The Last Infidel

by Spikes Donovan

  “And there were other people in here talking as well,” Asad insisted, leaning and looking up the steps towards the second floor. “Where are they? They couldn’t just vanish – and we heard nobody running up the stairs.”

  Two other men came running into the room through the door leading to the dining area. They looked at Asad and shook their heads. One of them spoke in Arabic.

  Asad checked for a bullet in the chamber of his gun, pulling the slide back gently, and he released it gently. “Now, I will give you to the count of three. If you do not tell me where the guns are, I will shoot you.”

  The two men on Cody’s left, both armed, conveniently moved towards Asad, taking their places next to their boss so they wouldn’t be sprayed with bullets.

  Cody looked over at Jose, who’s eyes were as wide as coffee cup saucers. He said to him, “Funny how things work out – we’re never that lucky.”

  “One,” Asad said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jose said, gasping for air. “They’re going to shoot us!”

  “Two,” Asad said, and he took aim right between Cody’s eyes.

  “At least it’ll be quick and relatively painless,” Cody said. “These morons could always use those dull knives of theirs. Just be thankful they aren’t going to---”

  Tracy, Nabeeb, Marcus, and Katrina, all of them with rifles in their hands, yelled for Asad and his men to drop their weapons, yelling and screaming like banshees. They put the muzzles of their rifles up against the skulls of Asad and his soldiers.

  Cody and Jose stepped forward, crossing the space between themselves and Asad and his men in less than a second. They relieved the men of their exceptionally fine weapons.

  Cody looked at Jose and said, “I told you it would be quick and relatively painless.”

  “You’re an ass, Cody,” Jose said. “But I like you.”

  “Now, about this spy you caught,” Tracy said to Asad. “Describe her and tell me where she is, or I will enjoy making you suffer.”

  “A girl, an older one,” Asad said, his voice shaking. “And she’s looking for a woman here – that’s all I know.”

  Tracy looked at Cody and Jose. “Let’s get this trash gagged and blindfolded. We have something important we need to do. Nabeeb, you need to hit the road. Take the Drano – you know the plan. David will help you carry it.”

  Nabeeb bowed; and he and David went to work gathering up all of the Drano they could carry.

  Cody and Jose, with the help of Marcus, tied the hands of Asad and his men, blindfolded them, and walked them out through the back door and down the alley. After fifty paces, they spun them around fifty times until they threw up, and they walked them back towards the workshop. They then carried them up the stairs, frightening all of the workers, all of whom remained still and silent at Cody’s command, and then brought them back down to the workshop. Five minutes later, the four men, still blindfolded and tied up, were led down the secret passage and into the basement of the Greenspan building.

  Tracy set Asad down in a chair at the table. She took the one opposite. “Cody,” she said. “Put you-know-who’s silenced weapon against Mr. Asad’s head. If he so much as moves a muscle, kill him. Katrina, untie his hands and tie up his feet. But leave him blindfolded.

  Cody took his position. Katrina did as she was told. “Jose,” Cody said. “Take the other men into the next room. If they make any sudden moves, kill them. And I’m not joking.”

  “Now, Mr. Asad, put your hands on the table,” Tracy said.

  Asad did as he was asked.

  Tracy picked up some old, black wire and fastened Asad’s hands to the table. She ran the wire through the gaps between the boards and up over his dark, dirty hands, twisting the wire together several times like twistems on garbage bags. Then she drew out a switchblade, its chrome blade glinting in the light of the lamp. “Katrina – you and Marcus watch the other prisoners with Jose. Get going, now.”

  Katrina and Marcus hurried away.

  “Okay, Mr. Asad,” Tracy said. “A girl, you said. You found her snooping? Are you sure? Or do you need an aggressive manicure to help you remember?” She took the tip of the knife and slid it up under Asad’s finger nail, the one on his index finger.

  Asad jumped. “Do your worst.”

  “I can, and I will – thanks for your permission,” Tracy sneered. She sat up, reached into her rear pocket, and removed a pair of wire cutters. “I’ve seen what you sons of Satan have done to innocent women and children. It’s not enough to just kill them – you take pleasure in watching them suffer. I guess you get that from that damned book of yours.” She placed the wire cutters’ jaws around the first joint of Asad’s index finger and snugged them up. “Cody, there’s a roll of duct tape in the bag on the floor. Will you please cover his mouth?”

  Cody, in a state of shock, did as he was asked.

  “Mr. Asad,” Tracy said. “We won’t just cut off your fingers. We will cut each finger off three times, starting with the first joint. That means you will lose parts of your hand thirty times. Do you think you’ll still be coherent by the time I start with your toes?”

  Asad began nodding his head over and over again, mumbling something incoherent from beneath the piece of duct tape. Maybe he was praying.

  Tracy shook her head. “You guys are such cowards when you’re alone. Take the tape off his mouth, Cody.”

  Cody removed the duct tape, grabbing one end with two fingers, and he ripped it away from Asad’s mouth as quickly as he could. Black facial hair, and lots of it, came off his face with the tape. Cody winced when he looked at it. “Dang – that had to hurt,” he said.

  “This woman – I think her name is Lisa or something, and she had a black face – grease or something,” Asad said. “She was on her way to---”

  Cody raised his hand to hit Asad, but he backed away. “There’d be no real fun in bashing your head in. I like a real fight.”

  “Where is Lisa being held?” Tracy demanded. “You’ve got five seconds.”

  “She’s . . . she’s just been brought in and she’s across the square, at the old bank,” Asad said. “She’s being held in the old vault, but the door is open. My men are looking for Jadhari right now – but maybe they have already found him.”

  Tracy stood up and nodded at Cody, motioning towards the passage with her hand. Cody followed her.

  “We need to get Lisa before they – Jadhari and his men – get to her,” Tracy said.

  “Simple diversion,” Cody said. “We need a suicide bomber to strike on the opposite side of the square. You know the tunnel system. Can you get into the bank?”

  “We haven’t been inside yet, but Asad can tell us who’s in the bank at this moment.”

  After a quick interrogation of Asad, Cody and Tracy outfitted him with a pack filled with five pounds of C-4 and a wireless detonator Cody seemed to have miraculously produced. They set two, one-pound coffee cans filled with rusty nails into the pack on either side of the charge.

  “This is going to be brutal,” Tracy said.

  “And you chopping off people’s fingers isn’t?” Cody rebutted.

  “No comparison,” Tracy said. “I’ve only had to remove two fingers from one guy – that hardly counts.”

  Jose showed up carrying Lisa’s silenced rifle and an Ak-47. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Just wait for the explosion,” Cody said. “You’ll hear it and feel it.”

  “We’ll be in position in exactly five minutes,” Tracy said. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Cody said.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Jose said, as he handed Cody a small Zippo lighter and a package of fire crackers. “I checked the fuses and they’re still good. But you gotta run fast because they light quick.”

  “Kill the others,” Cody said to Jose. “Get a couple guys and drop them into the drains.”

  “Got it, boss,” Jose said.

  Tracy
and Jose hurried out of the basement and disappeared down the corridor leading to the place beneath the courthouse. Cody, with Asad in front of him with his hands tied, his eyes covered, and his mouth taped shut, made his way through the tunnel. He came to the steps leading to the hardware store workshop and carefully guided his prisoner up the rough, hand-hewn blocks of stone. As the two men passed through the shop, several of Cody’s workers, who were preparing odds and ends for their Tuesday getaway, gave their boss a huge smile and the thumbs-up sign.

  Cody stepped outside into the quiet alley and turned right, heading for the busted up, once-paved, now-gravelly, potholed road known as West Main Street.

  Being one of the last remaining nights of Ramadan, and because most Muslims were now just breaking their fast indoors, Cody had no trouble making his way to the road. When he reached West Main Street, he stopped and looked out, seeing only the overgrown shrubs growing through the planters which were part of the specially-prepared side walks. Getting to the square would be easy tonight.

  Cody hurried his prisoner from one planting to the next, kneeling and scanning the streets as he went. A single guard, alone and whistling to himself, crossed over West Main Street heading towards the hardware store.

  As he moved, much like a chess piece across a game board, Cody wondered about his decision to use Asad as a diversion. He had no doubts about saving Lisa, and for more reasons than he could give. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to think through the possible – or were they inevitable? – consequences of what he was about to do, something he usually had no problem doing on other occasions. Right now, here, on this darkened street, with a lowlife in tow, all he could do was feel, as opposed to reason. And when he thought of Lisa, he felt good in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time. As far as Asad was concerned, he felt nothing but hatred for him.

  Cody came to a grinding halt when he heard dogs barking. He pulled himself and his prisoner into the tall, thick shrubs. He remembered that the imam had a team of bomb-sniffing dogs, and that he’d used them constantly in the mosque over the last week or so. No matter. The ruckus was coming from the other side of the square, probably from some back yard over on East Main. But there’d be a search in the morning, and those dogs would be dragged through the hardware store for sure. Ammonia should cover any traces of the explosives as well as the reek left behind by Asad and his men. But Cody would have to remember to douse the work room when he got back.

  The square looked clear to the left, where the legal office and justice buildings stood. The solitary guard who had passed minutes earlier, now joined by two others, stopped at the end of the square on this side, over to Cody’s right, and lit up a cigarette. Right in front of Cody, not ten yards away, he saw the park bench he was aiming for. The bench had been made four years ago by the Rotary Club to raise money for autism research. They’d raised over fifty-thousand dollars that year, all in the name of the children. Cody couldn’t help but think that this bench had been put here, on this corner, for just such a time.

  Cody pushed Asad forward and threw him down onto the bench. He pulled some wire out of his pockets and wired Asad’s hands to the slats between his legs, pulling them as tight as he could. Asad groaned and tried to wiggle free. Cody put his lips close to Asad’s ear and whispered, “This is for the children, you dirty Muslim bastard – that’s right, I called you a bastard because Mohammed is no father. Satan is your daddy – and you’re going to meet him.”

  Cody grabbed a large, plastic planter – someone had replaced the dead plants in all of the planters with plastic ones – and slid it behind Asad. He grabbed another and then another until Asad was perfectly hidden behind a wall of tacky, cheap, plastic, tropical foliage.

  He lit the firecrackers, shaking as he did, and he threw them as far out into the street as he could. Hardly had he turned to run than they began to go off, a string of fire crackers containing five hundred individual crackers. They rattled off cleanly, crisply, and consistently, roaring away in a once-silent night.

  Cody ran back the way he had come, past the plantings, ducking and stopping behind each one so that nobody would see him, until he reached the alley. Not wanting to miss the show, and because he wanted to kill as many Muslims as he could, he crossed the road to the opposite side and waited for his enemies to appear.

  Soldiers instantly began running onto the square, pouring from the businesses Cody could see: Martin’s Bar and Grill, Cheapy’s Shoes, several law offices, and from the courthouse itself. When several soldiers ran towards the bursting and flashing fireworks, calling other soldiers to hurry over, and when Cody thought a large enough crowd had assembled, he activated the detonator.

  The explosion rent the night air in a smoky, percussive blast, shaking the ground beneath his feet, sending nails and debris far and wide. Cody rolled into the plantings, protecting himself from falling splinters of wood, metal, and brick. With a huge cloud of smoke filling the square, white and acrid, concealing him from anybody who might be looking, Cody ran back across the street and down the alley without looking back.

  { 22 }

  Cody ran through the back door, through the workshop, and up the stairs towards the second floor. Out of breath, more because of fright than fatigue, he raced across the length of the upstairs sleeping quarters and pushed his way through the mass of men leaning and looking out through the upstairs window.

  “Make a hole,” he yelled, as he nudged some of his men aside. When he got to the window, he leaned out as far as he could, looking down and to the left. He saw debris, lots of it, scattered across the square. Bodies, too many to count, some of them one on top of another, lay on the ground. The blast had been enormous, sending the mangled and torn bodies of soldiers all the way up to the steps at the rear of the courthouse.

  David, a trim expert and ex-owner of a local millworks, pushed his way through the men and tugged on Cody’s shirt. “Mr. Marshall – we lost four or five of our guys. They left as soon as you left. They took their weapons and went towards the library.”

  “Well, that’s just great,” Cody said. “If they get caught, let’s just hope it’s with a bullets. If they talk, we’re done for.”

  “They won’t talk,” David said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were up to something else. I don’t think they mean to run – they didn’t take any food.”

  “Jadhari’s men will be coming soon,” Cody said. “His men and probably a few from some of the other units. Something tells me we all need to be dressed and waiting downstairs, like we mean to help – or we can fight. If we fight now, we die. If we can hold on for two more days, and if they don’t kill us all, we’ll have a real chance.”

  “I have an idea,” a voice said, thin and tired. It was the voice of Brad Temples, the old preacher-turned-barkeeper who’d publicly repented of his excess before ISA marched in two years earlier. “We have enough rope in the workshop to tie everyone up. If you put a gun in my hands, I can stand guard over you – and maybe take out a few of Bashar’s men when they arrive. They’ll think we – you know, the four other guys who left and I – tied you up and did the deed, so-to-speak.”

  Cody didn’t have time to think. “Are you willing to do that?”

  “They killed my wife,” Brad said. “Then they killed all my sons and grandchildren. No greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

  “David,” Cody said in a hurry. “Get the rope, and bring one of those hooked roofing shingle knives so we can cut it. Everybody down at the foot of your beds.”

  The men agreed, and all of them quickly paid their respects to the old man who, for the first time in the last two years, wore a satisfied smile across his face. Brad reminded them all that this was his decision and that it was his alone to make. He also said that the death of Asad, far from being a reckless stunt, had probably happened for a good reason and that no amount of complaining or griping about the deed was going to change it.

  The job of
tying up the men was finished in less than five minutes. Brad tied Cody up last, pulling the ropes around his wrists and body so tightly that Cody could barely breathe.

  “Now, Cody,” Brad said. “I’m going to smash you in the face with my rifle butt, just as I’m going to do to three other men in this room.”

  Everyone to the last man let out a groan, and a few protested vigorously that they not be included.

  “This way, when Jadhari comes in, or whoever, some of you will be out for the count,” Brad said. “That will make it all look real. As for myself? I’ll get a good two or three of those Muslims when they come crashing up the steps. I’ve got two clips, maybe I’ll get lucky. If I fire all of those, and if I’m still kicking, I’ve got this dandy bayonet.”

  The sound of vehicles, noisy and loud, could be heard coming towards the square. Men yelled and screamed, typical of ISA soldiers, and officers, all of them yelling in Arabic, shouted orders with brutality. The sounds of booted feet, all hurrying across the pavement, drew close to the hardware store.

  Brad apologized profusely, and then proceeded to knock out three of the men: one of them across from Cody, and two others to his right. For good measure, he added another, but only because the man had insisted at the last minute. Then Brad came for Cody.

  “Hey, I just remembered something. What about Jose?” Before Cody could get answer, the rifle butt came down on the right side of his face. He felt the shock, saw the flash of light, and he remembered no more.

  “He’ll be fine, don’t worry – and yes, he will have the generators working like they’re supposed to.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “The man’s a genius, I promise you. But we need to give him a little time, feed him a good breakfast, and just leave him alone.”