After his prayers, he disrobed and went into his bathroom to prepare for bed. As he returned to his bed, he turned down the covers and climbed in to get comfortable. He reached over to his nightstand and pulled the cord on the lamp to turn out the light. As he rolled over on his side, he couldn’t help but think of the City Council meeting that La’iq had made the plans for interrupting. The council was meeting to take a vote on whether or not the city would allow public displays of nativity scenes in any public places besides churches. There had been a recent in-flux of Christians moving into Dearborn over the last year and a half, and several of the local businesses had littered their display windows and front patios with small nativity scenes over the last Christmas Holiday season. Since there was a high population of Muslims in the city, this was quite offensive to the city residents. Although the city was not under Sharia Law, some of the local residents stated that these festive displays showing off the Christ child should be kept only at Christian churches, and not in public businesses. The City Council treaded lightly on the subject because of the First Amendment. The Imam felt that if he could convince the council through so-called non-biased citizens of the city, they could put some pressure on the council to not allow these idols of blasphemy to be shown. Ibrahim trusted La’iq, and took him at his word when he told him that there would be plenty of opposition at the meeting. He started getting sleepy, and finally drifted off to dream land, hoping to wake up to good news in the morning. The fact that he would never wake up to see the next day had never even occurred to him.
6
Cairo, Egypt
Police District Headquarters, Downtown Cairo
Malik studied the photos in his hand. He had just been handed some high quality pictures of the crime scene by the local police commandant for the central downtown district of Cairo. Commandant Sacur al Akbar spoke to the investigator from Interpol, rambling on about something to do with being glad Malik was taking over the investigation because of the delicate situation with the Christians and the Muslims in the area. Malik was only half listening because the first photo in the pack was so captivating. Whoever the crime scene investigator had been, he or she had taken some pride in their work in portraying the crime scene in clear and colorful detail. The first photograph was a close-up of the murdered Imam; an older man in his 70’s with amazingly clear wrinkles and scars on an old gray and dark tanned face. The man’s eyes were closed, but not tightly. The man’s true facial features were disguised by his thick black beard, with the occasional silver hair sporadically growing in the rest of the holy man’s mane. But the man’s loosely closed eyes still made him almost look at peace. The picture had also captured the top part of the man’s upper body, with the hands crossed over the chest. Malik noticed that in the right hand, which had been laid over the left hand, was a small but distinct gold cross. There was no mistake that the killer wanted the cross to be the center of his work. The assassin wanted the Muslims to know who was behind this, almost calling them out for their beliefs. The Imam’s killer had intentionally placed that cross close to his heart – as if that is where it belonged.
The other photos were images of the Imam’s body taken from further away. As far as Malik could tell, the rest of the room surrounding the victim’s body had been left undisturbed; no sign of foot prints; no sign of forced entry; no objects of interest accidentally left behind. Yet it was obvious that someone had come in and committed the act of murder. One did not die and naturally assume a funeral-ready pose. Someone had taken a very calculated risk. Not only did they have to get past the twenty guards the Imam had placed around the palace; they would also have to get past the guard dogs out in the thin line of grass around the perimeter of the palace inside the wall. There was also an electric fence around the outside of the perimeter along the top of the wall surrounding the palace– signs warning of the 180,000 volts awaiting anyone to come in contact who was bold enough to try to climb over. Malik left his thoughts of puzzlement and focused back on the photos. Then he realized the position of the victim’s body – angled perpendicular across the prayer mat, or sajadah. The killer had left yet another cross. Malik reached up with one hand, scratching his head and asking himself why one person would want to kill to prove a religious point.
He spoke up to the police commandant, “Commandant, did your forensics team determine the exact cause of death?”
Sacur quickly answered, “Yes, sir. We wanted to help you as much as we could by being fully prepared for your arrival. An autopsy was performed, and we know the Imam died of acute asphyxiation. I even had the labs run a toxicology test. The killer used some kind of toxin, very similar to the venom of a snake known as the Black Mamba.”
Malik shook his head, becoming more perplexed by this killer by the moment.
“So you’re saying our assassin slipped in to this veritable fortress undetected, just to poison our guy. Were any puncture marks left on the body?”
Commandant Sacur nodded.
“There are some photos of the autopsy as well. In a photo of the neck in particular, there was bruising left from a large needle that was pushed into his carotid artery,” the police leader added.
Malik thought out loud, “So our killer poisoned our victim with a neurotoxin almost directly to the brain, causing almost instant organ failure. Then he intentionally placed the victim’s body in such a way as to declare war on Islam. Commandant – I think we need to keep a lid on this. Right now you might want to suggest to the media that the cause of death is still unknown.”
Commandant Sacur nodded.
“Yes sir, I came to the same conclusion. That is why we were glad to have you come Inspector. Now you see why I called it a delicate situation,” he replied.
Malik did not know how religious the commandant was, but he thought it was safe to assume he was a Muslim. Even a Muslim who was not a devout follower would realize that the killer had it out for Islam. Malik knew he would have to tread carefully. If too much information regarding this case got out to the wrong people, it could start a religious war. Malik knew two things: one – the killer was a Christian (a misguided one at that), and two – the killer was a very secretive, well connected individual. Malik had spent part of his life when he was younger in New York. Although not exactly the Bible Belt that Malik had been told about that took up the southern U.S., he had his share of Christian friends in New York; mostly Catholic. He also knew a lot about Christians from talking to his father. His father was an American soldier, who had fallen in love with his mother while stationed in Kuwait. His father was not a Christian, but had told him about several of his friends who served in the army with him. Between the friends that his dad had talked about, and his own friends back in the Bronx – this assassin did not seem to be like those Christians. Malik was not offended by the killer’s message; he was not one to be easily offended anyway. But he wondered if there was something more behind the driving force and motivation of this murderer. Malik didn’t know exactly what to do next, but he did know one thing. He had a feeling that this was just this killer’s first victim. There would be more death to come – and right now, Malik didn’t have a shred of evidence or clues that could tell him where the assassin might strike next.
7
Dearborn, Michigan
Unit #501
The assassin clad in black had a new plan in store for this Imam. Not only did he plan on taking out the Imam in his humble abode; he had plans for his body guards and their harem as well. He waited in the closet with the slatted doors. First, the plan required that he take out the Imam. He had been waiting for almost half a day, sneaking in through the back patio door earlier in the day so he had plenty of time to prepare for the Muslim leader to come home. He had scaled the wall by using a large fire blanket and flinging it over the top of the razor wire on top of the concrete wall. He was surprised the Imam was foolish enough not to have watch dogs or guard dogs inside the back patio and courtyard, considering his two body guards only pa
trolled the outer perimeter of the house most of the day – not even bothering to have anyone watching the neighborhood that bordered the back yard wall. Although it took him some time and effort, the assassin had managed to not make any noise as he finally scaled the flimsy wall made of a thick fire blanket weighing down the sharp razor wire. The assassin was a natural at picking locks; apparently there was so much faith placed in Allah and his two body guards, the Imam felt no need for a burglar alarm either. He had broken into the house and crept upstairs, and then he found the Imam’s master bedroom and waited patiently in the walk-in closet. He stood in the dark closet now, controlling his breathing and being perfectly still just like back in his sniper days with the Navy. He didn’t even need to be so cautious; the Imam was snoring so loud that redwoods being cut down in California made less noise. He had primed the syringe just before he heard the Imam come in to prepare for bed, while he still had time to use his flashlight. The black hooded killer slowly opened the closet door, unable to hear whether it was squeaking or not due to the snoring Muslim in the room.
He walked slowly towards the bed; some moonlight shined through the blinds, but the room was very dark, and the killer stayed in the shadows. He withdrew the hypodermic needle in his chest pocket on his vest with his right hand, being very careful not to step on any objects on the floor hidden in the dark. The Imam rolled toward the assassin just as he went in for the kill. His snores were suddenly interrupted by muffled attempts to cry for help; the killer’s left hand placed firmly over the mouth as the venom was pushed through the syringe into his artery. Within seconds, the deadly man in black removed his left hand, and all that could be heard were short gasps. The victim’s diaphragm had stopped working – he could not draw a breath, and all his brain could do was force his eyes wide open and flex his muscles all over his body. The assassin backed away from the bed and waited for the last few death spasms to pass. He then dragged the body of the Imam off the bed and into the middle of the room where the prayer rug was pointed towards Mecca. He placed the body directly across the sajadah, and then fumbled around in his other chest pocket for the small gold cross. He folded the dead man’s hands over his chest, and placed the cross in the right hand. He didn’t have time to sit around and admire his handy work; he still had more death to deal that night.
He went downstairs quickly, and carefully headed out the back sliding glass door through the kitchen out onto the patio. He still used the shadows to hide, and he went to a small clearing in the mulch and bushes. He picked up the large black canvas bag that was twisted several times; he couldn’t help but notice how the bag moved on its own before he scooped it up. That was because there were several living, breathing things inside the large bag. The killer’s daughter’s favorite thing in the whole wide world of science was snakes. Her fondness for the reptiles always came to the father as strange, but when he lost his little girl, he planned to use something she loved against the devils that took her from him. His daughter’s favorite snake was one of the deadliest of them all – the Black Mamba. He had three of them in the bag now. Each one measured somewhere between eight to ten feet long. Although there was a substantial amount of weight to the serpents, the assassin had no trouble carrying them around due to his large arms. He used his typical stealth as he moved across the courtyard shared by the two condos.
He hid behind a large hedge on Unit #502’s side, trying to detect any light or movement inside the dwelling. The other unit’s kitchen was dark, so he snuck up to the back door. He put the bag down again to pick the lock on the door. This door was hinged…not like the sliding glass door on the Imam’s condo. That would make his job easier; he was a master at cracking deadbolt locks. After he popped out the lock and opened the door, he and his bag silently moved on through the kitchen. He made sure there was no movement downstairs. He had done a quick walkthrough of the other condo, assuming its twin had a similar floor plan. He had been lucky; they were laid out the exact same way except everything was on opposite sides from the other unit. He knew that after getting to the top of the stairs, the master bedroom was down the hall to the right. Although he knew he was taking some big chances, he felt like he could adapt and adjust if for some reason he was detected by Akeem and A-sim. He knew they would be naked – how else does one spend time enthralled in sexual desire with your very own harem? Fighting a fully armed trained killer while naked always tipped the favor towards the guy with more than his underwear on. Nevertheless, the hooded figure was able to make it all the way to the bedroom door.
The agent stooped down to the floor and tried to listen for any noise in the next room. It was dark, and it sounded like everyone was asleep. He slowly twisted the door knob and pushed the door open, inch by inch. He unraveled his black snake bag and carefully nudged the creatures from the bottom of the bag towards the opening that he had placed through the space he had revealed with the door. Black Mambas were notorious for their speed and aggression. They did not need much coaxing to find the opening at the top of the bag and slither into the next room. Once he knew the bag was empty, he closed the door, and snuck down the stairs. The assassin knew that unarmed naked men stood about as much of a chance against those deadly snakes as they would against him. It was only a matter of time before someone moved in their sleep. Black Mambas in particular react to movement. Once the biting began, death would not come quite so quick as it had for the Imam. The killer even knew that there was a chance some of the women in the room might not get bitten. He was okay with that. Damage would be done, and yet another message would be sent. If anyone were to survive long enough to call 9-1-1, they still might be dead by the time medical staff got there. He knew the bodyguards would die. It was in their nature to fight – whether they were fighting to protect the Imam, or the women. But naked, they wouldn’t stand a chance. The local law enforcement was going to have a field day with this. He knew because of the status of the Imam, the big dogs would be put on the case. He was also okay with this. All he had to do was stay ahead in the count. After that, nothing else would matter. Two down – ten to go.
8
Detroit, Michigan
FBI Field Office
Agent Knox would seem out of place to most people who visit the Detroit office. He was your typical W.A.S.P. (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant), with very conservative political and religious views. But the thing that made him stand out the most was his southern accent. His 6 foot 3 inch frame with his linebacker build made him look a little awkward in a suit, but he still pulled it off pretty well. He was sitting in the break room, sitting in a chair with its back facing his small audience of co-workers, telling one of his token “Back in Alabama” stories. However, Agent Knox was a lot deeper person than most people gave him credit for – except those that were closest to him. Special Agent John Knox was from Thornbush, Alabama. He had gone to University of Alabama and graduated with a degree in Exercise Science. He had also been a walk-on for the varsity defense of the Crimson Tide – but unfortunately never saw a single snap during TV coverage.
After figuring out early that fitness was not going to be steady enough money for him, he got into law enforcement and patrolled a beat; first in Birmingham, then Detroit. Knox decided that uniform patrol wasn’t going to be his cup of tea, either. After working his way up through the ranks to be an investigator, he left Detroit PD and decided he would go federal. He had been with the FBI now for eight years, and was getting close to forty years old. But the agents in the Detroit Field Office liked Agent Knox because he was always younger than his actual age, full of energy, and always had a story to tell. Everybody in the room was laughing at his story about getting his 4x4 stuck one night in the Alabama mud, when the SAC (Special Agent in Charge) walked in to get a cup of coffee. Special Agent Jones McCoy was a very serious man, and when he entered a room, there would be no more laughing. It’s not that he didn’t allow it; it’s just that no matter how hard anybody tried, you couldn’t make the man laugh – so everyone stopped trying. <
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Although he wasn’t a funny man, he was a reasonable and fair supervisor, and was well respected by the other agents at the office.
“Good morning everyone. Knox…White…in my office,” was all he said as he finished pouring his cup from the fresh pot.
Agent Knox was one half of a dynamic duo who had a knack for solving hate crimes. Not just any hate crimes, but the kind where people ended up dead. Not only were they good at finding out who did it, but they were good at putting together solid evidence to back their cases up. The better half of the pair was Special Agent Beth White. Agent White was everything Knox wasn’t; that’s why they complemented each other so well. Beth was the quiet, analytical and mathematical type. Agent White had graduated magna cum laude with a degree in Mathematics from M.I.T. After a tragedy in her family that took the life of her older brother who was a police officer, Agent White had decided she wanted to put criminals away. She had been working at the federal level longer than Knox, but was the same age. She was also only about 5 feet 5 inches tall, but had a body to die for. She always wore her strawberry blond hair in a short pony tail. Knox was the brawn, and he always looked at the big picture; White was the brain and always looked for the details. The two agents had worked together for two years now, and the most recent development between the two was that they were dating – a little known fact that they really hoped SAC McCoy did not know. They both went into McCoy’s office and closed his door. They took their seats in front of his desk as he stood behind his desk, coffee mug in hand. McCoy waited until they looked comfortable.
Misguided: The Jesus Assassin Page 3
