“Had his belief in Islam twisted to where he felt he needed to participate in a jihad?”
Konstantin said, “That’s ridiculous. I don’t understand any of that. We’re not Muslim. We are Russian Orthodox. The whole family is Russian Orthodox. We are all, to my knowledge, devout and law abiding. Are you sure you have the right suspect?”
Suddenly I had some doubts. They had identified their nephew through the photograph I had. The ATF had taken the fingerprint from the truck used in the bombing. I had fought the man in the photograph hand-to-hand. He was the right suspect, but did we have the correct motive?
I’d have a lot of explaining to do when I got back to Manhattan.
Chapter 22
After I’d interviewed Temir Marat’s family in New Jersey, I took my time driving back to the Federal Building. I lingered in the lobby and called home to make sure everything was all right. Then, God help me, I sneaked back into the task force office. I felt sheepish, like a dog who had peed on the carpet.
Now I had to figure out how to explain my trip to New Jersey and all the interesting information I’d found out.
Darya was working on some notes at a table on the side. When I sat down next to her, I noticed the report was written in Cyrillic.
Darya glanced up and said, “When I’m in Moscow, I write in English. It’s quite convenient. Like my own secret code. Because no one tries to learn anyone else’s languages anymore.”
I said, “Thanks, grandma, for the lecture. Besides, you’ve been with me during most of the investigation. There’s nothing you could write that I haven’t already heard firsthand. Probably from someone with a thick Russian accent.”
“Where have you been?”
“Jersey.”
Darya gave me a smile and said, “Seeing a girlfriend?”
“Ha, that’s funny. Until I think about my Irish fiancée. Then it’s scary. If I went to see a girlfriend in New Jersey, it would probably be my last trip to New Jersey ever.”
Darya said, “While you have been out sightseeing, your friend the FBI agent and I have come up with an interesting wrinkle.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve found the phrase Marat said before detonating the bomb, hawqala, the one that means ‘There is no power nor strength save by Allah.’”
I said, “What do you mean you ‘found’ it?”
Just then Dan Santos strutted up to us and said, “It’s a phrase that has been used by people being blackmailed into committing an attack.” He looked between Darya and me, then just kept talking. “A Georgian soldier said it before he detonated an explosive vest at a police station, killing eleven, including himself. Turns out his mother was being held by a group that forced him into the attack. Apparently Georgians love their mothers.”
“What happened to his mother?”
Darya answered. “They released her. They want people to believe them when they say they’ll release someone for carrying out an attack.”
Then Santos said, “Last year a former Russian security agent said hawqala before he cha
rged a speaker at a meeting of businessmen in Chechnya. He managed to kill the mayor and a deputy with a hand grenade. The mayor was opposed to Russian influence in Chechnya. That attacker survived four bullets by security. He said he’d been told to do it. He regretted it. He also said the reason he shouted hawqala was because he heard it would show he wasn’t a monster. It’s a weird situation. The military and some law enforcement types know the phrase. This is the first time it’s been used outside the former Soviet Union. It might be the wave of the future.”
That all started to make sense with what I had just learned in New Jersey. Now I had to find a way to tell them I’d been working on my own.
I looked at Darya and realized I wasn’t built for keeping secrets. I just started to talk. “I’ve developed some information I want to discuss with the two of you.”
Neither of them offered any encouragement so I kept going.
“I got a tip that Temir Marat had family that lived in Newark.”
Darya said, “Right here in the US.”
I nodded.
Santos said, “Did you put the lead into the system?”