Beth looked puzzled.
“Married?” she asked.
Her eyes brightened and she said, “You really think we’re ready for that?”
He answered, “Well – no, not yet. But I never would have given in to your seduction if I hadn’t considered it.”
She was only quiet for a brief moment.
Then she spoke up, “Well, I wasn’t going to go there, but since I know you feel that way, you might as well know I love you. I have been falling in love with you ever since we started the assassin case. And about that night, if you’re asking if it meant a lot to me, well - of course it did. John, I just meant I felt guilty in a sense that it didn’t sit right with me after we’d done it. I mean something inside told me we were wrong.”
Knox raised his eyebrows.
“So, you’re saying you didn’t feel guilty because of your knowledge of my beliefs about what we did…but what you believe? Beth, don’t take this the wrong way, but that is good news.”
The waiter brought the check and put a short, awkward break in the conversation. Knox got out some cash and folded it up in the small receipt book.
He handed it to the waiter and said, “Keep the change.”
The waiter nodded and walked away.
Beth caught Knox’s eyes as he got up and pushed his chair under the table.
“I should have known it was bothering you…but I am serious. It has been like someone telling me that I messed up; almost like my dad’s voice, but I feel it; I don’t just hear it.”
Knox nodded as they walked out to the parking lot.
He opened Beth’s door for her once again, and he gave her a heart-warming look and said, “Beth…it’s all the time you’ve been spending in the Word. I have been telling you. It’s more than just pretty words. Once you apply those words to your life, you feel them. I’m happy for you.”
He walked around and climbed up in the driver’s seat. He cranked up the big Turbo Diesel and it roared to life. Beth sat there and began thinking to herself as Knox put the truck in Drive and pulled the big pickup out of the parking lot of Cardone’s. The two sat quietly for the first part of the ride back to Beth’s place.
Just before turning the corner to Beth’s street, she asked Knox, “So I guess when you drop me off, you’re not going to stay, are you? I mean, I can’t blame you. I know you’re not going anywhere anyway.”
Knox pulled the truck into her driveway. He got out and walked around to Beth’s door. She couldn’t help but smile to herself when he would open doors and pull out chairs for her; it was always good to know chivalry wasn’t dead. Knox walked her up to the front door.
They turned to face each other, and he bent down and gave her a passionate kiss that lasted several seconds.
When he looked into her eyes again, he answered, “One day, Honey. One day we’ll have plenty of nights together like that last one. By the way, I never got around to saying it back.”
Beth’s short term memory had gone blank.
“Say what back?”
Knox planted one last kiss on her and stood back.
“I love you, too.”
They started walking apart as he turned to go, when his cell phone rang.
“John – I’m sorry to bother you at this hour. But he’s done it again,” McCoy’s voice said on the other end of the line.
Knox replied, “We’ll be in shortly. Agent White is actually with me.”
Beth punched him in the shoulder and mouthed that she couldn’t believe him, telling their boss that they were together after hours like that. Knox laughed as he hung up.
“Well, sweetie…let’s get back to work.”
29
Detroit, Michigan
24 Hour Gym at Hotel
Malik was punching a 100 pound bag that had thoughtfully been mounted from the ceiling of the 24 hour gym only accessible to hotel guests. He would occasionally throw in a quick knee or disguised elbow, sometimes leaning back and grabbing the top of the bag as he did so. Malik had been taught Krav Maga by one of the finest Israeli instructors when he lived with his mother in Kuwait before being accepted into Interpol. He was in really good shape through years of practice, and he was almost ‘in the zone’ when his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway.
“Hello?”
The caller’s voice replied, “Malik…that you? Son – it’s been too long!”
Malik started taking his gloves off as he held the phone up to his sweaty cheek.
“Dad? Allah be praised, how are you? How are you getting to call me?”
Malik’s dad was in a federal prison for a crime that he had committed back when Malik was in high school. He had been caught driving a truck for some drug dealers out of New York and smuggling the shipment up north to Canada. Malik even knew back then that his dad did it because they were under hard financial times, and his dad’s skills as a truck driver had been the only thing that had kept them afloat in the US once he had retired from the Army. Malik had spent time in Kuwait until his dad was shipped back to the States. His dad had married a sheik’s daughter in Kuwait, but when both parties agreed to an amicable divorce, Malik’s grandfather had understood the boy’s wishes to see where his dad had come from – so long as he kept the mother’s last name. So he traveled back to the Bronx in New York, and attended middle school and high school in the Bronx. Although Malik’s grandfather offered for the boy to come live in Kuwait with his mother, Malik had always admired his dad’s work ethic, and decided he wanted to try and make it on his own. Arrangements were made for Malik to go back and visit his mother whenever he requested, and he lived out his high school days with his Aunt Teresa, his dad’s sister.
“Malik, I’ve been blessed with a work detail that allows me full access to a cell phone, but all my calls are monitored. But I had to go through some crazy channels to get your number.”
Malik laughed, “Whoa – you didn’t have to speak with the Chief, did you? I can just see his face now, trying to understand your jive talk.”
His father answered, “Was he the guy that sounded like Arnold? If so, he’s a pretty serious cat. But he gave up your digits – so here we are. Have you talked to your mom lately? How is she?”
Malik nodded and told his dad about his last talk with his mother. He also told him how busy he’d been overseas and here in the States with his last two cases. He mentioned that he was on the Jesus Assassin case with a guy from the FBI.
“What’d you say that agent’s name is that’s helping you go after this guy?”
Malik repeated, “Knox…Agent John Knox. And Pops, you wouldn’t believe this guy. He is the opposite of what everyone overseas thinks when they think about Christians; especially Christian Americans. He’s down to Earth, and he really has his head on his shoulders.”
Malik’s dad, sometimes affectionately known to others as simply, The Sarge, piped in, “Sounds like you really respect this guy. Well if he’s so sharp, and they have someone as gifted as you going after this assassin, than this Jesus Assassin must be really good.”
Malik confirmed his dad’s statement, “You’re right about that, Pops. But Knox thinks like him, and he might even be able to use that to guess what the killer is doing…but only if we get a few more leads first.”
“You guys got a suspect yet?” he asked his son.
Malik said, “Not exactly…we think someone is possibly a copycat, as far as military and espionage go. But we could be wrong about that, and our original suspicions could turn out to be right. Something is just fishy about the first guy that matches our killer’s skillset to a tee.”
The Sarge continued, “Well, sounds like you guys have your hands full. So besides work – how have you been doing?”
Malik thought about an appropriate answer his dad was looking for.
“I’ve been trying to be consistent with my prayers; work consumes most of my days, and exercise. B
ut when I’m not doing either one of those, I have my alarm set for the five prayers every day.”
His dad responded, “So you’re still following Allah? Hmmm, I thought all that time in Europe might have changed your mind.”
“What do you mean, Pops? You are still Muslim, aren’t you?” Malik asked his father.
The Sarge just answered, “Son, let’s just say, my eyes have been opened.”
Just then Malik’s call waiting was beeping in on the line.
“Dad – I’ve got to go. Agent Knox is on the other line. But thanks for calling. I will come visit as soon as this case is over.”
The Sarge just replied, “You do that boy…you better just do that. I love ya!”
Malik hung up and answered Agent Knox, “What’s up, sir? It’s only been two days. Do we have something?”
Knox replied, “Pack your bags again – we’re going to Virginia.”
30
Fairfax, Virginia
Fairfax Center for Islam
Brady was waiting near the small city mosque. It was on the outskirts of the downtown area of Fairfax, Virginia. The last prayer of the day had just ended, and several people were leaving the mosque. He was concealed behind some shrubbery across the street, ducking down behind some holly bushes as the loyal and religious Muslims left to go home to their houses and prepare to get up the next day and practice their heresy all over again. He despised them; he knew they had nothing to do with his family’s deaths, but he hated them just the same. He abhorred anything Muslim. He had come to the conclusion that if Islam did not exist, his parents, and his wife and child, would still be with him today. He would still be Robert Brady. He would still be a SEAL, fighting the other forces of evil for his country. This hatred had led him down this road, and there was no turning back now. He saw the last of the Islamic followers’ cars leave the parking lot, and saw that there was only one car left. It belonged to Imam Abrahim al-Sunni. Al-Sunni was a peaceful man, only trying to make it along in this world by teaching as many people as he could about Allah and his prophet Muhammad. He harbored no ill will towards Christians, Jews, Hindus, or fellow Americans in general. Although he was considered by many to be a lonely man, he always knew he had Allah.
The small framed, somewhat pensive looking man walked out of the front door of the mosque. He didn’t have the slightest suspicion that anything dangerous was lurking outside the doors of his mosque. Why would a killer like the Jesus Assassin want to kill an imam like him; he was insignificant in the great big scheme of things. He had absolutely zero ties to terrorists, and he had no evil wishes towards anyone. Yet here he was, in the crossbow sites of Robert Brady. It was because Brady had grown desperate. He was on the run, even though he was sure that authorities had no clue as to his current position. But with an organization like the Activity, and the intelligence resources at their disposal, he had to rush his mission. All he needed were 12 imams; he had convinced himself of that. In his twisted view on Islam and Christianity, he could set things right with the world by reaching the twelfth imam. Mr. al-Sunni would be number six. Brady let the imam get all the way to his car door. Just before he stuck the key in the door of his little red Toyota Corolla, the assassin fired his crossbow. The bolt twisted through the air, accelerating until it hit its target; center-mass, stopping the imam in his tracks. It was a death dealing blow, but the imam did not die as fast as some of the assassin’s other methods had done to others. He turned around and leaned against his car. He slid down and was sitting up on the ground, wondering what just happened. Surely Allah would not end his service this way. He had been so diligent; so devoted. Then the figure in black approached him from across the street.
Although the imam’s body was shutting down and burning from the inside out from snake venom, his brain was still functioning – albeit in a state of shock.
He spoke up to the assassin, “Why? What did my people ever do to you? Why would you be willing to serve Satan in this manner?”
Brady looked upon his target with some regret; he was a puny man; Brady was definitely the bully on the street. He responded regrettably by taking a small gold cross out of his chest pocket.
“Mister, I don’t even know your name. But I know you preach blasphemy. Jesus is the answer – not Allah. Your religion has done more harm to this world than good. I am simply aiding our race along the way, until He comes again.”
The imam’s breathing had become more labored, and he began wheezing as he finished, “And what do you think your Christ would think of your handiwork? I am…afraid… you are the blasphemer.”
He coughed one more time, and then his head slumped forward. Once Brady knew there was no more life left in him, he placed the cross in the imam’s right hand. He had heard the imam’s words.
A tiny part of him asked the question, “Did I kill an innocent man?”
But his resolve did not falter. He had just eliminated another Muslim. That was one less threat to the spreading of the devil’s religion in disguise; that’s the way he saw it.
He was speeding down a two lane highway at around 75 miles per hour. As he contemplated his next move, he thought it was worth a shot contacting his old boss, despite his unsanctioned hits. He knew the Activity had to be the only group that had even come close to catching him. He knew that the ruthless, persistent soul who had attempted to kill him at his cabin was one of their hunters. His only hope to end that hunt was through the head of the Activity. He had almost forgotten he had a direct line to the man. He hoped they hadn’t shut that perk off to him just yet. He was actually surprised they never tried to reach him; maybe to set up a fake meeting just to trap him for the easy kill. He hit send on his cell, and waited.
Director Marks picked up after several rings.
He answered groggily, “This better be good – I was sleeping.”
Brady cleared his throat.
“Sir, back when we arranged this whole thing – you told me to call you if I was ever having an emergency. Well – one of your hunting dogs almost had me back at my cabin, and I am begging you to call him off.”
The Director recognized Brady’s voice right away, despite being sleepy.
“Mr. Brady – so good to finally hear from you. If you’ll recall, I never assured you of anything if you ever broke protocol. Unsanctioned hits on non-US targets are extremely forbidden. You know I can’t call off our dog. You’ve brought way too much potential attention to our organization. I wish you had come to me after your first mistake. But mistake after mistake; well I am afraid my hands are tied. The other leaders in the Activity even agreed to have you eliminated. I am sorry Robert.”
The man formerly known as the Activist calmly replied.
“Well then send him if you must. But know this, sir. No matter how bad he wants me; no matter how skilled your hunter is – I will not stop until my mission is complete.”
Marks pretended to laugh on his end. “Robert, I am afraid we selected the Arbiter for a reason. You may have been the best spy in the business. But I guarantee you the Arbiter is the best hunter out there…and you are his prey.”
Brady, who was normally a man of few words, simply replied, “Catch me if you can, Di-recta.”
31
Annandale, Virginia
Cemba-sacur Muslim Center
He drove his Jeep Commander just six miles down the road to a town called Annandale. The highway going into town – the Little River Turnpike – made it a straight shot from Fairfax. On his way into the town, there was a sign for the Northern Virginia Mosque. Although it was past nightfall, Brady followed the sign’s directions and headed down the next road for about two miles. He pulled into the parking lot of the small brick Islamic center of worship and saw some light coming from several lamps inside the small windows along the wall. There were also two cars in the parking lot. Brady had no idea what he would discover inside, but he knew only the leader of the mosque would still have the building open this late at night.
He parked in the parking lot, right in the front of the mosque. He grabbed his crossbow out of the backseat, and he headed to the front door. To his surprise, it was unlocked, so he slowly pushed the door open and crept inside.
As soon as he entered, he was in a large, open room, with several neat rows of prayer rugs on the floor. On the very back row, there was a woman on her knees; her face and head were prostrate to the floor. At the front there was a black man in the same position. However, he had noticed the man in black come into the mosque, and stood up abruptly.
“This is a house of God, sir. You have no business here…I know who you are.”
Brady held up the crossbow. He was close enough to the imam to not have a need for the scope. The imam was tall as he stood up; an African American male, with robes and headwear of African design. He would have been an imposing figure in his youth, Brady thought to himself. Brady answered him as he saw the woman at the back look over at him and hold her hands up. She was not very tall, and had a petite build. She was also wearing the customary black vail over her face, along with her head dress.
“Allah is not God; Allah is just Muhammad’s fabrication of a god that conveniently taught him tenets to write down in a book, that just so happened to go along with his political views of the time period.”
The imam glanced over at the woman and motioned to the door for her to run, but she was frozen in fear.
Brady spoke up again, “She has nothing to fear. Chances are, she was coerced into this faith anyway, therefore not entirely to blame for her sins. But you”- Brady pulled the trigger, aiming higher on the chest on his target this time.
The crossbow bolt hit its mark and the imam hit his knees.