by Unknown
"What old guy?"
"Sorry, sir. I should've mentioned him. There are five men in total. Four suspects and some old guy who's bossing them around. We've been calling him the sheik."
"The sheik?"
"Yes, sir. Because he looks like a sheik."
"Creative name," Jones said sarcastically.
"Thank you, sir."
Payne glanced at Jones. "Would Omar would be dumb enough to be here himself?"
Jones shrugged. "According to Shari, the cargo would be invaluable to the Islamic world. So who knows? If Omar wanted to see it or doesn't trust the guards, he might've made the trip."
"Seems kind of stupid to me. Why would he risk it?"
"Hey," Jones said, "the same could be said about us. We're supposed to be retired."
"Good point." Payne smiled as he refocused on the soldier. "Do your men understand the parameters of mis assault?"
"Yes, sir. The suspects are wanted for questioning. Nonlethal force unless necessary."
"Be extra careful with the sheik. We want him alive." "Understood, sir. I'll stress it to my men." Payne nodded. "What do you have for transport?" The soldier pointed at the map. "Our boat is waiting in the harbor. On my signal, he'll make his approach along this channel and stop at this dock. If all goes smoothly, we'll load the boat in five minutes. After that, we're off to international waters."
"Can you handle some extra weight?" "Why, sir? Are you thinking of joining us?" Payne shook his head. "I was referring to the cargo. We want to take that as well."
The assault started with a flashbang, a nonlethal grenade that was commonly used in hostage retrieval. No shrapnel. No toxic gas. Just a flash of light that was so bright it activated all of the photosensitive cells in the suspects' retinas, blinding them for several seconds. Couple that with a blast that was so deafening it disrupted the fluid in their inner ears, and they had no chance to fight back. One moment they were standing; the next they were falling to the ground in agony.
Temporarily blind and completely disoriented.
Soldiers breached the warehouse from multiple angles, swarming the suspects before they had a chance to recover. Within seconds they were bound and gagged and ready for transport. Payne and Jones studied their faces, making sure they had everyone in their grasp. Four guards in total, including the one who had assaulted Shari.
"Let me break his nose," said Jones, who was only half joking.
Payne shook his head, realizing that the guards would be roughed up worse than that once Harrington's men started interrogating them. Early in his career, Payne had asked one of his commanders what would happen to a prisoner they had just captured, and his response was one that always stuck with him.
He's going to be beaten until he starts leaking answers.
For some reason, that expression seemed to fit.
Next, Payne turned his attention to the old guy. It was, in fact, Omar Abdul-Khaliq.
He did not look very happy.
Like the soldiers had mentioned, he looked like a stereotypical sheik—though not nearly as dignified, since he was hog-tied on the floor. Payne wanted to ask him why he was there. Why he was dumb enough to give up the sanctuary of his oil business, which made him off-limits to some American politicians, to supervise the shipment of an artifact that had been stolen during a terrorist attack.
It was one thing to send your goons. It was quite another to be there yourself.
Now the door was wide open. They had caught him red-handed and could question him about anything they wanted, for as long as they wanted, and they wouldn't have to worry about lawyers breathing down their necks. And if Payne guessed right, the process would go on indefinitely.
In the vernacular of the U.S. military, it was called a ghost detainee.
Abdul-Khaliq would enter their system and simply disappear.
* * *
EPILOGUE
Tuesday, January 9
U.S. Army Base, Kwajalein
Republic of the Marshall Islands
A week had passed since Payne and Jones wrapped up their mission in Jeddah. Afterward, they spent several days in Taif, tying up loose ends and dealing with the political mess that their unauthorized trip to Mecca had caused. Harrington was the lightning rod in the whole ordeal, taking the blame for Schmidt and the massacre in Jeju but being congratulated off the record for saving die Great Mosque and capturing several terrorists who could be linked to the Soldiers of Allah.
Payne wasn't privy to what Abdul-Khaliq and his men had revealed during their first few days of questioning, but Harrington hinted that Hakeem Salaam would soon be in their grasp.
As for the Saudi government, they were furious when they first learned the identity of Schmidt's crew. They demanded an explanation from the United States, wanting to know why Special Forces soldiers had threatened their most sacred city. Obviously, the Pentagon responded in the only way they could: they lied. They claimed that Schmidt and his men were actually Muslims and had been sent to Mecca to rescue the lives of American archaeologists who were being threatened by terrorists. While they were there, they stumbled across a bigger plot and eventually saved the day.
The Saudis didn't believe it for one minute but were willing to overlook everything when the Pentagon sweetened the deal. They told the Saudis about a stone crypt they had recently discovered that was filled with dozens of documents that were written by Muhammad's closest companions. Transcripts of Muhammad's revelations. If the Saudis were interested, the Pentagon would be happy to let them study it as a token of goodwill. The Saudis were so excited about the possibilities that they allowed Shari Shasmeen to participate on the research team.
Eventually, when Payne and Jones were permitted to leave Taif, they decided to take the long way home. Instead of flying west, toward Pittsburgh, where it was cold and snowy, they flew east, toward the Pacific, where it was warm and sandy. Besides, Kia Choi had told them they were free to visit anytime, and they wanted to take her up on the offer before she forgot.
The plane landed on a familiar runway and eased to a stop near one of the main hangars. The temperature was in the low eighties but felt cooler due to the tropical breeze that blew across the Kwajalein atoll. Jones glanced out the tiny window and admired the sapphire sky.
"Wow, would you look at that sun! I can't wait to work on my tan."
"Yeah," Payne joked. "You've been looking kind of Caucasian."
Jones smiled as he grabbed his bags and headed for me open hatch. Taking one step outside, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. A beautiful island woman, wearing a coconut bikini and a hula skirt, stood at the bottom of the plane stairs. A flower lei swayed in her hands as she moved to the rhythm of a Don Ho song that played over the hangar's loudspeakers.
"Welcome to the Marshall Islands," she announced.
Jones stared at her, then glanced back at Payne, who was struggling to hold in his laughter. He'd been dying to tease Jones about the kissing incident with Kia for several days, and now he had managed to do it in style.
"You know what?" Jones said. "Screw you and screw Kia. That's not funny."
"You're right," he said with a laugh. "It's hilarious."
"Ha, ha. I get it. Make fun of the pale black guy." He dropped his bags and glanced into the cockpit, where even the pilot was laughing. "Driver, I've had enough. Take me home."
Which made Payne laugh even louder.
"Fine," Jones said. "Be that way. But I'm telling you, I'm marching down there and slipping her the tongue."
"You better not," said Kia, who had snuck up the stairs behind him. "She'll charge me extra."
"She's a hooker?"
Kia laughed and gave him a hug. "She's not a hooker, but she is single."
"In that case, we can stay." Jones turned toward the cockpit and shouted. "Bellman, change of plans. Please get my bags. I'm going downstairs to make a friend."
Payne waved him off, glad he was being such a good sport.
"Wow," said Kia, who had set e
verything up at Payne's request. "That worked well."
He nodded in agreement. "Perfect. Simply perfect. No way you can top it."
"You don't think?" she flirted.
Payne smiled at the possibilities. "Honestly, I can't wait to find out."
* * *
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Even though Sword of God is a work of fiction, most of the locations in my novel are quite real. Al-Gaim is a military housing compound in Taif, Saudi Arabia. Lava tubes stretch for miles underneath Jeju, South Korea. And the Abraj Al Bait .Towers are being built across the street from the Great Mosque in Mecca.
(Payne and Jones showed me the blueprints. They look amazing!)
Anyway, when I first started researching this book, I quickly realized an important fact: I can't read Arabic or Korean. Heck, I can barely read English. That meant I was forced to rely on translated documents to provide several details in my story. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but there was one major issue that kept popping up over and over. Translators tend to disagree on the spelling of proper nouns. I swear, to this day I still don't know the official name of Jeju. Some call it Jeju-do. Others use Jejudo. Then there is Jeju Island. And Cheju-do. And Cheju. And, well, you get my point. After a while, I realized that I needed to choose one spelling for every location—even if many linguists disagreed with my choice— and stick with it throughout.
Then again, I guess that's what writing is. A series of choices.
That being said, I think the riskiest choice I made was the concept of a terrorist attack in the holy city of Mecca. My goal was to entertain, not to offend. If I crossed any lines, I sincerely apologize. As I mentioned during my story, there are a number of similarities between Islam and Christianity. That might seem strange, considering the clear cultural differences between Saudi Arabia and the United States, but if you take the time to examine the sacred texts of the two religions, you will find many shared beliefs.
Obviously, it would be great to live in a world where everyone got along.
Until that day, stories about terrorism will continue to be written.
