Trojan Horses: a Story of Homegrown Terrorism

By Sheldon Cohen

Ben Marzan
Searching for meaning in his life, Marzan studies with the Imam and converts to a radical sect of Islam. Hes the perfect candidate for a homegrown terroristAmerican born, assimilated, and eager to embrace Jihad.

Anatoly Shenko
A disaffected Russian scientist working in Siberia, Shenko is one of the worlds top experts on biological warfare. But his wife and son are in ill health, and hes in desperate need of money.

Abdul Saidadov
A former Chechen rebel, Saididov aligns himself with terrorists in hopes of spreading the message of Allah throughout the world.

Marzan, Shenko, and Saidadov, along with other conspirators and the terrorist hierarchy, are part of a terrorist plot to smuggle weapons of mass destruction into the United States. To keep America off balance, they are prepared to sow chaos in Chicago. Anthrax and smallpox are successfully disseminated throughout the city, and as Chicagoans die in ever-increasing numbers, the city soon learns that a nuclear bomb is next.

Will a young Chicago emergency room physician, a team of FBI agents, and a Chicago police detective be able to abort the coming attack?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504913133

Book preview

TROJAN

HORSES

A Story of Homegrown Terrorism

Sheldon Cohen

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© 2015 Sheldon Cohen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  05/21/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1312-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1313-3 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1 Madison, Wisconsin

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Russia

Chapter 7 Chechnya

Chapter 8 Pakistan

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 Chicago

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 Chicago

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Appendix 1

Appendix 2

Appendix 3 Nuclear Energy

Author Biography

Dedication

I dedicate this book to

Betty,

Gail, Paul, Marci,

Amanda, Shane, Megan, Travis,

Carly, Alexa, Ethan, Emily,

Derek, Rylie, Benjamin.

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CHAPTER 1

MADISON, WISCONSIN

Ben Marzan:

As Ben Marzan, deep in thought, walked down his high school corridor, he bumped into a fellow student. His large brown eyes stared for one second, and without a word or change of expression, rage replaced the differential equations of his thoughts. At five feet nine inches and weighing 172 pounds, he lashed out and struck the student’s right cheek with a powerful closed open hand. His much taller and heavier opponent reeled back for a second, regained his composure, and with eyes burning fire grabbed Ben’s ponytail, threw him to the floor and landed on top of him with two clenched fists being brought into position ready to strike. However, before he could wreak his intended havoc, Ben wrapped both of his legs around his opponent’s waist and thrust him to the side with a leg strength that brought a look of amazement to the group of students that had quickly assembled. He then grabbed his opponent’s right arm and twisted it until he cried for mercy. It took three other male students pulling them apart to save the hapless victim from at least a possible dislocated shoulder. Two teachers, attracted by the noise, grabbed Ben by both arms and accompanied him to the principal’s office. He went without resistance—a defiant expression on his face.

When the principal saw him, he sighed, shrugged his shoulders and said, It’s you, Ben? What a surprise. Have a seat. Both teachers explained to the principal what they had witnessed. Ben sat, head down staring at his palms.

The principal watched Ben for a moment, then turned to his surly visitor and said, Do you want to tell me what happened, Ben?

Ben’s bulging eyes stared at the principal for five seconds before he answered in a slow and deliberate monotone, He bumped into me. I responded. Simple as that.

He bumped into you or you bumped into him? Could you tell? Could it have been an accident on his part if he did the bumping? If you did the bumping, why would you lash out at him? This type of behavior has to stop before you do something that will ruin your life. You’ve got to learn to take a second to think before you act."

There was no answer from Ben. The principal interpreted a bored look on Ben’s face. It’s okay for you to go, gentlemen, I want to speak with our friend alone.

There’s nothing to talk about, said Ben without making eye contact.

There is if I say there is, said the principal in a firm voice. We’ve got a lot to talk about. Ben turned his gaze toward the principle. His face was a stony mask.

I know all about you, Ben. You’re a fine student according to your record. You get nothing but A’s on your tests, but how do you expect that to reflect on your grades when you never hand in homework or do assignments. We have strict rules here at Madison West. Homework assignments go toward your final grade just like quizzes and tests. You’re lucky your teachers are lenient with you. They’d have every justification to flunk you. Your attendance is about as bad as any student we’ve ever had. Why is that?

Without a change of expression and with a low monotone, Ben said, It’s a waste of time.

Why did I figure you’d say something like that? Even though you’re bored, at least make a pretence of listening. You’ll always find yourself in difficulty at work or at school if you show your boredom like that. That kind of attitude sends a message of disrespect, and that will hinder your progress. Don’t squander what could be great potential. I have seen three students in the last twenty-five years get a perfect SAT score and you’re one of them. You’ve got to learn to control your emotions before it’s too late.

I have to go now, said Ben opening and closing both hands and moving his upper body in a coordinated rhythmic manner. The sudden disruption in his daily after-school ritual put him in an agitated state that the principal recognized in spite of Ben’s mask-like facial expression.

Calm down. It’s over. Why are you so agitated?

I’m late. I got someplace to go.

Where are you going in such a hurry, may I ask?

To the gym.

Recognizing the calm before a potential storm, the principal said, Okay, you’re free to go, but we’re not finished with this yet. I’ll be calling your parents. If there is any repetition of this kind of behavior, you’re in serious trouble. Do you understand?

There was no response from Ben as he turned around and walked out of the office leaving the principal staring at his back.

Head down, deeply in thought, Ben Marzan walked to his high school locker to pick up his gym bag. He would spend an hour after school working with weights at the nearby health club, something he had been doing ever since his freshman year almost four years ago. It had become a ritual, and missing this hour would only happen, as he liked to say, ‘in a dire emergency.’

The health club was a ten-minute walk from Madison West High School in Madison, Wisconsin, and he viewed the walk as a warm-up enabling him to get immediately to the heavy weights. When he arrived, he promptly went into his weight-lifting regimen. The last ten minutes of this exercise time was spent winding down with a half mile speed run.

Even when Ben was lifting weights, math far beyond the high school level was on his mind, and there was no one in school that he could confer with so he conferred with himself. The majority of time his thoughts were on the latest math problem that he was attempting to solve. It was as if his brain was equipped with a piece of chalk that could write the complex mathematical symbols on a blackboard in easy view of his mind that could view and erase and change numbers and symbols as necessary.

During math tests, Ben did so little written work on the test paper that his teachers would accuse him of cheating. They didn’t believe that he could do all the mathematical steps in his mind and come up with the correct answer until he demonstrated his ability by having them give him a problem that he would work in the teacher’s presence. He would stare at the problem for a moment, chalk in a few barely discernable notes, stare some more, write an equal sign and then the answer. All his mathematics teachers throughout his four years came to grips with this exceptional talent and let him do his own thing. They even accepted the fact that he rarely handed in homework. He had proven that whatever he was doing to learn math, it was more than enough. His teachers knew that mathematics like any other of life’s endeavors took practice. It was one thing to learn a technique, but another to understand and be able to work the problems each of which had different twists—and that is why it was necessary to practice in order to learn the various paths to a solution. One of his teachers likened Ben to Ramanujan, an Indian mathematician who made significant contributions to number theory, continued fractions and mathematical analysis in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, and was too intimidated to accept Ben as a pupil, suggesting he teach himself rather than, Waste my time. He should be the one teaching me.

CHAPTER 2

Hari and Lois Marzan:

Ben’s relationship with his parents was similar to his relationship with his fellow students in the sense that his parents could not easily predict his mood. They were never quite sure how to act in his presence. Nor could they predict what word or action of theirs might trigger an unfavorable response. This caused tension between his mother and father as they often could not agree on what approach to take with their unpredictable son.

The father, Hari, came to the United States from Pakistan when he was a young man. He was a precocious youngster who came from one of the tribal areas of Waziristan who worked on his father’s farm. This would remain his fate had it not been for the intervention of one of the local Imams who, while studying the Koran with the youngster, recognized his mathematical potential at an early age.

The Imam appealed to Hari’s father and urged him to let Hari go to school in Peshawar where he could tap into what the Imam felt was a mathematical potential that must not dissipate on the farm. Your son could bring back the days of the great, glorious Islamic mathematicians, he said. The Imam’s reputation was such that the father agreed, so Hari took a placement test and received a full scholarship to the University of Peshawar.

After completing undergraduate studies, he obtained a Ph.D. in mathematics at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois and settled down to a career as a teacher and researcher in the mathematics department of the University of Wisconsin. He married a wealthy American-born heiress from Madison. Hari was a devout Muslim, and his wife, Lois, converted to Islam. They gave their son a solid Islamic upbringing, but this did not change the rebellion that they and Ben’s teachers knew only too well.

The principal of Ben’s school called Lois the next morning. He wasted no time in getting into the details of Ben’s recent altercation. Your son was fighting in the hallways, Ms. Marzan. Two teachers brought him to my office. We had a talk, and I have to tell you he was a bit rude. I’m concerned about his attitude. He’s an incredible intellect, but I’m afraid he’s going to squander his potential.

Lois slumped in her chair. Others had told her the same thing. I’m sorry, sir, I’ll have a talk with him. Was he hurt in any way?

No, he wasn’t. From what I understand, it was the other boy that got the worst of it, but no major damage, Ms. Marzan, nothing to worry about.

Lois breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for that, she said.

This is not the first time this has happened, Ms. Marzan. There is a pattern here, I believe. His attitude is—what shall I say—different from his peers. It makes me wonder if a consultation with a mental health professional would be in order? It’s your choice, of course, but if you’d like a quick evaluation, we could offer the school psychologist, Dr. Levine.

This was something Lois did not want to hear, but at the same time, she was not surprised. This nagging thought had been on her mind and was already a source of conflict with her husband. She sighed and closed her eyes. I’ll talk this over with my husband when he comes home tonight, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow, she replied.

As she sat back in her favorite recliner, she revisited the fear that there might indeed be something wrong with their son, Ben. She worried that his intense interest in mathematics disrupted his concentration. He was an only child. She herself was an only child. She had always led a sheltered existence, growing up in the house of a prominent Wisconsin surgeon and his socialite wife.

She was five feet four inches, and was very attractive with dark brown hair and hazel eyes now shimmering with tears. Yes, we’ve got to do something, she thought, I’ll have it out with Hari when he gets home.

When her husband arrived, she let him settle in before she spoke with him. He had a specific ritual that she knew better not to disturb. He would have to get out of his suit, put on some leisure clothes and slippers, spend a few minutes scanning the paper before it was wise to speak with him. I have news about your son, Hari.

My son? When it’s my son, that means I’m not going to get pleasant news. What happened now?

She spared no detail telling him about the fight at school and the principle’s phone call and his recommendations.

What is he suggesting, said Hari. Does he think that Ben should see a psychiatrist? He got off his recliner and walked over to the table where Lois was sitting. He sat down across the table from her. This told her that it was a good time to get deeper into the discussion. His wife stared into his penetrating dark eyes. His full head of black hair, combed without a hair out of