Stomping feet sounded in the hallway.
He took more steps to the door, but the pain was too much. His knees buckled; he crumpled to the floor.
His door opened. The light from the hallway spilled over him.
“Mohammed, oh dear, what’s wrong?” his mother cried rushing towards him.
His father came in right behind her. “What’s happening? Son, are you okay?”
“My chest, it hurts, and my shoulders. I feel like I can’t breathe…” he said, his voice sounding labored.
“Calm down,” his mother said as she cradled him in her arms.
“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Mo mumbled.
“Ssh, now be quiet and calm down. You’re not, you’re just having a panic attack, nothing more,” his mother said in a reassuring voice.
“Are you sure?” his father asked.
“Yes, I’ve had them before, so did my father. He’s just upset. Probably had a bad dream,” she said softly as she caressed his arms.
“Bad dream?” his father asked mockingly.
She leered and said, “If you’re going to be no help, please go back to bed.”
His mother’s embrace was easing his symptoms. The pain in his chest was ebbing and his heart rate was slowing. “I’m feeling better.”
She ran her fingers through his thick black hair and said, “Good. You just rest in your mother’s arms until you fall back to sleep.”
His father grumbled something under his breath and barged out of the bedroom.
Mo looked at his mother and said, “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Are you still having doubts? Please, son, just relax. You’re stronger than you know.”
“I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared, but you’re also very courageous. You always have been,” she mused as she remembered a moment from his early years. “Did I ever tell you about the time an older child was bullying your cousin?”
He nodded.
“I did?”
“Only a hundred times,” he said softly.
“It’s because I love that story. I was so proud of you. I heard the commotion and came out of the house to see you standing up to the older boy. He must have been a good foot taller than you. You told him to leave your cousin alone. Of course, the boy pushed you and said that he wouldn’t be told what to do. I thought about coming to help but I saw you clench your fist and hit that boy right in the mouth. Oh, that was one of the proudest moments. That boy fell back and you didn’t stop. You jumped on top of him and kept hitting him. You yelled, ‘Never touch my cousin again!’ over and over. Oh, how I was so proud. I knew then that you were going to be the one who would bring honor back our family. You’re my warrior, the fighter, you have the heart of a lion.”
“I can’t do it, Mom. I can’t,” Mo confessed.
“Ssh, you still need more time is all,” she said, petting him.
“Why? Huh? Why are you pushing me?”
“Because our people need warriors. We’ve lost our way. Many of us are becoming Americanized. The way of Allah is lost on so many of our people now. They’ve given in to the indulgences and wretched behaviors and lifestyles of American culture. It’s corrupt and decadent. It must be overthrown,” she replied forcefully.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?” Mo asked, half joking, half serious.
“I have always been here, hiding, waiting for the moment, and I knew that moment was when I heard about you and Malik.”
Mo sat up and looked deeply into her eyes. “You really want me to do this?”
“More than anything.”
“But I could die. I will murder innocent people.”
“If you die, you die a warrior in the eyes of Allah, and those you kill, they’re no greater than sheep and Allah gives you the right to cut them down.”
He put his head in his hands. Confusion and doubt filled him. The pain and rapid heart rate were gone. He was having a difficult time processing his mother’s wishes and beliefs; it wasn’t anything he’d ever heard her say. “In all my life I’ve never heard you speak this way. Does it have anything to do with your uncle being killed in Afghanistan?”
“He was a good man. I wish you could have met him,” she said, reminiscing about her beloved Uncle Raffi.
“That’s it, you’re angry that he was killed in a US-led bombing. What I don’t understand is you hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years.”
“Time doesn’t make one love one less. He helped raise me when I was a little girl, as my father was always gone.”
“It’s fine you’re upset, angry even, but I just don’t think I can go forward with this plan. I have doubts and I won’t lie, I’m terrified.”
She pursed her lips and growled, “Enough whining. I heard you already. Stop being a baby. It’s time for you to grow up and be a man.”
He raised his hand in objection to what she just said. He stood and walked to his bed. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk later.”
She sighed and got up. She walked to him and with a more subdued tone said, “I’m sorry. You get some rest.”
“Goodnight, Mom,” Mo said.
She kissed him on the forehead and said, “Goodnight, son.”
San Diego, California
Madison rushed down the stairs and found Brett with the boys. She looked at him strangely and asked, “What are you still doing here?”
“I decided I’m going to walk the boys to school.”
“Hmm, that’s a nice surprise, isn’t it, boys?” she asked, tousling Will’s hair.
“I want Daddy to walk us every day,” Will said.
“Me too, but unfortunately that’s not really possible, so let’s just enjoy this morning,” Madison said as she leaned in close to Brett and gave him a kiss.
The family all exited the house via a back gate. It was a short walk to school. Normally, Madison made the trip with the boys. She loved the lifestyle of strolling every day, talking and sharing in the unique experience of having the school close by.
They cleared the last corner near the school and were greeted by a massive boisterous crowd of parents, teachers and students all huddled at the entrance.
“What do you suppose is going on?” Madison asked.
“Dad, did something bad happen?” Eddie asked.
“I don’t know, buddy,” Brett answered.
They walked up to the crowd.
“Did you hear?” Lyndsey asked, appearing suddenly.
“What?” Madison asked.
“The school got tagged,” Lyndsey said.
“Tagged?” Madison asked, unsure what the term meant.
Brett pushed his way through the crowd until he got a clear view. When his eyes settled on the large red spray-painted hand, a chill shot through him. He immediately turned around and rushed back to his family. “Let’s go.”
“Huh?” Madison said, alarmed by his urgency.
“We’re going home, now,” Brett said, taking Will and Eddie by the hand.
“Hold on, what?” Madison asked, following them.
“Home, we’re going home. The kids can’t go to school today,” Brett frantically said.
“Brett, stop. What the hell are you talking about?” Madison asked. She ran up and jumped in front of him. “What’s going on? What did you see?”
He pointed behind him to the crowd and replied, “That’s not just some tag, that’s their symbol, their logo, whatever you want to call it, of that terror group The Bloody Hand.”
She shook her head and sighed. “Again. We’re doing this again?”
“They’re marking targets, I know it!” Brett snapped.
“Enough, stop. C’mon, boys, let’s go before you’re late,” Madison said, taking the boys by the hands.
“No, not today. They can play hooky,” Brett said, stopping her this time.
“No, they can’t, you have to go to work and I have appointments I can’t miss. They need to go to school.”
“I’ll stay home,” Brett said.
“Stop the crazy talk, Brett. Nothing is going to happen. Whatever you saw is nothing more than teenagers spray painting graffiti. It’s not some grand conspiracy,” Madison scolded.
“NO!” he barked.
Several people turned and looked at him.
“Brett, stop it. You’re making a scene. Now, boys, let’s go.”
He ran up and jumped in front of their path. “Maddy, please, just give me this. Let me keep them home, I beg you. I’m not the only one who thinks that’s legit. They’re taunting us, and we won’t do anything about it. Look around, there’s no police. No one cares; the administration doesn’t. As a society, we’ve talked ourselves into forced complacency. And they’re trolling us. They’re laughing at us,” Brett rambled.
“Brett, you’re embarrassing yourself. You sound unhinged,” Madison snapped.
“Daddy, I’m scared,” Eddie whimpered.
“See, you’re freaking out the kids now. Brett, get out of the way!” Madison roared.
“No.”
“Is there something wrong?” Kathy, the principal, asked. She had heard their quarrel and saw the need to interject herself.
“Hi, Kathy, nothing is wrong. We’re just—”
Brett interrupted Madison and asked, “Why is the school open? Where are the police? That symbol is a terrorist marking. It’s a threat.”
“Oh my God,” Madison groaned.
“I can assure you everything is fine. We did contact the police, but they’re delayed due to a large protest on the interstate,” Kathy said.
“Delayed? Boys, come with me,” Brett said motioning Eddie and Will away from the school.
“Stop it!” Madison yelled.
“I can see there is a problem. Madison, Brett, please step over here. Let’s discuss this,” Kathy said, motioning her hand towards a barrier.
“It’s not necessary. Brett is a bit nervous. His brother was almost killed in Copenhagen and he’s having a hard time with that,” Madison explained.
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” Kathy said.
“Don’t patronize me. The police are finding those hands painted all over and it’s not just here in San Diego, it’s everywhere. Go online, search it. It’s in every city,” Brett said, his voice elevated.
“Brett, please keep your voice down,” Kathy warned.
“No, I won’t. That is a problem for me, for my kids. The police can’t come because—”
“Because they’re dealing with a protest, something that’s clearly more important. This is simply a prank, nothing more,” Kathy said.
“Boys, come,” Brett said, snatching Will’s and Eddie’s hands. He was done debating.
Madison grabbed his arm and pulled hard.
He yanked his arm out of her grip.
“Brett!” Madison hollered.
“Brett, stop or I’ll call the police,” Kathy threatened.
He marched off, kids in tow. “Good luck with that. They’re busy taking care of more important things, as you said.”
Ramona, California
Sophie came into the kitchen to find Cassidy stuffing a bagel in his mouth on his way out the door.
“Where are you off to so early?” she asked.
“I have some interviews,” he answered.
“Dressed like that?” she asked, looking at his clothes, which consisted of running shoes, blue jeans, T-shirt and a black hoodie.
“Oh, um, warehouse jobs. They don’t care what you look like. Hell, this is dressing up for them,” he joked as he tried to make sure his fictitious story sounded believable.
She walked up and stopped inches from him. “You forgot something.”
“I did?” he asked, looking around.
She pointed to her lips.
“Ha, sorry,” he said and gave her a kiss on the lips.
“Good luck, babe, call me and tell me how it goes,” she said.
He raced out the door. Guilt riddled him, as he hated lying to her. But if he could prove Basher was up to no good, he’d be hailed a hero and all would be forgiven.
Unfortunately, yesterday’s surveillance discovered nothing. His plan today was to go to his place of business and trail him anywhere he went from there. He was determined to find something that he could present to the police as hard evidence.
Diego Garcia, British Indian Ocean Territory
Owens, Brennan and the team stood on the flight line, waiting to board their transport.
More intelligence had come in and now the team was being sent to Coronado. There they would link up with some additional assets and go to a facility run by The Bloody Hand in Mexico.
Owens and Brennan were discussing some of the details of the pending mission when Owens looked up and caught sight of Tracy and her team heading their way. He tapped Brennan and said, “Look.”
Brennan craned his head over his shoulder and asked, “What do they want?”
Tracy strolled up, dropped two large bags and said, “When are we leaving, gentlemen?”
“We?” Brennan asked.
“Yeah, we’re going with you?” Tracy replied.
“Did you contact the Anchorage?” Owens asked.
“Yes, and they seemed a bit annoyed that you told me.”
“Well, are you getting their remains?” Owens asked.
“No. Apparently, they destroyed the bodies. So stupid,” Tracy complained.
“This reminds me of a joke,” Brennan chirped.
“I love jokes,” Owens said.
“Military intelligence,” Brennan said with a straight face.
Both Owens and Tracy waited for the punch line.
“Guys, that’s the joke, military intelligence, get it?” Brennan said.
Owens narrowed his bright green eyes and cracked a grin. “Really? That’s the oldest joke, ever.”
“I’m not sure we should consider that a laughing matter,” Tracy said.
“Why?” Brennan asked.
“Because it’s true,” Tracy snarked.
Brennan tapped Owens arm and said, “I’m going to see what the holdup is.”
“Sure,” Owens said and put his attention back on Tracy. “Are you just making a quick turnaround in San Diego, or will you spend a day or so, maybe see the sights. It’s a great city.”
“Um, about that,” she replied.
Owens raised his right eyebrow and asked, “What?”
“I made a pretty big stink about you losing the female and the destruction of the other bodies.”
“How big?”
“I guess the president heard about it and he’s not happy.”
“Jesus, seriously?”
“Um,” Tracy said and paused, her normal confidence gone.
“Spit it out.”
She held out her hand and said, “We didn’t really get properly introduced before, I’m Tracy Dalton, senior biologist, CDC liaison and a new member of your team.”
Rancho Bernardo, California
Mo headed to his locker, his head hung low.
Like many times before, Malik raced up and jumped on his back. “Bro, how fucking amazing was the other night?”
Mo shrugged him off.
Seeing Mo was in a bad mood, Malik chose to taunt him. “What’s up with you, poopy pants?”
“Nothing.”
Malik tickled Mo under his ribs and asked, “C’mon, what’s wrong?”
Mo jerked away from Malik, slammed his locker and yelled, “Leave me the fuck alone!”
“Whoa, chill!” Malik barked back, his hands raised high in the air.
Mo aggressively stepped towards Malik and snapped, “Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t want any part in this…this…I don’t want anything to do with it. You tell Kareem and those other people I’m out. I don’t want anything, nothing at all to do with your plan.”
Malik recoiled initially then came back at Mo. “There’s no out. You’re in now. That’s how it is. We’re being ac
tivated soon, so unless you want to have your head and your family’s heads cut off, I suggest you show up when they call us.”
Mo stormed off.
Malik followed. “What’s wrong, man?”
“What’s wrong? Is that a serious question? I thought, hell, I don’t know what I thought. I imagined it was something different. Something glorious. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t think this was actually real, but it is.”
Malik took Mo by the arm and spun him around. He jabbed his finger in his face and said, “You need to keep quiet!”
“Quiet? Quiet? Coming from you? The person who is always yelling this and that everywhere!” Mo barked, his voice carrying down the bustling hall.
Malik shoved him against the wall and snapped, “Tread carefully, bro. If Kareem or the other brothers heard you now, they’d take your head.”
Mo pushed Malik away from him. “I’m out. I can’t do this. I won’t!” he wailed and took off running down the hall. He saw the entrance and raced for it. He burst through the doors and out onto the parking lot, he kept running until he reached the street. Out of breath, he stopped and looked back.
No one followed.
The woman’s face flashed in his mind. He shook his head vigorously and hollered, “Get out of my head!”
His phone began to ring. He looked and saw it was Malik. He couldn’t talk; he needed a place to think. He shoved the phone into his pocket and took off down the street.
San Diego, California
Cassidy quickly pulled over and got out his phone to take photos of Basher walking into a mosque, as if a Muslim going inside a mosque was incriminating evidence.
He snapped photos until Basher disappeared inside.
The sun was hovering near the horizon and he’d been out all day. Like the day before, he didn’t have anything that was solid, but he was confident if he kept on Basher, he’d come up with something.
He thumbed through the dozens of photos he’d taken, looking for something that stood out. Was there a pattern? Who knew, he’d have to do this daily until one appeared.
He looked up and caught sight of Basher exiting the mosque.
Day of Reckoning Page 16
