On the Heels of Evil

by D. E. Daum

  Kelly stared at the boy. “Do I know you?”

  The boy hesitated, apparently not knowing what to say. Shortly, he asked, “Are you the one who spoke to Allah?”

  Wondering what this was about, he answered, “Not really. Allah spoke to me. Why?”

  The boy had a frightened look in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else. Then all of a sudden he said, “Well, I have a message to deliver. The White Cobra does not believe you.” The boy reached behind his back, pulled out an automatic pistol, and had him in his sights.

  * * * *

  Three loud reports rang out, and the boy crumpled. Haman lumbered past Kelly straight to the boy. After kicking the weapon away, he kicked the boy in the ribs. The boy grunted; he was alive. Haman had only wounded him. Kelly was rattled, having once again avoided the grim reaper. How long before I actually get killed?

  Speaking in Arabic, Haman said, “If we hurry, we can question him.”

  Kelly decided two things right there. First, he would never venture outside unarmed again, and second, he would never go anywhere without his protector and newfound buddy, Haman. His astonishing luck continued to hold thanks to his mammoth new friend.

  Kelly put his hand on Haman’s wide back and thanked him profusely in Arabic. Haman picked the boy up like a twenty-pound sack of flour and threw him over his shoulder. Kelly’s predecessor, Saleem, a former college wrestler, was a strong man. He’d once bench-pressed four hundred twenty pounds, but Haman’s strength impressed him.

  Haman was heading back to the apartments with his cargo, so Kelly collected the boy’s gun and hurried to catch up to him. He thanked Allah that Haman was on his side. Between Haman and him, Kelly was beginning to feel sorry for the terrorists, if it was possible to feel sorry for scum.

  Walking behind Haman, he noticed the boy was losing blood from his right arm and his right side but the wounds did not seem life threatening. He called Jeff back, told him what happened, and asked if he could send a doctor over to Haman’s apartment to tend to the boy. “I’ll see what I can do, but it will have to be through an intermediary.”

  “Do what you can.”

  In Haman’s apartment, he set the boy, who had passed out, on the living room couch. Kelly applied a tourniquet to his arm. Of the two wounds, the arm appeared to be the more serious, as the wound on his side had stopped bleeding. The arm was another matter though, because the bullet appeared to have broken the humerus bone above the elbow. They wakened the boy with smelling salts. He said his chest hurt like hell when he breathed. It seemed Haman broke a rib or two when he kicked the novitiate assassin. Nevertheless, they managed to question him while waiting for the doctor.

  His name was Jamal. He was a member of Free Arabia, a radical Islamic group in direct opposition to the Saudi ruling family, which they accused of treason. A charismatic firebrand named Khalid Assad, who called himself The White Cobra, led them. Apparently, Assad also fancied himself some sort of messiah. When he heard that Suhar was touting Saleem as being The Chosen One, he decided the world was too small for two messiahs. He sent the green, inexperienced, reluctant Jamal to kill the unsuspecting new Prophet of Allah.

  Kelly told Jamal that a doctor was coming to fix him up, and after, Haman would drive him back home. He wasn’t going to tell the authorities because he had another purpose in mind. He wanted Jamal to give Assad a message from him. That if he ever tried to kill him or any of his confederates again, he would personally chop off his head. Since they both had the same basic objectives, it was foolish to kill each other, when there were so many infidels that needed killing.

  Kelly read fear in Jamal’s eyes. He said that Assad would skin him alive for failing, and if he didn’t, his older brother Rulan, Assad’s main lieutenant, would.

  “Ah, so that’s how you got into this mess. Some brother. You can stay here tonight with Haman, and Allah will tell me what to do with you in the morning.”

  Haman whispered to Saleem, “Do you think that is wise, Sahib? Shouldn’t you talk to Starbird?”

  Haman was right. Kelly hadn’t told Jane anything that’d happened yet, from being sent to London, to the wayward assassination attempt. Nor had he told Mariam. He went into Haman’s bathroom, closed the door, and dialed Jane. She was not there, but her assistant said he’d track her down and have her call ASAP. Next, he called Jeff again and gave him the lowdown on the assassination attempt. Then updated him on being assigned to London and being put in charge of coordinating planned terrorist attacks.

  Jeff seemed impressed. “Wow, you’ve had a hat trick of good luck today. First, Suhar, the meanest muther in Arabia, says you are God’s ambassador to Earth. Instead of killing you, the evil SOB promotes you to CEO of all terrorist operations. You avoid getting killed again, then you find out you have an enemy you didn’t even know you had.”

  Jeff had a succinct way of putting things. Kelly hadn’t thought about the fact that his newfound celebrity status might translate into some jealousy within the extremist and especially the militant community. Perhaps, Starbird and the rest of the intelligence community could help. He was going to be on the front line of terrorism. He’d take any information Jane could provide regarding his contemporaries, especially the crazy fucking psychopaths.

  A minute after he hung up from Jeff, Jane called. He repeated all he’d told Jeff. Unlike Jeff, who joked about the developments, Jane was concerned, especially about the assassination attempt. She said she’d never lost an operative and was not about to start, particularly with him, of whom she had grown fond. She thought the move to London was auspicious and she would meet him there to plan a new strategy and cover the events of today. She finished with, “You get your ass killed for real, and all my hard work goes for naught. Christ, you’re just getting started and you almost get whacked. Don’t expect me to come to your funeral. See that you watch your sweet little butt of yours until I meet you in London.”

  What can I say? She loves me!

  Well, Jeff laughed and Jane scolded him when he told them what happened. Now there was only Mariam to tell, and odds were, she would be delighted. Not about the attempted hit, but about going to London. She hadn’t mentioned England as one of her preferred choices, but England was sort of like America, right? After all, the objective was to get away from Arabia.

  He needed to figure out what to do with Jamal. Shoot, that’s what I was going to ask Jane. He got the phone out and called Jane back. This time he got her and blurted out. “What should I do with Jamal?”

  “Who the hell is Jamal?”

  “He’s the kid who tried to shoot me.”

  “You bothered me for that? Just dump his body in the desert.”

  Kelly was incredulous. “You want me to kill him? He’s just a scared kid!”

  “You mean he’s still alive?” Jane, apparently noticing the urgency in Kelly’s voice, teased him, “You’re not going soft on me, are you? Remember, you’re a trained killer.”

  “I know, I just thought he could help us get this Assad guy.”

  To Kelly’s relief, Jane agreed. “That might just work. You say he’s wounded?”

  “Yes, but a doctor will be here any minute to patch him up.”

  “Good! I’ll have someone take the package off Haman’s hands. Just get your ass up to London, so we can figure out what we’re going to do next. Out.” End of conversation.

  * * * *

  Mariam was obviously ecstatic. Her reaction reminded Kelly of a little girl going to Disneyland. She was dancing, no, floating around. She said he’d just saved her life, for if she remained there, she surely would have committed suicide and been damned. It didn’t matter if she went to hell, because Arabia was hell on Earth.

  He didn’t want to spoil her jubilance, so he held off telling her that someone tried to kill him. She was so beautiful and so excited and so full of life, he got caught up in her emotions. Soon he was hugging her. She responded with a passionate kiss. She started taking off his shirt
, and he got the idea. He picked her up—all hundred-ten pounds—and carried her to the bedroom and deposited her on the bed. He was standing next to the bed where she was kneeling. They were kissing and clothes were flying everywhere. Her bra ended up on a lampshade, and his briefs landed on the telephone, which started to ring and ring, so he covered it with a pillow.

  Soon they were making love with an excitement that eclipsed even the sky high level of passion they’d experienced the previous night.

  Exhausted and satiated, Mariam rolled off, still shaking and shivering. She lay there not saying a word for a couple of minutes, looking at him, examining him, analyzing him. What is she thinking? Finally, she said, “My husband, you have never made me feel so good. You have truly become my stallion, even more so than before you were wounded. I am not complaining, for you treat me well and you are taking me away from here. You are a godsend, but who are you?”

  Kelly choked. He inhaled some saliva down his windpipe, and started coughing. This was uncomfortable, but at least it bought him some time to come up with a reply. He was shocked. Where did she come up with that? What can I say in response? “What a crazy question, I’m Saleem, your husband. Who else could I be?”

  Poking his chest with her forefinger, Mariam said, “Truly, this is Saleem’s body, and Saleem is my husband, but I have been married to Saleem for four years, and you no longer act like him. I recall how when you awoke from your deep sleep at the hospital, you were very insistent that you were Kelly Rogers. I do not understand how it is possible or how it could happen, but I am beginning to believe you were more truthful then than now.”

  “Mare. I died and was brought back to life. My brain was deprived of oxygen for who knows how long. We are lucky I am not a vegetable. My point is, of course I’m not the same person you knew. Of course I’m different. Is that so hard to believe? There are gaps in my memory, and I will probably never again act like I once did.”

  “That is certainly a possibility. However, I suspect the answer lies elsewhere, and I hope that you will soon see fit to confide in me.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have time to discuss this right now. We must pack for our move.” I changed the subject. “By the way, someone tried to kill me today.”

  Simultaneously her eyes widened as her mouth opened. “Why did you not mention it before?”

  “I didn’t want to spoil the good news. You were so thrilled, I didn’t want to deflate your enthusiasm.

  “The man, actually a boy, drew a gun on me. My friend, Haman, shot him.”

  “Haman? Who is Haman?”

  “A man I met in detention. Helped me through some problems there. He was being released shortly after me, so I suggested he come here. Told him I’d find him employment. I rented an apartment upstairs for him and now he’s not going to get to use it, because he’s coming with us to London and will be our bodyguard.”

  “My husband, how could you forget to mention this man, especially when you secured an apartment for him? When did you have time to get an apartment for him? It seems you are keeping secrets from me. I’m not going to let that dampen the wonderful news you have given me. I certainly hope you will explain these things when we get to London.”

  Thankfully, Mariam dropped the subject, but he was beginning to realize just how logical and intelligent his wife was. Without question, she would reopen her inquisition in London. How should he respond? He needed to have a strategy. He would request Starbird’s help to map out a plan.

  “Saleem, will we be taking our furniture as well?” asked Mariam.

  “No, Princess, the cost of shipping the furniture to England would be prohibitive. We can get new furniture when we arrive. We’ll take only our personal possessions. It is getting late now, so Haman and I will go out to get some moving boxes in the morning.”

  “When will I meet this Haman?”

  “I will introduce you in the morning before we leave.”

  “Fine, I will make breakfast for both of you. What shall we do with the furniture if we can’t take it along? We have little time to sell it.”

  “I will talk to our landlord and see if he would like to buy it at a bargain price. If not, I will have Ahmed give it to the poor.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, Kelly went to Haman’s apartment. Jamal was gone. Two men picked him up and spirited him away at about four in the morning. Starbird had sent them, and that was good enough for Haman.

  “Haman, we didn’t have a chance to talk yesterday afternoon. I am being sent to London, England, to coordinate terrorist activities for The Sword of Allah and affiliated organizations. You and my wife will accompany me. We will be leaving by air on a seven o’clock flight tomorrow evening. The company will probably pack and ship your belongings, but for my wife’s sake, I need to pack our belongings. So I am going out to get moving boxes and packing materials. Since I have decided not to go anywhere without you, you shall accompany me.”

  “There is no need for you to go out, master, I will get the needed items.”

  “That will be good, but in the meantime I told Mariam that I would bring you by to meet her. She is cooking breakfast for us. Please come down in five minutes.” Haman nodded.

  Kelly stepped outside Haman’s apartment and called Jeff on the satellite phone. “Hey, Jeff. Saleem here. We’re leaving for London tomorrow evening. I’m taking Haman along as my official bodyguard.”

  “Good choice,” Jeff interrupted.

  “Yeah, I didn’t have much time to tell you what’s going on when we talked yesterday. What do you know about Free Arabia and this White Cobra character?”

  “Right, I did some checking after we talked yesterday. Khalid Assad, a real nasty character, leads Free Arabia. Saudi authorities want him, and there’s a price on his head. Word is he’s behind several recent terrorist events, mostly against Western interests. He’s originally from Egypt and is allegedly behind two attacks on tourists in his home country last year and the year before. Recently, his exploits include robbing a branch of Chase Bank in Dubai, killing all Westerners in sight, five in all, mortaring the U.S. Consulate in Jeddah, and slitting the throat of a Saudi crown prince. Fortunately, they only have about five hundred more crown princes to go before they put a dent in the Saudi royalty. Of course, you know he goes by the handle The White Cobra, and his followers believe him to be an incarnate version of the spirit of Muhammad. No wonder he didn’t take to you, The Right Hand of Allah. Be on the lookout for this wacko. As far as this guy’s concerned, the world isn’t big enough for two messiahs.”

  “I kind of agree with ole’ Khalid. There’s not room for him on planet Earth anymore. I’ll have to work on that. What would happen to him if the authorities got hold of him after knocking off a prince?”

  “Unpleasant in the extreme! He would probably endure about a week of excruciating pain. These people really know how to torture.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What happened to you is child’s play compared to what would happen to him. Khalid would likely sustain numerous broken bones, some internal bleeding, a concussion, possibly blinded and then for the grand finale he would probably be quartered.”

  “Ouch! I thought they beheaded criminals with a dull blade for capital offenses.”

  “Well, there are the normal capital offenses and then there are the extra-offensive capital offenses. This falls into the latter category.” Jeff laughed. “Why? You got a lead on this guy?”

  “Maybe. Starbird has the assassin, Jamal. She might be able to induce him to give Khalid up. Listen, I have to go. Thanks for the heads-up. Keep yourself safe and give my regards to Susan.”

  “I can’t say anything to Susan. You’re dead.”

  “Sorry. I keep forgetting. Ciao.”

  Haman, coming out of his apartment, appeared surprised to see Kelly. He started to say something, but Kelly cut him off by showing his phone and telling him he needed to call Jeff without Mariam around. They headed downstairs to Saleem’
s apartment.

  Kelly concluded Mariam had been getting ready for London, since she hadn’t bothered to don traditional Arab garments. Instead, she was wearing stone-tumbled designer jeans, a turquoise and pink floral blouse, and a pair of casual canvas sandals with a two-inch wedge heel. Of course, Mariam would look good in anything, so even though Haman was taken aback by the fact that Mariam had not covered her head and face for a stranger, he was even more so for her remarkable beauty. “Mariam this is Haman, who saved my life yesterday. His English isn’t that good, so we should speak Arabic.”

  Mariam offered her hand to Haman to shake, and much to their surprise, Haman, instead of shaking it, took it, bent over and kissed it, in the style of eighteenth century Europe. Mariam showed Kelly a big smile, then transferred it to Haman, who now stood straight. He was about to say something. He spoke in very stilted and obviously well-rehearsed English, “I have heard of your beauty, my lady, but it has been greatly understated.”