Zach had not spoken to Aziz since being left in Aman’s care in 1973, but he knew what his teacher thought of Osama Bin Laden. Aziz would want nothing to do with him. Islam would never return to power as long as Muslims were trying to destroy each other. The proof of this fallacy could be found in the ten-year siege of Afghanistan. They conquered the Soviets, but at what cost? As soon as the war was over the mujahedin were at each other’s throats, fighting for power and territory. The constant in-fighting left no one strong enough to unite all the factions of Islam. At the same time, the weakening of the Soviet Union only served to make America stronger. American power was simply too gargantuan to try to slowly bleed it dry. It had to be wiped out with one stroke, but only when the time was right. This required patience and fortitude, which most men lacked.
Zach still thought of those early teachings as the best days of his life. The thought of being worthy enough to assist Aziz in his grand struggle was an incredible feeling, Zach remembered, as if his destiny was laid out before him. When he mentioned his feelings to Aziz after a lecture the old man had smiled respectfully, and told him to be patient. All grand feelings would eventually pass and be replaced by the redundancy of everyday life. If one can fight through this complacency, and the fire was still burning, Aziz explained, then he would be ready for the next step. Aziz used Zach’s parents’ death to cultivate his anger and despondency, and turned them into motivation.
Zach recalled when Aziz told him that in order to succeed he must be willing to purge himself of his identity and create a new one as a true Christian. He remembered the years of grueling teachings Aziz forced him to undergo. During that time he was taught everything about the West and America. By the time it was complete he felt like he no longer knew himself.
The training lasted until he was nearly fifteen. Zach was then informed that he would be sent to America for the rest of his life to fulfill his calling. He always knew that this was their ultimate plan, but it was still a depressing time. He did not want to leave Aziz, but the fire within him was ignited, and he was anxious to begin his quest to reassert Islam’s supremacy. The decadency of the Americans reached staggering proportions by the time they were preparing to infiltrate him into the United States. The Vietnam War had been raging for several years. It was proving a political disaster, and showcasing once again their arrogance and continued determination to force their values on a helpless country.
He recalled the unusually warm night when Aziz told him for the first time they were leaving for America to meet up with another brother-in-arms. All the schooling and training he attacked with such vigor over the past several years would now be put to the test. He was to live with Aziz’s counterpart in the United States. The cover story was perfectly forged, and Zach dutifully followed the teachings and instruction he received. It was time for his first step in a long journey.
Before leaving for America Zach was given the one item that would identify him as a true member of the Brotherhood of the Caliphate. In a small ritual attended by just a few confidants he received the small tattoo on his inner thigh, the symbol of the Caliphate. Aziz embraced him after the ceremony, telling him he was now a full-fledged member of their honored fraternity. The tattoo was seared into his skin, under the hair of his inner thigh. He was told to never show it to anyone until the time was right. Their journey commenced.
It started out horribly. He had never been outside Egypt, and the long boat ride across the Atlantic proved painful. He quickly discovered he hated the ocean, and spent much of his time in his own cabin vomiting as a storm rocked the massive steam liner they were riding. Aziz also neglected him on the ship, instead spending his time making sure the horse was comfortable, and tending to other projects from which Zach was excluded. By the time they arrived in New York harbor Zach was frustrated and depressed. The cultural shock of America only worsened his mood. He thought he knew all about the Americans. After all, he studied them intensely for years, but nothing could prepare him for his first encounter with the superpower.
The train ride through several states, as they made their way to Kentucky, opened his eyes to the scale of the task they were burdening themselves with. Despite the stories he heard about the disarray the country was in, he still saw nothing resembling the slums of Cairo. Could this seemingly invincible nation really be brought out of its arrogant state of mind? Seeing the country up close for the first time, he now realized why Aziz constantly expressed to him the enormity of their mission.
“Patience.” He could still remember Aziz’s silky voice repeating it over and over. “All empires are destroyed,” Aziz had explained. “Look at ancient Rome. It once appeared invulnerable until it crumbled under the burden of its immorality. The Muslim Caliphate, which once possessed hegemony over all of the Middle East and Europe in the fourteenth century, was also destroyed. The corrupt eventually crumble under their own weight.”
He remembered Aziz preaching that the original Caliphates were brought down by the Shia and Sunni rift that tore Islam apart. The Muslim world never recovered from this divide. Instead of focusing on their true enemies, Muslims spent the last few centuries tearing at each others’ throats, while their true enemies established dominion over the entire world. Only someone with the forbearance to stalk his enemy, and carefully wait for that perfect moment, would be able to pull off a monumental task such as the destruction of the United States as a superpower.
Despite some of the American governments’ poor decisions regarding war, it always managed to land on its feet. The sheer size of the country protected its soft underbelly. Zachariah had watched throughout the years as some of his enemies and friends in the government committed political suicide in their quest for money and power. It would be his job to instigate the first political genocide the country has ever seen. Only then will the rest of the world devour the carcass of America and look for a replacement to fill the void. The return of the Caliphate was the only entity powerful enough to fill such a vacuum. However, a person could not claim the lofty title of the Caliphate without humbling the West in a manner which has never been done before. That was Zach’s purpose, mission, and destiny.
Zach’s wondering mind returned to the moment. “Well, what is so important that you had to dash over here so quickly? I was about to look over the inauguration speech.”
“Aziz is dead, Zach. His errand boy found his body. Luckily he called me immediately. I have trusted men taking care of the situation as we speak.”
Zach stood dumbfounded, unable to accept the possibility that his savior was dead. The fond memories of just a few moments before were wiped away with the devastating news. He stared at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the truth of the old man’s death. Zach’s lower lip quivered. Just when it appeared as though he may cry, his face instead turned into a taut ball of anger. He steeled himself for the rest of the conversation. “What happened?” Zach demanded.
The intensity of the question shook Aman. “He killed himself. Apparently some of our friends in the U.S. government showed up to question him. I have Yohan trying to find out whom right now. We all know Aziz’s health has deteriorated over the last several years. We both know how much he detests suicide. He must have felt they were on to something. He was probably afraid he would crack under interrogation. It is the only thing that would cause him to take such a drastic course.”
Zach stood motionless. The fire of the forgotten cigarette burnt his hand and he dropped it to the floor, wincing in pain. He stamped it out with his foot. “What is our next step?”
“Nothing. Continue on as normal. We have our scheduled walkthrough at FBI headquarters tomorrow. There you can announce your selection for commerce secretary. Hopefully by then Yohan will have some useful information for us. In the meantime, it is best we continue as if nothing has changed. If they had anything concrete on you I’m sure they would have already paid you a visit. I believe we are safe for the moment.”
“Have you heard anything regarding our m
an in the White House?” Zach ran his hands through his hair, assessing the image of himself in the mirror above the fireplace.
“Yes, Mr. Gray has agreed that if we want to keep him as head of your security detail he is okay with it. Everything will be in place, just as we planned.”
Zach smiled for the first time. At least things on this side of the ocean were going smoothly.
“I look forward to the reunion,” Zach stated.
“Get some sleep. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at seven a.m. sharp to pick you up.” Aman opened the door to leave, but stepped back into the room one more time. “And don’t call that whore again tonight. I don’t care if you have used her before and trust her. Just go to bed.” He slammed the door behind him. On the way out he gave strict instructions to the Secret Service agents to not let anyone into the suite without his permission.
Chapter 39
Alex stared at the dual computer screens in front of him, reading over the story for the third time. Anna stood behind him, crouching over his shoulder as she perused it as well. In a normal setting, having a beautiful woman like her breathing gently just a few inches away would have been quite enjoyable. The faint hint of her perfume would have been enough to throw all other thoughts out the window. In this case though, her sexuality was an afterthought, which spoke to the gravity of their mission.
They had spent the last few days cooped up inside the small cabin, trolling the Internet, and researching all the information that the CIA’s database contained on Zach and his companions. Their search continued to yield nothing but the normal biographical information that everyone in America already knew about the incoming president and Aman Kazim.
They were still running into the same dead end. His life in the U.S. from age fifteen on was easily documented, but there was no record of his family or schooling in Cairo. As Anna discovered, even his birth records were unavailable. He was like a ghost in Cairo, with no documentation of his life until he appeared in the United States as a well-adjusted sixteen-year-old immigrant. He tore through his school lessons with ease while impressing every classmate and teacher who came in contact with him at Clark High School in Las Vegas. He was one of the top students in his class by the time he graduated high school, and his grades earned him a spot at Yale, the epitome of Ivy League schooling. His ascent toward fame continued at Yale as his prodigious ability in the classroom vaulted him towards the pinnacle.
After graduating in 1979 and finishing ninth in his class he returned to his home state of Nevada to run for Congress. A seat became vacant in his district at the perfect moment. The incumbent who held the seat the previous six years, and would have easily won re-election, decided to retire abruptly. An FBI report suggested that Aman greased the skids for his adoptive son, showering the congressman with gambling money and whores whenever he was in town. There were even rumors of a raunchy videotape locked away in a vault somewhere, but nothing could be verified. All that was known for sure was that the congressman from Nevada retired.
Aman’s money machine and political influence in Las Vegas immediately made the Yale graduate a front-runner for the vacant seat. By 1986 Zach made it to the U.S. Senate, and in 1990 he finally got married. After all, Zach could not become a power player in Washington until he took a wife. No matter how much one ignored those wedding vows, Washington D.C. was about perception, not reality, and Zach slipped seamlessly in with the rest of the establishment.
Now Anna and Alex were on the trail of something new. Alex rocked back in his chair, gripped the table, and used it to balance himself while he waited for Anna to finish the story he had just shown her. He found it during a simple, open source Internet search after they received a mid-flight phone call from Sean Hill. Sean was over the Atlantic, returning to the States with Colin Archer in tow. Anna refused to divulge the conversation to Alex except for one fact. Sean had told her that Aziz admitted to being in the U.S., however Sean was under the impression it had been a long time ago. They knew Aziz had been a horse trainer in Egypt so Alex did some searches, but they all yielded nothing. Then he remembered what had once been merely an afterthought about Aman’s biography. Back in the 1960s Aman raced some horses, but none of them achieved any notoriety. They had all run poorly, and after a few tries he left the business in the 1970s in order to focus all his energy on his burgeoning casino business.
The story Alex had just pulled off the Internet was an article from the Louisville Times dated May 5th, 1973. It was a short editorial handicapping the Kentucky Derby that was scheduled to run later that day. The writer, Eddie Lauren had picked a veritable unknown horse to win the race. He decided to pass on Secretariat, the overwhelming favorite, and pick a horse named Desert Sheik instead. Desert Sheik was an unknown entity, and had just arrived from Egypt a few weeks earlier. A syndicate called Sheik Stables owned the horse. There was a short biography on the horse, its racing pedigree, and its performances overseas, all of which had been impeccable.
Mr. Lauren believed that the horse was being disregarded by the handicappers because it had never raced in the United States. Below the article was a picture of the horse being walked to the track. The caption read “Desert Sheik is escorted to the track by owner Aman Kazim for a morning workout five days before the big race.” A much slimmer version of Aman could be seen in the grainy black and white photo, gripping the reins of the horse and pulling the thoroughbred onto the early morning track.
She studied the photo intently, “Is this the only information on him regarding the race?”
“Yes, here is the rest of the information from that day. Specs on the other horses, names of trainers, owners, jockeys…” Alex gestured towards the second monitor, which showed the racing forum for that day. Aman’s name was nowhere to be found. Only the name Sheik Stables was mentioned. He gestured towards the information on Desert Sheik’s trainer. The name Aziz Al-Fasal stared back at them.
“If I were a betting man I would venture a guess that Aziz Al-Fasal is really Aziz A’zami. Maybe Aziz came into the U.S. on a passport with that name. But why hide this information? If he was Aman’s trainer he must have had a much closer relationship with Aman than we previously thought. It appears that Aziz slipped up when he mentioned that he had been to the United States. If he snuck into the U.S. with the rest of the horse’s entourage, then he must have had an important task to complete here. But what?” Anna asked.
“Did they ask, Aziz?”
“He’s dead.” As usual she went straight to the heart of the matter. She did not offer any more information, and Alex knew better than to ask.
“Aziz apparently killed himself in the middle of their questioning him.” She leaned in closer to look into his eyes. “He poured boiling water all over himself. Died of a heart attack.”
Alex flinched at the thought of the horrific death. The man was either crazy or desperately trying to hide something. An idea flashed across his mind. Could that reporter still be alive? He started furiously typing on the keyboard.
“Is that reporter still alive by any chance?” Anna asked, her sudden flash of inspiration occurring almost simultaneously with Alex’s.
“I’m already on it,” Alex replied with excitement. The paper’s website popped up on the screen. He clicked on the sports section, and there it was. Eddie Lauren was now the head columnist for the Louisville Times. “He’s been promoted since 1974,” Alex said in a matter of fact tone.
“It looks like we have something resembling a lead. I’ll give Mr. Lauren a call. See if we can arrange an off-the-record interview. Keep on looking through that. See if you can find anything else useful. I have some travel arrangements to make for us.” She stood up to leave.
“Us?” Alex asked with surprise.
“Yes, you lived in Louisville for a time, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Alex perked up. He was back in the game.
“Always a good idea to bring along a pair of eyes that have already seen the landscape. I don’t think this should be t
oo dangerous anyway.” She broke a smile for the first time he could remember. “And, Alex?” Anna asked, and then waited until he looked her in the eyes.
“Yes?” He asked nervously.
“Good work.” The simple statement of gratitude coming from a professional was the best compliment he could have hoped for. He turned his attention back to the dual monitors and continued studying the screens.
Chapter 40
Aman stared out the tinted glass of the limousine in disgust. There was a massive crowd lining the sidewalk in front of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Why did every fucking event they went to turn into a circus? They were going to tour the FBI building, then meet with Bret McMichael. The throng of people was an unusually large mix of gorgeous women, the normal political hacks, and a few families. Zach was not only the incoming president, but also a widower, and he brought out a different type of political crowd. A large percentage of them appeared to be delusional women, pretending they had a chance to be the next First Lady.
The limousine rolled to a stop on the curb. Aman would have preferred to go in the underground entrance, but Zach was insistent on mingling. He loved the adoration, even if he hated most of the people who screamed out their love for him. A pair of thong underwear fell harmlessly against the bulletproof glass, tossed from somewhere in the crowd. American women just did not know when to stop.
Zach chuckled softly. “They’re the size I like,” he said with a smirk, stretching his legs across the seat in front of him. They waited for the Secret Service to secure the area and create a corridor for them to move through.
Aman’s cell phone vibrated. He looked at the luminescent dial. It was Yohan. Finally. Aman gestured to the Secret Service agent outside the window that they would need a few extra minutes.
“Yes?” Aman listened intently, pushing the phone as close to his ear as possible as he took in the precious information. Aman’s eyebrows furrowed, “Yes, I understand the price.” He then fell silent as the voice on the other end continued. “I told you, you’ll get what you want,” Aman whispered, but was interrupted by the caller again. “Yes, I won’t ask for any more favors,” Aman said in an exasperated tone. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling of the limousine as he rolled his eyes. Fucking Jews. No matter what the situation, they always find a way to make a buck out of it. Was Yohan talking this quietly, or was his hearing going bad along with every other part of his body? He made a mental note to have his hearing tested. He lowered his head, and Yohan finally stopped rambling.
Agent of Influence: A Thriller Page 29
