Page List


Font:  

“My people know the risks to life and limb when they join our movement. Collateral damage has become second nature to all of us, Fadhil. If you’re not charging on that war horse along with the rest of us then you’re in the wrong movement and don’t have the same goals as us.” Abu’s chilled voice cracked through the room.

“A man can live without freedom, swoon in fantasy, create stories and alternative realities.” Fadhil’s eyes shone as he sat forward. “He can fly, soar in dreams and jump from mountain peaks to thrive in his own imagination.” He waved a hand through the air. “But that’s all it is. A peculiar mindset constructed to entertain extraordinary obsessions. Man can never escape reality, no matter how hard he tries. No one can hide from or outrun their own subconscious thoughts; if tormented enough, they will haunt and scream behind the locked recesses of their minds, until they become toxic and fester like an open sore, leaving them to rot in their own despair.”

“Are you saying ISIS is a figment of people’s imagination?” Abu’s voice darkened with indignation.

“Not ISIS, my friend, rather their own commitment to the cause. They might buy into all the bullshit but deep down, how sure are you that they would really bend to your will? Because let’s be honest. That’s all it is. You’re the ruler, the one who gives the orders, who shares their expectation that they should sacrifice themselves for the glory of God.”

“It seems you just proved my point, Fadhil. You’re a loner, a terrorist with only one aim and that is to acquire fame and power for yourself. Do you even know why we fight?”

“Your religious beliefs are well known, Abu. I don’t need to remind you that we share the same.”

“And yet you don’t see it as an Islamic way of life. I suppose you’re one of those who pretends that we’re not a religious, millenarian group— a theology corrupted by Western values.” He slammed his fist against his chest. “Have I misjudged you and your commitment to me? To Islam? This is our reality, Fadhil. We are stronger than most believe us to be and do you know why?”

“Do tell.” Fadhil did little to hide his amusement at Abu’s pious outburst. It was what excited him, drove his sense of power and domination over others and his pathological need to incite their anger.

“Allahu Akbar! He has guided us for as long as I can remember. Virtually every major decision and law promulgated by the Islamic State adheres to the Prophetic methodology. Always has and always will. We’ll never stray from following the prophecy and example of the Prophet Muhammad, in punctilious detail!” He slapped his fists together. “Either you stand with us, or you get the fuck out now. Either you’re a believer or an infidel. There is no place for self-righteousness and self-importance in ISIS.” His hand cut through the air. “Let me put this in a way you’ll understand, Fadhil. ISIS currently has more fighters than it did when it founded its caliphate in 2014, as well as over a hundred million U.S. dollars at our disposal. We don’t need you. Money can buy as many foot soldiers or assassins right here in the U.S. as we need to achieve our goal.”

“Relax, Abu. I was just yanking your chain, as they say in America,” Fadhil said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The dead-eye look he received from his ally was more than a warning. It was an outright threat.

“You know my stand on collateral damage, Fadhil. Don’t push yourself to the head of the line to become part of that statistic.” Abu glanced at his watch. “What time did the wife say her husband would be home?”

“Around 1800 hours.”

“Good. That gives us enough time to set up the scene. Attorney General Woods is going to be the first example of what we’re capable of.” He pressed back into the chair as he stretched his legs. “We’ve been silent long enough. We broke their backs recently and they’re not even aware we were the ones playing God.”

“What are you talking about?”

His lips curled into a Cheshire grin. “There are many ways to fight wars, my friend, but the most effective is to cripple them financially… which we have already achieved twice now in this very state.”

Fadhil let his mind wander through local events. “The 2018 wild fires in California? Don’t tell me you were involved in the recent flare-up as well?”

“Very good. It seems there is hope for you yet. Arson achieves what we’ve repeatedly stressed as a core objective of jihad. We’re hitting the West in the pocketbook. Our jihadists are trained to monitor well for a place where they can set a fire without drawing attention and spark those that will be so great that efforts made to extinguish it will financially hurt our enemies. Fires that are so great they will not be able to put it out before it spreads out of control. They believe the recent California fires were caused by Pacific Gas and Electric's faulty power grid where downed power lines sparked the fires.” Abu grinned evilly. “That might be true but who's to say what caused those faulty power grids, right? The losses caused by the wildfires here alone are estimated at four-hundred-billion dollars. Yes, Fadhil, we’re slowly bringing them to their knees, one state at a time. Now, we need to bring our power to bear. They believe ISIS doesn’t operate in the U.S. and I prefer to keep it that way. At least until we’ve got everything in place to turn this devil’s playground into a holy land that we control.”

“I suppose we’re back to me taking the blame for the upcoming bombing and the Woods family murders?”

Abu didn’t respond but instead fixed his sharp gaze on Fadhil.

“Very well, but we’ll do it my way. I’m not going to get caught and locked up. If that’s your aim, I suggest you change your plans. I’ll leave crumbs leading to a suspicion that I might be involved with the terrorist group at work but outright admitting to it is not an option. I have a reputation to uphold and until I have shown what I’m truly capable of, no one will find me.” He held up his hand to quiet Abu’s protest. “That includes you, Abu. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

“Very well, but there can be no delay. I want their attention distracted for at least a month after the bombing, so I suggest you get to work and devise a plan to keep them searching for you in Iraq. You have forty-eight hours to get it right. Our asset is already in place with the explosives. The timeline has been set in stone. Don’t fuck this up, Fadhil.”

The message was clear. If he caused Abu’s plan to fail, he would be the next victim of collateral damage.

“I know what I’m doing. I have evaded capture for more than twenty years.” He rubbed his hands. “Well, shall we? I’m in the mood to dish out some serious pain.” He got up and headed towards the stairs leading to the basement. “And they were so wonderfully accommodating to build a soundproof hideout. No one is going to hear their screams.”

If his intent had been to shock Abu, he failed. Torture and painful deaths didn’t bother him. It had always been an acceptable method to get enemies to talk or eliminate them altogether. He didn’t believe in ‘moderns’ and continued to follow the tenets of age-old practices. They were infallible, time-worn and proven to be the most effective way to send crystal-clear messages.

The blonde woman and her sixteen-year-old daughter cowered on a bed as they walked into the well-stocked hideout. The eighteen-year old teenage boy glared at them angrily from where he was chained to a steel pipe. The young man had spunk and from the expression on Fadhil’s face, it excited him to no end.

“See, my friend? My blathering of earlier proved true once again.” He gestured around. “Even here, in the bowels of the earth, hiding from the forces of nature, all they care about is luxury and comfort. Money, money, money. It’s the only language they know.”

“Please let us go,” Veronique begged. Her young face was tormented with fear. “Please, please, I beg you. We won’t say anything. We don’t know you and no one has to know you kept us prisoner. I beg you, please,” she ended in a sob as his dark eyes mocked her.

“Mrs. Woods, it’s your daughter. Care to explain to her why that’s not an option?”

With a defeated look, Linda Woods stared at the bulky man. Fear savaged her in that moment. The hope she’d harbored that they might survive died under the piercing gaze of the man behind him watching silently. She’d wracked her mind for the past hour since they’d been tied to the bed but still had no idea who they were. Dressed in charcoal gray suits with crisp white shirts and white ties, they looked like businessmen. At first glance, when she’d opened the door, she never would have guessed they had knocked on the door with evil in mind. She did suspect they were from the Middle East but that was the closest she came to identifying them.

“We’re waiting, Mrs. Woods.”


Tags: Linzi Basset Romance