“ ‘Near to,’ ” Art scoffed. “Comforting.”
“He’s nineteen…just a kid. And from what his CO said he’s not too big in the brains department. Kind of simpleminded and a real mousy sort. The CO added some other reason, but I think he’s got it wrong on that one.”
“Why?” Art turned half around, leaning on his desk.
“He said Sammy’s pretty dumb because he usually volunteers for armory duty. It’s pretty dull, according to him, and they almost always have to assign someone to it — except when Sammy’s feeling generous.”
“He’s just such a nice guy,” Art said mockingly.
“I asked Lomax to get the duty records from the CO.”
“Yeah. Let’s see just how generous our little friend has been. Those crates from the storage place had to walk out of the armory at one time or another. Some record somewhere has got to show those crates as part of the inventory, and ten to one they still show as present.”
“I’ll bet on that.”
Art balled up the banana peel and tossed it into the wastebasket. “Two points.”
“Kareem’s still got a foot on you.”
“So, we have our source for the weapons. What about the other brother?”
Eddie handed one of the sheets to Art. “That’s Ernie’s history. This stuff wasn’t on his record because of some court decision, but the Chicago office had a file on him.”
That was strange. No major federal record, but the FBI office in Chicago had an individual file on Ernest Jackson.
“Guess.”
“Look, Ed, it’s late and I’m dreaming of chili dogs, so spill it.”
“Ernie has some affiliations that fill an interesting hole in this puzzle. He is a known member of El Rukn — remember them?”
“The street gang; the ones Qaddafi warmed up to.”
“Right. He warmed up real cozy to them. Before he ‘adopted’ them as his own American terror group, they were just a bunch of violent, racist street thugs. They only numbered about twenty at their peak. That whittled down to fifteen when things started getting serious with the Libyans.”
“I remember. He tried to ship some shoulder-fired SAMs to them.”
“SA-7 Grails. Russian-made. Two of them made it over from Qaddafi’s European contacts, but we intercepted both. They were planning to shoot down a big jet taking off from O’Hare. Can you imagine?”
“The airline industry would have loved that,” Art said, rightly. It would have scared off tens of thousands of travelers, some for good. TV would have played the carnage live.
“Lomax says Jackson’s a ‘passive’ active member of the gang, meaning they’re supposedly no longer in existence, but reality and prison scuttlebutt say otherwise.”
Art smiled his first true smile in days. It was one of satisfaction. “An honest-to-God family business. The pieces come together nicely.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
The plan, as it must have sounded to the Jacksons, came together in Art’s head. “First, we have a leak somewhere — probably in England — that lets on that there’s going to be a meeting between the F.M. and the president. We know that the F.M.’s good friend from World War Two is the manager of the Hilton, and that he always stays there when he’s on the West Coast. That wouldn’t be hard for someone to figure out and piece together. Next, someone in the terrorist infrastructure makes contact with Ernie. The resources would be well known to them, so the three brothers probably just fit into the plan by number and convenience.”
“Sure,” Eddie agreed. “Three bodies — anyone would do.”
“I’d bet this all started some time back. How long has Sammy been in uniform?”
Eddie checked the enlistment record. “Eighteen months.”
“See, Ernie gets him to enlist, and that puts him in close proximity to any weapon they’d need. It’d take some doing, but they were determined, so getting the stuff was possible. And final bro Marcus is already in L.A. That probably made the trio an attractive choice for whoever recruited them.”
Eddie’s head nodded exaggeratedly. “And with Ernie’s El Rukn contacts…”
The silence lasted but a second. “We knew it could have been international — now it looks like that’s for sure.”
“This thing has tentacles. Where’s it going to stop?”
Art thought about that. It could be right on the money, but there was a notable exception. “Every set of tentacles has at least one head. We’ve got to concern ourselves with the tentacles here. And its head: Marcus Jackson. He was the initial contact here — everything points to that. His brothers were just tools. As for who deals with the head… I’d say it goes back through El Rukn to the Middle East, probably Libya. I don’t want to get into that political crap. The director will want to know what we think, but our aim is here, and our targets are the Jacksons.”
“We have two of them under watch,” Eddie said, stacking the report square and neat with a few taps on the desk.
“What did you work out with Chicago?”
“Lomax is going to set up a team to move on Sammy when we give the word. The CO is aware, and he’ll keep it quiet. They’re also going to have Ernie segregated at Joliet.”
Something sparked a thought in Art’s mind. “You know, we still have to find Marcus.” He paused, looking down at the gray carpet. “Ed, why do you think they did it? From the gut?”
He thought that over. “None of them seem to have any real brains, which eliminates any ideological reasons. Ernie’s a tough, Sammy’s a weasel, and Marcus, he looks to me like part of the other two. Ernie’s up for parole in a year; his record inside is good, so he may get out. I say he’d want something to look forward to.”
“Money.” It was what Art had been thinking.
“Yep. Ernie sets this up after being recruited. There’s a money drop — I’d guess with Marcus — and he and Sammy take it and lie low until Ernie gets out.” Eddie caught an error in his analysis. “But then we’d be focusing on Ernie for sure. Once Marcus disappeared both of the others would be under the microscope.”
“True,” Art said. “But if they had any brains they’d have figured that much out. So, who has the perfect alibi of all of them?”
“Ernie.”
“Which means Sammy must be planning to hit the road,” Art proposed. “If Ernie was the head of all this he wouldn’t want his parole jeopardized. If Sammy was picked up he’d probably crack, if the profile of him is correct. That would screw Ernie.”
“You think he’ll run, then?”
“I would.” Art knew they would either have to pick Sammy up, or let him run and hope he would lead them to Marcus. He stopped in mid thought. There might be some possibilities in that. “Ed, do you think Sammy’s a little skittish?”
“Probably. Why?”
“When you’re nervous about something, where do you turn?”
Eddie’s face showed a Gestalt realization. “The familiar.”
“Exactly. Maybe we can stir young Sammy up a little.”
The framework of the plan formed over the next ten minutes. Soon thereafter it was passed over to the Chicago office, who would have the responsibility and pleasure of carrying it out.
The sun had been up for nearly two hours. Muhadesh wiped the last of the water from his short hair and ran a hand over it, smoothing the thinning black strands flat. A shower immediately following his morning run always soothed his heated muscles. It also was a form of cleansing — and not of soil or sweat from his body. He stood under the steamy streams far beyond the time for mere bathing. There was more than that which was visible that he tried to rinse from his body. Still, it never seemed enough. By the end of the day he felt completely soiled.