Homegrown

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2013 by Bill Pezza. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/14/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0601-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0600-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Epilogue

About the Author

Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

Homegrown is a work of fiction, using historic settings, events, and known contemporary figures as the backdrop for its characters and narrative. On the surface the story continues the theme advanced in the previous works in the series, the struggle of dedicated people making exceptional sacrifices to defend America. Specifically, it addresses the potential for violence from right wing extremists.

In the real world, the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security have issued repeated warnings about rising membership in militias and hate groups and the threat they present. Among other things, fringe groups are angered by illegal immigration, the changing demographics of the nation, and the election of our first African-American president. The Southern Poverty Law Center, which the National Review called One of the most respected anti-terror organizations in the world, tracks hundreds of radical domestic hate groups and has been successful in exposing the deeds of several. Nevertheless, government reports indicate that threats loom greater than ever.

In addition to the peril such groups present, lone wolf scenarios pose an even greater danger. These are the disaffected individuals who take it upon themselves to blow up a federal building in Oklahoma City or go on a shooting rampage in a Sikh Temple in Wisconsin. Such actors are much more difficult to predict, infiltrate or track.

I struggled for months assessing the suitability of the storyline in this book, notably because the characters pose threats against prominent contemporary figures who lead our country, leaders who are admired and respected, broadly and by this author. Was the topic too sensitive? Was it in poor taste? In the end I concluded the story was not only appropriate, it was necessary to raise our consciousness level, especially in the charged political climate in which we live. I have no empirical evidence that the offensive speech, coded language, and dog whistle messages so commonplace in our political discourse can provide the trigger for troubled individuals to launch their deeds, but my gut tells me they do.

I’ll be criticized by some for writing a book focusing on right wing extremism, so let me make this clear. This is not a book about mainstream liberals or conservatives who stridently express strong convictions. It is a book about dangerous fringe elements of society. If I were writing about the 1960s, I’d be writing about violent left wing extremists like the Weathermen faction of the SDS, but I’m not. I’m writing in 2013, and the people who are paid to protect us say that the current threat comes predominantly, albeit not exclusively, from the extreme right.

Right or left, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we all guard against the views and rhetoric of extremists seeping into mainstream American political thought.

I began work on Anna’s Boys, the first novel in this trilogy, in 2004. It was followed by Stealing Tomatoes in 2009 and now, Homegrown. One would think things would have been easier by the third time around, but they weren’t. I found myself even more reliant upon the support of family, friends and colleagues and was repeatedly amazed by the generous level of time and talent they contributed to the effort.

Topping the list of those I owe the greatest debt are Bert Barbetta and Vince Cordisco. Their skillful work on the three books spanned nine years. I value their friendship highly and wish I could adequately repay them. Retired psychologist Larry Becker provided an additional review of Homegrown and offered helpful plot observations. I am also grateful to three friends in law enforcement, retired Inspector Stanly Kolmetzky, formerly with the Philadelphia Police Department, Detective Joseph Coffman, of the Falls Township Police Department, and Sergeant Peter Faight of the Bristol Borough Police. They answered my endless questions and provided valuable guidance. I should also note that Joe Sagolla, a native of Bristol Borough and one of Bucks County’s most recognized artists, did the cover design.

The people acknowledged on this page bear no responsibility for the book’s flaws but deserve significant credit for its improvement.

Aside from the events and personalities from history who are obviously real and clearly identified, the characters in this story are purely fictional and any similarity to real persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Bill Pezza

Historic Bristol Borough on the Delaware

2013

Chapter 1

December 26, 2006

Special Agent John Marzo sat in a room of the FBI offices at Federal Plaza in Lower Manhattan nursing a coffee and waiting for another round of questioning. He scanned the wall photos of President Bush, Attorney General Gonzales and FBI Director Mueller facing him and wondered how much longer they’d be sharing the room.

He thought about when Muller spoke at his graduation from the FBI Academy three years earlier. Muller impressed him as someone who would have his agents’ backs. Now, after hours of bullshit debriefing, Marzo hoped he was right.

His thoughts were interrupted when an eye-catching brunette entered the room. She was wearing heels and a well-tailored suit with a skirt that Marzo judged to be shorter than the Bureau preferred. She was followed by an older man with graying hair and dressed in standard bureau attire—dark suit, button-down shirt and subdued tie. The woman was empty handed. The man carried a briefcase which he placed on the table as the woman handled the introductions.

Agent Marzo, I’m Special Agent Elizabeth Ricci, she said while extending her hand. And this is Special Agent Tom Rooney. Rooney nodded but didn’t speak.

Where are the guys I met with earlier? Marzo asked as he shook hands.

Their work is finished. Agent Rooney and I will be handling things from here, she said as she and Rooney took their seats across from him.

Handling what? Marzo asked. We’ve been at this for hours.

I know it’s been a long day, she replied. Are you all right? Is there anything we can get you?

Marzo pushed his cold coffee aside and said, Yeah. You can get me out of here. Then he leaned forward. Look, I know this is serious business and I want to help, but there’s nothing left to say. I’ve told you all I can. I need to be with my family.

I’m sure you understand we have procedures to follow, Ricci replied without sympathy.

"Yes, I know, and we’ve followed them. I completed the written report. I answered everyone’s questions. We got the crazy bastard. We should have a victory drink and pick up the loose ends tomorrow. My wife and I have tickets to take our little girl to see Mary Poppins tonight, her first Broadway show. I want to be there with her. I can be back here by eleven and continue this all night if you need me to."

Your family is fine and resting comfortably at their hotel, Ricci said as she checked her watch. Unfortunately, we won’t be finished here in time for your plans. But don’t worry, the Bureau has arranged for a car to take them to the theater. They’ll be fine.

Marzo gave her a cold stare. He knew his wife Carrie wouldn’t like being babysat by the Bureau. What the hell…

Rooney interrupted him. Your actions this morning thwarted an imminent catastrophe, and you may have saved a national landmark. The city and the nation owe you a debt of thanks.

See, now that’s what I was thinking, Marzo said. No medal or anything, just a meal and a show with my girls. That’s all I want.

Rooney interrupted again. Agent Marzo, you fired your weapon in a heavily crowded area. Bureau procedures require that we explore that action. We’re aware of the value the Bureau places upon your skills and that you’ve been on special assignment for several months. Although we’re not privy to the details of that assignment, we assume it’s very important. But we’re also aware of your unorthodox; some would even say reckless, tendencies. You come off as a bit of a cowboy. The Joint Terrorism Task Force, Homeland Security, the NYPD and the media are down our throats looking for answers. So, quite frankly, I don’t give a damn if you’d like to watch a lady on Broadway floating in the air holding an umbrella. You’re here until we’re finished, and that’s the way it is.

Marzo knew he had to control his temper. That’s what Carrie kept drumming into him. She’d always been a calming influence. Like the time years ago in Italy when she made him promise not to hit her Italian boyfriend. Marzo respected her wishes and threw him into a fountain instead. It worked out well. Nobody got hurt, and Marzo got the girl. He smiled inwardly at the memory of the guy gasping for air and slogging around in soaking wet clothes. He pictured himself tossing Rooney into the fountain on the plaza downstairs for what he just said. Maybe someday, he thought, but for now he just glared at him.

When neither man spoke, Ricci did. You understand this is a very difficult time for the security interests of the nation.

I think I get it, Marzo said, turning his gaze to her. I’m just not sure how much more help I can be, but let’s move on.

Good, Ricci said. As Tom indicated, we’re struggling to keep a lid on this until we get the whole picture. So begin by telling us why you are in New York, how and when you got here, what your plans were and what brought you to the Cathedral.

Sure, Marzo said. I’ll go through it all again. My wife and I have been working a lot. She’s a free lance journalist. But then, you already know that.

Neither Rooney nor Ricci responded, so Marzo continued.

"We wanted to spend some quality time with our little girl over the Christmas holiday, so we decided to spend a couple of days in New York.

We live in Bristol, Pennsylvania just over the bridge from Jersey and a few miles from Trenton. But you know that too. Anyway, yesterday afternoon we took the train from Trenton and arrived at Penn Station about three-fifteen. We caught a cab to the Marriot Marquis, at Times Square.

Why there? Ricci asked.

My wife said she wanted to be close to the theater, but I think she wanted to be near the Naked Cowboy at Times Square. He glanced at Rooney and quipped, I guess she has a thing for cowboys.

Ricci moved things along. So you checked in?

Yeah. There was no problem. Carrie made all the arrangements.

Ricci waited, so Marzo continued. After check-in we went outside and grabbed a dog from a vendor. Gracie wanted to do that, and then we walked to the American Girl store on 479th and 5th Avenue to get our daughter a doll. We spent eighty-five bucks, but it was worth it just to see my little girl’s face.

Ricci nodded, but didn’t smile. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who played with dolls when she was younger.

Then we took a cab to the Toys R Us Store on Broadway to ride the indoor Ferris wheel. Gracie had a blast.

Rooney had opened the briefcase, removed some files and was scanning them as Marzo spoke. Marzo surmised the files included a transcript of his earlier interview, so he said, Look, do you really want me to go into as much detail as before?

Rooney kept reading and Ricci said, Every word. Please go on.

By then Gracie was tired and hungry. We took another cab back to Times Square and had dinner at the Marriot. Carrie and I ordered steak, medium rare, and Gracie had chicken fing…

Rooney cut him off. I think you know we want to track your movement, contacts and motivations, he said tersely. You can skip the menu.

Whatever you say.

So you finished dinner, Ricci said.

Right. And by then Gracie was almost asleep at the table. So we went to our suite and put her to bed. We had a glass of wine in our room, watched a little television and went to sleep.

Did anyone approach you while you were at dinner?

No.

Did you leave the hotel room at all last night once you got there?

No.

Did anyone visit?

No.

Did you make or receive any calls?

Yes. We kept Gracie awake long enough to call her grandparents. She told them about her day. That was it. But I don’t understand these questions.

Ricci ignored him and said, Now let’s talk about today.

Sure. We were up and dressed by 8:30. We took a cab to Rockefeller Center and had breakfast in the restaurant overlooking the outdoor skating rink. We’d made a reservation to skate, so after breakfast Carrie and Gracie spent twenty minutes slipping and sliding on the ice while I watched and took pictures.

Did you stay at the rink the whole time they were skating?

Marzo shook his head. This was getting ridiculous. Yes. I stayed the whole time and didn’t speak or make contact with anyone. I was too busy enjoying my girls.

And after that?

After that we walked to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Why?

Why? Because we’re Catholic, because it’s one of the most visited landmarks in the city, and because, Marzo smiled and hesitated a little before adding, and because Gracie had a little problem at school that we wanted to clear up.

Ricci looked puzzled. What kind of problem?

She was assigned the role of the innkeeper in her pre-school Christmas pageant. They ignore gender roles now. Anyway, she didn’t like the part. She wanted to welcome Joseph and Mary into the inn instead of turning them away. She didn’t feel the stable would be good enough. I guess she felt like she was playing the heavy with the baby Jesus. She’s a sensitive kid.

Ricci smiled for the first time, but just barely.

Eventually we worked her through it, and she finally agreed not to change the part. We were really concerned that when Joseph and Mary knocked to inquire about a room she might just say, ‘Sure, come on in’ and ruin the whole play. But she didn’t, and the play went well. As a treat Carrie told her she would take her to the Cathedral to visit the manger scene when we got to New York.

Okay. So you got to the Cathedral at what time?

We got there about eleven forty-five. The place was jammed. Between services the building seems more like a museum than a church. Some visitors are reverent, while others are carrying packages, milling around, snapping photos, and laughing. This is especially so between Christmas and New Year’s. There had to be three or four thousand people in that church.

Okay, Ricci said. So you’re in the church. Where?

We found a pew about mid way up and said a quick prayer. Carrie wants Gracie to know that this kind of tourist behavior in church is atypical. It’s a place of worship. After that, Carrie took Gracie up front to visit the manger. I begged off, saying it would be a nice mother-daughter thing to do. The truth was that there was a very long line and I hate lines. I told her I wanted to visit the small side shrine to Elizabeth Ann Seton. She is the first native born saint from the United States. She founded the Sisters of Charity and started the first free Catholic school in America, so…

I get it, Ricci interjected. Skip the history and tell us what happened next.

Marzo shrugged and went on. I found the statue, visited briefly and picked up a brochure. In fact, I stuck it in my pocket. You guys should have it with the rest of my things. By the way, thanks for the clean shirt.

Our pleasure. Go on.

I’m noticing some blood stains on my pants as well. I’ll need…

We’re getting you some things now. It will all be taken care of before you go back to the hotel. Now please go on.

From there I moved toward the back of the church. Carrie and I had agreed to meet at the last pew. We had our cell phones so we could text if we had trouble finding each other in the crowd. It was then that things started to happen fast.

Ricci nodded and Marzo continued. I spotted this guy off to the side of the vestibule, just beyond the crowd. He didn’t look right.

Explain that, Ricci said.

Full truth? He had a distinctly Middle Eastern look about him, the kind of guy I’d pay attention to at an airport terminal. He just caught my eye. I guess I suffer from the profiling disease. I caught it in September of 2001 and I haven’t been able to shake it.

So what about the guy? What happened next?

Well, like I said. Things happened really fast. He had moved off to the side, away from the jostling crowd and stood at an open space against the back wall, near the statue of Saint John Bosco. He was wearing a heavy parka that was unbuttoned, but the sides still overlapped at the front concealing his chest. Then he suddenly brought his elbows up and held his hands by his ears the way Muslims do when they’re praying. His jacket opened, revealing wires and bricks of what appeared to be C-4 explosives. This guy had enough stuff to blow the roof off the building and take out God knows how many. But again, you know that.

Neither agent answered, so Marzo shrugged again and continued.

I’m about twenty feet away from him. The guy’s lips are moving. Luckily, he doesn’t notice that I see him.

What about people nearby? Do they notice him? Ricci asked.

I don’t know. I’m totally focused on the perp. But it’s very possible that they didn’t because he was back against the wall, out of the way.

Ricci glanced at Rooney and then nodded for Marzo to go on.

"For a second I wondered where my wife and daughter were. I hoped they were still at the front of the church where they might not get hurt, but there were plenty of other kids and innocent people nearby to worry about.

I’d already reached for my Glock that I keep in an ankle holster when I’m with my daughter. I don’t want her seeing or hugging my handgun. I’m braced against one of the huge columns, and I’m hoping it’s shielding me from being bumped. That’s when I saw the cell phone in the creep’s right hand and I’m thinking that’s how he’s planning to detonate the explosives. That had to be it because his left hand was empty and his elbows were still outstretched, like I said, the way they do when they’re praying. I’m worried that if I try to take him out with a kill shot, it would only take a last second twitch of his finger to hit the send button and we’d all be gone.

So what did you do?

I followed what I thought was my only option. I took aim and I blew his hand off at the wrist.

Now Ricci smirked. You blew his hand off. Pretty good shot, don’t you think?

Marzo shrugged. I practice a lot. Then he added sarcastically, You know, following Bureau procedure. Ricci and Rooney knew from his bureau records that Marzo was by far the best shot in his graduating class at Quantico and consistently led all shooters in their quarterly requalifying test.

Anyway, I watched the phone fall to the floor and was relieved nothing happened. The perp screamed as he looked at the spot where his hand used to be and then he looked down for the phone. I didn’t want to hit the C-4, so I fired again aiming for his thigh, which I got, and then I rushed him, took him to the floor face down, and held his arms away from his body. There was a lot of blood.

Ricci nodded. So what’s going on around you?

"All hell is breaking loose. The noise and echo were deafening and people are scattering. I’ve got the guy pinned with his chest to the floor and I’m yelling that I’m FBI and need a cop. I would have cuffed him but, you know, he only had one hand. Cathedral security showed up quickly plus uniformed cops who’d been out front. I know they’re going to be spooked, so I raise my hands, give up my weapon, and let them take control of the situation. I tell them not to touch the perp’s cell phone until the bomb squad arrived. Security established a perimeter and moved people out. I show the NYPD my ID and tell them what’s under the perp’s jacket. They’ve already called for backup and an ambulance, and we apply tourniquets to the guy’s arm and leg. The perp’s lost a lot of blood and appears to be in shock. I figured we wanted to keep him alive, but the EMT says the bullet punctured his femoral artery, and it’s not good. I call my wife but can’t reach her.

"By now more cops are on the scene, and a tactical team arrives. I tell them about the cell phone. A couple of NYPD plain clothes show up. I give one Carrie’s cell number and tell him not to stop calling until they find her and bring her to me.

While the paramedics work on the perp, I fill in NYPD on the possible C-4 and answer their questions. The feds arrive in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes and take over the scene. I’m filling them in when a New York cop tells me they’ve located my girls. I tell him to bring them in, but the feds say not until they complete their questions. I tell them to kiss my ass. I’m finished talking until I see my girls for two minutes.

He looked at Rooney and added, I don’t give a damn if that’s not in the manual.

Rooney didn’t respond and Marzo continued.

One of the feds points out that my jacket and shirt are covered with blood. He gives me his FBI windbreaker and I cover up. I meet the girls in the vestibule, and we reassure each other that we’re okay. Gracie is upset, but doesn’t really know what’s going on, which is good. One of the female agents on the scene assures me she’ll get them back to the hotel. I kiss my wife and promise to see her soon.

Marzo continued, We finished the debriefing at the scene and then I was taken here where I’ve been ever since.

The room got quiet until Ricci broke the silence. Agent Marzo, there are two issues here. The first is whether or not your actions at the scene were appropriate. This is standard procedure, as you know, when an agent is involved in a shooting. I think it’s clear from what we’ve heard today that this was a good shoot, an exemplary shoot, and your actions were certainly justified.

Marzo shook his head. I think that was clear several hours ago.

Ricci ignored him and went on. Your actions regarding your family violated protocol, but are completely understandable under the circumstances.

It was irrelevant to Marzo whether she thought his actions were okay or not, but he remained silent.

Now it was Rooney’s turn. As Agent Ricci said, there are two issues here. The second involves national security and any knowledge of this attack you may have had prior to today.

Marzo shot forward. Prior knowledge! Are you crazy? What the hell…

Rooney cut him off. You work out of the FBI office in Philadelphia in the anti-terror unit.

You know I do, at 6th and Arch Streets, across from the United States Constitution Center. So what’s the big deal? Marzo protested.

Do you believe in coincidences, Agent Marzo?

Probably not. No actually. Not when it comes to law enforcement. Why?

The perp’s driver’s license was in his wallet, as was a student identification card from the University of Pennsylvania. His name, or at least the name he was using, is Anas Saeed Umari and he lived in Philadelphia, 34th Street, near the campus.

That’s interesting, but I’m still not getting it.

Think about it. He decided to travel to New York City to blow up a church on the same date and time you made the trip to the same location. That’s a coincidence. And then, as a special bonus coincidence, Rooney added some sarcasm of his own now, you were able to take him down just before he succeeded.

Marzo smiled. You’re out of your friggin’ mind. I’m not even sure what you’re implying. Was he on a terror list?

See, that’s the thing, Rooney said. He wasn’t on any watch list.

Okay, so what’s the point?

Put yourself in our shoes, Rooney said. This attack fails and we all breathe a sigh of relief. The C-4 was real, and we came within seconds of suffering a terrible loss of life, the worst since nine-eleven. And, Rooney paused for emphasis, we are able to foil the attack because a crackerjack FBI special agent named Marzo is on the scene purely by happenstance and takes heroic action.

I’d say we’re pretty damn lucky, Marzo replied. But I’m still not sure where you’re going with this.

Rooney leaned forward. Try this scenario. The heroic Agent Marzo is a bit of a renegade, a cowboy, if you will. He has great skills in the field. He’s a former Special Forces captain with commendable service in Iraq and Afghanistan. He’s a tough guy who’s often impatient with bureau procedure. He works the anti-terror unit in Philly and gets wind of this guy Umari. For some reason he decides to handle him alone. He intercepts some correspondence maybe. I’m not sure how, but he learns of Umari’s plan. He knows the date and location. He follows him to New York and when the time is right, he takes him down.

Marzo looked at Agent Ricci. Do you believe this guy? I mean, are you kidding me?

Ricci didn’t answer, and Marzo turned back to Rooney.

Let’s put aside for a minute the absurd notion that I’d deviate from my special assignment to embark on this bullshit scenario you’ve concocted. Would I bring my wife and four year old daughter into that kind of danger?

Rooney waited several seconds before responding and then said, "No, I don’t believe you would. I’m pretty sure it went down just as you say it did. But again, put yourself in our shoes. The Bureau is extremely skeptical of coincidences, and it would be irresponsible of us to ignore this one without performing our due diligence. And that’s why we have to pursue the following line of questioning. So spare us your indignation and just answer for the record.

Have you ever heard of Mr. Umari prior to today?

No.

Did you have any prior knowledge of today’s planned attack?

No!

Did you falsify any part of the information you provided us today?

No!

Good. We’re going to hook you up to a polygraph to answer the same questions and then send you on your way.

Whatever you say, Marzo replied.

There’s just one more thing, Ricci said. From what you’ve said, things happened so fast and the C-4 was concealed most of the time, so it’s possible that no one but you and the cops on the scene got to see the explosives. Is that your view?

Yeah, Marzo replied. There’s a good chance others didn’t see him from where he was standing.

We’re going to keep a lid on this for now. We’ve already debriefed the cops on the scene. The cathedral is already cleaned up and reopened. The press release will read something like, ‘St. Patrick’s Cathedral was evacuated briefly today as an off-duty FBI agent visiting with his family thwarted a would-be violent, random attack by an as yet unidentified man. The off duty agent shot the assailant who later died from his wounds. Authorities have no idea of the identity of the man and believe he may have been homeless. The FBI and NYPD are withholding the name of the agent pending further investigation.

The perp died? Marzo said flatly.

Yes, Ricci said. I’m sorry. I thought the other team told you. He bled out on the way to the hospital. We needed to talk to him.

Marzo nodded. This wasn’t the first man he had killed. But it was the first away from a combat zone.

So that’s the story you’re going public with. No mention of the explosives?

That’s right, Ricci replied. As you know, the FBI operates differently when it comes to terror activities in New York. We work closely with the Joint Task Force, and, for now, this is how the boys from New York want to handle it. We’re not releasing your name, but if the media makes contact you’ll be limited to ‘no comment.’ Is that clear?"

Do you really think you can keep a lid on this? Marzo asked.

Ricci said, "We’ve already gotten the perp’s college records and searched his apartment. No roommates. The landlord said the guy never had visitors. He was here on a student visa from Yemen. We woke up our embassy there and they tapped into local authorities. It appears that he forged the information he provided to obtain the visa and gain acceptance to Penn. The address he used in Yemen doesn’t exist.

His professors here say he stopped attending class soon after the semester started. There are no credit cards in his name or cell phone accounts. No auto loans. No bank account. He paid his rent in cash. His tuition payment was wired to the university from Yemen when he started school this fall. No social networking sites in his name. We don’t know who this guy is and no one else seems to. So for all practical purposes, he doesn’t exist, which is fine with us for now. NSA intercepted no transmissions about an attack like this. So New York feels there is no upside to making this public. We can’t declare a terror alert because we wouldn’t know the focus. So again, you will remain silent.

Marzo shrugged. I don’t like the limelight, so as far as I’m concerned, this event never happened.

Perfect, Rooney replied.

Chapter 2

Three days later John Marzo left the FBI office on Arch Street in Philadelphia and walked four blocks to Buddakan, an upscale place at 3rd and Chestnut. It was a far cry from any of Philly’s beef and beer taverns he would have preferred, but this meeting wasn’t his call.

He arrived early and decided to have a drink. The place was dimly lit, with sleek furniture and soft far eastern music that he could have done without. He’d spent the better part of the last ten years on three continents that were not his own. He remembered the sights, sounds and smells of each, and the memories weren’t good.

There was only one person at the bar, an attractive blond wearing a sleeveless dress that revealed well toned arms. Marzo had a weakness for blondes in sleeveless dresses. He chose the seat next to her, cleared his throat and said, Mind if I sit here?

Without speaking, she made a point of panning the empty seats along the bar he could have chosen.

It’s been a long day, Marzo said.

She still didn’t respond, and Marzo was spared more awkward silence when the bartender arrived. Welcome to Buddakan. What can I get you?

There was an assortment of Asian beers on display like Sapporo and Kirin, and Marzo was disappointed. Then he spotted a Yuengling Lager and said, I’ll have one of those Pennsylvania beers.

The bartender nodded. Another Bonsai for the lady?

The woman nodded. Yes, but put mine on my tab.

The bartender glanced at Marzo, shrugged, and turned to fill the order.

What’s in a Bonsai? Marzo asked her.

She rolled her eyes and answered reluctantly. Grey Goose, Cilantro and some stuff called Yuzu juice.

I don’t know what Yuzu juice is, but the Yuengling is brewed in Pottsville, Pennsylvania, he said proudly.

The blonde didn’t seem interested.

Marzo wasn’t doing well, but he kept trying. Do you come here often?

She made an exaggerated show of annoyance, exhaled, and said, Occasionally.

Don’t be offended if I say this, Marzo said. But you seem a little detached.

Gee, are you sensing that?

Let me guess, Marzo said enthusiastically. I bet you’re a Pisces, or maybe a Virgo. Yeah, that’s it. I’m thinking you’re a Virgo.

The blonde smirked. You’re kidding, right? I mean Zodiac signs in a bar? Where have you been?

Marzo traced the answer in his mind: Afghanistan, Iraq, Turkey, Central America, other places the Special Forces took him that he could never divulge. He said, Hey, I’m just making conversation. Then he added, Well, truth be told, maybe I am trying to pick you up.

The blonde glanced at his hand. Well, you shouldn’t be. You’re wearing a wedding ring.

So are you, Marzo said sheepishly. I read that it’s okay for people to fool around if they’re both married.

If anyone wrote that, which I doubt, it would have been a man.

Actually, I might be thinking of that Pina Colada song. You know, the guy puts an ad in the paper looking for a fling and his wife answers it.

I know the song, the blonde said. It’s stupid.

Marzo examined the front of the blonde’s dress more closely. It was cut just the way he liked it, nice and low, but not too low. The bartender delivered their drinks, and Marzo decided to get a little bolder. As she sipped her drink he said, If I said you had a great body, would you hold it against me?

Oh my God, she shrieked, almost choking on the Bonsai, I haven’t heard that since college.

Impossible, Marzo deadpanned. I just made it up.

The blonde shook her head, and Marzo loved the way her hair brushed her shoulder. She said, Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I mean you’re a good looking guy, but when you open your mouth…

Marzo smiled and interrupted her. Really? I think you’re as interested in me as I am in you. Let’s leave here and get