by Roger Hayden
He had to take the first chance that he could to escape. It would be a challenge, but Sacha believed it possible. He felt that his life depended on it.
The brown van arrived at an outside darkened warehouse deep within the boroughs of the city. They stopped at a chain-link fence with barbed wire on top that surrounded the building. A man rushed to the fence, opened the sliding gate, and let them enter. The van crunched along the pebbles of gravel, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. As it neared the front of the warehouse, the man shut the sliding gate, looped around a chain and locked it. The van pulled to the side of the building and parked.
"We are here," Ammon said to the men in the back.
Sacha knelt and attempted to look out the front window to get some idea of where they had arrived. He was too nervous to ask any more questions. He estimated that there were probably more of Ammon's men in the warehouse. His best chance at escape was back at the docks. Now it seemed all but possible. The van side door slid open, revealing a man dressed completely in black fatigues. His face was stone-like and emotionless. He ordered the men out of the van in a native Arabic language. Ammon approached the darkly-dressed man and placed a hand on his shoulders.
"Give them a break, friend. They've been through quite a lot," Ammon said.
The man ignored Ammon's request and began to speak in English.
"The Americans are here, and I don't have time for your foolishness," the man responded.
"They're here now?" Ammon asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yes, they've been waiting an hour for you," the man barked.
Hasan and Omar climbed out of the van as Sacha followed. There were no windows into the warehouse, no spotlights overhead. Everything was quiet, except for the chatter of Ammon and his agitated comrade.
"We had a little bit of trouble with the authorities, as you know. Maybe you should have been there so I could sit here playing with myself," Annon barked.
"Getting arrested is your fault, not mine. You should have planned better. You should have been as far away from Wall Street as possible before the bomb went off. You did that to yourself. And where are the others?"
"They're dead," Ammon said. "Enough of your nonsense, I want to speak to Rashad."
The man stopped bickering with Ammon and simply walked away for them to follow.
Sacha stepped out of the van and examined his surroundings. Though he had been careful not to ask too much since he was forced along for the ride, Sacha wanted some assurance.
"Where are we? What are you going to do with me?" he asked.
Ammon smiled and placed his arm around Sacha.
"Relax, Sacha, you have no reason to be afraid. You're going to meet our leader, Rashad."
Sacha believed that he had plenty of reasons to be afraid. He didn't understand what Ammon wanted with him in the first place. He was European, whereas they were Middle Eastern. What supposed affinities were they supposed to have for each other? What if they asked him his religion? As a heavily religious country, he was raised a Christian and belonged to the Roman Catholic Church. He didn't want to make any assumption, but he was sure they weren't Catholics.
"We've stalled enough, let's go inside," Ammon said, removing his arm from around Sacha.
Hasan and Omar nodded and followed the man in black to the warehouse door. Ammon waited for Sacha to catch up, but he just stood there uncertain.
"It will be alright, I promise, come inside," Ammon reiterated with growing frustration.
"Ammon," Sacha said.
Ammon stopped and looked at Sacha waiting.
"What?" he asked.
"What is it that you want from me?" Sacha asked in a quiet tone.
Ammon sighed and approached him.
"I'm giving you a chance, Sacha. We've lost many of our brothers, and we'll no doubt lose some more. I assure you that today the world will forever change. Nothing will ever be the same. There will be no home for you to go to. No people you can call your own."
"So you want to recruit me? As what, exactly?" Sacha asked.
"As one of the Brotherhood," Ammon said turning away. He beckoned Sacha to the warehouse until he gave in and followed.
They entered the vast warehouse to find several black SUVs parked in a straight line. The footsteps of the new arrivals echoed throughout the inside, gaining the attention of several American-looking men, eight in total, in sleek business suits who stood in front of the SUVs. In the center of the warehouse was a semi-trailer truck with an enclosed forty foot trailer. A pudgy man with a long straggly beard stood across from the men in business suits. He wore a white embroidered cap over his head and dressed in a white robe-like garb. The man in black approached him first.
"They've all returned, Rashad," he said.
"Wonderful, thank you, Karim," the man, addressed as Rashad, said.
If he was their leader, Sacha was pretty sure he was in the presence of Islamic extremists, but what could explain the presence of so many sharply dressed American men in the same room?
Sacha trailed behind as Hasan, Omar, and Ammon approached their leader with open arms.
"Ah! Assalamu alaikum, my brothers," Rashad said as he hugged them individually.
"Wa alaikum assalamm," each one said back.
Rashad paid special attention to Ammon, embracing him in the longest hug.
"I heard of your success. Praise be to Allah," Rashad said with a slap on Ammon's back.
"And to Allah we praise," Ammon responded.
"Can we get on with it, please?" the apparent leader of the American group asked.
Rashad turned to the men and held his hand up.
"Patience please, sir. We'll discuss business momentarily."
The American man sighed and rolled his eyes, concealed under his sunglasses. Rashad turned back to Amman.
"So few return?" he asked with deep concern.
"We lost many fine men. We're all that remains. Where is everyone else that was here?" Ammon asked.
"They've been sent to prepare for our next step," Rashad answered.
Though it made little sense what Rashad was talking about, Ammon pressed him no further. Sacha stood against the entrance of the warehouse trying to remain out of sight. No one was paying attention to him. It would have been the perfect time to escape.
"And who is he?" Rashad asked of Sacha in a voice that echoed through the warehouse.
Startled, Sacha stopped leaning and stood nervously before his captors. Fortunately, Ammon spoke for him.
"We met him on the prison bus. His name is Sacha, he can help us."
"Well if you trust him, so do I. Welcome, Sacha!" Rashad said.
Sacha waved his hand.
"Hello," he said.
"Assalamu alaikum," Rashad said.
Sacha tried but fumbled the words back to him, gaining suspicious looks from the group.
Rashad's men gathered around as they walked towards the Americans. Sacha wisely stayed back by the door. He felt along the doorknob, but it had locked automatically once they entered the building.
"Are you gentlemen ready to go over the plan now?" the lanky American man asked. His blond hair was slicked back and parted to the side. The other men said and did nothing, but observe. They looked like secret service men of some sort, perhaps even CIA, but Sacha couldn't tell for sure. He was trying to understand the strange situation before him.
"What is going on?" he thought to himself.
Once the lead American man had Rashad's and his men's attention, he spoke.
"You men don't know me, you've never seen me. We were never here. Whom I work for is not important. All you need to know is that we will be watching you and tracking you at every point. If you wish, you can call me Agent Bolt. Now we don't have much time, several of your operatives have been staged throughout the East Coast with instructions and coordinates. Your instructions are to transport this truck to a disclosed location. We need the truck to stay mobile at all times until you reach the destination. There's
plenty of fuel reserve to get you there, as well as fuel stored in the back."
Agent Bolt paused and signaled one of his men to step forward. As he moved, the other man handed Agent Bolt a metal case marked "Top Secret." Agent Bolt took the case and placed it on the concrete ground before him. Sacha examined the semi-truck twenty feet from where he stood. The truck looked the length of a locomotive, large and intimidating. How did they think they would possibly get something of that size out of the city?
"It's going to take some time getting out of the city," Rashad said, as if reading Sacha's mind.
"If you stick to the directions, you should have no problem. Just remember, time is of the essence. Everything is in place, and now that it's started, it has to go as planned."
"What if we get detained by the authorities again?" Ammon asked. "Last time I was told of such assurances we ended up in the custody of the NYPD. We lost four brothers trying to escape. I barely got word back to Rashad in time."
"Who do you think arranged the bus in the first place?" Agent Bolt asked. "We have many friends in high places."
"Impressive, yes, we'll take the case now," Rashad said, signaling Ammon to pick it up.
Ammon walked over and took the case as Rashad took a step forward.
"We'll be in touch," he said bowing slightly to the American man. "Peace be with you."
"I assume you want your money before we go?" Agent Bolt said.
"Yes, of course," Rashad said, not wanting to admit that he had nearly forgot.
"Thomas," Agent Bolt said, waving another of the suited men over. "Show him the briefcase."
Thomas stepped forward and opened a brown leather briefcase packed fully with unmarked bills.
"Two million dollars, just like we discussed," Agent Bolt said. "Just make sure you stick to the plan. Simply transport it to the disclosed location then wait for further notice."
Hasan walked to the man holding the briefcase and took it from him. Rashad's group had what they needed. The American men took a step back, ready to leave.
"Stick to the plan. Do not deviate it from the slightest. Remember, we'll be watching you," Agent Bolt said as he turned away. The men walked back to the SUVs, approaching the doors.
"Agent Bolt," Rashad said, causing the agent to turn back around.
"Yes, what is it?" he said.
"You should have more confidence in us. After all, the Brotherhood has gotten you this far."
Agent Bolt thought to himself briefly.
"Fair enough, I guess," he responded.
"Open the door, Karim," Rashad ordered.
Karim, the man dressed in black, walked over to the other side of the warehouse, stood in front of a hanging chain, and pulled the aluminum door open. As it rolled open, spotlights beamed into the room from the rifles of several armed men.
The Americans were taken by surprise as the men, all dressed in tan guerrilla combat fatigues, stormed into the warehouse. In a flash, they were upon the Americans like sharks. Rashad grabbed his men and pulled them out of the line of fire.
"Hit the ground!" he shouted.
Agent Smith looked around in astonishment, genuinely confused by what was happening. By the time he realized, it was too late. Rashad's men, the guerrillas, fired upon the Americans in quick substantive bursts from their automatic rifles. Sacha huddled in the corner of the warehouse closing his eyes and covering his ears as the deafening blasts shook him to his core. The American agent slumped to the ground in a riddled, bloody mess. Multiple shells repeatedly rained onto the concrete. The guerrillas approached the bodies of the Americans and fired on them once more. Their blood-spattered corpses shook and twitched violently until the men ran out of ammo.
"That's enough!" Rashad shouted from his crouched position on the ground.
The guerrillas complied and lowered their rifles. Hasan, Omar, and Ammon rose from the ground as well in utter shock.
"What did you do?" Ammon demanded from Rashad.
Rashad turned around with an easy smile.
"I do apologize, but I couldn't risk exposing our plan."
"Plan? We had a plan. What are we going to do now?" Ammon said.
Sacha's heart beat rapidly in fear. He was shook uncontrollably as sweat poured from his head down his face. The armed guerrillas reformed and approached Rashad with their hot barrels smoking. Sacha was sure that he was next. His suspicions about the group were realized and he felt it only a matter of time before they gunned him down like a rabid dog.
"Those, men," Rashad said pointing to the dismembered bodies slumped on the floor, "they were going to betray us. We were to transport the bomb, then they would find us, kill us, and take the bomb back; all to say that they defeated the terrorists."
"Where did you hear this?" Ammon asked in disbelief.
"I knew it all along. You think the Americans would willingly give us a bomb of this magnitude? They would never risk such a thing. I'm guessing that the control module they gave us doesn't work. It's a decoy. I know that they have the real one on them. They wouldn't have hesitated to use it to their benefit. Now we hold the power. We can do whatever we want."
The guerrillas shouted and cheered in Arabic. Sacha looked desperately for a way out of the warehouse. The only way out was to walk directly by the terrorists to the open warehouse door.
Ammon grabbed Rashad's hand and shook it gently.
"Wonderful plan, brother. Allah has blessed us with your genius."
"We're not there yet, Ammon. We're going to transport the bomb as agreed upon, but we're not going to where they can find us."
"Where will we go?" Ammon asked.
"Where we can do the most damage," Rashad said.
He walked away from Ammon and gave attention to the guerrillas.
"Dispose of their bodies and their vehicles. But first find the control module. With haste, brothers, with haste."
Ammon, Hasan, and Omar approached the guerrillas and embraced them with hugs and smiles.
"I knew you were all still alive," Ammon said. "Praise be to Allah!"
Sacha crept on the ground quietly. He was nearly passed the celebrating group, but still had a long way to go.
"We have to move, brothers. Now!" Rashad ordered.
The men broke up their circle and proceeded to mobilize to flee the warehouse. Ammon took immediate notice of Sacha crouched below only a few feet from the open warehouse door.
"Brother Sacha, where are you going?" he asked.
Sacha froze and closed his eyes in a cringe. Ammon had caught him with so little to go. He heard Ammon's footsteps moving quickly towards him.
"Why do you flee?" he asked. "I told you there was nothing to be afraid of."
"I just needed some fresh air," Sacha said, rising to his feet.
"Listen, the Rashad believes in you. I believe in you. You ask why? You ask what I want from you. I want you to help us."
"I don't think I belong here," Sacha said. "I think you should know that I'm Catholic."
Ammon appeared unconcerned of Sacha's religion at the moment and pressed him further.
"We will deal with that when the time comes."
Suddenly Ammon's tone grew deeply serious.
"Our plans have changed as you can see. The Americans were trying to double-cross us. Didn't you see that? Then we beat them, as we will again and again!"
Sacha remained silent. He felt as if he was surrounded by lunatics. As long as he was with them, he felt that his life would be in danger, even more so out in the city as it ate itself alive.
"We don't have time to squabble," Ammon said. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to give you two options. Go with us, accompany us on our mission and help us complete the plan, or face the same fate as the lifeless bodies lying before you."
It was clear enough. Ammon made his first official threat against Sacha's life, giving him little choice.
"I will go--" Sacha said.
"Speak up!" Ammon said.
"I said I will go with yo
u."
Ammon smiled in a satisfied gleam.
"Excellent. Now go help the others destroy the evidence and we will be on the road soon," Ammon said.
Sacha agreed and reluctantly walked to the bodies on the ground. One of the guerrillas told him to grab the feet. They lifted one of the bodies and piled in the back of a nearby SUV. The sight and feel of the corpse was almost too much for Sacha to handle. He wanted to vomit everywhere; all over the guerrillas, over Rashad, Ammon, Hasan, Omar and the like. But he was no longer in a position to antagonize or refuse them.
"Do you think you can trust him?" Rashad asked Ammon in an aside.
"We can now. Being trustworthy is his only choice, if he wants to stay alive. Give it time," Ammon answered.
While he lifted the second body, a glimmer entered Sacha's head. It was the word "double-cross." He could submit to the Brotherhood, do what they asked, and become a part of them. He could earn their trust through any measures within reason, if such a thing was possible. Once they accepted him, he would do everything he could to stop them. That was his plan, however far-fetched it seemed. Sacha was going to stop them. He was going to prevent the bomb from detonating. That was his new mission.
Chapter Eleven
The Chase
It was morning in the Rockies and sunlight was just beginning to rise over the valley. Actual birds were chirping, and for a moment, it seemed like the beginning of just another day. Paul awoke lying with his seat back and a crick in his neck from his awkward positioning. He wasn't sure how long he had slept for, but they had a front row view of the sun rise coming up over the mountains; shaping up to be the most majestic sight he had seen in some time.
"Samantha," he whispered.
Samantha was lying back on the passenger seat with Julie in her arms. The kid must have crawled up front that night. Paul didn't want them to miss the sunrise; so he gently caressed her shoulder.
"Samantha, wake up. You have to see this," he said.
She slowly opened her eyes as Julie nuzzled into her chest.
