Relentless Pursuit: A Kelly Maclean Novel

by Hawk, Nate

  But fighting in the name of Allah was not on Bekhan’s mind at the moment. Fighting in his sister’s honor was. Her husband had been beating her and running around on her and this behavior wouldn’t be tolerated. Bekhan wasn’t about to allow such actions to continue. So he had flown cross-country to Washington State and was determined to straighten out his brother-in-law’s priorities.

  Upon arriving at his sister’s home, Bekhan brutally struck his brother-in-law, using his expertise as a boxer to efficiently immobilize the man. Stopping there wouldn’t be enough though; no, that wouldn’t do. Bekhan knew that the man would be back to his former unacceptable behavior as soon as he flew back home to Boston. The point had to be emphasized lest the cycle repeat itself. Bekhan stripped the man of his clothing and tied him up, including a gag to mute the man’s cries for mercy. Bekhan retrieved an iron poker from the fireplace and heated it over a gas stove.

  Once his brother-in-law had regained consciousness and some relative form of composure, Bekhan began making his point. He hovered the hot iron over the man’s genitals while reminding him of the vows that he had taken with his wife. Bekhan allowed the hot iron to momentarily sizzle on the terrified man’s thigh as a reminder of how to properly behave in the future. Bekhan was quite convincing. He realized that he was being strengthened by the influence that Allah had recently bestowed on him.

  ***

  Chapter 1

  The real trouble for Abbas Zaki had begun with a vision. Others might have called it a dream but not Abbas. He was a man of eccentric nature and he was sure that he had experienced something much more significant. Something… divine. He had been blessed with a vision that had revealed to him what must be done and now he had his mind set on doing his part. After all, his visions had already propelled him far within the Jamaat Al Fuqra leadership. He was very pleased to be on the cutting edge of the growing movement of radical Islam in America. And he was one of the few men at the helm of the organization.

  He continued thinking about his vision and how best to proceed. He knew that having a man killed was easy. But he knew that getting away with the murder was the most challenging part of the task. It was a task for which he had found steady nerves, experience, and a lot of preparation, were paramount to success. In fact, he’d found it best to leave the killing to a professional assassin… but this time was different. This time it was personal.

  That day, he was the only passenger on the small plane for the two-hour flight from Virginia. The flight had been mostly free of turbulence and Abbas found himself more relaxed than usual. He was a big man and he had developed a lazy gut during his time in America. He was originally a Pakistani and he wore lengthy dark hair and a matching beard. He was well into a middle-aged, sedentary lifestyle but he still called the shots and he knew it. So Abbas was pleased to see his subordinate Niko there waiting, on time and as instructed. Niko was standing by the passenger side of a recently stolen Jeep, staring off towards the horizon.

  Niko was younger (not even forty) and he had been born in a foreign nation too. His dark eyes matched the shoulder length hair that he wore. Some days he had a beard and some days he didn’t. That day he did not. Where Abbas had deteriorated some in health during his time in America, Niko had taken care of himself. Niko was fit and as an operator, he knew that his survival depended on his staying that way. That day Niko’s mind was somewhere else though. He was lost in thoughts of the events that would shortly follow.

  Abbas, a ranking officer of Jamaat Al Fuqra in America, interrupted Niko’s thoughts as he poked his head out of the fuselage and began the short, but steep, descent down the aircraft’s steps. Abbas walked as if he was a diplomat himself. Or maybe even royalty. It was not that he thought himself important. He knew that he was.

  Niko already found himself nauseated at Abbas’ arrogance.

  Abbas carried a small bag and was dressed in business attire including an attractive dress hat. Normally he would have donned a turban but he did not seek attention or wish to be remembered by anyone on this day. The stylish hat seemed to add to the man’s eccentric nature but he had made a dutiful attempt to dress incognito. Abbas knew that the hat was necessary to hide the light scaring on his head that would otherwise show.

  As Abbas crossed the tarmac to where Niko was standing, both men discreetly shook hands with one another, offering a subdued greeting in English. It was the type of handshake that any typical American businessmen would offer. Neither man shared the same native tongue, so English had been selected well before the two men had met that day. Looking back, it had now been nearly a decade since they were first acquainted and the time had seemed to move quite quickly. Niko was well versed in English, but the higher-ranking man engaged him with a more basic vocabulary. His limited English skills required a pause every now and then as he carefully searched for the closest words that he could find that might adequately relate his point.

  “Good flight?” Niko asked with a fabricated sincerity that he hoped had disguised his true feelings of dislike towards Abbas.

  “Ah, yes. Minimal turbulence,” the man said with a smile and a dismissing wave of his hand.

  He did not want to talk about the flight. He wanted payback. He wanted the satisfaction of having the last word and it would be done just as he had foreseen in his guiding vision.

  Niko just hoped that the plan would go off as expected. Abbas and his damn visions, he thought to himself. As an assassin, Niko knew there were much better ways to achieve the end result that his mentor desired. Options that were more subtle. Options that had a higher chance of keeping law enforcement at bay.

  The two loaded up in the Jeep and began their trek through New England. Abbas immediately lit up a pipe and began puffing away on tobacco without a thought to his driver. Niko found the smoke almost as nauseating as his passenger. They continued like this through a small section of Rhode Island before driving through most of Connecticut, where their final destination was. Abbas knew he could have flown to an airport nearer their target but he hoped the added distance would aid their need for anonymity. They didn’t wish to be tied to the events that would soon unfold.

  The two men spotted the mosque that they were searching for but Niko drove past it. It was still too early and besides, a quick drive by to catch their bearings now, might aid them in looking like they belonged there, later.

  “Ah! Wait, Niko! That was it!” Abbas said with some arrogant disappointment in his voice as they continued by their target. “You go too far now.”

  “Relax Abbas. It’s called reconnaissance. We want to blend in like we belong there. We can’t bumble into the parking lot like tourists. It would attract too much attention. Just relax and we will watch from over here.”

  Niko knew the job was personal to Abbas but he asked himself why the hell the man had insisted on coming along. Nothing about the assignment felt right to Niko.

  Niko pulled the vehicle into a nearby diner where the men waited. There was a constant stream of traffic coming and going and no one paid attention to the two men. From there, they had a great vantage point of the mosque. During the surveillance, Niko handled a folder that contained personal information of their target. He tilted the manila envelope and a picture tumbled out into his hand. There he was: Abu Abdullah. He was going to die and it was mostly over a clash of egos.

  Abdullah’s mosque was considered moderate and it had become the largest in the region. Jamaat Al Fuqra wished to join efforts with Abdullah. His congregation was coveted for two main reasons. Jamaat Al Fuqra had (rightly!) a reputation of being radicals. Working with Abdullah, they could operate under a perceived veil of moderacy as they worked to further their more extreme ambitions. The second reason was more obvious: money. With the large following, they could siphon off congregational funding for their own exploits. The offer had been presented well to Abdullah but he knew what it was: a shakedown. A hostile takeover. So, he had alienated himself from the Jamaat Al Fuqra leadership while clumsily firing insu
lts at them. This had angered Abbas and after his vision, well, there was only one thing to do. Kill Abdullah.

  The man arrived at the mosque around noon, as he usually did. He was driving his bland vehicle in an oblivious manner, as he entered the parking lot and positioned the car. He walked over to a side door of the mosque and pulled it open. That should have been enough to send the two killers on their way but they didn’t catch the subtle warning sign. Why had the door been unlocked? But watching the building, both men thought it time to proceed. Abdullah’s car was the only one in the lot. It appeared that Abdullah had not locked the side door after entering. Everything seemed to be in order.

  “Let’s go teach this asshole some manners,” Niko said, more to Abbas than for any personal satisfaction.

  “Ah, yes. A time for learning,” Abbas said humorlessly.

  Both men had discussed the plan. Now it was time to put it into action. They pulled up close to the door where Abdullah had entered. Niko got out first and made access through the door to ensure that it was still unlocked. Once he successfully disappeared inside, Abbas was sure his vision was coming to fruition. He waited sixty seconds as Niko had instructed. Then he gave himself one last narcissistic look in the rearview mirror, straightened his suit, donned his hat and strolled up the sidewalk like a Pakistani Frank Sinatra.

  His cavalier stride continued all the way to the door, where it abruptly ended. As he entered the building he heard gunshots. Gunshots? That wasn’t part of the plan! he thought to himself. What had happened? Had there been others inside of the mosque? Abbas crept down a hallway until he heard a shout from the kitchen area.

  “Back here!” Niko yelled.

  Abbas found reassurance in Niko’s tone but there was some urgency in it, as well. The tone said: I’m in control but it is taking a lot of effort to remain in control. As Abbas ran towards the kitchen, he gazed around at a scene of unfolding Armageddon. Two women had been shot, both in the head. There was kitchenware scattered across the tile floor and a big knife near one of the dead women. The spreading blood was slowly enveloping the items that were dispersed across the floor.

  “We’re in deep shit now,” Niko said as he struggled with Abdullah.

  He noticed Abbas’ expression of disapproval.

  “She came at me with the knife. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Besides, you said he’d be alone!” Niko yelled.

  Abu Abdullah was leaning against a food prep table where Niko had secured his arms behind his back. He was a desperate man who was fighting the understanding that his time may have come. Abbas had a spirited conversation with Abdullah in a Pakistani dialect that Niko couldn’t follow. It ended quickly with a dismissive nod from Abbas that Niko interpreted as, ‘do it’.

  Niko pulled a seven-inch dagger from a belt sheath and thrust it into Abdullah. The man shrieked an animalistic howl as the jab was repeated in a counterclockwise manner, over and over. Per Abbas’ request, Niko was counting the jabs, trying to get the number right. Abbas had insisted that the stabbing must occur just as he’d seen in his vision. So the onslaught continued, as did the struggle. Abbas watched while Niko retained control. Eventually, the struggle stopped and Abdullah’s lifeless body fell limp.

  “Leave him on the table. He must be left on the table,” Abbas said, recollecting the vision that had led them to their current task.

  Niko did as instructed and left the man on the table. He had done his best to inflict twenty-one punctures but he had to admit that it had been difficult to keep a count. But, for Abbas’ benefit, twenty-one stabs it was! Niko positioned the man on the table and was preparing for their quick escape. Abbas was looking around, disapprovingly and quite shocked at how such a simple plan had turned into the carnage before them. Now they had committed a multiple homicide.

  This was not like the vision. Not by a long shot.

  Niko had an operator’s mind so he continued moving in an effort to work towards their escape. Internally though, he was fuming. His gut feeling had been that having Abbas so involved in the killing was a terrible idea. Niko had completed the task the way that Abbas had insisted and now they had a mess to deal with. Niko would have to organize his thoughts later. But he knew down inside that something had to change fast. If he didn’t get away from Abbas, they would both get caught sooner or later. Probably sooner.

  “It’s done, Abbas. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Niko said.

  Abbas was gazing off at something in the distance that wasn’t there. Niko realized that he was in shock.

  “Let’s go Abbas! Now!” he snapped.

  Niko led the way down the corridor that they had both entered the building through. He passed one office and then two. As he walked by the open door of the third office, he noticed a chair beginning an arc through the air and it was moving towards him. He stepped back and drew his Makarov as the chair crashed and bounced ineffectively on the floor. A man shrieked at him.

  “Leave! Just leave now!” he said, pleading for his life.

  Niko stepped back into the doorway and placed two shots to the man’s chest. The injured man clutched at his torso as he became nauseated and felt his legs giving out. Niko put a third shot into the man’s head causing him to crumple to the floor in a heap of instant death. Niko did a quick tactical reload in case there were other surprises lying in wait.

  Both men did make it to the safety of the Jeep without further obstacles. Their escape was done over Abbas’ constant grumblings of dissatisfaction. Niko found himself seething. He didn’t mind wet work but he wanted to plan and execute the killings himself. Having Abbas tag along had been a deadly distraction, the kind of distraction that eventually leads to getting caught and being incarcerated. Niko knew he had to get out from under Abbas’ thumb. In fact, a plan was already beginning to develop in his mind.

  The men didn’t talk on the return trip to the private airport. The job was finished at least and they were sure that they hadn’t left any witnesses. Niko tossed his clothes, shoes, Makarov barrel and the knife in a random dumpster in Rhode Island. He also returned the stolen Jeep to the general area where he had taken it. He was sure to wipe off all of his fingerprints and he did his very best to remove those of Abbas, in the rear of the vehicle. In fact, he had wiped and wiped twice for fingerprints. His mind however, was simultaneously lost in disappointment and loathing. Maybe he slipped up. Or maybe his subconscious purposefully misguided him. Either way, he overlooked a smudge that Abbas had left on the rear ashtray where he had discarded the match after lighting his pipe.

  This would prove to cause some serious trouble.

  ***

  Chapter 2

  Detective Kelly Maclean worked within the Youth Violence Strike Force (YVSF) of the Boston Police Department. YVSF was a team of bureaucrats’ 21st Century wording for Boston’s “Gang Unit.” Upon achieving the rank of detective, he had been transferred to the task force. He’d seen his share of gritty crimes and tough circumstances. He was adaptable though and the camaraderie that he shared with his fellow officers helped push him to be his best on the street. Kelly had successfully solved several mysteries during his police career but none of them were currently on his mind. At that moment, he was considering a different type of mystery. Women.

  Kelly had a tall build with brown eyes and sandy hair that held a speckled shade of every natural color imaginable. In most lighting his short hair appeared reddish and he wore a three-day beard. Kelly was a handsome and muscular man with a generous amount of humble charisma.

  He had almost completed the drive back to his fiancée’s apartment that night as he ran his hand through his stubbly beard, in thought. Jen was right at his side and had been all evening. She wore her brown hair up in an athletic looking ponytail that matched her posture. She was lean but muscular. Her green eyes had been busy all evening, subtly flirting with Kelly over dinner. Their time together had been nice. In fact, it was like the first few dates, just mixed with more serious conversational topics. Kelly was off-
duty so they were both anticipating an intimate night together.

  Their conversation had covered a wide range of topics that night. Even though the two were alone, Jen’s seven-year-old son had proven to be a large part of their discussion. There was one item that stuck out in Kelly’s mind and he was having trouble leaving it alone. He had tried many times to understand the relationship that Jennifer had with her son’s father but the details were never really forthcoming. Kelly had never even seen the man. Nor had he talked to him.

  Kelly couldn’t quite grasp it. He felt that Jen was hiding the details by intentionally wrapping them in vague statements. She clearly didn’t like to talk about Brady’s father, but Kelly had found some solace in what he considered an empathetic understanding. After all, there were topics that he didn’t want to talk about either.

  He didn’t want to talk about his friends’ lives that had been cut short on the battlefield. Or the ones that came back as a shell of their previous selves. He didn’t care to talk about the experiences that still cut his sleep short to that day with horrific flashbacks and nightmares. Kelly had served with the Third Battalion Fifth Marines in the Second Battle of Fallujah in late 2004, reaching the rank of Sergeant in a rifle platoon. The battle was widely considered the highest point of conflict in the Iraq War, and the Darkhorse Battalion had kicked ass in Operation Phantom Fury. With that type of notoriety came more. Casualties had been significant in his unit. Besides gunshot wounds, many of his brother Marines had been blown up, losing legs and arms and eyes and testicles. He had seen life snuffed out right before him from both sides of the conflict.