The Hammer of God

After dinner, they retired to the living room. There, the talk turned to the committee. Most of it was procedural: when to plan future meetings, creating subcommittees, and the timing of interim reports. Eventually, the subject got to the book.

“Have the reports from Egypt come in yet?”

“No, we hope to have them by early next week.”

“Kasiko, do you have the document?”

“Yes. Thanks to Peter I have a copy for each of you on the Harmonic Sub committee.” He then doled out the books that Peter had copied. He returned the original to Prof. Ensiling. Thank you for bringing this to us.”

“I was never so nervous in all my life going through customs.”

Peter resisted the urge to add, I know what you mean, shheez! lest he reveal his skullduggery.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Blue-Eyed Devil

When Alizir had finished his morning prayers, he rattled his chain, the signal he had trained his captors to understand meant, “Bring me my food.” These Infidels were fools, He had braced himself for the worst after the stories of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay. He thought they would surely torture him. But yesterday, he sent back his lunch because his meat was undercooked. They weren’t guards; they were servants. This wasn’t a country to be feared; it was a nation of men whose fathers abdicated their roles in teaching a man to pray and fight and die for a cause. Probably in deference to their wives, who were not intended by Allah to raise sons. They were half-men. He had fought the half-men of Russia as a Mujahedeen in the eighties. He volunteered in retribution for his father and sisters being brutally killed in his younger years. Lives extinguished for being nothing more than devoted Muslims; praise Allah, that he was able to save his younger brother. He and the Afghans with which he trained defeated the great Russian Army and sent them home to their weeping mothers to be breastfed once more. It was during those days he met the wealthy son of an Arab billionaire who traded a flamboyant life as a playboy in New York and Paris for the bone-chilling sanctuary of deep caves. Since those days, Osama had left his mark and, had the virus plan been executed, his name, Alizir, too would be blessed with the adoration of all those who fought the great Satan.

“Put it on the table.” The Sheik said, to the servant delivering his meal. His back was to the door. He turned when he didn’t hear the tray sliding onto the table.

It was her again.

“Good morning, Shiek,” was all she said as she walked over to the chain that was locked to the hoop on the floor. She tugged on the chain and gestured for him to give her some slack.

“You are releasing me?”

Without saying a word, she produced another lock and by threading it through the links, shortened the chain by about five feet.

“Sit down!”

He almost sat, but then remembered that this wasn’t a man or even an American half-man. This was only a woman.

“Are you going to sit?” She gestured to the chair.

He didn’t respond.

The impact between his shoulder blades made him lose his breath and he found himself dazed and confused on the floor. She was now standing in front of him, swinging a sock with a heavy weight in the end. He immediately scrambled to his feet and rushed at her, forgetting the newly shortened chain. It snagged him back just as he reached her.

“I used to do this with the neighbor’s dog. I knew how long his leash was and he just snarled and barked but couldn’t bite me.”

Brooke was lying; it was actually her dog that was tormented this way by her neighbor’s unbalanced son. But never let the facts get in the way of a threat. She smashed the sock onto the table, the energy and force made the Sheik wince.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Sheik. You scare the living daylights out of me. You have become a star in my nightmares.” Wham! She hit the table again. “My daddy taught me to face my fears, look them right in the eye, and see that they are nothing and only had the fear I gave them.”

She looked the Sheik in the eye and didn’t blink. It was he who eventually turned away.

“How did you achieve operational ability in America?”

He didn’t respond.

“Two, three, four.” Wham! She hit him so hard in the shoulder he was knocked to the floor on one knee.

“Hmmm didn’t leave a mark? Oh, we’re going to do this all day! And it will just be our little secret.”

He looked up at the girl. He noticed she was dressed differently. Not in the boxy man-suit of the female agent needing to conform to look like a man. She was in what the west called warm-up clothes. Tight fitting.

She saw his eyes on her chest. She had the AC turned up so that the room was cold.

She is a sadist. She is getting a thrill out of this.

Brooke’s chat with Aliz lasted about 40 minutes. As she left, she said to him, “You are so full of shit, you must have to flush twice.”

An hour after Brooke had her special “breakfast” with the Sheik, one of his guards came into the room.