American Terrorist (The Rayna Tan Action Thrillers Book 1) (11 page)

Rayna grinned. “I’m happy for you, Boom Boom. You always were a lousy employee.”

“Yeah, keeping my mouth shut around incompetents was never my strong suit. Besides, I’m a free spirit.”

“You mean you like free spirits. Scotch, bourbon.”

“At least I didn’t drink those sissy girly girl Singapore Slings,” he laughed.

“I graduated,” she told him. “Eighteen-year-old scotch.”

“Oh, so you’re a man’s man, or is it you’re a woman’s man or you’re a man’s woman?”

“Screw yourself. Let’s get to work.” Rayna breathed relief. Pleasantries aside, both knew the purpose of the mission.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, I saw some things.”

“Wait a sec. Who’s taking command here?”

“Me. Got a problem with that?”

“Hell, no. I love being ordered around by pain-in-the-ass broads. What did you see?”

“The Syrian crosses. I think that’s a giveaway for being close to northern part of the Syria-Iraq border. That’s where I remember seeing them.”

Boom Boom objected. “I don’t think so. I’ve been working different parts of the region and those crosses are everywhere.”

“These guys are poor. Did you look at the truck? The weapons? The clothes? Even you dress better than them. That means we’re not talking about the big boys here. It’s got to be one of those small jihadi groups that sprout like weeds.”

“There’s got to be somebody in the good old US of A that’s keeping track of them.”

Rayna shook her head. “Boom Boom, what they see is a bunch of poor ragheads using old Chinese guns and hand-me-down Russian machine guns that you can buy off eBay. And besides, don’t you follow the news? The New York subway got bombed and the Washington Monument had explosive drones fly into it, knocking off the top. These guys are important but, right now, they are so far down the totem pole.”

“That’s what makes them dangerous, Rayna. If they think they can get away with it, they’ll come flying full force.”

“Exactly. And that’s why we’re having this conversation.”

“Really? I thought maybe you were finally going to go with me on a date.”

“Maybe in the next lifetime.” Rayna rolled back the video to a wide shot of the group and pointed to two men. “Look at these two. One of them is the guy who held the head of the victim. The other guy? That’s the only shot he’s in and this one is kind of jerky. He’s got to be the regular cameraman and he appeared here just in time to get into one of the shots. Neither of these men is a native Syrian speaker. The one holding the person’s neck has a North American tinge, just like the way I speak the language.”
 

“Okay, Rayna, that’s a stretch. You can’t tell that.”

“Yeah, I can. I lived in China and learned English in an expat school. Moved to Seattle, then had to learn American English. Then to Vancouver and got to speak Canadian, eh? Then I moved to
Tiranna
,
”
(with the slurred accent that native Torontonians use to say “Toronto.) “Accents and speech patterns are my thing because I had to learn to speak like a native in so many different places.”

“Okay, genius. You’re not the only one who has lived in Haji land. The accent sounded pretty authentic to me.”

“It’s not the accent. It’s the language. The guy most definitely muttered he was going to get absolutely and completely ‘piss drunk’ after they were done.”

A pause. “Lots of Muslims drink.”

“This has nothing to do with violating the Koran. ‘Piss drunk’ is not an expression any Middle Easterner would use. As a matter of fact, while most of them spoke Arabic, there was another darker guy he was talking to in fluent English.”

“So he isn’t a real Muslim and is just along for a joyride?”

“That’s not how I would put it but that’s the idea.”

“What about the guy holding the camera?” Boom Boom asked.

Rayna shook her head as she moved the cursor to the location where the two men walked alongside each other. “I can’t figure out his accent but look at his skin. Not American black or South Asian, though. Hispanic, maybe?”

Julio, who had been watching out of the corner of his eye, piped up. “Looks Filipino to me, especially if he’s from the South. Huge Muslim population in Mindinao with a lot of terrorists.”

“A Filipino in Iraq?”

“Borderless terrorism. What can I say?”

Rayna pointed to the executioner. “He obviously is fluent in Syrian and English, but his English is not the kind they teach in schools in the Middle East. It has a slight American touch to me, although it doesn’t sound all that obvious.”

***

As Barry, Julio, Helena and Rayna were transported to a private airstrip, conversation continued with Boom Boom over the airwaves. After careful review, they agreed that the American Muslim Militia was likely a poorly funded group in its early stages. While uncertain of the film’s exact usage, the high quality of production suggested that, rather than being a real terrorist threat to America, the movie was to be used for fundraising and propaganda purposes.

“But can we really be sure that they don’t have the wherewithal to attack America? After all, it only took a few Amazon courier quality drones loaded with C4 to wreak havoc on the Washington Monument,” stated Helena.

“To organize, it takes infrastructure,” said Barry. “I don’t think they have that.”

“What’s infrastructure these days?” asked Julio. “A bunch of kids with cell phones, access to the internet and too much time on their hands.”

“American Muslim Militia is a really corny name,” stated Rayna.

“It doesn’t have to appeal to you. It has to appeal to the loser teenager who feels like an outcast, no connection to the world including his family, kill the world, drug user, Goth, you name it. “American Muslim Militia” is a hot button name to them,” said Julio.

“If that’s who the American Muslim Militia is, then there’s not a hope in hell that we can chase down all the potential candidates out there. Every misguided kid with a grudge against a teacher, or a girlfriend he couldn’t get to look back at him, could be the next James Holmes, the Colorado movie theater killer. But that’s not likely who the American Muslim Militia is. Even if they don’t have a ton of dough, it takes at least some organization to coordinate a raid like we saw. And there’s little point in making a threat unless you have some plans to follow through on it.”

Barry looked at Julio and Helena. “Have you gone through your list?”

“In the United States, guesstimates are that between five and ten percent of the Islamic organizations have actual or possible terrorist leanings,” Helena said. “That doesn’t include the prisons or so-called religious community centers, which brings the total up to about seventy-five hundred.”

Barry nodded and addressed Rayna and Boom Boom. “Julio has been working on this list for years. The top fifty are those with known present terrorist ties. The next fifty are highly suspicious and have funded or sponsored terrorists abroad but, to the best of our knowledge, are not involved locally. The last batch? We know they’re up to something but haven’t cracked them yet.” He turned back to Julio. “Any idea of how many of these might be willing to help out a new group?”

“Barry, any figure I mention is pulled out of the air. All they need is one person or organization to either fund the whole damn thing or help it snowball.”

“I could’ve told you that without any computer stuff,” said Boom Boom.

Barry ignored the stupid comment. In war or times of serious stress, a bit of levity was often a great stress reliever. Everybody was always wound tight as a body at the end of a hangman’s noose.
 

“Step up the surveillance on all these guys,” Barry said. “Go wide and see if you find any chatter, any noise, any mention of the American Muslim Militia. Comb through the homegrown terrorist lists, not just ours but the FBI, Homeland and CIA as well.”

“Don’t you need permission?” Rayna asked naively.

Laughter sounded from inside their transport van and from the overseas airwaves. A sudden sheepish look crossed Rayna’s face as she realized the stupidity of her question.
If we waited for permission, nothing would ever get done.
“What if the guy in the video is just a show-off blowhard?”

“There’s a high possibility of that... but I’m not taking any chances,” said Barry. “I actually hope that’s right and this whole thing is just a colossal waste of our time. Julio and Helena will coordinate with the groups with online connections. While Rayna’s in transit, Julio, you liaise with Boom Boom to study satellite images of as many cities as you can to see if there are any matches with the beheading video.”

“That’s hundreds of places.”

“Then let’s hope you get lucky. Let’s go.”

“You don’t need to spend the money on a private jet to send me. I can go commercial,” said Rayna.

“That’ll take an extra day of travel. Besides, Rayna, you’re not the only thing we’re sending over. We’re going to load up on medicine, non-perishable food supplies... and weapons for the First Militia Enterprise.”

“What?” she asked.

“The FME,” Barry told her. “That’s who Boom-Boom works with. It’s part charitable group and part army. You’ll be delivering supplies for them as part of the mission.”

“I just thought of something,” piped in Helena as they arrived at the airstrip. “We’re making the assumption this was all happening on the same day and at the same place. There is no reason for that to be. There might be different locations on different days and, quite possibly, depending on how good the editor is, some of the stuff might be photo-shopped in.”

Julio glared at his wife. “What are you trying to do? Kill me? That’s like a million more times work.”

“I thought you said you never worked because everything you did was play.”

The van door opened and Rayna stepped out, twinkling her fingers at the arguing couple. “I’m glad I decided never to marry someone I work with.” She walked to the awaiting jet.

***

As Rayna lay back in her seat in the jet, she pondered about Boom Boom, Fidelitas and a system gone overboard with political correctness. Of course, the vast majority of Muslims were decent law-abiding citizens. Until she joined the Canadian Armed Forces, she would have been one of those that protested against any kind of profiling, religious, racial or otherwise. But the last seven years had opened her eyes. Danger was everywhere. Sometimes, it grew innocently and incipiently. Other times, there seemed to be an immediate manifestation of horror and devastation.

She was starting to really appreciate what Fidelitas offered to the world. Governments could only go so far so; at a certain point, it was foolish to rely on it alone for protection, especially with the thousands of disconnected groups that had the common goal of bringing down the Great Satan. It was impossible for any governmental organization or para-governmental group to keep track of them. Not only were there too many of the enemy, governmental agencies were bogged down by inter-departmental conflict, one-upsmanship, bureaucracy and political correctness gone amuck.

No wonder the jihadists found it easy to proliferate and prosper. They were governed by only three rules: victory at all costs; anyone who was not with them was against them; and anyone against them deserved death. Those infused with a sense of fair play insisted that radical Muslims consisted of less than one percent of the faithful at most. What they didn’t mention was that one percent of the purported one billion plus Muslims was ten million possible extremists. And that didn’t include dangers from drug cartels, organized crime or political fanatics.

Government agencies alone did not have the reach, might or intelligence to counter the forces of evil. They would never admit it publicly, but they needed the people in the shadows to help. They would also never admit this publicly, either, but organizations like Fidelitas were absolutely necessary because they didn’t have to play by the rules.

Chapter 11
 

Al Juwat, Iraq.
 
Mosque of Ali

Ahmed stared out his window, fondling the handle of the ancient sword he used to behead the Myra Christian just hours before. He watched the video that Casey edited a dozen times. Yes, it would be a valuable tool for recruitment and fundraising, but it was something more. Each successive time Ahmed viewed it, his sense of empowerment grew.
“This is my time; it is what I have prepared for all my life. We have made the first step. Now is the time for fulfillment. For actualization. To transform dreams to reality.”

Fatima’s words echoed in his mind.
You are a man, Ahmed. I can never be who you are. I can be the support. I can provide the strategy. But it is you who must lead. And you can, but remember this. Family is not everything. I am your greatest ally but Father is
our
greatest enemy. Someday, and only you will know what that day is, you must do what is right. Otherwise, you can never be who you are destined to be.

Ahmed stood tall and raised the ancient scimitar high above his head. With a mighty force, he brought the razor-sharp blade down over the wooden table—the table the midwife delivered him on, the table he had eaten twenty thousand meals on, the table he had made five hundred women satisfy his degenerate lust on.

The table splintered into thousands of pieces, spraying the air with splinters and slivers.
 

The time was now.

“That was foolish.”

Ahmed turned to see the disapproving face of his father glaring at him.

“It was just a table. We can get another.”

The imam stepped to his son and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t lie to me. I saw what you did in that video.”

“They are infidels. ‘Strike off their heads until you have crushed them completely,’” paraphrased Ahmed from the Koran. “It is sanctioned by Allah.”

“But you are not Allah. And you have taken a perverse translation that does not capture the meaning. Where were the judges and witnesses of the crime?”

“You are soft, Father,” said Ahmed, barely controlling his contempt. “There are fewer who think like you.”