by David Spell
“Five minutes, guys. Take a piss, grab a drink of water, and let’s get back to it. We’ve got a lot to cover today.”
The men spread out to use the multiple restrooms in the big house. Aaron noted the loaded mags on the table and the AK in the corner. Ishmael saw the soldier’s eyes taking everything in.
“All the clips are loaded. Each guy gets three. Since CoCo is no longer with us, I loaded up his rifle just in case we get any unwanted guests.”
“Good idea,” Aaron said. “I think I’ll take some mags downstairs. That way, if the FBI or cops show up, the guys won’t be holding empty weapons.”
“Sure. Whatever you think. I’m gonna start getting some food ready for their lunch. What time you thinking of wrapping it up?”
“We can break for lunch in an hour. After they eat, I’ll go a little longer and be done by three. That way, you and I’ll have plenty of time to put a plan together.”
Ishmael nodded. This might just work after all. Five minutes later, Richards had ushered the men back to the basement to resume their work.
As Ishmael began to prepare grilled cheese sandwiches, there was a knock at the front door. He almost dropped the pan he was holding for the tomato soup that would accompany the sandwiches. He quietly set the pan on the counter, peeking around the corner towards the entrance. Two young women stood at his door, one white and one black, smiles on their faces.
Damn! What do I do? he wondered. He reached for the rifle but thought better of it. If they’re just selling something and they see that AK, they might call the cops. He touched the Springfield 9mm tucked under his sweatshirt and cautiously moved to the door.
“Good morning, sir!” the muscular black girl greeted him cheerfully. Both were holding Bibles and a stack of pamphlets. “I’m Janelle and this is Tiffany. We’re from the Kingdom Hall down the street and would love to speak with you about what is going on in the world. Do you ever feel like things are spiraling out of control? Have you ever wondered if God was really out there? Did you know that the Bible predicted…”
“Look, I appreciate it and all,” Ishmael interrupted brusquely, “but I’m a Muslim. I’m not interested.”
“No problem. Would you consider yourself a practicing Muslim? Like do you go to the Mosque regularly?”
“Yeah, I am but what I believe is my business and I’m not interested in what you ladies are selling.”
“Wow! That’s so interesting,” the white girl spoke up for the first time. “Are you a Sunni or a Shia?”
“Look, I just said I was a Muslim. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right, but Islam is divided into two groups, the Shias and the Sunnis. Which one are you?”
“I don’t know nothing about any of that. I’m just a regular Muslim.”
“He’s the kind of Muslim who likes to kill infidels, especially hot infidel spies,” Aaron Richards said, suddenly appearing in the doorway, holding a .45 pistol in each hand pointed at the women. “These two girls work for the CIA, Ishmael, so I guess we need to bring them in and show them some hospitality.”
After their break, Aaron had grabbed the duffel bag containing his weapons and equipment from his room, tossing five mags that Ishmael had loaded inside. He carried the duffel downstairs and made a point of removing the AK magazines, laying them on a small table near where the rifles had been left leaning against the wall.
“Those mags are loaded and ready to go. Ishmael will give you each two more tomorrow. For now, though, we both thought it best that you have some ammo close at hand. We aren’t anticipating any problems but if the police or FBI show up, I’d like you well-trained killers to be able to give them a warm reception.”
This elicited a slight chuckle from the five black men. They watched Richards remove a set of body armor from the bag and throw it on over his OD green t-shirt, cinching down the straps. The muscular man then slid a second Springfield .45 ACP pistol into a holster on the front of the vest. Lastly, Aaron pulled out his suppressed M4 and locked the action to the rear, inspecting the chamber. After inserting a thirty-round mag, he hit the slide release to chamber a round, and set the safety.
“Man, you look like you getting ready to go to war,” the man everyone called “Tiny” commented. True to his nickname, the light-skinned Muslim-American was the smallest of the recruits.
“I hope not but I do like to be prepared.” Aaron commented, only wanting to give the recruits a small slice of the truth about what had happened to Musa. “Ishmael hasn’t been able to make contact with your glorious leader. If he’s been compromised, we’ve all been potentially compromised. Let’s train a while longer. Ishmael and I’ll be sorting out the attack plan this afternoon.”
As the soldiers of Allah ran through the drills of shoot and move to cover in the basement, Richards was pleased with the new level of seriousness that they all seemed to bring to the table. There’s no question about my plans now, the former Green Beret thought. As soon as these guys launch their attack, I’m taking the money and dropping off the radar. I’ll slip back into Canada and disappear into the Yukon wilderness.
The sound of voices from upstairs caught his attention. Ishmael was speaking with at least one woman from what he could hear. What was that idiot doing answering the door? Aaron opened the door leading up the stairs so that he could hear more of the conversation. Jehovah’s Witnesses? Really? That’s more of a coincidence than I’m willing to accept, he thought.
Stepping back into the basement, Richards waved the team around, the concern on his face evident. He spoke quietly as he slung his rifle across his chest.
“Ishmael’s talking to some people upstairs but something doesn’t feel right. Everybody grab a mag and load your rifle. Set the safety and then I want Tiny and Eugene to come with me. You other three hang out down here. Keep a watch out the windows and listen for us upstairs. This is probably nothing, but let’s treat it like’s it real.”
The cell members quickly loaded their AKs as they had been trained to do. Tiny and Eugene followed Aaron up the stairs. At the top of the landing, Richards held his hand up for the other two men to wait just inside the doorway, and then leaned in close, speaking in a whisper.
“Wait here. I’m gonna take a look. You guys are my back up. If things go bad, come out shooting.”
The two men’s eyes grew wide and they both took a deep breath. Richards had seen that same expression many times during his tenure as a special forces soldier. He had trained and led many inexperienced Afghan units into combat, always trying to help the green fighters calm their nerves.
“You’ll be fine,” he told the men. “Remember, you were already planning on doing this for real tomorrow.”
Aaron eased the door open and stood in the kitchen listening to two different female voices engaging with Ishmael. One of those voices seems familiar, he thought. He slipped into the dining room from the kitchen, the front door now just fifteen feet away out of his line-of-sight, but he wanted to see who Ishmael was speaking with. When the fired CIA agent looked out one of the dining room windows and saw the women, he gasped involuntarily.
The realization settled over him that the gig was up. If Hughes and Wilkerson were standing at the front door, chances were likely that they had an entire team in place around the house. That means I’m finished. The CIA always came after their own when they left the straight and narrow path. The apprehend or terminate order on me is active and I’m sure as hell not gonna let them take me alive. At least I can take a few of them with me, he thought, drawing both of his pistols. I might even get to have a little fun before I die.
ROXBOROUGH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, PHILADELPHIA, SUNDAY, 1115 HOURS
Khan slowly opened his eyes, struggling to will himself to full consciousness. His arms were heavy. He glanced over at his left arm, the IV tube sticking out of his hand. He jerked his right hand over to rub his face but was stopped suddenly, pain from the movement pulsing through his body. A look over brought on a new sensat
ion— fear. His right hand was handcuffed to the rail of the hospital bed.
Further up, the forearm of the restrained appendage was wrapped tightly in gauze. The bed was raised to a thirty-degree angle. Musa slowly pulled his left hand in, reaching towards his left shoulder. The IV tube stopped him a foot short. He could feel the bandages on the wounded parts of his body.
What happened? How did I end up in a hospital? The memories of the last twenty-four hours were all jumbled. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought, gently tugging against the handcuff. Khan attempted to pull himself to a more upright seated position but suddenly felt light-headed, collapsing back onto the pillow.
The door opened and a middle-aged man with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, clad in a white jacket strode confidently into the room. He held a clipboard and had a stethoscope around his neck. Behind him, standing in the doorway was a young uniformed Philadelphia PD officer.
“Good morning, I’m Doctor Weinstein,” the older man said. “I worked on you last night. How are you feeling?”
“You…you are a…Jew?” Khan managed to say.
A smile broke out across the doctor’s face.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, looking at the clipboard. “Let’s talk about your injuries and what you can expect as far as your recovery. I’ve scheduled surgery to fix your shoulder on Tuesday. Last night, I just…”
“Get out,” Musa rasped.
“Excuse me?” the doctor answered, his smile fading.
“I said get out. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
Weinstein stared at the hate-filled man in front of him for some time before tucking the clipboard under his arm.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, the officer following the doctor out of the room and shutting the door.
Khan stared at the ceiling. What greater indignation could he suffer than to have a Jew perform surgery on him? The door opened again and two men in suits entered. The slimmer of the two pulled a chair close to the bed and seated himself.
“Well, aren’t you a one-man crime spree? I’m Detective Lieutenant Harrison, Philadelphia Police. What’s your name?”
“Am I under arrest?”
Harrison glanced at the large man who had moved across the room and was looking out the window.
“Did you hear that? He asked if he was under arrest?”
“Yeah, I heard him. You’d think that the handcuff would’ve been his first clue.”
“That would be enough for me.”
The detective looked back at the terrorist.
“Yes, you’re under arrest. Three counts each of kidnapping, false imprisonment, robbery, and attempted murder for starters. I’d like to read you your rights and get a statement from you.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“Sure. You’re gonna need one. I’ll just need your name and personal information to get that process started. After that you can give me your statement.”
“I tell you nothing, pig!” Musa spat.
“Whatever,” Harrison replied, locking eyes with the criminal. “I don’t care whether you talk or not, but you don’t get a lawyer until you tell us who you are. That’s the way the system works. For now, you’ll be in here until the doctor says that you can be released. Then, you’ll be in the detention center until your trial. Of course, since you don’t want to give us your name, you won’t be eligible for a bond.”
As the two men started to leave, the lieutenant turned back to Khan.
“I heard you didn’t like Dr. Weinstein. He told us that you had lost about twenty-five percent of your blood and they had to do a massive transfusion to save your life. Surprisingly, the only donors they could find with your blood type were Jewish. How does that feel, having all that Jewish blood flowing through your system?”
Musa’s eyes widened in fear and shock at the detective’s words. The two men left the room closing the door behind them.
WYNNEWOOD, PENNSYLVANIA, SUNDAY, 1125 HOURS
Jennifer instantly recognized Aaron Richards as he stepped into view, behind the older black man wearing the black kulfi. The traitor held a large pistol in each hand, pointing the guns at her and Chloe, the sneer that she remembered so well plastered across his face.
“He’s the kind of Muslim who likes to kill infidels, especially hot infidel spies. These two girls work for the CIA, Ishmael, so I guess we need to bring them in and show them some hospitality.”
“Aaron Richards. What a surprise,” Jen said, without emotion. “We were just about to leave some pamphlets with your friend and be on our way.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Aaron growled. “Drop what you’re holding and put your hands up. Both of you inside, now!”
The women complied, slowly stepping into the residence.
“In the dining room,” Richards ordered. “Have a seat across from each other, hands flat on the table. Ishmael cover me while I search them.”
The black man nodded, drawing his own pistol. His eyes were now cold, anger etched across his face from being taken advantage of. Aaron holstered one of his handguns, the other still clutched in his right hand. He was still wearing the rifle for easy access, as well.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” the traitor said, leering at Jennifer and licking his lips. “I’ve always wanted to see what you’ve got.”
“Aaron, this isn’t going to help your situation,” Chloe spoke up. “We can help you.”
“Bitch, please. You need to shut the hell up.”
Hughes stared straight ahead, locking eyes with her friend as Richards felt around her waistline, retrieving the small Glock and holding it up.
“Check it out, Ishmael. The Jehovah’s Witnesses are packing heat now.”
The muscular man laid the weapon on the far end of the table and ran his hands up and down Jennifer’s athletic frame, pausing to fondle her breasts, eliciting a shudder from the young woman.
“Oh, you like that do you? I’ll give you some more in a few minutes. Whaddya think, Ishmael? You think the boys would like a piece of this action? After we get ours first, of course.”
After giving Hughes’ breast a final squeeze, Aaron stood up straight.
“Hey, Tiny and Eugene, you guys come here.”
A moment later, the black men appeared holding their AK-47s, their eyes wide, gawking at the two women seated in their dining room.
“I want you guys to go keep watch out the back windows. Make sure nobody sneaks up on us. You boys do a good job and I’ll make sure you get a turn with our guests.”
The cell members grinned and disappeared down the hall towards the living room to perform their sentry duty.
Richards made his way to the other side of the table and relieved Chloe of her Glock, shaking his head and laying it on the table with the other one, out of their reach. As Aaron groped Wilkerson, rubbing her chest, he placed his mouth near her ear.
“I haven’t seen you since that day in Canada when I caught you spying on me. I’m feeling pretty good today. I think I’m gonna have my way with you, too.”
Both women were good actresses, their faces betraying no emotion at all, Richards thought, suddenly realizing that his libido had gotten the best of him. He had forgotten something very important. He checked Chloe’s ears, the chocolate covered receiver/transmitter almost invisible. The former spy jerked it out and stomped on it, shattering it on the hardwood floor. He rushed around the table and pulled out Jennifer’s and destroyed it, too.
The sudden sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway startled him.
“Check that,” he ordered Ishmael. “I’ll cover them.”
The black man nodded, moving towards the front entrance to peer out the windows on the side of the door. From his vantage point, Aaron could no longer see his companion.
“Oh, shit!” Ishmael exclaimed just before Richards heard the front door crashing open.
Gunshots filled the air as Ishmael fell backwards into Aaron’s line-of-sight. The black man’s pistol
clattered to the floor as blood pumped out of holes in his chest and face.
McCain had heard the conversation between the women and the man who had answered the door. They had both done a great job of keeping the banter going and getting several photos that Gabby or Stephen would run through the Agency’s facial recognition software. Chuck could tell the man was losing his patience at being proselytized on a Sunday morning. He would probably be slamming the door in their faces momentarily.
Instead, another voice spoke up. He didn’t recognize him but it was obvious that he knew Jen and Chloe. Hughes had done a great job of speaking Aaron Richards’ name to alert their backup team. The girls were now in mortal danger and there was no time to delay.
“Alpha One to all units, are you clear on that traffic?”
“Alpha Two and Three are clear,” Andy answered for him and Scotty.
“Alpha Four and Five, affirmative,” Jimmy spoke up for him and Hollywood. “What are your orders, Boss?”
“Alpha One to all units. Prepare to make entry at your designated points. I’ll be going in the front. Go on my command. We’re not going to give Richards a chance to hurt them. Watch for friendly fire.”
Jennifer had never felt so vulnerable and exposed. She was comforted by the fact that their backup team was outside and listening to their ordeal. At least they were until the big pervert found their earpieces. What would Chuck order the team to do? They were in such a gray area legally but now she and Chloe were being held at gunpoint with the threat of rape and murder hanging over them. There’s not much gray in that. She trusted McCain and the others completely but hoped they would hurry up.
Hughes watched the sick bastard fondling her friend across the table, whispering in her ear about what he was going to do to them. The car speeding up the driveway got everyone’s attention and Aaron had ordered Ishmael to check it. The door being kicked in, the gunshots, and the black guy’s bloody body landing in the corridor let her and Wilkerson know that their salvation was at hand.
