‘Was Kareem trying to do the same? Just before he was taken away by Sam’s men he said something about telling someone … Was that you?’
‘Yes, I advised him to be careful but he was sure he could do it without being detected. Your mother and I confronted Sam about the unexplained transactions but got nowhere. Kareem helped her access the server and Sam found out about it. Her death was arranged to show what happens to those who opposed him and I’m sure there are others who have suffered the same fate.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Dad?’ Aazim moaned. ‘We could’ve handled it together.’
‘I couldn’t, Aazim. I had to protect you. He was watching my every move. You would have been in greater danger had he seen even the slightest change in you,’ Ilias explained. ‘Bringing you closer to him was a way of controlling me, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he disposed of both of us. Sam was well connected and only the sheik could stop him.’
‘So your holiday in Lebanon wasn’t really to catch up with old friends,’ Aazim stated flatly.
‘I lied and I’m sorry, but I had to make sure he believed it. It didn’t stop him sending thugs after me. There, no one would get suspicious if I ended up dead. I did everything to evade them and from Lebanon I made it across to Cairo. I told the sheik everything about Sam and I only had my word to back up my claims. He didn’t seem surprised. The Brotherhood had him sent to strengthen the company and keep him out of trouble. They were trying to distance themselves from a violent past, but Sam had other ideas. He used The Brotherhood for his own interests and respects no one.’
‘What did the sheik do?’
‘He sent a cleric, his right-hand man, to confront Sam personally. Even though the sheik’s in Egypt he has ears and eyes everywhere. Hanif, one of Sam’s men, is the sheik’s devoted follower. Hanif was his inside man and kept him informed of everything that was happening at the mosque. Sam was training hundreds of men in preparation for a war with the West, with a notion of a caliphate and him as the leader.’
‘He got away, we couldn’t stop him,’ Aazim said regrettably.
‘Don’t worry about him, he won’t be bothering us anymore.’
‘How do you know?’ Aazim asked, his face a question mark.
His father looked his son in the eyes and embraced him. ‘I just know, son.’
Still hazy from the drugs, Sam was struggling to adjust to the bright light directed at him.
‘Assalamu alaikum, brother Saeed,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Where am I?’ Sam’s vision returned and he recognised the man before him, the cleric who’d paid him a visit at the mosque. He realised he was strapped to a cold steel chair in a dark underground room resembling a cellar, only there were no bottles of wine. It was empty except for a stainless steel table with what looked like surgical implements resting on top. The cold air was damp and musty and lighting was to a minimum. Two shadowy men stood beside the cleric, staring stonily ahead, waiting for orders.
‘You are in Egypt.’
‘What am I doing here? How dare you do this to me?’ Sam shrieked. He thrashed and struggled in vain, wasting his energy and leaving him breathless.
Patiently the cleric waited for Sam to calm down before speaking. ‘You have conspired against the entire Brotherhood, Saeed. You have betrayed the sheik and desecrated the oath you took in the name of Islam. You’ve been observed for a long time. It’s truly unfortunate you caused much damage but the time wasn’t right to alter your course.’
‘This will not end with me, brother,’ Sam retorted, anger and hatred burning in his eyes. ‘My death won’t stop what I’ve begun. My men will carry on with the struggle, Islam will be united and the Khilafah will be restored whether you like it or not.’
‘Islam will unite without you. The Khilafah has already taken root and in time it will mature. Your impatient obsessions and selfish ambition have made you blind. Perhaps we’re all to blame: we placed our faith in the wrong man. And as for your men … They no longer walk this earth.’
‘No!’ Sam roared and jumped around violently, blood seeping through the seat from his torn skin. His dream had been crushed at the hands of ignorant fools. It couldn’t end like this, not like this. He screamed out to the cleric but his pleas were as futile as his predicament.
Unmoved, the cleric turned his back and instructed the men beside him. He left and they went to work.
Bill came home to find his office trashed: Barry’s men had given it a thorough going-over. He took out a half-empty bottle of scotch and sprawled on the couch. There wasn’t a muscle in his body that didn’t ache. He poured himself a shot and lit a cigarette, but he could feel a cough coming on so he decided against it and stubbed it out. He drifted off to sleep as the empty bottle fell on the floor and rolled away.
He was awoken in the morning by the phone. ‘Hello,’ he croaked as he stretched to pick it up, pain coursing through his muscles.
‘Mr McKane?’
‘Yes, speaking,’ he said, rubbing his forehead.
‘Bill McKane, the private investigator?’
‘Yes, that’s me,’ he said wearily.
‘I require your services. Is this a convenient time? I can call back later if you like.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘Well, it’s about my wife …’
While the man rambled on, Bill suddenly realised that for the first time in years he’d slept through the night without waking up from a nightmare.
Steve Jovanoski is an Australian born writer who lives and works in Melbourne. At the age of one, his parents took him and his older brother back to their native country of Macedonia (then Yugoslavia), where the family lived for ten years before returning to Melbourne. He was enrolled in primary school without any knowledge of English, but like all children he quickly mastered the language. Through exposure to a wide range of literature he developed a love of books (and soccer), and as his vocabulary improved so did his writing skills. As he grew older, and as computers became more affordable, the internet became a new medium to explore, and what began as a hobby later turned into a successful career. Steve’s twenties were a journey of exploration. With the attitude of giving anything a go, he took to exotic locations. One memorable adventure was trekking 170 kilometres through the Annapurna range in Nepal, and another was a trip to Cuba, where he embedded himself in the local population to glimpse the strength people took from faith and music. On his visits to over twenty eight countries, he has put pen to paper whenever the chance has presented itself. Today, his incessant appetite for reading has almost become an obsession. With a number of books on the go at any one time – six piled up on the bedside table, four in his study, one in his living room and one that goes wherever he goes – there’s never a moment when Steve’s not reading.
First published in Australia 2010 by Sid Harta Publishers Pty Ltd
This electronic edition published by PocketRocket Press
PocketRocketpress.com Copyright © Steve Jovanoski 2010
www.stevejovanoski.com
Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design
The right of Steve Jovanoski to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to that of people living or dead are purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The Brotherhood
Jovanoski, Steve
ISBN: 1921642521 EAN13: 978-1921642-52-4
pp242
THE BROTHERHOOD Page 21