CHAPTER 22
Believing that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their Legislature should “make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,” thus building a wall of separation between Church and State. Thomas Jefferson’s Letter to the Danbury Baptists, 1802.
“That was certainly a close call,” Toby said as he and Trey came out of the fast-food restaurant in Statesboro, Georgia. “Can you believe that the manager actually put those two guys in the freezer and kept them there for two hours before calling the police? They could have frozen to death if they had been in there much longer.”
“I guess he did go a little overboard,” Trey answered.
“A little overboard?” Toby asked sarcastically. “A little overboard would have been to call the police in the first place, because there was nothing about the two guys to indicate that they had anything to do with terrorism.”
“Well, they were dressed in traditional Islamic garments,” Trey responded. “And they were talking about having to work all night to get their project ready for the ‘big day.’”
“That’s true,” said Toby, “but it turns out that the project was for a science class at Georgia Southern University involving the genetic engineering of plants.”
“Yes, but the restaurant manager had no way to know that,” Trey said defensively.
“Well then, he should have attempted to find out more before he pulled a gun and ordered the two students into the freezer,” Toby said. “What’s really scary is that this type of paranoia is growing. We’re just lucky that no one has been killed yet.”
“It’s easy to understand why some people are becoming paranoid,” Trey responded, “but you’re right that the bombings don’t give people the right to take the law into their own hands. Hopefully, we’ll find the terrorists and solve this case before there are more incidents like this one.”
“Hopefully,” Toby agreed.
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The next stop for Toby and Trey was a barbecue restaurant called “Bubbacue” near Reidsville, Georgia. The owner had called the taskforce office in Savannah claiming that he had overheard a disturbing conversation between three Muslim men on the day before the bombing that injured the governor. He was waiting for Rawlings and Sullivan when they arrived and apparently had little difficulty picking them out from the rest of his customers.
“You must be the two FBI men that they told me was coming,” he said as they opened the screen door leading into the large room filled with picnic tables and wooden, slatback chairs.
“Oh, we’re that obvious, are we?” Toby asked jokingly. “What gave us away- the suits or my partner’s red bowtie?”
“Actually, everything about you tells me that you ain’t from around these parts,” the large, balding man in jeans and a “Bubbacue” T-shirt replied in a deep voice with an even deeper southern accent.
Both Toby and Trey laughed along with the man who introduced himself as the owner, Larry “Bubba” Johnson.
“Well, I’m glad to see you. Have you had lunch, yet?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, we haven’t,” Toby replied, “and something smells awfully good. What do you say, Trey, we might as well grab a bite while we have the chance.”
“Fine with me,” Trey said somewhat hesitantly as he surveyed the sawdust-covered floors and wooden planked walls that were decorated with old license plates, gasoline signs, and other memorabilia from the early- to mid-1900’s.
“Well that’s good,” Bubba said as he pointed to a table in the rear of the restaurant. “Let’s sit at that table back there where we can talk privately.”
Looking at the large room that was packed with noisy customers chomping down on plates of pulled-pork sandwiches and ribs, Toby wasn’t exactly sure how their conversation could be kept “private,” but he agreed to follow Johnson to the only vacant picnic table in the room. “That will work,” he replied without hesitation.
Once seated, Bubba called a waitress over to the table and asked Trey and Toby if they had any specific requests. Trey asked if he could have some barbecued chicken and cole slaw.
“Now I know you ain’t from around these parts,” Bubba said with a wide grin. “Down here, the words barbecue and chicken don’t belong in the same sentence. The fact is, in this area, barbecue is a noun, not a verb. We don’t barbecue no steaks or chicken. Barbecue is what it is, and that is slow-cooked pork. That is barbecue.”
Without waiting for Toby to state a preference for the kind of pork barbecue he preferred, Johnson asked the waitress to bring a good sampling of pulled pork and ribs along with some sides, including onion rings and Brunswick stew. “And honey, bring us three glasses and a pitcher of sweet tea.”
Before the sweet tea had even arrived and before Toby or Trey had a chance to ask the first question of their host, Bubba Johnson began telling the FBI agents why he had called the taskforce office in Savannah.
“I thought it was a little strange when them three Muslim guys came in the restaurant,” he said, “but I had put it out of my mind until the next day when I heard about that bomb that almost killed our governor. Then I began to put two and two together and came up with four. That’s when I decided I should tell the police about what those three men was talking about. As it turned out, Troy Johnson- he’s a distant cousin of mine- was in here eating a plate of ribs. Well, Troy is a trooper in the state patrol, so I figured he was as good as anyone to tell. And after I told him, he said I should call that Barnes guy who was heading up the investigation in Savannah.”
“Yes, and Barnes must have thought what you said was important, which is why he sent us,” Trey said just as the waitress brought three glasses, a pitcher of iced tea and a plate of lemon slices.
“We’re anxious to hear what the three men talked about.”
“Well, like I said,” Bubba began his story, “these three men came in on the afternoon before the bombing. It was kind of late in the afternoon, around 2:30 or something like that. I remember, because we had been real busy at lunch time- a lot of tourists on the way to Savannah for St. Patrick’s Day- and things had just begun to quiet down a bit.”
Johnson paused as two waitresses arrived at the table and began putting down plates piled high with barbecue ribs, pulled pork, onion rings, corn-on-the-cob and slices of white bread, along with bowls of Brunswick Stew, baked beans and cole slaw.
“Thank you, Rita. And thank you, Louise,” Bubba said after the last plate was placed on the table, leaving scarcely an inch of the red and white checkered plastic tablecloth visible. How bout checkin back with us in a few minutes to make sure we ain’t run out of anything.”
“Now where was I?” Johnson asked as he picked up the plate of ribs and passed it to Toby.
“You were just about to tell us what you heard the three men say,” Trey said.
“Right,” said Bubba. “They sat right at this very table that we are sitting at, and seeing as how the lunch crowd had about gone, I was helping clear some of the tables so that the men and girls in the kitchen could get busy washing all of the dishes before the dinner crowd come in.
“The first time I heard them talk, after they had placed their order, I heard one of them say just as clear as could be, ‘There is no God but Allah.’ Well, as you might imagine, that kind of got my attention. And then I heard another one say something about believing in Allah and achieving salvation, and I heard some other things about Allah that I can’t remember. But I do remember one of them using the word ‘jihad.’ That really got my attention.”
Toby pulled a paper towel from the spool on the table and wiped his face and hands. “That is interesting,” he said. “How were these men dressed?”
“Well, they weren’t wearing those gowns that some of them wear, if that is what you mean,” Bubba responded. “They were wearing pants and sweaters I think. There weren’t nothing special about their clothes.”
“I see,” Toby said after taking a drink of his tea, to which he had added the juice of several slices of lemon to cut the intense sweetness. “So, what made you think that they were Muslims?”
“The way they was talking, and the fact that they had one of them Korans with them. I saw it on the chair between two of the men.”
“Do you recall what they ordered?” Sullivan asked as he squirted a little more of Bubba’s Famous Hot Sauce on his pulled-pork sandwich.
“I think they all ordered ribs, but I can’t be real sure,” Johnson answered. “What does that got to do with anything?”
Sullivan finished chewing a bite of his sandwich and wiping the sauce off of his mouth before responding. “Well, I don’t think it is very likely that the three men you called us about could be Muslim terrorists if they were reading the Koran and eating barbecue pork ribs at the same time. I admit that eating Bubbacue ribs might be considered a religious experience by some, but I’m afraid Muslims are not likely to be among them.”
“That’s right,” Trey agreed as he wiped some sauce off of his fingers. “Devote Muslims consider pigs to be dirty animals and it is strictly forbidden that they should eat pork.”
“Well, maybe they weren’t real strict Muslims,” Bubba answered. “After all, I know some Jews who eat pork and their religion forbids that. And I know Catholics who eat meat when they are supposed to eat fish. And I even know some Baptists who take a drink of wine or beer every now and then. You know as well as I do that a lot of people like to customize their religion.”
“That is true,” Toby said, “but I find it very difficult to believe that three Muslims would be planning Jihad and reading the Koran in a restaurant where pork is the primary food item sold.”
Bubba looked thoughtful as he used a piece of white bread to wipe some of the excess Bubbacue Extra Hot Sauce off of his plate and then ate it in two large bites.
“I never thought about that,” the restaurant owner said. “I hope I didn’t lead you on a wild goose chase.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Toby said. “We’re glad you called, and we’ll do some more checking. You didn’t by any chance catch any of their names, did you?”
Bubba reached into one of the pockets in his jeans, pulled out a business card and handed it to Toby. “On the back is the license number of the car they was driving. Maybe that will help you find them.”
“This is fantastic,” Sullivan said. “I wish all of the people who contacted us were so observant.”
“Well, like I said, I hope this wasn’t a waste of your time,” Johnson said. “Would you like some banana pudding or peach cobbler for desert?”
“I can’t eat another bite,” said Toby as he surveyed the table filled with dirty plates, piles of meatless rib bones, crumpled paper towels covered in Bubbacue sauce and two half-eaten pieces of white bread. That was some of the best barbecue I ever ate, and so there is no way that this visit could be considered a waste of time- regardless of what we find out about your three lunch guests who were reading the Koran and talking about Jihad.”
“That’s for sure,” said Trey as he did his best to wipe the sauce off his hand with a clean paper towel. “The lunch was outstanding. Do you have our bills?”
“It’s on Bubba,” said Johnson. “Tell all your Yankee friends who think that barbecue is a verb that it is really a noun and you had some real barbecue down in Reidsville, Georgia.”
“Well thank you,” said Toby. “You can be sure that I’ll try my best to straighten out the terrible misconceptions about barbecue that my Yankee friends have. And, you can also be sure that we’ll let you know what we find out about the three men you saw.”
As soon as Trey and Toby got in the car- before they could decide the best way to check out the lead they had just received- they had a call from Director Drake.
“Desert Dan has just contacted us to let us know that the terrorists have left Georgia and are headed north, possibly back to the D.C. area again,” he said. “The two of you need to get back here as quickly as you can.”
On the way back to Savannah to retrieve their belongings from their hotel rooms, Trey placed a call to GBI Director Barnes and explained that he and Toby had been called back to Washington. After giving him the car tag number and the other information that Bubba Johnson had provided about the three men who had been in his restaurant on the day before the Savannah explosion, he asked if Barnes could have someone follow-up on the lead. He also explained his and Toby’s doubts about the three being Muslims. After a brief conversation, Barnes agreed to have someone track down the three men and said he would let Toby and Trey know the outcome.
Once in Savannah, the two agents packed quickly and headed for the airport where they dropped their rental car and prepared to board the next flight to the District of Columbia. Not only were they leaving behind one of Georgia’s most beautiful and stately cities, but they were also leaving behind nearly 60 individuals whose terrorist sightings had proven to be either figments of vivid imaginations or simple cases of mistaken identity.
“Well, that was an interesting couple of weeks,” Sullivan said as he buckled himself into the seat of the plane. “I hope our next assignment turns up some actual evidence that can help solve the case.”