Misguided: The Jesus Assassin

by Jason E. Fort

  “Got something pretty local for you guys…just down the road in Dearborn. Eight bodies…one witness…and snakes,” McCoy began.

  “Snakes?” questioned a puzzled Agent Knox.

  McCoy continued, “The reason I am putting you two on this is because apparently, some Christian out there didn’t like the Imam at the Islamic Center of America. The Imam was found dead in his condo this morning. Cause of death is unknown for him as of yet, but it appears similar to the victims found next door in the adjoining condo. That’s where the snakes come in – the one witness saw the snakes in the room and froze, while everyone else in the room panicked and apparently died from the bites. Apparently, when she realized that the snakes had found a crack in the closet door and a place to hide under the bed nearby, she made a run for it out the bedroom door and ran to a neighbor’s house with nothing but a couple of pillows. When hearing about the snakes, Animal Control was brought out to wrangle them before investigating the deaths any further. The Animal Control officer captured and identified three black mambas. All seven of the victims – two males, five females – died from snake bites. The young Arabic girl who escaped was very lucky.”

  Agent White spoke up, “Sir, where does the scene fit the bill for a hate crime?”

  The SAC replied, “Well, the seven who died from the snake bites don’t. But the Imam was found, lying down with his hands over his chest – with a gold cross in his right hand. But that is not the only reason we are picking this up. Although it hasn’t been publicized, our sources say that a similar incident has occurred in Egypt. An Imam was found dead in his palace, dead and holding a cross. We might have some strange religious serial killer on our hands.”

  Knox nodded in understanding and interjected, “The Egyptian media is probably being controlled by law enforcement and not letting the story leak out. But you know over here, it’s only a matter of time. I guess we better get over there quick, before some over-zealous reporter gets wind of the murders.”

  SAC McCoy finished, “I texted both of you the address. It turns out that because of the snakes, and the time Animal Control officers had trying to catch them, you can probably still get over to the crime scene before everyone clears out and leaves the property all taped off.”

  Knox and White got up from their seats and headed out McCoy’s office, when the SAC did something nobody would have thought was possible; he said something witty.

  He smiled on their way out and said, “I am counting on you two lovebirds – just don’t make me regret keeping you two together on this.”

  He winked at both of them as his door closed behind them. Agents Knox and White glanced at each other worriedly for a moment, but then Knox just shrugged it off and went to fetch his sports jacket off the back of his chair in his cubicle. Agent White was a little more concerned, but knew time was of the essence, and took off down the hall after her partner. Thus began a mission to capture the Jesus Assassin – a mission that would impact both Agents Knox and White more than either would have thought possible.

  9

  Dearborn, Michigan

  Unit #501

  Agent Knox knelt over the Imam’s body. The body still lay in the same position, holding the cross close to his heart.

  Knox looked up at his partner; “This is crazy. Whoever did this was very deliberate. This was personal. Look at the look of peace the killer left on the victim’s face. If you know anything about Islam, you would know how offensive this would be to their religion – and yet our murderer left the Imam looking as if he were at peace with the situation,” he finished.

  Agent White replied, “You’re right about that. But what I want to know is how he pulled this off. Did you see the razor wire on top of the wall in the back? Also, the sheer size of the bodyguards next door – they’d be enough of a deterrent for anybody, unless we’re talking about a real professional.”

  Agent Knox stood up and carefully walked around the room. Nothing looked out of the ordinary to Knox. But the careful eye of his partner glanced at the walk-in closet. The doors on the closet were fold-away doors on a track in the top of the doorway; White noticed one was closed all the way, while the other door was pushed open.

  She walked over to the closet. “I think our murderer waited to strike from here.”

  She took out a small flashlight from her inside jacket pocket and shined it around the inside of the closet. It looked like several of the clothes hanging in the closet had been disturbed.

  “From the looks of it, I’d say our killer is of a large frame. I could hide in this closet without messing up those clothes too much, but someone about your size would make a mess of the place. Let’s get the forensic boys to come and scrounge around for any hairs on the clothing that doesn’t match with the Imam,” Agent White said.

  Knox looked at the closet and shook his head. “See, Beth, that’s why it’s good to have you around. Guy like me is sure to miss a detail like the closet. He probably got in here hours before the Muslim. If I were a betting man, I’d say our guy came in over the fence somehow. The two behemoths from next door would have been too watchful of the front of the house for him to just stroll in from there.”

  Agent White responded, “Excuse me, what makes you think our killer is a guy? And speaking of our two behemoths, any word on how to tell where the snakes that were used came from?”

  Knox shook his head. “Come on Beth, you just said a person my size. I’d hate to meet a woman my size; especially one willing to covertly kill religious leaders. I spoke to one of the Animal Control officers. He said that one of the black mambas had a belly scale with a small burn mark located in the typical spot zoos and conservatories mark their serpents. He thinks whatever number was there was intentionally burned off. As for the other snakes, he thinks they were acquired on the black market. Snakes that exotic – and dangerous - would not be easy to get hands on without some major cash and connections.”

  The federal agents both looked over the victim’s body. Agent Knox tried to see part of the body’s legs and arms, pushing up the legs of the robes as well as the sleeves. He saw no signs of injury. He gently rolled the Imam’s head over to one side and pushed the thick beard out of the way as he ran his gloved fingers over his neck. Seeing no injuries, he turned the body’s head the other way. There on the left side of the Imam’s neck was a deep bluish-black bruise all radiating out from a single point.

  “Whatcha wanna bet that the same stuff that killed the people next door was injected directly into this guy’s artery?” Agent Knox added.

  White nodded her head and added, “Definitely not a snake bite like the ones found on the victims next door. So we’ve got a collection of crime victims, but no real criminal evidence pointing at anybody! What do we do now?”

  Agent Knox shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Well, the one witness from the next unit was worthless because she said there was nothing but panic in the room once everyone was awake. She said that she just happened to wake up in a position difficult for the snakes to reach her. She remembers nothing about any strange persons sneaking into the house. That leaves us back to square one. I think all we can do is wait.”

  “Do you think this guy is just getting started?” asked the female fed.

  “Not only do I think this guy is just getting started,”- continued Knox, “but I think if he is as good as I think he is, he might be a few steps ahead of us for a while.”

  10

  Virginia

  Somewhere in the Shenandoah Valley

  The agent slowly lifted the large plastic lid and carefully slid it slightly to the side, giving him enough room to slide in the long snake hook towards the black mamba’s head. It was part of the tricky and arduous task of obtaining snake venom for his new trade. The mamba had been in the cooler, shadier corner of his terrarium, so he was more docile than he had been the last time he was handled. The man’s hands had gotten used to being gentle with the snakes while still using just the right moves to
detain the dangerous head and lightning-quick strike. With his left hand he placed the flat end of the snake hook down at the back of the snake’s head and held him down just firm enough so that it could not rise up and lash out at him. With the right hand he firmly grasped the snake just behind the bottom jaw and carefully squeezed the neck and head just hard enough to immobilize it. He let the snake hook fall down to the outside of the tank as he then reached over to the shelf nearby and grabbed a small glass beaker with a thin membrane of latex stretched over the top of it. He carefully put the lip of the beaker up near the snake’s mouth as its jaws were open, trying desperately to bite any part of its handler but unable to move its head. He finally got the top of the latex membrane parallel with the top jaw of the snake as its fangs penetrated the thin layer and it tried to put its potent venom into the animal whose thin skin it thought it had just pierced through. A small thin line of a viscous yellowish orange liquid began to trickle down the side of the beaker.

  At the same time, sweat began to trickle down the man’s forehead as he tried to get every bit of venom he could out of the snake. “Sweating bullets” was the term that came to mind, as he remembered a scene from the re-runs of his daughter’s favorite show, The Crocodile Hunter. Steve Irwin had been her hero, and he couldn’t help but think of the old episode when Irwin wrangled a black mamba with his bare hands – the very scene that inspired him to use the deadly serpent in his new mission. Irwin had used the phrase “sweating bullets” as he held the snake out at maximum arm’s length, the snake trying to strike him on the inner thigh. The agent couldn’t imagine trying to mess with one of these things with bare hands – he was sweating enough just trying to get poison from the creature in a somewhat controlled setting while using tools. But then that was a good thing; he knew that if this ever started to ‘get easy’, that would open the door to complacency. That was something he could not tolerate. He focused back on the task at hand. He got every last drop of venom into the beaker, then carefully popped the snake’s fangs out of the latex. He slowly placed the snake back in his terrarium, and held him there as he grabbed the snake hook with his left hand. He planted the hook down on the back of the snake’s neck, and with speed and agility like the snake in the tank, he quickly let go of the snake’s head with his right hand and withdrew the hook from the tank. He put the plastic lid back on the box and secured it into place. There were several small holes cut into the top of the lid so the snake could get plenty of air, but it was of sound enough strength that the large snake couldn’t bust out. He left the beaker of venom on the shelf; he would deal with it later. He had other important tasks to tend to, such as writing in his journal.

  He left the warm, tropical air of the small building he used to house his snake collection, and went to cool off on the screen porch that encircled the quaint yellow house overlooking the wide open valley pond. He had brought his journal with him after returning from his last mission; he had decided it was time to get out to his family home to clear his mind and reflect on what he had accomplished, as well as focus on his plans for the future. He took out his journal from the small shelf underneath the coffee table in the center of the porch. He grabbed a pen from a coffee mug sitting on the mantle over near the wall and sat down in an old hickory rocking chair and began to write. The words came easy to him because of the relaxing breeze drifting in through the screen, and the sound of the rustling leaves and branches surrounding the cottage.

  Entry #29, April 14, 2016

  Lord God Almighty, I am continuing your work. I killed another Imam; another holy leader of the blasphemous religion they call Islam. Shortly before acquiring my target(s), through my worldly job I learned of the ties between the target and a widely known terrorist group out of Egypt. In my last assignment I learned several names of supposedly peaceful Muslims who have ties to the same group. Of course after learning what I needed to know, I gave all the information pertaining to the evil terrorists to the appropriate authorities in the Army like I am supposed to. Hopefully they will deal with those agents of evil accordingly, while I deal with mine. I want to thank you for the success you’ve given me thus far, Lord. But I also request that you continue to bless the mission. Please give me courage and wisdom to stay ahead of the Enemy. Thank you again Lord for the connections and means to pull off everything I’ve done. I pray you only forgive me for the possibly innocent lives lost at the other condo on the last mission, Lord. In my worldly job, the lives of the women lost would be called collateral damage, but Father I know that there is a chance the women could have been forced in the position they were in. For that I am sorry – but I had to kill the bodyguards. I had the means, and they were warriors for the Enemy that could cause harm to other Christians in the future. Lord I pray you give me the fortitude to accomplish the next mission; it will take me into dangerous lands, and I can only make it through You who gives me strength. I pray all of this in Jesus’ name –

  Amen.

  Just as he closed the journal, his pager went off. He didn’t have any one supervisor he reported to; he just took calls as they came. This one came from an encrypted number, but the message on the pager was short and sweet. It gave him geographical coordinates for a rendezvous point and a time to be on board a plane – it was up to him to get there. Of course, with the resources his country had so aptly given to him - that was only a matter of flight time. He was off on his next worldly mission; to help prepare him for his next objective for God.

  11

  Detroit, Michigan

  FBI Agent Jon Knox’s Apartment

  He laid there with his eyes open and stared up at the ceiling in his dark bedroom. It was 6:00 a.m. and his alarm had gone off exactly five minutes earlier. Agent Knox was about to get up and face the day, when his cell phone rang on the night stand by his head. He turned over groggily and picked up the phone.

  He hit the green box on the touch screen and answered, “Hello.”

  The voice on the other end of the line replied, “Agent Knox, you don’t know me, but I am sure we were bound to meet eventually. I am sure you’ve started working on the case of the Imam that was assassinated near you.”

  Knox piped in, “You’ve got my attention – not too many people know about the case just yet. It hasn’t been revealed to the media. Who the heck are you?”

  The international police officer on the line answered, “The name is Malik…Malik Sharif. I work for Interpol, and I have been investigating an eerily similar case over in Cairo. I was wondering if we could meet.”

  After hearing a rundown of what happened in Egypt, Knox told the Interpol agent that he would meet him. He was curious as to how this guy from Interpol got to the states so fast; he mentioned that the murder in Cairo had only occurred a week ago. He got up out of bed and headed to the bathroom. On his way to the shower, he dialed up his partner, Beth.

  She picked up on the third ring, “Agent White – go ahead.”

  Knox chuckled and asked, “Why so serious? Hope you didn’t have any big breakfast plans – we have a meeting.”

  Beth was smiling on the other end; she always needed Knox to bring her back down to Earth.

  “A meeting? With whom?” she asked.

  Knox couldn’t believe how alert she was at this time of morning; she sounded like she had been awake for a while.

  “A guy from Interpol – Malik Sharif. Sounds like Interpol is dealing with the same guy we are; a killer left the same trademarks with a victim of similar social status over there in Cairo…you know – Egypt,” Knox answered blandly.

  He kept going, “I don’t know if I like the possibility of having to work with Interpol on this, but after such a lack of evidence with the Imam in Dearborn, I told him we’d give it a shot.”

  White replied, “John, you know it might just be a smart move. This Malik might have some insight that we don’t.”

  Agent Knox sighed; “I suppose you’re right. It’s just – his name bothers me. I think he might be a Muslim.
I mean don’t get me wrong; that might not be a big deal, but obviously our killer has it out for Muslims. What if this Agent Sharif can’t be objective about the case?”

  Beth responded kindly, “Sweetheart – must I remind you that you are a Christian. At least, that’s what you have been preaching to me. He might wonder if you can be objective, if he finds out what you believe.”

  Knox spoke back to her defensively, “Honey – I thought we talked about this. You sounded like you had no issues with my faith”-she cut him off.

  “John, relax. I am not saying anything is wrong with being a Christian, but you are going to have to open your mind and be objective about this, too,” she finished.

  Agent Knox was lost in thought for a few moments. His partner was right; he was a Christian. He knew in his mind that the man they were after was a Christian. How could he look objectively at this case? He and his partner Beth had been dating for about two months now, and one of the things she said attracted her to him the most was his faith. She said that although she grew up in a Catholic family, they were not devout attenders at Mass. She had told him one night at dinner that she didn’t know what it was like not to worry about things; that’s why she analyzed everything. But she knew Knox was different. She said that the way he just rolled with the punches, and never acted worried, was confusing to her. So she had asked him how he did it that night, and that’s when he started opening up to her about his faith. Knox told Beth that night by a candle light dinner that he was at peace about his future because his life was in the hands of something – someone – much greater than himself. He told her that although he had grown up in a Christian home, he had grown up in a life of struggling with the burden of a bad temper; real anger issues that he knew he inherited from his father. He told her that losing his temper had more than once gotten him in serious trouble, and it started eating away at his soul. He had started to feel like he wasn’t worth anything; that his temper was going to scare all the people he loved away. Then one day in high school he happened to be sitting in the back of a little church in a small town, and a young minister had said the words that he needed to hear. But he had gone on to explain to her that he didn’t feel like the minister was saying the words.