The cleric walked to the rack of prayer mats and placed his own neatly in a cubbyhole. “You are forbidden in our prayer room.” Fawaz showed no sign of being overwhelmed by the strangers. “You enter our sacred room without permission, you do not respect our religion. You have not even taken off your shoes. You must leave our place of worship. Go now.” His hand shot out towards the men as he pointed towards the door.
Gibbons had seen the birthmark on the left side of the man’s neck. It was all the identification he required.“I don’t think so. Abdul Baari Fawaz, I’m placing you under arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“Not complying with a request when asked.”
The NYPD officer handcuffed the protesting cleric, before marching him barefoot down the stairs. The two men outside had no alternative but to watch as their religious leader was bundled into the back of the waiting van and driven off for questioning.
Chapter Nine
The Ford Transit van entered the basement car park with the suspect in custody. The cleric, barefoot and hands handcuffed behind his back, was guided to a lift. Accompanied by Lilburn and Gibbons, he was taken to the eleventh floor, where he was left alone in an interrogation room.
Lilburn and Gibbons stared at their captive from behind the one-way glass in the adjoining room.
“You know,’ said Gibbons, “we haven’t read him his rights yet or done a formal process.”
“I know and for the time being that suits me fine. I want to see what he has to say first. The last thing we need is for him to get some smartass lawyer holding things up.”
“You haven’t told me why Homeland wants to question him?”
“No, I haven’t. Afraid it will have to stay that way, at least for a while. How long can you hold him?”
“Twenty-four hours. But unless Homeland will be taking the rap for unconstitutional arrest, I don’t know how my bosses will feel if Fawaz starts demanding a lawyer.”
“Give me ten minutes with him. If I can’t get anything I want out of him in that time, I doubt if I’ll get anything later. While I’m in there with him, I would appreciate it if no one was in this room or any recordings taken.”
Gibbons looked at Lilburn. “I can do that, but it must be for something really important for you guys to be interested in him. Homeland Security, Muslims… why don’t you arrest him under an enemy combatant status, then you could hold him indefinitely?”
Lilburn could see the direction the inspector was heading and he had to admit Gibbons was putting one and one together rather well.
“Ten minutes.” Lilburn opened the door of the observation room to the foyer and waited for Gibbons to follow before he shut the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and entered the interrogation room.
The room was compact and practically empty, with just a desk and three chairs — designed to take anyone unfortunate enough to be interviewed out of their comfort zone. The chair was intentionally uncomfortable and the large one-way mirror, not only a tool for observers, was intended to raise the suspect’s anxiety.
Abdul Baari Fawaz wasn’t one to be coerced by a room; nor for that matter, by a mere interrogator. Lilburn didn’t rate his chances, as he sat in a more comfortable chair on the other side of the table.
Lilburn sat silent and stared at the cleric, who stared back. After a few moments Lilburn asked Fawaz if he would like his handcuffs removed; there was no response.
“I’ll decide for you, then.” Lilburn rose from the chair, opened the door and called an officer to remove the cuffs. With the handcuffs removed and the officer gone, Lilburn sat down again. More silence.
“You are a cleric in your mosque, right? The Imam, the person who leads prayers.” Lilburn hadn’t yet managed to get a response. “I’ve seen death, up close, Imam Fawaz, real death, the hard cold facts of life. Have you ever seen a mother carrying her dead child in her arms? Doesn’t matter if she cries out to God or Allah — they all cry for the same help, don’t they? You ever seen a soldier with his guts hanging out clawing the ground in agony screaming for help… same Creator, same God, same Allah. Don’t we have enough destruction already on this earth, Imam Fawaz?”
Fawaz shifted slightly in his hard chair. He hadn’t taken his eyes off his interrogator throughout the one-way conversation. He rubbed his wrists where the steel handcuffs had pressed against his flesh. Lilburn saw the movement; he hoped Fawaz would in some way connect with what he said and see the man before him as someone he could relate to, someone to trust, perhaps a kindred spirit. It was interrogating 101.
“You have a choice, an individual choice to stop this right now… if you want to. Do you want to make that choice, Imam?” As he spoke, Lilburn studied the man in front of him. The dark eyes and stony unrelenting glare revealed a man whose faith would never waiver; it would remain unchanged until his dying day. Neither Matt Lilburn, nor anyone else, would be able to even chip the outer layer.
He was fast running out of time and needed to take another tack. “You know why you were brought in here. We’ve uncovered your little scheme and once this is over, you’ll be put away for a very long time.” Lilburn stood up. As far as he was concerned there was no more to be gained. “And just in case you think I’m bluffing, I’ll leave you with one word.”
Despite himself, the Imam looked up at Lilburn.
“Syria.”
Lilburn left the room, but not before watching the beginning of a smile appear briefly on the Imam’s face.
Gibbons was waiting outside the interrogation room.
“Did you get what you were after?”
“Nothing, as I expected. Fawaz didn’t utter a word. Keep him as long as you can, then I’ll need you to put surveillance on him when he’s released and have his phones tapped.”
“We need the necessary authority to tap the phones… and I still don’t know what information we’re looking for.”
“I’ll see you have the authority. Look for anything to do with a breach in national security. You’ll know if you come across it. What I can say is anything to do with Syria will start alarm bells ringing.”
The phone operator at Homeland Security transferred Lilburn’s call through to Director Hall.
“How did you go?”
“No luck, sir. We pulled in the cleric but he won’t answer any questions and certainly hasn’t volunteered anything.”
Unsurprised, Director Hall gave Lilburn instructions to stay in New York and return in the morning. “Nothing for you to do up here. Dr. Crawston is working out a strategy in conjunction with the Disease Control Center on how to deal with an outbreak, if and when it occurs. I’ve sent out a heads-up nationwide to all enforcement agencies and postal services to report any activity to do with Syria. Best guess at the moment is the virus arrives in the post, possibly New York but that’s not certain by a long shot. Be back here tomorrow morning.” There was a click on Lilburn’s mobile as Hall bluntly ended the call.
“All right, all right, you rabble, settle down, it ain’t over until I say so. The lieutenant wants to say something. Boss.”
“Thank you, sergeant. This has come in from Homeland Security — while you’re out on the street, be specially diligent about any reference to Syria. Mail from the place, anything like that. And for you bozos who don’t already know it, Syria is a country.
An officer not known for his wits spoke up. “Which state, sir?”
“Button it, pinhead,” the sergeant broke in. “You don’t know where Syria is, go look up a map.”
“Thank you, sergeant, anyone else here want to interrupt me? No? Now Homeland has sent this out as a top priority. You all know as well as me when Homeland starts sending us stuff,” the lieutenant waved around a piece of paper in the air, “we know something is serious. Now for your information, yesterday a squad picked up a Muslim preacher from our precinct and took him back to have a word with him. One of the Homeland boys from Albany tagged along. I don’t know much more than that but let me say it again, anything at all regarding Syria then let me or the sergeant know. Just don’t forget what happened with the Twin Towers. No questions? Then carry on.”