by Chris Culver
“We’re not holding anyone captive.”
I took a step back and raised my eyebrows. “Is the kid who bought ammunition free to go?”
Nassir uncrossed his arms and rubbed his forehead. “You and Rana are exactly alike. I couldn’t talk to her, either.”
That was probably part of why his marriage imploded; saying that probably wouldn’t have helped the situation, though.
“What do you hope to accomplish with him?” I asked.
Nassir sighed and then began pacing, all the while looking at the ground. If I had to guess, he had a speech prepared for moments like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“We want to help him,” he said, finally. “We want to show him that holding on to his hate won’t get him anywhere. We want to show him that there are ways back from the places he’s been.”
“If this kid is ordering ammunition and giving it to potential terrorists, there may not be a way back,” I said. “Did you consider that?”
“There’s always a way back,” said Nassir, his voice soft. “Where there is God, there is hope.”
“Is that the plan? You keep him here and hope?”
“No,” said Nassir, shaking his head. “We keep him here, and we show him a better way to live. We show him what it means to submit to God.”
“For all of our sakes, I hope that works out,” I said, sighing. “His parents have given you permission for whatever you’re doing?”
“Yes,” said Nassir. “They play a key role. His father will come down on the weekends to work beside him. His mother will come down, too, when she’s able. Together, we’ll show him a better way to live. We’ve already started giving him projects, and he’s responding well. He’s at a lumberyard right now. He’s buying wood so he and Asim can make bunk beds.”
So they hadn’t kidnapped him, at least.
“He’s alone?”
Nassir nodded. “He’s got the camp truck.”
“What’s his name? I’ll call my contact at the Bureau and see if anyone else is monitoring his activities. The last thing you need right now is to give the FBI more reason to raid this place.”
“Butler al-Ghamdi.”
I took out my phone to see whether I had any bars. Not only did I have reception, my supervisor at IMPD had tried to call me four times. I looked at Nassir.
“Why don’t you head back?” I said. “Tell Butler I’ll be in to talk to him in a few minutes. I’ve got to make some calls.”
Nassir left without saying another word, not that we had much to say to one another. I let him get about twenty feet away before I called my boss. He answered before his phone finished ringing once.
“Mike, it’s Ash Rashid. I’ve been out of cell reception. What’s up?”
“First things first—since I couldn’t get in touch with you, I called the police in Fishers. They’ll send extra patrols through your neighborhood to make sure there aren’t people loitering around your house.”
I paused for a moment, thinking. “Okay. Thanks, I guess. Why did you do that?”
“You haven’t seen the news?”
I looked at the hillside around me and shook my head. “I’m in the middle of nowhere. I have to climb a hill just to get cell reception.”
Bowers grunted. “Lucky you. About half an hour ago, a tabloid in DC published a package of photographs that purportedly outline the planning and staging of the attack on President Crane’s family in New Hampshire. According to them, these pictures were found by an FBI agent inside a mosque in Indianapolis.”
Immediately, my heart sank. I tried to say something, but my voice caught in my throat. Indianapolis had a lot of Muslims, so the chances were that I didn’t know the people involved. Still, it made me feel sick. This was my community.
“You still there, Ash?” asked Bowers.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said, my voice soft. “What’s the Bureau saying about this, and how did a tabloid newspaper in DC get the scoop?”
“Bureau’s not saying anything officially. Unofficially, IMPD has been trying to get in touch with them, but it’s something of a clusterfuck over there right now. Best we can tell, the story took them by surprise. They hadn’t connected the attack on the president to anyone yet, let alone a group in Indianapolis.”
Meaning they hadn’t leaked the photos. I thought for a few seconds.
“That is a problem. Is that why you called?”
“No,” said Bowers. “I called to ask what the hell you’re doing in Franklin.”
“I’m working a case for the FBI,” I said, somewhat taken aback. “I’m not sure how much I can say. Officially, I’m supposed to tell you to call Special Agent Havelock if you have questions.”
“As you can imagine, given the other news of the morning, Havelock isn’t returning my calls.”
Bowers was fifty miles away, but I nodded anyway.
“How did you know I was in Franklin?”
“Because I got a call from Colonel Nathan Carter this morning telling me so. He’s a staffer on the National Security Council. He works at the White House.” Bowers paused for a moment. “What the hell kind of case are you working?”
That took me aback again. As the ex-spouse of an undercover FBI agent, Lauren Collier would have had the number of a security officer at the Bureau to call for emergencies. That security officer wouldn’t have worked at the White House, though, and he certainly wouldn’t have worked for the National Security Council. This was just…weird. I had hoped visiting her would shed more light on my case and victims. Instead, it just revealed more shadows.
“That’s a very good question,” I said.
Bowers waited a few beats before responding. “I’m delighted you appreciate it. Are you going to answer?”
I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know how to answer you. I have no idea what kind of case this is now.”
“Then, as your colleague, I’d advise you to find out. You’re not working for me right now, so I can’t order you to do anything. That said, I’d advise you to avoid visiting Lauren Collier again. She’s got the kind of friends who can bury you with a phone call.”
I heard everything Bowers said, but I didn’t respond. My heart started pounding.
My vantage on the hill gave me a view of the entire property, including the front gate. Three black SUVs and an armored personnel carrier had just barreled into the camp, hidden lights flashing in their grills. None had the markings of any law enforcement agency. Faintly, I heard the blades of a helicopter drawing closer in the distance.
“Hey, Mike, I’m going to have to call you back. I think I’m going to be arrested.”
Chapter 21
Hashim Bashear’s chest felt heavy. He took a handkerchief from the table beside his bed and held it to his mouth as a wet cough racked his body. Though he had told his son he had a bad cold, it was more than a cold. The wheezing, the pain in his bones, the exhaustion, the headaches…a physician in Syria suspected it was lung cancer, but he didn’t have the equipment to confirm the diagnosis. Hashim didn’t care. His time had come.
He closed his eyes and returned the handkerchief, now tinged with blood, to the end table.
“God, watch over your humble servant and give me the strength to complete your glorious work.”
For a few moments after the prayer, he allowed himself to sink deeply into the pillow again. At his age and in his health, he should have been in the hospital. Barring that, he should have been at home, surrounded by loved ones. He was ready to die. Life had never been easy for him, but it was growing harder still now that he neared the end. God would never ask of him more than he could accomplish, though. Of that, he was certain.
After drawing in a breath, Hashim forced himself to sit up. It was the second time he had been out of bed that day, having already led his men through fajr earlier that morning. Some of the men had grumbled when Hashim woke them at dawn, but all of them understood their obligations to God. They were good boys. Some needed a firm
er hand than others, but that was to be expected. All men were different, and yet God had room for everyone under His tent.
Hashim cleared his throat and dressed before leaving the room. He and his son, Hamza, had arrived late the previous evening to find that the men had reserved the master bedroom for Hashim and a guest bedroom for Hamza. The rest of the men slept on sleeping bags and sofas throughout the house. At his age, Hashim appreciated the courtesy.
He stepped into the hallway and heard voices whispering from the kitchen. Hashim didn’t know who had rented the home, but it fit their needs. About twenty minutes west of Indianapolis, it sprawled across a wooded, ten-acre plot of land, giving them both the privacy and space needed to complete their mission. That it was comfortable after years spent in the Syrian desert was a very welcome bonus.
“As-salamu alaykum,” said Hamza, as Hashim entered the small kitchen. The young man Hamza had been speaking to stood straighter and repeated the greeting. Hashim smiled and put a hand on the young man’s arm gently.
“Wa alaykumu as-salam,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, but I’d like a moment of privacy with my son.”
“Of course, sir,” said the boy, picking up a coffee mug from the nearby counter and leaving. With its open architecture, the house afforded little privacy, but Hashim would take whatever he could get. The young man he had just met joined two others in the living room. Hashim watched them for a moment, before turning to his son.
“He’s young,” said Hashim.
“Sixteen,” said Hamza. “He’s a good boy, though. He understands the importance of our mission here. Are you feeling okay? I heard you coughing.”
“I’m fine,” said Hashim, waving away his son’s concern and glancing to the clock on the microwave. It was already after ten in the morning. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep in this late. We have work to do.”
“This work, I can supervise,” said Hamza. “I can’t replicate your leadership. God has given you a unique mission. You needed to sleep so you can better lead these men.”
Without thinking, Hashim felt something in him swell. He brought his hand to his son’s face and wistfully touched his cheek. It was an intimate gesture, a father to his beloved son. Then he dropped his hands to his side and took a step back.
“You are wiser than you have any right to be at your age,” he said. “You remind me of your ummi.”
Hamza smiled. “I do get most of my good traits from her. A few come from you, too, though.”
He meant it as a joke, but Hashim knew it was true. His deceased wife was the best woman he had ever met. He missed her every day and looked forward to seeing her again soon.
“How are things here?”
Hamza grunted and then reached for a coffee mug in a nearby cabinet. He poured Hashim a cup of black, steaming coffee and drew in a breath.
“They’ve had setbacks.”
Hashim nodded and sipped his drink. It was hot and bitter and thick, just as he liked it.
“Enough to endanger our mission?”
Hamza thought for a moment but then nodded.
“Yes, but there are contingency plans in place. They kept their supplies in a warehouse, but somehow a detective found it and tried to search it last night. They barely had enough time to burn the building before he got in.”
Hashim sighed and put his coffee on the counter. “Any losses?”
“Guns, timing devices, and explosives. Our losses were material but significant. Thankfully, we didn’t lose any of our soldiers.”
Hashim closed his eyes, feeling his frustration build. Then he exhaled slowly.
“God will provide for him from where he does not expect. And whoever relies upon God, then He is sufficient for him. Indeed, God will accomplish His purpose.”
Hamza nodded. “I know what the Quran says, but I’m still worried.”
“Tell me about this detective,” said Hashim. “How did he find us?”
“We don’t know much about him, but he’s a Muslim. Or at least he claims to be. His name is Ashraf Rashid.”
“If he were a Muslim, he would be with us here,” said Hashim, reaching for his coffee again. “He’s an apostate. If this country had laws, he’d be executed, and his corpse would be burned. We’ll deal with him ourselves. Are all of our soldiers here today?”
“The young men are here. The older men are at work.”
“Then get the young ones. I’d like to talk to them.”
Hamzah said he would. Hashim took his coffee to the dining room. His team had leased the home furnished, so he took a seat at the head of the dining table. Young men started shuffling in moments later. He knew their names from their Facebook accounts, and he recognized their faces from prayers that morning, but he hadn’t gotten to speak to any of them. He was proud of every one of them, though. Even at sixteen or seventeen years old, they were ready to give up their lives to make the world a better place. He wished he had possessed the same strength at their ages.
Hashim greeted each man with a handshake and a smile. There were nine men in total, and they came from all over the Midwest. Hashim had recruited each of them—along with a number of local men who were currently at work—online. He had recruited the soldiers who attacked Westbrook Elementary the same way. These young men had a job ahead of them that was even more daunting than the one in New Hampshire, but it came with rewards beyond their imaginations.
He put his coffee on the table and stood.
“My friends, thank you for coming,” he said. “I know it’s been a hardship for many of you to come here today. I’ve not known many of you very long—six months, a year at most—but each of you has impressed me in your own way. I am as proud of you men as I am of my own son, and that is truly high praise, for my son is a man of God.”
Most of the boys smiled and nodded, but their eyes darted around as well. They were nervous. Hashim understood it, but they had no reason to be nervous. Their place at God’s side was assured by their righteous actions. He smiled at them reassuringly.
“Many of you asked me whether I could bring you to Raqqa or the Euphrates River Valley after Raqqa fell. You wanted to join your brothers in the fight,” said Hashim, sweeping his eyes across the group. “I told you, though, that God had a plan for you, that you needed patience. This is the day you’ve been waiting for. This is the day God created you for.”
He paused and smiled at each man in the room. Now, none of them looked away nervously. In fact, they looked eager and excited. Good.
“The world is changing. I don’t need to tell you that. Our enemies are gathering strength. They’ve driven us from our homes in Iraq and Syria. They’ve murdered our friends. They’ve refused to allow us to worship God as He deserves. They’ve hurt us, but they haven’t broken us.”
Some of the boys nodded, while a few clapped. Hashim smiled good-naturedly.
“It’s your time to stand up. You will continue the fight your brothers started in New Hampshire. Your brothers struck a mighty blow against the infidels. We exposed their weakness. Now, we will show them our strength. We choose to fight them in their heartland. We will attack where they are weak. And make no mistake, we will win.”
Now, everyone in the room nodded and clapped.
“They’ll call us terrorists, but we’re not. Our goal isn’t to inflict terror,” said Hashim. “Our goal is to make them bleed. In New Hampshire, we committed a surgical strike designed to weaken their president. He’s locked himself in his rooms in the White House and hasn’t been seen since the attack. We’ve rendered the great man impotent.
“In Indianapolis, we will declare war. We will destroy their homes, we will shoot them in their streets, we will bury them in their places of business, and we will destroy their hospitals and schools. These aren’t empty boasts or false bravado. With your bravery and your talents, we will make it happen.
“I understand you’ve lost supplies and weapons recently. Know that God will always provide, though. Even now, my son is enablin
g our contingency plans. We will have trucks and guns and devices so fiendishly clever our enemy will never see them coming. The infidels may have hurt us, but they have not taken us down. Soon, they will know what it means to be hunted, and then their tears and blood will flood the earth.”
“SubhanAllah,” said Hamza.
Glory to God.
Hashim looked at his son and smiled as the other boys in the room shouted and stomped their feet like a football team at halftime.
“Allahu akbar.”
Hashim didn’t see who said it, but it turned into a chant that sped up with every passing moment. The boys needed a pep talk, and he was happy to give it. At the same time, he had work to do. He nodded to his son, who encouraged all but two preselected boys to disperse. Hashim smiled at them. They were older than some of the other boys, probably in their early twenties. From their conversations online, he knew they had skills he sorely needed. There should have been three, though. He looked at Hamza.
“Where’s our third team member?”
“It’s a long story,” said Hamza. “Suffice it to say, he’ll be here when we need him.”
Hashim didn’t like how that sounded, but he kept his disapproval hidden behind a smile. At this moment, his team needed to see a confident and strong leader. He looked to the first young man.
“Kamil,” said Hashim, holding out his hand to him. “I’m Hashim Bashear. I’ve enjoyed our chats online, and it’s an honor to finally meet you in person. I hear you’re quite the hunter.”
“I am,” said the boy, beaming. He had dark skin and hair and bright eyes. He was a handsome boy. If Hashim had a daughter, he might have introduced them. “I’m proud to be here.”
“And I’m proud to stand in front of you,” said Hashim, smiling. He turned his attention to the second boy. “And Daniel, it’s an honor to meet you as well. I understand you’re quite good with a bow and arrow.”
Daniel stood straighter as Hashim shook his hand.
“My parents thought I could go to the Olympics, but I was never good enough.”
Hashim reached forward and patted his cheek gently. “You’re more than good enough, my son. God has a special job for you and Kamil. Your brothers are destined to become martyrs on the streets. You, though, will hunt apostates. Where the other men in the house are hammers, you are scalpels. Truly, I envy the day you have ahead of you. Now come, we have much to discuss.”