Eddy's Current (36 page)

“How will they treat me if they suspect that I’m a fake.”

“Like a dead relative.” River didn’t laugh. Rawls smiled slightly.

“I’m here to meet a very dear friend of mine,” River sputtered out in the best Arabic he was able to piece together, which was not very good. “His name is al Qatari.”

“Please speak to me in English. I am better able to understand you if you do,” replied the worshiper in clear, fully understandable English. “Most of us here speak English.”

“Al Qatari is a good person, a good person. He loves Allah. He worships many times each day, and he hates Israel. There he is, over there,” the worshiper said.

River froze. Looking “over there,” Dane should have been able to pick his “very dear friend” out of the group and proceed over to him. The worshiper watched him, looking for his reaction. He didn’t suspect Dane of anything outrageous, but it was interesting to observe that he didn’t simply proceed in the direction of al Qatari.

Al Qatari had been expecting River, so when he happened to look over and see an American staring in his general direction, eyes glazed over, he gambled that his old friend was in trouble. He also gambled that River was, in fact, his old friend, Dane, from America.

“Dane, Dane,” al Qatari called out from the group.

River was stunned. Who was Dane? He forgot long enough to create an awkward, but not fully suspicious, stalled moment in time. It was only a second or two, but River hesitated and didn’t answer. Finally he realized who Dane was. The worshiper made a mental note of this initial awkward greeting.

“Amaad, how are you?” River called out with gusto.

“It is so good to see you again. I have missed you. You are a friend brought to me by Allah. Praise Allah for you. Praise Allah for you,” al Qatari said loudly and with great pride.

The two embraced, kissed each other on the cheeks, and traded robust compliments and various other physical gestures of greeting before al Qatari loudly and with fulness of heart proclaimed to all present that his friend had arrived. Allah had brought him to Medina to live and to participate in the cause.

“Come, come. We must talk. Come with me to the street. Come with me for a walk so I can get caught up on all you have been doing for Allah,” al Qatari said.

The worshiper who had greeted River interjected, stepping up to shake his hand and introduce himself. “I prefer to meet you formally, Mr. Dane,” the worshiper said calmly and inquisitively—still interested in what was behind the initial awkward greeting that took place a few moments before.

“My name is Dane Wyson Ward, River responded smoothly, as the two shook hands. “And you are?”

“Mohammad Aswaheri, and I am pleased to meet a brother of a brother. You and I should get to know one another. I would need to know you well.”

“Thank you, brother,” al Qatari said to Aswaheri.

“My brother, Dane, and I will go to the street now, find a restaurant and get something to eat and catch up on all that we’ve been blessed with since we last saw each other. We will return in time for the afternoon prayers.”

Though it was not considered to be upscale, the restaurant they went to was clean; no, not just clean. It was completely free from any smudges on the stainless steel, no dirt on the handles of the entrance doors. No grease buildup anywhere, on any surface. The floor glared at you with its shine. It was as if the walls were erected temporarily, for a promotional commercial to demonstrate in an exaggerated way the cleaning power of a commercial cleaning product.

Everything about this city and this nation spelled order and compliance, loud and clear, and this restaurant was a microcosm of its society. The waiters and waitresses worked in tandem. He would receive the larger portion of the tip. She would be awarded based on her demonstrated submission to the authority of the all–male management staff. Both of them risked their jobs literally each minute. Their supervisor watched their every move. They were retained based upon whether or not they worked with complete efficiency, not with the highest level of productivity, though. Productivity was considered to be an over–emphasized concept from the West.

Efficiency, order and respect—those were the attributes that kept the people of Medina employed. And their supervisors watched closely. Because the supervisors’ supervisors watched closely. And the royal family’s agents watched the supervisors’ supervisors closely. The royal family watched their agents closely. Things were orderly and tight in Saudi Arabia. Information about disruptions to order reached the top quickly, and they were dealt with efficiently and in short order.

“So, Dane, it is with the most excitement and love that I welcome you, my dear friend, to our country—my native land and your adopted land. It is great to have you here.”

“It’s… a… great to finally be here. I have so looked forward to —” River stammered and stumbled in his conversation with al Qatari. He was inclined to speak agent–to–agent, but that was strictly forbidden, so he caught himself and made a formal determination to adopt his new identity. “Allah is good. I am excited about getting on with the business of the cause and diving into the mission.”

“Yes, yes, my friend. Now, you will pay very close attention to me. We are meeting as a group to plan. Our planning sessions will begin soon, possibly in the next thirty days. I want you there, but the others will be wary of you. So you must gain their trust quickly.”

“Certainly. What would you have me to do to gain their trust?”

“Kill a suspected infiltrator, an apostate.”

River nearly choked on his lunch. “Please, please, take this back and bring me a simple wrap. Make it quickly. Less spice, please,” he said to the waiter.

“I am so sorry, sir, my deepest apologies. Was it not to your liking?” the waiter asked, as his supervisor made a note that this was this particular waiter’s second dissatisfied customer in thirty–four days. The waiters and waitresses were held accountable for all complaints.

“It was too spicy; it caused me to sneeze with a mouth full of food, so I choked.”

“Your wrap will be right out, sir. It will be perfect, I personally assure you of that.” The supervisor punched his stopwatch to begin its timer. The waiter had exactly six minutes to serve River’s wrap. If not, each minute over six would count as one dissatisfied customer to be added to the two on record. Three dissatisfied customers in forty–five days resulted in dismissal.

“So sorry that your food was not to your liking,” al Qatari said.

“There is an apostate that must be disposed of. You must take him out. Get rid of him,” al Qatari said pointedly, with an outward flickering of both of his hands, symbolically brushing away the apostate. “You will receive full instructions, and you will carry out the job within full view of others so there will be no doubt of your loyalty.”

River was pleased with himself. He believed that he was catching on.

“I am somewhat offended, but please, my good friend, don’t be hurt. It’s not that I would mind eliminating a Godless, useless fraud. That’s not what bothers me. What bothers me is that you do not trust me. You are making me prove myself.”

But River was not catching on at all. He believed that he was being clever, but that was the wrong thing to say, and, of course, al Qatari knew that it was a major blunder.

“Big mouthed, know–it–all USFIA agents,” al Qatari thought to himself.

“Not at all, my friend. When I am asked to show my commitment to the fight, I am honored to do so,” al Qatari said, hinting that River should shut up and allow Dane to go along to demonstrate compliance and even gratitude at being asked to carry out a noble act.

Al Qatari gave River a few days to settle in before getting back to the subject of the murder. “Let’s finalize our plans, Dane,” al Qatari said to River, as they enjoyed a casual walk on the street, just outside the mosque. “You will be in the mosque. The apostate criminal will come into the prayer room — our most sacred place — and he will defile it with his fake prayers.

“You will lunge at him with a gun and escort him from the sacred place to the back of the mosque, along the long back wall. A few will follow the two of you out. A car will be waiting there for you. You will force him to lie on the ground, on a large steel plate you’ll see on the ground next to the wall. A car will be next to him. The car will be loaded with explosives. You will set the timer, exit the car, run as fast as you can away from the wall. The car will explode, killing the apostate instantly,” al Qatari explained.

“Where will I get the gun?”

“It will be handed to you when you enter the mosque for your prayers.”

“The authorities will be called to the scene, but you will be cleared on the spot for the killing because you will have killed an apostate. This is a killing that is justified, so there will be no charges brought against you. In fact, you will be celebrated as a hero,” al Qatari said. “No need to worry anyway. There will exist no traces of his body for anyone to inspect.

“Any questions?”

“Yes. Why the complicated plan with the car? Why not just a straight forward execution?”

“The entire thing will be filmed for terror training and will be broadcast out over the Internet to show others what they will eventually get for their life of apostasy. Tension and terror. We want maximum effect. The world fears our car bombs. They’re terrorized by them. The apostate will seem helpless as he lies on the ground between the wall and the car, blind–folded, waiting for the bomb to explode. It’s the effect that we’re after, the nightmare scenario that the world fears.”

Outwardly Dane showed no hesitance, but inside River was shattered. He felt sick to his stomach. He had no idea what al Qatari really had in mind, but it sure seemed to River that he actually had a real murder planned. It couldn’t be, though. Murder by an agent of the USFIA was strictly forbidden. The CIA, however, did not forbid their agents to commit murder. Was al Qatari thinking and acting as a CIA agent rather than an agent of the USFIA? River had been given direct orders to trust al Qatari completely. He had to do as he was ordered.

Dane agreed, and he did so with enthusiasm. “Show him to me and I will kill him, just as you have asked. He is not worthy to live.”

The mosque was crowded for afternoon prayers, as it was each afternoon. In walked Alahari al Ilstad, suspected secret Messianic Jew, and known Islamic apostate. “There he is,” al Qatari said quietly to Dane. “He’s entering the prayer room now.”

Al Ilstad placed his knees on the floor and supported his erect body on them, then he bowed reverently, all the way over until his forehead was supported on the floor. The desecration had occurred. River was expected to exhibit indignance; he was expected to act decisively and without mercy.

“You!, you!, apostate and enemy of Allah!” Dane shouted in River’s broken Arabic, as he pointed his gun at al Ilstad. “Go out back with me. Get out! Get out! You have polluted this place. You are fake. You are an enemy. You are a Christian dog,” he screamed, as he pushed al Ilstad out the back door of the mosque. Several followed, just as al Qatari said they would.

Several terrorists in the group murmured. “This brother is good.” “He does not tolerate apostasy.” “We could all learn from him.” “He will clear the evil from this house.”

Al Ilstad stood, terrified, with his back against the wall and his hands on the back of his head. Dane lowered al Ilstad to the ground and forced him to lie there, across a steel platform that was on the ground, next to the wall. He blindfolded al Ilstad with an old shirt. Dane bolted into the car, and as soon as he made the decision to set the bomb, River stopped him. Dane’s finger was frozen in the air above the timer switch, and River would not allow Dane to force it down on the switch. River could not play the part any longer. This was the closing act that would secure Dane’s position with the group, and yet River couldn’t make himself act out the part to its conclusion.

Then River realized that if Dane didn’t kill al Ilstad, the group might kill River. What about Eddy? What about the twins? What about his other work? His professional pride? What about his professional ethics? Was he indeed protecting human life with a willingness to sacrifice his own, as he was sworn to do? Or was he protecting himself by killing an otherwise innocent person? Did al Ilstad do anything wrong to the United States for which he deserved to die at the hands of an agent of the USFIA?

River could not kill him, but Dane could. That’s it, that’s it! Dane could kill him. River is Dane! He’s not River Warwick, the USFIA agent; he’s Dane Wyson Ward—he’s a terrorist, presently residing in Saudi Arabia, and Dane Wyson Ward could kill a Muslim apostate.

River allowed Dane to lower his finger onto the switch and click it into the set position, limiting the apostate’s remaining time on earth to thirty seconds. River ripped himself out of the car and, with his back to the soon–to–be mayhem, he ran full speed, didn’t look back and didn’t have to observe the massive destructive power of Dane’s actions. A voice screamed to the group of witnesses — it was al Qatari — “NOT YET!”

The group of witnesses had not had time to set the cameras to film the explosion or to position themselves away from the force of the explosion. “Run! Run!” al Qatari screamed as he and the others turned and ran full speed in River’s direction.

There was no trace of the apostate. He was gone. The car was not recognizable. The explosion was so powerful that the twisted wreckage of what remained of the car was a full fifty yards from the explosion, engulfed in fire. The wall had been built to withstand the blast, and it stood firm in spite of the immense power of the explosion.

Several details did not go as planned. Still, the small group ran over and approached Dane to pay him honor for the killing. River was stunned. In shock. Dane’s decision had gone against everything River stood for. How could al Qatari have allowed him to do such a thing? River felt himself vomit, but Dane held it in his mouth, then forced it down, back into his stomach. Physical distress would be a sign of weakness. He had to appear to be cold, ruthless and without any remorse for his actions.