The Terrorist Next Door by Sheldon Siegel Page B

out of the viaduct, where he took a moment to clear his lungs. Nine body bags were laid out side-by-side on the pavement out of sight of the helicopters hovering above the station. Exhausted firefighters in soot-covered gear emerged one by one from the underpass. The station had been reduced to smoldering rubble. Onlookers stood in small groups outside the yellow tape. Some had cell phones pressed to their ears. Others stood in stark silence.
    At six o’clock, a somber Chief Maloney summoned Gold and Battle to a briefing inside the fire department’s mobile command center. He’d learned his lesson at the museum. He wanted to assess the damage and rehearse his lines before he spoke to the media in the McDonald’s parking lot across Lake Park Avenue.
    Maloney deferred to Commander Rowan. The bomb jockey was having the busiest day of his career. “We’ll need dental records to ID some of the victims,” he said. “Seventeen injured, six seriously. Structural damage is still being determined. We’re shutting down all Metra lines until further notice.” Rowan said the bomb was similar to the others, except the detonator was a conventional cell instead of a throwaway. “It was planted in a newspaper box outside the station. No information on the initiating phone. Special Agent Fong is working on it, and we hope to have an ID on both phones shortly. The explosive was regular gasoline in a package small enough to fit inside the news box. It may have been in a tote bag or a backpack. It blasted into the station and went up the stairs to the platform. Shows how much damage you can do in a confined space with rudimentary explosives and a little ingenuity.”
    Battle asked about surveillance cameras.
    “One fixed camera pointed at the ticket booth, and two more on the platform. Nothing outside the station. The cameras were damaged, so we may not get much video. The bomb could have been planted by somebody who didn’t pass through the turnstile. Hundreds of people go through this station every day. We’re looking for witnesses, but the chances are slim. Our best bet would have been the security guard or the ticket taker, but they were killed.”
    Gold could think of another possibility. He excused himself, stepped outside, and punched in Robinson’s cell number. “You still in front of Al-Shahid’s building?”
    “Yes.” Robinson confirmed that Muneer was still inside his brother’s condo.
    “He passed through the 53rd Street Metra station twice today, didn’t he?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did he have anything with him when he went downtown? A briefcase or a backpack?”
    “A briefcase. He still had it with him when he got home.”
    “Any chance he planted a bomb in a newspaper box in front of the station?”
    “No.”
    Somebody was going to a lot of trouble to make it appear that he was involved. Gold hit Disconnect, then he punched in Fong’s number. “You got an ID on the detonator at the Metra station?”
    “A Droid serviced by U.S. Cellular belonging to a maintenance worker at the museum. I just talked to him. He didn’t notice it was gone until the bomb went off at the museum. U.S. Cell didn’t shut it down because he didn’t report it as missing.”
    “Can anybody vouch for his whereabouts today?”
    “His supervisor confirmed that he clocked in at eight a.m. He doesn’t know when the phone was stolen. We’re having him retrace his steps.”
    “What about the phone that initiated the call to the detonator?”
    “A land line in the office at the Washington Park Armory. My people are already there. No witnesses. No fingerprints.”
    “Thanks, George.” Gold pressed Disconnect and turned to Battle. “We need to talk to Al-Shahid’s imam. The call was initiated from the armory across the street from Al-Shahid’s mosque.”
     
     
     

 
    Chapter 14
    “THE HASSAN I KNOW IS A PEACEFUL MAN”
     
    Gold’s BlackBerry was pressed against his right ear as he and Battle barreled west on 53rd. The only