by D. E. Daum
When Dickens asked what it said, Kelly told them.
Jane asked if he’d made a transcript.
“Only a partial, I didn’t have time.” She asked for it but it contained only about five of the terrorist events. When the video reached six, she started to add information to the transcript.
The Colonel was impressed. “This is amazing. Now, we can finally get these bastards.”
Jane added, “Maybe, but we have to be very careful how we do it. We don’t want a trail leading back to Saleem.” The Colonel was not yet aware of his special circumstances, so she referred to him as Saleem.
Obviously excited, the Colonel excused himself to make a classified phone call.
Kelly stared at Jane, frowned, and said, “Who the fuck is Colonel Dickens?”
“He’s my boss and a longtime friend. Don’t worry, his bark is worse than his bite,” Jane edged closer to him. Very softly, she said, “You smell of sex. You haven’t been cheating on me already, have you? I figured I’d be the subject of your dreams for at least another week.”
Jane was precious. Kelly loved her frankness, her dirty mind, and her drunken sailor mouth, but after the heated session with Mare, he was ambivalent. With whom would he prefer to be? Embarrassed, he tried not to show it by raising his hands. “Guilty as charged and thanks to you, it was a smashing success. Don’t worry, though, you could be a participant in my first ménage a` trois dream. Mmmmm. My favorite two women pampering me? I’m getting stiff thinking about it.”
“That good, huh? I’m glad you pulled it off.”
Kelly sensed she wasn’t glad, but he went on, “Yes, it went well, but you may be back in the picture for real. Mariam wants to leave Saudi Arabia, with or without me.”
“Yes, I’d heard that from Jeff. Depending on what we decide because of this bombshell.” She motioned to the video. “It may be advisable to relocate you both.”
“Would that be wise, since my connections are here?”
“True, especially since apparently you are now a prophet and ‘The Chosen One.’ Have you met Suhar yet? He sounds like your biggest fan.”
He shook his head in the negative. “No, I haven’t, but I dread it. I think he may be insane.”
“That may be, but from what I hear, he thinks you buddied up with Allah. I would play that for all it’s worth.”
“There’s more about Mariam, too. She’s suspicious of me. She thinks I’m Saleem, but a little different. She’s not fully buying the amnesia story. She wouldn’t say anything, but it is a problem.”
Jane smirked again and said, tongue-in-cheek, “It sure doesn’t smell like it’s keeping you apart. I think I’ll insert some video cams through the floor here so I can ascertain the problem for myself.”
He laughed. “Very funny. Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t dare do what?” Dickens asked, as he returned.
“Oh, nothing,” Jane said, rolling her eyes so only Kelly could see. “I was just razzing Saleem about eavesdropping on his sex life.”
“Well, if you do, don’t forget, I like a good show. In the meantime, we have to get to D.C. A.S.A.P.”
Looks like the Colonel has a sense of humor after all. Kelly grabbed the original video and asked Jane if they brought the fresh hard drive and remote keyboard Jeff had promised. She pointed to a box on the floor. He put the video in his box, leaving the original hard drive to be examined by experts. He gave Jane a long kiss, turned, and saw Dickens’s shocked face. He shook his hand, and said, “Eat your heart out, Colonel,” and exited.
Chapter 3
Kelly returned to their apartment at 1:10 A.M. and after taking the box straight to the office, was pleased when he found Mariam asleep,
The next morning, he awoke at seven o’clock. He’d missed the Morning Prayer, not something someone in his exalted status should do. It pleased him that Mariam’s arm was across his chest. She’d apparently snuggled up during the night. He moved her arm, sat up, admired her beauty, then bent over and kissed her on the lips. As if in reaction to his kiss, a smile formed on those same sensuous lips. She stretched her arms, moved her head back and forth. Without opening her eyes, she asked, “Is that my Prince Charming?”
“Indeed, my princess. I’m afraid you have recaptured my heart and now I’m no longer your Prince, but merely your love slave.”
“Hmmm, does that mean as a love slave, you are required to fulfill my every wish?
“It does, fair lady.”
Mariam lifted her eyelids and stared at me. “Then I, your master, wish you to tell me why you seem both the same and different. Why the Americans took you away, what they did with you, and most of all, why you made me feel so good last night. Better than I have ever felt.”
“The answer, my love, is simple. The Americans took me to a sex indoctrination camp. The country is jammed with them. Surely you’ve heard about them and how the decadent and amoral Americans visit them regularly?” Kelly quipped
“Is that right?” Mariam replied, a smile on her face. “And was your instructor as pretty as I?”
He chuckled, “Truly, no one is as pretty as you by themselves, but added together, they equaled your beauty, though not by much.”
“Ah, so there were multiple instructors. How many teachers did you have? I must meet them and thank them for doing such a phenomenal job.” She responded in obvious amusement.
“Let’s see, there was one for the morning, one for afternoon, and one for the evening—she was my favorite—a redhead. Then there was a new one Sundays, which was all the other girl’s day off. Four total, all experts at sex. I’ll tell you all about it some day, but now I have to go see Suhar before he becomes angry and incinerates me with his torrid eyes.”
“Go if you must, but you’re still not off the hook, my love slave. When you get back, I want you to tell me everything, especially about the redhead.”
Now dressed and heading toward the door, Kelly said, “Don’t fret, Princess, I’ll tell you everything, even about the brainwashing.” Then, he rushed over, and kissed her before leaving.
Mariam liked this new and improved Saleem. Unlike Saleem I, this Saleem II had a dry humorous personality and was certainly capable of satisfying her extensive sexual needs. She was charmed but also troubled. Saleem II had some explaining to do.
* * * *
Kelly arrived at the mosque for the midmorning prayer service. Afterward, he went to find Imam Suhar, a medium-sized, portly man of perhaps forty-five years.
He wore the clothing common for a cleric of his position, a white jubbah and black undergarment, and a black turban with a gold center. As with most clerics, Suhar had a beard and since his was a fundamentalist mosque, his beard was quite long, perhaps twenty inches. His face had a scar running from the outside corner of his left eye to his ear, which combined with the intense look in his eyes, gave Suhar a truly ominous appearance. For a man of God, he has the countenance of a spawn of Hell.
When Suhar saw Kelly, he cast a smile and opened his arms in greeting. He said, “Saleem, I’m so glad you finally came to see me. How are you feeling after your ordeal? I knew the Americans would be unable to harm you, let alone break you.”
“I appreciate your confidence, enlightened one, but how do you know I kept silent?”
“My son, it has been revealed to me, you sat at the right hand of Allah. You have conversed with him. You were not supposed to be in heaven yet. He still has work for you on Earth and that work is leading the Jihad against the infidels. For that, you are his Chosen One.”
“I remember sitting to the right of a body of blinding light, and a voice talked to me—not to my ears, but to my mind. How did you know?”
“It matters not. What matters is that you are well and ready to take this fight to the Zionist devils and their acolytes. We have much to do, and you will lead us, but you will have to move into the den of the wolves.”
The tone and text of the conversation pleased Kelly. This wasn’t what he expected. He
believed that the man in charge of The Sword of Allah was delusional, perhaps psychotic. “Yes, Exalted One, where would you have me go and what would you have me do?”
“Do not call me Exalted One, for it is only you on Earth, who has sat in the presence of Allah. You are thus exalted above all beings and creatures of Earth.”
“As you wish, Enlightened One. Again, where would you have me go?”
Suhar beamed, “I do not determine where you will go, Allah does. Allah wishes you to go to London to take over the control center for our battle against the malevolent ones. Once established, an ally will contact you to update you on our planned attacks, as well as those of fellow Jihadists. You must enlist recruits and get a bodyguard or two. I know you won't die before your job is finished, but you can be wounded. You will take the DVD I gave you and release the appropriate announcement at the appropriate time to the BBC and Al Jezeera. Each attack is ready to go, but you will have final say as to the timing.”
Just talking about all the killing and maiming seemed to infuse Suhar with enthusiasm. “Enlightened one, I have already selected a bodyguard. He is committed to fighting the West and the spread of Islam. He is the only man that I would fear in a fair fight. His name is Haman, and he is Iraqi.”
“Where did you meet this Haman, Chosen One?”
“He was in the detention center when I arrived. He is a mountain of a man. He took a liking to me, said he felt greatness in me. He kept the guards and other inmates from mistreating me, and we became close. How do I find this ally you mentioned?”
“Your Haman sounds perfect. You do not need to find the ally. We have offices in London and you will be running our Islamic charity there, called The Hand of Allah. Once you have taken over management of the charity, the ally will contact you, posing as a contributor. You will know him by two rings.”
“What kind of rings, Enlightened One?
“I’m sorry, I myself do not know, but it’s supposed to be obvious and he will approach you.” Suhar continued, “There is one more thing I need to discuss with you. Your wife is wanton. She will not veil and she will not lower her gaze when I look at her.” Kelly remembered that it was a sign of disrespect for a woman to look a male non-family member in the eye. “What’s more, she is not pious. I know this because other women have told me so. You must divorce this woman or at least not take her along.”
He wants me to dump Mariam. Probably a few crones who are jealous of her beauty made up something, though it's true she isn’t overly pious.
“Your Eminence, your wisdom precedes you, but I must tell you one of the things that the voice said. Mariam was personally selected to be my wife, to be a bridge between Asian and African Islam. I am to make sure she is safe and always with me, for she will bear me a son that will continue our cause with great agility and vigor. I am to name my son – Saladeen.” He winged it, but knew he’d scored a direct hit with the name Saladeen, the famous thirteenth-century Egyptian Arab general who had bested the Crusaders.
Suhar stuttered, “Perhaps I was a little hasty trying to give advice to the Prophet of Allah. If Allah has instructed you thusly, then you obviously must take his wishes over his devoted servant’s misguided words. I hope you will forgive me, Chosen One.”
Suhar had just humbled himself. To keep in his good graces, he had to hand him something to save face. “Enlightened One, you are not totally in error. Mariam is not as religious as I would like, and when we are in England, I will see that she is. With regard to veiling, in the English den of infidels, it will not matter.”
“I can see that Allah has granted you the wisdom of Mohammed as well as the courage of Saladeen, and I will be proud to be little Saladeen’s mentor,” Suhar chirped.
Yeah, right. You’ll never get within a thousand miles of any child of mine. “That would be an honor I will consider, Eminence, but Allah has granted me something else as well.”
“And what would that be, Chosen One?”
“Allah has changed my eyes and with that has given me the ability to see when a person’s reasons are at cross purpose to their words.”
Suhar said, “Is that why you are wearing dark glasses? May I see these eyes our Lord has given you?”
Kelly removed the glasses, and Suhar gasped. He stared, unblinking for several seconds, then prostrated himself at his feet and started praying. He bent down, grabbed Suhar’s arm, and tried to raise him. Suhar finally got to his knees, sobbing. He said, “If there ever was any doubt that you are Allah’s Chosen One, one only has to look into your wondrous eyes to dispel that. I must provide you with a letter to carry on your person, proclaiming you to be Allah’s new prophet The Chosen One. Please wait here, Saleem.”
Suhar left for fifteen minutes, and when he returned, he gave him a sealed envelope. “Here. Keep this on your person at all times for your trip. It is a proclamation from me that you have sat in consul with Allah and have returned to us to spread his word and do his bidding. Go with my blessing, Exalted One.”
Kelly was pleasantly surprised by how well his meeting was going. He wasn’t sure how to respond to the proclamation he asked, “When will we leave for England?”
“Your flight is scheduled for the day after tomorrow at 7:00 P.M. Is that enough time?”
“Yes, we can make it. I will go home to start packing. I may be too busy to make the next few prayer services.”
Suhar actually smiled. “Do not worry. As the Right Hand of Allah you have a dispensation and you needn’t pray any longer. Go with Allah!”
* * * *
Kelly left the mosque elated. Everything seemed to be working out perfectly. He was being placed in charge of the bad guys’ terrorist attacks. No one could have dreamed of such a preposterous, yet auspicious scenario. However, the challenge would be a big one—how to stop the attacks while maintaining cover.
Gradually he sensed someone was following him. Stopping at a storefront window, he studied the reflection. Sure enough, someone a couple hundred feet away was trying to look inconspicuous, he stopped to light a cigarette and half turned, as if he was interested in something across the street.
Who would be following him? Did Suhar send someone to tail him? Not likely—you wouldn’t put someone in charge of your whole operation, if you didn’t trust him. Could it be Ahmed? Not a chance—the man thought of him as some kind of Messiah. Walking again, but a bit more purposeful, he remembered a coffee shop around there, somewhere. Spotting it on the next block, he decided to go in, grab a cup of coffee, if for no other reason, to see what the tail did.
Most people didn’t know that coffee was originally an Arab drink. The original Arabic word for coffee was qahveh or gahwa and it was apparently first used about 850 A.D. Qahveh was sometimes used in Islamic religious meditation sessions. Coffee bushes were indigenous to the highlands of Ethiopia. Arabian coffee was unusually strong and contained cinnamon plus a good helping of sugar.
Kelly took a window seat and sampled his first taste of Arabic coffee—strong, bitter and tasty—but he preferred the coffee he was used to. His tail was not visible, however, he could be and probably was sitting back somewhere he couldn’t spot. He asked the proprietor if there was a rear exit. The man shook his head. “Hmmm.” He grabbed his mobile phone and called Jeff. Speaking softly, “Jeff, boy, am I glad to get you. Do you have anybody tailing me?”
“Hell no. You got a tail?”
“Yeah, a skinny guy, roughly 5’10,” jeans, a denim shirt, and a knit kufi. I’d go up to him and ask him what he’s doing, but I don’t know if he’s packing.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a coffee shop about two blocks from my apartment.”
“Go back outside and head toward the apartment. I’ll call Haman and have him head toward you. If you still have a tail when he gets to you, send Haman after the tail. He’ll roust him, find out what he’s doing, and report back.”
“OK. Oh yeah, another thing. I have some big news to tell you. ‘The Sword’ is sendin
g me to London to take over their charity and more.”
“Sounds interesting. You’ll have to tell me about it in detail. I’ll call Haman now. Wait a couple of minutes, then leave. I’ll call you back if there’s a problem.”
After waiting a couple of minutes, he exited the coffee shop as planned. Glancing in all directions and he didn’t see the tail at first. Oh shit, he’s across the street. He started walking briskly back to his apartment. After a half-block, the tail had run up behind Kelly and addressed him in Arabic, “Saleem, Saleem Rhamsy, I must talk to you.”
Kelly turned and faced the man. He wasn’t really a man, but a boy of nineteen or less. He was lanky, had a mildly acne-scarred face but otherwise was pleasant looking. They were about twenty feet apart and neither of them seemed to want to approach the other.
