Bomani nodded to the other two to follow him. He followed the man a short distance behind, out through a door to a lobby area. Keeping him in his sight, he watched as the man clipped his way through a further door to a private car-parking area. There was no one else in the car park. Within fifteen feet the man opened the driver’s door to a white van with the words The Galloping Caterers written on both sides. Bomani made his move.
The engine had just started to turn over when the driver’s door suddenly opened. The shocked driver’s right hand intuitively went palm open to rest on his chest. “Oh…” Only one consonant and one vowel slipped past the man’s lips before the pistol butt knocked him out cold. Bomani waved the others to quickly pull the unconscious man into the vehicle. The two young Takfirs roughly manhandled the limp body around the front of the van to the sliding side door. He wasn’t particularly heavy and the rear of the van was spacious. Yusuf and Bashir remained in the back.
The white catering van had nearly exited the main gate of the car park to the road when three police cars hurtled through the gate causing Bomani to brake hard. “Stay in the back with the infidel, bind and gag him.” The police cars had postponed the blond man’s death. Bomani had been going to dispatch him with a bullet at the earliest possible moment, now he thought it best he put a bit of distance between the police and themselves first. Taking his foot off the brake he began to accelerate out the gate. The loud honking of a horn abruptly made him brake hard again as he barely missed an open Jeep full of hard-looking men careering through the gate behind the uniformed authorities. Watching in the rear-vision mirror, Bomani instantly knew who the men were. He smiled to himself. All praise and glory be to Allah, my friends. You chose the wrong side.
Bomani turned the van out the gate keeping to his original bearing. A stifled groan came from the blond, hands behind his back, gagged and lying on his side in the rear of the van. More groans then one eye opened followed by the other. The groans grew into loud muffled screams as the trussed up man realized his predicament.
Bashir looked down at the blond man. It was the first time he had looked a fellow American directly in the eyes and recognized him as the enemy. For Bashir this moment sealed his fate; there was no turning back, he was alone in the world, except perhaps for his friend sitting next to him with whom he started this journey. Now it seemed right for the two of them to end their journey together.
Yusuf had a different reaction. When the blond man shifted his gaze from Bashir directly to him, he took fright and skidded backwards on his bottom as far as the van’s side wall would let him. The caterer’s haunting blue eyes seemed to penetrate right into his skull. Yusuf shut his eyes. When he opened them again, the blond man was still staring. His blue eyes horrified Yusuf, sending a chill right through him. He began to feel woozy and claustrophobic. Maybe it was the lack of orientation in the back of the van, or possibly it came from being thrown about by the van’s movement. Or maybe it was fear. In that moment he knew he didn’t want to die. Silently he began to pray he would make it out of this mess alive.
The van shuddered as it left the seal and was back onto a gravel road — they had turned onto a secondary road. It wasn’t long before the van came to a stop. Bomani opened his door and left the van. Inside it was quiet, the engine had been turned off, the crunching of gravel could be heard outside as he approached the side door. There was a loud rolling noise and sunlight flooded the rear of the van.
“Drag him out.” Bomani stood to the side of the open door, a pistol in his hand.
Bashir grabbed the caterer under the armpit and pulled the screeching man out. He tried to let him gain his footing and stand up but the man simply crumpled to the ground. Bomani looked inside of the van. What he saw displeased him. Yusuf had his arms wrapped around his legs, his chin resting on his locked together knees. There were tears in his eyes.
Bomani stared at him for an inordinate length of time. Then he spoke slowly and dispassionately. “I want you to kill him.”
Yusuf didn’t answer, he couldn’t. Bomani repeated himself, this time his voice was much lower in tone. Lost in his own fear, Yusuf failed to see the man tighten his grip on his pistol, his knuckles going white. With a body that felt like a lead weight and bowels that were threatening to empty, Yusuf shuffled to the van door, tears streaming down his face. “No, please, don’t make me…”
Bomani thrust his weapon forward. “Kill him.”
The terrified caterer lay on his back, his bound feet scrabbling on the ground, searching for traction. Muffled screams resonated from behind the gag. Bashir’s foot stopped his feeble attempt to move away from the van.
“I can’t… He shouldn’t die, he hasn’t done anything. It’s murder!” Yusuf closed his eyes hoping this was all a dream; opening them again, he knew it was not.
Bomani didn’t want to waste time. He had an objective, one man who he judged he could trust to meet that objective and one man close to being a liability. Uncharacteristically he gave Yusuf one more chance. He withdrew the pistol he held out and tucked it into his belt. “Come.” Bomani gestured with an outstretched hand for Yusuf to exit the van. Bashir looked on in trepidation, Yusuf was his friend. And right now he was very afraid for his friend.
“Yusuf, it takes courage to be a Takfir,” said Bomani. “With that courage comes honor amongst our fellow brothers, we can hold our heads high and be proud. You have embarked on a mission that will help destroy our enemies, a very important mission, one where we must not fail. We must be prepared to give our life to Allah, we must be strong.” Bomani paused. The next question he asked would decide if the young man standing in front of him would live… or die on the spot. He placed a hand on the weeping man’s shoulder. “Yusuf al-Nasseri, are you strong, do you want to carry out the wishes of Allah?”
The silence was almost deafening. Bashir prayed his friend would give the right answer.
“Yes.” The reply was weak. “Yes, I am strong, I am one of the brothers, I serve Allah and only Allah.” It was a lie.
Bomani smiled. “Good, good, Yusuf.” He then gave the man a couple of firm pats on his shoulder. “Now you will prove to me your conviction.” Reaching into his trouser pocket he pulled out a pocket knife and opened it. Yusuf couldn’t help but focus on the shiny sharp blade and wonder what was about to happen. “Take the knife.”
Bomani stepped back towards the prone man who looked up at him as if he were looking at the devil himself. With a deft movement Bomani raised a foot and pounded it into his chest, pinning him to the ground. Bomani instructed Bashir to pull the infidel’s pants and underpants down to his ankles and hold his legs down hard.
The waiter struggled with all the force he could muster. He screamed as loud as he possibly could. Nothing worked; he arched his head back pushing his skull into the gravel. He didn’t feel the stones grinding into his scalp; he didn’t hear the instructions given to the man who had accepted the knife.
Yusuf felt like throwing up. He now knew his life had come to a crossroads, choose the wrong way and he would die. Yusuf gripped the pocket knife firmly in his hand as he knelt down beside the struggling waiter. His breathing quickened as he reached forward with his spare hand and grabbed the lily-white soft uncircumcised penis. He could feel the man’s body struggling for all he was worth as Bomani issued instructions from above. Yusuf didn’t dare look at the man’s face. He squeezed the penis in his closed hand and worked his hand away from its end until all he gripped was wrinkly skin. He brought the knife up and saw where he had to cut, the area between his fingers and the actual head of the penis.