Malik raised an eye brow, confused at the clever look in Knox’s eyes.
“How’d you like to join the FBI?”
41
Hatteras Island, North Carolina
Town of Buxton
Against the doctor’s better judgment, Agent Knox was informed that provided certain medical protocols were adhered to, Malik could be flown to the funeral on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. On the way out to the Outer Banks, Knox took care of the essential medical needs of Malik, such as changes of wound dressing, or making sure he was well fed (At least he could feed himself with his one good hand).
The funeral service was at the same location as Beth’s burial; a quaint cemetery outside a small Methodist Church in the middle of a small unincorporated community called Buxton. There were several family members gathered under a tent. There were also several federal agents from the Detroit Field Office in Michigan. SAC Jones McCoy had made special arrangements with Agent White’s parents. He knew that the area where Beth’s parents lived was off the radar of national media attention, and he also knew that Agent White deserved whatever the FBI could afford to give to honor her bravery and sacrifice.
Although Beth had grown up Catholic, her parents had become Protestants in their old age. Beth was just so tied up in her work ever since she lost her brother, she just didn’t always make the time and effort to travel to the Outer Banks of North Carolina – where her parents had decided to settle down.
Several people stood, or sat, up front with Beth’s casket. Her parents were closest to the casket, along with several friends of the family who had known both Beth and her brother. Then there was McCoy, her boss for several years, who had hand-picked her for his office as a rookie, and watched her mature and blossom, and find her true but opposite equal in John Knox. Then there was Agent John Knox, standing next to a heavily bandaged and well-casted Inspector Malik Sharif. There was a small, intelligent pastor, who said some warm words as he addressed the crowd in attendance. There was a bag piper, who played the traditional music heard at most law enforcement funerals. Then there was the folding of a flag. After the flag was folded, it was given over to the SAC, Special Agent in Charge McCoy. Knox stood behind Malik’s wheelchair with the utmost respect to honor this somber moment…the SAC walked up to Beth’s parents. He knelt down in front of Mr. and Mrs. White.
“Mr. and Mrs. White…it is with great respect and honor that the FBI give you this flag in honor of Beth’s great service to her country – with great fidelity, bravery, and integrity. Thank you for sharing her with us.”
McCoy handed the small, tightly folded up bundle of American Flag over to Beth’s father. The bag pipes started up, and the salt air and wind carried the mix of high and low notes across the small town of Buxton – past the little bait shops, past the pier, past the little beach houses nearby. Beth White had gone on to be with the Lord, and Knox knew in his heart of hearts that she was in a better place than this.
42
Greenville, South Carolina
The Islamic Mosque of the Upstate
Robert Brady had accomplished 11 mission objectives. Several weeks went by, and he had let his trail grow cold. He knew the FBI was frustrated; they had come so close to catching him in Greensboro. He attributed everything to God’s timing. Although he regretted the shooting of the federal agent that happened as the Activity had tried to take him out, he felt like it was simply God’s will that he succeed in escaping the grips of the US government.
After a few weeks on the run down the convenient Interstate 85, Brady had taken the opportunity to learn the lay of the land in Charlotte, North Carolina. He had discovered a large mosque not far from the professional football stadium located in the heart of the city. He took his time learning the habits and rituals of the different worshippers and leaders that attended the mosque. In the weeks since he had left the sewage treatment plant in Greensboro in a Chevy van, he had acquired a new Jeep. Of course it was stolen…he had conveniently jumped in at a gas station when an innocent young college girl had abandoned her Jeep Wrangler to run in and pick out some junk food and energy drinks for her little road trip to see a friend. The bright young lady had left her engine running and everything, and the Jesus Assassin was a resourceful – and observant – individual. When she casually walked back to her Jeep and looked back up from her cell phone, she was in awe that her Jeep had just vanished. It took her nearly two minutes in a conversation on her phone with her friend to realize that perhaps her Jeep had been stolen.
Brady treasured the moments he had taken in Charlotte to stalk the head imam of the mosque, and follow him back to his home. He had watched the imam feed his dogs and take them out before bed. He had watched the imam lock his doors and had seen the lights go out at his front door. The assassin reminisced the joy of breaking into the home, quietly making his way through motion sensors; he knew where the infrared beams would aim in the room and where they wouldn’t. He carefully took the cautious path to the imam’s bedroom. He had simply walked over to the side of the bed and killed him in the same manner as his second target; no resistance – no sound. He had committed the perfect silent kill…the way his government had taught him to do. When he left back out the front door in the dead of night, he had the sudden sensation that he was being watched. He had looked around for any sign of a vehicle, or hiding place that the Activity may have hidden their hit-man. Although he saw no one at the time, he had quickly ventured back to his Jeep, and swiftly drove off down the road. Little did he know that the Arbiter had followed soon after, and was still on his trail.
Brady sat in the stolen jeep now, staring across the four lane highway at the mosque. It was a short warehouse-shaped building, but with a green tin roof topped with a strange gold dome and crescent moon. He had been studying this imam’s habits for the past two days, and he had discovered that the overweight bearded man was quite the insomniac. He would come to the mosque at odd hours of the night, go inside, and come back out an hour or so later.
He had watched the imam walk into the mosque approximately forty minutes before, and he had not come out. Brady was not going to be as stealthy on this killing. He decided that since this was his last target, and there was no security, and the holy man about to exit the building would not expect a shadowy figure to charge at him in the dark of night - he would meet the sinful blasphemer head on. Little did he know that in the upper shadows of the parking lot next door, there was a set of eyes of yet another hooded figure, watching him ever so carefully. It had become almost a game for the Arbiter, following Brady’s every move, driving behind him at the perfect distance; stepping out on foot and stalking his prey, but not quite ready to pursue the assassin directly. It was a thrill to the Arbiter to know that his skills were superb; he was able to sneak up undetected on the best in the business. The un-said word throughout the quiet circles of the Activity was that the activist was the best there was at the stealth game. The Arbiter was out to prove otherwise, and serve the Activity at the same time. That was, after all, why they paid him the big bucks.
The front door of the mosque opened up, shedding a little bit of light from the interior of the building. The large imam turned around to lock the door. He carefully turned the key and turned it halfway back, trying his best not to break yet another key by turning it too hard and getting the other part stuck in the lock. This was the third lock he had changed. After pulling the key out successfully, he checked the door to make sure it was secure, and then turned to walk to his vehicle. As he was walking to his vehicle, he casually looked up at his car, and there was a dark, hooded shadow standing in front of his door.
The imam foolishly spoke up, “Can I help you, sir?”
Suddenly the black figure ran at full speed towards the imam. The large fat man didn’t quite know where to turn, and shook one way and then the other in his robes. Before he knew what to do, the man in black leapt up at him; his full weight knocking
the imam backwards, the assassin landing on top of him and knocking the wind out of him. As the imam struggled to breathe again, the Jesus Assassin took his syringe and planted the needle into the man’s neck. Just as he was drawing his last breath because of the fast-acting, never-failing venom of a black mamba…some headlights cut on in the parking lot adjacent to the mosque. As the lights came on, the last thing the imam ever saw was a brilliant green reflection from his assassin’s eyes.
The engine of the car with the headlights revved, and the assassin couldn’t believe the irony of it all, as he noticed that the mosque’s property line at the end of the parking lot was shared with a local Baptist church. Death was calling for him now with each rev of the engine across the way, daring him to make a run for his jeep. The assassin reached into his pocket and grabbed his last gold cross. He felt the sharp edges in his pocket, and realized he had done it – he had finished his mission. Stealth was no longer required. What happened to him didn’t really matter to him now, though he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He withdrew the cross, kissed it, and tossed it onto the dead imam. Without further warning, he withdrew his pistol that he always had in his thigh holster. He fired several shots and made a run for his car at the same time. The Arbiter was ready for this maneuver, and quickly became a moving target as the assassin emptied his magazine. Bullet holes appeared multiple times around head-level in the windshield. The Arbiter cut donuts as he ducked down in his seat. Brady reached his vehicle parked across the four lane road, and fired it up. His tires squealed as he peeled out of the parking lot, and the Arbiter was following close behind.
The Jeep Wrangler was a pretty fast vehicle, for such an off-road machine. The Arbiter followed at break-neck speed in the same Chevy van that he had stolen from the sewage treatment plant back in Greensboro. He was gaining on the assassin, and Brady noticed that the closer they got to downtown Greenville, the more traffic picked up. They were approaching an intersection with a traffic light; there was a large insurance company building on the left, and a small shopping center on the right. The light switched from yellow to red, and Brady blew through the intersection. By the time the Arbiter made the same light, horns blared as he had to swerve quickly to the right, and back to the left, to avoid the cars cutting across and then an oncoming car in the opposite lane. As they were getting closer to the city, they passed a large private Christian university on their left. Brady couldn’t believe he didn’t pick up on the presence of the hit-man. He knew the guy was good; the man chasing him had already proven that back in North Carolina and Virginia. But why show himself now? There was no way the man pursuing him now just happened to catch up to him today. This man had been spying on him; stalking him; toying with him. He needed to get away from this man, and come up with a plan. But it was too late; the chase was on, and the Arbiter was obviously not going to give up until he dealt with Brady personally.
The two vehicles came roaring into a left turn, tires screeching as they passed a small Italian restaurant and then a rock climbing rec center. Brady suddenly slammed on the brakes of the Jeep, and left the motor running as he jumped out of the vehicle and ran towards a cemetery. The Arbiter followed, parking the van with reckless abandon, almost running into the back of the Jeep. He took off running after Brady, and they cut up through a large graveyard in the heart of the downtown area.
After ducking around gravestones, cutting through gardens, and hurdling benches, he came out of the entrance to the cemetery at the top of a hill that entered into Main Street. He stopped to catch his breath, and the Arbiter was gaining on him after getting the assassin back in his sight. Brady made a left down Main Street, passing an expensive hotel and a little pizzeria that was still open for business. As Brady ran by, he knocked a box of pizza out of the hands of a large security officer who had just gotten off work at midnight.
The officer, Officer Steele, shouted back at the fleeing assailant, “You gonna buy me another one?”
Right about then another dark hooded man shot by, and Steele just scratched his head and tried to scrounge up what could be salvaged of the messed up pizza.
Brady almost got hit by a bicycle rickshaw as he glanced back over his shoulder to look at the Arbiter gaining on him. He turned back around just in time to step up on the back wheel and jump back into a run, passing several bars and restaurants on his left. As he crossed another intersection, two police officers watched with apathy as two men in dark hoods chased each other past them and further down the road. One officer glanced at his partner, and they both shrugged and went back to monitoring the crowd at the bar where they were picking up extra duty. Perhaps if they’d paid closer attention, they would have noticed the guns in the holsters on their right legs.
Brady veered a sharp left at a water fountain with a strange looking sculpture, and ran down several steps into a beautiful downtown park. He paused to guess a direction to go, and saw a large suspension bridge that crossed a river. He ran towards the bridge. He decided that was where he would make his stand; he was just about at the end of his aerobic threshold anyway. The Arbiter jumped down about six steps at a time. He took a moment to see Brady running towards suspension cables, and realized it was a bridge. He saw Brady stop in the middle of the bridge, standing directly in the center, almost taunting him – but probably just getting his wind back. The Arbiter didn’t believe in wasting energy, so he slowed to a walk. As the Arbiter got to the beginning of the bridge, Brady took his gun out of his holster and held it out for the Arbiter to see. He motioned as if to tell him to put his down, and he would do the same. The Arbiter was intrigued; this was indeed a worthy foe. He took out his pistol and placed it on the entrance to the bridge. He then purposefully walked towards the Jesus Assassin.
As the Arbiter came close enough to hear, Brady spoke up, “Just who are you? I have never had anyone who could keep up with me like you. I at least deserve to know who you are, since I already know who sent you.”
The Arbiter snickered.
“Ha – I guess I can give you that much. I am known as many things…a fixer; a hit-man; a problem solver. But your former boss has simply referred to me as the Arbiter.”
Brady looked puzzled, and scoffed, “Hmmm…never heard of you. Well, regardless, I think it’s time we finished this. That’s a sick little game you played. I know you’ve known where I was all along. You had to follow me from Greensboro; there’s no other way you could have found me.”
The Arbiter pulled his hood back. Brady realized right away that he was of Middle Eastern descent.
The Arbiter raised one eye brow and replied, “You’ve got some nerve, speaking of sick little games. You do realize they call you the Jesus Assassin, right? I personally don’t have a stake in any religion. Although I come from a family of Lebanese Christians, I don’t claim any one particular deity. But you have been killing people just because they differ from you in beliefs. That – and the unmistakable motive of revenge.”
Brady held up his finger and pointed at the Arbiter, “You don’t have a clue why I’ve been doing it! It’s not even about what I believe. It’s because of the utter evil I have seen carried out by those that believe in Islam. You people can have your Hindus…your Buddhists…your pagans. But Islam is the only religion in the world that is known throughout for its barbarous treatment of those that oppose their way of thinking.”
The Arbiter had been slowly creeping closer to the man in the black hood. He thought about launching his attack without warning, when the man drew back his hood as well. Brady flashed his green eyes at the Arbiter and had one more thing to say.
“Tell me…if you had your family taken from you; everyone you ever cared for and would do anything for – what would you have done differently?”
The Arbiter paused as if he would answer…then he launched a high kick at the assassin’s head. Brady ducked and weaved at the same time, attempting to knock the Arbiter off balance by slapping away his leg. The Arbiter countered with a kick fro
m the other leg, catching Brady off guard and hooking him with his foot in the back of the head. Brady reacted instinctively by rolling sideways, coming up into a crouch and bull-rushing the Arbiter. The Arbiter used his lightning fast reflexes to deliver a flurry of strikes to Brady as he came in, using his momentum to make the blows even more painful as they were delivered in fist-pounding agony. Brady came up stunned; he had never faced a more deadly adversary. Brady was used to being the Alpha male. This was a whole new sensation from which he had to find an escape. He dove forward into another roll across the bridge to his weapon. The Arbiter did the same towards his own. The two assassins moved simultaneously, as if choreographing the entire scene for a movie. They both scooped up their pistols, turned, and fired. Brady’s shot went wide left as the Arbiter ducked to his right while he shot. The Arbiter’s shot was true…Brady’s gun fell from his hands as the gunshot wound in his head insured his demise. As the smoke rolled out of both guns, the Arbiter finally answered the assassin.
“Nothing…I would do nothing differently.”
The Arbiter walked over to the now lifeless body of Robert Brady. He began removing Brady’s clothes, putting them into a pile as if he’d done this kind of thing before. Once completely stripped down, the mysterious man known as the Arbiter laboriously hefted the large naked body to a standing position at the cables of the bridge. With another great effort, he used his lower body to force the assassin’s body up and over the top cable. He winced as the body crashed into the shallow water and the rocks below. The Arbiter picked up the clothes of the assassin, and made a casual walk to the steps that lead out of the park. He stopped at a trashcan, stuffed the clothes, weapons, and miscellaneous items down in the container, and went on his merry way. It was one o-clock in the morning, and the Jesus Assassin was no more.
Misguided: The Jesus Assassin Page 23