The Insurrectionist

by Mahima Martel

  As they walked to the parking, Deni saw the lights of a white BMW blink. “This is me,” said Heather as she opened the passenger side door for Deni.

  “Nice ride,” he said.

  “It was my sweet sixteen birthday present,” Heather said as she started the ignition.

  “I gotta cake,” he said smugly.

  “Cake. Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Heather laughed. “From what I hear, you gotta lot more than cake.”

  “Rumors, nasty rumors,” he said.

  “Everything seems to be a nasty rumor with you.” Heather laughed and pulled out onto the street. The drive home was quiet. Occasionally she would glance over to see him shrouded by the hood of his sweatshirt. Deni felt a little more than uncomfortable riding in the BMW. It’s not that he didn’t like Heather or felt he didn’t deserve the luxurious ride; he was just more than suspicious of the gesture. What does she want with me?

  Pulling to the curb outside the Daudov’s modest income row home in the north west part of Reading, Deni got out of the car. He hesitated before closing the door. He glanced back inside and said, “Uhm, I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, guess we’ll see each other in class,” replied Heather.

  “Right.” He paused, tapping his hand on the top of her car. “Thanks for the lift…and the shoulder.”

  She smiled. “Anytime.”

  Deni waited for her car to drive out of sight before walking inside his house. When he entered the house, he turned off the living room light his parents left illuminated for him. Quietly, he tiptoed up stairs and stopped in the bathroom. He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, wondering what the heck Heather saw in him and then opened the medicine cabinet door for the bottle of aspirin. He swallowed two tablets with water, brushed his teeth, and headed to bed.

  Saturday night, he did something he hadn’t done since he was fourteen¼he stayed at home with his parents. In fact he was beginning to believe he was infringing upon his parent’s mojo. Both were shocked to have him home.

  Shortly after dinner, he filled the tub with hot water and half a carton of Epson salt. Submerged in the water, his mind strayed to Heather. He simply couldn’t stop thinking of her. So captivated by his thoughts, he didn’t notice the bathroom door open.

  “Deni,” said his father, Bashir. “Are you okay? Your mother sent me in to check on you.”

  Deni finally realized his bath water had gone cold and his fingertips were like dried prunes. He reached for a towel. “Yeah.”

  Chapter 2

  Deni opened his eyes and saw shadowy figures looming over the foot of his bed. He closed his eyes in an attempt to ignore them. Suddenly, someone pulled his eyelids back and shone a bright white light in his eye. “He’s conscious,” said a female voice.

  Shit. He reluctantly opened his eyes and watched a pale bluish blur whirl around his head while two figures shaped in black stood at his feet. The Grim Reaper is working in tandem these days, he thought, but instead of scythes these deadly reapers carried briefcases. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that it wasn’t the Grim Reaper after all, it was Federal Agents.

  “I can’t promise how much you’ll get out of him. He’s heavily sedated,” the nurse said.

  “Maybe you want to save some of that morphine for the victims,” said one of the agents.

  “This is a hospital not a terrorist detention center,” the nurse replied.

  “A sympathizer, I see,” he said.

  “A nurse, it’s my job.”

  “Tom, I’ll handle this,” said the other agent. Agent Aubrey Andrews was as straight as they came. He grew up believing in US heroes and the justice America spread around the world. Agent Andrews believed the best strategy in any interrogation was calmness. Composure always quieted the most irate and violent offender.

  Agent Andrews stared at Deni. He couldn’t see any expression in his eyes and was curious as to what he was dealing with here—psychopath, sociopath, fundamentalist extremist. “Can I lower this bar of his hospital bed?” he said to the nurse.

  “Yes, of course”, she said lowering the guard rail on Deni’s right side.

  When the nurse and the other agent left the room, Agent Andrews grabbed a chair and placed it by Deni’s bedside. He sat forward and said, “I’m agent Andrews. Can you nod if you understand me?”

  Deni muttered, “Congratulations. You got me.”

  “That wasn’t me, that was the Douglassville Township Police,” replied Agent Andrews. “I do have to give you credit for your creative hiding place—very poignant. Message received loud and clear.”

  “Thank you,” Deni replied with a cough.

  “Now you are here in a nice, cozy hospital bed, being well-taken care of at taxpayer expense. Most people would have preferred you to be maggot food. It doesn’t matter. We’ll fix you up and then stick a needle in your arm. How does that sound?”

  “We are all already dead,” replied Deni.

  “Ah, a philosopher. I should have expected as much.” Opening his briefcase, Agent Andrews pulled out a folder and flipped through the pages. “You had a football scholarship at Temple University. Your major was journalism. Quite a good start for a young man, what happened? Couldn’t get laid? Couldn’t get between a girl’s legs so you had to take out your frustrations on innocent people?”

  Deni choked a laugh.

  “Or maybe, you’re in the closet. Tough guy like you have feelings for your roommate,” pursued Agent Andrews.

  “You stupid fuck, is this the best you can do? You seriously think you can break me by insulting my sexuality. Send in the other guy. Maybe he will have better luck,” replied Deni.

  Agent Andrews collapsed back in his chair. He grinned because he had been called a lot worse by other violent offenders. Being challenged by a teenager was a novelty. “We got your brother real good. While you’re all warm and cozy, he’s laid up on the cold slab in the morgue. I’m not sure which one of you is the lucky one. If you ask me, he got off easy. You’re the one who’s going to have to face judge and jury. He’s greeting his seventy-two virgins and it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever get laid again, unless it’s by your cellmate. Have you ever had anal sex before? What does Islam say about homosexuality?”

  Deni narrowed his eyes and glared at Agent Andrews. “How does it feel to be a complete tool? You’re being fucked every damned day by the country you serve and you don’t even know it.”

  “You think this is a game? This is not some video game where you get to turn it off at the end. Kid, you’re going to face the death penalty. You can save yourself a whole bunch of trouble by telling us your connections? Did you and your brother have help and direction?” questioned Agent Andrews.

  “Connections?” Deni muttered.

  “You know, like Al Qaeda.”

  Deni laughed and it hurt. He raised his arm and crossed his fingers. “US and Al Qaeda are like this. Tight, you know. Don’t they teach you anything in FBI school?”

  “So then why do we have so many Al Qaeda detainees at Gitmo?” questioned Agent Andrews.

  “Why do you have innocent men in prison?” Deni rolling his eyes. “Because they can talk. They’re not a threat to anyone other than the reputation of the US government. The US and the Muslim Brotherhood work together. The US recruits members of the Chechen Rebellion to work as mercenaries in the Afghan war and why not, Chechens are the best fighters in the world,” he said proudly. “The point is, no matter who backed us, there was American money behind it. The US funds most every terrorist organization in the world and then acts surprised when terrorism happens on their soil. Now if you’d like an answer to the question, who recruited and trained my brother¾the US of A.” Deni rested his head on his pillow and turned way. “I guess you’re going to have to kill me now, huh?”

  Agent Andrews sat back in his seat and stared at Deni. “I don’t have to do anything.”

  “Awesome, then why bother questioning me? Why bother with the interrogation? You c
an leave, go have Miller Time with your buddies and let me rest,” replied Deni. “Instead of asking me all these ridiculous questions, just find out who is taking credit. Anyone taking credit for it?”

  “Let me explain this to you in another way. Your cooperation goes a long way to deciding whether you live or die. It goes a long way to restoring the reputation of your family and ensuring your family’s safety. You can lie there and be a complete smart ass or we can tell everyone you are being a good boy and coming clean by answering questions,” said Agent Andrews.

  Deni remained silent.

  Agent Andrews shuffled through Deni’s file. He rested his elbows on Deni’s bed and casually said, “Have you ever seen your mother upset?” He leaned closer to Deni and whispered, “Have you ever seen your father cry? Do you know the hope and the pride your father had for you is now destroyed by your senseless act. Your parents are sick with heartache and pain. If you cannot understand the anguish of the parents of your victims, you must understand the anguish of your parents.” Agent Andrews cracked a grin when he noticed Deni’s lips quiver. “So your heart is completely dead,” said Agent Andrews.

  Deni turned his head away from Agent Andrews. His mother’s passionate declarations were nothing new, and were to be expected. The lump that formed in his chest was for his father¾a strong, quiet man who only wanted what was best for his children. It was his father’s shame and pain that stung Deni the deepest.

  “Not so tough are you? Just the mere mention of mommy and daddy and the tears start rolling. Damn, and I was about to give you more credit. You’re just a baby,” said Agent Andrews.

  “You don’t know shit,” Deni spat.

  “Don’t I? Mommy and daddy are the breaking point. That was just too damned easy.”

  Deni turned away and closed his eyes.

  It was a warm summer evening many years ago. Outside, the sun was setting on a wide field in their Uncle Aslan’s farm near Volgograd, Russia. Those years living with his Uncle Aslan and Aunt Vera were the best times of young Deni’s life. The air was so clean, the sky was so blue and bright, and the horizon seemed to go on forever in every direction. The world was limitless.

  Sure, they didn’t have all the material comforts they had now grown used to in the States. Uncle Aslan didn’t own a television. The neighbors were few and far between and he and his family only went off to Volgograd on special occasions, but they had all the comforts of a warm family. To five-year-old Deni, it was paradise.

  Uncle Aslan played balalaika music on an old stereo while his mother and his Aunt Vera quietly played a game of cards. His brother stared dreamily out the window, while Deni curled up on his father’s lap. His sisters cuddled alongside on his father’s opposite side.

  Bashir wrapped his arm firmly around Deni and read the Russian fairytale, Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Gray Wolf:

  “He sprinkled him with water of life, and Ivan got up. O how soundly I slept. You would have slept even sounder, said the Grey Wolf, if I hadn’t sprinkled you with the water of life and the water of death! Your own brothers killed you and took all that you have gained. Even now one of your brothers is to marry Elena Prekrasnaya. Sit on me quickly.”

  Bashir quickly lifted Deni onto his lap and turned the page of the book. Deni leaned against his father as he continued to read:

  “They rushed home where; indeed Ivan’s brother was preparing to marry Elena Prekrasnaya. No sooner had Ivan Tsarevich entered the castle, than Elena Prekrasnaya jumped up and threw Her arms around him.

  ‘This is my true bridegroom, Ivan!’ she cried. ‘Not the evil brother sitting there!’

  And she told the Tsar everything and the brothers had done, and how they had threatened to kill her if she told anyone what had happened. The Tsar was very angry and threw the two oldest brothers into the dungeon. Then Ivan Tsarevich married Elena Prekrasnaya, and they lived happily ever after.”

  Bashir closed the book and kissed Deni on the forehead. “It’s time for children to go to bed.”

  “Just one more pop,” whined Deni.

  “One fairytale a night and that way every day you live happily ever after,” replied Bashir.

  That was a fairytale Deni believed¾everyday was happily ever after. And why not, he had everything a boy could want and need: wide open fields to play, home cooked meals every day, a loving family and when exhaustion set in at the end of the day, he had a comfortable bed to sleep soundly. Nothing more was needed or desired.

  With all the drugs filling his system, Deni could hardly feel his body and the hospital bed on which he lay. If only we stayed on the farm in Volgograd. If only we didn’t come to America, Deni thought and turned his head back to Agent Andrews. He wore absolutely no expression. “You don’t know anything,” he said.

  “There is one thing you can do for your parents and that is to cooperate. Your cooperation and help in this investigation will give you some redemption and restore some dignity to your family,” said Agent Andrews. “So who recruited you and your brother?”

  “Jamestown Foundation,” Deni replied matter of fact.

  “So you two worked alone then, okay?” replied Agent Andrews.

  Deni stared at Agent Andrews; he knew he was fucked. It was just the way. Everyone in the world has a score to settle. Some people score anonymous victories at the expense of those taking the fall. “I can’t believe I was so stupid,” he muttered.

  “So is that a confession?” asked Agent Andrews.

  “You tell me. No matter what I say will be twisted into a confession,” replied Deni.

  “Did you receive a commission or was it just for a place in Paradise?”

  “I have a big college tuition and living in Philly ain’t cheap.”

  “Ah ha, hired mercenary. Apparently Chechens are in high demand these days. What’s the going rate for Chechen mercenaries?” questioned Agent Andrews.

  “I dunno, ask my brother.” Deni turned his head. “Oh right, you can’t. The cops killed him.”

  Agent Andrews looked down at his notes and then continued. “Let’s talk about motivation?”

  Motivation? Here it comes—the why. Why does anyone do anything? Everyone’s actions are tainted with motivation—good or bad? Does it even matter why? Deni thought and was surprised he didn’t have an immediate answer. Months, days, and hours of planning and now everything was a jangled mess in his mind. He tried to recall the conversations with his brother and only one word came forth. “Retribution,” Deni said.

  “Retribution? That’s a new one,” said Agent Andrews.

  “Americans can dish out the terror worldwide, but when terror strikes home, Americans act like a bunch of pussies. Americans have no concept of terror. In my hometown of Grozny, Russian soldiers tied civilians together and blew them up. That’s terror. Body parts where then buried in separate ditches to keep the UN from getting an accurate body count of the atrocity. Moscow is very careful not be charged with a human rights violation, so they made it difficult to count the bodies. Russian soldiers gang-raping a fifteen-year-old girl who is bleeding to death is terror.”

  “That is indeed terrible, but does that make it right to impose terror on others? If you know this, if you realize this and understand the terror, one would think you would do what is necessary to stop it,” replied Agent Andrews.

  “Every day, in some part of the world, a citizen is dying by an American’s hand, whether it is by gun fire, a bomb, or drone strikes. Every day in the world, someone is experiencing terrorism by America, while Americans sit at home and get fat and then take diet pills to get skinny. Every day, someone is tortured and mutilated by an American while Americans stare at themselves in the mirror. Are you all that fucking stupid? Do you all just live in a fucking bubble to think that what American’s put out won’t come back to haunt you?”

  “So you and your brother have taken it upon yourself to give America a taste of our own medicine? Is that the answer?” questioned Agent Andrews.

  �
�I’m sure America will get past it, build a memorial, have a benefit concert and make a television movie of the week. Who do you want to play you, Agent Andrews? I can see Tom Cruise.”

  Agent Andrews shut his briefcase and stood up. “Retribution is not a motivation; it’s an excuse for violence.”

  Deni said nothing, and turned his head away from Agent Andrews.

  Agent Andrews had seen it all—hardened criminals, psychopaths, sociopaths, and now global vigilantes. He knew the dangers of dealing with certain people; their minds could be infectious. People can be persuaded and people will empathize. He knew much of this conversation will be sealed to the media and that he himself had to remain consciously rigid.

  It was the height of the second Chechen war, but it wasn’t a war fought in trenches in distant fields. It was fought downtown and in the neighborhoods. While Russian forces occupied the heart of Grozny, a growing Chechen rebellion formed in the nearby mountains. Russians fought by threatening citizens and the rebellion countered with unsuspecting acts of terror amongst the Russian troops.

  Russia’s latest attack was the most despicable. They struck on Islam’s holiest day, Ramadan. Families celebrated with feasts in gardens and eateries. There was a joyous raucous of friendly chatter, children played and ran between the tables. Deni’s mother chatted and gossiped with other mothers. She paid little attention when five-year-old Deni slipped out of her arms, off her lap and onto the ground.

  Finally, Deni was free. He crawled under the table and exited at the other end. The game was hide and seek, not just from his mother, but to try to be invisible to everyone around. Occasionally he’d steal a piece of cake, or a bon-bon from a service table or even someone’s plate.

  Suddenly a bomb exploded a block away near another gathering. Plumes of smoke were visible over the towering spire of the mosque followed by painful screams. Everyone jumped to attention, screaming for their family members. Kamiila bolted from her chair and counted heads: Mikail, Lulii, and Eliiza. “Deni!” she screamed frantic.