Amid the Shadows (8 page)

After a few moments, a
reply appeared on the screen.
 

System is called nadcsub01.
 
That’s all the help I can give you.
 
Am now deleting these messages.

Ramirez smiled.
 
That was more than he needed.
 
He immediately went to work trying to resolve
and find the server in their giant network.
 
Once he had it, he closely examined the server and discovered existing
security vulnerabilities in the operating system that had not been
patched.
 
He was not surprised. Few if
any companies kept their network systems perfectly up to date.
 
When a computer team is responsible for
maintaining and troubleshooting those servers, the common mantra was “If it’s
not broken, don’t fix it”.
 
As a result,
almost every system server had patches that were waiting to be applied until
the computer team was sure the upgrade would resolve their issue without
creating technical problems at the same time.

Where Ramirez was
really lucky was in the particular vulnerabilities this server had.
 
There was a little known cheat to gain
control of the operating system by using a command to fool the machine, making
it believe Ramirez was the authorized administrator, and then resetting the
password for him.
 
It was an old
vulnerability and an old hack which made him wonder how many other servers had
been neglected.

Once he was in, it took
less than thirty minutes to find the old user account for Kelvin Lu, reactivate
it, and then reset the password to something that Ramirez could actually use to
log in.
 
Finally, the last step was
finding the right record he was looking for.
 
When he did, he opened it up in the system and looked at the attachment.
 
It was a letter from the State Department,
and it was signed by the person who had ordered the search for the Baxter
woman.
 
Ramirez picked up his phone.
 
Griffin and Buckley were going to owe him
big
for this.

Zahn’s time was up; he
had to catch his plane.
 
He stood up and
straightened his jacket.
 
“I’m sorry
detectives.
 
I simply do not have time
for this as I must leave.
 
Rest assured,
I will submit an inquiry on the matter and see if we can get an answer for
you.”

At that moment
Griffin’s cell phone chirped loudly.
 
He
reached into his pocket and pulled it out, looking at the text message that was
sent to him.
 
It was from Ramirez.

The person who signed the request for
Baxter’s searches was the Deputy Secretary.
 
His name is William Zahn.

Griffin stared at the
text message, not believing what he had just read.
 
He realized his eyes had opened wide, and he
tried to quickly regain his composure.
 
He turned to Buckley and showed him the message.
 
Buckley had a similar reaction.

In front of them stood
Zahn, standing behind his desk and watching.
 
He was watching them closely, observing the sudden change in their
positions and ease.
 

Zahn looked up at
Sarat, then slowly back down to Griffin and Buckley who were still seated.
 
He calmly reached over to his desk phone and
pushed a button.
 
A female voice answered
immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Zahn?”

Zahn spoke, never
taking his eyes off Griffin and Buckley.
 
“Dorri, hold my plane.”

“Yes sir,” she
answered.

Zahn ended the call and
stood up straight.
 
He continued looking
at the detectives until a smirk appeared.
 
His aide, Sarat, moved back a few steps as Zahn came around to the front
of his desk.
 
He stopped and sat on the
edge between the two detectives, just a few feet away.

“You may not know this,
but my aide, Mr. Sarat, is one of our top liaisons for our middle eastern
allies.
 
He’s also one of many experts on
the countries that are not so friendly to us.
 
Iran for example.
 
He even knows
some extremists personally, though most of us western nations call them
terrorists.”
 
He glanced at the
ceiling.
 
“It is, of course, a little
more complicated than that.”
 
He looked
back at the men.
 
“But one thing they
have in common, the one thing that seems to run through all Persian blood, is
they can be extremely ruthless.”

Both Griffin and
Buckley looked at him with confusion.
 
Zahn raised his eyebrows and motioned for them to look at Sarat.
 
Both detectives turned around to find Sarat
standing six feet behind them, pointing a gun at Griffin’s head.

Both men jumped in their
seats.
 
“Jesus Christ!”
 
Griffin said.
 
“What the hell are you doing?!”

“I wouldn’t do that,”
cautioned Zahn, as Buckley’s hand instinctively moved around his hip.

Buckley withdrew his
hand.

“Mike Buckley,”
continued Zahn.
 
“Born on April 3
^rd
,
1978, in the Bronx to a plumber and teacher.
 
Graduated high school with a B average in ’96 and applied for the New
York Police Department two years later.
 
Now divorced with a young eight-year-old daughter.
 
Tell me Mr. Buckley, how is your daughter
enjoying the second grade at Kennedy Elementary?”

Buckley looked at him
with eyes wide, completely stunned.
 
He
slowly turned and looked at Griffin with a mix of shock and fear.

Griffin was already
watching Zahn.
 
“You can’t be this
stupid.
 
We’re police officers!”

Zahn frowned.
 
“And only marginal at best as I understand
it.”

Griffin’s mind was
racing.
 
He was trying desperately to
keep his wits and think, but panic was quickly overwhelming him.

“Do you have any idea
how much trouble you’re about to get into?”
 
he tried reasoning.
 
“Look, I
think we have a major misunderstanding here.”
 
He turned slightly to see if Sarat was still in the same position.
 
He was. “Just put down the gun and let’s
figure out what happened!”

Buckley nodded
desperately in agreement.

Zahn looked at
Sarat.
 
“The detective feels we have a
misunderstanding Kia.”

“Listen to me!” Griffin
said.
 
“Don’t take this any further.
 
Look, we can work this out!
 
If we don’t, things are going to escalate and
then it will be out of our hands.
 
Christ, our people know where we are!”

Zahn looked
amused.
 
He reached for the phone again
and pushed the same button.
 
“Dorri, get
me the New York Police Department, 19
^th
Precinct.”

“Yes, sir,” she
replied.

Zahn raised his fingers
to his lips instructing the detectives to remain silent.
 
As an extra incentive, Sarat took a step
forward and lined his gun’s sights with Griffin’s right ear.

Zahn’s secretary
transferred the call and it began ringing.

After four rings, a
voice announced, “Police department, 19
^th
.
 
Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Zahn said
calmly.
 
“I’m calling from the State
Department in Washington D.C.
 
I had two
detectives, a Mr. Griffin and Mr. Buckley scheduled for 11 a.m.
 
It looks like they are no shows.
 
I’m afraid they will have to call back and
schedule another appointment.”

Griffin’s eyes widened.

“Uh, okay,” replied the
loud voice on the other end.
 
“I’ll let
the Lieutenant know.”

Zahn calmly returned
the phone to its receiver and hung up.
 
He looked at Griffin.
 
“You were
saying?”

Griffin still could not
understand what was happening, but he could feel his heart about ready to jump
out of his chest.
 
“What the hell are you
doing?
 
What do you want?!
 
We’re just working a goddamn case here!”

Zahn watched him
silently for almost a full minute.
 
He
was enjoying the look on their faces.
 
“How did she do it?” he asked simply.

Griffin shook his
head.
 
“What?”

Zahn sighed.
 
“Don’t test me Mr. Griffin.
 
I want to know,
how did she do it
?”

Griffin quickly looked
at Buckley who was as confused as he was.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
How
did who do what?”

Zahn stared at
him.
 
Finally, he sighed again.
 
“I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to
this.”

“Wait, wait!” Griffin
blurted.
 
“Don’t…do anything crazy.
 
Just tell us who you’re talking about.
 
We’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Zahn watched him
carefully, trying to decide if he was being sincere.
 
He finally replied.
 
“The girl,” he said, “Baxter’s daughter.”

If the detectives
looked confused before, they looked completely baffled now.
 
“What?”

“The girl!” Zahn said,
raising his voice.
 
“Sarah Baxter!”

Griffin began shaking
his head.
 
Sarah?
 
How did he know about Sarah?
 
What in the hell did she have to do with
this?
 
“I-I don’t understand-”

Zahn lunged
forward.
 
“She
saw
me!
 
How did she do it?
 
Did someone tell her?”

“What do you mean, ‘she
saw you’? I don’t-”
 
Griffin still could
not comprehend what Zahn was saying.

Zahn was watching him,
waiting for an answer.
 

Griffin and Buckley
looked at each other again.
 
Neither of
them were following any of it.

“At the cathedral…she
saw me, didn’t she?
 
Was it the mother?”

Griffin shook his head
again.
 
“What cathedral?
 
When?”

“Saint Patrick’s,” Zahn
said.
 
“She spotted me.
 
When no one else did.
 
Someone must have told her!”

In that moment, it
began to dawn on Griffin.
 
Saint
Patrick’s Cathedral was the one that was blown up.
 
Was Zahn there?
 
Was Sarah?
 
“You were there?” Griffin asked.

Zahn leaned back with a
look of disappointment.
 
Neither one of
them knew.
 
He looked at Sarat who had
not moved an inch.
 
“Hmm…,” he said,
thinking.
 
“Well, I suppose if you don’t
know, then there’s really only one thing you can tell me.
 
Where is she now
?”

Now Griffin’s
expression changed from fear to terror.
 
He
wanted to know where Christine and Sarah were.
 
He could see Christine’s face in his mind.
 
He had to warn her.

Zahn watched Griffin
and then turned to Buckley.
 
“You know, I
don’t think he’s going to tell me.
 
But I
think
you
will.”

Buckley slowly shook
his head.

Zahn smiled.
 
“Ah, don’t play hero, it doesn’t fit
you.
 
You see, Mr. Griffin is single,
never married.
 
But my dear Michael, you
are a father.”

Buckley immediately
stopped his head, nervous.
 
At that
moment he could feel the tip of Sarat’s gun touch the back of his head.

“Yes,” Zahn
continued.
 
“You love your daughter don’t
you?
 
Of course you do.
 
Daddy’s little girl.”
 
He crossed his arms.
 
“So…Michael Buckley, father to Amanda
Buckley, do you want your little girl to grow up without a father?
 
Or would you rather she not grow up at all?”

Buckley didn’t
reply.
 
He didn’t say anything.
 
Instead he just sat there and stared at Zahn,
as tears began to well up in his eyes.

18

The New York City
Public Library was the largest public library system in the United States,
founded over a hundred years earlier in 1895.
 
It hosted over 51 million items, all contained within 58 different
locations throughout the city.
 
Some of
the system’s
historical treasures included Columbus’s 1493 letter
announcing his discovery of the New World, George Washington’s original
Farewell Address, and John Coltrane’s handwritten score of “Lover Man.”

Cheryl Roberts ran up
the four short steps of the Yorkville branch, barely a dozen blocks from the 19
^th
Precinct station.
 
She swung open one of
the heavy doors and quickly ducked inside.
 
She walked briskly, but quietly, through the library’s
Palladian-inspired décor, looking around the lower level for the person she was
supposed to have met there twenty minutes ago.

There were dozens of
people in the lower level, silently reading or browsing through books and
magazines.
 
Near the back, she spotted
the person she was looking for and hurried over.

Wilcox was sitting at a
long table with a few books spread out before him.

She bent down and
surprised him with a hug from behind.
 
“Sorry I’m late, Chaplain.”
 

“Ah, that’s alright
there lassie,” he said with a smile.
 
“I
was just doing some reading.”

Roberts circled to the
other side and sat down, then dropped her purse on the table and scooted her
chair in.

Wilcox grinned.
 
“So what is it you wanted to meet and talk
about?”

She took a deep breath
and looked around.
 
“I wanted to talk to
you more about what we were discussing last night.
 
About Saint Patrick’s.”

“Ah,” Wilcox said
leaning back in his chair.
 
“Well
remember, that’s just a theory.
 
The ramblings
of an old man really.”

Roberts smiled,
acknowledging the comment as his standard
clause
for what came next,
being “just his opinion”.
 
She cleared
her voice.
 
“You said you thought this
may not be a terrorist attack, which is the story all the news channels seem to
be trumpeting.”

The chaplain made an
innocent gesture.
 
“I have my
doubts.
 
Primarily for the reasons I
explained last night.”

“Right,” she said with
a small nod.
 
“You said terrorist attacks
target the highest number of people, but the attack on Saint Patrick’s was the
opposite.”

“More or less,”
acknowledged the Chaplin.
 
“Terrorism is
about damage, or retribution.
 
The
terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centers in 2001 is an example.
 
A truly horrifying event, but the attack was
largely in retribution over a long standing level of oppression and control
over their sovereignty, as a country and as a people.
 
In essence, we had military bases and a
presence that were allowing us to take their oil, which was pretty much their
only natural resource of any value.
 
The
point is, the attacks targeted a very large number of people for a very
dramatic result.
 
Something that would
truly scare, or terrorize, their enemy.
 
Of course, the reason they used airplanes was because they did not have
any weapons that could come close to the arsenal the United States had.
 
Therefore, they made do with what they
could.
 
The bombing of the USS Cole is
another example,” the chaplain went on, “They wanted to achieve the most visual
and emotional damage possible.
 
They
wanted to make a statement.”

“And what statement was
that?” Roberts asked.
 

The chaplain
shrugged,
 
“Leave us alone.”

“I thought they hated
our freedom?”

The chaplain almost
laughed.
 
“Please.
 
I am not a believer in the Muslim faith, but
the literal words of the Qur’an share many values and principles with our
Bible.
 
And while many see the Arabs as
being backwards, which they’re not, they are certainly not stupid.
 
In other words, they don’t travel halfway
around the planet to attack a way of life that doesn’t affect them.
 
They don’t do that unless, of course, it
does
affect them.
 
Which means, unless we are
doing something to them.”

“Like stealing their
oil,” Roberts answered.

“Correct.”

“So you’re saying they
had no reason to attack Saint Patrick’s.”

The chaplain
sighed.
 
“I’m saying, that if they were
making a statement, it’s pretty unclear what that is.
 
And if they really were trying to achieve the
most damage, to gain the most attention and sympathy to their plight, why
wouldn’t they wait another twenty-four hours, when they could hurt or kill
three times as many innocent people?”

“And this is why you
think the target may have been the church itself?”

“It might make more
sense, but only on the surface.”
 
He
turned one of the books around which showed an older, full-sized picture of
Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. “Why travel all this way to destroy a church?
 
If they wanted to destroy a big church, there
are dozens,
hundreds
, of other candidates that are much bigger and much
closer.
 
And it would be far easier than
here in the United States.
 
Why this
one?” he asked rhetorically.
 
“Saint
Patrick’s holds no historical or religious significance above the others.
 
The only real significance is that Saint
Patrick’s is the seat for the archbishop of New York, but a lot of churches
serve as seats for archbishops.”

Roberts looked at the
picture in the book.
 
She turned the page
and then another and another.
 
Page after
page showed pictures of other giant churches and cathedrals around the world.
 
“Maybe they were after the archbishop.”

The chaplain shook his
head.
 
“He hasn’t been there for weeks.”

Roberts sat silently,
considering what the chaplain had said.
 
He was right, the terrorist angle did not make much sense.
 
Without a motive like self-preservation or
revenge, it simply did not fit with an extremist mindset.

Roberts had a
thought.
 
“What if this is not the
end?
 
What if more are coming?”

“So instead of
attacking the cathedral, the attack may be one in a string against the
establishment?”

“Possible?”
 
Roberts asked.

He continued thinking
it over.
 
“That’s a frightening
thought.
 
It’s a little too reminiscent
of the crusades.”

“The Crusades?” asked
Roberts.
 
“You mean
The Crusades?”

Wilcox nodded.
 
“Yes, the two hundred year war between the
Muslims and Christians with their ultimate goal of retaking Palestine.”

“My god,” Roberts
whispered.
 
“You don’t think this could
be the start of something…like that.”

“It’s possible,” the
chaplain replied.
 
“But if it is, it
could be far worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“The battle between the
Turks and the Franks, as they were known, was gruesome and unrelenting.
 
But it was largely between Europe and the
Middle East.”
 
He took a breath.
 
“Today the Christian and Islam faiths are
much, much bigger and they span the entire globe.
 
They are now the two largest religions in the
world.
 
The warring that surrounded The
Crusades was, for the most part, geographically localized.
 
Today it would be global.”

“So,” Roberts said, “I
guess we hope that this attack is not part of something larger.”

“Not hope,
pray
,”
he replied.

“And we still don’t
know who did this, or why?”

“Correct.”

Roberts fell against
the back of her chair and thought to herself.
 
Nor do we know what this has to do with a six-year-old girl.