by J B Black
Jake bent down so that his face was directly over and about nine inches above hers. Megan noted that he had a look of concern on his face that made her afraid for the first time. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell us what we want to know, Megan? This is your last chance.”
“I’m not going to help you. You killed my brother, you bastards.”
Jake stood back up. He and Reb adjusted the ironing board by raising the end with Megan’s feet up to the next rung on the stepladder. The ironing board was now at a nineteen degree angle and Megan’s feet were elevated well above her head. When Reb draped a wet linen cloth over Megan’s face, the realization that she was about to be waterboarded struck Megan like a ton of bricks.
The cloth was moist enough that droplets of water tickled the hairs inside Megan’s nose as the water trickled into her nose. Panic quickly set in and Megan twisted her head back and forth, in an attempt to dislodge the cloth from her face, but the water soaked cloth was too large and too heavy. Soon, Megan’s tears mingled with the water of the cloth.
Reb held a glass full of water about six inches above Megan’s face and started slowly pouring water onto the cloth in the area of Megan’s nose.
Megan tried to inhale through her mouth, but the wet cloth was preventing any air from getting through. A slight trickle of water passed through the soaked cloth where she had opened her mouth though and it ran down the back of her throat causing her to gag. She coughed and the next thing she knew she was trying to breathe through her nose and water ran down her nose and into her throat.
Megan started writhing about, but the restraints prevented her from being able to free herself.
It was maddening.
She couldn’t breathe.
She was suffocating.
The water was running down her nostrils and collecting in the back of her throat.
She was drowning and crying at the same time.
She was dying.
She screamed a pitiable little scream of agony.
Someone pulled the wet cloth off her face. Through tear blurred eyes she saw someone standing above her and she heard someone ask, “Megan, are you ready to answer our questions?”
Megan exhaled, spit out some of the water accumulated in the back of her throat and started nodding. “Yes, yes, I’ll answer your questions.”
Megan took a ragged breath and coughed out more water.
“All of our questions?” Reb asked.
Megan took another breath. Tears were running out of her eyes and her chin was quivering. She looked up at Reb. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Reb saw that Jake was holding up his left hand with five fingers extended and his right hand with two fingers extended. It had taken all of seven seconds to break Megan.
CHAPTER 49
Reb Rogers’ Residence
Seaside Tower Condominium Complex
Seaside Beach, Alabama
Monday, April 19, 2010
1:10 p.m. Central Time
Reb pulled out his folding knife and cut through the duct tape that was binding Megan to the ironing board. He and Jake then kept an eye on her while she got out of her wet clothing, dried herself off with a towel, and changed into some of the clothing from the carry on bag she had brought with her.
The three of them then went to the dining room where Reb and Jake helped Megan take a seat at the dining room table. After Megan was seated, Reb and Jake walked to the other side of the table and took their seats across from her. Jake placed a yellow legal pad and a pen on the table in front of him.
Megan sat with her head down staring at her hands folded in her lap.
“Alright, Megan, tell us who this friend of yours is who has been helping you,” Jake demanded.
“His name is Hassan Younis,” Megan replied in a subdued voice.
“Where does Hassan live?” Jake asked.
“Washington, D.C.”
“Where does Hassan work?”
“The Institute for Palestinian American Relations.”
“What does Hassan do at this Institute?” Jake asked.
“He’s the Director and the founder of the Institute.”
“Is that where you met Hassan, Megan?”
“No, we met when we were attending Harvard.”
“Megan, how did you find out that Reb was involved in what happened at Lashwan and how did you get Reb’s identity?” Jake asked.
“I work at the State Department. I was able to pull some strings and get the file on what happened at Lashwan so I could avenge my brother’s death.”
“So, this has all been about a vendetta?” Reb said.
“For my part,” Megan said. “For Hassan, it was about the propaganda value that would have been associated with executing the Butcher of Lashwan. He didn’t know about my brother being killed at Lashwan.”
“What do you know about Hassan’s terrorist activities?” Jake asked.
“I know nothing about that. When I went to Hassan with the information I had about Lashwan, I assumed—because of the work his institute does—that he would have contacts in the radical Islamic community who would gladly kill the Butcher of Lashwan for the prestige it would bring them.”
“Does Hassan know that you came down here to kill Reb?” Jake asked.
“No.”
Jake slid the yellow legal pad and the pen across the table to Megan. “Okay Megan, I want you to write down both the home address for Hassan and the address for his institute on that legal pad for me.”
* * *
Reb walked back into the dining room from the kitchen, with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, and took his seat back at the table. While he’d been in the kitchen fixing himself some lunch, Jake had been on the phone making arrangements. Jake got off the phone just as Reb sat down.
Jake looked at Reb, who was busy devouring his sandwich, and said, “I spoke with General Davidson and brought him up to speed on the situation. He’s dispatching one tactical team to the address for the Institute for Palestinian American Relations and another tactical team to Younis’ home address. More than likely he’s at the Institute and the team that goes there will keep an eye on him while they locate his vehicle and plant a GPS tracking device on it. When he leaves the Institute, they’ll follow him wherever he goes.
“If he’s not at his home, the other team will gain entry to his home, plant electronic devices that will provide both audio and video surveillance in every room of the house, then the team will take up stakeout positions and wait for him to come home. They’re going to contact me when they’ve located him.
“I’ve notified the crew of my jet to let them know I’m going back to Washington this afternoon. You want to tag along?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Reb replied.
“You want to bring Honey along?”
“She wants to stay here so she can look after Rusty,” Reb said.
“Alright then,” Jake said, looking at his wristwatch. “As soon as Megan and I eat something and you say your goodbyes to Honey, the three of us can head up to the airfield in Gulf Shores. If we leave in the next hour, that should put us in Washington around seven this evening local time.”
“Sounds good to me,” Reb said. “I’m really looking forward to meeting this Hassan Younis fellow and putting him out of commission.”
CHAPTER 50
Hassan Younis’ Residence
Washington, D.C.
Monday, April 19, 2010
8:10 p.m. Eastern Time
Hassan drove his car into the garage at his home, turned off the ignition, and let the day’s events run through his mind while the garage door closed.
In the course of one weekend, Hassan had lost one of the three-man jihadi cells in Pensacola, the Imam of the mosque in Pensacola, and Randall Wilson. The entire operation to attack the Pensacola Beach Air Show in July had been put in jeopardy.
Hassan had spent the entire day tryi
ng to work out a plan on how best to regroup and move forward. His first order of business was to find a replacement for Imam Abdul Aswad. He needed someone he would be able to trust to continue with the original plan. He had placed some calls and spoken with a couple of the Imams at the other mosques in his network and asked them to put out some feelers for any like-minded Imams who might be available for the position in Pensacola. Both of the Imams he spoke with said they would get back in touch him in a day or so.
The next item on his agenda was to find replacements for the three jihadis who had failed in their mission to execute Reb Rogers. Fortunately, there had been more young men at the mosque in Pensacola who had shown a willingness to wage jihad than the nine who had been selected and trained for the air show attack and Hassan had a list of those young men. Once Hassan selected a new Imam, he and the Imam would go over that list and start interviewing candidates for the new jihadi cell.
The final item on the agenda was proving to be the most difficult. Randall Wilson had trained the nine jihadis from the mosque in Pensacola and it had been Faisal al-Waheed who had arranged for Randall Wilson to work with Hassan in the first place. Now that Randall Wilson was no longer available, Hassan was going to need someone else to train the three replacements. He had briefly considered having the remaining six jihadis train the incoming replacements, but quickly decided against that. Too much depended on the attack on the air show being a success. Especially, the continued funding that he had been getting from Faisal al-Waheed.
I’ll call Mohammed al-Murrah tomorrow and break the news to him about what has happened, Hassan thought to himself. I’ll tell him I’m in the process of finding someone to replace the Imam and have several candidates to replace the three jihadis. I just need help finding another trainer. Allah willing, Faisal will be understanding about what has happened. After all, I am convinced that it was the will of Allah that caused Megan to present me with the opportunity to bring the Butcher of Lashwan to justice. Maybe I shouldn’t have given up so easily.
The garage door closed and Hassan exited his car and entered the house.
As Hassan walked down the hall toward the kitchen, he noticed that the light was on in his study. He didn’t remember leaving the light on and when he got to the door he stuck his head in to turn the light off.
“Please, come in and join us, Hassan.”
Hassan was taken completely by surprise. Seated in two of the armchairs in the study was Faisal al-Waheed and Mohammed al-Murrah. Both men were dressed in expensive business suits.
As he walked into the room, Hassan said, “This is an unexpected surprise, Faisal, I was planning on calling Mohammed, later tonight. There have been some developments and I have some bad news you should know about.”
“Yes, I know,” Faisal replied. “That is why I am here.”
“What do you mean you know? What are you talking about?”
Faisal leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands, looked up at Hassan, who was still standing, and said, “I know that you are responsible for the loss of one of the three-man jihadi teams at the hands of someone by the name of Reb Rogers. I know that the Imam from the mosque in Pensacola is missing and is presumed dead at the hands of this same Reb Rogers. And I know that Randall Wilson is also dead at the hands of this Reb Rogers, which means Randall Wilson is no longer available for the plans I had for him. I know that your poor judgment has put the entire operation to attack the Pensacola Beach Air Show in jeopardy.”
“How could you possibly know about all of that?” Hassan asked incredulously.
“Do you think that I am a fool? That I would give you ten million dollars and not keep an eye on my investment? I have had you under surveillance 24/7 ever since you left Dubai.”
Hassan sat down in the remaining armchair and said, “Then you must know that I have been working diligently today to rectify the situation. I am making arrangements to place another like-minded Imam at the mosque in Pensacola to watch over and counsel our jihadis there.”
“What about replacing the three jihadis who have been eliminated and training the replacements? That will not be easily accomplished,” Faisal said.
“Fortunately, many more than the nine who were selected were willing to wage jihad. There were several who were as capable and dedicated as the nine. I have a list of those potential candidates and as soon as I have chosen the new Imam for the mosque, he will assist me in selecting three replacements from that group,” Hassan replied.
“What are you planning to do about their training?”
“I was hoping that you would be able to provide another trainer as equally qualified as Randall Wilson was to train them on short notice.”
“I could do that,” Faisal volunteered.
“Then when they return from the training camp in Libya we would double up their training time at our training facility in Pensacola until they are as equally skilled as the other six,” Hassan said.
Faisal sat silently in his chair contemplating what to do next. His original plan had been to execute Hassan for foolishly jeopardizing the attack on the air show. Now he was reconsidering his plan. “Hassan, please tell me why you allowed the American female to talk you into the foolish plan to try to execute Reb Rogers?”
“When Megan came to me with the information about the Butcher of Lashwan and suggested to me the propaganda benefit of getting Reb Rogers to confess to murdering the eight Taliban and then beheading him and then putting it all on the Internet … I just knew that her coming to me like that had to be the will of Allah. I felt that being able to make the claim that we had captured and executed the Butcher of Lashwan would help draw more recruits to our cause, but I underestimated Reb Rogers and overestimated the abilities of our jihadis,” Hassan replied. “I should never have sent them, but Randall Wilson should have been up to the task.”
Faisal stood up from his chair and said, “Hassan, I came here to execute you for jeopardizing the attack against the air show in Pensacola this summer. There was no excuse for that.”
The blood drained from Hassan’s face and a chill ran down his spine at what he had just heard.
“However,” Faisal continued, “Based on what you have told me about the actions you have taken and plan on taking to rectify the situation, I am convinced that you are still the best man for the job.”
Relief washed over Hassan and he visibly sagged in his chair.
Faisal turned to Mohammed and said, “Help me get our brother to the wet bar over there.”
Mohammed came over and Faisal and Mohammed lifted Hassan to a standing position and assisted him in walking toward the study’s granite wet bar.
On the way, Faisal said, “Hassan, the action you took with the three jihadis was no different than that of a thief.”
Hassan had a misstep and stumbled, but the two men standing on both sides of him, holding him by his upper arms, kept him from falling and they kept on walking him toward the wet bar.
“You stole those men from me and, as a result, you have placed our plan in jeopardy,” Faisal said. “You know what the penalty for theft is.”
By now, they had reached the granite wet bar and Faisal and Mohammed grasped Hassan by his wrists and forced his hands palm down on the granite surface of the wet bar while still holding onto his upper arms. Faisal and Mohammed then changed positions so that Mohammed was able to continue to hold onto Hassan’s left wrist with his left hand while he stepped behind Hassan and reached around with his right hand and grasped Hassan’s right wrist.
Hassan was stooped over in front of the wet bar with his hands held palm down on the surface by Mohammed. Hassan turned his head toward Faisal and said, “Please, don’t do this.”
Faisal reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a folding knife, and held it up where Hassan could see it.
Faisal opened the blade, grabbed the little finger of Hassan’s right hand and said, “You should have asked permission.”
Faisal put the blade on top of the first joi
nt of Hassan’s little finger and cut off that part of Hassan’s finger.
Hassan screamed and then he threw up into the sink of the wet bar.
Mohammed released Hassan’s wrists as Faisal took a bar towel out of a drawer, opened the refrigerator under the wet bar, took several cubes of ice out and wrapped them up in the towel.
As Mohammed steadied Hassan, Faisal raised Hassan’s right hand, placed the ice-filled cloth over the tip of the injured finger to stem the flow of blood and said, “Now, let’s get that bleeding stopped. We can’t have you missing work tomorrow. You’ve got to find a new Imam for the mosque in Pensacola and then you’ve got to pick the three replacements for the team you squandered so foolishly.”
CHAPTER 51
Outside Hassan Younis’ Residence
Washington, D.C.
Monday, April 19, 2010
8:25 p.m. Eastern Time
Reb and Jake were sitting in the back of a FBIS panel truck—disguised as a residential plumbing service company’s vehicle—that was parked on the tree-lined street two houses down from Hassan Younis’ home. They were watching and listening in on the discussion going on between the three men inside the study thanks to all of the electronic surveillance devices the FBIS covert surveillance team had placed in the house earlier in the day.
Earlier, while Jake’s jet was still in the air just outside Washington, the agents who were conducting the surveillance at Younis’ home had notified Jake that two middle eastern looking men had parked a car in front of the house next door to Younis’ house and then walked to Younis’ house and entered through the front door. The agents told Jake that the men were in the study where it appeared they were waiting for Younis to return home. Jake told the agents to maintain their positions and to just keep an eye on things until he could get there, that he would be landing shortly.
When Jake heard Faisal express his displeasure that Hassan had jeopardized a plot involving a terrorist attack at the Pensacola Beach Air Show, his immediate concern was that, if Faisal were to kill Hassan, his job of identifying the remaining six jihadis who were involved in the plan to attack the air show would be much harder than it needed to be.
