Reb's Revenge (Reb Rogers Book 1)

by J B Black

  Reb and Honey clinked the necks of their beer bottles together and then both upended their bottles, took long drinks of the ice-cold beer, and, after setting down their bottles, grabbed a piece of chicken from the bucket and started eating ravenously.

  After taking a long pull on his beer, Jake looked back at Reb. Seeing the blood on Reb’s shirt and trousers from where Reb had wiped his hands when he had cleaned the fish he and Honey had caught earlier that day, Jake had a horrible thought.

  “Reb, you haven’t run into any Islamic jihadists tonight, have you?” Jake asked.

  “How the hell did you know about that?” Reb asked as he chewed.

  “I’ve been calling you all day long. Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

  “Jake, you’re not going to believe this, but my phone went overboard this afternoon when, like a dumbass, I tried taking a picture of a fish while I was trying to land it. It’s now on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico or in some fish’s belly,” Reb said, exasperatedly. “I haven’t gotten any messages from anyone and frankly I’ve been pretty busy this evening.”

  “Well, that explains why I haven’t been able to get in touch with you to let you know about the jihadists that were sent after you,” Jake said.

  “Well, they sure as hell found me—much to their regret,” Reb said.

  “Reb, please tell me you didn’t kill all of them.”

  “I sure as hell did. We just got back from feeding them to the sharks.”

  “Shit, Reb. I needed at least one of them alive so we could find out which mosque they came from and who gave them their marching orders,” Jake said.

  “Jake, old buddy, these guys knew about Lashwan. Somebody in the government with access to classified information gave those assholes my file and my current address. You don’t really think that I would have killed those jihadist assholes before I got them to tell me who sent them and how to find them, do you?”

  “Sorry Reb, I guess I should have known better, but this situation is much larger than just Lashwan and a leak in the government.”

  “What do you mean, Jake?”

  Jake told Reb about what he had learned from General Davidson about Sinbad and the Imam and the network of jihadist cells whose goal was to establish a Caliphate on American soil.

  When Jake finished, Reb shook his head and said, “Well, Honey and I were on our way over to Pensacola to pay a visit to the Imam that your Sinbad character ordered to execute me. We just stopped off here to grab a bite to eat, then clean up some, and change into some fresh clothes, before going. You’re more than welcome to tag along, if you want.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what do you plan on doing with the Imam?” Jake asked.

  “Did I tell you that I bought a little farm north of here off County Road 38 east of Summerdale?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “After I met Honey, I decided I needed a secluded place where we could go to shoot anytime we wanted to without having to worry about people knowing about my business. So, I purchased my little farm up in the Summerdale area not too far from here. It’s 300 acres—plus or minus as they say in the real estate business—and it’s pretty secluded. A little more than a third of the property is wooded and the rest is half pastureland and half overgrown-with-weeds cropland.

  “When I first got the place I rented some equipment and I had a lot of fun digging out a sizeable pond and using the earth that was excavated to build a berm to serve as the backstop for my shooting range.

  “There’s an old farmhouse that came with the place. I fixed it up to stay at whenever I’m at the farm shooting at the range or hunting up there.”

  Reb took another pull on his beer before saying, “Did I mention that it’s secluded? The Imam can scream and yell to high heaven and nobody will hear him. So, we’re going to take the Imam to the farm and make him tell us who and where Sinbad is. And then I’m going to go pay Mister Sinbad a visit he’ll never forget.”

  Jake said, “I’m ready whenever you and Honey get changed.”

  CHAPTER 37

  West Pensacola Islamic Center

  600 West Winthrop Avenue

  Pensacola, Florida

  Sunday, April 18, 2010

  1:10 a.m. Central Time

  Abdul Aswad was sound asleep when he heard, first, the ringing of the doorbell and, then, the loud banging on the front door of the mosque.

  The first thought that entered Abdul’s groggy mind, as he sat up in his bed and swung his feet onto the floor, was that Tariq, Omar, and Mohamed had finally returned, after completing their mission.

  Abdul quickly pulled on his clothes and shoes, grabbed his keys, and made his way from his apartment in the rear of the building to the doorway leading to the main area of the mosque where the prayer services were held. He did not turn on any lights as he entered the prayer area and started walking toward the glass door at the main entrance.

  When he got closer, Abdul could see that there was someone standing outside still banging on the door. The person standing outside the door was saying something, but Abdul could not make out what it was. Hoping it was one of the young jihadis, Abdul hurried to the front door.

  As he got closer to the door, Abdul could clearly see that the person on the other side of the door was a woman with long hair and that she was saying something about needing help for his three friends Tariq, Omar, and Mohamed.

  Confused and thinking that maybe the three jihadis were in their minivan outside in the parking lot needing medical assistance, Abdul unlocked the door and was opening it up to ask the woman what had happened to the three jihadis when she stepped aside and two large men rushed past her into the building. One of the men quickly circled behind Abdul and grabbed him in a choke-hold while the other man grabbed him by the wrists so he could not move no matter how hard he struggled.

  * * *

  As soon as Abdul lost consciousness, Jake lowered him to the floor. Reb and Jake then proceeded to bind and gag Abdul with duct tape. They wrapped several lengths of tape around his upper torso binding his arms to his sides. They repeated the process binding his lower legs together.

  Then Reb and Jake each grabbed an end and carried Abdul outside into the parking lot to Reb’s SUV where they placed him sitting up in the back seat and secured him in place with the seat belt.

  Honey got in the driver’s seat, Jake got in the front passenger seat, and Reb sat in the back next to Abdul.

  * * *

  Abdul regained consciousness and realized that he was in a vehicle as they drove out of the parking lot onto West Winthrop Avenue and then turned left onto Gulf Beach Hwy. He groggily watched out the windshield past the woman driver and the man in the front passenger seat and realized that they were heading west on Gulf Beach Hwy.

  When the vehicle got to South Fairfield Drive, it turned right and Abdul turned his head and stared at the man seated next to him. After a moment, it dawned on Abdul that he had seen that face before. He racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen the man before, then he realized that it was the man he had sent Tariq, Omar, and Mohamed to assassinate. It was Reb Rogers and the way he was staring at Abdul—like he was a maggot or something else equally as disgusting—sent a chill down Abdul’s spine. He now knew for certain the fate of Tariq, Omar, and Mohamed.

  A short time later, the vehicle stopped for the light at the intersection at US Hwy 98. When the light changed, they turned left and drove west toward Alabama. Abdul tried to ask where they were taking him, but the duct tape prevented him from talking and the only sounds he could make were grunting noises. He tried to move and realized that he was bound so thoroughly that it was impossible for him to move. He glanced back at Reb Rogers, who was still staring at him.

  “I’ll just bet I know what you’re thinking,” Reb said, staring unkindly at the Imam. “You’re wondering where are they taking me and what are they planning on doing to me once we get there. And you’re worried because you know that I know that you sent
those three jihadist dumbasses to kill me and they weren’t up to the job. You won’t have to worry long because we’ll be where we’re going real soon and long before I finish with you, you’ll wish that you’d never heard of me, asshole.”

  Panic set in and Abdul’s dream of living to see a Caliphate in America began to quickly fade.

  CHAPTER 38

  The Farm

  Off County Road 38

  Summerdale, Alabama

  Sunday, April 18, 2010

  2:00 a.m. Central Time

  Reb’s farm was located east of Summerdale off County Road 38. Seclusion had been one of Reb’s criteria when he told the real estate agent what he was looking for. His nearest neighbor was a couple of miles away and the dirt road entrance to the property ran a quarter of a mile before coming to the old farmhouse that had come with the acreage.

  After turning off County Road 38 and following the dirt road to the farmhouse, Honey parked the SUV at the rear of the old farmhouse. Reb and Jake pulled Abdul from the SUV and then dragged him up the steps to the back porch and then on inside the house and into the kitchen.

  Inside the kitchen there was an old wooden table, covered with a tablecloth, surrounded by six old high-back wooden chairs that had wicker bottom seats. Unlike most of the furniture that had been in the house when he had purchased it, Reb had decided to keep the table and chairs.

  Reb and Jake sat the Imam down in one of the chairs and secured him to the chair using duct tape. They wound the tape around Abdul’s upper body and the back of the chair several times so he couldn’t get out of the chair.

  “I’m going out to the barn to get some things,” Reb told Jake. “I’ll be right back.”

  While Honey put on a pot of coffee, Jake kept an eye on Abdul who was taking in his surroundings and worrying about what would happen next.

  Just as the coffeemaker finished making coffee, Reb returned carrying a toolbox, a roll of black plastic sheeting, and a metal bucket. He walked to the other side of the kitchen and went through the door that led from the kitchen to the dining room. He placed the items he was carrying on top of the dining room table.

  Reb returned to the kitchen and said, “Jake, give me a hand moving the Imam to the dining room.”

  Reb and Jake lifted the chair with the Imam sitting in it. They carried it into the dining room and set it down on the floor near the table.

  As Jake and the Imam watched, Reb walked around to the other side of the table where he moved the four chairs on that side over to the wall. Next, he unrolled a four-foot length of the black plastic sheeting and cut it from the roll. He spread the black plastic sheeting out on the wood floor and placed it where it was centered just at the outside edge of the table.

  Reb picked the bucket up from the table and placed it on the black plastic about two feet from the edge of the table.

  Reb looked at Jake, who—along with Abdul—was wondering what Reb was up to, and said, “Help me lift the Imam’s chair onto this plastic sheet, Jake. We’re going to place the chair right over the bucket. I don’t want to mess up this place any more than I have to.”

  After the chair was in place over the bucket, Jake asked Reb if he needed him to help with anything else.

  “Not right now,” Reb replied. “Why don’t you grab some coffee and keep Honey company? I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Jake left the room and Reb took out his tactical knife and flicked it open. He knelt down and cut the tape binding Abdul’s legs together. Reb then spread Abdul’s legs apart and, using duct tape, bound Abdul’s lower left leg to the chair’s left front leg. Reb went around to the other side of the chair and repeated the process.

  While he was still kneeling down by the right side of the chair, Reb said, “Lift your ass up if you don’t want to get cut.”

  Abdul lifted his buttocks up as high as he could off the wicker seat bottom and Reb used his knife to cut a ragged hole in the wicker seat bottom. Abdul sat back down when Reb told him to do so.

  Reb stood up and moved around to the front of the chair. He bent over and unbuckled Abdul’s belt, unzipped his pants and jerked Abdul’s pants down around his ankles. Then Reb pulled Abdul’s boxer shorts down as far as he could.

  Reb turned around to the table and opened the toolbox.

  When Reb turned around, Abdul saw that Reb had a hammer in his right hand and a couple of 20-penny nails in his left hand.

  Reb knelt down in front of the chair Abdul was seated in and started pushing down on the toe of Abdul’s right shoe using his thumb. Satisfied with what he found, Reb placed one of the nails on the top of the toe of Abdul’s right shoe.

  Abdul was craning his head forward, trying his damnedest to see what Reb was doing, but to no avail.

  Reb looked up at Abdul and said, “If I were you, I’d scrunch my toes as far back as I could right about now, Imam.”

  Reb raised the hammer and hit the head of the nail as hard as he could, nailing Abdul’s right shoe to the floor. Reb repeated the process on the left shoe and then stood up and pushed Abdul in the chest to see if the chair would rock backwards. Nothing happened and, satisfied with his handiwork, Reb turned away from Abdul and walked around to the other side of the dining room table.

  Reb set the hammer down on the table and faced Abdul.

  “Imam, if you need to piss or shit, go right ahead,” Reb said. ‘That’s what the bucket’s for.”

  Reb leaned over, placed his hands on the table, and just glared at Abdul. Abdul tried to return Reb’s stare, but could not and looked away.

  Reb continued glaring and Abdul tried to say, “What do you want with me?” which came out all garbled because of the duct tape that was still wrapped around his face.

  Reb said, “Imam, I have some questions for you and, if you don’t answer me, or, if I don’t like the answers I get from you, I’m going to do the same thing to you that I did to those three clowns you sent to kill me.”

  Reb reached into the toolbox and took out a little self-igniting propane torch that he had used on some plumbing projects around the farm. He set it down on the kitchen table alongside the hammer.

  Reb turned back to Abdul and said, “You know, Imam, there’s just something about the smell of human flesh burning. I know you’d agree with that. All of you jihadists like to run around setting people on fire … Christians, Muslims, it doesn’t matter, just anybody who doesn’t agree with your perverted slant on Islam.”

  Reb turned and walked out of the dining room, closing the door behind him. He went over to the table, where Honey and Jake were seated drinking coffee, and joined them. Honey got up, poured him a cup of coffee, put it on the table in front of him and re-took her seat. They were all exhausted.

  Reb took a sip from his cup and looked at Jake, who had a small, black, zippered, leather case sitting on the table in front of him.

  “How’s it going in there?” Jake asked.

  “I’m softening him up with the psychological shit.”

  “Just like we did it in Afghanistan,” Jake said.

  “Keep an ear out for your cue,” Reb said, finishing his coffee.

  When Reb returned to the dining room, Abdul saw that he was carrying a large butcher knife.

  As he walked back to the dining room table, Reb looked at Abdul and said, “Another thing that just bugs the shit out of me is how much you jihadists enjoy your beheadings.”

  Reb set the butcher knife down on the table next to the propane torch and hammer.

  Reb winked at Abdul and reached inside the toolbox and took out a pair of pliers and held them out for Abdul to see.

  “But you know what, Abdul?” Reb said. “I’ve found that what really gets the prisoner’s undivided attention is when the interrogator gets a really good grip on the end of a fingernail or a toenail with a pair of good quality American made pliers and starts applying a little backward pressure as he pulls the nail out. Now, you want to talk about excruciating pain. That will do it every time.”

&nbs
p; Reb slammed the pliers down on the table next to the butcher knife and Abdul jumped involuntarily.

  Reb walked around the dining room table over to where Abdul was sitting and started unwinding the duct tape that was wrapped around his face. Large amounts of Abdul’s whiskers were pulled off his face with the removal of the tape and Abdul couldn’t help but to scream in anguish once his mouth was free of the tape.

  “I will tell you nothing,” Abdul yelled, trying to get his courage up. “You can torture me all you want and you will learn nothing from me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Jake said as he strode into the dining room from the kitchen holding the black leather case. He walked over to the table, opened the case, and set it down on the table. He took out a hypodermic syringe and a small vial of some milky substance from the case.

  As Jake filled the syringe with the milky substance, he looked at Abdul and said, “Imam, this won’t hurt much, but I guarantee that you will answer all of our questions.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The Farm

  Off County Road 38

  Summerdale, Alabama

  Sunday, April 18, 2010

  2:45 a.m. Central Time

  After injecting Abdul with the interrogation drug, Reb and Jake went back to the kitchen, closing the door to the dining room behind them.

  They walked over to the coffee maker, poured themselves some coffee, and joined Honey at the small kitchen table.

  “How long before our guest goes all chatty Cathy on us?” Reb asked.

  “It usually takes about an hour for that stuff to work its magic,” Jake answered.

  * * *

  An hour later, Reb, Jake, and Honey returned to the dining room and the three of them sat down at the dining room table across from Abdul. Jake sat in the middle and Reb sat on his right and Honey sat on his left. Lying on the table, in front of Reb, there was a hammer, a blowtorch, a pair of pliers, and a butcher knife.