Of his training facilities spread throughout America, this ranch was his favorite. The mighty river and the vast gorge it ran through were spectacular. Something about the majestic mountain that seemed to hover over the ranch made him relax. It would be a pity if he could no longer come here, he thought.
After Kaamil pulled up in front of the ranch house, Barak led them in past the massive river rock fireplace to the game room. He called it the game room because it had a bar, a small fireplace, leather chairs and a poker table. The scent of good cigars permeated the knotty pine paneling. It was easy to imagine neighboring ranchers sitting around the poker table drinking whiskey and swapping tales. It was the only room in the ranch house he hadn’t remodeled.
Barak took a new bottle of Herradura Anejo tequila off the shelf behind the bar and poured two fingers in each of three crystal tumblers he set on the bar.
“Join me, gentlemen, in a toast to our success. While we eat, you will tell me what a fantastic job you are doing. But allow me to relax a little first.”
He saw that both men were still nervous, Roberto more than Kaamil.
“So, Roberto, how are you finding life in this little paradise by the river? Have you found the women here satisfactory?” he asked. He knew from his investigation of the man that young girls were his weakness.
“Girls seem surprised when the goods they offer find a taker,” Roberto said, with a small smile. “They wear cut-offs and bikini tops everywhere. It’s like going to market. The shopping has been good.”
“And how is your father’s business doing? Is he still number one in the Northwest?”
“Don Malik, I can assure you we are. The old warehouse you lease us down by the river has worked out well. We hide our product in the farm materials and supplies we ship out of there. None of our shipments have been intercepted. My father asked me to thank you for your assistance,” Roberto answered.
“I am glad to hear it. Tell your father, I look forward to working with him on the matters we discussed. Kaamil, how are you doing? Are you having the same success as Roberto with the ladies?” Barak asked, more for Roberto’s benefit than any real interest in Kaamil’s love life. Kaamil preferred prostitutes and, while there were several favorites, he was discreet and careful in that respect.
“I’m not complaining. Women are sometimes necessary, but who could keep up with Roberto,” Kaamil said with a shrug.
“Well then, let’s go see if our chef is ready for us. Leave your drinks here. We’ll have some wine with our meal.”
Barak led them to the dining room, where a platter of steaks sizzled next to a large bowl of mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad on the table. A decanter of red wine sat in front of Barak’s plate, and the chef stood with his chair pulled out. When he had tasted the wine, he dismissed the chef with a wave of his hand.
“Now, gentlemen, I want to hear about each of your assignments,” he said, as he forked a large steak onto his plate and waited for the bowl of mashed potatoes to be handed to him.
Kaamil went first. “The men are prepared and know what to do. We have trained for two years, the last two months in the mock-up of the Emergency Center. They are proficient with their weapons and anxious to fight. You’ll see when you meet them.”
Barak accepted his report with a nod of his head, and turned to Roberto.
“Roberto?”
“The men you require are ready. The civilian security guards at the chemical depot are customers of mine. They are black, like your men, and about the same size. They have each given me one of their uniforms in exchange for a month’s supply of my product. They won’t live long enough to use that much, of course.”
“Are you positive we can trust them?”
“As positive as I can be. I have compromising pictures that would cost them their jobs. They have all received pictures of their wives and children to remind them how serious I am. One man I approached refused me. He and his family suffered a most horrible fire in their home that consumed them all. No one else will trouble us. They think I just want to steal from the depot.”
Barak met Roberto’s steady gaze and was satisfied he was telling the truth. He still seemed nervous about something, though. Maybe it was the operation itself that gnawed at the man’s nerves. He would have to talk to Kaamil about it.
“Fine, I am satisfied both of you have done what I asked. Kaamil, is the team assembled in the dormitory or the bunker?” Barak asked.
“They are waiting for you in the bunker.”
“When we finish our meal, I will go and meet them. Now, eat, enjoy the food Miguel fixed for us. It is one of the things I most look forward to when I visit-his steaks and these marvelous mashed potatoes,” he said, as he dug into the small white mountain of them on his plate.
Chapter 30
Barak and Kaamil left Roberto with a second tequila and walked down a graveled path to the operations center. The path was lined with pink rhododendrons, and daphne scented the air.
“Roberto is nervous about something. Do you know what it is?” Barak asked.
Kaamil hesitated a moment, deciding whether or not to divulge what he suspected. “There are rumors about young girls disappearing in Hood River. Who knows, Roberto may be involved.”
Barak turned to look at his protege in the soft evening light. There was something that Kaamil knew and wasn’t telling him.
“Are you sure that’s all it is? We have heard those rumors before. We have three days left. If you have any reason to think Roberto may fail us, I need to know. I could get his father to send someone we can trust. There’s still time.”
“He’ll be fine,” Kaamil said as they reached the front door of the operations center. “We had a disagreement. He blasphemed our religion, made fun of kissing the Black Stone of Kaaba. I set him straight.”
“And how did you do that? Did you fight with him?”
“No, I told him if I repeated his words to you, he and his entire family would be killed as infidels.” sacrificing their lives was an honor. The games they played as children mimicked suicide bombers killing Jews. Pictures of shaheeds, hung on the walls of their homes. American jihadists didn’t have that background. Their motivation, for the most part, was not to honor their god or protect their way of life. It was to hit back at the country they blamed for their miserable lives. Hatred was their motivator, and he was not sure hatred was enough.
The Brotherhood had loaned him an Egyptian psychiatrist to oversee their mental conditioning. They had been broken, made to feel guilty about their country, and offered a way to redeem themselves. They had posters in their rooms proclaiming the honor of those willing to die for Allah, sessions of hypnotism and nightly sleep programming. But Barak knew it wasn’t the same as growing up dreaming of dying as a martyr.
Kaamil held the back door in the lab open and let Barak walk ahead to the first classroom where they were waiting for him.
Three men sitting in the first row in the classroom jumped to attention when the door opened. They stood stiffly, staring straight ahead, wearing green camouflage fatigues and combat boots. Aside from their beards, which would be gone before Wednesday, they looked like well-trained and disciplined soldiers. They would easily pass for civilian security personnel at the depot.
“At ease,” Barak said. “You have finished training. I am proud of you. You act and look like the holy warriors you are. Three days from now, you will have the honor of striking fear in the hearts of every man, woman and child in this country. You will be remembered with fear and trembling. That’s something you were never allowed to achieve before. Allah has chosen this for you.”