Death & Other Lies

by Carol L. Ochadleus

  “Are you ready to order, sir?” she chirped.

  “Ah, yes, if I may have your special,” he deliberately smiled a brilliant smile at her. “It is prepared fresh today, is it not?”

  “Yep, that’s what makes it the special,” she giggled the reply.

  “Stupid bitch,” Zand said under his breath as she walked away in her tight black pants and gauze shirt, jiggling her back end for his benefit. They are all so easy to fool. He would have his women soon. They would throw themselves upon him and anoint his body with precious oils. Not American trash like this one, but the beautiful, chaste women of his home. They would honor him and call him their beloved. It would be as Allah promised. His time for glory was near, he had waited so long for this day to come, and he was impatient.

  He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his special day. The day he had found his salvation. So many months had gone by already, it seemed like ages. This was the culmination of years of restraint and sacrifice. All his intense training taught him to use caution, but that day, the need to boast of his success was stronger as he met with his brothers and told them of his meeting with Phil Forester.

  He had paused dramatically in the doorway of the small row house they shared, in a poor area of Philadelphia, and inspected the dimly lit room. Five men sat in silence as his probing gaze rested briefly on each man. Their faces were closed with practiced calm, but the eyes spoke, and he knew some lied. He had smiled at them. His white teeth flashed across his dark face, and with a wave of his arms, he invited them close.

  “Come, embrace me, my brothers,” he said to them. “I have found what I need to punish the ignorant for their lack of faith and blasphemous tongues. Soon I will know great glory.” One by one, his brothers approached with kisses and praise.

  “We prayed for such good news.” Abel Farhat, Rashid’s closest friend, clung to Rashid’s arm. “I envy you, my brother. I, too, have spent nearly all of my allotted three years of this mission seeking redemption and glory with no success, but you will be in the arms of Allah.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Rashid answered, “but as many of our brothers have done, we came to this diseased country to seek our one true purpose. The Master has generously provided the money and identities we need. We have only to use them wisely. This is truly a land of opportunity for us. For a long time, I was unsure how this would happen for me. But just as I did, you must open your ears to the possibilities around you. As the Master has taught us, if you listen, you will learn.”

  The room grew silent once more as elated voices died to catch Rashid’s words. “In our homeland, men do not speak their minds. Fear silences their voices and knowledge is passed from one to another in secret, if at all. But here, in this land, freedom of speech is sacred, is it not? Men talk of all things to anyone with ears, which is exactly why our leader wisely chose jobs in places where we would have access to a wide range of voices. At first, I was offended, serving these dogs in menial positions. But soon, I understood his wisdom. In the hotels, gyms, restaurants, and bars, people are at ease. Arrogance, my dear brothers, will be their undoing. Foolishly they fear nothing. To learn a man’s secrets, you only have to wait. Just listen. These Americans do not understand the purpose of silence. I listened and heard an unhappy voice, of which there are many. As I listened, the idea of using their own medical research against them came to me, and with the grace of Allah, I will silence many of their voices.”

  “Your news is wonderful indeed,” Samir Ali Mansoor, the newest member of the group added, as he came up behind Rashid and patted him on the back. “Tell us, Rashid,” Samir asked, “What is the name of the man you met with, the scientist, is it he who will create the toxin for you?”

  Rashid had taken a moment to answer. “He is not the one. The man I met is merely a vehicle to obtain the substance and the information. He will help me because he is a greedy man. He has no morals or soul. Like filth on the bottom of my shoe, I will scrape him off when I am finished. But for now, we will play the game.”

  “If he is not the maker, how will he get what you want? Can he be trusted not to speak of this to the authorities?” Samir asked.

  “He will not. I have promised him much for his silence and participation. As for the substance, he will borrow the research of his co-worker, a biochemist. Someone called Errington.”

  “Was it difficult to convince the man to give you what you asked?” Samir pursued.

  “Not at all. He was not chosen randomly. Like a book, each man can be read if we take the time. Many weeks went by before I knew he was the one. Many in this land are dissatisfied, but not many hold something of such great value as he. As I listened, I learned this one’s weaknesses. His deepest concern was the money he expects when the deed is accomplished. He does not comprehend the significance of his contribution to our cause. He is a needy little toad who wants to believe there is an easy way out of his misery. A delusion I was happy to support.”

  “Has our Master decided on a date or a target yet? Is it here, in this land or some other?” Samir asked.

  Rashid’s eyes narrowed, and he cast a questioning eye toward his friend Abel’s direction but curtly answered Samir. “You know he will not make such information known until all is in place. Why do you ask so many questions Samir? You who have left the Master’s side only a few months ago, have you forgotten his teachings so soon? It is not our place to question the Master, or our need to know his will. How is it you forget so often so many of his words?”

  “My apologies Rashid. I speak out of my excitement for your news. Of course, I remember our Master’s teachings,” Samir’s gaze dropped to the floor as he backed into the small kitchen to retrieve a platter of meat. He knew he could wait no longer for more details. He needed to send Ben a brief warning immediately.

  “We are all truly excited for you Rashid.” Abel interrupted. “Please sit, dear Brother. In anticipation of your victory, we have prepared a celebration.” He waved toward the table which was laden with traditional delicacies: Chelo rice and lamb, pomegranate soup, a large bowl of prunes and apricots. “Let us eat and rejoice and give thanks to Allah. We want to hear what occurred between you and the scientist,” Abel continued. “Such an ideal place you chose to meet. The Rumpass Room.”

  “Yes. It was noisy, but our voices were not easily overheard or recorded.” Behind Samir’s bent head, Rashid and Abel locked eyes in a meaningful look. “I followed one of our Master’s most primary directives; avoid detection and not betray ourselves or our purposes. Also, in such a setting when a man is easily distracted, he asks fewer questions. I was not surprised the little man only wished to know about the money and if he could have the seat closest to the stage.”

  Rashid and Abel took their seats at the table on either side of Samir. A long thin knife sat on Rashid’s lap, hidden beneath the cloth.

  Out loud, he prayed. “Today, we give thanks to Allah for his many blessings, and we rededicate our lives to destroying his enemies. The Master teaches us it is better to lose a possible friend than to be betrayed by a possible enemy.” At such a prayer, Samir’s instincts jerked his head up, but before he could move to protect himself or the rest of the group could raise their heads, Rashid swung the knife and drove it deep into Samir’s back.

  Abel caught Samir’s head as it pitched backward and neatly sliced his throat from ear to ear. “Allah be praised,” he said, wiping the blood from his hands.

  As the gasps of the others faded, the celebration continued without pause after Samir’s murder. Rashid was empowered by the act. He had ferreted out an unproven but possible threat and dealt with him accordingly. Rashid hated traitors. Even those who he used to further his plans. Like Phil Forester. Truly a weasel of a man. No morals, no conscience. Only greed. How it had thrilled Rashid to crush Phil’s plans as well, with one phone call. Another memory to make him smile.

  “YOU ASSHOLE!” PHIL had shouted into the phone. “You can’t just cut me out of this deal. I’ve spent
months gathering the documents you want, at great personal risk, I may add. If I’m caught, I could get the death penalty for treason, or at least spend the rest of my life in prison.” Phil raged, his anger exploding. “You son-of-a-bitch, we had a deal. What about my money? I didn’t risk everything for nothing.”

  Rashid could hear Phil punch the wall in frustration. Rashid savored the moment.

  Yes, little man, you may do penance for your deeds, or even die, while I will be showered with praise for mine. There was a sweet taste to his words when he responded, “There will be no money for you.” He had deliberately refused contact with Phil for over two weeks, although Phil had repeatedly called. When Zand finally answered, he could barely hold back his pleasure when he told him he was no longer needed for the project.

  Phil had exploded in frustration. “How can you just cut me out, you need the data I have. You told me how important this stuff is to your people. Having the ability to drop people in their tracks was going to give you bargaining power against Iraq and your other squirrelly neighbors in the East. What happened to all your plans for retaliation for the crap they did to your family?”

  The tirade widened the smile on Rashid’s face. It had been such sweet pleasure to crush the selfish little man. “We no longer need your help, because we have everything we want already,” Rashid told him.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Phil blurted. “You have what? I haven’t given you anything yet.”

  “No, but your brother did. You gave us a sample of the virus months ago and the notes you hid in the book, were most efficient and concise. The instructions for the deadly mist were easy to follow. Our scientists have already produced sufficient quantities to serve our purposes. And, who but Allah knows who our enemy truly is?”

  Phil’s heart was pounding, and his breathing came out in rasps. “You killed Eddy? You camel-fucking Arab. What did you do to him?”

  “We did nothing to your brother,” Zand answered, smugly ignoring the insult. “His greed, like your own, decided his fate. We merely learned where he and his treasured book were buried and borrowed it.” Laughing, Zand thoroughly enjoyed Phil’s inability to grasp what was happening.

  “How did you know about the Bible? I told no one.” Phil sputtered in anger.

  “I told you before, we have eyes everywhere, and Allah is most generous,” Zand snickered. “He tells us what we need to know to punish our enemies.”

  “But you don’t have it all. What you found wasn’t complete. You have only half the project.” Brushing the issue of his brother aside, Phil heartened at the thought they still needed him to deliver Matt’s finished work. He was convinced if he hadn’t found the rest of Matt’s notes, they hadn’t either. There would be no antidote, only mass murder.

  Ahh, yes, Rashid could smell the fear through the cell phone in his hand. He could hear the thoughts inside the infidel’s head. He reveled as the power pulsed through his veins. The little dog understood what his greedy actions had wrought.

  “We will find the rest of the information I am certain of it, just as we found the microchips you tried to hide with your brother. Allah is our guiding light. He knows all and reveals it to us to be victorious. But, if the rest of it comes too late to save our enemies, well, alas, their fate too, is in Allah’s hands.”

  IT WAS EARLY MORNING, and a hazy light wormed its way through the holes in the brittle, tattered window shade, caramel colored with age. It was difficult to sit up. The ancient, Naugahyde couch, upon which Matt napped, was several feet too short for him to comfortably stretch out, but sleep overcame him anyway. The stiff, cracked surface of the armrest chafed his face and neck, leaving marks along his cheekbone. Rising to his feet, Matt stretched and inspected the small room. It was used as a storeroom as evidenced by the stacks of boxes against two walls, but now served as his jail cell pending a formal charge related to terrorist activity, he was under Interpol arrest. It was painfully obvious he would not be leaving anytime soon. The agents made that clear to him after their extended interrogation.

  Although he could not give them much information, they believed him to be a threat to national security. Brief as it was, it was the first good sleep he had in weeks, devoid of his usual nightmares. With the coming of daylight, the idea seemed almost laughable to Matt. Me a spy? Or worse yet, a terrorist? He was completely refreshed, in spite of the punishing bed. Without a logical reason, the weight of the world felt lifted from his shoulders. The deep sickening ache in his gut which plagued him for days was gone.

  Almost giddy with relief, the change also brought a new resolve. He felt so much better than he had in weeks, more energy, less pain, better attitude, whatever the cause, he was eager to get on with his life. If he had a role in some diabolical scenario, he wanted to jump in and sort it out. But after he got something to eat.

  A young man with a gun on his hip, who introduced himself as Officer Davis, unlocked the door and brought Matt a muffin and a cup of black coffee.

  It’s a start, he thought and offered the kid a smile.

  Surprised by his friendliness, the officer was visibly taken aback. Not many people in this guy’s situation were as amenable after spending time on the couch. “Want to use the loo?”

  “Thanks, I would appreciate that.”

  “Someone will be in shortly to talk to you.” Officer Davis accompanied Matt down a short hall to a dank, windowless washroom. “Sorry about the accommodations here.”

  “It’s okay. I know you guys are under a lot of pressure about some terrorist doings. I will do whatever I can to help.”

  The young agent-in-training relocked the door when Matt returned to the room and went back to his workstation to prepare reports for the day ahead. He didn’t think Matt was so bad. He might be only a rookie, but his instincts told him they should be working with this guy, not against him.

  “THERE’S NOT MUCH MORE I can add about the whole incident,” Kate said. She sat on the couch in Ben’s office. “When I headed in the direction of our car, I saw a middle-eastern group, slowly driving through the cemetery as if they were visiting a grave. The car was light tan, older model, kind of beat up; I think it was a Ford. Broken taillight, dents on the rear quarter panel. There were two men; one was older, maybe early fifties, thin-faced, clean shaven, salty hair, and one much younger, around twenty, twenty-two, heavier, with a dark beard and mustache. A woman was in the backseat. Didn’t see much of her as she was in a grey burqa, but I got the impression she was a rather large woman, maybe in her forties. The men smiled at me; the woman nodded.

  “After I retrieved some things from the trunk, I turned and saw Lilly on the ground with one of the men behind her. There was only a slight noise behind me before I was clobbered. I was barely conscious as they carried me over the ground, but the bag over my head was loose. I could see names on the gravestones; some had pictures. Nothing more until I woke up hours later in the vault.”

  Kate’s recollection mimicked Lilly’s and gave Ben little information.

  The twins and Elizabeth were trying to piece together the events of the prior week. As soon as it could be worked into the conversation, Ben brought up the subject of Matt’s research and how it was tied to the trail of Eddy’s lost Bible. Questions still haunted him about Matt’s subsequent trip to England, especially the timing which was suspicious to be sure, and he outlined for the women what he was doing to get Matt back to the States for the CIA to handle. Not an easy task he admitted, considering Interpol wasn’t cooperating and in no hurry to surrender the man they believed could save them from imminent danger.

  Elizabeth jumped in with what had occurred in Wales and brought them all up to date with Matt’s accident, his lost memory, and long recovery. She finished with Franny’s limited account of how Matt was whisked back to London by government agents. If not for that bit of news, they would have no idea what had befallen Matt, or enable Ben and the CIA to extract him from Interpol. There was a great deal of concern, considering the eno
rmity of the situation; Matt would be tortured if he failed to give up what he knew. Whether he honestly remembered any of it or not.

  Kate was speechless when she heard what had happened to Matt in the last few months. She sat, staring out of the large window behind Ben, her emotions on overload. “But, why was he over there?” she wanted to know. “What was he doing in London of all places? It’s not like him to go traipsing all over Europe. How would he have been able to find Mom or decide to go to Wales?”

  “That’s what we all want to know.” The truth of the matter was still a mystery to Ben, and Elizabeth as well; and with Matt’s memory still eluding him, their questions were not likely to be answered even after he returned to the States. No one noticed or thought it strange that only Lilly sat quietly, not offering much to the animated discussion.

  Ben was more focused on the girl’s abduction itself and how it connected to the terrorists and their operation. The group of Iranians was going to be hard to identify from such scanty information, but the individuals themselves were not important in the larger scheme of things. Like Lauren’s killer, they would be found eventually.

  A more pressing matter was the excitement all over the airwaves which talked of “God’s Breath” and the hideous threat it held. It was linked with the gambler’s grave and Matt Errington’s lab in the States. Once the chain was formed from Eddy to Phil to Matt, the CIA’s focus was to bring Matt Errington back home immediately and find out exactly what he knew.

  Ben and his superiors were fairly confident Matt had no role in a terrorist plot, they believed Phil was the seller. But they knew from Kate’s assignment, Matt was working on the development of a potentially lethal agent, which could be the ‘Breath of God’ as it was referred to in the intelligence reports. If Matt’s notes were in the hands of terrorists, which after the loss of the Bible they must assume they were by now, an all-out press must be made to acquire a duplicate “recipe” for the mixture and get Matt’s help to produce the anti-serum he had finalized. Ben’s report to his superiors caused a flash storm of communication around the world. Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Interpol, and every friendly foreign intelligence agency throughout Europe were put on the alert for activity signaling the start of an attack that might give them Intel as to the targeted area.