Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [58]
Bauer waved the officer away, then pressed the cell phone to his ear. "Bauer."
"It's me," Morris replied from the security console in New York.
"What have you learned?"
"First, I've identified someone from Brice Holman's surveillance photos. A fellow with bad dentures called 'the Hawk,' a warrior-hero from the Afghan war against the Russians. A couple of years back he became a terrorist. Been busy since then, in Milan, London, Hamburg. The usual things. Anarchy and murder."
"What's he doing in America?" Jack wondered aloud.
"Haven't a clue," Morris said. "But he has had past contact with the compound in Kurmastan. I also located a dossier on Ibrahim Noor. Smooth operator. Good at public relations. Despite local complaints about his compound, Noor has scored some success with the local politicians. He even endorsed the winning congresswoman for the district in the last election."
"Where did Noor come from?" Jack asked.
"He's made in America, Jack-o," Morris replied. "A product of the mean streets of Newark, New Jersey..."
"Newark!" Jack cried. "Where Foy was ambushed. Where Tony is holed up right now."
"Nice coincidence..."
"If it is a coincidence. Tell me more."
"Noor was born Travis Bell, in University Heights, forty-two years ago. Bell was a former gang leader and drug dealer from Newark. He was the prime suspect in several murders, and a rising star in the cocaine trade. And get this, Jack. Travis Bell had his own gang, named after the address where he grew up. Number Thirteen."
Jack let out a breath. "The tattoos..."
"On the late Rachel Delgado's arm, too, according to Tony Almeida," Morris replied.
Jack stroked his forehead, lost in thought.
"Listen, Morris. Forward everything you have about Ibrahim Noor and Travis Bell to Tony in Newark. I don't care how he does it. Just tell him to dig up all he can about the Thirteen Gang. Find out if they're still active and who their leader is now."
"Consider it done."
Jack hissed. "Tell me how a street thug like Travis Bell ends up a spiritual leader?"
"Well, Jack-o, it seems Mr. Bell converted under the spiritual guidance of Ali Rahman al Sallifi, while he was serving a ten-year sentence for a drug conviction."
"Converted to Islam, you mean?" Jack said.
"No, I don't," Morris replied. "They might use the jargon — jihad, Khilafah, and all that — but what Ali Rahman al Sallifi was preaching wasn't Islam at all. It was more like something out of Jim Jones and the Kool-Aid drinkers in Jonestown."
Morris paused, "The Warriors of God is a cult, Jack. Pure and simple. Ali Rahman al Sallifi and Ibrahim Noor set themselves up as prophets, or maybe even gods. They preached violence, not spirituality. And now their deluded followers have gone on some kind of insane rampage."
"No," Jack said. "Not insane. There's a reason behind this attack. It's not random because too many elements are involved — Mangella in Little Italy, the Albino. Someone is pulling strings here. There's some ultimate goal in mind. We just haven't figured it out yet."
He heard voices on the other end of the line, then Morris vanished for a moment. "Are you there, Morris?"
"Sorry, Jack," O'Brian replied. "We've just received word of a terror attack in Pennsylvania. A State Police car was run off the road by a truck, and he reported the license plate of one of the vehicles registered to the paper factory in Kurmastan. A minute after receiving that initial report, the truck stop where the squad car was wrecked blew up — multiple bombs with many estimated casualties."
Jack cursed.
"A nearby tank farm went up, too," Morris continued. "Now half the town of Carlisle is burning."
In the ruins of Kurmastan, Jack blinked, faced the blazing factory again. He tried to imagine an innocent American town reduced to this smoldering inferno around him. Then Jack caught his breath.
"Did you say Carlisle?"
"You got friends there, Jack?"
"That's the home of the new Special Operations Tactical Training School, part of the Army War College.