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The prisons in Saudi Arabia and America were both very dangerous places, but for different reasons. In Saudi Arabia it was the guards the prisoners had to fear, whereas in America, it was the other inmates. Tayyib had an acute understanding of this because he had been involved in a top secret program regarding American inmates. For years Muslim charities had been providing funds, materials, and guidance to help convert American inmates to Islam during their stay behind bars. What most people didn’t know was that Saudi intelligence officials had been keeping track of these new converts with the hopes that if need be these non-Arab men would join their fight. These men were tracked as they were released from jail and steered toward mosques where they could continue to get the proper Wahhabi indoctrination into Islam.
It was during a meeting with one of the Muslim charity workers that Tayyib learned of a group called Mara Salvatrucha or MS-13. The fastest-growing segment of the American prison system were Hispanic men. Tayyib could not understand why it was that they had not a single Hispanic recruit in the two years he’d been involved with the program. The man explained to him that the Hispanic prison population was overwhelmingly Catholic and that they were very organized and extremely violent. He cited two cases where African-American Muslims had been beaten to death for trying to convert MS-13 gang members. Tayyib did some research into the group and found out that the FBI now considered them to be the number one organized crime threat in America. The group had started in El Salvador and had spread across America like a cancer. Outside of New York City, the group’s strongest presence was in the Washington, DC, metropolitan area.
The most difficult part had been making contact with the group. Like most street gangs they had an unofficial uniform. They gravitated toward pro sports jerseys. Their group colors were blue and white, the same as the Salvadoran flag, and they liked the numbers 13, 67, and 76. Tattoos of MS-13 were big, and they kept their hair buzzed short. Tayyib found out they had a strong presence in Alexandria and Fairfax, Virginia. With little time to spare, he was forced to take some risks. He drove to a particularly bad part of Alexandria in broad daylight and found two young men standing outside an auto repair shop. One was wearing a North Carolina tank top and the other a University of Michigan one. The numbers on the jerseys matched the profile as did the short hair and the tattoos. Tayyib pulled up to the two men and did not get out of the car. He handed them an envelope. It contained $10,000, a note, and a phone number. Tayyib told the men to give the package to their boss. Within the hour he received a phone call and met face to face with the local gang leader. More money exchanged hands, a deal was struck, and Tayyib’s former employee was found dead in his cell the next day. When Tayyib met the man to pay him the rest of the money, he made it clear that he might again need his services and asked for the best way to get ahold of him. The man came right out and gave him a name and a number.
Tayyib was now back in that same part of town on his way to meet Anibal Castillo. When Tayyib had called him earlier in the day, Castillo had taken his number and called him back from a different phone. Tayyib pulled into the parking lot of the body shop and got out. An old backseat from a vehicle was leaned up against the front of the building. Two men were sitting on the backseat and two were standing, one on each side. The building was covered with bright blue, white, and silver paint. Despite the cool evening air the boys were all in baggy shorts and tank tops—their arms and necks covered in tattoos. Tayyib was armed, but he had no illusion as to what would happen if things turned violent. He was here all on his own. He grabbed the briefcase from the trunk and walked into the building without acknowledging the four men.
The small waiting room was occupied by four more men—larger versions of the boys who had been outside. These guys all had big guns stuffed in the waistband of their pants and one of them had a sawed-off shotgun resting on his shoulder. The air smelled sour—body odor and cigarettes. Tayyib paused for half a step. H
e was wearing jeans, a white dress shirt, and a blue blazer. His .45-caliber pistol was in a holster on his right hip. One of the men looked at it and stuck out his hand palm up. Tayyib handed the weapon over. There was no sense in trying to keep it. Another man came up behind him and began patting him down. A man with MS-13 in gothic letters emblazoned across his forehead took the briefcase and nodded for Tayyib to follow. They continued through the shop. There were bays, and all of them were occupied. Even at this relatively late hour cars were being worked on.
Near the back of the garage, there was a short hallway that led to a bathroom and the back door. Tayyib spotted a fat man standing guard at the back door. Gripped in his beefy tattoo-covered fingers was a black submachine gun. They stopped in front of a steel-plated door and the escort clanged away with Tayyib’s .45-caliber pistol. Metal could be heard scraping on metal and a second later the door opened. Tayyib followed the man into the room. A fifty-inch plasma TV dominated the nearest wall. Two men sat in recliner chairs playing video games. Behind the only desk a man had his back to them and was talking on the phone in Spanish. He slowly turned the chair around and Tayyib recognized the man as Anibal Castillo.
“My old friend,” Castillo said, “you are back again.” He made no effort to stand.
“Yes,” Tayyib said. He had a serious expression on his face.
“What can I do for you?”
Tayyib looked around the room. “Would it be possible for us to talk in private?”
The man who had escorted the Saudi back to the office placed the briefcase on his boss’s desk. Castillo looked at it. “Is it locked?”
“Yes,” Tayyib said.
Castillo motioned for it to be opened. Tayyib spun the case toward him and went to work with his thumbs. When all six dials were in the right position he pushed the clasps and lifted the lid. Inside was a letter-size manila envelope and neatly stacked packets of $100 bills and a cell phone. Castillo moved the envelope out of the way and focused on the cash. His brow furrowed as he estimated the amount of money in the case. After a long moment he looked up and jerked his head toward the door. The other men left in silence. Castillo pointed to a chair and Tayyib sat.
“A hundred thousand?”
Tayyib nodded.
“You must really want someone dead this time.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
The Saudi grabbed the envelope and extracted a photograph of Rapp. “Have you ever seen this man before?” Castillo shook his head and Tayyib silently thanked Allah. “He is in federal custody at a house not far from here.”
“And you want me to kill him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
Tayyib shook his head.
Castillo grinned, and responded, “Fine…it will cost you more.”
“Before we get that far, I need to know something.” The Saudi thought about what he’d seen so far. “How well are your men armed?”
Castillo laughed. “Better than the police. I will tell you that.”
“Explosives?”
The Salvadoran nodded.
“What kind?”
