by Milam,Vince
The man took the granite steps two at a time up into the Lincoln Memorial. He halted once to look behind him at Zuhdi, who also climbed the long steps. The stranger flashed a malevolent smile, discernible under the memorial’s interior lights.
Zuhdi approached the entrance, hand rested on his holstered pistol. The vast interior space, wrapped around the imposing twenty-foot-high statue of a seated Abraham Lincoln, was empty except for the stranger, who now stood in one of the alcoves beneath the Gettysburg Address carved into granite. The stranger neither turned as he approached nor acknowledged his presence.
Zuhdi stopped twenty feet away from the man and waited. His heart told him a member of ISIS stood before him. He wavered on the edge of taking this guy down, but held back. Rather than move and initiate arrest, this environment presented an opportunity to try and understand the mindset, the fanaticism, behind the evil. There has to be something. Something I can grasp. Understand.
“I’ve come here often,” the man said. He turned to Zuhdi, and his face displayed a young Middle Eastern countenance. “Words with no truth. No meaning.” He turned back to view the stone-carved words. “A nation dedicated to a proposition.”
“That all men are created equal.” Zuhdi spoke low, firm. If he could draw this man out, he might glean insights to this insanity.
“Only Allah decides such things,” the man said as he shook his head and continued to stare at the letters. “These are foolish words.”
“And your belief?” Zuhdi asked.
The man ignored his question. “A government of, by, and for the people. What people? Infidels, apostates?”
Zuhdi stepped closer, absorbed. Their voices echoed off granite, the memorial still, quiet.
“Tell me of your hatred. The source you draw from. Does it burn bright?” Zuhdi asked. His radio crackled with voice traffic, and both men ignored it. This guy knows I’m the law. He knows, and doesn’t give a damn.
“Shall not perish from the earth? The rule of man? Apostasy! It shall perish! Only the anointed by Allah will govern!” The man shook with rage as spittle formed at the edges of his mouth. An insanity glowed within the man’s eyes, his face contorted.
“And what of hate?” Zuhdi repeated and moved closer. “Hate for all others.”
“It is righteous action!” the man said as he turned full-on toward Zuhdi. “Required action! This world,” he said and paused to point at the words of Abraham Lincoln. “This world will fall and we will rule!”
“That’s not going to happen.” Zuhdi could detect no rationality, nothing resembling lucid thought. Discourse and negotiation were meaningless to this man and the thousands like him.
The man’s right hand withdrew from his jacket pocket. A six-inch knife flipped open; he waved it to and fro, and grinned with a deep sickness. The memorial lights reflected off the bright blade.
Zuhdi drew his semiautomatic pistol and gripped it with both hands. His voice steady, he continued to talk. “I’m Muslim, you pathetic scum. Tell me where I fit into your sick version of Islam.”
The young man’s response was to charge Zuhdi, leading with his knife. The DHS chief fired three times in quick succession while he sidestepped the rushing killer, who stumbled to the ground. The booming gunshots echoed off the high marble walls of the memorial. Blood dripped from the bullet wounds and the man pushed himself back to his feet, wobbled, and prepared to attack again.
“Tell me!” Zuhdi cried. “Tell me where this madness comes from!”
The jihadist charged again, and was met by two more Zuhdi Kouri bullets. He collapsed and bled out on the white granite floor of the Lincoln Memorial. His eyes locked with Zuhdi’s and continued to display a vile rage.
Zuhdi stood over him and leaned toward the terrorist’s face to hear the dying man say, “We will not stop. Holy war will continue.”
Zuhdi leaned closer, eyes locked. “On your way to hell, remember this,” Zuhdi said, cold and definitive. “We win, you bastards lose.”
Chapter 43
Medical staff wheeled Francois from surgery to a recovery room. Cole and Nadine accompanied him.
The surgeon explained the wound was less serious than originally thought, and answered their questions as best she could.
“He’s extremely lucky,” she said. “When we assessed damage, we found the blade had missed vital organs and major arteries. A very, very lucky man.”
“So he’ll be alright?” Nadine asked. “He’ll recover?”
“The short answer is yes,” the surgeon said. “With qualifiers. He’ll need to take it easy for a while, and there is always the danger of infection. But yes, I believe your friend will recover.”
They both fist pumped the air, then hugged, hard, drained and relieved. They thanked the doctor and settled back to stay with Francois. He remained under anesthesia, Nadine perused her tablet computer for news and information, and Cole—now attired in a hospital scrubs shirt—sat back to think.
Over two hundred fellow Americans murdered at random. Mercy. And now it had ended, thank God. For how long remained a big question, but for the moment it was over. At some point those jihadists would come back, joined by demonic assistance. It was a matter of time, but for now their efforts had been stopped. Chalk one up to the good guys.
He’d talked with Jean and Nick prior to Francois’s release from surgery. The reports indicated no life-threatening injuries. Jean had punched back with ferocity, and Jude’s assailant now resided in the county morgue. Jean had asserted the pastor’s head wound was minor, but Cole had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be treated as such. Luke had charged the young woman as she fired at him and suffered a shoulder wound. Nick explained the situation as one of remarkable courage on Luke’s part. The young DHS agent had sounded different—more mature, less cocksure.
Francois would recover. The doctor said he’d be conscious within the hour, and to alert the staff when it happened. Too close, Cole thought. Too close for comfort. He’d left the priest in the driveway, a mistake on his part. Should’ve stuck to him like glue. In a hurry to check on Nadine. No excuse.
Nadine had opted to carry the burden, find the terrorists, and stop the madness. Typical, and there stood not a thing on earth to dissuade her from that mindset. But this effort had torn her up, and she teetered on the edge. Nadine had been a rock, an anchor, during their past quests. She’d never vacillated, never changed her bull-headed approach, and never lost her surety until this hellish attack. Her health had deteriorated, her usual bright outlook on life tossed in the dumpster, and Cole feared she might slip into a serious clinical depression. For the first time since he’d known her, she showed weakness, vulnerability, he hadn’t recognized. Likely always there, son. You’re too damn dumb to have seen it.
Their relationship, when it was “on,” had filled a need. A need for comfort and stability and common ground in their world of outright weirdness as they traveled with Francois around the globe, battling demons. It was an island of reality that didn’t have a lot of room for others. She provided him a sense of normalcy.
He missed her. There, lay it out and let it dry. Cole longed for her well beyond the common ground of battle against hellish forces. His grown daughters had been excited to hear he had started to date Nadine. They had encouraged him for years to get out more. They’d instructed him to buy new clothes, which didn’t make a lick of sense since his wardrobe was just fine, thank you. They’d even joked with him about intimacy with Nadine. Mercy, you talk about weird—to hear such stuff from your daughters.
He glanced at her as she interacted with the tablet computer. The room smelled of disinfectant, and Francois’s monitoring equipment sent out electronic clicks.
His heartache reflected the loss of their easy give-and-take conversations, and the smell of her hair when they kissed. He missed the evenings together, the flat screen tuned to Pandora, and each would look up at random intervals while they shared the couch, her laptop open and his paperback the same. They shared s
hort, soft comments—maybe about the music, maybe about the things each of them had read, or life in general. They sat opposite each other, both with their legs up on the couch and on top of each other. He’d rest a hand on her ankle while he consumed a historical novel and she’d reach down and grab his socked foot and give it three twists—a simple gesture of affection and “happy you’re here.” Man, he missed that.
And the other part as well. A yawn or closing of the laptop or dropping of the book to the floor signaled one or the other or both were ready to call it a day. Sometimes he’d initiate the embrace, filled with intent and affection. But the best, bar none, was when she’d draw her feet under herself, display a wry and playful smile, and crawl across the couch to lie on top of him. Man, she was one amazing kisser.
“Oh, mercy,” he said, unintentionally.
“What?” Nadine asked.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Francois asked, his eyes open as he inspected his surroundings.
“Francois!” Nadine bounced from her chair and sat on the edge of his bed. Her hand stroked his cheek.
“Hey, amigo, how you doing?” Cole asked.
Francois smiled at his dearest friends, and again inspected his surroundings. “The person who attacked me? It is unclear as to his outcome.”
Cole shared a quick look with Nadine. “He’s gone,” Cole said. “What’s important is the docs said you’ll make a full recovery. No vital innards were injured.”
“Innards?”
“Your insides,” Nadine said. “You’re going to be okay.”
Cole left to tell the staff Francois was conscious and talking. A nurse and physician soon joined them.
“I understand you’re a priest,” the doctor said as he checked Francois’s vital signs. “A very lucky one, at that. A half-inch either way and the blade would have killed you.” The physician checked Francois’s chart. “Maybe God was on your side.”
“By my side, Docteur. Be most assured. Is one permitted to smoke in this facility?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“A pity. And for how long am I to remain here?”
“A couple of days. Are you in a big rush to leave?”
Even from his hospital bed, Francois delivered a classic Gallic shrug. When the medical staff left, Cole explained recent events. Francois absorbed the information, asked with particulars the state of Jude and Luke, and sighed.
“A most peculiar quest, mon amis. I am unable to resolve my lack of participation. I fail to understand my involvement or that of Jude and Luke.”
“Y’all kept kicking the hornet’s nest, near as I can figure,” Cole said. “And the hornets came after you.”
“You have to rest,” Nadine said. “We’ve got plenty of time to talk later. Cole and I are right here. Just rest, Francois.”
The priest made a mild adjustment of his position, groaned, and closed his eyes. He began to snore lightly.
Cole scooted his chair closer to Nadine’s, and they spoke in quiet tones. “What’s the latest?” Cole asked, pointing at Nadine’s tablet computer. It was past midnight and the manhunt remained intense.
“Sixteen of the eighteen found. They kept their cell phone GPS activated. Dumbasses. None of them surrendered.”
“Killed?”
“Yeah. The other two have used their phones and we’ve identified their last known locations,” Nadine said. “One in the D.C. area. And one here. Houston.”
Cole sat straight and moved closer to Nadine. His voice lowered and became hard, flat. “You sure about the last one?”
Nadine confirmed the location of the terrorist within the largest city in Texas. “We may try to ring the two cell phones, get them to answer, keep them on the line, and pinpoint their location. It’s a risk and could alert them to us tracking them.”
“He’s hunting you. The one in Houston.”
She locked eyes with him and shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” Whatever forces were at play, Cole understood the personal nature of the situation. A borderline bit player during their past quests, he had aided Francois and Nadine, and done what he could. Francois took the demonic elements head-on, and Nadine provided answers as no one else could. Cole was part of the team but had no illusions as to his importance. I’ve done some good things, helping them. But I’m damn sure not the same threat to them as Francois and Nadine. The Enemy had sent a killer after Francois. Now another one, directed at Nadine.
He was meant to be a protector of their small band. The Three Musketeers. The surety of this mission rang strong and true. Fine. So be it. Time to end this.
“Gotta go,” he said. “Gotta get to your place.”
Nadine argued against it and explained the massive law enforcement effort underway. Every road within fifty miles of Houston would have local, state, and federal vehicles. Choppers and fixed-wing aircraft circled the area.
“They’ve got it covered,” she said. “Believe me.”
“Can’t cover a city of this size. You and I both know it. And if he doesn’t use his phone again, it’s back to square one. He’s headin’ to your place, Nadine. You, me, and Francois would be the only folks to understand it. But there it is.”
They continued to argue in hushed tones, Cole on the edge of his chair, prepared to stand and leave. Nadine became more irritated, and accused him of recklessly endangering his life.
In the midst of the strident conversation, Nadine’s expression changed to wonderment. She lifted her chin toward Francois’s bed.
A light, subtle and luminescent, began to show warm and comforting on the floor beneath Francois. It grew, expanded, and climbed the sides of the bed, more distinct, with sparkled rays like northern lights flowing upward.
The sight transfixed Cole. Nadine whispered, “Cole! The door!”
A dark vapor, smoke-like, entered around the edges of the closed door and hung in the air, moved, and developed small fingers of black mist. The door itself transformed to a deep orange haze with ripples of crimson red, without depth or definition. It bulged inward, toward them, radiating hateful energy.
A presence, dark and demonic, sent fingers of malevolence into the room, then hesitated. The soothing light around Francois gained intensity as tiny sparkles of pure white-bright energy expanded. The field of undiluted radiance washed over Cole and Nadine, hovered, and protected.
The light encapsulated Cole and he lost all fear inside the vibrant, loving glow. The doorway, offensive and filled with an intense abomination, showed more indistinct and began to fade. He reached for Nadine’s hand, and pulled her toward Francois. Together they clasped hands and stood next to their sleeping friend. The powerful brilliance continued to swirl and reach and expand.
The doorway creaked and groaned as the tendrils of dark mist pulled back with the ripped scream of wood torn asunder. The fiery orange glow dwindled, retreated, and disappeared.
The surrounding luminescence became more indistinct and concentrated on Francois, then faded. Cole and Nadine both checked their exposed skin as if they had been dipped in a pool of righteousness. They hugged, speechless.
A full minute passed, Francois continued to snore, and they gently separated. “Talk about pulling out the big guns!” Cole said, aware his mouth hung open.
“Oh, man. Unbelievable! I mean, believable, but oh, man!” Nadine said.
Cole walked to the door and inspected it. He opened it and checked the hallway. A nurse’s station thirty feet away showed two staffers chatting, unaware.
Cole didn’t close the door as he turned to Nadine. “Francois is protected. You, too. I’m heading to your place.”
“You can’t leave,” she said. “Not now.”
His role in this mess had never been clearer. They’d thrown the kitchen sink at Francois, both physically and spiritually—failing each time. Now they were coming for Nadine. Enough. Time to make a stand. Unknown to the Houston terrorist, Nadine would be absent. But Cole Garza wouldn’t be.
“No. Please. Not now. They’re out there, waiting. No, Cole.”
“They” is right. And if one of “them” is around, well, I’ll just have to deal with it. This possibility struck him hard and fast—a confrontation he’d had before, without satisfactory resolution.
He took another glance down the hallway and turned to her. “So you know, I do love you, Nadine. Really, honestly, love you. It’s not the only reason I have to do this, but it’s the biggest one. Stay with Francois. I’m going to end this thing.”
He closed the door and headed for battle.
Chapter 44
Check waited for morning. He’d received the seven sets of coordinates from Nadine late in the day, his time, and the ISIS offices in Raqqa would have emptied. He spent the time positioning his assets.
As high tech eagles on updrafts, unmanned Predator drones circled all over the Middle East. Loitering at high altitude for twelve hours at a stretch, their ground operators landed them at remote airfields to refuel and sent them off again. Each of the drone’s two Hellfire missiles were capable of striking a target with remarkable accuracy.
He’d pulled air assets from Iraq and Lebanon, bringing the total number of Predator drones over Raqqa to seven. Fourteen Hellfire missiles now programmed with seven locations. Two missiles would hit each ISIS office. It’s the only way to be sure, he thought, and chuckled at the reference to an old movie.
His boss in D.C. had called him over the large repositioning.
“I understand you’ve moved a number of assets,” his boss had said.
“Right.”
“Mind telling me why?” his boss asked.
“Nadine May.”