Brad Thor - Foreign Influence

Levy chuckled, though they all appreciated the fact that the reality of it wasn’t that funny. “I guess that’s one of the many differences between Islam and the rest of the world.”

“You can say that again.”

Vaughan looked at the monitor feed for one of the infrared cameras mounted in the van’s side-view mirrors. “In Iraq, we’d know guys we wanted were inside a particular mosque, sometimes we’d chase them right up the front steps, but then we couldn’t do anything. We’d have to wait until Iraqi soldiers got on site.”

“Iraqi Muslim soldiers,” added Davidson for clarification.

“Exactly. We infidels couldn’t go inside. At least we couldn’t lead the charge.”

“Why the hell not?” asked Levy, as he took another bite of yogurt.

“Because nobody wanted it to look like we were waging a crusade against Islam.”

Levy licked both sides of his spoon once more and said, “That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”

Vaughan nodded. “I agree.”

“So they think we’ll treat their mosques here in the U.S. the same way we do in Iraq?”

“Up to now, that’s exactly how we’ve treated them. It’s not just hands off, it’s hands way off.”

Levy shook his head. “Political correctness is going to be the death of Western civilization.”

“I hope you’re wrong, but there’s no question that our enemies are using political correctness against us.”

“You can say that again,” replied Davidson. “Muslim ‘honor’ killings are becoming an epidemic in the U.S., but do you think it gets reported by the media? No. Wife and child beatings are through the roof, but the media ignore those as well. Point out what’s wrong with Muslim culture and you’re automatically labeled a racist. It’s like shunning the guy on the Titanic who says he sees water in the forward bulkhead.”

Levy finished his yogurt and placed the empty cup in the bag and zipped the top shut again.

Vaughan checked his watch. “The evening Ishaa prayers will be over soon.”

“Think Nasiri will stick his head out?” asked Davidson.

“You never know. Terrorists make a lot of stupid mistakes.”

“Not this guy,” said Levy.

Vaughan and Davidson both looked at him. “How would you know?” asked Davidson.

“If he’s up to what you think he is, you have to assume he didn’t get his job by being stupid. And if he felt the heat was so intense that he had to flee to the mosque, even a storefront mosque, then you have to give him enough credit that he won’t pop his head out until he thinks he can get away with it.”

Vaughan nodded in agreement.

“Which means,” continued Levy, “that eventually we’re going to have to do more than just sit outside here watching the front door.”

He was right, and neither of the other two men in the surveillance van could argue with him.

“What are you thinking?” asked Vaughan.

Levy tapped two black Storm cases with the toe of his boot and said, “I think we’re going to have to get more aggressive with our surveillance.”

Levy opened the cases and showed his guests what he had brought. Vaughan reached down and plucked out a wireless camera embedded within a hard, black baseball-sized shell. “What’s this?”

“Brilliant Israeli military technology.”

Davidson looked at it. “Then how come it says Remington on the side?”

“Because they licensed it for the U.S., but couldn’t get it off the ground. I bought this sample kit from the rep.”

“How does it work?” asked Vaughan. “You just drop these where you want them?”

“Better than that. You can actually throw them. When they stop rolling, they right themselves on those little stubby feet on the bottom. You can toss them on a roof, over a wall, anywhere.”

“And those are fiber-optic cameras in the other box?”

Levy nodded. “If you’ve got balls big enough to get close to the door or drill down from the ceiling, then we’ll really get a good view inside.”

“What are the baby wipes for?”

“You should see how dirty this stuff gets,” he said as he pulled another one of the camera balls out of its case.

As he did, Davidson jabbed Vaughan in the ribs and raised his eyebrows as if to say, See?

Vaughan waved him off. All he saw was a guy who was particular about how he ate his yogurt and who liked to keep his gear clean. Big deal. In fact, he’d take Josh Levy over most of the sloppy cops he’d been forced to sit through stakeouts with.

“If we can drop a couple of those in the alley behind the building, will you be able to pick up the signal out here?”

“I should.”

“Will they work okay in low light?”

“They’ve got an IR illuminator, but it puts an extra drain on the batteries. We won’t be able to run them all night.”

“Hopefully, we won’t have to.”

Davidson used the cameras mounted outside the van to check for foot traffic along the street. They were in a small honor-system parking lot where you placed your money in a slot on a big board beneath the number that corresponded to what stall you were in. Levy had picked the lot himself, preferring it to being parked out on the street. The view wasn’t as good, but it was acceptable. It was his opinion that a windowless van parked too near the mosque might draw undue attention to itself. Vaughan had agreed.

“How do you want to do this?” asked Davidson.

“We’ve got your Bronco parked around the corner,” replied Vaughan. “From this distance, I don’t think anyone is going to notice us getting out of the van.

“I’ll stay here and monitor the feeds while you take Josh with you. He’ll ride shotgun and can drop three balls. One at the beginning of the alley, one near the back door of the target building, and one before you turn back out onto the street.”

Levy shook his head. “I don’t leave the van.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

Vaughan looked at Davidson for some sort of explanation but the Public Vehicles officer just looked back at him and smiled as if to say, I told you so.

He turned back to Levy. “How are we going to know if we got the balls placed correctly?”

The PI pulled a radio from a charger rack and handed it to Vaughan. “It’s not rocket science. You roll down the window and drop them out. I’ll radio you and let you know how the picture looks.”

“What if I screw it up and one of them rolls underneath a Dumpster?”

“Don’t screw it up.”

Satisfied that the argument was settled, Levy unzipped the gym bag hanging from the arm of his chair and removed a small hand towel. Unrolling it across his lap, he fished his key ring from his pocket.

“That’s good enough for me,” said Davidson, taking the radio from Vaughan, suddenly anxious to leave. “Let’s get going.”

Hanging from Levy’s key ring was a gold nail clipper. The PI pivoted open the handle and studied his nails.

“The street’s as quiet as it’s going to get,” said Davidson as Vaughan watched Levy. “Let’s get this done before evening prayers are over with.” He poked the Organized Crime cop with the radio’s antenna, breaking the spell and getting his attention.

“Make sure to do a radio check when you get to your truck,” stated Levy as the two men parted the heavy blackout curtain and exited the van through its back door.

Cutting through the alley behind the parking lot, Vaughan said, “I’ve never known anybody who carries a nail clipper on their key ring. Is it solid gold?”