The Terrorist Next Door (25 page)

Chapter
65

“DO YOU WANT TO MAKE A STATEMENT?”

Gold figured he had no more than five minutes—if that—before he’d have to take a chance and try to free Silver himself. He didn’t like his odds. He leaned forward and whispered to Silver. “Can you hear me, Lori?”

A nod.

“I need you to be ready to move in the next few minutes. If you hear me count to three, I want you to brace yourself. Got it?”

Another nod.

“Good.”
I’m not going to let another person I love die alone. Either we’re going home together, or we’re going to die together
.

* * *

Fong stared at his monitor inside the steamy FBI van. The camera on Gold’s vest was trained at Silver, whose head was slumped forward. “Talk to me,” he said to Gold.

“I bought us five more minutes,” he whispered.

“I heard.”
Not enough
. Fong glanced at Maloney, who nodded. “They brought Al-Shahid down to the discharge area at 26th and Cal. We’re providing a live feed to WGN. Mojo is onboard. Feldman will be there in a minute. He’s agreed to play along—for now. We’ll put on a good show.”

“It better be a
really
good show,” Gold whispered. “I need to talk to Roman Kuliniak.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just find him.”

* * *

Gold spoke loudly to the two-way radio. “Al-Shahid is at the release center at 26th and Cal. You can see it on WGN.”

“I’m watching.”

“Earl Feldman will be there shortly.”

“No more extensions, Detective Gold.”

Gold believed him. He needed to put something on the table—fast. “Do you want to make a statement?”
You must have a manifesto, right?
“We’ll get WGN to broadcast it. It will give you an opportunity to explain your position. It’ll be rebroadcast all over the world.”

There was a hesitation. “Sure.”

It was more tentative than Gold had expected. “We’ll need to call you. Can you give us a number?”

“No. I’ll issue my statement to you over this microphone. You can broadcast it over the radio you’re using to communicate with Special Agent Fong.”

“Nobody will be able to hear you.”

“You’ll make it work.”

“It’ll take time.”

“No more extensions.”

Gold glanced at his watch. Three minutes to twelve. “Let me ask you something else. Do we know each other?”

No answer.

“Do you know Assistant State’s Attorney Silver?”

No answer.

“Did we do something to make you angry?”

The voice finally responded. “You’re wasting time, Detective Gold.”

“I’d really like to know. Maybe I can help you.”

There was a long pause. “It isn’t personal,” the voice finally said. “You’re the investigator and she’s the prosecutor on Hassan’s case. You embody the American legal system, and
you’re symbols of American oppression.”

Let him talk.
“Oppression of whom?”

“Take your pick: Blacks, Hispanics, and now Muslims. Your politicians send young people to fight wars in countries that are no threat to you. It’s a waste of time, resources, and lives.”

Gold had expected the standard talking point about oppression. “We’re proud of the people who serve in our military.”

“You’re using them to buy cheap oil.”

“Maybe.”

The voice became more agitated. “You treat your servicemen like dirt when they come home. They can’t find jobs. They can’t get health care. At the end of the day, it does nothing to keep this country safer. The terrorists aren’t overseas, Detective. You should be worried about the terrorist next door.”

“There hasn’t been a terrorist attack in the U.S. since Nine-Eleven.”

“Until now. You’ve been lucky, Detective Gold. We’ve demonstrated just how easy it would be to shut down a major U.S. city.”

“You’ve made your point.”

“Not quite.”

“You think you can make it any more emphatically by blowing up this building and killing Assistant State’s Attorney Silver and me?”

“No, I think I can make it more emphatically when you release Hassan.” The voice waited a beat. “Five minutes.”

* * *

The young man silently cursed himself.
I said too much
.

* * *

Gold wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Did you get that?” he whispered to Fong.

“It sounded more like a disgruntled U.S. soldier than a Muslim fundamentalist.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you really going to put him on live?” Fong asked.

“I’m going to make him think we’re putting him on live. You need to work out the logistics in a hurry.”

“Hang on.” The line went silent for a second. “I’ve got Roman Kuliniak. He says it’s urgent.”

Finally
. “Conference him in on my BlackBerry.”

Chapter
66

“WE NEED TO TALK”

Gold listened intently as Kuliniak chose his words carefully. “I’m at Sally Janikowski’s house with Sally and Father Stash. Sally just admitted that Mike hasn’t been home since Friday.”

I should have known.

Kuliniak was still talking. “Father Stash let Mike use a garage at St. Hyacinth’s to store his equipment. It’s filled with gas cans.”

Hell
. “Any idea where we can find him?”

“No. We tried his cell phone. It isn’t working.”

“What set him off?”

“Sally said he was unhappy about the Muslims who have moved into Polish Town. He’s also upset about the plans for the Shrine of Heaven’s new mosque on Diversey.” Kuliniak cleared his throat. “It’s on the same block as his father’s business.”

“That’s what this is all about? He’s trying to start a war against the Muslim community to stop construction of the mosque?”

“So it would seem.” The veteran commander cleared his throat. “We may never know what really set him off, Dave. He saw a lot of horrible stuff in Iraq. He was under an ungodly amount of pressure. Maybe he just snapped.”

“Let me talk to Father Stash.”

The line went silent for a moment. Then Gold heard the familiar voice. “David, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“I don’t have time for you to beat yourself up, Father Stash. I want you to stay on the line. I need you to talk to Mike.”

* * *

The young man’s hands were sweating as he squinted at the small monitor. He absent-mindedly fingered DeShawn Robinson’s BlackBerry, which was inside his back pocket. He picked up the two-way radio. “Five minutes, Detective.”

“Are you ready to make your statement?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?”

“Yes!” he shouted. His backpack was sitting on the floor next to his feet. He reached down and tugged on the zipper. He felt for his water bottle.

“Still can’t hear you.” Gold said.

“Can you hear me now?”

“You’re breaking up. Any chance we could call you on a phone?”

“No! I don’t have a phone.”

“Hang on. I have someone who needs to talk to you.”

“We don’t have time, Detective. Hello?”

The answer didn’t come from Gold. “Hello Michael,” the soothing voice said. “It’s Father Stash. We need to talk.”

Chapter
67

“IT’S TIME TO COME HOME”

This isn’t happening
.

The waif-thin young man with the wispy beard and the dark brown eyes looked intently at the monitor sitting on the counter on the top floor of an abandoned three-flat on Baltimore Street, around the corner from the old synagogue. Michael Janikowski’s jaws clenched as he stared at the grainy footage of Gold, who was still crouched behind a chair about twenty feet from the miniature camera he’d mounted on a joist above Silver’s head. He clutched a two-way radio in his right hand. If Gold got any closer, he would detonate the bombs.

“Mike?” Father Stash said. “Are you there?”

Dammit
. He thought about making a dash for the car he’d hidden on the east side of the Metra tracks. Or he could disappear into the South Works site.

He felt his face turning red as he kicked the remains of a cabinet. He tried to focus on the monitor as he felt his legs buckle. He extended his hands to cushion himself as he sank to the floor, landing hard on his tailbone. This generated pressure on the red End button on Robinson’s BlackBerry, which was still inside his back pocket.

“Mike?” Father Stash said again. “Tell me what’s troubling you, my son.”

* * *

Gold pointed his BlackBerry at the two-way radio above Silver’s head. He turned up the volume on his speakerphone. Father Stash spoke clearly in his best Sunday voice.

“I’m with your mother, Michael,” he said. “She needs
you.”

No answer.

Gold looked at Silver, who was listening intently. “Lori,” he whispered, “get ready.”

She nodded.

Gold pulled the BlackBerry down to his ear. “Try again, Stash,” he whispered. He held up the phone.

“Michael?” the priest said. “Can you hear me? It’s time to come home.”

Another pause. Finally, Janikowski spoke up. “I can’t come home, Father Stash.”

“Of course you can.”

“I’ve done some very bad things.”

“Your mother loves you, Michael. So do I. We’ll help you. If you seek forgiveness, Jesus will help you, too.”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late. Nobody else has to get hurt, Michael. Detective Gold and Assistant State’s Attorney Silver are good people.”

“Nobody will understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I can’t explain it.”

“You need to try, Michael. I’m listening.”

* * *

Fong was staring at his monitor when he heard an animated voice over his earpiece. “It’s Lauter,” it said. “We just got a ping from Robinson’s BlackBerry.”

“How?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Location?”

“Southeast quadrant. We’re narrowing it down.”

“I need the exact location now.”

“8906 South Baltimore,” he said. “It’s a block from where
you are.”

Fong was already on his way.

Chapter
68

“CHANGE IS PART OF LIFE”

Janikowski was back on his feet and pacing. “Everything went to hell when I was in Iraq, Father Stash.”

The priest answered in his confession voice. “You saved lives, Michael. You dismantled bombs. You earned a Purple Heart. You’re a hero.”

Bullshit.
“I went overseas to overthrow a dictator and promote freedom.”

“That’s exactly what you did.”

“And when I got home, my neighborhood—
our
neighborhood—had been overrun by the people I went to help.”

“They’re Americans. They have nothing against you.”

“They bought our houses. They took over our businesses.” Janikowski felt the bile rising in his throat. “Now they want to build a mosque next door to father’s business. It isn’t right.”

“Then we need to talk to them. You can’t solve this problem by killing people.”

“It’s
our
neighborhood.”

“It’s their neighborhood, too. Polish Town isn’t the only area that’s changing, my son. The whole city looks a lot different from when I was a kid. Change is part of life.”

“They want to take over our country.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Yes, they do. And we’re letting them do it. We’ve gotten weak. And lazy. We aren’t protecting ourselves.”

“Not every Muslim is a terrorist, Michael.”

“Do you have any idea how easy it would be for one of them to shut down a U.S. city?”

“I do now.”

* * *

Gold’s right arm ached as he held up his BlackBerry.
Keep him talking, Father Stash.
He didn’t take his eyes off Silver, whose expressions were hidden by the tape covering her eyes and mouth.
I won’t let you die alone, Lori.
He used his left hand to pull the microphone toward his mouth. “We have two minutes,” he whispered to Fong.

“We know where he is,” Fong said. “Keep him talking. We’re on our way.”

“How did you find him?”

“I’ll explain later.” Fong’s tone turned ominous. “If we can’t take him out in the next minute and a half, you’re going to have to make a move.”

* * *

Fong led Battle, Rowan, Martinez, and six SWAT teamers through the alley behind the old synagogue. They stayed close to the dilapidated buildings and avoided the lights. Finally, they approached an abandoned three-flat near the corner of 89th and Baltimore.

Fong saw a light flickering through the decaying boards covering the rear window on the third floor. He divided his personnel into two groups. He would take a team through the back door. Martinez would lead a second group through the front. He listened intently through his earpiece. Father Stash was still talking to Janikowski.

Keep him talking for one more minute
.

* * *

Janikowski was now angry. “You don’t understand, Father Stash. It’s all coming apart. Things will never be the same.”

The priest kept his voice even. “We’ve been through a lot, Michael. We can work through this, too.”

“No, we can’t, Father.” Janikowski took a deep breath and reached for the two-way radio next to the monitor.

* * *

Gold braced himself on one knee. “Lori,” he whispered, “get ready to rock and roll.”

* * *

Fong pounded up the rickety stairs between the second and third floors. There was no way to do this quietly, and there was no place to hide. The walls had been stripped to the studs. The appliances, plumbing, and copper work were gone. He hoped Father Stash could distract Janikowski for a few more seconds.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he shined his flashlight down the empty hall. Battle was behind him. He heard a voice coming from the back of the building.

* * *

Janikowski’s sweat suit was drenched. He tried to calm himself by taking a breath. He fingered the two-way radio in his right hand.

* * *

Gold was on the balls of his feet. “Be ready on the count of three,” he whispered.

Silver nodded.

“One. Two. Three.”

He leapt across the area separating them and used all of his power to tackle Silver and topple the chair. The tape securing Silver and the chair to the pole gave way. His left shoulder took the brunt of the impact as he and Silver fell awkwardly onto the linoleum. The flying tackle upset the tub of gasoline, which tipped over and poured out onto the floor.

Gold’s shoulder burned as he dragged himself to his knees, pulled out his pocket knife, and began cutting the layers of tape securing the detonator below Silver’s chin.

This is taking too long!

Gold started to speak into the microphone on his shoulder, but realized it had been dislodged by the fall. He found it on the floor in a pool of gasoline. “Fong!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

“Suspect is in view.”

“Take him out—now!”

* * *

Fong stepped inside the doorway with his flashlight and weapon raised. Battle moved in next to him and also took aim. Janikowski’s back was toward them. The painter held a two-way radio in his right hand. He turned around and saw them. His dark eyes gleamed in the reflection from Fong’s flashlight.

Fong aimed his weapon at Janikowski’s forehead. His training told him to relax and not to hold his breath.

And then he squeezed the trigger.