Where Smith had stayed, who he saw, where he ate, his flight home—everything was examined in the first twenty-four hours. Agents were deep into his text messages, e-mails, voice mails, everything. But there were still unaccounted hours and gaps in Smith’s compulsive texting and the tweeting he did to promote Hullabaloo. He was also very active on Facebook. All of the feed came from Smith. That he was so active made his electronic fingerprints easy to track, but activity doesn’t translate to answers.
Sorrow reached deep into me as I sat there with disparate pieces. I lost my focus, as I had many times since the bombings. I stood. I drank some cold water and took a couple of aspirin, and checked the time: 3:30 and no call yet from the surveillance team. As of this afternoon, Omar Smith was cleared to go back into his building. I wanted to be there or show up while he was there, but I didn’t want to clear that with Venuti. I’d end up with five agents there with me. Any element of surprise would be lost. So I was quietly communicating with the surveillance team watching Smith’s house. I checked in with them again.
“I’m headed there now,” I said.
I brought along the blast report from TEDAC, the Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center, which is the FBI center at Quantico that analyzes terrorist explosive devices. The report was preliminary, but the detonator had been reviewed in detail. An ion mobility spectrometer had confirmed C-4, and earlier I talked with a TEDAC analyst about that. They were all but saying a cell phone was the likely trigger device. I also got the runback from the ATF Arson and Explosives National Repository. Nothing new there.
The reinterview of the plumber, the TEDAC report, and the somewhat varying accounts of Omar Smith’s Fourth of July visit to the Alagara ahead of the party provided more of a timeline. Also, there were more details about the alleged salesman Smith met with at the Alagara just ahead of the party. That individual was yet to be located, a fact that further heightened suspicion of Smith.
At the Alagara I stood out on the patio rereading the TEDAC report, and then moved out into the lot. I read about the overlap from the secondary explosion and the conclusion that the bombs were well designed. I checked out the flowers. Many had wilted and browned in the heat. I was back in the building when my phone rang.
“Grale here.”
“Grale, it’s Dietrich.”
“What’s up?”
“He’s on the move. Are you at the Alagara?”
Dietrich was the agent in charge of the surveillance teams watching Smith. He was no-nonsense but also very intuitive. I trusted him.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said.
“He’s backing out of his garage in a red Audi A8. Looks like he’s got a place in mind. Maybe he’s coming your way.”
Another call from Dietrich came five minutes later.
“Drifting your way.”
I walked out, moved my car, and Dietrich called again.
“Less than a mile from you and speeding up.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You won’t have to wait long.”
23
Hard-soled shoes clicked on the concrete floor of the bar and echoed in the restroom, where I waited in darkness. They stopped, and Smith let out a low, eerie wail, perhaps shocked at how much damage there was. A rush of Turkish words flowed from him, and then a long silence followed by footsteps. His shadow passed by in the corridor. Minutes later and after I had eased out of the restroom, I heard what sounded like a cordless drill start and stop and start again. I walked quietly toward the sound.
Smith’s back was to me as he removed trim and wainscoting to reveal a wall safe. He had spun the dial and opened the safe before he felt my presence near the office door. I saw him react then continue removing bundles of one hundred dollar bills from the safe. He glanced up but wouldn’t look at me as he talked. It was as if he were talking to the bundles of cash he fed into a backpack.
“This is my money. This is my building again as of today, and this is my money. I have proof of this. I must make a payment today. This is why I take it out now.”
He finally looked at me. “The men who loan to me rob me with high interest.”
“Where are these men?”
“In Istanbul. Businessmen.”
“How much do you owe?”
“More than I have. But how much is it your business to know what I owe?”
“Why didn’t you tell us about the wall safe?”
“Why would I? I opened my home and my office to the FBI. Do I owe you everything about my life because of these terrorists?”
“The money could have been removed and taken to a bank.”
“With all the police, it was safer here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it. It’s cash.”
It was a lot of cash. If these bundles were all C-notes, it was hundreds of thousands and we’d want to get the Secret Service or Treasury to run the serial numbers. I told him that.
“You cannot do that to me. You must not do that. I mean this. I cannot explain, but it is very important I make a payment.”
“What’s the payment?”
“I can’t explain.”
“That’s not going to work, Omar.”
“My lawyer said wait until the building is returned to you. It’s mine again and everything here is mine as it was before the bombs.”
“It’s not going to work that way with this money.”