Pandemic

A pause was filled by the sound of a page turning. "All American and Coalition soldiers must immediately withdraw from the holy soil of Iraq, Afghanistan, the Arabian Peninsula, and all other observant nations," the spokesman said. "These same aggressors must desist in their threats to Syria and Iran, and withdraw their military and financial support for the Israeli oppressors." He paused again, this time for effect. "There will be no negotiation. If withdrawals have not begun within four days of today, an army of martyrs will be unleashed upon the cities of the West." His tone dropped an octave. "Let the blood be on the hands of that criminal, the American President." He paused one last time. "It is God's way. Allah be praised."

The tape hissed again before Kabaal reached over and hit the stop button.

Sitting stiffly in his lab coat, Aziz did not comment, but he appeared acutely uncomfortable; a scientist who had inadvertently strayed into a foreign world of politics.

Sabri looked at Kabaal inexpressively. "Where will you send this tape?" he asked.

Kabaal leaned calmly back in his chair. "We will courier it to Al Jazeera Network and Abu Dabi TV. We will also e-mail a translation to the Western news outlets."

"When?"

"In a few days, when this next wave of virus has fully taken hold." Kabaal pointed at the tape recorder. "What do you think of the message?"

Sabri rocked his head slightly from side to side. "It is not specific enough."

Kabaal frowned. "I don't understand, Abdul. What more could we say?"

"There is no mention of us," Sabri said.

"Of course there is. He talks about The Brotherhood—"

Sabri stopped him with a raised palm. "You miss my point, Abu Lahab." He pointed his finger from Kabaal to Aziz to himself. "Where are we mentioned?"

Kabaal gripped his desk. "Are you suggesting we tell the world that Abdul Sabri, Anwar Aziz, and Hazzir Kabaal are behind this?"

Sabri nodded.

Kabaal gaped at Sabri, questioning the major's sanity. "Except for making it easier for them to find us, what possible purpose would that serve?"

Sabri tilted his head at Kabaal. "Why do you think Osama sends videotapes confessing — no — boasting about his involvement?"

"Adulation?" Kabaal shrugged. "What does this have to do with him?"

Sabri shook his head again. "He offers his name so the faithful have a hero to look to. If Al Qaeda had no face, they would not inspire and incite the people the way they do. Osama gives them strength and courage. He gives them a leader. And he draws them to the flame."

Kabaal shook his head. "They already have Osama for inspiration. Our purpose is to achieve a more tangible goal. And now we have the weapon to do it."

Sabri frowned. Coming from anyone else, it wouldn't have meant much. But his impassiveness was so built into his blank face that the slight grimace conveyed a torrent of emotion. "Something else is bothering you, Major?" Kabaal asked.

Sabri looked down. "I want them to know," he said quietly.

"Who?"

Sabri's head shot up, his pale blue eyes burning. "They are my former superiors in the Egyptian Special Forces."

"You want them to know you have joined us?" Kabaal's jaw dropped. "Why?"

"For twenty years, I did whatever they asked of me," Sabri said.

Mouth still open, Kabaal shrugged.

"Don't you understand?" Sabri glared at him. "They made me fight my own people. They made me torture, maim, and kill my Muslim brothers for abiding by the word of God." He tapped his chest. "And I was a good soldier. I went along with it."

Kabaal stared at his lieutenant, astounded by the outpouring.

"I became very good at it, too. I did things other people didn't have the stomach, the guts, or the brains to do. And the more I killed, the more they wanted from me." Sabri's facial features looking even more feminine creased in indignant outrage. "And after doing their dirty work for twenty years they chose not to advance me. To keep me at the same measly rank of major. Do you know why?"

Kabaal shook his head. Aziz stared at the desk, avoiding eye contact with Sabri.

"Because I had too much blood on my hands!" Sabri said.

Kabaal didn't comment.

"They said my reputation preceded me. That I had become infamous for my tactics. And now that political winds had changed, they could not afford to alienate certain people by recognizing me for my 'ruthlessness.' " He laughed bitterly. "I gave them my soul. I betrayed my people and my God. And they reward me by telling me I did it too well. And I could never be more than a contemptible major!"

Kabaal didn't reply. Shocked as he was by Sabri's uncharacteristic effusion, the pieces suddenly fit. He finally knew why Sabri had joined their cause. As Kabaal had long suspected, it had little to do with piety. But Kabaal never before understood the real driving force: Sabri was out to wreak his vengeance on those who had overlooked him for promotion.

His face blank, Sabri retreated to a more familiar pose.