Battle?”
“No, Professor Raheem. I think you’re a provocateur.”
“That’s fair.” He turned back to Gold. “So, Detective, who’s setting off the bombs?”
“We’re hoping you might be able to help us find out.”
“I’ve been here all day. Karim got in a little while ago. Nobody can confirm our whereabouts. Does that make us suspects?”
Maybe . “Of course not.”
“But you’d feel more comfortable if you could confirm the stories of a terrorist sympathizer and his Iraqi-born assistant, right?”
Battle was right. Raheem is a provocateur . “Frankly, Professor, you’ve never struck me as somebody who would set off bombs by remote control. You’re a South Chicago kind of guy—you look people right in the eye and tell them exactly what you think.”
“That’s true. If I’m not a suspect, why are you here?”
“We have reason to believe the bombs were set off by somebody with a connection to your former advisee. Do you know anybody who might want to use the Al-Shahid case as an excuse for a misguided attempt to make a point? You know—like Bill Ayers and the Weathermen?”
“Afraid not.”
“Ever heard of an organization called the Islamic Freedom Federation?”
“No.”
“Hassan made a substantial donation to the Chicago Islamic Council. We’ve heard they have terrorist connections.”
“Not true.”
“Would you tell us if it was?”
“As a matter of fact, I would. I’m every bit as American as you are, Detective Gold. I don’t condone terrorism in any form—anywhere, anytime, anyplace.”
“That isn’t exactly what you said in the Times.”
“My words were twisted.”
* * *
The young man looked up from the book he was pretending to read. Battle and Gold had left Albert Pick Hall and driven west on 55th Street.
Where are you going now, Detective Gold?
He would tweak Gold again a little later. In the meantime, he decided to head over to Assistant State’s Attorney Silver’s townhouse at 52nd and University, a few blocks away. She wouldn’t be home until later. He wanted to double-check the habits of her babysitter and, more importantly, her daughter.
Chapter 16
“WE CALL THEM ‘LONE WOLVES’”
Gold was irritable as he and Battle drove south on Lake Shore Drive past the Museum of Science and Industry at eight-thirty on Monday night. The usually busy road was almost empty. They’d rounded up the two members of Al-Shahid’s mosque who hadn’t left for the summer. Both were studious and unfailingly polite. Both had verifiable alibis.
They’d spent a half hour at a useless all-hands meeting convened by the chief at police headquarters. Maloney had provided no substantive information, but he put on a brave front for the press. He insisted that Chicago PD and the FBI were using all available resources to hunt down the “Chicago Al-Qaeda.” He assured everybody that the empty streets simply reflected a cautious response by Chicagoans. Gold and Battle ducked out through a back door to avoid Mojo and the rest of the expanding media mob.
Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated. He pressed Talk and heard Fong’s voice. They had spoken a dozen times over the course of the evening. There were no forced pleasantries.
“Any texts or e-mails?” Fong asked.
“Nothing. Any new information on the source of the last e-mail?”
“Nothing. My people traced it to a router in Bulgaria, but we think it’s a fake.”
“You think there’s an overseas connection?”
“Not as far as we can tell.”
“Anything on Raheem’s research assistant?”
“Karim Fayyad is a grad student from Baghdad. He’s house-sitting for a visiting professor who’s out of town. The prof lives at 54th and Drexel.”
It was a block from Al-Shahid’s mosque and two blocks from the Armory. “What else?” Gold asked.
“His parents were killed by a U.S. bomb. The Army said it was an accident.”
It matched Raheem’s story. “Terrorist connections?”
“Our sources
“No, Professor Raheem. I think you’re a provocateur.”
“That’s fair.” He turned back to Gold. “So, Detective, who’s setting off the bombs?”
“We’re hoping you might be able to help us find out.”
“I’ve been here all day. Karim got in a little while ago. Nobody can confirm our whereabouts. Does that make us suspects?”
Maybe . “Of course not.”
“But you’d feel more comfortable if you could confirm the stories of a terrorist sympathizer and his Iraqi-born assistant, right?”
Battle was right. Raheem is a provocateur . “Frankly, Professor, you’ve never struck me as somebody who would set off bombs by remote control. You’re a South Chicago kind of guy—you look people right in the eye and tell them exactly what you think.”
“That’s true. If I’m not a suspect, why are you here?”
“We have reason to believe the bombs were set off by somebody with a connection to your former advisee. Do you know anybody who might want to use the Al-Shahid case as an excuse for a misguided attempt to make a point? You know—like Bill Ayers and the Weathermen?”
“Afraid not.”
“Ever heard of an organization called the Islamic Freedom Federation?”
“No.”
“Hassan made a substantial donation to the Chicago Islamic Council. We’ve heard they have terrorist connections.”
“Not true.”
“Would you tell us if it was?”
“As a matter of fact, I would. I’m every bit as American as you are, Detective Gold. I don’t condone terrorism in any form—anywhere, anytime, anyplace.”
“That isn’t exactly what you said in the Times.”
“My words were twisted.”
* * *
The young man looked up from the book he was pretending to read. Battle and Gold had left Albert Pick Hall and driven west on 55th Street.
Where are you going now, Detective Gold?
He would tweak Gold again a little later. In the meantime, he decided to head over to Assistant State’s Attorney Silver’s townhouse at 52nd and University, a few blocks away. She wouldn’t be home until later. He wanted to double-check the habits of her babysitter and, more importantly, her daughter.
Chapter 16
“WE CALL THEM ‘LONE WOLVES’”
Gold was irritable as he and Battle drove south on Lake Shore Drive past the Museum of Science and Industry at eight-thirty on Monday night. The usually busy road was almost empty. They’d rounded up the two members of Al-Shahid’s mosque who hadn’t left for the summer. Both were studious and unfailingly polite. Both had verifiable alibis.
They’d spent a half hour at a useless all-hands meeting convened by the chief at police headquarters. Maloney had provided no substantive information, but he put on a brave front for the press. He insisted that Chicago PD and the FBI were using all available resources to hunt down the “Chicago Al-Qaeda.” He assured everybody that the empty streets simply reflected a cautious response by Chicagoans. Gold and Battle ducked out through a back door to avoid Mojo and the rest of the expanding media mob.
Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated. He pressed Talk and heard Fong’s voice. They had spoken a dozen times over the course of the evening. There were no forced pleasantries.
“Any texts or e-mails?” Fong asked.
“Nothing. Any new information on the source of the last e-mail?”
“Nothing. My people traced it to a router in Bulgaria, but we think it’s a fake.”
“You think there’s an overseas connection?”
“Not as far as we can tell.”
“Anything on Raheem’s research assistant?”
“Karim Fayyad is a grad student from Baghdad. He’s house-sitting for a visiting professor who’s out of town. The prof lives at 54th and Drexel.”
It was a block from Al-Shahid’s mosque and two blocks from the Armory. “What else?” Gold asked.
“His parents were killed by a U.S. bomb. The Army said it was an accident.”
It matched Raheem’s story. “Terrorist connections?”
“Our sources
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