AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Not even once, sir.”
“So what will happen in New York in a few days, it has no concern for you?”
Marcel says, “I only wish it were London.”
Rashad shifts in his seat. “At one time it would have been London. Another time, Berlin. But like it or not, New York is the capital of the world’s leading empire. And that is where I will strike. You see, Marcel, I am this century’s Gavrilo Princip.”
There is no answer. Rashad is not surprised. He goes on.
“Gavrilo Princip was the assassin who killed the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife in Sarajevo, in June of 1914. Two shots. That’s all. And within four years, that one simple man had triggered the collapse of so many empires: Ottoman, Russian, German, Austro-Hungarian. Not bad for a simple Serbian nobody, eh?”
Marcel says, “Impressive, sir.”
“And I, in the next few days, will shatter their precious New York City. Which will cause that empire to withdraw, to collapse. And once New York and Washington fall, then London, Paris, and Berlin will fall soon afterward. The Americans are the dangerous glue that holds them together. Even my father’s friends and businesses in the Kingdom. They, too, will be swept away.”
“Then…then, what sir?”
Rashad says, “I don’t know. Which is why I will succeed. I make no demands, issue no proclamations, announce no victories. I just do what must be done. And then a new empire will rise—a new caliphate—and I will die a happy man, knowing I had a hand in its renewal.”
“How are you sure, sir? That a caliphate will emerge?”
“Who in Europe and elsewhere has more discipline, energy, devotion to religion and families than our brethren? After the West withdraws and collapses, they will take up the challenge—of that I am sure.”
Marcel says, “You will be remembered forever.”
“Perhaps,” Rashad says, looking at his watch. “But at least I will be known as a much more merciful man than Gavrilo Princip. His actions led to the death of at least seventeen million people. My actions, well, if there are a hundred thousand dead by this time next week, that will be a difference, will it not?”
“That it will, sir—that it will.”
Rashad says, “I believe it is time.”
Marcel says, “It is, sir.” His aide removes a cell phone and dials a preprogrammed number that rings once. Marcel then disconnects the call.
Rashad thinks he hears athumpsomewhere, but he ignores the sound. He slips on his night-vision goggles, switches them on—
—and flashing lights appear on the runway, welcoming in his fellow warriors, here to get paid, of course, but also to deliver something oh so very blessed and important.
In a week’s time his mask will finally slip away, and the whole world will know what one man with funds and vision can do.
Just one week.
Chapter40
WE ROLLin darkness to a small, worn-out building that looks like it was once some sort of storage facility. Our blacked-out Peugeot slides in next to the lead car and dims its interior lights. I step out with Jeremy. The driver—still wearing night-vision goggles—leads us past armed guards to a side door, where we duck through a curtain, and here we are.
There’s lots of cigarette smoke and bottles of water on a dirty counter, but no buffet table. Things have certainly gotten serious. Victor, who has quickly changed from civilian to paramilitary clothing, says, “Progress is quickly being made. Let me get you up to date, Jeremy.”
I stand next to Jeremy and say, “Just so we’re clear, Victor, even though we’ve only known each other for about thirty minutes, I’m the lead officer here. So yes, I welcome your briefing. As does Jeremy.”
Again a flicker of a look between Victor and Jeremy, and I sense I’ve won once more.
Good for me.
“Very well,” Victor says. “We will tell you both. Here, if you please.”
“Here” is a concrete wall where a large map is secured. A long table holds communications gear—three CCTV monitors and four computer monitors, with hard young men sitting in front of them. There are about a dozen other armed men in full-battle rattle, with black boots, fatigues, belts with holstered pistols, helmets, and black balaclavas covering their faces. All of them carry my old friend, H&K MP5 submachine guns.
Several of the men have rolled up their balaclavas to smoke.
