The Apostate

by Jack Hardin

  Chapter Seven

  Ellie blinked, stunned by Ben’s last statement and the stony expression on his face. “I’m sorry?” she said.

  Footsteps sounded down the hallway and a lady appeared in the doorway and stepped into the room. Voltaire and Virgil came in behind her, their weapons trained on her. The lady had olive skin and was wearing a flowing skirt. A brown hijab covered her head. She took in the room; the three operatives, Ben, and the girl. Her hands were clasped in front of her, trembling.

  “Where was she?” Ellie asked.

  “Huddled in a closet.”

  The lady looked toward Ben. “You have come for him?”

  “Yes,” Voltaire said. “What’s your name?”

  “Amina.”

  “And Amina, who kidnapped Dr. Warner?”

  “I did. I—I paid men to bring him to me.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  Ben interjected. “Her daughter, she’s sick.” He looked back to the bed. “She has a rare blood condition. Amina has the proper drugs but there’s a specific way they have to be administered.”

  Voltaire looked incredulous. “You kidnapped Dr. Warner for his expertise?”

  “Yes. That is all. We meant him no harm.”

  “Why couldn’t you just get a doctor to come from Cairo?” Virgil asked.

  “It...it is not that simple—my situation.”

  “And what situation is that?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Ma’am,” Voltaire said, “you’re in very big trouble with the United States government. I suggest you start talking.”

  “I cannot say,” she repeated.

  “Unbelievable,” Virgil muttered.

  Voltaire stepped to her and pointed to Ben. “Do you know who that is? You kidnapped the son of a United States senator.”

  She swung her gaze back to Ben. “You did not tell me this,” she barked.

  “I wasn’t going to offer it up ma’am. I didn’t want you getting ideas of ransom money if you knew the stock I come from.”

  “I would not have done that,” she sharply. “We do not want you for money.”

  “I wasn’t going to take that chance.” Ben looked back to Voltaire. “I need to stay. If this young lady doesn’t continue to get her medicine properly administered and on time she’ll die.”

  Voltaire shook his head. “I’m sorry Dr. Warner. My directive is to get you out. We can’t stay here.”

  Ben’s voice was horse with anger. “You want this girl’s blood on your hands? Then find someone to replace me.”

  “How did you find us?” Amina interrupted.

  “That’s not important,” Voltaire said. “And I’m not hanging around here like a nesting chicken. Virgil placed two strong hands on Ben’s shoulders and started pulling him away from the bed.

  “Wait!” Amina called out. “What...what if I can give you someone your government would have great interest in.”

  “I have no authority to negotiate,” Voltaire said. “We’re here to bring Dr. Warner home. That’s all.”

  Her curiosity peaked, Ellie asked, “Who do you have in mind, Amina?”

  Amina closed her eyes and brought in a deep breath. She exhaled slowly, as if she were carefully considering her next words; as though there was a silent, tumultuous debate raging inside her. She opened her eyes. “You will know him as The Apostate.”

  Ellie’s gaze shot over to Voltaire. He looked as monetary stunned as she did.

  The Apostate had claimed the bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Jordan two months ago, resulting in the loss of eighteen American and fourteen Jordanian lives. Many others who lived through the explosions had lost entire limbs and suffered severe burns, blindness, and permanent loss of hearing. More recently, the Apostate had taken credit for the attempted assassination of John Eisenberg, the United States Ambassador to Saudi Arabia. Ambassador Eisenberg was still in the hospital recovering from his wounds. His motorcade had been assaulted, leaving two Suburbans demolished and four security guards dead. Pin buttons of a burning American flag had been found strewn across the wrecehage with “the Apostate” written across.

  Beyond the attacks The Apostate had produced tens of thousands of pamphlets distributed across Jordan, Syria, and Audi Arabia, decrying the American political machine and

  Voltaire was unable to suppress a smirk. “You want me to believe that you can give us America’s most wanted terrorist?”

  “Yes,” she said camly. “I do.”

  “And why is that?” Voltaire asked.

  “Because,” she said, “he is my brother.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ellie felt the back of her neck prickle at Amina’s words.

  “Your brother?” Voltaire repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “And why would you give up your brother?”

  Amina’s face darkened and she looked to a folding chair against the wall. “May I sit down?”

  “No.”

  She nodded unsurely. “My brother, he used to be a good man. He had a great love for America. He was exchange student in Philadelphia for one year, just before the Taliban took over our government.”

  “Afghanistan?” Voltaire asked.

  “Yes. When he returned home he had Eagles jersey and Michael Jordan shoes. When the Taliban came to power they would not allow for such clothing to be worn or even owned. So he hid them in his closet. America, it changed my brother. After seeing Philadelphia and Boston and New York he returned home wanting to be architect.” Amina paused as tears began to cloud her eyes. She wiped them away. “He was going to find a way to go to college in America. That was soon before your 9/11.”

  The four Americans in the room were silent, all of them amazed that, if Amina was telling the truth, that they were hearing the personal history of The Apostate from his own sister. Before today, the U.S. intelligence community had come up short with any concrete identity for the man hiding behind the cryptic facade.

  She continued. “When your President Bush sent your Army into our country they freed us from the oppression of the Taliban. Our family was very much full of joy. It was very hard living under their rule. But my brother, he was even more happy.” She indicated towards Voltaire's gear. “He worshiped you, all of your army.”

  “So what changed?”

  She huffed indignantly. “Your army, they started to see all of us as terrorist. They see man with beard and think he must hate democracy and love to kill people in Allah's name. But this is not true. My father, he had a home at the edge of Kabul. One night, we were sleeping your and Army comes into the house. They pulled us all out of bed started yelling at my father and brother, accusing them of wanting to kill American soldiers; of being terrorist. One of the soldiers, they became frightened by something and started shooting. They killed my father and shot by brother in the leg. Then they threatened my brother not to talk about it or they would come back and kill us all. Then they left. Left us with my brother bleeding on the floor and my mother wailing over my father’s body. My brother, he still walks with limp.” Amina glared at Voltaire. “Your soldiers, they were not good men. My brother a good man before you all came into our country and destroyed everything we loved.” Her tone was not aquisorty. It was resigned; a bland statement of fact.

  “I’m sorry ma’am,” Voltaire said. “I really am. Sometimes a few bad apples get in the bunch.”

  “It is all done,” she replied. “I cannot change anything. I do not love America but I do not hate America. I only want my daughter to get better. I want her to have good life.”

  “We would need proof,” Voltaire said. “That your brother is the Apostate.”

  “I can give you proof. He calls me each night after evening prayers.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Ellie asked.

  “Yes.” She looked towards Ben. “If he stays here with me. If my daughter continues to get his help then I will tell you where he is.”

  “Amina,” Voltaire said. “If the Ap
ostate really is your brother, if you give him up, I can promise you that you won’t need Ben. We’ll get your daughter to the best doctors.” Ellie saw a mother’s hope wash over Amina’s expression. But it quickly vanished beneath a veneer of sadness.

  Voltaire looked to Virgil while speaking to Cicero over his mic. “Three, I’m sending four to you. I need the sat phone.”

  Virgil left the room, stepping over the man still laying dazed on the floor. The man began to stir, and as they waited for Virgil to return Ellie produced several zip ties and bound his hands and feet. When she was done she walked over to Voltaire and spoke quietly. “How many did you find at the back of the house?”

  “Two. They’re dead.” He dipped his head towards the man she had just secured. “With him and the one outside that makes two still breathing.” Virgil returned with the phone and handed it to Voltaire, who walked to the far corner of the room. He dialed the phone and set it to his ear, speaking in low, hushed tones.

  Ellie kept her gaze on Amina, who was standing at her daugther’s bed, clasping the girl’s limp hand in hers, stroking her clamy forehead with another. They could get help for Amain’s daughter. But when they treatment was over and they were released, it would take no time at all for them to be killed. The Apostate's men would have gotten wind of what she did and put out a hit order on them both. In this line of work Ellie didn’t have the luxury of sympathy. People often got dealt a bad hand, and it wasn’t her team’s job to right all the ills on this dark planet. But she did, right now, have a small window to show some empathy.

  Ellie walked over to her team leader, leaned in, and whispered in his ear. “You need to get them citizenship.” Volaire held up a finger and nodded. Ellie stepped back.

  Ellie left him alone to speak with Mortimer and went over to the bed. The young girl looked no older than twelve. Her skin had an abnormally yellowish hue and the flesh around her eyes was puffy.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she asked.

  Amina didn’t seem to hear. She was still stroking her daughter’s forehead, tears filling her eyes. “She has a rare blood disease,” Ben answered. He motioned toward the side table where several glass vials were perched next to several syringes. “I’m guessing the medicine is stolen. It has to be mixed properly before its admistaeted. The smallest mistake would put her into a coma that she most likely wouldn’t come out of.”

  Across the room Voltaire finished his phone call.

  Voltaire motioned for Ellie to followed him down the hallway. When they reach the kitchen he said, “Mortimer is fine with getting Amina immunity from prosecution. But he can’t guarantee citizenship and some form of witness protection until she’s cleared. They’re going to watch her while she’s in Germany and make sure she’s not involved For all we know she could have the same ideology as her brother. It’s going to take some time to vet her from the sidelines.”

  “Of course,” Ellie said.

  “That said, “Volatire placed a hand on her shoulder, “that was a good ask on your part.”

  “Thanks.” They returned to the room.

  “Okay, Amina.” She looked up and wiped at her eyes. “You have a deal. You give us your brother and you get uminity from kidnapping Dr. Ward and any affiliation with your brother. We’ll airlift your daughter to a hospital in Germany and get her the treatment she needs.”

  Amina bore down on her lower lip to keep fresh tears at bay. “Thank you,” she said, and the hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you very much.”

  “And another thing.” Voltiate glanced to Ellie before turning his gaze back to Amina. “We’re working on getting you both a green card. I can’t make any promises at this time but we’re going to try and get you set up permanently in the United States with new identities.

  You and your daughter will both be taken to the U.S. and given newspapers that reflect your new citizenship.”

  Suddenly, Amani looked distraught, as though a horrible thought accorded to her that had not surfaced until this moment. “The United States has lied many times before. How do I know you are telling the truth. If give you my brother you might leave us here.”

  Voltaire did not hesitate. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think trusting us right now is about the only option you have.”

  Ellie rested a hand on Amina’s shoulder. “He means that, Amina. We’ll get your daughter the medical care she needs. Most likely in Germany or England. When she’s well enough to travel again you’ll go to America and get new identities. You’ll have a new life.”

  Amina looked to the small, sickly body laying on the bed. A rebel tear slid down her check and he brushed it away. She closed her eyes, taking a final moment to remember her brother for who he used to be, not the monster he had become. Her eyes opened and her words came blandly, absence of any emotion. “My brother. His name is Nasir. Nasir Haqqani.”

  “And where is he?” Voltaire asked.

  “Syria,” she said resolutely. “He is in Syria.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jabal al-Druze Mountains,

  Southeast Syria

  He touched his forehead to the floor a final time before leaning back up and opening his eyes. He folded over the front corner of his janamaz—his prayer rug—and came to his feet. He walked out of the room and the wooden stairs creaked beneath him as he took them down to the first floor of the compound and entered his office; a small room with a desk, a half-empty bookshelf, and two rifle racks filled with AK-47s and AKMs.

  Nasir sat into the chair behind his desk and swiveled around so he could look out the small window. The landscape was covered in a blanket of snow, the pristine white broken only by rock fragments and clusters of boulders the snow had yet to cover over. In the distance Tell Qeni mountain rose gently above the horizon, arching into the sky like the back of a monstrous polar bear. To the east, hundreds of rows of olive trees sat bare-branched and dormant in the moonlight as they waited for spring to arrive.

  The floor creaked outside his office and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped through the open door. He had a strong, hooked nose and a long, brushed-out beard. “Babrak needs the cookbook,” he said. Nasir turned and grabbed a large three-ring binder off his bookshelf. He handed it to Janir and asked. “I will have the detonators ready soon.”

  “When do we leave?” ___ asked.

  “Two days. In the morning. Babrak should be finished by then. Is his heart prepared?”

  “Yes. He is still praying. He will be a good martyr, Nasir. He will be ready.”

  Nasir nodded. “Good.”

  Janir stepped out of the room and Nasir picked up his wire cutters. His desktop was littered with wires, plastic and metal components, and a jar full of ball bearings. He plugged the soldering iron into an outlet and then opened the bottom drawer and withdrew a fresh burner phone. He had dozens more; each time he used one he destroyed it immediately after the call. He knew the number by heart. He flipped open the old phone and dialed. It was answered on the fourth ring.

  “Amina,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I am well,” Amina replied. “And you, brother?”

  “Very cold. The snows returned last night. How is Fatima today?”

  “No better. She has not opened her eyes today. She needs a doctor, Nasir.”

  There was a prolonged silence on the other end. “I know. I am trying to arrange something.” More silence. “Let me speak to Moquat.”

  Aminia glanced nervously at Voltaire, her eyes wide. “He is not here.”

  “What do you mean? Of course he is there.”

  “Nasir,” she said. “Moquat, Humat and the others...they left several hours ago and said they would be back soon. But they have not returned.”

  “They would not do such a thing!”

  “And yet they are not here, Nasir. I can let you speak to the wind.”

  “So you are alone? You and Fatima?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did they go?”

 
“I asked. They would not tell me. He was angry about something. I do not know what.”

  Nasir’s voice erupted in anger. “I will send others to you. Moquat will pay with blood for this. Do you have food? Water?”

  “Yes. But when will you send for us? I do not like being here alone.”

  “Soon. Soon. I promise. I have one thing I must do first. I will send for you after.” Then Nasir said goodbye and hung up.

  Amina handed the phone back to Cicero, who had his laptop on his knees as he coordinated with Landley as they attempted to triangulate Nasir’s location. He shook his head. “We couldn’t get it,” he said.

  “Nasir,” Amina said, “he will know something it wrong.” She nodded thoughtfully. “He will know. Moquat is a faithful man. He would not simply leave me us by ourselves.”

  “Does he know that you kidnapped Ben?”

  “No. If knew this he would not risk sending for us.” Amina looked over at her daughter. “But I could not wait any longer.”

  “Why are you here, in Egypt?” Ellie asked. “Why aren’t you with your brother?”

  “Nasir does not want us close to his work,” Amina replied. “He moves us every two or three months so that we are not found. Last month we were in northern Saudi Arabia. The time before that in southern Afghanistan.”

  “That must be very lonely,” Voltaire said, trying to stokes the fires of dissatisfaction were clearly blazing inside her.

  “Yes,” she replied. “It is lonely.” She shrugged weakly. “But what am I to do? Nasi, he takes care of us.”

  Voltaire retrieved a cell phone from his pocket, typed in a passcode and navigated to his pictures. He found the one that Ellie had taken through the cafe window early the night before. He held it up to Amina. “Do you recognize this man?”

  She squinted as her eyes roved over the photo. “No. I have not seen this man before.”

  Voltaire turned it to Ben. “How about you? Did you ever see him in the refugee camp?”