He walked over to al-Zawari and took the ping pong paddle from his cold, dead hand.
He walked over to the funny man who enjoyed watching the activist’s head get used as a ping pong ball, who of course was the first to get shot.
“And for the winner of the ‘Who’s the dumbest terrorist in the room’, you get the golden paddle.”
He reached down and put the paddle in his hand.
He signaled the squad leader to hold on, and he ripped two of the maps off the wall and folded them up and put them in his cargo pocket with the front page news article he had found earlier.
He looked up at the squad leader and gave him thumbs up; the leader spoke into his radio mic, “Ok team…that entrance was supreme, but we made a lot of noise, and better get the heck out of Dodge. Main target was hit – I repeat…Main target was hit and is down. Leave the bodies, and let’s ride!”
With that, the activist and the other soldiers quickly ran out the back patio into the alley. Several lights had been turned on in the neighborhood, but most of them were in the front of the buildings. Each Delta Force member picked up their bike and cranked it up quietly. Apparently, the folks at DARPA spent so much time working on the stealth technology and performance of the engines, they forgot to add a kick-stand.
The activist quickly climbed on the back of the squad leader’s bike, and right before they left he whispered, “I always wanted to ride one of these.”
Although curious eyes saw the group leave, none of the other terrorist cell members in the area knew who they were, and didn’t know quite how to respond. Without their leader, their organization would start to crumble – especially with US soldiers camped out nearby. The activist was proud to accomplish another mission; now he just had to make plans for the UN building.
A short time later, inside a hangar on an air force base at a non-disclosed location somewhere near Baghdad, the Delta Force Team was sitting down to de-brief the mission with Major Dozier. Since the mission was a success, the Major had invited the pilots and the navigator to sit in on the de-briefing. As people were in a hurry to get the meeting over with so they could get some shut-eye before heading back to the States in the late morning, the navigator bumped into the activist who was still wearing his black outfit. Although he had his hood drawn over his head once again, especially to conceal some of the punishment his face had taken while being interrogated, he looked up for a brief moment. The navigator, who unknown to the activist was the Arbiter, caught a quick glimpse of the activist’s green eyes. The activist showed no expression, but shrugged off the glancing blow of the navigator’s shoulder into his, and found a wooden seat on the back row of the several chairs set out for the small gathering. The navigator started to say ‘Excuse me’, but by the time he had the words on the tip of his tongue, the activist was already seated, and the Major was giving his customary throat clearing sound to get everyone’s attention. ‘First Sergeant Smith’ quickly sat in a seat in the back corner as Major Dozier began. He was standing next to a large table with a map of Baghdad spread out before him.
“Fine, fine example of how to get things done, men! As you all know, what you are about to hear in this hangar stays in this hangar – but I want us all to get an understanding of what just happened so you can get a firm grasp of what it means for our combat theatre over here for the rest of our boys in desert cammies.”
The Major pointed out the Squad Leader and briefly introduced him.
“Gentlemen, this is Squad Leader, Captain Charlie Parson. Captain, what were the results of your team’s little bike ride, Sir?”
The Captain piped in, “Sir, we eliminated the leader of the main al-Qaeda terrorist cell in Baghdad. He was killed with two gun shots to the head, and we left his body as a message for the other bad guys, just as the mission required.”
“Outstanding news, Captain. I understand you found something while you were infiltrating the house?”
The Captain shook his head, then pointed to the activist sitting in the back row.
Then he added, “Not us – he did. Our asset located maps in a rec room upstairs in the house. I am not privy to what those maps entail as of yet, but he can probably show us.”
The Major motioned for the activist to approach. Although the Delta Force team knew he would sometimes joke around under pressure, nobody expected him to talk – and he did not disappoint. He walked up to the major and nodded, then took out some papers that had been folded several times from a large pocket on the right leg of his BDUs. He spread the maps out on the table, right over top the map of Baghdad. He waved his hands out over the maps as if to say ‘Here you go’, and walked back to his seat. Although nobody else noticed, ‘First Sergeant Smith’ noticed a separate, smaller folded piece of paper fall to the floor behind the activist as he sat down. The Major just nodded in acknowledgement of the activist’s contribution, and told everyone that they were both maps of Texas.
The Major was ready to wrap things up, and he knew his men were tired.
“Gentlemen, although I can only speculate as to what they were planning with these maps, I don’t get paid enough to determine that. But what I do know is this; each person in here did their part today – and now al-Qaeda’s influence here in Iraq will begin to crumble because of what you accomplished today. So good job, everybody! Now, y’all need to go get some R&R before we leave for home at eleven hundred hours later this morning…dismissed!”
As everyone got up to find their way to their barracks, some of the men got up to look at the maps before leaving the room. The Arbiter kept an eye on the activist and watched as he got up to walk out of the hangar. He waited until the activist was out of sight, and made sure nobody else was looking as he wondered over to where the activist had been sitting. He bent down and picked up the piece of newspaper that had been folded several times over. He walked around some crates stored in the hangar that hid him from view of the rest of the team as they were leaving. He unfolded the page and looked on with a puzzled face as he read the headlines and the first part of the article included on the title page. He folded the page back up following the same creases made by the activist. As he made his way to his bunk, he found a new sense of direction as he realized his next stop would be New York City; right after he was finished playing the part of navigator First Sergeant Carey Smith.
24
New York
Hotel Room at Holiday Inn
Malik was pacing back and forth outside on the porch outside the sliding glass door, talking on the phone with Chief Inspector Holcroft back in Belgium. There was nothing quite like listening to an angry Belgian on the phone.
“I want to know how you let it get to this point Sharif! This Jesus Assassin mania is going to make Interpol look bad!”
He was shouting with his typical German accent.
Malik tried to reassure him.
“Chief, we will reign him in using this media attention. Trust me, this guy Knox is one of the smoothest feds I have met over here. Give us time, and we’ll have this assassin before you can say Belgian Waffle.”
Malik thought by adding some humor to the conversation, it would lighten his boss’s mood. He was wrong.
“Don’t get smart with me, Malik! I gave you the assignment because I trusted you to get the job done. The powers that be are breathing down my neck about this assassin. I don’t care who you are working with – just get it done. Catch him soon, or I will have to pull you from the case.”
With that Holcroft hung up on his end, and Malik was left standing there rubbing his temple. He walked back into the living room area of the hotel suite, and Agents Knox and White were sitting next to each other on the sofa waiting on him.
“So, trouble back home there, big fella?” Knox asked him.
Malik smiled casually and said, “Oh, you heard that? Yeah, that was headquarters. My chief is none-too-thrilled about the media attention our case has received. You guys have any more luck?”
&nbs
p; Knox went first, and told Malik that he had some luck speaking to the law enforcement powers-that-be in New York and Dearborn to keep a lid on the facts of their cases regarding dead imams in their cities. The press had already had a field day spreading flames on an already tumultuous war in religious philosophy between Christianity and Islam. News agencies like Al-Jazeera and others in the Middle East were excited to know and portray that the shoe was on the other foot for Christians now, who were so used to seeing the violence initiated by Muslims in different terrorist attacks around the world. So far, Knox had been able to stem the blood flow of ink on the pages of news across the country to only include the third assassination. If the assassin were seen as a serial killer, they might have a real religious panic on their hands.
He finished telling both his cohorts, “I’m just glad McCoy didn’t want me to try to talk to your boss, too. From the look on your face, he might be a hard man to work for.”
Malik nodded and answered, “Oh he is a hard man, alright. But Chief Holcroft knows what he’s doing when it comes to running the show in Brussels. Make no mistake about it, he’s just putting on the pressure because it’s been put on him. He still has faith in me…or should I say us? Anyway, he was just hammering the point home. What about you, Beth? You get any ideas of where to go next with your look into the Navy? Because I couldn’t find anything about Brady…not one single factoid or hint on the internet that the man ever existed.”
Beth shook her head, “Nope, I thought maybe we could follow the enlisted trail, and I could find out who was in his class at the naval base near Chicago, at Naval Station in Great Lakes, Illinois. Came up empty like everyone else. Suddenly there is no record of Robert Brady ever being trained as a Navy man.”
The three of them sat there and said nothing for a few minutes. Then Knox stood up and walked into their hotel room’s tiny kitchen and opened the fridge.
As he stood there and stared into the refrigerator, he spoke up, “This calls for a drink.”
He took out a Coke and set it on the counter, then grabbed two bottles of beer and tossed each one to his partners. He sat back down next to Beth and twisted off the top to his soda, tipped the bottle back, and took a long swallow. The other two agents gave their beers a glance, and both shrugged their shoulders and followed suit.
Malik finally asked, “So where are we? Did anything ever pan out with your letter to the editor after our beloved Jesus Assassin debut?”
Knox nodded and replied, “Well, they at least printed it. I don’t know if it will make him want to stay his course or not, but it definitely rallied some folks to his cause. There have been several additional letters in response to what I wrote. No offense, Malik buddy – but a lot of Americans don’t have a high opinion of Islam. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Malik answered, “Sometimes it does. But I am settled with the fact that I am not like those evil men who committed such madness back in 2001. I can’t blame those people who feel loss and anger; especially for not knowing everything there is to know about Islam.”
Knox continued, “That’s the truth; there is a big difference between true Muslims and the radicals we all hear and read about. I have known that for a while. But you still have to wonder about a religion started by just one man – and its very foundation all based on a book written by that one man.”
Malik rebutted calmly, “Jesus was just one man – and look what happened from his teachings. And Islam was not started by one man, but by Allah himself after he saw that mankind was behaving like a spoiled teenager.”
“Jesus was more than just one man, Malik; He was the Son of God,” Knox added.
Malik was about to come back with something else when his wrist watch started beeping.
Glad for the interruption, Beth asked spryly, “What’s the alarm for? Time for your beauty sleep?”
Malik smiled and said, “Nope.”
He then put his beer aside on the coffee table and went to the kitchen. He knew Muslims weren’t supposed to drink alcohol – but he also knew nobody was perfect. He thoroughly washed his hands, and then began rubbing water over his face and forearms. He dried off and then walked to the glass door. He slipped off his shoes, and went out on the porch. He closed the door behind him, picked up a small sajadah that he had rolled up and placed on the small patio table. He faced the setting sun, and he began his ritual kneeling and standing and bowing in the required order.
Knox and White looked on from inside the hotel suite, and Knox said to Beth, “You’ve got to admire his devotion. Here we were just telling him how wrong his religion is, and he sticks to his guns in the middle of a debate and focuses on Allah.”
Beth replied, “Um, you were the one telling him how wrong he is. I always just sit and listen. Although I’m coming around, you might want to cut him some slack. You and I both know he is nothing like the jihadists.”
“I know Beth, but you didn’t get to hear the rest of what I was going to ask him. What is more believable – a story about God that is inconsistent throughout because the core of its message changed with the mood of its writer, depending on what the writer was going through at the time…or a story about God that has stood the test of time, consistent throughout, despite being written by several men spread out over a thousand years?” Knox asked.
Beth had a puzzled look. “What do you mean about the Quran? Muhammad wrote the entire book?”
Knox simply said, “Yep”.
Agent White piped back, “So Muhammad wrote his message from God over a long period of time?”
“Oh yeah,” he replied.
“Even devout Muslims will tell you it took him around twenty-two years. They will of course tell you that he didn’t write it, but Allah himself wrote it.”
Beth just nodded and said, “Oh – who knew?”
Just about then, Malik walked back in from outside and slipped his shoes back on.
“Sorry guys – I guess I should have excused myself. I told you I’m not devout – but I try to stick to my prayers during the day when I am not in public. I know I should be more consistent, but – well, like you said…not all Americans are comfortable seeing a Muslim praying.”
Just then, Knox’s cell phone rang. He picked up on the second ring and answered.
“Knox here,” he said.
He sat there nodding his head several times, and kept saying, “Yes, sir.”
Finally when he hung up, he looked at Beth and Malik.
“You guys read the paper yet? McCoy said we should take a peek.”
Malik reached over to the coffee table and moved some of the pertinent papers and file folders that had found their way to just one more piece of furniture the agents could clutter with their work. He found the New York Times and spread it out. The front page told them what McCoy wanted them to know. Imams from Saudi Arabia and Yemen to Speak to UN Tomorrow were the words across the top of the page.
“Well, gang – I guess we know where we’ll be hanging out tomorrow,” Knox said with sarcasm.
Beth responded, “You guys really think our man would attempt to take both imams out in the same place?”
Malik added, “It does say they are presenting a case for the UN to assist in catching the Jesus Assassin. I don’t think our killer needs a better reason.”
A few hours later, Agent Knox laid there in bed engrossed in a crime novel, when a faint knock came to his bedroom door. Before he could say anything or get up to open the door, Beth quickly opened it just enough to slip her small frame through and pull it closed behind her.
She started, “I couldn’t sleep.”
She leaned back against the door briefly and pressed her palms against the door behind her as if to make sure nobody else would come in. That’s when Knox noticed she was only wearing a very short t-shirt and black underwear. The shirt clung to her curves, and despite her short stature, Knox couldn’t help but notice the amount of long legs displayed in front of him.
“Um, Beth – you don’t have on any clothes.”
She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed on the same side where he was already halfway under the covers sitting up.
She leaned over and gave him a small peck on the lips, then replied, “Well that’s the idea, genius. I was sitting in bed, thinking about all you and I have talked about, and I don’t know…I just feel like I want to have this moment with you because I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Knox just hung his head and let out a sigh.
“Honey, you know how I feel about this. It’s not that I don’t want you; quite the opposite. I still want us to wait. I’ve been down this road before, and I just think there are reasons the Man Upstairs put certain rules in that great big book that you’ve been reading lately.”
Beth climbed up and sat on top of the scholarly looking man, wearing a set of reading glasses and a white under shirt to sleep in. She removed the glasses and leaned over to put them on the night stand. She turned off the lamp at the same time. He couldn’t help but admire her muscular, well defined shoulders and neckline.
“John, I know what you’ve said, but I just don’t want to have any regrets. If something should happen to one of us on this case, I don’t want to squander the chance we had together”- Knox pushed down on her lips with his finger and shushed her.
He looked into her eyes and bent down to kiss her. He sat back up one last time and whispered, “Okay – you twisted my arm. No regrets.”
They started slow at first, but in no time, Beth had kicked down the covers that had been pulled over Knox, and the room temperature became pretty hot and heavy. Agent John Knox had been intimate with only two other women before. He had always been such a boy scout with Beth ever since they’d started dating, and he always told her the same thing about rules, and reasons, and how he already felt guilty for not waiting for marriage. But after he saw Beth sitting there straddling him in the dim light that came in from a window with the shades partly drawn, all his reasons and morals figuratively went out the window. The boy scout was just going to have to chalk this one up to the sinful nature of man.