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Santos said, “There wasn’t a lot to grab from the truck—mainly chemical residue that will be used to track down the exact manufacturer of the explosive. The ATF did manage to lift a fingerprint off the inside of the steering wheel, so we put a rush on it to every agency and database in the country. No hits came back. But our esteemed colleague from the Russian Embassy”—he turned and opened his hand toward Darya, as if he were a ringmaster announcing an act—“has found the print in a Russian military database.”
Santos nodded to Darya, who stood up. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, as if she was trying to make the announcement more dramatic after the dull crime-scene analysis.
Darya said, “The fingerprint belongs to a thirty-one-year-old male named Temir Marat. His father was raised in Kazakhstan and his mother is an ethnic Russian. He spent his early years in Kazakhstan, then bounced back and forth between there and Russia.”
I noticed everyone taking furious notes, but I still hadn’t heard anything that would tell me where this asshole was.
Darya continued. “Marat served a stint in the Russian army, and that’s how we got his fingerprint on file. He has no history of extremism, but the FBI says that’s very common. There’s little else known about him.”
Someone from the back room called out, “Do we have a photograph of him?”
Darya shook her head. “It’s printing now. It’s five years old. It’s from an application to the Moscow police. There is an older photo from when he entered the army, but he is much younger and he has a buzz cut.”
I wrote one line in my little notebook. Applied to police. Why?
An Asian woman who worked for the FBI said, “I don’t think a history of extremist views is necessary anymore. The way some of these groups recruit leads many without previous violent histories to join. In fact, it’s a good move to recruit people not on any terrorist watch lists. This guy sounds like the perfect choice. Smart, unafraid of death, and able to blend in with the general population in the US. He could’ve been recruited from a website.”
An Army major in uniform said, “I can see recruiting people inside the US like that, but this was someone living in Russia or Kazakhstan. There were some serious expenses. This is a step above some of the spur-of-the-moment attacks ISIS has inspired.”
Dan Santos said, “It’s hard to tell exactly what happened until we catch this guy. Our intelligence indicates that shifting to using trucks and cars and simple attacks like this has a major effect on public opinion. Anytime a group uses the fear of something common to exploit terror, they’re eating away at our way of life. Berlin and Paris are perfect examples. There’ll be kids there in ten years that jump at the sight of a truck. It’s important that we move before this guy comes up with anything else to do.”
Darya said, “Russia has seen some of this. Several attacks using trucks that plow into crowds.”
When she sat down next to me I said, “I haven’t seen those attacks in Russia on the news.” This was a private conversation, not intended for the others.
“We don’t have a need for everything to be public. Perhaps your government should try that approach occasionally.”
I said, “Let’s not get into a conversation about whose government is more effective.”
“You’re right, of course.”
I said, “This wasn’t some kid trying to get famous. I agree with our colleague in the Army. This attack was organized and funded. It was too big to try and keep quiet in a free country. The US government generally makes information about attacks public. Even if keeping things secret works for Russia, it’s not the way we do things.”
Darya smiled and said, “I know Americans have a fixation with fame and publicity. You also have many more TV networks than Russia. But sometimes it’s better to handle things quietly and not cause a panic. I fear this is a lesson the US will have a chance to learn in the coming years.”
I hoped that wasn’t the case.
Chapter 15
DAN SANTOS SURPRISED me. As soon as our early morning briefing was done, he grabbed Darya and me and said, “I lined up some interviews we can do today.”
I withheld any smartass comment, because I wanted to encourage this kind of behavior.
Darya looked bored, but stood up and gathered her things.
Santos said, “Pretty exciting, huh? Your first interviews on a major terror investigation.”
I mumbled, “Yeah. Our first interviews. Exciting.” I could barely meet Darya’s eyes.
She had a wide grin, but Santos was too wrapped up in his own world to notice.
The first stop we made was in lower Manhattan near the NYU campus, a small deli on University Place. It was still early and the place was nearly empty.
I caught up to Dan, who was walking pretty fast from the car, and said, “Are you hungry? What would this deli have to offer us for the case?”
“It’s not the deli, but who’s working there.” He pulled a photograph of a young man with a dark complexion and short-cropped, black hair. “His name is Abdul Adair, he’s from the United Arab Emirates. He’s studying biology at NYU and works here part-time.”
“What led you to him?”
