The black form was an assassin; an agent of destruction that would stop at nothing to cause injury and annihilation to representatives of Islam. He crept up to Muhammad Ibn Abdullah Mahmud so close…so close. The Egyptian cleric finished washing his hands and reached to the side of the basin for a towel and began drying his face. Just as the holy man had let the towel cover his face, the assassin struck. First he used his large frame to envelop the man in a tight embrace, the killer placing one large gloved hand over the man’s mouth so that no screams could be heard. While the assassin hugged the man’s head in tight close to his neck, he used his other hand to inject a small, silver hypodermic needle into the man’s carotid artery on the left side of his exposed neck. The Muslim leader struggled but to no avail; a strong toxin, engineered using snake venom, raced to his brain and immediately caused his body to asphyxiate. The man dressed in black was appropriately dressed, for he had brought death quietly and quickly, like a haunting wraith. Just before Ibn Abdullah Mahmud died, his eyes opened wide one last time. The stranger in the room took his hand off his victim’s mouth, and the bearded man tried to take one last breath. That was the last thing he ever attempted – then he fell motionless to the floor. The man in black placed the body of the Imam in a pose similar to that of a person after they have been placed in a coffin. He made sure to have the body perpendicular to the direction of Mecca, in which all the prayer rugs had been deliberately placed. He then folded the Imam’s hands over his chest. In the right hand he placed a small gold cross, and laid the right hand over the left. He pushed the Imam’s eyelids closed, to give him a more rested appearance. Then the man in black, who brought death to the chambers, slowly crept out of the room with as much stealth as he had when he came. His mission was accomplished. The Jesus Assassin had taken his first victim.
3
Langley, Virginia
Two days later
It was a rather simple office for a government agent with an important position. At least it was a corner office, located on the fourth floor, with a decent view of some of the landscape around the building that housed the Central Intelligence Agency. There was a very basic office desk made of oak in the center of the office. There was a large glass set of shelves along the front wall in front of the desk, containing several photographs that were of sentimental value to the killer. If a stranger unfamiliar with the man’s line of work were to walk in and see the pictures on the shelves and the office desk, as well as the certificates on the wall behind the desk, he would have thought he walked in to the office of your All-American boy who’d made it to the top. On the corner of the desk, set aside for anyone to see as they entered, was a large leather bound edition of the King James Version of the Holy Bible. Large windows lined the entire far wall of the office across from the main door to the hallway. Behind the desk was a door to a small storage closet.
It was around 11:30 p.m., and most of the agents and administrators had left for the night. The killer opened the door to his office and walked immediately into his storage closet. He punched in the digital code on the door of his gun safe, opened the thick metal door after hearing the bolts move out of the way, and carefully placed his ‘Little Black Bag’ in the far right side of the top shelf. His bag contained the essentials for his every day job: black outfit, climbing rope, Glock 21 pistol, .45 caliber hollow point ammunition, night vision glasses – you know; the kind of things every man requires when in the clandestine line of work of a field agent. Before the man closed his safe, he couldn’t help but glance over in the far left-hand side of the top shelf. There was an open-top box, lined with felt like your typical jewelry box. Inside was a large stack of palm-sized golden crosses collected over a lifetime. Recent events had stirred the owner of the collection to start putting those crosses to use for something important; something that the man felt passionate enough about that he had no choice but to send the loudest message he could, yet as undercover as he could. He closed the safe, punched in his code and followed it by pressing the ‘star’ button. He listened for confirmation that it was locked as the bolts clicked back into place and then closed the closet door. He had a long, tiring few days; both doing work for his job, as well as doing the Lord’s work. Although he was ready for a good night’s rest, he still had one more thing to do before driving home to his quaint family cabin. The killer could tell no one his secret; there was too much at stake. He had already made his pact with God. He told God every night before he slept that no matter what, he would hold up his end of the bargain. He was on a mission to bring about what this corrupt, evil world needed the most. He could talk to nobody about the work he did for the Lord, because he knew it might jeopardize the success of the mission. His whole life had been about carrying out missions; meeting objectives. This was no different. But since he could not talk to anyone but himself and God about the matter – he kept a journal. It was that journal that he had to write in now; for he had accomplished his first mission objective. He took a small key out of his front right pocket of the tan slacks he was wearing. He sat down and opened the bottom right-hand drawer next to the hard drive under his desk. There was a lid containing a lock, slid in place over the top of the drawer as you pulled the drawer out. He unlocked the lid, slid it open, and pulled out his journal. He flipped several pages in, and placed the journal on the desk. He took out a common Bic ball point pen and began to write:
Entry #26, March 28, 2016
God, My Father, Which Art in Heaven- I did it! I used my cover with which you have so blessed me by performing my normal duties in my worldly job. I was able to infiltrate the Imam’s palace. I was able to sneak past the guards without detection, and get into his private quarters where he plans his words of blasphemy. I was able to attack him and steal his human life the way his religion and its followers had stolen the lives of countless Christians. I was able to make him feel the poison in his veins so that he would understand the consequences of the poison he puts out to the rest of the world. Lord, I placed the cross in his hand so that whoever found him would know that Jesus is coming. Lord, I know that if I continue your work, you will come back to us soon. I know that if I can strike twelve of the Evil One’s servants, it will put forces in motion that will give you no alternative but to intervene. Lord, bless me on my mission. Help me force Your Great Hand. These monsters who have taken so much from so many are only getting hungrier. Help me give them the violence that they seek. They believe the twelfth Imam will be their savior. I will make them realize who the savior is, and I will give them their twelfth Imam. I pray Lord God – continue to give me courage to grab their attention. Amen
He closed his journal and locked it back in its secret hideaway. He rubbed his eyes and got up and headed over to his glass shelves. He reached up and grabbed the picture frame on the top shelf. He brought it down to eye level and gently touched the two faces in the photograph. The figure in the photo on the left was a beautiful blonde-haired, blue eyed California girl he had met when he was a young sailor. The smaller figure to the right of the pretty lady was a cute, red-headed, green-eyed girl. They had been his little ladies. They had been his ultimate blessing from God. The work he did now would mean he would get to see them again, just as Job received blessed loved ones after his suffering. It had been a year and three days since they were taken from him. The classified video that he and his counter-terrorist team had uncovered played over and over in his head. The graphic images of both the people he loved most in this world, captured in low quality, low budget video made for You Tube – showed their lives taken from them in a most gruesome, horrifying manner.
The video started with the executioner, wearing the typical cowardly kafia wrapped around the head, nose, and mouth to aid in hiding their true identity – who spoke in clear but heavily accented English. “You Americans think you can kill who you want. You think you can come into our lands and murder our women and children with your missiles? Here are a woman and a child. We came and took them, from one of your capitalist spi
es! We will now show you who it is okay to kill – if it is in the name of Allah!”
Then the camera zoomed out and showed his two girls, sitting in chairs with their legs tied together and their arms tied behind their backs. His two little ladies let out shrill screams; the terrorists hadn't even blind-folded them! The terrorist executioner stood between the two female victims, raised two large scimitars over his head, and –NO! He shook his head and tried to block out the image. Even though the horrible scene of violence is what kept him focused on his mission, it was too much for even the likes of him – a former soldier, a top level field agent, a government hit-man – to be able to take. A new force to fight against evil was born that day. That force, a year later, would begin a quest of redemption not only for the father and husband of a beautiful family, but the redemption for all Christians that would soon come that had been prophesied by John of Patmos millennia before.
4
Brussels, Belgium
General Secretariat for Interpol; European Union
Malik leaned back in his office chair. He was exhausted - he had just closed a case of human trafficking that had taken him all around Europe, and lasted 6 months of his life and consumed all his days, including his weekends. Malik Sharif was a police officer for Interpol; the international police force that enables police agencies around the world to work together to bring down the crime that effects more than 190 countries. Malik had just finished tying up loose ends with the case, finalizing reports on his computer. He let out a big sigh of relief, thankful that his hard work had paid off, and that his experience in law enforcement in the United States had helped him track down a group of sadistic, greedy old men, who profited off the sale of sex and young girls. Malik had been so involved with his work that he hadn’t even talked to his family in at least three months. He was just about to dial up his mother back home in Kuwait, when his supervisor came out of his office and walked directly to Malik’s desk. Malik put the phone down; he could tell by Chief Inspector Holcroft’s intense expression that his family would have to wait a little longer.
Marcus Holcroft was the Chief Inspector of the General Secretariat of Interpol; a tall man of German descent that did not mince words or fool around. He had gotten to where he was because of his intense nature and his ambitious drive to get things done.
‘The Chief’, as his underlings referred to him, started in, “Inspector Sharif – I have another assignment for you, and I’m afraid it cannot wait.”
He continued in his German accent, “It appears we are going to be needed in Egypt. Apparently, we have a terrorist situation on hand in Cairo. The Egyptian authorities told me they want our best counter-terrorism expert. They also said they could not accept any investigator who was not Muslim.”
Malik sat back in his office chair again and replied, “Chief, I am not a counter-terrorist expert. You know I have been working on Human Trafficking and Organized Crime for the past two years.”
The serious Belgian shook his head.
“They did not seem too concerned with the terrorism expertise; they just demanded for a Muslim investigator. So I am sending you. I will have your travel plans arranged. You probably want to contact your family; I can make additional arrangements for you to travel to Kuwait – but only once you are finished in Cairo,” the Chief finished.
Malik nodded in understanding, but had to know more.
“What exactly is so important in Cairo, Chief? Why are we involved? Doesn’t the Muslim Brotherhood usually take care of their domestic terrorism ‘in-house’ down there?” he asked.
The Chief answered, “It turns out to be a little more delicate situation than that, I’m afraid. The Egyptian police are not sure where to begin because of the nature of the crime. One of their most beloved Imams, Muhammad Ibn Abdullah Mahmud, was killed in his royal palace. But the killer left a calling card – a gold cross placed in the Imam’s right hand. As you probably know, there is not exactly a very open population of Christians in that territory.”
Malik thought out loud, “Wow! That is a pretty strong affront to the Muslim faith. So I guess that means they really think this could only be done by an outside foe?”
The Chief responded, “That is usually why they call us in, although I thought it was an early request. I would have thought the Egyptian authorities would want to try to discover a little more for themselves; maybe rule out any possibility of a suspect being a little more local.”
“Well, Chief Inspector – I was kind of looking forward to some rest and relaxation. But, if you say I’m your man – then, I guess I’m your man,” Malik said as he stood up and took his jacket off the coat rack next to his desk.
“I knew I could count on you Sharif. You be careful over there; I hear those Egyptians can be pretty rough,” his boss stated.
Malik gave him a small grin as he started heading away from his desk; “Rough? You forget sir – I grew up in the Bronx. Egypt seen as rough…forget about it.”
Malik started walking away, and his Chief Inspector stopped him one more time.
“Inspector, where are you going right now? I haven’t had our secretary make your travel arrangements yet,” the Chief finished.
Malik quickly replied, “Well, I just got back from traveling all over Europe. It just occurred to me – I have some major laundry to catch up on before I go on any more trips.”
With that, he threw on his sports jacket and walked out of the building through the main lobby. So much for his well-earned vacation.
5
Dearborn, Michigan
Islamic Center of America
Imam Ibrahim Ibn Mustafa was leaving with a contingent of loyal Islamic followers who served as his body guards. The American Islamic leader had on a long, heavy white robe, and a standard black and white checked kafia held in place on his head by a thin black head band. Mustafa was a large man; a bearded, barrel-chested, dark skinned man with dark hair visible on his wrists as they were exposed at the end of his thick sleeves. He also wore a pair of black sunglasses to block out the afternoon sun. The Imam’s closest followers led him out to the large parking lot in front of the mosque. A crowd of seven large Arab American men surrounded the Imam as he climbed into the back seat of a white Mercedes sedan with heavily tinted windows. A Salat (large prayer meeting for many Muslims to gather) had just ended, and Ibrahim’s closest advisor, La’iq Hussein, had climbed in the back seat with the Imam. The driver had been instructed to take the Imam to his personal quarters on the outskirts of the city.
As soon as the car was in motion, La’iq looked over at his leader as if waiting to be acknowledged.
Ibrahim nodded at him and said, “Well young friend – how go our plans behind-the-scenes of our beloved Michigan town?”
La’iq smiled a devilish grin and replied, “Everything is in place, your Holiness. When the mayor addresses the city tomorrow night at the City Council meeting, we will have a large host of opinionated protesters planted around the room to voice their thoughts. There will be no way for the council to responsibly cast a vote to further increase the Christians’ stronghold in this city. It will at least buy us more time until we can plan a more permanent solution to the problem, Imam.”
The Imam took off his sunglasses and glared seriously at La’iq.
He spoke up, “And these plants in the crowd…are they obvious Muslims? I want them to blend in. I do not want City Council to think I put these protesters up to the task. They must appear secular; they must not claim any loyalty to Allah in their outbursts.”
La’iq nodded, “Fear not your Holiness…it will be as you have said. It has been arranged.”
The Imam sat silently for the rest of the ride. He put his shades back on and stared out the window as they drove down the interstate, billboards and business exits zooming by. The Mercedes pulled off one of the exits and made its way to a gated subdivision of high class duplex condominiums. The Mercedes turned into th
e gate and the driver punched in a number code for the gate to open. The driver then pulled into the subdivision and drove down to the last two units at the end of a cul-de-sac. The condos were two stories, and the two adjacent units (#501 and #502) both belonged to Imam Mustafa. His driver got out and opened the door for the Imam, and La’iq got out on the other side. The Imam’s adviser got back in the front passenger seat; the driver would take him to his own house a couple of miles away. As La’iq sat in the front seat, Ibrahim turned to say goodbye.
“Asa lama lakum, my friend. Keep me abreast of the dealings with the City Council,” and with that, he turned to head in to his condominium home.
The Mercedes drove away as an escort of two large Arab men came out from the front door of the unit to the left, Unit #501. The unit next door was specifically for housing a harem of women that had been hand-picked by Ibrahim himself, to serve him in all sorts of ways. #501 was the Imam’s personal quarters, and that is where he headed now, escorted by his two body guards.
One of the guards opened the door to the condo, walked in and gave the place a walk-through to check all the rooms and entry points. He came back shortly and informed the other guard that the condo was safe, and the Imam came in and told his guards he would be getting some sleep. He dismissed them to the condo next door; he told them to go have a good time, and make sure that he was awakened in six hours. The guards acknowledged him, then looked at each other with conniving smiles and headed out the door. Ibrahim watched as the two deadbolts turned, one guard using his keys to lock the Imam in his home. His two trusted body guards, Akeem and A-sim, had been at the condo all day. They were twins, and they guarded his humble abode(s) every day like two human guard dogs. Ibrahim felt safe when they were around – even when they were lost in forbidden erotic fantasy next door, pleasuring themselves with very lovely Mediterranean ladies. He knew that if any danger were nearby, his two ‘guard dogs’ would have sniffed it out before his arrival. He turned and walked upstairs to his bedroom. As he entered, he walked straight to his prayer rug in the large empty space in front of his bed. He had already prayed the required five times in one day. However, he knelt down to make supplications to his God, Allah, every evening before he went to bed.
Misguided: The Jesus Assassin Page 2
