing his handcuffed wrists. Malone unlocked the handcuffs, returned them to his belt and said, “Wait here until I get back.”

  Chapter 16

  Malone returned to the car with a brown shopping bag stuffed with food and a white pastry box tied with red string. Carson where he left him ten minutes earlier, sitting in the rear seat.