Chapter 513

The first big break came the next morning in stopped traffic. Apparently the terrorists were going to try to do a cycle biker bombing every day. Only on this morning, the biker ran into a redneck.

Daryl Ragberry met the classic country definition of a redneck. Big dirty diesel pickup truck that had a frame lift kit installed for big knobby tires that one could hear coming a mile away that stuck out past the pickup body. The exhaust had been modified with two big chrome stacks sticking up behind the cab. There was a gun rack in the back window with NRA and Love it or Leave decals on the window.

He was a big country redneck with an attitude and a patriot who apparently listened to the news as he was passing through. He heard the dirt bike coming and saw it in the mirror. He watched the biker place the package and then race in his direction between the rows of stopped cars to make his escape.

When the biker was just feet away and too close to take evasive action, Daryl opened the driver’s door into his path. The bike stopped four cars past, jammed under a minivan.

The biker was on the blacktop under the opened door trying to get up when Daryl slid off the seat and landed with both feet on him. From there it was downhill for the biker and he was no match for a six foot four 250 pound pissed off redneck who began beating the crap out of him with both big fists.

When the cops finally got there the biker’s hands and feet were restrained with barbed wire.

“That’s all I had and was good enough for him,” Daryl replied when asked why the barbed wire. There were six new rolls - one of them minus several feet - in the back of the truck.

We had a dirt bike but witnesses’ reports indicated it was a different one than either of yesterdays attacks; not good news. That meant there were at least three in the group.

There was a debate while the terrorist was being taken to the hospital to be checked out as to which police department was going to charge him; Metro police, Transportation Authority or Maryland State police.

It was an argument that I ended by sending four DHS and four FBI agents assigned to the Task Force to meet the ambulance at Mercy Hospital with strict orders that no one other than the doctor was to be allowed to talk to or see the terrorist.

To complicate any attempts for anyone trying to see him, I instructed that he be admitted by one of the Gitmo prisoner ID’s I had. I sent the eight agents an order that he was to have NO visitors without my approval and there was an information blackout. Tamim Bashara became prisoner 20172.

I finally had time to look at the breakout of the numbers from the two I-phones that Robert had unlocked last night.

There was a copy of the printouts, the new pass-codes and the phones I handed to the FBI agent across the table to be tagged for evidence.

A quick look and search of the numbers quickly told me how the Iranian and Egyptian embassy knew so quickly. Both their numbers were in the contact list on Balthazar’s phone and the last number called was the Egyptian Embassy. There were several calls to the satellite phones we thought belonged to the Prince.

There were several calls that originated within Iran by the country ID. With the evidence in the call logs, it left no doubt there was collusion between the Iran and the Prince and the continuing terror in the US. The question was, where did Balthazar fit into the plan? A couple more days in an orange jump suit in the tropical sun and a convenient meeting with the doc and I would know.

The agents at the hospital took possession of Tamim’s clothes and another phone; this one was a burn phone with only Balthazar’s number in it. The contents of the pockets was a different story.

Tamim had his mail in his pocket, complete with apartment address. The apartment search proved to be a bonanza.

The agents assigned to the task force finally were getting the idea of the way we wanted things done. Moments after finding the evidence we had cell phone pictures of it to look at and analyze.