The Impoverished: Boxed Set Read online

  Malone leaned over his shoulder. “Hey kid, ride up front.”

  Carson hopped into the front passenger seat as Malone put the food in the back seat.

  “Be on your best behavior.” Malone advised as they headed towards 26 Federal Plaza. “You are about to meet my FBI counterpart. He is not even fond of me, and I never so much as received a parking ticket.”

  Carson nodded, “Ok, I get it. I should refrain from picking my nose while he is looking, right?”

  “Try not to scratch your balls either.”

  Carson gave Malone a sad look. “But what if they are freaking itchy?”

  Malone snorted as he searched for a parking spot. He found one on Duane Street.

  They walked into the side entrance of 26 Federal Plaza, where Malone showed his badge to the federal officer standing next to the magnetometer. They stepped to a bank of elevators enclosed in a metal cage. Malone informed the federal officer standing inside the cage that he was waiting for Special Agent Henderson.

  A few minutes later, Arthur Henderson stuck his body half way out of an elevator, held the doors open and motioned to the federal officer to open the gate. Inside the elevator, Tom Malone introduced Richard Carson to Arthur Henderson. The elevator came to a stop and Henderson led them down the hall to a conference room.

  Malone placed the white box on a small table next to a coffee urn, untied the string and opened the box, revealing a dozen pork buns. He put the large brown bag on the conference table and asked Henderson, “Did you have dinner, yet?”

  Thirty minutes and three full stomachs later, the boys got down to business. Malone explained to Carson that the burglary and assault charges against him would be dropped if he would buddy up to Rashid and report back to the JTTF.

  Carson lowered his brow. “I cannot do that. Rashid wants me dead. He is the freaking reason that I am here.”

  Malone said quickly, “You can get to Rashid very easily. Convince him that you are not dealing drugs anymore and need help to make a buck. Keep your story simple. It will be a cakewalk.”

  “Why would he do that?” Carson tilted his head. “What’s in it for him?”

  Although the questions were directed towards Malone, Henderson answered them. “Because you are the type of guy that Rashid wants. You are a young, unattached, African-American male with a criminal history. In his mind, you are perfect for conversion into al-Fuqra.”

  Carson looked at Malone and raised his eyebrows. “What is he talking about?” He waved his hands at Henderson. “What the freak is al-Fuqra?”

  Malone said, “Hear him out, kid.”

  Henderson told Carson everything he knew about al-Fuqra. Malone heard some things that he was never privy to before. Clearly, Henderson wanted Carson to fully understand the danger in which he may be placed.

  Henderson came around the conference table and sat beside Carson. “Al-Fuqra is a terrorist group whose goal is to destroy all religions and societies that do not follow strict Islamic Law, including sects of Islam that al-Fuqra does not approve. Its members use acts of sabotage, murder and terrorism to further this goal.”

  Carson sat back in his chair, took a deep breath and waited for Henderson to continue.

  Henderson told him that a Sheik started al-Fuqra in Lahore, Pakistan as a spin off from a terrorist group. In 1980, the Pakistani Sheik started an American branch of al-Fuqra.

  “So this terrorist group is in the United States now?” Carson asked.

  “Yes.” Henderson said. “In the United States, it is called ‘The Impoverished’ and is a front for al-Fuqra. The Pakistani sheik set up two Jaamats inside the continental United States.”

  “He set up… what?”

  “Jaamats,” Henderson replied. “A Jaamat is an encampment or a village. One encampment is in Trout Creek, Colorado and the other is in Deposit, New York.”

  Carson’s eyes widened. “Is Deposit located upstate, near the town of Hancock?” “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “A guy from the neighborhood, moved to Hancock a few years ago. After Jamal got out of jail, he reformed and moved upstate.”

  “Sure, that makes sense.” Henderson nodded. “The encampments are made up of African-Americans that converted to Islam in inner city mosques and jails. At first, the newly recruited members believe they are joining an Islamic community where they can escape crime ridden neighborhoods. Then, they are brainwashed to abhor America and all western civilization. Finally, they are trained as foot soldiers to wage jihad right here in the United States.”

  Henderson continued, “There is concern that something big is being planned. Communication between the Trout Creek and Deposit encampments has us worried.”

  Henderson made his pitch. “We need someone on the inside of this organization. Detective Malone and I believe that you can get inside the Deposit Encampment as a convert and report back to us. By becoming a mole inside The Impoverished you can save lives – American lives.”

  Malone waited for Carson to grasp all that he was told. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Malone was pleased when Carson fired question after question at Henderson. To Henderson’s credit, he answered every single one.

  When the conference room was again enveloped in silence, Malone positioned his chair so he was face to face with Carson. Looking directly into his eyes, confident that he had his complete attention, he said, “If you agree to work undercover for us in the New York encampment, you will be sworn in as a New York City Police Officer right now. Following a two week training session in Quantico, Virginia you will be promoted to detective and submerged in your undercover assignment. You will be an NYPD detective working undercover for the FBI and the JTTF. ” Malone squared his jaw. “How much time do you need to think about it?”

  “None. It’s not gonna happen. I cannot be a cop. ”

  “Give this some thought, son.”

  “You don’t get it. I cannot be a cop or any city worker for that matter. I do not have the minimum requirements. I don’t have a high school diploma.”

  “No sweat, kid. You can get a General Education Diploma while you are working undercover. It will strengthen your cover story.”

  “Oh.” Carson sat up straight. “Okay, then.”

  “Just like that- you sure?” Malone asked, astonished that that was Carson’s only objection.

  “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  Malone rose from his chair and shook Carson’s hand.

  Chapter 17

  Carson sat on a familiar bench in Tompkins Park, a large green duffle bag at his feet. He sat at this bench in this park so many times before, but everything seems different now. The last few weeks changed everything.

  He just got back from the FBI facility in Quantico, Virginia. He wished he was still there. Being around the FBI trainers was not that bad. He learned so much from them in two short weeks, but there is so much more to know. The trainers assured him that it was better this way. Too much training could blow his cover. They seemed genuinely concerned for his safety. Back here, in the neighborhood, no one gave a crap about him. He was a bit nervous about being in the neighborhood again.

  The last time he sat on this bench, he was a drug dealer. Now, he was an undercover New York City Police Detective. Undercover work does not fully describe what he will do for the JTTF. He will be a double agent because he will not change his identity; he will still be Richard Carson. But Richard Carson will pretend to be a member of The Impoverished. Mind blowing! He slowly shook his head from side to side.

  Carson felt uneasy about spending what may become years in this undercover assignment. What else could he do? Flip burgers at McDonalds. No thanks.

  This was his chance to turn his life around, to be respectable. His grandparents would be proud of him, if they were alive. Maybe they will be his guardian angels. He did not know what the next few years would bring, but they will be intense and dangerous. He’ll approach Rashid right away, before his cold feet got colder.

  Glancing at his wrist
watch, Carson remembered the surveillance report he studied at Quantico. Rashid was probably in Crown Heights right now, working out at the self-defense school. Time to take a bus ride and get this thing started.

  Carson shouldered the duffle bag and headed to the bus stop. The bus took him to Bedford Avenue, just a few blocks walk to the gym. Carson spotted Rashid’s Bronco parked on President Street. He dropped his bag and waited for Rashid to finish his work out.

  Forty minutes later, Rashid turned the corner and came into view. Carson took a deep breath, approached him and said, “Rashid, can I ask you a favor?”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Rashid said coldly. “You have got some set! You got busted again. I warned you that I would know if you were dealing drugs? Did you think I was joking? I do not joke, fool!”

  “I am not dealing drugs. I swear! You are right; I was locked up, but on an old warrant – not drugs. I spent the last fourteen days on Riker’s Island. My record is completely clean now. I swear.”

  “You know I’ll find out if you’re lying, right?” Rashid warned.

  “I am not lying, but I am desperate. I do not know how to make a living anymore. If not for the bunk in Riker’s, I would have been sleeping on a park bench. I do not know what to do with myself. All that I own is in this damn bag.” Carson slammed the duffle bag on the floor. “Will you help me?”

  Rashid stared at Carson for an eternity and then said, “Let’s talk in the truck.”

  They talked for over an hour. About God and religion. About alcohol and drugs. They talked about self-defense and guns. About family and friends. And about school and job opportunities.

  Finally, Rashid asked Carson the million dollar question. “Are you willing to relocate to a compound upstate?”

  Carson felt a thrill. A shiver ran up and down his spine.

  “Sure. A place to stay, away from the neighborhood, is just what I need. How can I pay my board? I am a high school dropout. I don’t even have a General Education Diploma.”

  “I will set you up with a part time job in Hancock. It will pay enough to cover your board. After you get your GED you can apply for a city job or a job with the Port of Authority.”

  “Sounds good. Thank you, Rashid.”

  “Just do not screw up.” Rashid warned. “Now, grab your bag and I will drive you to Deposit.”

  As Carson opened the passenger door to retrieve his duffle bag from the sidewalk, Rashid grabbed his arm. “One more thing, you have to become a practicing Muslim.”

  “A what?” Carson asked, feigning surprise.

  “You must embrace Islam if you are going to live in the encampment,” Rashid said.

  “Do Muslims believe in God just like Christians?” asked Carson.

  Rashid snapped, “Yes, of course. We have a different name for God, that’s all. We call him Allah.”

  Carson remembered the crash course about Islam that he got at Quantico. It seemed to be a good religion. It was dangerous when corrupted by evil people. Sort of like pit bulls. They make good, loyal dogs unless trained to become vicious fighters.

  Carson looked at Rashid. “Sure, I will give religion a try. It cannot hurt, right.”

  “Right.” Rashid smiled.

  Carson heaved the duffle bag onto the back seat of the Bronco.

  Rashid pulled away from the curb and made a left turn onto Bedford Ave. He turned on the radio and headed towards the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. Rashid and Carson did not speak during the drive through Brooklyn and into Manhattan.

  But as they approached the Lincoln Tunnel, Rashid turned off the radio. “Check out the heavy stream of traffic going through the tunnel, even though it is well past the evening rush hour.”

  Rashid pointed out the various booths, doorways, doors and niches that lined the interior of the tunnel. Carson did not understand Rashid’s interest in the Tunnel but nodded eagerly anyway.

  Two hours later, Rashid was driving on a dark country road. When he made a right turn onto a bumpy, unpaved road Carson straightened up in his seat and peered out the passenger side window.

  Rashid said, “It is like another world out here.”

  “Yeah,” Carson agreed. “It is going to take a while to get used to the dark and quiet of the country.”

  Rashid brought the Bronco to a stop and pointed towards a steep gutted dirt road. “Here we are,” he said. “There are trailers and shacks further up the hill. I will see where we can put you. How do feel about using an outhouse?”

  “Beggars cannot be choosers, right. Wherever there is room for me is fine.” An outhouse! What did I get myself into?

  May 1993

  Springtime in the Country

  Chapter 18

  Whistling, Carson swung the door of his clapboard shack closed and jumped into his Chevy Blazer. He grabbed his sunglasses from the center console.

  Once the sunglasses were on his face and the dashboard radio was blasting classic rock he was ready for the solitary drive to work at the tollbooths on the New Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel. The weekend was over and he was on his way out of the Deposit encampment. For two carefree hours he will be Richard Carson, just a guy driving to work, with no pretenses.

  As much as he disliked living in the Deposit Encampment, he appreciated the beauty of the trees and mountains. The scenery and fresh air will be the only things he’ll miss when this assignment is finally over.

  This is his fourth spring working undercover. He could not wait to work as a regular NYPD detective, and as a regular person. But the JTTF would not pull him out anytime soon; his undercover work was providing solid information.

  Shortly after being submerged into Deposit, Carson uncovered a terrorist plot. He overheard Mohamed, who resides in the Deposit Encampment, and a weekend visitor from the Trout Creek Encampment planning an attack on the Air force Academy in Colorado Springs. Carson secretly passed the information to Detective Malone, who then passed it on to Agent Henderson of the FBI. That was all it took to stop the attack and uncover additional terrorist plots.

  Based on Carson’s tip, the FBI raided a storage locker in Colorado Springs and found large scale plans to attack oil, gas and electrical facilities in Los Angeles, Arizona and Colorado. Handguns and explosives, in which to carry out those plans, were also found. As a result of Carson being in the right place and at the right time, a series of terrorist attacks were prevented.

  The following winter was uneventful. He lived fulltime in the encampment, studied for his General Education Diploma exam, and worked part time at a credit card processing center in town. All the while, he kept his ears and eyes wide open.

  As soon as Carson passed his GED exam, Rashid gave him an application for a job with the Port of Authority of New York and New Jersey.

  Carson spent the next two years working at various bridges and tunnels. Although he did not mind the hours long commute to the Deposit Encampment, Rashid did. He said it was a waste of gas, so he set him up in an apartment in Brooklyn Heights. He had his own studio apartment during the work week. It was a much needed mental health break from life at the encampment. He returned to the encampment on his days off.

  Weekends at the encampment were filled by training sessions on the obstacle course and at the firing range. The training facilities are on the encampment grounds, deep in the woods. Carson worked hard in various training exercises for over two years before he was asked to sign an oath. That is when things began to heat up.

  Once he signed the oath he was officially sworn in to The Impoverished. He was sent to Trout Creek, Colorado for a month of intense combat and explosives training.

  When he returned from Colorado, Rashid ordered him to apply for a permanent position at the Lincoln Tunnel as a toll collector. For some reason, The Impoverished leadership wanted him to work at the Lincoln Tunnel.

  Carson recalled Rashid’s interest in the tunnel when he first drove him to the encampment. Al-Fuqra must be molding him for an attack in the Lincoln Tunnel. Carson did not kn
ow the timetable, but he would be ordered to blow up something in the Lincoln Tunnel.

  He remembering the dreadful oath he took when sworn into The Impoverished. “I shall always hear and obey, and whenever given the command, I shall readily fight for Allah’s sake.” He shuddered. At the time, he thought it was a bunch of dramatic horsecrap, but now the implication was clear and it terrified him. What will The Impoverished command him to do? Anything is possible – now that the world trade center was bombed.

  On February 26th, a bomb exploded in the garage of the twin towers, killing six people and creating a three story crater inside the basement of the towers.

  In the weeks preceding the bombing, Rashid trained foreign visitors at the encampment. No one was permitted up the path that led to the training grounds the whole time they were here. Small blasts emanated from the woods.

  Were Rashid and his guests testing explosives used in the bomb-truck that was driven into the garage of the twin towers? Rashid was bad news, but the realization that he was involved in the bombing of the twin towers was more than Carson could handle. All at once, his hands trembled so badly that the Blazer swerved into the next lane. He pulled the Blazer off the road and slammed the gear shift into Park.

  He was truly frightened. Something was being planned to follow up on the bombing of the twin towers. Something big.

  So far, he knew that the Lincoln Tunnel was involved. He wanted to pull out of The Impoverished right now, but he must stay. He had to find out what was being planned.

  Once calm, he steered the Blazer back onto the road. The urge to warn Detective Malone about the impending attack was hard to resist, but he must wait until he could call discreetly. He could not risk getting caught now. More than just his life was at stake. The call has to wait until his lunch break. It is going to be a long morning.

  Chapter 19

  Leland Rico’s daily errands were finished by midmorning. The first sharp twinges of a headache came on right after lunch. By the time the afternoon episode of Bonanza was over, his head was throbbing. He opened his medicine cabinet, grabbed a bottle of aspirin, popped the cap off, and turned the bottle over onto his palm. No aspirin. He shook the bottle. It was empty.