Terror Rising: Book 0 – The Insurgence

Terror Rising: Book 0 – The Insurgence

DBS Publishing
LLC

Copyright 2016 
by
DBS Publishing LLC

Smashwords
Edition

Secret Meeting

A covert operation was in effect under
the cover of a blackened sky. The desert, vast and barren,
stretched for untold miles. A windstorm had picked up, pushing a
blanket of sand in all directions. Amid the rolling headwinds sat a
hideout obscured by night and covered by a tan canopy that
concealed the clay-and-stone building even in brightness of day.
Such covert operations weren
’t unique to this desolate
location. The desert had many secrets, known only to those who
inhabited its hollow terrain.

The young men working throughout the night
knew these secrets all too well. They were at war. They had been at
war since their leader declared a fatwa against perhaps the
greatest evil in the world: the United States of America. And this
time, they were right in their enemy’s backyard, along the southern
border of El Paso, Texas.

The Islamic State was already embedded
throughout Texas and had been growing steadily since its subsequent
conquest of major cities throughout the Middle East.

Their expansion throughout Iraq, Syria, and
Libya was important—crucial to their cause. But their ambitions
didn’t stop at there. They were going to infiltrate the enemy from
within, through strategically placed sleeper cells ready to
activate at a moment’s notice.

For the longest time, Salah Asgar, leader of
the Texas sleeper cells, hadn’t heard anything from back home. He
had a family in Fallujah, Iraq—a wife and two sons. His youngest
son, Umar, had been killed in a drone strike by American forces, a
target supposedly based on bad intel. The shop explosion killed
fifteen other Iraqi civilians, including Salah’s neighbor,
Mustafa.

Ten years after his son’s death, Salah
wanted nothing more than revenge against the U.S. As a dedicated
Sunni, he joined the Islamic State during its rise in power in the
spring of 2013 just as the last remaining American forces had left
Iraq. From there, he was ready to do whatever necessary to avenge
his son and his people.

One of their many Texas hideouts was a small
concrete compound where they hid supplies underground. Its modest
size and dilapidated exterior gave the impression that, even if
discovered by outsiders, it was just an abandoned outpost not
utilized in ages.

Tubes of long fluorescent bulbs hung along
the ceiling, powered by a gas generator, their only source of
electricity. There was little to be found inside the building, as
their weapons caches, sensitive documents, and dirty-bomb materials
were all stored belowground and out of sight.

Salah told his men that they could never be
too careful and that they were to cover their tracks at all
times.

“
Fail me, and you fail the Islamic
State,” he had told them. And he meant every word of it.

That evening, about thirty operatives—mostly
young men—had gathered in the cramped confines of their hideout for
an important meeting. Salah walked out from the room in which he
had just finished talking with his closest advisors and turned
toward the open hall.

Salah’s men were prepared for anything. Back
home, they wore their uniforms proudly, which ranged from
desert-tan military fatigues to more urban-gray patterns, similar
or identical to U.S. Army uniforms. In America, however, they were
required to blend in amongst the population. Casual T-shirts and
jeans, polo shirts, and trim or no beards at all were the standard.
The less attention they brought to themselves the better.

Many of the men had traveled far to be
there, having been alerted to the meeting days prior. Those given
the call were eager to hear what their respected leader had to say.
Not everyone had been summoned, and such an exclusivity fed the
anticipation in the air.

They sat in rows across the floor where
crates of Kalashnikov AK-47 rifles sat open in the corner. The
dimly lit room provided an equal amount of illumination and shadow.
Quiet chatter ceased the moment the door opened and Salah entered,
flanked by two high-ranking security men, Bosra and Nabil, both
with thick beards and white caps on their heads known as taqiyahs.
Back home, they were known to have carried out public executions
against apostates, spies, and anyone who failed to adhere to the
strict doctrines of ISIS. They were both feared and respected,
providing Salah with a level of quiet awe whenever he entered a
room with them at his side.

Silence fell as he took center stage,
dressed in a long white robe with a checkered keffiyeh head scarf
tied around his head. He was a tall man, skinny with a narrow beard
that reached his chest. The men knew that their leader had not
called the meeting for just any reason. There was news to be told.
The time to strike was near.

Salah began his speech by first leading the
men in prayer. They bowed their heads and prayed to Allah to
provide them with the strength to slaughter their enemies, no
matter who stood in their way. Salah then raised his head and
thanked them for arriving on such short notice.

“
Brothers, I am more impressed today
with your discipline and readiness than I was last time we met,” he
said with the gravelly baritone of an experienced lecturer. It had
been two months since their last meeting.

“
And today, I invited you here to
discuss our next phase in establishing a caliphate in these United
States.”

The young men applauded as though a switch
had ignited their passion. Bosra and Nabil turned from their
corners in the room and stared into the crowd, not saying a word.
The cheers quickly died out, replaced by silence. Salah smiled
slightly in response, looking out at the crowd with fondness.

“
I know you are excited,” he
continued. “For so am I.” His face went stern again. “But remember,
you must hide your emotions, conceal your tendencies. The time for
celebration is not yet upon us. Our leaders are watching us from
afar. They have confidence in the mission, but the Americans will
stop at nothing to wipe us out if we expose ourselves.”

The crowd looked on as the generator hummed
in the back of the room. Salah, who looked strangely pale that
evening, cleared his throat and continued.

“
I say to you, brothers, that this
mission carries with it an extreme risk. As I’ve said before, you
may never see your families again. Once we awaken the beast, many
of us will die or spend the rest of our lives in a prison cell. The
Americans’ experiment is a great injustice unto the world,
something our people have suffered under for a very long time.” He
jabbed a finger at them. “And it is up to you in this room tonight
to send a message to the Americans that their reign of terror is
over!”

The crowd launched into a frenzy of applause
once again. This time, however, Salah didn’t seem to be bothered by
it, but instead basked in their evident motivation and enthusiasm.
He opened his mouth to speak, and the young men went quiet, not
wanting to miss a word.

“
I’ve said before that we’re only as
strong as our cause, and, my brothers, our cause is great. We give
thanks to Allah for getting us this far—for getting us into
America—because He is the guiding light in our lives, and we will
stop at nothing to make Him proud.”

Salah stopped suddenly as his eyes narrowed,
scanning the crowd, but none of the men would make direct eye
contact. He then spoke slowly and with conviction. “Caution.
Prudence. Dedication. Devotion. Discipline. These are the basic
tenets we must live by to make this mission a success. All of this
is threatened when we lose sight of our purpose.”

He stopped and cleared his throat again,
looking away from the crowd, then turning back and zeroing in on
them with foreboding dark-brown eyes.

“
I announce to you this evening that
we have a threat from within. And while this threat involves one
among us, we are
all
culpable. Even myself.” He then stepped forward, his voice
booming with passion. “Because when one of us commits an offense,
it reflects on us all. When one slanders the prophet, he slanders
every one of us.”

Clear confusion became evident throughout
the gathering as the men looked around in uncertainty. Salah looked
on with a penetrating stare, not eyeing anyone in particular, which
made everyone even more uneasy. He then turned to Bosra at his
right and signaled into the crowd. Bosra nodded and stepped forward
toward the men, with Nabil following suit from the other side of
the room.

More confused glances followed as the two
towering men rushed to the middle row and yanked one bushy-haired
young man up by the back of his shirt. The man shouted as they led
him to the front with his hands held behind his back. Murmurs of
fear rumbled throughout the crowd.

“
What is this?” the young man cried
out. “What are you doing?”

Salah said nothing in response as Nabil
pushed the man onto his knees. Dust flew into the air. Salah stared
down with his eyebrows furrowed. The man looked up, trembling, his
boyish face stricken with fear.

“
Mahir Kouachi. I remember your
father,” Salah said. “He died a martyr at the hands of Americans
during their invasion of Iraq. Before he died, I promised him that
I would see to it that you were taken care of. I owed him because
he was a good man.”

Salah then took a step back, shaking his
head. “And this is how you repay me!” he shouted with a slap across
Mahir’s stunned face.

The crowd looked on, stunned but hesitant to
speak or move. No one, it seemed, knew what was transpiring. But
things didn’t look good for their singled-out brother.

Mahir held the side of his head as sweat
dripped down his forehead past his widened eyes. “My leader…” he
began in a daze.

Another resounding blow to his face came
this time from Nibal. “You do not address him unless spoken to,” he
said gruffly.

Mahir said no more as Salah took a step past
him and raised his arms to address the room. “Mahir has betrayed
us. He has disgraced his father’s memory and his family’s trust.”
Without disclosing any details, Salah leaned down inches from
Mahir’s terrified face. “Your family members will pay the ultimate
price, I can assure you.”

Mahir opened his mouth to speak, his mind
racing, but nothing came out. Salah rose and turned to the crowd.
“One mistake, my brothers, and we lose. That’s all it takes. It has
come to my attention that our brother, Mahir, has spoken with the
enemy. He is, in fact, a spy.” He then looked down at the
frightened Mahir at his feet.

Mahir looked around the room in a panic.
“It’s not true! I am not—”

Another smack came across Mahir’s head as he
tried to shield himself.

“
But you
are
a spy,” Salah said, looking down at him, as
a disappointed father might do.

Mahir raised his head with tears streaming
from his eyes, a deep look of shame embedded across his face.

“
How did we find
out?
” Salah asked him. “Because we have people
everywhere. On all levels. All reporting to me.”

Mahir looked down, ashamed. He then looked
into the stoic crowd for mercy. “I told them nothing!” he cried
out. “I talked to a few Americans, that’s all. I was trying to
recruit them. Trying to do Allah’s will!”

Salah stared at him for a long, quiet
moment. “You are weak, Mahir. And your carelessness is a threat to
us and our mission.”

Mahir wiped the tears from his face,
remaining on his knees, a defeated man who knew what was to come
next. Salah looked at Nabil and nodded.

Nabil pulled a long bowie knife from the
sheath on his belt, yanked Mahir’s head back, and drew the blade
across his throat.

The crowd gasped. Salah watched impassively
as blood gushed from the open wound. Mahir’s eyes widened with
shock, as though he had not expected such swift retaliation. The
room remained silent as vacant faces stared ahead.

“
Leave this world, young Mahir,” Salah
said. “May Allah judge you accordingly.”

Mahir gargled and gasped his last desperate
breaths. Nabil released his grip on Mahir’s hair and pushed his
head down. His body slumped over his knees as a thick puddle of
blood formed slowly beneath him. His legs twitched with his
wheezing until he went still on the floor.

Salah nodded again at Nabil and Bosra. In
response, they lifted Mahir and carried him away past the silent
crowd.

“
Give him a proper burial,” Salah
said, signaling to the door. “It’s the least I can do for his
father.”