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“Let’s catch this guy first, then see where it goes.”
“And when we catch him, what happens to him next?”
“The FBI will bleed him for information. On everything.”
“That’s what we thought.”
Before I could ask her what that meant—that “we”—my phone rang. I looked down and saw it was my grandfather. I never like to ignore calls from Seamus because it could be something serious, the fear always associated with an elderly relative’s calls.
“Seamus, everything all right?”
His chuckle told me he was fine. “It’s not like I’m going to keel over at any minute. I may still be in my prime. It’s a new millennium. Age is just a number.”
“The fact that you’ve seen the last few millennia makes me worry about your health.”
“For a change, I’m calling to help you with your job.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“As a man of the cloth, I have friends in every denomination. One of them happens to be a Muslim cleric. He’s the imam of a mosque in Queens.”
“I appreciate that, Seamus, but we’re not really taking the shotgun approach that all Muslims know about terror attacks.”
“But this imam spent some time in Kazakhstan. If I overheard you correctly on the phone last night, Kazakhstan has something to do with your investigation.”
All I could say was, “Give me the info.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in Jamaica Estates, pulling up to a mosque off the Grand Central Parkway near 188th Street.
As soon as we were out of the car, a small man who looked about sixty-five approached us. He was wearing a suit with a collarless white shirt and a small, white cap.
The man gave us a warm smile as he said, “You can’t be Seamus’s grandson, Michael, can you? I am Adama Nasir.” He had a slight accent that was hard to place. His wire-rimmed glasses gave him the look of a scholar.
I took his hand and said, “I am Seamus’s grandson. He’s much older than he pretends to be.” I introduced Darya as my associate.
We stayed outside and strolled through a playground for the school attached to the mosque. Nasir explained that he was born in Qatar and had traveled throughout the world as a visiting scholar of the Koran. I noted that he had spent two years in Kazakhstan.
Nasir said, “Your grandfather mentioned what you were doing. I think it’s important for Muslims to spread the truth that, just like Christians, the vast majority of Muslims just want to worship in peace. Most Muslims are outraged at attacks like the one on the parade.”
I said, “I can appreciate the sentiment, but right now I’m only interested in catching who’s responsible. It doesn’t matter to me what religion he is or even what his motivation was. We need to catch him before he does anything else.”
“That’s why I asked your grandfather if I could speak with you, because he mentioned that there was a possibility the suspect was from Kazakhstan. There is a bar in Rockaway Park that’s a meeting place for ethnic Russians with connections to Kazakhstan. It’s really quite a festive place. I have visited it myself because of my stay in Kazakhstan. Of course, I couldn’t drink alcohol, but the company was invigorating. If anyone knows about someone from Kazakhstan looking to hide in the greater New York area, it’s that crowd.”
This was a good lead. Probably more than the FBI had. I thanked him and turned with Darya to head for our car.
Nasir said, “I hope you find who you’re looking for. It’s a tricky business, these attacks. I’ve seen it all over the Middle East. Some are based on religious conviction. Some people are forced to do the attacks and some attacks are not what they seem.”
I said, “Not what they seem in what way?”
“I used to see it in occupied Palestine. They’ve been known to kill other Palestinians in attacks so that Israel is blamed. I’ve even heard rumors that some of the old Israeli governments allowed attacks in Jerusalem so that they would have a reason to respond. There is a certain return on this philosophy.”
He was right, but I didn’t see the US government allowing an attack like this. I also couldn’t see them putting so many resources into catching someone if they had allowed the attack to occur.
All we could do was follow up on the leads we had.
Chapter 18
The streets felt more alive than ever on the drive to Rockaway Park. It was incredible. Even with the cold weather, people were out in the streets, as if telling the terrorists, “New Yorkers don’t hide.”
