Fueling the Rage Page 24

  Undercover in the cell

  The jihad underway

  Telling what there is to tell

  The ultimate price to pay

  Chapter 21

  The ATF was once again going over the ground zero explosion site in Topeka. The chief explosive investigator found a startling error in the investigation. The ground zero site of the explosion was reported as 245 Vernon Street. The street was like many older Topeka neighborhoods with row homes. The homes were built two abreast on an elevated lot. Next to the street was the sidewalk and a small hill rose to the small flat front yard. A single set of wide concrete steps led to the common central porch of two attached homes. In this case the adjoining home was 247 Vernon Street, and for some unknown reason no one had noticed this oversight. The 245 home was owned by a retired postal worker and the 247 home was owned by a well-known pastor. The database comparisons were centered on the 245 Vernon address as a comparison point. The FBI was alerted, and a new program search would put the residences of 247 Vernon Street against the address of the state trooper in Salina, Kansas. It would again compare the occupants of the destroyed residence, but the search points would now be given a new software anchor.

  The FBI had the records of the Topeka police department in a computer database going back six years. The Salina, Kansas records had been converted from paper for only three years. The State of Kansas’ computerized database also went back six years. All of the jurisdictions had set up centralized record centers for over 25 years, but the older records were all paper. The national standard required all jurisdictions to catch up with six months of historical paper records each year. After the bombing, the FBI requested that all Kansas records going back seven years be entered into this working database. Federal funds provided ample resources for all Kansas communities to complete the process in two months.

  It was an impressive undertaking. Hundreds of computer data entry clerks were hired. There were two eight hour shifts for data entry in most locations. The State of Kansas, Salina and Topeka had three full time shifts for data entry and double the staff of the other areas. As each record was entered, the FBI computer electronically pulled it to the FBI database and then waited for more. Additionally, states, counties, and cities all over America voluntarily began adding to their computerized records just in case the information may be needed in the future.

  This entire computer-assisted analysis had its limits. As more variables were added, there were more matches. It is said that all Americans are generally only five relationships away from each other. At some point there would be too many matches. There were many political interest groups that had legally limited certain fields from being search choices. The goal of the FBI computer center was to go back seven years and hope someone would come to the top of their list.

  Bill was ready for his new job. His head was shaved and his language skills were tweaked for his new identity and he had memorized his new prison history. The Federal Bureau of Prisons had recently added a new job description. It was budgeted to be manned at the beginning of next year, but there was a trial opening for three federal officers called Prison Diversity Inspectors. Their job was to visit prisons without notice and investigate the possible problems with the prison limiting diversity. The DFBI saw the new hire notice and sent a memo to the General that included a suggestion. The protection of religious groups was high on the diversity list. Ivan has been a real Muslim and certainly was able to detect institutional diversity problems. While Bill was relaxing with his family, Ivan was regaining his Muslim heritage. He felt completely at ease wearing a turban and for three days he had let his beard grow. Ivan was now on the Federal payroll as a GS14. He would protect Bill’s back at the prison. A small six passenger Air Force jet took them nonstop to Philip Billard Municipal Airport in Topeka, Kansas.

  A Kansas state police car met the Air Force plane. Ivan stayed on board as Bill was led unshackled down the steep stairs. The state policeman cuffed Bill’s hands behind his back and the Major joined the policeman in the front seat of the police car. The Major was carrying Bill’s paperwork. Bill’s new name was Mohammad Johnson he was a military deserter that also robbed a convenience store in Kansas. He completed his Federal time, and now he would do some Kansas time for robbery.

  The policeman asked, “What did he do?”

  “This is Mohammad Johnson. He converted to Islam and then refused to go to Iraq. While he was running from the Air Force he robbed a convenience store in Kansas. He also beat up the cashier because he was white. He has been a little hard to get along with.”

  ”Mr. Johnson, if you’re able to get along, you’ll like this prison. It’s safe for inmates and the food’s good.” The police car arrived at the prison. The Major follow him to admittance. There were fifteen other prisoners ahead of Bill. The Major got a signature for the transfer from the admittance officer and took a cab back to the plane.

  Ivan now had a Florida driver’s license and a credit card and used them to pick up a rental car. He drove directly to the prison and was taken directly to the Warden. Ivan had a three day beard and was dressed in an off-white robe and was wearing a turban. He delivered his credentials to the Warden as a Prison Diversity Inspector and could see the Warden slowly shake his head as he glanced through the 325 page pamphlet.

  “Let me see, the Federal Guidelines of Diversity Enforcement. Where do you want to start?”

  “I would like to follow a single prisoner from admittance. I would like a prisoner that has religious issues.”

  The Warden knew what Ivan was saying. Get me a Muslim and I want to see how he is treated. There was a sergeant at a desk outside of the Warden’s office. “Sergeant, take Ivan to admittance. Stay with him and keep him safe. Help him do whatever he needs to do.”

  “I would like to stay here in the prison for about a week. Can you put me up?”

  “Sergeant, get him a bunk in the visitor’s quarters.”

  Ivan arrived at admittance with the Sergeant. There was only a wire screen that separated him from the prisoners. Ivan saw Bill and called out, “Hey you. Come here. What’s your name?”

  “Mohammad Johnson’s my name.”

  “Are your religious needs being met?”

  “I feel improperly clothed and I would like to talk to a cleric.” Several of other prisoners yelled out and complained that they had some problems too. The Sergeant looked at Ivan as if to say what now.

  Ivan replied. “One’s enough for now. Will you get him a Kufi to wear, please? I’ll just join Mohammad if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s your life.”

  With that Ivan was allowed through wire door to join Bill. He looked at the prisoners that were all around him. Maybe I can keep these men safe from my friend.

  Bill quietly said, “You just save me a lot of time. That was very well done.”

  Before Bill had been admitted, the Sergeant returned with a Kufi and handed it to Ivan. “This cost $25 at the prison store. Who’ll pay for it?” It was a brown crocheted Kufi hat.

  “No one should have to pay for traditional head gear. Every prisoner should get a free hat if they want one.”

  Bill thought. Ivan may have just cost the government millions. Bill put on the cap and said to the guard, “Thank you.” It took about two hours for Bill to go through the entry process. He was given shower and sprayed for bugs. He went through a final weapons check and at the end of the process the assistant warden gave them a speech telling them to be good and keep their nose clean. A woman guard called out four names including Bill’s. She was to take them to their cells. Ivan thought about complaining, but he saw nothing to gain and kept quiet. Bill arrived at his cell. The guard opened it and Ivan and Bill both entered.

  The guard objected, “Sir, you’re not a prisoner.”

  “There’s a spare bunk for me to sit on. I’ll wait here for now. Check with the Warden. It’ll be okay.”

  There was room for two inmates in Bill’s cell and, for now, he was the only p
risoner. They talked about what to expect when the cleric visited them. Bill was reminded that he was a convert and that meant he needed to know nothing about Islam. The goal was to join the cleric’s prison mosque. It would be easier to get information from the other prisoners than a street smart cleric. About ten minutes later the Warden appeared, “Ivan what are you doing in the cell?”

  “I’m timing the appearance of the Islamic cleric. A request was made for advice and as of now this prisoner’s diversity is being dishonored.”

  The Warden’s face was red, “The cleric only comes in twice a week. It’ll be two days before he can visit Mr. Johnson.”

  “You have your rules for now and the Federal Bureau of Prisons has theirs. This is exactly what I need to know about your prison. I’ll stay with Mohammad for now.”

  “Dinner is served this afternoon when the door to the cell is opened. You need to follow the rest of the inmates to chow. Ivan, if you need help or change your mind just yell out. You look like a man that can take care of himself and if I thought you were in danger I wouldn’t let you stay. I’ve told the guards and they’ll keep an eye on you.”

  The cell door opened at 5pm local time. Inmates ate in three different shifts in a large hall. They were allowed ten minutes to get to dinner and twenty minutes to eat. There were two dining halls. One was being cleaned and set up as the other was being used. There were over one hundred tables and each table held twelve inmates. The food was on the tables waiting as the inmates entered the dining hall. There were two doors and four lines and the guards directed the inmates into rows. When every seat in the row was filled the row sat down and started eating. The room was quiet. Conversation between inmates was not allowed. Ivan and Bill took their seats and when they were told to sit they started eating. Ivan knew all the dietary requirements of Islam and the meal was not appropriate. He also knew that in a Lebanese prison they would have had watery soup, bread, and water. Given the choice he would take this meal, but the government was paying him for diversity. His duty was to complain, and maybe tomorrow he would.

  It took two days for the cleric to arrive at the prison. He had a prayer meeting scheduled with his followers and that did not include Mohammad Johnson or Ivan. The Warden had requested the cleric visit Bill’s cell. As part of his rounds the Peace Mosque cleric arrived at the cell holding Bill and Ivan. The cleric stood outside the glass and barred cell door of whom he thought was Mohammad Johnson. He had also been told about Ivan, but was really not paying attention to the Warden at the time. Following the usual greetings between them, Bill related that he had been separated from all Muslim brothers since his capture by the military. He also told him that he was a new convert and needed advice and direction. “I have hate that is barely controllable against non-Muslims. I just don’t know how to handle it. Maybe if I could meet with other Muslim brothers I could learn.”

  Ivan was thinking. That seemed a little thick, but it gets to the point.

  Then they talked about his leaving the Air Force and robbing people to survive as he was running. He even talked about being happy to trade his life for paradise.

  The cleric seemed to open up, “The Qur’an does support a direction called jihad. Sometimes a new follower is drawn to that image of battle for Allah. Not all of what you are feeling is necessarily bad. Maybe if you did meet with my group they could help give you a more reasonable self-view. This is a pass to meet with us tomorrow morning.” The cleric left and went to his next stop.

  Bill asked, “What did he say?”

  “I guess you will be on your own. I am going to take a nap. I want to hear about your meeting. If I get hungry I may have them move me to a real room.” Then Ivan noticed a red paperback book on shelf at the back of the cell. “If you need to contact me put that red book on the floor near the door of the cell.”

  Bryan had finished his work in Houston. As he left, he looked back at the building that was full of the loaded vehicles that would be used for mass destruction. His finishing touch was to print instructions that gave turn by turn directions to the chosen sites. In addition, there was a procedure on how to drive and when to use the siren. The document made Bryan think about the entire detonation system he had developed. The design had started with a simple radio signal device used to fly radio controlled model airplanes. He had purchased the black box from a manufacturer located in Taiwan, China. Deep within the explosive soup there was a detonator with the two wires that lead to the black box. The box received its power from the vehicle’s battery and a nine volt battery for back up. The black box itself was a very flexible programmable device and early on he decided that detonation by radio was not totally desirable.

  Bryan exploded two 55 gallon drums of what he called explosive soup in Salina and Topeka using a radio trigger. The drums each required a detonator and an antenna to allow Bryan to explode them from a safe distance. He had to be within radio range to successfully detonate them by pushing a button on a transmitter. He was still well within a mile of the explosion and the close proximity to the detonation could reduce the chance of escape. He then added a small black box that contained a digital relay that could be activated by a phone call. Bryan was starting to worry that it was possible the person that needed to make the phone call would be captured or in some way would be stopped from calling each device. He had sent Malcolm a computer program to automate the calling, but the relays were more sophisticated than depending upon only a phone call. They could be activated by a series of signals including timers. Without telling Malcolm he had programmed the following code into each relay. Activate if the engine is started, runs twenty minutes, the engine is turned off and thirty minutes passes. With this code the driver could simply drive to the scene, park and run and the cell phone call would not be needed.

  Bryan had told Malcolm about the phone call requirement, but now calling was really a waste of time. The units would explode, no matter what, shortly after the engines were shut off. Bryan was also concerned about the vehicle battery being disconnected or disabled by gun fire and then relying only on the standby battery to follow the program. He measured the power of the nine volt battery and determined it would deliver full current for over a minute. He also connected the black box to the relay by an additional very fine wire. If someone tried to move either box the relay would close. Bryan felt that there was no turning back. He was not worried about Malcolm, but he was worried about an individual at each of the Peace Mosques deciding not to continue with jihad. Henry was the ayatollah’s pick, Malcolm was Henry’s pick, Bryan was Malcolm’s pick, and Bryan had also picked a leader at each of the sites.

  Malcolm had given Bryan a date for jihad that he surely would be able to meet. To ensure detonation of all of the vehicles Bryan would go to the internet and enter a date and time of detonation. Each warehouse had a standalone box that he had hidden in the roof beams. The box contained a cell phone with Internet access and a digital transmitter. It would store a date and time that a digital signal would be sent everything in that steel building would explode. He had set it for each city and there would be no turning back by anyone. He was very proud of his work.

  Bryan would do one more thing by himself. He was raised in Topeka, but he wanted to die in Atlanta, Georgia. He had set aside a pumper fire truck that he would drive himself. In downtown Atlanta there was a complex of federal buildings that was called the Center for Disease Control. A freight entrance on the north side of the complex allowed large trucks to enter an elevator, go down four stories and pick up or drop off large loads. The driver would then drive forward to a second elevator, rise four floors to the street level and exit. He had learned about the entrance from a prison cell mate who was a janitor at the complex until he killed his wife.

  With each new site he had learned how to improve the process. Bryan was proud of the Houston warehouse and was also looking forward to his trip to Atlanta. He was driven to a small private airport to board the Falcon Jet. He strapped himself into the comfortable, wid
e leather seat and prepared for takeoff. He closed his eyes and saw his new dream. He was landing in paradise and a large crowd was cheering him. His dream repeated until he reached Atlanta. The wheels of the Falcon touched the runway of the airport and his dream faded. He was only a few miles from Industrial Diesel and someone was waiting for him as the sleek jet stopped at the airport’s reception center.

  *****

  The Topeka Peace Mosque had been assigned a meeting room at the prison. Bill entered the room where there were nine chairs and he took the last open seat. The cleric asked Mohammad Johnson to introduce himself to the other brothers. Bill had been thinking about his words, but he had not been able to build a good presentation. He looked at the eyes of each of the men, “I am Mohammad. I was in the Air Force and converted. It changed me a lot, so I couldn’t go Iraq. I didn’t like the Air Force anymore, so I left and had resorted to stealing as a way to survive when they caught me. I don’t like to be around anybody other than my Muslim brothers and I need to do something, maybe like what they talk about in the Qur’an. Jihad, that’s what I want to do. I think Allah has pegged me for that.” Bill stopped talking and if he had to, he could fight his way out of the room. He was surprised by what he had said and knew was that it was not what he had planned to say. He just lowered his head, looked uncomfortable, and waited for their reactions.

  Several of the men stood, walked over and patted him on the back. One said, “That’s what I feel too.” Again and again he received support from them.

  “Can I join with you for your meetings?”

  “Yes, start doing your prayers and we will meet here twice a week. I will get the staff to send you the paper work.”

  For the next hour they all just had a friendly talk about cars, trucks, hunting and fishing. Bill was a little disappointed that there was no talk about killing white people. At the end of the session, the meeting broke up into four two-man groups. His new buddy was also a Mohammad so they used last names. Bill called him Wilson and he called Bill, Johnson. They talked in low whispers because Wilson felt that the room may be tapped. He told Bill to be patient and he would not be disappointed about his desires for jihad. ”If you don’t come to the next meeting it will be fine, but if you come then you are in for life or death.” Bill told him that he understood and was looking forward to the next meeting.