CHAPTER 13
“…be steadfast in prayer and regular in charity: And whatever good ye send forth for your souls before you, ye shall find it with Allah.” Qur’an 002.110
It had been more than two weeks since the first in the recent series of bombings occurred. Members of the special taskforce gathered around the conference table to learn what the taskforce director considered so important that it could not be conveyed by videophone, e-mail or some other instant technology.
“I want to bring you up-to-date with where we are in our search for the terrorists,” Drake said as he looked around the conference table with his penetrating steel grey eyes. “Although our Sunday canvassing did not result in the capture of the terrorists, the evidence we uncovered at a house near Leesburg, including various Islamic items and fertilizer residue, indicates that the terrorists were almost certainly there and that we now have them on the run.”
“Desert Dan has confirmed this,” Drake continued. “He says that the canvassing by the church groups caused the suspects to flee their hiding place and head south, possibly to Georgia, South Carolina or Florida. According to his intelligence, the terrorists plan to launch another attack soon, hoping to keep the country on edge in the short term and disrupt our economy in the long run.”
“I’ll bet anything their target is Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta,” Trey suggested. “It’s the busiest airport in the world and a key link in our country’s transportation network.”
“That’s what Desert Dan thinks, too, although he admits that he doesn’t know for sure what the target is,” Drake agreed. “Just to be on the safe side, we have notified the TSA, the Atlanta police and the local FBI to put on additional personnel. We still don’t have positive identification of the terrorists, but Henry Nelson is confident the lab will find something to help identify them from the items we found in the rental house.”
Just as Drake concluded the sentence, his personal communications device began to ring. “Excuse me a minute,” he said.
After listening for a minute, Drake began to respond in short, choppy questions. “What happened? When? How many fatalities and injuries? Have the roads and bridges been closed? What about the Coast Guard? Have they been notified? Hold on. I’m transferring you to the large communications screen so the entire task force can see and hear you.”
Drake gave a voice command to transfer the call and then said, “It’s Tony Giordano in Savannah. He has some important news… there he is now on the screen.”
Hearing the serious tone in Drake’s voice, everyone in the room looked anxiously at the three-dimensional projection of Agent Tony Giordano, whom Toby and Trey knew slightly from working a previous case together. Giordano was standing in what looked like a park with a river and bridge in the background. “Can you hear and see me okay?” the olive-complexioned, middle-aged man asked.
“Yes, you are coming in fine,” Drake responded. “Tell everybody what you just told me.”
“About five minutes ago a car bomb was detonated about 100 yards from here just as Georgia Governor Paul Arnold’s car passed by. He was on his way to participate in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, which is a huge event here in Savannah. The governor was rushed to St. Joseph’s Hospital where he will undergo emergency surgery. That is all I know about his condition at this time.”
“How many other injuries?” asked Toby.
“At least two people, including the governor’s driver, were killed and more than a dozen others seriously injured,” Giordano responded. “To answer your other questions, director, the police and the state patrol have blocked all of the roads and bridges leaving town, and the Coast Guard is patrolling the river and coastline for 100 miles to the north and south. Unfortunately, there are about 400,000 people in town today for the St. Patrick’s Day festivities, and things are a bit chaotic. It wouldn’t be too difficult for someone to paint his face green and blend in with the crowd.”
“Can you tell us anything about the bomb?” Trey asked.
“Afraid it’s much too early,” Giordano responded. “The car looks like an old SUV of some type- an older model that hasn’t been made in a decade or more, but that is just a guess. I would just be guessing about the bomb, too, but judging from the damage, it may have been fertilizer. I’ll notify the lab in Quantico to send Lu- I mean Henry- Nelson down here ASAP. As soon as I get anything else I’ll let you know. Unless there is something else, director, I need to get back to the crime scene.”
“That’s fine, Tony,” Drake responded. “You go ahead. I’ll be sending two members of our taskforce down there later this afternoon. They’ll contact you before they leave.”
Drake looked at Trey. “Rawlings- I want you and Sullivan to pack your bags and get to Savannah. Margaret, see if a military or FBI plane is available or get them booked on the earliest flight possible out of Reagan National.”
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No military or FBI planes were immediately available, so Toby took a cab to his condo, told the driver to wait, and hurriedly packed a new black suitcase that he had gotten for Christmas. In 25 minutes he arrived at Ronald Reagan Airport where Trey was waiting for him at the gate.
“How’d you get here so fast?” Toby asked his partner. “You live a lot further from the office than I do.”
“Easy,” Trey answered. “I called Tricia and asked her to pack my bag and bring it here. It helps to have a wife.”
“I imagine it does,” Sullivan answered. “Have you checked to see if our flight is on time?”
“It is,” said Rawlings. “We leave in 20 minutes and they’re boarding now.”
Before boarding, Trey contacted Giordano in Savannah to arrange for transportation from the Hilton Head-Savannah Airport. “We are scheduled to arrive in Atlanta at 2:10 p.m. and then to catch a flight arriving in Savannah at 4:20 p.m. If we’re late leaving Atlanta, we’ll let you know.”
On the way to Atlanta, Toby and Trey, who were sitting in the exit row of the 767, reviewed everything that had happened over the past few weeks and the information that had been gathered during the investigation thus far. It did not add up to much.
“Let’s start with means- what we know about the explosives used and who might have had access to them,” said Trey, who thought like an attorney putting together evidence for a jury. “The two car bombs were made from ammonia nitrate fertilizer mixed with diesel fuel. The fertilizer could have been purchased at virtually any farm supply store in the United States. The Metro bomb and the church bomb were both Composition C4, a common variety of military plastic explosive used by insurgents during the past three decades in Afghanistan, Iraq and Palestine. And the one today, we don’t know yet. From what Giordano told us, though, I would bet fertilizer again. Ammonium nitrate bombs have more than half the force of dynamite.”
“That really doesn’t narrow our lists of suspects, does it?” asked Sullivan. “Even with the reporting requirements for large purchases of ammonia nitrate, anybody with any sense and a little patience can buy a few bags of fertilizer here and there, and over time they can accumulate enough to make a very powerful blast. As far as the plastic explosive is concerned, there are arms dealers all over the world who will sell anybody with enough money almost any kind of weapons or bomb-making materials they want.”
“True enough,” said Trey. “Almost any terrorist- domestic or international- would have access to the materials used in making these bombs…which brings us to motive. Who has a motive to kill and injure government officials and other innocent people in Washington, D.C. and Savannah, Georgia? Is there any connection between the two cities or the people targeted?”
“The main connections seem to be choice of weapon- a bomb- and choice of targets- government officials,” said Sullivan. “There has been a government official either killed, injured or present at every bombing location,” Toby said. “Am I right?”
“Except for the church bombing,” Trey observed.
“Yes, but Senator Stevens normally is at the Cathedral on Sundays and he usually sits almost exactly where the bomb was hidden,” Toby said. “Most likely, the bombers thought he would be there. They had no way of knowing that he had to fly to Georgia that weekend for a last-minute family engagement.”
“Probably,” Trey agreed. “But I think we should keep in mind that we may never find a logical motive for these bombings. Based on their past actions, it is clear that radical Islamic terrorists don’t need a logical motive for what they do. They just want to cause as much pain and suffering for Americans as possible. Destruction and disruption are their primary motives.”
“Which makes me wonder if these really are al-Qaida connected,” Sullivan suggested. “None of the bombings were as powerful and deadly as is usually the case with al-Qaida, and they were not simultaneous, which is also one of their trademarks.”
“True, but al-Qaida has proven over the years that it is very adaptable,” Trey observed as the plane began its decent. “Going after American politicians one at a time may be their latest tactic, since our government has made massive strikes of the 9/11 variety almost impossible to carry out.”
“That makes sense,” Toby agreed, as the plane touched down on the runway in Atlanta. “Plus, I have no idea who else would want these particular politicians dead.”
Although the plane was a few minutes late arriving at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, Toby and Trey made it to the gate for their flight to Savannah with time to spare because the gates for the incoming an outgoing flights were both on Concourse C.
“Let’s check in with Giordano before we take off,” Toby suggested. “Sometimes the reception on the plane isn’t very clear.”
Trey pushed the recall button on his phone and Toby listened to Trey’s side of the conversation.
“Giordano, it’s Trey and Toby. Can you hear me, okay? We should be at the Savannah Airport on time. Will you be able to meet us? Great. See you soon.”
“All set,” Trey said after turning his miniature phone off.
Once they were seated on the plane, Trey reviewed the copious notes he had stored in his electronic notebook while Toby glanced at some of the photos on his digital camera and listened to classical music.
Shortly into the flight, as Trey continued to review his notes, Toby put his camera away. His gut feeling was that there just weren’t enough pieces of information available yet to solve the puzzle, no matter how many times he examined them. He felt that the remaining time on the flight would be better used to think about the most important person in his life. Impulsively, he activated his PCD and called her number. She didn’t answer, so he left a message.
“Tad, it’s Toby. I love you. I’ll call you tonight from Savannah. Bye.”
“So the love bug has struck, has it?” Trey said, smiling at his partner.
“Oh, it struck long ago,” Toby replied. “The only problem is that it may have bitten me harder than it has bitten Tad.”
“Well, I’m sure things will work out for you if it’s the Lord’s will that they do.” Trey said. “That’s what happened with Tricia and me. We met at Yale at a Christian fraternity party and knew instantly that God had brought us together. Where did you and Tad meet?”
“We both had a bit too much to drink at a friend’s wedding and wound up back at my apartment in the sack together,” Toby said just to see if he could get a reaction from his straight-laced friend. “You might say that alcohol, sex and rock and roll brought us together.”
“Well, I’m sure the Lord will forgive you if you are both truly sorry,” Trey said in a subdued tone.
“Oh, lighten up, Rawlings,” Toby said smiling. “I was pulling your leg. We actually met at a national security conference a few years ago and began to see each other socially a few weeks later. It was pretty close to love at first sight for me, and after we got to know each other, Tad seemed to fall for me, too. Then she was sent on the undercover mission and just came back into my life last week. It didn’t take long for all of the old feelings to return, that’s for sure.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a prude,” Trey said, smiling. “It’s just that religion is a big part of what gives me purpose, and I don’t know how to separate it from the rest of my life. No matter what the situation, I always try to abide by the admonition to ‘worship the Lord your God and serve him only.’ I can’t be just a Sunday Christian.”
“Nor should you be,” Sullivan responded as the plane landed softly on the runway at Savannah-Hilton Head Airport. “There are far too many of those already.”
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Agent Tony Giordano met Sullivan and Rawlings at the gate, helped them load their luggage into the rear of his hybrid SUV and drove them into the city, using the time in the car to bring them up-to-date on the investigation. “The first thing I need to tell you is that Governor Arnold is not expected to live. The good news- praise the Lord- is that the early reports were erroneous. With the exception of the governor and his driver, there were no other deaths and only a few minor injuries. The car bomb exploded exactly at the time that the governor’s car drove by, shielding the people on the sidewalk from the force of the explosion.”
“So you were close by when it happened?” Toby asked the middle-aged, six-foot tall FBI agent with salt and pepper hair and dark brown eyes.
“Yes, as fortune would have it, I was here for St. Patrick’s Day and was standing across the street about 100 feet from where the explosion occurred,” Giordano explained. “I was looking right at the governor’s car when it happened. It was horrible.”
“And you are pretty sure that the governor was the target?” Trey asked as he verbally entered more information into his electronic notebook.
“It certainly appeared that way,” said Giordano. “I can’t imagine who else it could have been.”
“If he dies, the governor will be the fourth public official to be killed since this rash of bombings began,” Sullivan observed. “And, if Senator Stevens had been at church last Sunday, he may also have been a victim. It is becoming more and more obvious that the bombers, whoever they are, want to strike directly at our government. They apparently have decided that there are too many barriers to them staging a massive 9/11 style attack, so they have resorted to the same tactics that radical Muslims have been using in the Middle East for decades.”
“That’s my theory, too,” Giordano agreed. “They’ve had to shift tactics.”
“I have in my notes that you have already requested Henry Nelson to come down from Quantico to examine the car,” Trey said. “Why bring him all the way from Virginia? Can’t the Atlanta office send a team down here?”
“Sure,” said Giordano, “but I understand that he is the one who examined the stuff from the previous bombings. I thought it might be best to have the same team examine the car.”
“That makes sense,” Trey agreed.
“I need to tell you, too, that Director Drake wants the two of you to get with the local law enforcement personnel and do whatever you can to assist in the search for the people responsible for this horrendous act,” Giordano continued. “I spoke with him just before your plane landed.”
“Let’s just hope no one suggests another massive antiterrorism campaign by local church congregations,” Toby responded.
“Why not?” Trey asked. “It did lead us to the terrorists’ hideout.”
“Maybe and maybe not. I’m still not so sure of that,” Sullivan responded. “No one except the package delivery driver ever saw anyone there. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit odd?”
“Do you think that someone just planted that stuff?” Trey asked. “To me it just indicates that they were smart enough to come and go when they wouldn’t be seen. That’s clearly why they rented a place off the beaten path with no immediate neighbors.”
“That’s possible,” Sullivan said without very much conviction.
By the time Giordano pulled his SUV to a stop on Waters Avenue in downtown Savannah, he had conveyed everything he thought the two D.C. agents should know about the bombing.
“I think we can walk from here to the crime scene,” Giordano said. “You can leave your bags in the car and we’ll get them to the hotel after I show you around.”
The trio walked through much of Savannah’s old historic district, including several of its famous squares, before arriving at East Bay Street and the site just a few hours earlier of the deadly explosion that might very well have taken the life of Georgia’s governor.
“You can see that there isn’t much left of the car containing the bomb,” Giordano said as he pointed to the shell of what appeared to have been an old, large-size SUV that had been illegally parked on the corner of a side street.
“I’ll say there isn’t,” Trey exclaimed as he held up his badge so that the Georgia State Troopers guarding the crime scene would let him get closer. “I’m frankly amazed that more people weren’t killed or injured.”
“The Lord was with us,” said Giordano. “Almost no innocent bystanders were victims.”
“What do you mean ‘innocent bystanders’?” Toby asked as he, too, moved closer to examine the SUV. “Weren’t the governor and his driver innocent?”
“Maybe that was a poor choice of words,” Tony quickly corrected himself. “What I meant was that almost no one was hurt that probably wasn’t the specific target of the terrorists.”
“Right,” Trey said as he continued to take electronic notes and examine the scene of destruction. “When you talked to Drake, did he say how long he wants us to stay here? I can’t imagine that we will be able to add much to the local efforts.”
“He didn’t say specifically,” Giordano answered. “He just said that you should stay as long as it takes to find the terrorists before they strike again.”
“My guess is that whoever is responsible for this is probably in Florida by now,” Trey suggested. “I’m sure that he- or they- had a car waiting and took off immediately after detonating the bomb, west on I-16 and then south on I-95.”
“Good chance of it,” agreed Giordano. “I doubt they were able to block the roads that quickly.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Sullivan said. “I think the safest thing for our bomber or bombers to do would be to blend in with the St. Patrick’s Day crowd and then leave when law enforcement officials aren’t on such high alert. It’s too risky to leave today, which makes me think that we are going to be here for a good while. Oh well, there are a lot worse places to be than Savannah, Georgia in the springtime.”
For the next half-hour, the three agents continued to examine the crime scene. Once satisfied that they had seen all there was to see, Trey put in a call to headquarters in D.C., arranging with Margaret Peabody to connect Drake simultaneously with all three of the agents in Savannah.
“I suggest that you pay a courtesy call on Director Barnes of the GBI as soon as we hang-up,” Drake said. “Giordano, you met with him earlier, right?”
“That’s correct,” Giordano said. “I’ll make sure that Sullivan and Rawlings get introduced.”
“Good,” Drake said. “Then I suggest that you all get some rest, because you’re going to need it. I want these Muslim terrorists found, and I want them found before another bomb goes off.”
With that unambiguous request having been made, Drake terminated the call and the agents took a water taxi to the Savannah Trade and Convention Center on Hutchinson Island, where a temporary command center had been established. It was there that they ran into Director Patrick Barnes of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. After Giordano made the introductions, Barnes, a no-nonsense, stocky man with short brownish-gray hair, gave the FBI agents a rundown on the investigation.
“Since the bomb exploded this morning- at precisely 9:25 a.m. local time- the GBI, Georgia State Patrol, Savannah Police, Chatham County Police and other local sheriff and police departments have been conducting a massive manhunt throughout Georgia, Florida, Alabama and South Carolina, concentrating on the Savannah area. We have questioned more than 300 people who were near the site at the time of the explosion, but, unfortunately, no one saw anything that has been of help to us. As is true in many cases involving an explosion, the shock of the experience tends to distort people’s observations. They see someone running, for example, and think he or she may have been the one responsible, when in actuality that person was just fleeing the perceived danger.”
“What about that guy I brought to you?” Giordano asked.
“Oh, you mean that guy with the green face and hair and the high-pitched voice?” Barnes asked.
“Yea, that one,” Tony said.
“I had him get with our sketch artist, but he had obviously been drinking a good bit and couldn’t remember enough about the three men to be of any help with a composite. About all he did remember was that he saw two mid-eastern looking guys with mustaches and beards and one with a mustache only running from the area after the bomb exploded. Just in case we need to track him down later to help with identification, we took down all of his contact information and put it on file with this digital photograph.”
Barnes showed Toby, Tad and Tony the photograph- which Toby photographed with his miniature camera- and then pointed to a large map on a giant video screen. “We have also established roadblocks on all routes heading out of Savannah. The roadblocks have been established in concentric circles, with the outermost circle being 100 miles from the city. Because Homeland Security had helped us formulate plans for a terrorist attack, we were able to have the inner perimeter of roadblocks in place within 45 minutes after the explosion. Then we added the other roadblocks at 20 miles out, 50 miles and 100 miles. We believe the bombers are still in the immediate Savannah area.”
“What about the car? Any leads on that?” Trey asked while feverishly adding information to his electronic notebook.
“Our forensics experts have looked it over pretty carefully, but they are waiting on your hotshot from Quantico to get down here,” Barnes explained. “They feel pretty confident that they will find a VIN in tact and be able to trace the car to the last person who owned it, although the chance of that person being the one responsible for this is nil. This seems to have been a well-executed plan with few fingerprints- literally or figuratively- left behind.”
“Director Drake has asked me to cancel my vacation and stay to assist you for a couple of days,” said Giordano. “Rawlings and Sullivan are also at your disposal. How can we be of the greatest assistance?”
“Unfortunately, most of what we need done is old-fashioned street cop work- interviewing hotel, motel and restaurant owners to see if they saw anyone suspicious; tracking down the origin of the SUV; and networking among some of Savannah’s less savory types to find out if anyone on the street knows anything.”
“What about street cameras?” Giordano asked. “Are there any in the area used for traffic enforcement or just for security?”
“We haven’t reached the point down here like they have in London, New York and other big cities,” said Barnes,” so I doubt that there are many public cameras in the area. There may be some on private businesses near by.”
“I’m sure our forensics people will want any video that is available,” Giordano said.
“You’ll get whatever there is,” answered Barnes.
“What about local Muslims?” Toby asked. “Has anyone contacted them yet to see what they know?”
“We have no evidence of any kind that the people behind this were Muslim,” said Barnes. “It is just as likely to have been a political enemy of the governor’s for all we know. If you folks in the D.C. Bombing Taskforce have any evidence to the contrary, please let me know.”
“We don’t have any concrete evidence,” said Trey, “but we do have an undercover agent who has provided information that would lead to the conclusion that international Islamic terrorists are behind all of these attacks- that they are all related.”
“It’s certainly a legitimate theory,” Barnes agreed. “I wish I could assign someone familiar with the Muslim community to work with you, but I’m afraid our liaison to that community, Wahid Hassan, is in Saudi Arabia on a pilgrimage to Mecca. He won’t be back for 10 days.”
“That’s okay,” Toby replied. “I think I can find someone to help us.”