Arrest Record, Part 8 By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com
NOTE: Sorry, but there was no room to include any sex in this chapter, as the pace of the investigation has picked up dramatically. There will be some sex in Chapter 9.
By the weekend Harold, Ed, and I were pretty discouraged, as nothing seemed to be happening. We began speculating whether there was another cell about which we knew nothing that was operating in our area. Maybe the death of Taylor and the arrest of Harris had suggested that something was terribly wrong, and our adversaries had shifted their emphasis.
"Those fuckin' guys are paranoid," Ed said. "They won't believe that Taylor died in an ordinary traffic accident. They'll think the CIA knocked him off." Harold nodded. I sighed. We were sitting in the back yard that balmy Sunday afternoon, having decided to take the day off because we were both discouraged and tired.
Inside the house the phone rang. I went to answer it. It was Phil, our supervisor:
"Hey, Jack, I'm calling from home. I just got a call from our port liaison officer. They're holding a suspect in the port of San Diego." He went on to explain the situation to me and to say that a Gulfstream IV would be waiting to take us to San Diego. I told him we'd pack and be ready as soon as possible. After hanging up I went outside to explain the situation to the others.
"Let's get inside. We have to be dressed and packed right now." Inside we hurriedly showered, the three of us having time only for a quick rinse, and once we had dried ourselves we began to get ready.
"A customs officer caught a guy coming off a cruise ship in San Diego. It was just a routine thing, as the guy was in with a long line of passengers coming off the cruise. Normally, cruise passengers just fill out the blue card, the customs declaration, and they go right through. However, this officer decided to have the guy open his suitcases. He just had a bad feeling about this guy, maybe because the guy had a beard and looked about 25 years old. You know, the terrorist profile. Well, the agent couldn't believe it when he saw what was in the suitcase."
"What was it?" Ed asked.
"Packed in among the clothing were about a dozen canisters that didn't like souvenirs cruise passengers pick up at gift shops. The customs agent, Adams, immediate drew down on the guy and told him to step away from the case. The guy tried to run, but there was only one exit and two other agents tackled him before he got to the door."
"How did the guy get on the cruise ship with all that stuff?" Harold asked.
"I don't know specifically but he probably booked a cruise just like any other passenger. We'll get the details when we get there." By this time we were ready to go, and we loaded our cases into the trunk of the Honda and drove to the local airport ICE uses for its flights to avoid the congestion of large commercial airports.
Flying across the country on a commercial airliner can be an ordeal, but on the Homeland Security Gulfstream, it was very pleasant. Ed and Harold dozed, and I mostly read a book, because there was little to discuss during the flight. Several sandwiches had been packed in the refrigerator for us, and we washed them down with soft drinks. Upon our arrival we were met by two ICE Agents, Adams and Spicer, who drove us to their office in an official car. On the way they began briefing us:
"I saw this guy, who seemed younger than most cruise passengers, and he also seemed nervous. I wondered what he was doing alone, since most cruise passengers have their families with them. He had two cases with him and never let them out of his sight or even put them down. The one in his right hand seemed heavier than the other. Well, when I asked him to put them on the counter and open them, he started sweating. That's when I thought I had a live one. At first I figured him for a smuggler, and expected to see some baggies of white powder. When I saw those canisters I didn't know whether to shit or go blind. He rabbited, but Spicer and another agent, Rawson, took him down before he got to the exit."
"Where did he board the cruise ship?" Harold asked. Spicer answered:
"His papers showed that he'd boarded the ship right in San Diego, and we checked with the cruise line to verify this. It checked out. My hypothesis is that he did board the ship, and then picked up the canisters in one of the three ports in Mexico where the ship docked to let the passengers spend a day ashore."
"Isn't there some sort of security on cruise ships?" arold persisted. "My parents went on a cruise and they told me they had to pass through a metal detector each time they returned to the ship."
"Sure there is," Spicer answered. "It's pretty perfunctory. "All the ship security officers are looking for is to make sure no passenger brings a knife or gun aboard on his person. Some passengers buy bolo knives as souvenirs, and the security officers hold them for them until they dock back in the States. Canisters didn't really attract their attention much. We're trying to locate the security officer who handled this guy and his name's Amir, by the way, and get some details. It might be difficult because most of the ship's crew is from Southeast Asia or the subcontinent, and they don't speak English well."
"Sounds pretty sloppy to me," I interjected.
"You're right," Adams confirmed. "They are sloppy. Anyway, their main concern is that nobody hijacks their ship, like happened to the Achile Lauro back in 1986. They look for AK-47s, that sort of weapon.
"The terrorist know this, and I'm sure that's why they chose this method of smuggling in those canisters. Now we don't know what's in them. We've got them locked up, and Amir hasn't been very cooperative. He's a naturalized American citizen, by the way. He's from the Middle East. You'll meet him soon."
"I'm sure you searched him," Ed said.
"Sure did, right down to his underwear. He had nothing special on him, a wallet, money, passport, house keys, and the usual stuff."
"I guess he speaks English, but with an accent," I suggested.
"You could cut it with a knife," Spicer agreed. By this time we were pulling into the parking lot, and we got out and entered the building. We went into an office and Spicer phoned to have the suspect brought from the holding cell. Amir was about 5'2" with a dark complexion, and wore a black bear. I estimated his age to be about 30. We all went into the adjoining interrogation room, where Ed told the suspect to remove his clothing. He did, down to his boxer shorts, but then stopped.
"All of it," Ed ordered. Reluctantly, the suspect dropped his shorts. I nudged Harold.
"Okay, get dressed," Ed told him. As he dressed, I asked him:
"Your name's Amir Khalil?"
"My passport says that," he replied, which was not a direct answer, and I asked:
"Is that your real name?"
"My passport says it is." He was being evasive, and the looks on the others' faces showed that they had picked up on this fact. I looked at Ed and Harold, and nodded toward the door. We went back into the office, leaving Amir with Adams and Spicer.
"He's circumcised and his pubic area's shaved," said Harold.
"His name's not Amir, an at this point it doesn't matter what it really is," I said.
"We've got the find out what he planned to do with the canisters," Ed said. At this point two new arrivals entered the office. We recognized them as agents of the 911 Task Force, whom we'd met some days before when they'd flown off with Abdul.
"We're interested in Amir," the taller of them told us. His words made me very anxious. We wanted to question Amir but if they took him, we might not know what they had gotten out of him for weeks. Communication between ICE and the 911 Task Force wasn't always prompt. They operated in a world of their own.
"We were about to start interrogating him," Ed told them. "He brought in some canisters and we'd like to know what they contain and where he was going to deliver them." Both newcomers looked thoughtful for a moment and then the shorter one spoke:
"Okay, we don't have to take him right now. Give it your best shot, but we'd like to sit in on the interrogation, if you don't mind."
"Don't mind?" I asked. "We'd love it. Maybe you can spot something we missed. The more minds involved in this, the better."
"Okay, it's settled, then," Ed said, and led us back into the interrogation room.
"What's in those canisters?" I asked Amir as Ed picked up his wallet and began exploring the pockets and compartments.
"I don't know," Amir replied. "He never told me." This was a good beginning. At least he was answering my question, although he still might be faking ignorance.
"Who is `he?" I probed further.
"The man who gave me the suitcase," he answered.
"Where did you meet him?"
"In Cabo San Lucas, in a hotel," Amir replied. This was better. He was fleshing out his answers, not just replying in monosyllables. I had a feeling that Amir was not as fanatical as some of his cohorts, and not eager to give his life for Allah. I decided to test this premise.
"How long have you been in America?" was the next question I put to him.
"Almost five years," he said. That accorded with the stamp and visa in his passport, which I'd been scrutinizing while questioning him.
"You like it here?" I asked.
"Yes, I have a good job. I'm a chemical engineer, make good money, have a nice car." I wasn't surprised at his answer. He had apparently built a good life for himself in America, and had become attached to this country. I pressed on:
"As a chemical engineer, can you give me your educated guess what these canisters contain?"
"Not chemicals," he replied. "Those are Level IV containers." I knew exactly what he meant. Level IV containers were the utmost in safe and secure containers, designed to hold only the most deadly and virulent biological agents. A glance at the others told me that they too understand the significance of Level IV.
"Now tell me where you were to deliver them," I said.
"I was told to go to several cites across the continent, check into specific hotels, and that I would be contacted each time. Whoever contacted me would give me instructions for delivery." The situation had suddenly grown more complicated. I saw that we couldn't just hold Amir and expect to roll up his contacts. We'd have to induce him to work for us. I thought it was time for a conference. Outside, I turned to the taller of the two 911 Agents:
"Look, we've got a chance to get several birds with one stone. What's you name anyway?"
"Ted," he said.
"Look, Ted, if we can get Amir to go to these hotels and wait to be contacted, we can roll up the network. They probably have sleeper agents around the country who were in place and just waiting to have the canisters delivered to them."
"That's a big IF," his partner said. "Oh, by the way, you can call me `Paul.'"
"I know it's tricky," Ed added. "I think we all got the impression that Amir is pretty happy with the good life he's leading. He's been here five years, and maybe he's not as willing to die for Allah as when he first arrived."
"I think I know what you're going to propose," Ted said. "We've never done anything like this before. We just take the guy and milk him dry. We've never run anyone against his own people. They're too fanatical." Ted was bright, very bright. I decided to put it squarely to him:
"I know," I said. "You take these guys to an undisclosed location, squeeze what you can out of them, and then they get a bullet in the head or dropped overboard with a hundred pounds of lead wired to their bodies. We've got a better possibility here. This guy doesn't seem fanatical. Look at the way he came out with the answers. I think he knows that if he cooperates he might get a deal out of us."
"He wants to live," Ed confirmed.
"This might be the only such opportunity we get in years," Harold contributed. He, too, was caught up in the possibilities of this situation.
"Problem," Paul announced. "Nobody's ever gotten out of our hands alive. We can't afford to let them live."
"He isn't quite yet in your hands," I countered. "You haven't started to work on him. There's no evidence of forced interrogation to cover up. How about running this by your boss and hearing what he says?"
"I'll phone Phil in Washington and get his support," Ed told the group. This was a good move. It was clear that this was going to have to be decided several pay grades higher than ours. Ed went into the other office while Paul picked up the phone on the desk to call his boss. It only took five minutes for our instructions to come through. We were, until further notice, to detain Amir in this facility and try to obtain as much information from him by polite questioning while his fate was being decided at a much higher level.
We returned to the interrogation room, where Amir was no seated in a chair. I put another question to him:
"Do you have a security check for when they contact you at each hotel?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I am supposed to say `I think of Allah every day' at the end of the conversation when my contact telephones me." I exchanged glances with the others, as this was a very encouraging sign.
"And if you don't say that," I asked, "what happens?"
"My contact knows that I've been compromised and hangs up."
"Can you write a list of the cities you're supposed to visit and the name of the hotel in each one?" I asked him.
"There is no need," he answered. "I have the itinerary written in my notebook. It's in my suitcase." This was better yet.
"Get his notebook and make five photocopies of that schedule," I told Harold. To Amir I said:
"Are you supposed to fly or drive to each destination?"
"My instructions are to drive. There is an unacceptable risk going by the airlines. I have a car in the long-term parking opposite the dock." He added that it was a white Buick and gave us the plate number. Now came the crux of the matter:
"Are you willing to work with us," I asked, "And help us capture the people who contact you?" There was a long pause before Amir opened his mouth. This was make-or-break time, truly the turning point in his life. Finally he took a deep breath and said:
"I suppose I must. I have gone so far that there is no turning back." I was overjoyed to hear this, but kept a deadpan face.
"Are you hungry or thirsty?" I asked him. "We want you to be comfortable while we work out our plan."
"Yes, I am hungry. I would appreciate something to eat, something simple, as long as there's no pork. I am a believer, you know."
"I can get us some chicken sandwiches on toast at the snack bar, if that's okay," suggested Agent Spicer. Amir nodded, and Spicer left to fetch the food. Ted, Paul, Ed, Harold, and I stepped outside, leaving Amir with Adams to watch him.
"Maybe we've got a plan, but a lot could still go wrong," began Ted, a worried look on his face.
"I know," I agreed, "but go on. Let's examine the problems and see if we can work around them."
"Okay, for a start, the other side might have had the dock under surveillance. If so, they already know that Amir didn't leave with the other passengers, and we might already be fucked. Second, if they've got any tradecraft at all, they could place surveillance at any point on his itinerary, to see if he's traveling alone or makes contact with anyone else, such as us. Thirdly, what happens when we arrest his first contact? Is he supposed to report in that he received the delivery safely? This plan could fall apart at any point."
"That's all true," I agreed. I was interrupted by the phone, which I picked up. It was Phil, with fresh instructions for us. Another phone rang, and Ted answered it. After we'd hung up we compared notes:
"We got the okay from Phil and he says that Ted's people would be contacting him to authorize him to work with us." Ted nodded affirmatively as I spoke. "One proviso: Under no circumstances are we to allow Amir to carry any of the canisters or to have any access to them. These Level IV canisters are made in the United States, and we'll be getting replacements filled with an inert substance. These dummies will do perfectly when Amir meets his contact, if he does."
"That's what our bosses said too," Ted confirmed. "They also picked up on the possibility that we may have already been compromised if the dock was being watched, but there's no way to tell. We'll just have to go with what we've got." At this point Harold returned with the notebook and the copies of the itinerary. He picked up at once on the excitement in the room.
"Here you go," he said as he handed the papers to me. "I guess we're going to move?"
"Yes we are," I told him, and proceeded to fill him in on the plan we had so far.
"I guess we'll be going with him, in plainclothes?" Harold asked.
"Yes, right now the idea is to follow him at a distance in unmarked cars. We'll have a GPS transmitter installed in his car, so we won't have to keep him in sight. That's just in case someone has him under surveillance for a tail."
"We'd better not tell him that we're using a GPS," Paul suggested. "He seems to be cooperating, but if we told him about the tracking system he might give us the slip by placing it in another vehicle while he takes off in a different direction."
"That's right," Ed agreed. "We're taking quite a chance here, and we've got to keep every edge we can."
"Phil said we're authorized to draft extra help for this," I continued. "If they're willing, we'll have Adams and Spicer change into civvies and do the trailing for the first stage of the trip. Ted and Paul can take a car and follow them or they can go in their own plane. Ed, Harold, and I will take the Gulfstream. Let's see what the first stop is." I looked down at the papers in my hand.
"Right here, San Diego," Harold piped in. "I looked at the list while I was making copies."
"He's supposed to be contacted at the Best Western downtown," I said. "Tomorrow morning. That gives us just enough time to set it up. It's almost eleven now."
"I guess two of us will stay in his room with him at all times," Ed suggested. "The other can take nearby rooms. We'll keep in contact using the portable radios so as to keep the room phone free. That way we can take down whoever shows up."
"We have to take this guy with as little commotion as possible," I said. "The take-down has to be low-profile because we don't want the media to get hold of it. That would screw up the whole thing." All nodded agreement. We were all armed, but we knew that there was to be no shooting.
"Sounds good," Ted agreed. The plan was shaping up. "I'll see to getting the GPS in Amir's car."
"I'd better get out to the Gulfstream," Harold said. "I asked that the transcripts be faxed to the machine on the plane." I was gratified at Harold's initiative and nodded to him. He left.
A couple of hours later Ed and I were with Amir in the room he'd taken at the hotel. Harold, Ted, and Paul shared the next room, while Adams and Spicer had taken a room down the hall. Ed and I would take turns sleeping. The others would catch their sleep as well. If anything happened we'd rouse them by radio. Harold had given me the transcripts, pointing out the most important passages.
"It looks like the plan's a go," he said. "Karim got a phone call telling him that the courier with the canisters was on his way and that he'd get another call instructing him as to how to make contact in a few days."
Now we waited.
Continued in Part 9