By the time the plane had taken off on its way to the capital, Ziamuddin was awake and alert. Abbas leaned over to him and spoke in the kind soft voice that Ziamuddin had heard many
times before. “Are you feeling better, my friend?”
“Yes, a little sore down on the right, but I will be fine, Abbas.”
“Good. That sounds good. Well, we have just a short time here, so let me go over things with you quickly, and then you may ask questions."
Abbas continued. “Your flight takes you to the Hubert Humphrey International Airport in Minneapolis, Minnesota. No one will meet you. You must find a way to make contact with our comrades there on your own. If you are feeling well, you must contact a Bill Thomas. He has all the information about you and is aware of our cause. He has agreed to help get the package to our other comrades in the United States.” Abbas briefly looked over at Ziamuddin to make sure he was still awake and listening.
The young man glanced up at the older man. “What? Is there a problem, Abbas? Why do you stop with the instructions?”
“I want to make sure you were feeling okay. Are the pills working?”
Ziamuddin smiled back. “I am fine. Please continue. I can hear you fine, and I am still awake and listening.”
Abbas smiled with great pride in the integrity and bravery of this young man. “As I was saying, Mr. Thomas will be the primary contact. I have his number in this package. You must memorize the number and return it to me on this flight. The authorities in the United States must not know that you have his name and number in case you pass out. If that were to happen, someone would surely go through your few belongings and notice his name and number. This would expose him, and the entire mission would be endangered. Do you understand,
Ziamuddin?”
The young man nodded his head yes.
“Fine. There is another name in the package you must know. He is the doctor who will help you and retrieve the package from you. His name is Jake Douglas. He works at the University Hospital. He has agreed to do this for a price. However, he does not know the extent of our mission or the cause. Please do not discuss our plans with him or anyone else except Mr. Thomas.”
The older man leaned closer to whisper, “Now, Ziamuddin, if you get sick and feel like you cannot get in contact with Mr. Thomas, take some transportation to the University Hospital. The other material in the package is money in United States currency. There is enough for you to use if you must.” Abbas now placed his hand on the man’s forearm and looked him in the eye. “There is a green pill in the package. Ziamuddin, if you feel the pain or sickness is too much and you cannot make it to one of our contacts, take the pill.” Abbas sighed. “The package must not fall into the wrong hands or our plans will be exposed. We cannot let this happen. We have come too far and many of our comrades, your comrades, are counting on us. But if the package falls into the wrong hands, then everything is lost. All of our hard work will be destroyed. Do you understand, my friend? Do you?”
Ziamuddin again nodded his head yes.
“The pill will assure us that the package stays with us. The
pull…the pill will kill you, my friend.”
Again the young man, without showing any fear, nodded his head yes.
Abbas smiled and squeezed Ziamuddin’s forearm. The young man courageously smiled in return. Both of them leaned back into their seats. No more conversation fell between them
for the remainder of the flight.
Ziamuddin looked through the contents of the package. He put the money and the pill in his pocket. He then looked at the pieces of paper in the package. He studied the information and then closed his eyes in great concentration, repeating this until he had everything memorized.
Chapter 19
Kabul, Afghanistan
As the plane approached the gate, the two men gathered their belongings. Before they exited the plane, the two men shook hands and embraced silently. Abbas then walked with the other passengers off the plane. Ziamuddin slid back into his seat, resting comfortably. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. After a short few minutes, he slowly got up and joined the remaining passengers’ slow departure off the plane.
As the young man walked through the airport, there was no sign of Abbas. Ziamuddin walked toward an airline employee and obtained some information about his international flight and departure. She waved her hands in different directions and pointed to the west side of the airport. Ziamuddin nodded his head with gratitude and understanding. He began to make his way to the next flight.
He determined that if he walked slowly, the pain was minimal, but if as he turned from side to side, he could feel some pulling and sharp pain. He stopped by a drinking fountain and pulled out the bottles of pain pills. He took two with some water and continued on his journey to the gate.
The walk started off fine, but as the distance became greater, he began to feel weaker. He never felt like he had a fever or was going to vomit again, but he knew that he was getting sick and those symptoms were inevitable. He knew that he might become so sick that he would become delusional. At that point, he would need to take the suicidal medication that Abbas had given him.
After a few more minutes of walking, he arrived at his destination. Two people were behind the counter, one male and one female. He approached the female and presented his ticket for her to inspect. She arranged a seat for him on the flight, and he took a seat in the waiting area to close his eyes.
Ziamuddin felt as if he had been there for just a few minutes, but nearly one hour after he arrived, an announcement initiated the boarding for his flight to the United States. He reviewed his seating arrangements and waited for his row to be called to the gate. The little nap seemed to help him feel stronger and less uncomfortable. While waiting, he placed his hand over his abdomen and gently pushed as if to make sure the package was still there. It was.
His row was called, and he approached the gate. He was three people from the flight attendant when he felt a strong grip rest on his shoulder. His breathing stopped abruptly, and his heart rate raced wildly. He felt sweat appear on his temples, and his body became very warm. He cautiously turned around to see who was there.
An old man stood in his view. He shook his head in disgust and apologized, “I am terribly sorry for bothering you, but from behind you look like my son. I am sorry to bother you, young man. Have a good and safe journey.”
Ziamuddin was still in shock when the flight attendant asked for his ticket. “Excuse me, sir. Do you have a ticket for this flight to the United States?”
“Uhh, yes I do. Here it is.” Ziamuddin handed over his ticket and boarding information. His pulse was still racing as he walked along the ramp. He looked over his shoulder several imes, but he didn’t see that man again, nor did he witness any other suspicious characters studying his moves.
He found his seat without too much difficulty, but as he
lowered himself into his seat, he felt a sharp pain in the lower abdomen. He was not sure how much worse this was going to get, but he experienced a moment of concern as the pain was the worst thus far, causing him to double over for a minute.
“Are you ok, young man?” a woman sitting along the aisle asked.
Ziamuddin lied, “Yes, I’m fine. I will be ok. Thank you for your concern.” He leaned over in his seat to connect the seatbelt and was hit by another wave of pain. He attempted not to be so obvious this time. He grimaced a little but settled into his seat with the seatbelt securely fastened.
The passenger closed his eyes. He could hear all the noises in the plane. He could hear someone wrestling with luggage in the compartment above the seats. He heard a woman asking her husband about all of their luggage and complaining that they should have checked in more luggage at the ticket counter; the man responded by saying he didn’t trust these people. Ziamuddin just smiled.
He hoped the man would sit next to him so they could have a heart-to-heart conversation about western capitalization
and terrorism. He opened his eyes to see who had the foreign paranoia, but the man had already taken a seat. Ziamuddin was not able to decide for sure who it had been. He felt too weak to walk around in search of the couple, but he was tempted.
He started to feel more pain in his abdomen and looked at the bottle of pills. There were only about ten left, and he needed to make it to through this flight. He shut his eyes and thought about all the things Abbas told him. He thought about his mission and about the green pill. He focused on a number of distractions until his mind gave out and he fell into a deep sleep.
Ziamuddin was jerked awake by what felt like a sudden drop in the plane. He suspected severe turbulence, but he wasn’t sure. As he sat in his seat, there was another significant drop. This time many passengers let out whimpers of concern. There were cries of fear from a few children, and Ziamuddin saw a little boy across from him with huge tears running from his eyes. His mother held him tight and whispered into his ear. The boy tried to stop his tears, but they still ran down his cheeks. Ziamuddin felt sorry for the little boy, but fortunately, there were no other episodes of turbulence.
The pilot spoke on the intercom, telling people to keep their seatbelts fastened despite the worst being over. He assured them that the airspace would be without any further turbulence for a long period of time.
Ziamuddin looked at the mother and little boy. The mother was coddling him and again whispered into his ear. Gradually the boy seemed more content and less scared.
Ziamuddin glanced at his watch and briefly looked around in search of any intruders. He then closed his eyes and fell back asleep.
No other turbulent activity interrupted the flight. Ziamuddin slept for nearly the remainder of the flight. He opened his eyes as the plane started its descent. He noticed that most of the passengers were smiling and talking about the flight and the scare they’d had. They all seemed happy, especially since the flight was nearing its end.
Ziamuddin again reviewed the plan in his head. He had been through it many times since he and Abbas had discussed it, but now it seemed a little different. It seemed real. There was no room for error. He straightened in his seat but quickly felt pain throughout his abdomen. He got dizzy but did everything possible to not faint. He acted as if he were picking up a carryon item from the floor, though he had none, to place his head well below his knees. In addition to creating more blood flow to his brain, bending down caused more pain. Ziamuddin straightened and promised himself not to do that again.
Just as the pain was subsiding, the plane hit a turbulent pocket of air. It jerked up and down quickly for about five seconds. The sudden motion caused Ziamuddin excruciating pain all over again. This time he developed a severe feeling of nausea, but he was able to control himself and resist throwing up in front of everyone. He was afraid that would attract too much attention.
Fortunately, the plane had no further episodes prior to landing. The landing itself did seem to bother Ziamuddin a little but not as much as the up and down motion of the turbulence. Once at the gate, he waited until everyone else was off the plane before he even moved. The pain was getting worse, and he didn’t want people inquiring about his health. He took two more pills and got up slowly. He still felt lightheaded, and the nausea returned quickly. Without warning, he threw up in the aisle.
A flight attendant quickly came up to him to offer assistance.
Ziamuddin shook his head and said in his Middle Eastern accent, “I guess the flight got a little too long, especially with all the turbulence and stuff.”
The flight attendant nodded in agreement.
“I think I’ll be fine now.”
“Maybe we should get you a wheel chair,” the flight
attendant offered. “That way it would be easier for you to move about in the airport. It’s quite large.”
He acknowledged her suggestion but said, “Thank you so
much for your thoughts. I think I just need some fresh air, then I’ll be fine. Thank you again.”
Ziamuddin walked toward the front of the plane. He slowly moved one leg in front of the other and smiled as he passed the flight crew. He continued gingerly along the ramp up to the terminal. He passed the door to the terminal and moved slowly to a seat near the ticket counter. He sat to recover from the long walk. He had sweat running down his face, so he used the back of his sleeve to wipe it off. All of a sudden, a deep chill set in, and he started to shake uncontrollably. It wasn’t like a seizure convulsion but rather muscle spasms that were fortunately not so obvious to others.
Ziamuddin felt terrible, and he looked terrible, too. He didn’t want to attract attention to himself, but his appearance alone would make anyone stare. Rather than looking like an international traveler, he looked as if he had been living on the streets for a few months. His hair was a mess, complete with a three-day beard. It was wavy black hair, but had not been combed for a few days, and sleeping on it for the last several hours made it look even rattier. The sweats he had experienced during the flight made the waves terribly greasy.
This physical appearance combined with his torn clothes made him stick out like a sore thumb. If this wasn’t enough, his body odor was unreal and could be detected twenty feet away. Without realizing it, he was drawing all sorts of attention to himself.
Ziamuddin realized he was starting to get sicker and need-ed to make contact with Bill Thomas. He painstakingly pulled himself up and out of the chair in search for a phone. As he walked, he felt dizzy and slightly faint, but he kept on moving. He had to call his contact.
He placed his hand in his pants pocket and felt the green
pill. He stopped for a moment and wondered if he should take it right away. But he still had his senses about him and felt clear. Yes, he felt and looked lousy, but that was not a reason to abort the mission. That was not a reason to take his life…yet.
Chapter 20
Minneapolis, Minnesota, the United States
The phone rang. It was much too early for anyone to call, but then he really had no friends. It was either work or his contact abroad, neither of whom he really cared to speak with at this time. He rolled over to look at the time: 5:30 a.m. Shit, he thought to himself. What a shit time to get this stupid ass phone call. He patted his bedside table to find the phone but couldn’t feel the correct structure. He resorted to turning on a light and illuminating the entire room. Once the light came on, though, he was sure to be up for another two or three hours trying to fall back to sleep.
The light showed clothes all over the place. A dress shirt from the day before was draped over a chair. His pants were on the floor in a crumpled pile. His tie was near the bathroom door. The floor was barely visible with old socks and underwear. His overcoat lay across the foot of his bed. The room was in shambles as usual.
He dragged himself from the warm, comfortable bed to search for the phone. He listened carefully to each ring, moving toward the sound. It was like playing a game with a kid. As he got closer to the ringing noise, he would tell himself, “Warm, warm, warmer…hot.” Finally, he found the phone and answered. “Hello?” he said in a very tired, hoarse voice.
He heard a woman’s voice with a Middle Eastern accent. “I’ll connect you now.”
“My friend, the package you requested has been sent.”
There was a click from the other end, but Bill Thomas sat for several minutes with the phone to his ear.
He was not ready for this. He hadn’t made plans for travel out of the country. He was not sure how closely he was being followed. For that matter, they had probably heard that phone conversation. He was not entirely sure that Jake Douglas would come through for him. There were too many unresolved issues. He just was not ready for that package to be delivered.
Only one thing was for sure: the mission was a go, and the pressure was on. There would be no room for error or he would surely be busted.
The first thing he needed to do was contact Douglas. The doctor had to be aware that his expertise would defini
tely be used. Thomas also had to arrange for the doctor’s payoff. There were too many things to do. Thomas wanted to call Abbas back and ask more specific questions, like when did the package leave? What flight was he coming in on? What did the guy look like? Could he speak English? But he was on his own now.
He still held the phone in his hand. He stared out the window in a panicked gaze. He didn’t blink, and he didn’t move. He was just paralyzed with the thought that it was time and he was not ready. It was no longer a little business adventure in order to get some extra cash. If he were to get busted, he would surely be convicted, and instead of spending his remaining years on a beautiful beach with gorgeous women all around, he would be locked in a small cell with no beach and no women.
He needed to get busy. First, he tried to figure out if the phone call was intercepted. He had scanned his phone and his beeper and his clothes, not to mention his entire living quarters, multiple times and never came up with a bug. Nonetheless, he disassembled his phone and rechecked it. He found no evidence of tampering, and the scan was negative as well. Still, he knew he had to get in contact with Jake Douglas without taking the chance that any line was connected to a bug. He needed a payphone.
He stumbled around his bedroom for clothes and made his way to the kitchen. While having a cup of coffee, he thought about where to go. He’d had it all set up in his mind but hadn’t made any final plans because he didn’t think they would be moving that fast. But it was time: while he was out calling Dr. Douglas, he would make travel plans to Brazil.
Not only would flight arrangements need to be made, but he would also have to arrange for his money and local accounts to be changed to an account in Brazil or somewhere in South America. He thought about packing, and he thought about leaving his friends and family, but he realized that right now he needed to focus on the mission. He could plan his escape later.
The coffee had cooled as he thought about all that needed to be done, Realizing that he was daydreaming instead of getting ready, he took one last gulp of cold coffee and jumped in the shower. He got dressed, but before putting on his overcoat, he secured his gun harness and put the gun inside. He walked to the windows and discreetly glanced out through the blinds. No cars or vans were in sight, and no people walking around the entrance of his apartment. Since the time he was spotted at his old residence, they had yet to locate him. He suspected that the scans were all negative because they had not found his new residence.
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