Samudra recognized Abdul-Aleem’s ingenuity and usefulness.
For now.
Abdul-Aleem flicked a few switches and the helicopter roared to life. He moved the control stick back and they lifted off in the direction of the compound.
Though the man had shown marked improvement in his character since converting to Islam, Samudra still believed that Abdul-Aleem was, at his core, a decadent westerner, and never quite trusted him.
Samudra was not naive. He recognized that the man’s conversion in prison was most likely born out of his desperation to get out of jail rather than a true love of God and a desire to do his will on earth.
To insure against any weakness of faith or lack of loyalty on Abdul-Aleem’s part, Samudra had promised him $250,000 once the jihad was successfully executed. Of course he never intended to honor the debt. In fact, by accepting the bribe, Abdul-Aleem had greatly hastened his own end.
Samudra switched his headset on and asked, “What happened with Usif and Mohammed?”
Abdul-Aleem stared straight ahead. “The stupid fools want to withdraw from the mission and be allowed to return home.”
“Not acceptable.”
“Agreed.”
Samudra closed his eyes, rotated his head from side to side to relieve the stiffness in his neck and thought through his options.
“What of the others?” he asked.
“No one else has uttered a word. But we must assume there is potential dissent in the ranks.”
“I presume the two men’s families are on the island?”
“Yes. Both have wives and small children.”
“Excellent. And what are the men doing now?”
“They’re playing football on the beach.”
“Radio ahead and have them all assemble on the top training field in formation. And make sure the families of the misguided are present as well.”
Abdul-Aleem turned to him. “What do you need them for?”
“Just do as I command.”
Samudra switched the headset off and looked out the window away from Abdul-Aleem.
He answered to no one but God.
—
The helicopter climbed over the peak of the volcanic mountain that separated the two sides of the island and began its descent toward the U-shaped mujaheddin compound below.
Samudra peered through the tinted window at his creation in the name of Allah. The compound was surrounded by sea at the front, a steep mountain escarpment at the rear and sheer rocky cliffs on either side. The self-contained camp provided his men with everything they needed to prepare them for the great tasks ahead. He’d built a shooting range, two training fields, a gym, a communications center and a weapons and explosives storage unit.
His eye was drawn, as always, to the sparkling white-tiled dome of the mosque, the compound’s centerpiece, of which he was most proud. It offered a constant reminder to him and his men of their duty to God and their need to obey, honor and serve him.
He closed his eyes and recited one of his favorite passages of scripture to himself in his head.
Let those believers who sell the life of this world for the hereafter fight in the cause of Allah, and whosoever fights in the cause of Allah, and is killed or is victorious, we shall bestow on him a great reward.
One unerring truth governed his every breath. He was a mujaheddin, a holy warrior for God. Nothing else in existence mattered more than his sacred duty to Allah.
And every one of his men would soon be reminded of this fact.
4
Twenty-four mujaheddin dressed in black caps and olive fatigues stood at attention in three rows of eight on the flat ridge of the compound’s training field, a hundred and thirty feet above sea level.
Samudra positioned himself in front of them next to Abdul-Aleem and surveyed his assembled men. Seeing them in perfect parade ground formation filled him with immense pride. Their demeanor and discipline were testimony to the hard work and training they’d endured and the respect they afforded him as their leader and obedient servant of Allah.
Usif and Mohammed, the two men whose fate hung in the balance, were in the front row and to the left. Their wives and children huddled together at the back of the ridge under the shade of a red calliandra tree.
Only Abdul-Aleem and himself carried arms. As instructed, Abdul-Aleem had an Uzi submachine gun slung over his right shoulder.
Samudra had rehearsed in his mind exactly what was required to ensure the group remained committed to their great objective, jihad. Not only must the men love God – most importantly they needed to fear God.
Samudra pulled himself up to his full five foot and five inches. He maintained the smile on his face. It demonstrated to the men that his faith in the rightness of what God ordained was strong.
“Rejoice with me,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “I am proud to announce that the order, a most despicable enemy of our clan, of Allah and of Islam, has been all but destroyed. We have captured four of its people, and this evening you shall all witness their death – a testament to the power of the one true God we all serve and the vengeance he wreaks on his enemies.”
He paused, allowing the men to drink in his carefully chosen words. He ran his sharp gaze over them, seeking out any visible signs of weakness or dissent.
“Even though we are few in number, we shall very soon strike a mighty blow for Allah. So long as every single one of you maintains your faith and is prepared to sacrifice all for God in performing his will on earth, we shall perform great deeds in his name.”
He raised his right hand high above his head in a salute to Allah. “Jihad is the greatest thing you can do with your life. It represents the supreme service you can offer almighty God.”
Again, he gave the words time to sink in, then punched his right fist into the air. “Rejoice! We are mujaheddin, holy warriors of Allah. Never, ever forget this great fact.”
A surge of passion rushed through him, lifting his heart rate.
“For your life to have meaning,” he said, “you must live nobly and obey God’s law, one hundred percent. For God’s warriors, sharia is more important than life itself. A human life without strict adherence to God’s law means nothing.”
He clenched his fist in front of his face and raised the pitch of his voice. “You must be prepared to forfeit your life for God and not cease your struggle until his law rules first this country and then the entire world. This is our sacred duty.”
As he spoke these words, many of his men nodded and their eyes shone. Their devotion warmed his heart.
He spread his arms out wide, the soft ocean breeze billowing his robe like a sail. He loved sharing his profound message, firing up the men’s spirits with the power of God.
“Those who commit to jihad shall enter paradise, where mighty rivers flow beneath verdant bowers. Myriad physical delights in all forms, the sweetest of earthly fruits, shall be perpetually and abundantly available to you. This shall be your great gift for serving God in the supreme manner. Do you understand this great fact? Do you understand the opportunity you have been given?”
The men, including Abdul-Aleem, replied in unison: “Yes, sir.”
He wiped the smile from his face in an instant and frowned.
“But the reward for the unbelievers who defy God … is the searing fire of hell, where there is nothing but pain, suffering and degradation for all eternity. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, sir!” they shouted.
He marched along the line toward Usif and Mohammed. Eight months ago he’d recruited them from a poor fishing village on one of the Mentawai Islands off Sumatra.
When he reached them, he stopped and stared deep into their eyes, attempting to read their hearts and minds. What he saw displeased him greatly. Neither could hold his gaze.
“Do you love God?” he asked softly.
“Yes, sir,” they answered.
“Tell me then, why are you no longer of a mind to serve almighty Allah? Why
is it you are unwilling to commit one hundred percent to jihad and perform your sacred duty?”
Neither said a word.
“Are you not prepared to sacrifice all for God and experience the unimaginable pleasures of paradise?” he asked. “Or do you prefer to live like animals and die like dogs before burning in hell for eternity?”
All that greeted him was grim silence.
“Answer me!” he yelled.
Usif, the skinnier of the two, dropped to his knees, put his hands in the prayer position and looked up at Samudra with pleading eyes.
“Forgive me. I am not yet ready. I do not wish to die.”
A wave of disgust rose in Samudra’s stomach. The selfish coward began crying and whimpering like a baby. The man’s weakness threatened the whole operation.
“Please, I beg you. Allow me to leave this island with my family, return home and live a normal life as a fisherman, a good husband and father. I am a good Muslim.”
5
Samudra frowned at the pathetic man crying at his feet.
He hated to lose any of his mujaheddin, even a weak fool like Usif. At heart he was a compassionate man. He’d give him one last opportunity for redemption.
After all, Allah was truly merciful.
Samudra slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hand.
“Do you understand what you are saying?”
Usif began sobbing.
To think he had once treated this man like a son.
“Truly I say unto you, once you take an oath before your brothers and God, there is no turning back. This is your last chance for earthly salvation. Do you want to go to heaven or hell?”
“Please, for the love of God. I don’t want to die.”
Samudra stretched his arms toward the earth, easing the tension in his shoulders, and looked away. He’d done all he could.
The time had come to do what God had called him to do.
He reached inside his robes and extracted the shiny semiautomatic handgun from its holster.
It glistened in the bright sunshine.
Usif started shaking, his eyes wide with terror and disbelief, only now appearing to grasp the dreadful wrath God visited on those who dared displease him.
Samudra switched the safety off and pointed the barrel at Usif’s forehead.
Behind him a woman shrieked and a child let out a piercing wail.
Usif looked up at him through beseeching eyes, perhaps thinking his pitiful look might save him.
Samudra straightened his back and gently squeezed the trigger.
The gun jumped in his hand.
A flash of light spat out of the barrel, followed by a loud explosion.
Usif collapsed forward onto the ground. A clean hole at the back of his skull began to ooze thick dark blood.
Samudra turned his attention to Mohammed.
The man stood rigid with fear. A wet patch formed at the crotch of his trousers and spread down his right leg.
The man was a disgrace and no mujaheddin.
A useless human being.
Samudra raised the gun and pointed it at his forehead.
Mohammed’s eyes clamped shut.
Without uttering a word, Samudra squeezed the trigger.
The shot rang out and Mohammed dropped to the ground.
The women and children were now wailing and screaming with fear. A most disgusting sound, signifying a total lack of faith in God.
Samudra’s attention shifted to the assembled men. They’d maintained their posture and kept their formation perfectly intact.
He’d trained them well.
6
Samudra returned the weapon to its holster, ignoring the shrieking and wailing of the dead men’s wives and children behind him.
He looked down at the fallen bodies, pleased to see that both were dead and already in hell. Their only purpose in life, as it turned out, had been to serve as an example to their brothers of the swift and dreadful price paid by those who forsook God’s will.
He marched back to Abdul-Aleem and put out his hand. “Give me your weapon.”
Abdul-Aleem hesitated and took half a step back.
Samudra glared at him. He would not tolerate disobedience from anyone.
Abdul-Aleem slowly unshouldered his Uzi and handed it to him.
He grabbed it with both hands.
The time had come to send a final, powerful message to the rest of his men.
This younger generation were too soft. It was time to toughen them up.
Samudra had taken inspiration from the Indonesian leader of Darul Islam, S.M. Kartosuwirjo, whom his grandfather had admired and fought alongside. He had divided the world into the “Abode of Islam” and the “Abode of War” and believed that Muslims must live by Islamic law alone. Laws made by man were an affront to God.
Kartosuwirjo had written: “Eliminate all infidels and atheists until they are annihilated … or die as martyrs in a holy war. We are obliged to fight a third world war and bring about world revolution because God’s justice in the form of God’s kingdom does not exist on earth.”
These words gave Samudra’s life its purpose. He would continue the great fight of his grandfather, as would his children and his children’s children, until they achieved ultimate victory.
God’s law would rule the earth, even if it took a thousand years.
—
Samudra studied the men standing at attention before him. They needed to be reminded that their lives and those of their families paled in significance compared to the will of God and the holy war of jihad.
Six of his men, plus himself and Abdul-Aleem, were heading to Sydney the next day for the first of his lethal attacks.
Doubt and insubordination could not be tolerated. There was no turning back for any of them.
He flicked the Uzi’s safety switch to off and marched toward the families of the two dead men, twenty yards from where his men stood.
Samudra stopped in front of the two women and their children. A boy and a girl of around three and four years of age wrapped their arms around their crying mother and buried their faces against her stomach.
The other two young girls, who were between six and eight, hid behind the other woman, clutching her waist.
They all came from weak stock.
The girls’ mother turned and looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “Please,” she said, “in the name of God, I beseech you. Have mercy on us.”
Samudra smiled. “Your sins are forgiven.”
He saw hope flicker across her eyes.
He raised the Uzi and squeezed the trigger.
A stream of bullets sprayed out of the barrel.
He never let the smile of almighty God leave his face until the job was done.
7
The distant, primal scream of two terrified women caused Carter’s eyes to snap open. Despite the extreme heat and humidity, a cold shiver ran through him.
Along with Thomas, Erina and Wayan, he lay shackled inside an airless concrete cell. Old-fashioned iron manacles around his neck, waist, wrists and ankles pinned him to a coarse wooden bench, his arms stretched above his head. His joints were stiff and his leg and shoulder muscles ached.
He looked at the solitary window, high up and covered by a grille. The angle of the light filtering through the rusty bars told him it was early afternoon.
Thomas and Wayan were both out to it. They’d been drifting in and out of consciousness all day, and even when they were awake, their injuries made it painful for them to speak.
They had been given nothing to eat or drink since being dragged in the night before. Carter was dehydrated and weak. After dumping them there, the clan had left them for dead.
To his right Erina spoke in a hoarse voice. “What the hell was that?”
His mouth was bone-dry. He twisted his head toward her, swallowed a couple of times, then worked his tongue to get some saliva flowing.
Before he could speak, two five-second burst
s of intense gunfire from an automatic weapon cut through the air, drowning out the gut-churning cries of the wailing women.
“They’re killing their own people,” Erina said. “Why?”
“God knows,” he said. “But we need to get Thomas and Wayan out of here and get back to Sydney before the new year.”
She worked her lips together and swallowed. “The plan was to meet Muklas by 8 a.m. or he’d go to enlist Detachment 88’s help.”
“I wouldn’t count on them getting here anytime soon.”
“Any ideas?”
“Nothing is jumping out at me.”
Carter looked toward Thomas and Wayan. It worried him that even the gunfire had failed to stir them. If they didn’t get food and water soon, they’d struggle to survive the night. Wayan in particular looked in a bad way. But there was no point saying anything. He and Erina both knew the score and were powerless to help.
Light footsteps approached and he glanced at her. She hiked her shoulders.
He turned his attention toward the cell door. A key clicked into the lock and it opened slowly.
A woman in full traditional Muslim attire stood in the doorway, a white jilbab wrapped around her head and face, revealing only her eyes.
Her gaze settled on Thomas. The love and concern he saw in her eyes convinced Carter it could only be one person.
“Kemala?” Erina asked. “What are you doing here?”
Carter heard both surprise and distrust in her voice.
“I’m here to get you out,” Kemala said. Judging by her tone, she was far from confident.
Erina rattled her wrist. “Do you have keys for the locks?”
Kemala shook her head as if she was disappointed with herself.
Outside, they heard two sets of heavy footsteps approaching the cell at a rapid pace.
“Get out of here quick,” Carter said.
Kemala remained at the doorway. “I cannot leave.”
Her words were emphatic.
“Okay then,” he said in a calm, even voice. “Come inside and close the door.”
She stepped into the cell and pushed the door shut.
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