Chapter 20

I returned to the interview room and regained my seat. The Nancy I was talking to now was almost an entirely different person than the one I had first talked to. "Okay, Nancy, we're working to find Edward now. We hope to have a custody hearing this evening with a CPS representative and a judge in Detroit. You should have assurances of your son's safety soon after that.

"Now, I need your help. We believe your activities at the hospital are just a small part of something much bigger and darker. If you cooperate, I believe we should be able to get the charges against you reduced to something trivial. Please tell me more about how you got the job at the hospital."

"As I told you, my husband forced me to take the job. I was supposed to be a sleeper and be in place for some kind of operation that was being planned. The operation was to be with some new partner that Adam called 'the eight'. Adam called his group 'Allah's Hand.'

"They never told me about any of this. I overheard it all as I served them beverages and food during their meetings. They acted as if I were just a piece of furniture without the ability to understand. They also, I think, didn't realize how far along I was in my Farsi lessons. The women were teaching me Farsi and only reported if they were unhappy with my progress.

"There are a series of cooperative operations the Hand supports across the country. As an opportunity to hurt their enemies arises, they will take advantage of it by providing resources such as operatives, weapons, explosives and cash from supporters, mostly in Iran, but also in Saudi Arabia and other radical states.

"In return, their organization receives cover and scapegoats. Their surrogates would take credit for any action in which Allah's Hand would participate. That, and blocking any overt operations in Detroit, the Hand expected to keep any serious attention away from them."

"How did they get the weapons and explosives into the United States?" I asked.

She gave me an incredulous look and replied, "Is that a serious question?"

I nodded my head in the affirmative.

"If you don't look Hispanic, America's ports and borders are open doors. You can get anything if you're smart about it. They can ship explosives into the country surrounded by coffee from Columbia, or guns surrounded by toys from China. The Yankee Dollar is a big incentive in either country, and the officials there find it both easier and safer to take the money and turn their heads.

"Most of these people simply walk across the Mexican and Canadian borders. The system here is a variation of the old pre Civil War underground railway. In groups of two or three, they are met by a sympathizer who will take them to an overnight way stop. The next day, another part of the journey will see them in a safe house in Chicago. That is as close to Detroit as the illegal soldiers are allowed.

"These people are distributed across their network as soon as false papers can be supplied from the local forgers. The man I helped get into the hospital today is an illegal. He was to put down two female defectors from the local surrogate group.

They can also bring in warriors or martyrs legally through Canada and Europe as needed. Just bring them in on a visitor's visa, send them on a mission, and then send them home before they can be found by the US authorities. Open societies are magnets to this kind of operation, and there are an unlimited number of desperate people in the Middle East who are willing to commit Red, White and Blue suicide to spend eternity in Paradise."

"They also have some non Middle Eastern assassins on retainers in expected hot spots. The have the ability to kill unimaginable numbers of people, but the only people other than the two defectors that I know of who were targets were you and some gay bar owner.

"You were the first to be targeted. As I understand it, there was a hit on you put out by the local partner group using their own people. They missed on your property, and there were too many people around you at the hospital to follow up on the hit. After you got out of the hospital, they tried again at the Octagon Ranch, but failed again. Allah's Hand has been asked to take care of the problem of you."

"I have a question," I interrupted. "Why did your cohort try to take out Mamtha in the morning?"

"When I reported, last night, that you and your people were going to inspect the Valley of Death and that there was no guard on the girl, we thought that we couldn't find a better time to sneak the killer in to the hospital to take care of business. He would kill the unguarded one, and while I distracted the guard for the other one he would kill the guard and then the woman he was guarding.

"When that Indian broke up the hit I panicked and ran. When you came after me, I just wasn't thinking any more. The only thoughts in my mind were getting my baby back before they turned him into a terrorist too. I could only think about my little boy. I'm sorry I shot at you."

"Well, lucky for you and me that someone shouted a warning before you fired."

"I didn't hear a warning."

"I know you didn't." I picked up my phone and walked out the door with the stare of the puzzled woman almost burning a hole in my back.

Gunny was standing outside the door to the interview room. I asked, "You want to talk to her for a while? Can you try to find out where she thinks the kid is, or do we know already?"

"We think we know where he is, but a little verification would be nice. We may have to raid more than one location simultaneously and we can't depend on the locals for help on something like this. Yeah, I want to talk to her."

I walked to the cell containing the Middle Eastern Man, and sat on the bench outside his cell and smiled at him. I didn't say anything, I just smiled. He looked back at me and frowned. Our eyes tied together as my smile broadened. His expression would go from a frown to a snarl. I kept the smile on my face while our eyes remained locked.

After about thirty minutes, he finally tired of the game and turned his head. I chuckled and left the cell block.

I walked into the office and saw Sal sitting at the desk next to mine. "How's Mamtha?"

"She's doing better than I am. I am a wreck."

"Well, I'm preparing to have a little go at breaking a radical Muslim infiltrator. I just started putting grease, or should I say pig fat in the skillet to cook our would-be killer in order to get his cooperation. I was just going to bring him into Interrogation Room Two and have a little history lesson about how the United States has handled Muslim prisoners in the past."

Our guest was blindfolded (thank you very much Department of Homeland Security for the idea) and guided to room number two. He was shackled to his chair and left alone with the blindfold still in place. I accompanied Sal to the observation room without a word. Charlie was setting up recording equipment for the interview.

"I don't want any recording until I tell you, Charlie. Got it?"

"Whatever you say, Deputy Barton," she replied with a smile.

Sal looked at me as if I had grown horns. Well, I may have been a little horny at that, but I wasn't going to let that get in the way of what I had to do. No sir-ree when I get in a history mode, I was focused. I took a moment to get my frown firmly in place before I entered the room.

I gently opened the door without a sound, entered the room and paused for a twenty count. I suddenly slammed the door. If the man still in hospital scrubs had not been shackled to the chair his jump would have hit the ceiling. As it was, I could have sworn there was a wet spot on his orange prisoner jumpsuit. I paused again to get the shit eating grin off my face and put the professor frown back in place.

I walked to him and gently pulled the blindfold from his head, walked around the table, sat down and placed the blindfold on the table in front of me. I again looked into his now frightened eyes, but I still hadn't said a word.

The contest only lasted a minute this time before he turned his head away. My first words were, "Marilyn, please translate this into Farsi so our good friend and guest understands what is going to happen to him.

"I love the Patriot Act."

He turned back to me with a puzzled look. "Yup, I don't have to worry about lawyers. You don't get one. I don't have to worry about your rights. You ain't got none. In fact I can do anything I want to you. Your ass is mine. Damn, I love that law. It just kind of gets me all misty with joy."

The young man was fighting a valiant, but losing, battle with the panic his untrained mind fought to control. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost ... then I started my history lesson.

"The year of our Lord was 1898. The trouble between Spain and the United States over Cuba that had been brewing since 1896 was set off by the sinking of the USS Maine on February 15, 1898. President McKinley was forced by the American people to declare war on Spain on April 25. (Author's note: the American newspapers were actually what created the bloodlust that forced the President to act. It was called 'Yellow Journalism." Certainly glad news outlets can't get away with that manipulation of public opinion with our modern well educated populace. – Sarcasm mode is now OFF. Back to the story)

"On May 1, of that same year Admiral George Dewey brought an American fleet of eight of the United State's newest warships into the Spanish held Manila Bay. Within six hours, Dewey's eight inch guns had routed the antiquated Spanish Pacific fleet under Admiral Patricio Montojo y Pasaron and silenced all shore batteries at Manila. The American fleet laid siege to Manila at the same time Philippine rebels did. The Spanish forced surrendered to the Americans, and subsequently Spain ceded the Philippines to the United States through the Treaty of Paris later in the year of 1898.

"On February 4, 1899, fighting broke out between American and Philippine forces. This fight lasted for almost three years. Two things broke the back of the Filipino fighters. First was the capture of General Emilio Aguinaldo, their leader, by Fredrick Funston in 1901.

"The second was a lesson learned by the commander of American Military ground forces in the Philippines, General Arthur MacArthur. Arthur MacArthur is remembered for two things. First, he was the father to one of our greatest modern Generals, Douglas MacArthur. The other, is that he learned how to treat Muslims who didn't want to be our friends.