The Unthinkable Alliance: A Marriage of Ideological Convenience

By Christopher J Wihbey

Conner Phoenix, a Detective with the Miami Dade Police Department, found himself assisting with an interview on a minor narcotics offense. He agreed to help out due to his fluency with Farsi, Arabic. The interview morphed into a full blown international investigation. Conner found himself at the right place at the right time. His liaison and FBI

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher J. Wihbey, Sr.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9780998153704

Christopher J Wihbey

"The Unthinkable Alliance" is Christopher J. Wihbey, Sr.'s first novel as a freelance writer. He is currently a patrol Sergeant working at the Wolcott Police Department in Wolcott, CT. He resides with his wife Nefra and two children, Christopher, Jr. and Brayden Jean. Christopher is a graduate of Salve Regina University with a B.S. degree in Economics / Pre-law. He later attained his M.S. from Boston University in Criminal Justice. He is a state certified Advanced Emergency Medical Technician and worked on a commercial ambulance for some years before joining the Law Enforcement community. Christopher is a certified Police and Emergency Services Instructor and has held several positions within his department including Patrolman, investigator in the CIB, DARE Officer, Explorer Program Coordinator, Color Guard Coordinator, Grants Coordinator, and Patrol Sergeant. He is the recipient of several recognition and appreciation awards throughout his law enforcement career including the Enrique Camarina Award, the Presidential Volunteer Award, EMS Life Saving Award, DWI Enforcement Recognitions, and Community Officer of the Year. This book theme had been started by Christopher in 2004. He was inspired to continue to write when he was on assignment with the FBI operating as a Task Force Officer with Connecticut's Department of Emergency Management & Homeland Security from 2006 to 2008. This novel is fictitious however; there are a few characters who mimic Christopher's fellow co-workers in law enforcement. Only one of the characters is a true identity, Detective Ralph Segerra. He was Christopher's former partner at the CT Intelligence Center. Det. Segerra was a colleague and friend who died unexpectedly in his 20th and final year at the New Haven, Connecticut PD. He passed well before his time and left behind a loving family. This novel is dedicated to Christopher's father and mentor, Dr. Joseph G. Wihbey, Sr. who died in May, 2015. Miss you Doc Wib.

Book preview

Ch. 1

PRESENT DAY

Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Casey Maclemore of the Miami, Florida Joint Terrorism Task Force was called in to assist with the homicide investigation. This crime scene had some unusual circumstances to say the least.

It was a typical summer day and the heat had all of the investigators on scene trying to wrap things up expeditiously. They received the 911 call from the letter carrier who indicated that there was a foul stench coming from the home at 1464 Lake Street. When he peeked into the window he observed a man lying on the ground with his mouth agape, eyes open, and flesh literally fluffing off of his bones from natural decay. Initial responding officers, as well as the detectives, failed to locate a license on the unknown subject. They could not locate any bills, receipts, or any type of pocket litter that would identify the deceased.

He was abruptly labeled John Doe # 09-43. Knowing how important the first 48 hours are in a homicide investigation, the detectives worked feverishly for 48 hours straight trying to identify the victim and / or the perpetrator. They knew the obvious. Hispanic male, approximately 38 years old, minimal dental work, clean hands, feet, and related. He did however have a large tattoo across his chest which read MARA SALVATURA 13.

Agent Maclemore sat at his cluttered desk after he completed a mountain of paperwork. The crime scene entry logs, and initial responding officer’s reports and color photographs were all compiled into a manila folder and what investigators called the ‘Jacket’. There was a shit ton of evidence that was secured and labeled and cataloged in the jacket. The top sheet secured to the inside folder of the Jacket indicated that it was the preliminary finding of the Medical Examiner’s Office that the untimely death of one John Doe #09-43 was opiate overdose, particularly noted was a lethal mixture of Fentanyl.

Fentanyl, a heroin based opioid. It is a Central Nervous System (CNS) depressant that is typically prescribed to cancer treatment patients or for managing pain in military applications.

Ch. 2

ONE MONTH AGO

Miami Dade Police Detective, Conner Phoenix, was sitting at his out dated desk, mounded with folders. He was nipping at the end of his pen. Conner was pondering his insane case load. He recalled his life events that brought him to this juncture in life.

DAY DREAMING –

Conner was a hard worker in high school and the grades reflected his ethic. He had a knack for shapes, numbers, sciences, and physics. Engineering seemed to be a natural fit. Conner remembered numbers by correlating them to colors. For example, the number 1 was always blue. The number 2 was Magenta, etc. Conner once was told by one of his college mentors that this type of assimilation was called Synesthesia. He called it a nuisance. Almost like a condition.

He was a New England boy and a huge college football fan. The Syracuse Orangeman were due for a trip to the National Title game and they had an outstanding engineering program, this was his ticket out! College was everything it was supposed to be. An educational opportunity with incredible benefits e.g. alcohol, ridiculous frat parties, gorgeous women, and oh yah…gorgeous women.

Graduation came and went and Conner had himself a fancy piece of paper with a bunch of Latin written on it. This thing was really suitable for framing for your home or office. Like everything else in life, it didn’t guarantee a high paying job to help with those Fanny’s and Sally’s knocking at your door. While at a job fair Conner started talking with Jackson Walker of the Air force recruiter’s office and just like that, six years were spoken for. The Air force is where Conner made his contacts throughout the world and really gave him confidence and that edge. Conner spent time training in Okinawa, Germany, Alaska, and then finished up his career in the Middle East. That was before his hair started thinning. He had the t-shirt, so to speak, on a been there done that ride on Uncle Sam.

Conner Phoenix was a stud by all accounts. A handsome man with a chiseled face and chin. He initially joined the Air Force to train as a pilot. Given his ASFAB test scores and fluency in Arabic Conner was recruited as an Intelligence Officer. He worked mostly reconnaissance missions within undisclosed locations between the Pakistan / Afghanistan boarder. His unit went operational during several advances made by the Allied Forces during the dog days of ‘Iraqi Freedom’. On occasion, the Air Force Brass would send his Unit deep in to enemy territories to make payouts to Confidential Informants. At that time, Air Force Second Lieutenant Conner Phoenix would pay huge sums of tax payer money in exchange for high value Taliban targets. Conner’s fluency in Farsi was an invaluable resource and exploited. The Intelligence Unit would complete sophisticated reports on the probabilities of civilian casualties versus the probability of target ‘hits’. Life and death decisions for drone strikes and troop advances were initiated based upon the intelligence gathered by Conner and his Unit operatives.

Conner developed a disdain for the desert. Specifically, the deception of the Middle Eastern people. After almost four years of operational service, Conner couldn’t stand to look at another intelligence brief or threat assessment. It seemed like the entire world was now an enemy of the United States of America.

At one point, while in country, a young Serviceman entered a chow hall on the compound and open fire on the unsuspecting troops. All told, there were 35 dead and 14 wounded before the terrorist infiltrator was gunned down. Two clips and less than 14 seconds. They later discovered the serviceman was a deserter. He was recruited by the enemy right from the battlefield. He was yelling ‘Allah Akbar’ as he gunned down men and women who wore his same uniform.

Conner had enough. That was the last week Conner Phoenix spent overseas. He was shipped back to the states to complete his tenure. He was released nine months later on an honorable discharge and the thanks of this great country.

When he served on active duty in the Air Force, Conner liked to put 5’11 on his military and personal data sheets, even though he was really pushing 5’10. He hated being of average height. What he lacked in vertical stature he made up for in his chiseled and statuesque 190 lbs. frame. Make no mistake about it, this Charles Atlas physique was well earned, and he has the scars and aches to prove it.

The Air Force provided a Conner with a certificate suitable for framing for the home or office. This certificate, like his college diploma had the illegible Latin. At age 26 Conner decided to join a local police department in New England.

After about five years, Conner decided to complete an application for the Miami (Dade County) Police Department. The weather and the girls were really the primary motivating factors however; Conner knew that he needed to be where the action was.

Make no mistake; it was the Air Force that provided Conner with the tactical advantage. His military service made him what he is right now, a fearless warrior. Well, the crow’s feet on the corner of his eyes and the occasional gray hair had humbled him as of late. He was getting tired again. He had been thinking about starting a family lately but the right girl was so damn elusive. Especially in this line of work.

Suddenly, Conner was awakened from his daydream by the screech of his Division Commander. Conner, what the fuck is wrong with you? shouted the police Captain from hell. Go see what the Fuck that freak in lockup is shouting about in that cell. He has been pounding on that fucking cell door for the last 35 minutes and it is giving me the mother fucker of all headaches.

Like a good soldier Conner snapped out of his daydream at his desk that was mounded with active case files. He didn’t say what was on his mind like why don’t you drag your fat, lazy ass in the cell block to find out what is going on? Conner learned through painstaking experience that on most occasions that even though the bosses were stupid and ignorant, every once in a while, I mean every once in a blue fucking moon, they actually made sense. Someone once said even a broken watch is right twice a day.

Conner placed his Australian made Glock 22 automatic .40 caliber service weapon in the gun locker right at the cell block entry area as he mumbled to himself what lazy jack asses they are around here. He stuffed the gun locker key in his right front pant pocket just as he has for the last 10 years. After opening the two inch thick security door he checked the CCTV camera on the wall and noticed that the pain in the ass prisoner was locked up in cell number two. Conner checked the log book and noticed that the belligerent guest was using the name of all names Mohammed Azik Malnik. Cute Conner thought, it rhymes.

These Middle Eastern pricks were now part of the daily arrest logs, along with the Albanian refugees, the Mexicans, the Cubans, the Kosovo’s, the Croat’s or are they from the same country? Oh, who cares, the point is we weren’t built for these kinds of fucking names and cultural diversification. Who spells their first names with six vowels and nine consonants anyway? Things were easier when all cops had to worry about were the Italians and the Irish. At least they learned how to speak the kings English.

Now it is starting to make sense. Our friend Mohammed doesn’t speak English and the good Lieutenant wanted Phoenix to practice up on his Arabic. Conner Phoenix asked the rowdy inmate in English Mohammed what is your major malfunction? Can you tell me why you are banging on my wall? Is it written in the Koran that every fifteen minutes you must disturb all Americans in this police department or you won’t get your 72 virgins?

Mohammed jumped from the cell block bench and lunged at Conner. He had crazy eyes and he was sweating profusely. He was disheveled and visibly distraught. Mohammed began speaking in Farsi and he was moving around the cell like the ape in the commercial with the airline luggage. Conner made out only bits and pieces of his rambling. His dialect was strange and unique however, Conner was able to interpret some of the gibberish.

Hearing all of the commotion in the cell block area, Conner’s friend and longtime police partner in the Detective Bureau Jeremy Cook came in to check on his buddy. Conner looked at Jeremy AKA Cookie and said check this fucking guy out; you’d think he just saw the profit himself.

Cookie reported that he was going to check the arrest log and get the patrolman’s incident report to find out just what the hell was going on. Mohammed continued on his weird rampage. Talking about his God and his mission. He was waving his arms about pounding on the walls and the solid iron doors. Finally, Conner had enough. He shouted for Mohammed to stop and calm down in Arabic.

Mohammed immediately stopped in complete surprise and dismay and quietly asked in a now clear and concise dialect you speak the language of the prophet Mohammed? Just as the prisoner and cop were staring at one another Cookie walked in with some papers and the property log. Check this out Cookie chuckled and sat down on the beat up roller chair. It seems as though big Mo got pinched for obstructing pedestrian traffic and misdemeanor possession of marijuana. He looked at Mohammed ever so sarcastically and asked now Mo, does the Koran stipulate that marijuana is good for the soul and helps you to feel less oppressed from the infidels?

Conner was now interested. He pensively spoke out loud Cookie he kept bantering with himself about some papers and a bag. What does it say on his property log? Cookie placed his index finger on the paper and wiped back and forth a few times and exclaimed yup, here it is duffel bag with personal papers.

Mohammed stopped and looked at Conner ever so seriously and asked in perfect Arabic I must mail that duffel bag and papers to my sister in Connecticut today. I will be sent back to prison as I have no worldly possessions or goods for trade to post bail. I only ask that you send my personal property to my sister in New Haven, CT. I ask this as a favor from me to you and I promise that Allah will remember your service.

They exchanged a long look among each other and Cookie always knew just how to break things up. He chimes in and says what the fuck did he just say? Conner that Arabic shit you understand gives me the creep’s man. This guy is shadier than the West side of my house, where my wife and I just planted our garden. Are you going to share with the group…? What the fuck is big Mo’s malfunction?

Conner was now annoyed with this whole situation. Once again, he found himself getting into something that was not his problem or his case. Lord knows he had enough cases on his desk that the Lieutenant kept after him about. Conner looked at Cookie and said Awe, shit Cook. This knucklehead wants his bag and papers mailed to his sister in Connecticut before he gets sent back to prison. Cookie responded as he pointed to a stack of papers from Dispatch Conner, it says here he has six prior felony convictions and he has been in and out of the system for the last ten fucking years. He’s right, this little bullshit pinch may put him right back in the joint for a while. Conner sighed and tried to figure the easiest way out of this mess. Cook go get me one of those big property mail envelopes and we’ll send this stuff out. He’s happy, I’m happy, and maybe the boss will be happy. Cookie replied that will be the fucking day.

Conner looked at Mohammed and asked in slow Arabic if I mail this bag and papers to your sister will you stop banging on my wall? Mohammed replied several times yes and clasped his hands together and bowed as if he were at an alter with a holy shrine.

They retrieved the bag and its contents from the property and evidence locker. Cookie threw it down on the desk by the mailing envelope. He began to ask Mohammed for the name and address of his sister. Mohammed began to pace and slowly developed that ape with the suitcases look again. Cookie became impatient and asked for the last time look big Mo I am not going to ask again, where the fuck is this shit going? Give me your sister’s name and address?

Mohammed tried to provide a name in broken English and it sounded something like Mary Jane of 1123 Main Street, New Haven, CT. Cookie looked disgusted at this point and turned to Conner look Phoenix, you ask in that fucking tongue of his where this is going and I don’t want to hear Jane Fucking Doe of Center Street!

Conner finally decided to take a look inside that now infamous bag. Conner pulled out a Middle Eastern cap and an Islamic prayer rug. There were two soft cover books on how to obey the Islamic faith and a litany of handwritten notes. The notes were in pencil, pen, marker and crayon. The writing covered entire sheets of paper. Some of the writing even went around the margins and curved around the three punch holes of the three ring notebook paper. Most of the writing was fractured and unintelligible as if a deranged person was drunk and stoned and then when a moment of semi consciousness overtook them they sat down with a writing instrument.

Cookie started grabbing some papers and stated loudly what the fuck is this? It seems as though our boy here is writing another good book. Conner became preoccupied with some of the notes and then stumbled on several handwritten tablatures with foreign names and what appeared to be legitimate international addresses with headings that read Biochemist, Retired Epidemiologist, and Nuclear Engineer. Several of the names after the heading ended in the V’s there were names like Boris Koslov and Miri Demirov. This enlightening discovery caused both Conner Phoenix and Jeremy Cook to stop dead in their tracks and look at one another.

Conner lost his patience with the interview and his eyes pierced through Mohammed’s. He stated in perfect Arabic make me understand Mohammed why you have this information. He asked as he waived the unusual papers in his face.

Mohammed had a stare of purpose and confidence and indicated on several occasions that the excerpts from his diary are only song lyrics. He is a poet and a writer. Cookie quickly responded, sing a song you terrorist fuck! This only frustrated Mohammed more and Conner was clearly taking it all in and developing a game plan.

Just when everyone thought the interviews were going nowhere, Conner paused and asked Mohammed in Farsi, Arabic with a solid American accent may I speak with these people who have the knowledge to help our cause, where do I find them? Conner indicated that he was the only one who spoke the language of God and the Prophet Mohammed in the police department. He was free to speak the truth, for only a moment.

Mohammed stared as though he just observed the profit himself and responded in Arabic yes, I am only a messenger of God. I was in the process of delivering this information when my immoral addictions acquired by the Americans in their den of impropriety skewed my judgment. I am to meet someone to deliver this information at 10 PM tonight so that we may exact revenge against the true Satan. Mohammed pleaded with Conner if you were able to release me with my information, I will no longer be seen as a failure to my family and my religion he continued, I assure you the information you read is encrypted and it will do your crude American counterparts no benefit, this also assumed that they can read. Conner flashed a brief smile and whispered Allah Akbar and got up from his seat.

Cookie became enraged, what the fuck was that you…. Are you and the mother of all shit heads engaged to be married now? What did he say, should we get the water board? Conner motioned for Cookie to calm down, he complied. Thus reassured Mohammed that Conner commanded respect and signaled what would soon become his first ally since his release into the lion’s den.

Once outside, Conner pulled Cookie aside along with Captain Bert. He made his plea for them to listen now before you both start going crazy listen to me. Mohammed is a loose cannon, no more a martyr or a mule than you and me. He is a throw away for the one of the bigger fish, a disposable felon who was made to feel important by someone with knowledge of the Koran and the Muslim traditions.

Det. Phoenix went in for a second interview with Mohammed after he had time to digest what was happening. When they had developed what cops refer to as a rapport, Mohammed whispered something to Conner that changed his life forever... Can I trust you?

Mohammed was scared and did not want to return to prison. He was just beginning to enjoy his Americanized life on the outside. Having been locked up in the Miami Dade Police Department cage for some time and kept in isolation, Mohammed was eager to share his tales. He wanted to trust Conner. Having found a new friend that was apparently sympathetic to his cause, the information burst out of Mohammed like clumps of exploding lava. His entire life story came out, like a spontaneous utterance. The information just flowed like lava and Conner maintained his captive audience.

Mohammed reported that he had been in and out of prison and he was always on the wrong side of the law; but he was a loyal soldier of Islam. He had never heard of a police officer who was Arabic much less an officer who was interested in the jihad’s movement against the infidel like Conner was. Mohammed began to discuss his recent stint at the California Department of Corrections where he met up with the infamous Sheik Khalid Wahhabi or the ‘Blind Sheik’. The Sheik is interpreted to mean the religious one, the teacher of religion. Mohammed reported that he quickly became one of Wahhabi’s most loyal pupils.

Mohammed said the Sheik himself was a political prisoner of sorts. He was locked up for his role in the terrorist bombing of the U.S. Embassies in Africa and Beirut Lebanon. He was also awaiting trial on various crimes perpetrated against members of the United States Armed Services. His trial was to set the tone for all future terrorists awaiting justice within the states. The government had a lot at stake with respect to the Sheik’s safety and pending prosecution.

Mohammed became passionate as he explained that the Sheik has captured hundreds of the prisoner’s attention and audience. He was enlisting the assistance of blacks, Hispanics, and disillusioned whites in his cause. Wahhabi was conducting his recruiting right under the governments’ nose.

Maintaining eye contact with Det. Phoenix, Mohammed intently pulled up his chair which made a loud screech on the tile floor as he slid in tight. He whispered in his ear in Arabic you see Detective, in the state of California the prisoners are allowed to hold daily religious prayer. The Sheik is considered the high priest and his followers have registered our One Nation of Islam with the Bureau of Prisons as a church organization. They are registered as a non-profit religious studies group. We were allowed to hold Islamic prayer sessions three times daily in the designated area of the prison.

Mohammed quipped proudly you know what the best part is? Recently the bulls began to complain about the Sheik gaining popularity so they started to monitor the prayer sessions. The Sheik’s number two man, a prison educated attorney, just won a summary judgment in the State of California’s Supreme Court which cited the fundamental religious freedom clause in the U.S. Constitution. Your Democracy recognizes that individual religious differences must be respected. You see Detective; they can’t monitor or intervene on what God himself desires. Your American system allows for freedoms. Most of which come when your enemies are locked in prison.

Ch. 3

This Mohammed was savvy intellectually and his true identity and motives would be revealing to say the least. The news of the newly discovered documents in Mohammed Azik Malnik’s bag went straight to the top. The division commander, Captain Bartholomew A.K.A. Bert Thornton, was interested in attending the next interview. In the interview room Captain Bert and Conner really gave Mohammed the third degree. Conner was more than good at what he does and the entire department knew it.

At one point the interview looked like a scene from an old NYPD Blue episode. Where Sipowitz walked around the interview room with a NY Yellow Pages phone book. Mohammed was stoic but he was an asset that the Fed’s would want to talk to for sure.

Conner asked Captain Bert I know someone in the JTTF and with your permission, Captain, I would like to give them the information on this case. Let’s see if we can get an agent here and have Mohammed show us around a bit. The Captain indicated that this was small potatoes and the Bureau had other cases pending besides this sand flea. A weed head with religion. He agreed to give Conner a little rope for now. After a few calls, things moved fairly fast for a small potato. A G man showed up immediately… surprise!

The FBI Special Agent was tall, fit, and handsome. A typical agent with a short cropped hair cut and a hint of a southern tan. He donned an unwrinkled and crisp suit with a power tie. His small FBI badge was clipped to his belt and a bulge on his right hip where his .40 caliber clips, cuff case, and Glock 23 were stored away.

Hello Detective Phoenix. My name is Special Agent Casey Maclemore with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am currently on assignment with the Miami Joint Terrorism Task Force. It’s a mouth full I understand… I heard you and your partner made an interesting discovery on one of your prisoners?

Conner looked as if he was going to be sick, why are all government employees so damned politically correct? Can’t he just say hi, my name is Casey and I am with the FBI, how can I help? Conner decided to go with it.

"Call me Conner. Yes