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- Author: M.A. Rothman
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“I guess we can be thankful it wasn’t a nuke. That would have leveled a whole lot more than a church.” Connor glanced over his shoulder, suddenly aware of what he’d just said. Nobody seemed to have noticed, but he lowered his voice regardless. “As it is, eleven people are dead. What’s the Outfit got on this?”
“We have nothing. Are you sure Khan didn’t have anything to do with the attack?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” Connor said. And that was true. But his mind whirled at the possibility that he’d been standing in the same room with the people responsible for this. The mosque had gone into a whirlwind of damage control, but as far as Connor could tell it was simply because they knew the authorities would be looking at them. It was inevitable.
“Well, the one thing I can tell you is that the NYPD is going to be tearing the city apart to figure out what happened. And the FBI rapid response team has been called in. They’re going to be crawling up people’s asses trying to figure out what’s going on. Just be aware. With bodies in the morgue and dozens injured, the politically correct sensibilities that might keep that mosque safe are probably going to get relaxed.”
Connor snorted. “Relaxed? More like thrown right out the window. The folks at the mosque know they’re going to be targeted.”
Things had been bad for Middle Easterners for years after 9/11. The stigma of being a “possible terrorist” had been branded on everyone with slightly darker skin than the average American—including Connor himself. The problem wasn’t nearly as bad as the media led everyone to believe, but it was real all the same.
“I suppose that’ll make it even harder to get into the office,” Thompson said.
“I don’t know about that—it was hard enough already. Before I could even try, they started posting guards on the door. They’re stationed there even when Khan’s not in the office.”
“Wait, when did they do that?”
“Night before last,” Connor said. Then he finally put the pieces together. “Crap.”
“So something did change recently.”
“Yes.” Connor kicked himself for not picking up on it earlier. “Son of a bitch.”
“So how are you going to get in?”
Connor stepped around a couple holding hands and walking the opposite direction. “Are you kidding me? I don’t know that I’m going to get in at all. I’d have to take out the guards, and that’ll be a huge red flag if ever there was one. I’d never be able to return to that place again. They’d know it was me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“These guys aren’t stupid. They’re meticulous and thoughtful. They’ve proven that by having their computers offline. They know what our strengths and weaknesses are, and they’re exploiting them perfectly.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Connor looked up as a patrol car sped past, lights and sirens blaring. “I don’t know.”
“Connor, we need to get in that office. Now more than ever.”
“I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“So,” Aliyah said, sipping her tea. “What do you think?”
She and Connor sat at a small table on the patio of the Leafy Bean, a tea and coffee cafe. The white metal chairs and table weren’t the most comfortable, but the atmosphere was nice. The only thing Connor didn’t like was being exposed. If they were inside, the avenues of approach were limited, and he could observe them. Out here there wasn’t even a wall to put his back against, which made him uneasy. He concentrated on using his peripheral vision to keep track of the limited number of patrons in the outdoor cafe. Trying to watch the entire street was almost an exercise in futility.
He sipped at his own tea. It was a little too hot, and a little too bland, but he smiled and nodded as he set the cup back on the saucer. “It’s great.”
One side of her mouth curled up into a knowing smile. “Liar.”
The last twenty-four hours had seen a flurry of activity throughout the city. FBI agents by the dozens had flooded the streets, talking to anyone they could find. NYPD had recalled almost everyone to active duty, canceling vacations and days off, in a concerted effort to put as many of its thirty-eight thousand uniforms on the streets at the same time. But now that the attack was over, what good did all those cops do? Other than further elevate tensions. The whole city was a match head, just waiting to be struck.
Yet despite everything going on, Connor felt relaxed around Aliyah. True, she was the daughter of the target of his investigation, but he tended to forget that when he looked at her. Her light-blue hijab rustled in the wind, accentuating her eyes, which sparkled in the early-morning light. When she smiled, she made it that much worse.
Connor scoffed. “Am I that obvious?”
“I’ve seen children lie better than you.” She canted her head to the side. “I won’t be offended if you order something different.”
“No, it’s okay.” Connor lifted his cup. “I’ll drink it, it’s just not what I’m used to. I haven’t ever really been a tea person.”
“Oh? And what is it you’re used to?”
Connor laughed. “Well, I’m used to burnt water, colored brown so that it resembles coffee. My tastes are not as refined as yours.”
“Have you ever had a French pour-over?”
“I haven’t.”
“Then you haven’t ever had good coffee.” Aliyah smiled. “I prefer tea, but I never said I didn’t drink coffee.”
Connor raised his small cup to her. “To the pour-over.”
Aliyah mirrored his gesture, then sipped slowly and deliberately.
“I have to say,” Connor said, setting his cup down again, “I’m surprised your father allowed you to come with me.”
“Ah, so someone has told you who I am.” The smile vanished from Aliyah’s face. “My father does not allow me to do anything. I am my own woman. He is a fundamentalist, yes, but
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