The Observer (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

glass front door of the mosque, was a tarnished, brass plaque that read "Shrine of the Island Mosque in Manhattan.” There were no other signs or indications that the door he was standing in front of led to a place of worship; a temple that, out of the nearly 200 in the area, was singled out, along with its imam, as a place of interest.
    The door was unlocked and led to a flight of immaculately clean stairs. Along the stairs were several images of mosques around the world, framed sayings written in Arabic and, towards the top of the stairway, a framed, full color picture of Abdul Fattaah Huda. Derek paused to study the picture and realized it was the same picture that was included in the case folder.
    The door at the top of the stairs opened to reveal a long, narrow hallway, which was completely void of any furniture, photographs or images. Along the left side of the 12 foot hallway, were two pairs of shoes.  
    As Derek passed through the hallway, he saw that it opened up into a large, open room; its carpeted floor still showing the track marks of a vacuum cleaner’s travels.
    “Hello?” he called, hoping to make his presence known.
    “Yes, yes,” a voice called from behind an open door that lead to a small room to the far left of the open room he was standing in. “Please, take your shoes off, and I will be right with you.”
    Derek untied, removed his shoes, and placed them next to the pairs he had passed in the hallway. He quickly inspected the other shoes and mentally made note of the sizes of each. As he turned around to return to the open room, he saw a man walking towards him wearing a felt cap, a pure white kurta and a smile that seemed to fill up the entire room.
    “How can I help you?” the man said in a strong middle eastern accent.
    “I’m hoping to find Abdul Fattaah Huda. I believe he is the imam of this mosque?” Derek tentatively asked.
    “I am Abdul,” the man said as he extended his hand. “Please, come in and tell me how I can help you.”
    Abdul invited Derek to sit on the floor. “Use the column behind you to brace yourself, if you like.”
    Once both were sitting, Abdul, his smile still filling his face, said, “Now, how can I help you?”
    “Uh, I’m not sure what to call you. I’m a Catholic and am used to calling people like you Father.”
    Abdul laughed as he rocked his body back and forth in a calming, rhythmic pattern. “You can call me Abdul. What can I call you?”
    “My name is Derek Cole.”
    “Well then Derek Cole, what is a Catholic like you doing visiting an Islamic mosque?”
    “I’m a private investigator and have been hired by some clients to do some research into a possible terrorist attack in the city.”
    “And you think that I may be the terrorist you are looking for?” Abdul asked, his dark eyes slowly revealing a hidden sadness.
    “Not at all,” Derek responded. “I am hoping that you may know other people that I could talk to.”
    “Others who I feel may be terrorists or have malicious intentions?”
    “Honestly, I don’t know exactly,” Derek said as his eyes fell to the carpet. “My clients insist on remaining anonymous and only provided me with few details to start my case on.”
    “And my name was included in those few details?” Abdul asked.
    “Your picture, the address of this mosque and a few notes about you.”
    “And, tell me Derek Cole, what did the notes indicate?”
    “Only that you are the Imam of this mosque and that this mosque may have a history of producing radicals.”
    “Producing radicals?” Abdul said. “Tell me, did your notes say exactly how a radical is produced?”
    “Maybe produced is the wrong term,” Derek answered. “How about my clients believe that some people who attend this mosque for prayers and instruction are considered to have radical beliefs?”
    “That is better,” Abdul said, his smile fading a little. “And tell me, what makes someone a radical?”
    “I don’t know my client’s