As darkness quickly returned, Jalel and his men clasped their ringing ears, while their eyes tried to recover from the intense light.
Boom! Suddenly, another piece of the wall exploded with a stinging bright flash of light.
Simultaneously, the longhaired man appeared in front of Jalel, with his face drenched in anger and left fist cocked back ready to release its fury. As the flash quickly faded, he struck Jalel in the face, with unrestrained power, and then immediately disappeared.
With a broken nose and a stunned brain, Jalel quickly dropped to the ground.
His men tried aiming at an unseen enemy, with machine guns that were already rendered useless.
Boom! Again the man appeared, striking Jalel’s first lieutenant in the jaw and sending him reeling back against the dirt wall. Immediately, the stealthy attacker vanished.
Boom! He materialized in front of the second lieutenant and delivered the same justice. Again, he vanished.
Boom! He returned to Jalel and drilled his elbow into Jalel’s crouching back with the full force of his weight. Again, he quickly disappeared.
Boom! Hit! Boom! Hit! The man struck the two lieutenants again.
The three men writhed in pain, perplexed by the mysterious assailant giving them their unhindered beating.
Then, patches of dirt along the wall began to repeatedly and rhythmically explode. With each blast of light and burst of sound, the longhaired man appeared beside Jalel and his two lieutenants, rotating through them and delivering pain with his fist, in the most precise and effective manner.
One after another, pieces of the cave wall exploded, igniting and defining the oval surface that enclosed them. With each blast, the longhaired man synchronized the declaration of his justice, appearing, striking, and disappearing. He battered their faces, crushed their sides, and bruised their limbs.
Jalel and his two lieutenants, once on their knees, now fell lower and lower to the ground, feeling the unending barrage of pain in every part of their bodies.
But with each blow of the longhaired man’s fists, his anger was not satiated, instead his rage boiled even hotter.
The explosions along the wall began to occur in a much faster rate, strobing in frenzy. Every flash of light revealed him kneeling above each of the three men, severely striking their faces over and over and over.
Now, he began to break their bones, smash their jaws, and crush their eye sockets. He started to enjoy the feeling of their shattering bones. He relished in the smell of their splattering blood and reveled in the revenge he wrought for death of Malik Khel.
The longhaired man was losing control.
The drug of the absolute power that he wielded over another human being had poisoned him.
Sweat from his hair spayed across the cave floor, as he struck in anger with grunts of fury. His knuckles were now breaking but he immediately repaired them, readying them for more brutality.
The justice he desired to mete upon them had turned into pure punishment, delivered through a red-hot blood rage.
Jalel lost consciousness, his body no longer reacting, no longer moving. Then, another man blacked out, and then the third.
Finally, the longhaired man realized it. He was seeing his body strike but his mind was not in control of it. The fast rhythm of strobing light, blasting sound, and striking fists had sent him into a trance of fiery madness.
Stop! his thoughts called to himself.
The fast rhythm of the bloody beating continued.
Stop! Stop! his mind yelled.
Suddenly, just before driving another fist down on an unconscious man, his body froze.
The lights and explosions ceased, and the darkness and silence overcame.
In the deep, blackness of the cave, he awoke from his trance. He gasped, “What am I doing?” Finding himself breathing in deep and hard, he gasped again, “I’ve lost it!”
Gradually, his body eased and his arms came down.
He began to sense other men rushing his way, who were being called by the gunfire-like blasts.
Still panting, he slowly stood.
Composing himself, he said, “Enough. Time to leave.” He disappeared to go to Gul’s side.
Two of Jalel’s men hurriedly arrived, guided by their frantically beaming flashlights. They ran to Jalel’s side and cautiously turned him over. After repeatedly, yet carefully shaking Jalel, they finally woke him.
Jalel turned and coughed out thick blood from his torn mouth. The flashlights revealed his broken and battered face. Regaining his senses, he realized that he had become the prey of a mighty predator. He hated that he was the one without the power, and the one not in control. Mercurial anger filled him. Gurgling and coughing his words, Jalel commanded, “Find him! Hurt him!”
His two men rose and raced into the tunnels.
The maze of tunnels and caverns served as a means to buy time to keep Gul and the longhaired man from being discovered. They hid in a small dugout, at the side of a tunnel further into the mountain, a long way from where Gul was beaten.
One of the few lanterns, staggered within the tunnels, a distance away, provided dim lighting.
“Smiley,” the man said as he knelt at Gul’s side, “It’s me.” He pulled up Gul and sat him to lean against the dirt wall.
Gul feebly replied, “Oh, it’s you, my friend. Thank you. I was so close to having them give up…just one more punch on my jaw and Jalel would have been too weak to defend himself.” His smile was unmistakable.
“Right, you killer. If I hadn’t cut in, you would have already been sweeping the floor with their faces.”
Then, Gul confessed, “But I am not good, my friend.” He moved his hand to feel his left side.
“You’re safe now.”
Gul’s breathing was quick, having difficulty expanding his lungs.
“Just take it easy. Breath slowly and be calm, Smiley.”
Gul raised his head up, saying, “I must tell you things before it is too late.”
“…what is it?”
“They caught me listening to their conversation. I heard some things, but maybe not enough. And there was a man - a hooded man as you once described to me - giving Jalel instructions. Your nemesis was here.”
Surprised, he replied, “Whoa. So, his schemes reach way out over here. He seems to be casting a wide net with whatever he’s planning.”
“Yes,” Gul continued, “and it is happening tonight.”
“What is?”
“They have five targets. Missile strikes, my friend. ICBMs. Nuclear missile strikes. Three launches, maybe from the border of Iran and Iraq. Then, two from the Pacific Ocean.” Gul panted, “…Russian submarines.”
“What are the targets?”
“I am not sure. But they may all be U.S.”
The longhaired man shook his head, “Well, that’s crazy. Everyone knows it’ll just trigger a global catastrophe. They fire on us. We fire on them - mutual destruction - it goes nowhere.”
In brief thought, Gul gazed forward, looking into a distance that wasn’t there. Then, he said, “That is why it may not be their end goal. It might be a step to something else…a diversion maybe or a way to a larger catastrophe.” He stopped, and then he said, “However, do not forget that these men do not think like you and I. They gladly sacrifice their lives, as martyrs for their global struggle. They see mutual destruction as a means to an end.”
For a few seconds they were silent, and then Gul spoke again, “My friend, keep in mind that the missiles are ICBMs. They travel very fast, more than fifteen times the speed of sound. And most of their time is spent above the atmosphere where they are difficult for defense systems to detect. Satellites only see them once when they are launched, and then only a second time when they reenter the atmosphere to descend on their targets.”
Gul continued, “You indeed have a role in this. Such things do not happen without you being called. And your nemesis…he must be drawing you in. He is a creative creature.”
“Well, yeah, he’s drawing me in, but it’s through some jar-head pawn that’s killing women in different cities.” He thought for a moment. “But my nemesis, he’s not interested in these is he? He told me once that my development is in his best interest. What does he mean?”
“He wants a challenge. He is preparing you. He is not interested in easy victories. There may be larger designs he has in mind. But listen, there is more…”
“Wait,” the longhaired man interrupted. With his thoughts back to the missiles, he said, “But right now, I guess I can’t afford trying to figure out what the bigger plan could be. First step is to stop those ICBMs. But how do I do that? How do I figure out what those five targets are?”
Gul looked down at the wound on his side. “I do not know, my friend. But think wisely - do not be rash. Seek God and rely on Him.” With a sly smile, Gul stated, “See, you are already trying to solve this yourself.”
He shrugged off Gul’s comment, “Smiley, but the bottom line is I can’t let those missiles explode. And if I can’t find them before they’re launched, I’ve got to chase them down in the air before they hit. How am I gonna do that? I can’t fly.”
“There is a way. There must be a way. You have abilities. These abilities you have, you never had them before. And there are some so unimaginable that you do not even know how to use them,” Gul took two short breaths. “Never before have they progressed this far.”
He was puzzled, “What do you mean never before? I’ve never had these before, ever.”
Gul smiled, “Yes. Yes you have.” Gul looked into his eyes. “You will do great things…or you will not. It is your decision. It is that simple.”
He waited for Gul to explain.
“I’m sorry, my friend. But you are rash. It is your nature…and when you act rashly, you try to solve things on your own. You do not let yourself be led by God. You must change that. Your greatest struggle is within yourself.”
There was no question. He knew what Gul had just said was true. For a long while, he stared past Gul and onto the ground a few feet away. He needed to ask a question. The answer to it would help him finally know of his true role in the world. The answer would explain why all the events in his life, up to now, had happened. It would explain why the dreams - such real dreams - he was receiving; and why the visions of the past, present, and future were coming to him.
He leaned in and said in a calm but urging voice, “Please tell me. What am I?”
Gul didn’t hesitate, “Your name is almost complete.” Pressing his hand harder over his side, Gul struggled to continue, “God considers you his friend. And He wishes me to tell you…two paths will be set before you, and you will need to choose one.” Gul paused to let him dwell on the words.
The statement triggered a memory. It was very familiar. It was a similar statement that repeated, in a scene he replayed in his mind, over and over, for the last five years. It was something he said to his son, in their car, during the mountain drive just before their accident.
At that moment, he and Gul heard a pair of footsteps coming closer. Jalel’s two men had taken notice of their voices. Both men gripped their machine guns, ready to fire when they turned at the bend.
The longhaired man began to build up a thick dirt wall, at the opening of the small dugout they were in; it concealed them. Then, as he waved his hand in an arch over himself and Gul, an iron wall, curved like a dome, built itself up, as it followed his hand. It molded and bent into the dirt wall, sealing the opening.
They were in darkness.
Quickly, the longhaired man focused his attention on the side of the dugout, opposite from the iron wall he had just created. In an area about the size of a hand, he made the dirt and stones heat up and emit a dim red light. It took away the darkness and gave their enclosure a weak, yet sufficient glow.
Once Jalel’s men turned, the sight of the dirt wall surprised them. Quickly, they began to kick away at it, trying to pound through and create an opening.
The longhaired man repeated, “Smiley, what am I?”
Soon, Jalel arrived, driven by revenge. Trotting and limping in pain, he joined his two men. Hearing the voices at the other side of the wall, he snarled and seized a machine gun from one of his men. With blood still dripping down his face, he stepped back and positioned himself to fire.
Gul smiled. He answered with a look that displayed his joy in being able to finally reveal a long-forgotten mystery, to the one who had lost it. He had asked God for this very privilege. He explained, “My friend, from the Bible - in Genesis - and other ancient text, you are what is called a…”
Jalel rattled rounds from his machine gun into the dirt wall and onto the iron enclosure. The shots ricocheted off the iron, with muffled metal pings and struck the tunnel walls, whizzing by the ears of Jalel and his men.
Gul’s words were difficult to hear over the ringing metal, but the longhaired man understood them. He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and listened to his friend’s voice.
He finally understood.
A peace began to settle in his heart, and he was moved beyond measure, in finally knowing the truth. He clung to the sound of Gul’s voice.
Jalel emptied his clip. He yelled and growled in frustration, throwing the machine gun to the ground.
With a final attempt, the other two men grabbed their pistols and began to shoot.
Gul continued, “My friend…” But his eyes began to roll; he could no longer focus. So, closing his eyes, he slowly spoke, “You had one beginning…but…you have no…” He had lost consciousness.
Gul’s last words were at the end of a sigh, but his friend heard and understood every word.
The blood, from the opening at Gul’s side, continued to seep out. Jalel had stabbed Gul with Gul’s own blade.
“Smiley. Smiley!” he nervously blurted. He turned his gaze down at Gul’s bloody hand. The darkness concealed the source of the blood. He moved the hand aside and lifted up Gul’s shirt. Quickly, his mind sensed the wound.
Learning of Gul’s wound kindled his anger once again, and the incessant gunfire, at the other side of the wall, began to intensify his rage. Instantly, he made their guns and flashlights ignite into flames in their hands. Appearing next to Jalel, he slugged him on the jaw, growling, “Back off!”
The powerful blow broke Jalel’s already weakened jaw in several places. The shock jarred his mind, and he began to black out. Then, he dropped to the ground unconscious.
The longhaired man readied his fist to deliver pain to the remaining men. But quickly, he realized that another swing could prove dangerous. With raw anger still in his veins, he would again desperately struggle to restrain and stop himself.
In the darkness, he breathed in deeply and set aside his anger. Then, coming back to Gul’s side, he knelt down. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the wound.
In an instant, Gul was healed.
In another instant, both of them disappeared.
Chapter 17
TWELVE YEARS IN THE FUTURE
As he jogs through the streets of downtown San Diego looking for the mantis, there is something different in the goateed man’s heart: a hope from a belief that he may have a second chance to change what he had caused, to change the way the world is.
Both in his heart and in his mind, he had left the pub and the military patrolmen far behind.
In his jog, he calls out again, “Lassie!”
After a few more strides, he stops.
Heading south, he had just passed K Street and now is at the end of 4th Avenue. This area was once a lively gathering place and tourist attraction. But now, it is uninhabited and in disrepair.
In front of him is the stylistic architecture of the Convention Center. The use of this facility had ended years ago. Now its colors are dull and indistinguishable. Many walls of what were once large glass panes are shattered away.
At the railroad crossing just ahead, a freight train appears and slowly lumbers by.
“Maybe I don’t need to find Mr. Freaky-Greenie Bug,” he thinks, “Maybe I should find Smiley instead.”
He and Gul had long parted in enmity. Many years ago, Gul attempted to shake him out of his apathy. Unsuccessfully, Gul tried to convince him to leave his self-made cell, in the pub, and join in resisting the totalitarian power taking hold of the world. But that too failed.
To say that convincing Gul will be a “difficult task” is to understate the enormous chasm and enmity between the two men.
He turns eastward and gazes into the horizon. He concentrates. Then, from one end of the horizon to the other, he scans the earth.
A smile flashes on his face. “Smiley.”
But then, he pauses. Resting his hands on his hips, he thinks, “But what’s my plan? The guy probably hates me.”
He ponders a little longer.
Then, he says a weak joke to uplift his outlook, “Maybe if I make my hair long, he’ll think I’m a good guy again.”
Looking back to the east, he finally says, “There’s no way around it. I just gotta say I’m sorry. That’s the only thing I can do. And hopefully, maybe, he’ll be forgiving.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe.”
He disappears.
An instant later, the goateed man reappears, walking in stride, at Gul’s side down a corridor, within Gul’s underground enclave.
Surprised, Gul jerks around and sees the man walking next to him. Immediately, he stops.
Two of his officers, a man and a woman in military fatigues, walk behind him and also quickly stop. Alertly, they draw their pistols.
They had been on their way to prepare for their next mission on the surface.
Gul looks at him, and then quickly scans his face. His eyes move up to examine the short-cropped dark hair and the green color of the man’s eyes. Gul recognizes him. Soon, a scowl appears on Gul’s face, as he shakes his head.
“Hi, Smiley,” the goateed man says with a grin. His voice quietly echoes down the metal corridor.
Upon hearing the name “Smiley” being referred to Gul, one of Gul’s officers puts on a curious look. Knowing the serious and stone-faced Omar Gul, no one in his team would have ever thought to call him Smiley.
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 43