On Target: On Target Book #3

By Paul Rodricks

On Target Book #3 continues with the action-oriented plot of dangerous and intriguing characters revolving around a family sharing a terrorist bloodline, including their agenda of personal vendetta.
 Summarily, the 3-part series of the Terror Bloodline abound with terror-cell plots, personal conflicts, rape, vengeance, child abuse, betrayals, murders, and illegal arms & drug trafficking, mingled with deceit and dangerous interplay by the FBI, CIA, Mossad, and MI6.
Culminating in a race to hunt down and eliminate the fugitive Lebanese Hezbollah terror Mastermind from carrying out a deadly unconventional attack in the Red Sea on the United States Seventh Fleet.

 

Fields of Action: Beirut, Lebanon - New York City - London - Gulf region

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Rodricks
• Release date: Apr 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201681272

Paul Rodricks

He is a keen researcher and investigator into many human-interest subjects, such as on genres: Thrillers+Adventure+Crime+Suspense. This has led him to pen for his valuable readers, fast-paced and adventurous tales about intriguing characters. Both real and fictitious. He has traveled extensively, which has given him insight into portraying his characters from ordinary folks to spies, corrupt politicians, criminals & killers, terrorists, and the like. His new sports thriller, Soccer Most Foul, depicts the scourge of matching-fixing plaguing the beautiful game. He is also known to write on Historical fiction and is an avid songwriter, Poet, and composer. He'd love to hear from readers. Invites you to visit his blog: PaulsWRITERSDIG7.blogspot.com

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PROLOGUE

MOGADISHU - SOMALIA

A period of hectic intelligence work of listening and intercepting communications had begun; in response to the spurt of coded conversations and messages transmitted to and fro amongst suspected transnational terrorist groups and militant organizations.

Decoded fragmentary transcriptions at the listening posts pointed towards the probability of one or several eminent attacks on American interests. The primary source was al Shabaab, the militant outfit controlling the south of Somalia, beginning to affiliate with al Qaeda.

The name most frequently heard mentioned in the clandestine Arabic transmissions was Surq – the hunting Falcon.

Jonathan Bradley, a former active covert Middle-East CIA operative, who had been recently reinstated, after his previous aborted mission in Beirut, Lebanon, was now reassigned to hunt down and eliminate the elusive Hezbollah terrorist mastermind and illegal arms trafficker.

Going through the intercepted messages at the CIA’s local office in New York City, Jonathan was alerted to the mention of the name, Suqr.  That was one of the several aliases the Lebanese mastermind was known by.

Was the terrorist now in Somalia, interacting with the al Shabaab outfit?  The CIA had a strong presence in Somalia, in addition to the Pentagon’s Joint Special Operations Command, and was actively engaged with the groups of extremists and militants in that region.

A week later, Jonathan had landed at the Mogadishu airport.  He was led to the CIA’s secret underground base there. 

Intelligence received, including from local paid informants, indicated that a high-level meeting of important radical leaders, one of them being the man with the alias of Suqr was scheduled to take place in one of their safe bases in Somalia.

Before leaving for Somalia, Jonathan Bradley had undergone a 15-day crash course in rigorous desert-style commando training.

The terrorist base was pinpointed in the vicinity of the Somalia-Kenya border.  A 12-man team of elite commandos from CIA’s Special Forces set out on the covert mission, first in a military truck and then on foot.  The reconnaissance squad preceded them, surveying the area ahead.

Mike Gardner, a former marine and now a CIA operative in Somalia was the second in command after Jonathan.  He was familiar with the territory of the region.

"Mr. Bradley, let us spread out in a three-prong attack formation.  The terrorists will certainly be scouting around, and guards providing a security ring for their leaders.

Affirmative.  You lead the first team, followed by the next, and I will proceed directly to their hideout, taking out whatever resistance encountered on the way.  We improvise as the situation unfolds.

They traversed along the terrain composed mostly of sand or gravel amid shrub vegetation like tall grass, and Juniper and Acacia trees, the latter providing them the cover. The early hours before dawn were cold and windy. 

The day happened to be a Friday, an obligatory day of worship and physical rest for the Muslims.  Friday had also become a day for increased violence when blood was spilled even inside the holy mosques.

Before the first "Azaan" call at dawn, the elite commandos reached the vicinity of the insurgents’ secret base, without any incident.

The terrorist camp ahead of them was partially obscured by a naturally grown barrier formed of high shrub vegetation and Acacia trees.

Using his night-vision glasses, Bradley could make out the outline of a low-lying two-window ground structure built from mud, stones, and dung with a thatched roof.  It stood in total blackout.

To one side of the house, were set up small tents, the exteriors camouflaged using dirt and twigs.  

His infrared vision lit up several human shapes asleep outside the tents.

One of the figures appearing before the others, possibly the sentry, was seen moving his position and resettling himself. 

The entrance to the house couldn’t be seen. 

Having regrouped, a decision was made, and Jon’s team moved towards the west flank while Mike and the other group advanced towards the direction of the tents. 

One of Mike’s commandos activated the cell phone blocker to jam all communication signals within the radius of the area.

For a time, everything appeared normal in its natural environment.  Then, the sound of an explosion shattered the stillness of the dawn. One of the scouts had stepped on a hidden landmine that somehow had remained undetected.

The result was one killed and two wounded out on the field.

Meantime, Jonathan had raced towards the west side of the house and found its entrance. 

He was on the verge of kicking in the door when the field-mine explosion shattered the surroundings.  He quickly ducked to one side.

Seconds later, he heard voices calling out both from inside as well from outside the house, soon followed by machine-gun chatter.

Before someone could appear from inside, Jonathan dashed in through the door, his commandos providing him the backup. 

Once inside the house, he saw three terrorists emerge from the adjoining room in a dazed state of abrupt awakening. 

However, the trained militants quickly realized the situation and two of them turned and ran back for their AK-47. 

Chasing them and firing almost simultaneously, Bradley and a commando took them out. He saw no one else in the second room, just the empty mattresses on the dirt-paved floor.

Jon had placed his shot low hitting the militant in the thigh and was ready to shoot again when the man cried out and stopped reaching for his weapon leaning against the wall. His companion was lying dead near him, shot by the commando.

Bradley returned to the first room.

The third militant stood still surrounded by three commandos and had been witness to the scene unfold before him.

He was a man of medium stature, thickset and robust, with a light complexion, aggressive brown eyes, and heavily bearded.

Definitely not a Somali.  A Lebanese is my first guess, thought Jon.

Looking unmoved and defiant, the man apparently a hardened terrorist, stared unflinchingly at the Americans, camouflaged as they were, dressed in the Somali terrorist fighting outfit - the long full shirt and loose pajama, with their faces painted black.

The firing outside had stopped. 

The wounded terrorist was still standing, leaning against the wall for support. His wound was bleeding a good deal under his dirty Shalwar khameez, as blood flowed down his leg to collect near his feet.

Jonathan assumed that his slug had severed the man’s femoral artery.  He would bleed to death if he didn’t receive medical attention soon.

Keeping his eyes on the bearded man, apparently their leader, he said, "Anta betafham inglis?  You. Do you speak English?"

Yes, I speak English, replied the man tersely, but fluently.

The militant had shifted his position to look into the next room at his wounded companion.

Move aside..., Jon motioned him menacingly with the barrel of his HK46, an assault rifle with the suppressor. To the left.

The man obliged reluctantly.

Then Bradley nodded to the commandos, who did a body check of the two extremists for hidden weapons and put on a first-aid tourniquet on the wounded.

Meanwhile, Mike had entered the room.

Mr. Bradley, we have secured the place and all resistance removed.  As he said this, his eyes met Jonathan’s.  There were no survivors.

Now with the arrival of reinforcement, the CIA operatives quickly searched the premises, collecting cell phones, a radio phone, some scribbled notes and sketches – all in Arabic.   They, however, found no IDs or passports.   

Not an important hideout or storage point. Just a temporary transit shelter, Jon surmised.

Both the militants were handcuffed and placed under guard.  Meanwhile, the other team commandos were gathering outside the mud-stone structure.

I have called for a CHINOOK.  It should be here within a few minutes, his second-in-command told Bradley.

"Mike, this place is not safe to be here any longer.  The time is close to their first Azaan call to prayers. It will soon be crawling with terrorists when they get no response to their calls from any of these guys here. We should move away from here and coordinate with the chopper to pick up somewhere further up."

From Jon’s understanding of the mid-eastern terrorists’ traits, the forbidding demeanor of the militant, now being led away by the Americans, made him believe this man was probably a hardened extremist, a leader of the Shiite sect. 

The Lebanese looked educated and probably came from an elite background before being radicalized.

Jon stepped a foot closer to the man, and asked him quietly, "Where’s the Surq?"

The captured militant looked briefly into Bradley’s eyes, mocking him, He’s like a ghost.  Someone, you will never get your hands on.

You mean he was here...?

"That’s right.  He left a whole day earlier. He was supposed to be elsewhere on Friday evening. Your informant lied to you. But he lied to us also. That you Americans had canceled the plan to attack this place since the Suqr had fled.

I, myself, killed the Yemeni traitor with these bare hands, and justifiably so.  He is today responsible for the death of my brethren here and my capture, if that means anything to you, infidel."

He spat out the last word and in the same instance, headed-butted the chest of the nearest commando catching the latter unawares.

Jonathan reacted swiftly and rammed the butt of his assault rifle on the back of the terrorist’s exposed neck, the blow causing the militant to fall face down on the ground.

Other commandos rushed to subdue the sinewy prisoner.  The man appeared to be relatively strong to have withstood the stunning blow to his neck.  Actually, he was no more than merely dazed.  This time they bound his hands to his body and led him by the rope. 

A short while later, Bradley heard the noise of the chopper while Mike radioed to confirm their position, and they came out of the long grass trail and showed themselves out in the open area of the Somali plain.

It was a CH-147 Chinook, heavily armed, and more than spacious enough to transport all of them, including the two wounded and the dead commando, and the two prisoners, back to their secret base in Mogadishu.

The closely guarded prisoners were taken to the CIA’s underground prison located inside the presidential palace compound, in the Halane Training Facility, close to the Mogadishu International Airport, where torture was not uncommon.

If not their main objective, the CIA operation had its merits. In that, they were able to capture two equally important targets.

The first one was the most wanted Somali terrorist leader, Salel Ali – who turned out to be none other than the wounded prisoner.  He’d lose his wounded leg during the period of his intense interrogation. 

His subsequent interrogation revealed the presence of al Qaeda training camps in Ras Kamboni along the border of Kenya.  Moreover, he divulged the name of the Pakistani, Mustaque Ahmed, who managed the distribution of funds, weapons supply, and communications systems to the al Shabaab outfits aligned with al Qaeda.   

Mustaque also acted as the Falcon’s intermediary.

When drained dry of intel information, he was let out of solitary confinement.  However, he was to last for only a few hours. Salel Ali was found dead, stabbed in the eyes, and disemboweled, in the common bathing area of the underground prison.

The second one was the Hezbollah militant leader whose identity the extant intelligence records established as Abdel Ba’ith, the U.K. educated electronic engineer by profession. Abdel had a more colorful history.

Beginning with his inception into Palestinian Hamas after the Sabra and Shatila refugee camp massacres in 1983 by the Sa'ad Haddad's Lebanese Christian Phalangist militia, he later fought in Afghanistan with al Qaeda against the allied forces. In due course of time, Ba’ith was plotting terror attacks in Thailand, Indonesia, and the Philippines.

His mentor was Mohammed al-Abbasi, the elusive Surq.

The terrorist gave his name as Irfan Mahdi. But he didn’t have any ID on him to prove that.  Also, the investigators found no mention of Irfan Mahdi on any of the contacts lists or data on the cell phones seized during the raid.

When the man refused to answer any questions, the CIA interrogation team, including Jonathan Bradley decided to break down the terrorist in the underground prison.

To disorient the man and make him realize the reality of his situation, the prisoner was locked up for 3 days in a solitary-confinement cell. 

It was a small, narrow room, without a bed or mattress or toilet facility, and was floodlit by bright electric lamps that kept switching on and off, between the intervals of light and total darkness. There were no windows and so no ventilation. 

Periodically in the night, the room space was blasted with high decibel recorded sounds of screeching tires, and shots being fired amidst screams of men and women.

For the first two days, no water or food was provided. Only a metal bowl of clear liquid oats in the afternoon of the third day. 

The tiny high-powered camera installed above the heavy iron grill gate monitored the prisoner’s every move; the latter dressed in only a flimsy orange jumpsuit with no underwear and kept barefoot.

On the early morning of the fourth day, he was abruptly woken and brought into the sinister-looking, special interrogation chamber designed to intimidate the already disoriented prisoner. 

Two prison guards prodded him inside, his hands and ankles shackled in chains, set him down roughly on the sturdy upright wooden chair in the middle of the room, and left closing the heavy metal door behind them.

Only Jon Bradley was present, the other CIA interrogators, witnessed the questioning through the one-way mirror, recorded by a hidden camera. 

Despite suffering the three-day ordeal of solitary confinement and the disorientation torments, Abdel Ba’ith, the seasoned al Qaeda veteran, sat up straight in the chair and stared defiantly at the interrogating officer who faced him. 

His body language appeared to throw up a challenge to Bradley; adopting a display of contempt in his eyes, and a wicked twist to his lips.

Jonathan Bradley realized that the interrogation of Abdel Ba’ith, aka Irfan Mahdi, was in for a long haul.

"Who exactly and where is the Suqr – the Falcon?" began the intrepid CIA professional.

CHAPTER-ONE

OCTOBER - 2006

The Siege & Hostage Crisis

South East Bronx Synagogue, NYC

Saturday: Mid-Morning

There was an air of dread and uncertainty all around the Synagogue building complex.  Adding to this menacing environment was the inclement weather. 

The sunny hours of the morning were slowly giving way to an overcast sky, the dark hovering clouds threatening to let down a flood of rain showers any time before the onset of the afternoon. 

However, the climate phenomenon was the least of Jonathan Bradley’s concerns. 

Since arriving at the scene, his mind was preoccupied trying to cope with the magnitude of the life-threatening spectacle, if it were allowed to unfold, should he and the law enforcement agencies fail to contain the tragedy.   

Hundreds would lose their lives; men, women, and children, whose only fault was to participate in the joyous centenary celebrations of the Bronx Synagogue, built by their ancestors, being the first Jewish settlers in this part of the great city.

Excepting a few initial suspicions, neither Jon nor any of his FBI personnel knew for certain what had happened, and the extent of the real situation behind the closed doors of the Bronx Synagogue. 

Half an hour earlier, the public had reported an explosion outside the building complex. The NYPD and the FBI from Jonathan’s Counterterrorism Unit had responded to the dispatcher’s call. They were now waiting for the NYPD Mobile Squad and the Bomb Squad to arrive.

As his underlying concerns grew with every minute, Jonathan was, in reality, scouting the Synagogue complex across its front courtyard, accompanied by Allan Banks his SSA – the Senior Special Agent. 

William King, his other immediate colleague, the SA - Special Agent, was up front talking to the uniformed police officers who had first arrived at the scene and would then go about canvassing for possible witnesses.

Outside the wrought-iron gate and the fencing along the front of the Synagogue complex property, the news media vans, journalists, and reporters jostled with the growing spectators along the adjoining pavement.

On the street, police cars were barricading the area and diverting the traffic to make place for the ambulance and fire services.

Ironically, the day happened to be past Bradley’s last working day with the FBI before his re-assignment to the CIA, his former employers.

Jonathan was video-filming, using his cell phone, the exteriors of the complex, when he noticed the main CCTV camera affixed to the arch of the Synagogue’s marble façade. 

The hundred years plus old, large one-story sprawling Synagogue building had only recently been given an extensive make-over while retaining its original blueprint.

An open space passage separated the Synagogue from its adjoining two story-building.

Everyone concerned with the management of the Synagogue appeared to be in the assembly hall attending the centenary services.  There was no one available who they could talk to. 

His eyes lingered on the main entrance that ran the length of the front façade, taking in its large central bronze arch doors, and the two narrow side-doors alongside with their arches and borders decorated with plaques of Jewish art rose stained-glass.

At either far end of the Synagogue’s façade stood two elongated and recessed windows with a portico each, fronted with stain-glass. 

Jonathan visualized that behind the closed bronze doors along the recessed central bay, there’d be a porch and another door opening directly into the main aisle of the assembly hall. 

He and Allan stood at some distance from the main door, each trying to mull over the situation inside. They could see nor hear anything suspicious happening in there. 

Looking up the CCTV camera, Jon knew that those in charge inside would even now be observing him and Allen.  He wondered if there were other surveillance cameras elsewhere.

Someone was controlling the crowd inside the Synagogue very efficiently.  To have done that, that person would have succeeded in terrorizing the hostages.  How many terrorists were involved in the high jacking? What weapons were they armed with? 

With probably hundreds of people being held hostage, the terrorists would find it eventually difficult to control them.

As people react to bodily needs after a time, children, women, the elderly, and ailing would be hard to keep down.  

Was there no security or even off-duty military or law enforcement personnel among the hostages?  They would have reacted unless the threat was more than they could handle.  Perhaps, they were biding their time.

And what could mean a greater threat than suicide bombers, for whom death was holy martyrdom and more the people they killed, nobler their afterlife reward?

Allan nudged him and Bradley turned in the direction Banks was looking. 

The NYPD police detectives and the bomb disposal unit had arrived and were being directed by one of the uniformed policemen to the adjoining building, where the explosion was reported to have occurred. 

Allan separated himself from Jonathan and left to join the crime scene investigators after receiving the all clear from the Bomb Squad.

NYPD police had brought in an armored vehicle, one of those old Brink’s trucks converted to use as a forward command post, which was subsequently moved further down the street because of the suicide-bomb threat inside the Synagogue.

Up on the courtyard, Jonathan was met by the captain of the 46th Precinct in the Bronx.  He had not met the official before and so he introduced himself. 

Captain Rosemarie Fox of the 46th Precinct, she offered her hand, and he took her firm grip.  Have the FBI taken over? Her voice sounded neutral, but not without the hint of feminine curiosity.

He gave her the once-over.  She was in her mid-thirties, of medium height, a blonde with the hair tied up behind her head in a casual ponytail.

Fox was eyeing him with her light green eyes like the police generally do.  An attractive policewoman.  Jewish? He wondered.

I believe so.  The situation points to a terror attack.  We have called in our SWAT team, he glanced at his watch, Should be here any time now.

My preliminary briefing is that an explosion was reported near the Synagogue. Guess it’s a different situation now.

She turned to look in the direction of the Synagogue, taking in the centenary banners and the decorative lighting, put up to illuminate the Synagogue exterior in the late evenings.

The whole congregation is being held hostage in there? Captain Fox asked.

Seems likely. We’ll know soon enough.

"They’ve not communicated yet?’

No one from the inside the Synagogue has made contact yet. The police checked the landline.  It’s cut off from inside the Synagogue.

Rosemarie Fox turned to look at the rest of her team heading towards the adjoining building, where a group of men was seen gathered awaiting the report from the two-man Bomb Squad presently surveying the explosion site.

What’s the threat perception like, according to you, Mr. Bradley?  She asked.

I fear it could be a group of Jihadi terrorists inside the Synagogue, who have somehow managed to infiltrate and take hostage the people assembled in there. 

There’s bound to be some calm before the onset of the storm, Bradley thought, as he continued, It’s quiet in there, which means they have subdued the hostages. No idea as to how many of them, and how well they are armed.  We must be prepared for the worse. If the threat perception continues, we may have to evacuate people from the neighboring area.

I will keep my detectives aware of that threat. Meantime, I shall have this place cordoned off.

Please also consider moving the media people and the crowd of spectators away from the pavement alongside the Synagogue’s compound wall fencing.

The lady officer nodded and was about to leave, when Jon asked her, By the way, since this area is within your jurisdiction, would you happen to know anyone from the Jewish community here, especially from the Synagogue committee.  We’d need to talk to anyone familiar with the activities and the layout of the Synagogue?

I am Jewish myself, and I may know some people in this neighborhood. But I live in Manhattan.  Nonetheless, I see the importance.  I’ll accordingly instruct the detectives canvassing the neighborhood. Talk to you later, Mr. Bradley.

Appreciate that, Captain Fox.

Jonathan reached for his cell phone and tried calling Steve Turner, SAC, the Special Agent-in-Charge, his immediate boss.  All he heard were some erratic, warbling tones.

The thought which immediately came to his mind was the terrorists were jamming the cellular phone transmissions. 

To receive and make calls, he’d need to go outside the range of at least 50 to 100 meters of a standard portable cell phone jammer. 

Due to the limitation of their covert operation, the hostage-takers would have found it impractical to carry a larger unit on their person.  Their objective was to contain and restrict all outgoing-incoming cellular transmissions within the Synagogue area.

Standing where he was now, his location was well within the 100 meters radius.   

As Bradley moved away from the Synagogue building, he saw at some distance ahead, William walking towards him, then abruptly stopping to look at his cell phone with a puzzled expression on his face.

Jonathan waved at him and walked quickly to join him.  The phone lines are being jammed.  Let’s walk ahead a few meters, and try again. 

I was speaking to Steve Turner, William explained when the line warbled."

What did he want?  I called him before I left the downtown office.

"Wanted to know about the actual status on the field.  Updated him briefly. 

Our officers are questioning the neighborhood residents for any suspicious activities that they may have noticed. Everyone knows about the centenary celebrations, and most resident Jewish families appear to be attending the Saturday service at the Synagogue. That’s including the Temple Committee members."

I have asked police Captain Rosemarie Fox of the 46th Precinct to give you a hand with the investigation. 

Jon’s cell phone buzzed.  Apparently, they had reached out of the jammer’s range.

It was Steve Turner.

What’s happening there, Jonathan?’ Steve sounded exasperated.  I called you a few times, but your line sounded dead. And, just now, I was talking to William and suddenly his line dropped dead too.

William’s here with me.  We all here are having the same problem.  The Jihadists are jamming the cell phone transmissions within the radius of 100 meters or so of the Synagogue building.

"Oh, I see.  That bad already, eh?

Afraid so. Expect the worse 

After receiving your downtown call, I contacted Mr. Diego Gonzalez.  

Gonzalez was the FBI’s Assistant Director in Charge assigned to the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division, based at the J. Edgar Hoover Bldg. in Washington, DC. as part of the JTTF, a Joint Terrorism Task Force, which included the other specialized U.S. Enforcement Federal Agencies.

He is very much concerned, considering your perception of the threat.  I believe, he’d be joining us at the hostage scene.  Meantime, I’m on my way there, myself.  Any further developments?

Jonathan updated Steve on the current scenario.

"Mr. Turner, I’d suggest that we issue T.V. and radio station Missing Persons Alerts for Youssef Hariri and Ibrahim Hassan, appealing to friends, relatives, and anyone, to come forward with whatever information they can provide.  Except for their profiles do not release any other information or the real reason for the public appeal."

I understand what you mean, Jonathan.  I’ll call up the department concerned and have the alerts issued immediately.

Another important thing.  We’d need the suitable anti-jammer device to override their radio jamming frequencies.

I will notify the NYPD/FBI Joint Taskforce to make the arrangement... Turner paused and said, I have a call coming. I’ll be there with you in the next few minutes.

Meantime, William, who had also been speaking on his cell phone, said to Jon, I just spoke to Allan.  The Bomb Squad has given the call clear signal and the forensic guys are working the place. If you’d like, we can join Allan there.

As they walked towards the explosion site, a thought occurred to Bradley.  Bill, Youssef Hariri would know your cell phone number since you were his contact.

Yes.  And I’ve tried calling him up, and later checked with the cell phone service.  His phone device is deactivated, canceling the number.

"He will still have your number, Bill.  If Youssef is involved, as suspected, he may attempt to negotiate, though that’s a remote possibility considering that suicide bombers don’t go that route.... yet?

Youssef was never a candidate for Islamic martyrdom.  He was not even a devout Muslim. It’s the sudden killing of his father that may have forced him to take this murderous path.  If he’s in charge of this situation, we have a slim chance to avoid what could result in the death and injury of several hundred innocent people.

It seemed to William that Bradley sounded as if he were speaking to himself.

When they joined Allan Banks, the latter went on to explain the preliminary findings.

"There were two low-intensity blasts apparently from briefcase bombs. 

"They found the human remains of a male with the face and head almost torn apart, and both hands shattered, parts missing.

From the tattered pieces of debris found, the forensics can account for at least two briefcases. Apparently, the man tried to open one of the briefcases, which exploded, setting the other to blow up as well.

"Who’s the dead man? asked Jon.

The name-plate on the shattered door of the basement room reads, Janitor. Detectives are doing the rounds of the neighborhood for witness statements.  We’ll have some information shortly.

William was facing them and had a view of the main gate of the Synagogue, some distance away from where they stood.

I see that the SWAT team has arrived. That’s Commander Rogers Woods and his Assistant, Avery Pearson, leading their team.

Jon and Allan turned around to watch the line of tactical officers come up the step of the courtyard, effortlessly lugging their arms and equipment.  Each one of them was wearing a dark uniform, a bulletproof vest, a Kevlar helmet, and carried a 9 mm MP5 submachine gun.

Let’s meet with Commander Woods, Bradley told them. He will want to be briefed about the situation.

Jonathan had worked with Rogers before, but Pearson was a new face to him.  

The SWAT Commander, a reasonable man in his mid-forties, introduced Jon to his assistant, bespectacled and in his late thirties.  

Then, he and Allan with the two SWAT commanders, went along to take a survey of the Synagogue building.  Jonathan acquainted them with whatever sketchy knowledge he and his team had gathered so far.

William remained with the rest of the 24-man SWAT team passing over his bit of information to the tactical officers. He had hardly finished doing so when his cell phone started to ring. 

Bill looked at the incoming call number on the screen, screwing up his forehead, trying to remember. 

For some inexplicable reason, his heart began to race as he punched the answer button and heard the familiar voice at the other end of the line.

CHAPTER TWO

The Siege & Hostage Crisis

Inside the South East Bronx Synagogue.

The blood-curdling screams of "Allahu Akbar... Death to the Infidels..." uttered by Youssef Hariri, their leader and echoed by his three Jihadist suicide bombers, were petrifying enough to send icy slivers into the hearts of the Jewish congregation.

Youssef Hariri understood that for the present he had managed to discourage whatever budding resistance the Jews would have considered putting up.   

There’s no greater weapon than Fear.  

But for how long could he subdue them?  These people were an adamant and resilient race.  Monstrous of all the races. They even rebelled against Allah. But Allah has a special place prepared for them.

Youssef stomped his feet on the wooden podium, causing loud noises, to gain the crowd’s attention.  He switched on the microphone to mid-volume and declared in a low, menacing voice. All those of you who are here off-duty, serving as officers in the security, law enforcement, or armed forces, step into the aisle.

There was a pin drop silence as no one moved or reacted during the next few seconds that it took for the people to grasp the message.

Hariri took the non-compliance to mean deliberate defiance of his order. 

He called out a few words in Arabic to his Jihadists, who reacted by posturing menacingly towards the crowd, while the latter expected anything to happen.   

Then, he jumped off the podium and marched to the clergy chancel area, stopping before the elderly Chief Priest.

Go to the podium, Hariri ordered him, turning the man around by his shoulder and pushing him onward.  The holy man stumbled forward silently, trying to maintain his dignity. 

When he had reached the upturned lectern on the floor, Youssef harshly prodded him from behind. Step up on the podium.

The feeble Chief Priest, in his early eighties, struggled to climb up the steps onto the platform and stood