“Peter, it’s over. I wish I could be there when your mother finds out you’re not dead. Hug her for me, too.”
“Billy, you were the smartest kid on the block, and now I owe you big time.”
“Nonsense, man. You made me understand science and math in a way none of my teachers could ever do. Peter, I am the National Science Advisor today because you took the time to challenge a little kid to do more. Hell, I have used that as part of my National Science Teachers Initiative. It’s really just what you taught me and how you taught me.”
“Really? Pretty good then for a guy who never graduated college.”
“Anytime you want a degree, just let me know. Shit, I’d sponsor your doctorate!”
“Trying to make me legit?”
“Perish the thought. But you should keep in touch with Kronos; he’s so plugged in he short circuits when he showers.”
“I’ll see.”
“Pete, it’s none of my business but have you given any thought to what you are going to do next? I mean, that doesn’t involve black helicopters and listening devices?”
“You know, now that I am alive again, I might try to see if that FBI girl back up in New York goes for older men.”
“Something tells me you’d be safer investigating who shot Kennedy. But hey, go for it. Just remember she is one stalwart piece of crime-fighting apparatus. Don’t ever get on her bad side.”
“I think she likes me.”
“Pride goeth before the fall, man.”
“Thanks, Billy the Kid.”
“Anytime, Peter Robot.”
Ever since the ACLU complained that the radiological surveillance of mosques was unconstitutional, federal authorities backed off the many search teams that aimed sensors at the various, logical places where radical Islamic fundamentalists would seek cover amid the other law-abiding American Muslims. So when Rodney/Rashid, hiding out in the basement safe room of the building adjacent to the mosque, opened the case in a nervous act to assure himself that all was right with the package, the radioactive blip passed unnoticed in all directions and out into space to blend in with the background radiation emanating from this part of the Milky Way.
Number 12 was on perimeter patrol around the Store & Lock. He was armed with nothing more than a cell phone. It was all he needed if someone were serveilling them or sneaking about. He’d just place a call and the men inside would come out and neutralize the threat. On his east-west pass across the front, he saw the outline of someone looking through the glass doors of the facility. He saw this person pressing the buttons of the electric lock. He decided not to call this in. Instead, he simply walked up behind her and said, “What is it you want?”
Ann jumped. “Oh, you startled me. I’m looking for Mahmoud?”
“There is no Mahmoud here and it’s closed. You go away now.” The threat in his voice would have been obvious to anyone else, but Ann persisted.
“Well, I happen to know that Mahmoud lives here. I followed him here.”
“You followed him here!”
Number 12 punched the keypad and the door buzzed and unlocked. Unceremoniously he grabbed Ann by the arm and manhandled her inside.
“Hey, let go of me…”
“Silence!”
“Where are you taking me?”
“I said, silence.” He slapped her hard.
Number 1 was reviewing the back up plan with Number 4 and 9 when he turned in the direction of the commotion coming through the door. He was shocked to see the girl from the train being dragged by Number 12 into the room.
“Mahmoud! It’s me, Ann. Tell this guy to let go of me.”
Number 1 closed his eyes, and washed his hand over his face. “Sit her here in the chair.”
“Who is Mahmoud?” Number 12 asked.
“That is not your concern, Number 12. Just leave her here and get back to your post.” He turned to Numbers 4 and 9. “We will finish this later. Go to the kitchen.”
Ann watched the men leave. She looked at Mahmoud. He was just as she remembered. “I am so glad I found you. I wanted to get to know you better. Maybe even work with you.”
“How did you find me?”
“I kinda followed you that night. I saw you come here. I waited all night but you didn’t come out ‘til morning. The man at the deli down the street told me you live here. It’s pretty cool living in a storage place. Do you have an apartment here?”
Number 1 just stared.
Ann felt her cheek. “That man hit me. Why would he hit me?”
“Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”
“What? No, who would I tell?”
“Please, Ann, this is very important. You told no one?”
“No, no one. Wait? You are worried, aren’t you?”
Number 1 crouched down to her seated level. “Now what would worry me?”
“I am so into your cause. I know how hard it’s been, how unfair you and your entire nationality have suffered.”
“Is there anyone who is expecting you back?”
Ann saw an opening to appeal to the man. “No, no one. I am free as a bird. No one to report to and no one to go home to.”
“Surely, someone will miss you.”
“Why Mahmood, are you expecting me to spend the night? I mean, it’s okay with me.”
“Why are you here? Why did you follow me?”
“I left Mark. He’s a monster. I want to join you. I want you to teach me about the great struggle. I want to learn from you.”
“I run a storage warehouse. There is nothing to learn.”
“You must be suffering from prejudice, hate, and social injustice.”
“Where do you get such ideas?”
“I studied Islam along with all the oppressed religions: Buddhism, Hindu…”
“Enough; wait here.”
Number 1 left the room. His men were waiting in the kitchen. He scanned their faces, faces awash in confusion and worry. He knew what they were thinking. That he somehow had seduced this girl, brought her here, and, in doing so, risked the entire operation. Number 3 was looking at him in the way an undertaker looks at a body he is about to bury. He remembered a lesson from his earlier life. “Strength, decisiveness, no mercy is the key to survival.” He took a knife from the counter and, without a word, left the room.
On the way back to where he left the girl, he thought of his mother who died when he was young, and of his sisters who were killed by Russians, the youngest and prettiest, Maya, raped repeatedly and savagely, then shot in the head. All done by Infidels, Infidels who disrespect Allah, who deny his supreme reign over all the affairs of men. Infidels who are no better than dogs, to be kicked and slaughtered before they attack.
He stopped outside the door. Up until now, Jihad had been a cause, a way of life. Although he was the key to what would soon be a massive amount of death and destruction, he would never live to appreciate it (or worse, regret it). The few instances of killings from when he trained with the Mujahedeen were matters of death at long range, roadside bombing Russian tanks and troop carriers. This would be his first up-close elimination of the enemy. He gritted his teeth. He would not falter, not fail. He entered the room.
Ann rose. “Mahmood. Are you angry that I came here?”
Without a word, he approached her. She dropped to her knees and started to unzip his fly and open his belt. His thoughts caught him off guard. I am a sixty-five-year-old man. What is this Infidel whore expecting? As she took him, he felt a flushing over his entire body. The girl had skill. He found himself responding, pushing himself deeper. She responded, accommodating him and bringing pleasure. The hand that held the knife relaxed. His back arched and he experienced the first orgasm since he was a young man in Budapest with the butcher’s young daughter. He shuddered and she moaned. But Ann didn’t relent. He had to pull away because of the sensitivity. She went to follow, but he held his hand out to stop her. She obeyed and began to stand.