SILENT MAJORITY (Anonymous Justice Book 2)

by Boyd Craven Jr

  What Diesel had heard was the holy man talking about a counterstrike against the infidels, and that to die in Jihad was one of the best deaths that an Islamic warrior could ask for. He was pumping them up, and calling for volunteers. There had been no shortage of volunteers.

  As far as the team was concerned, anybody in the mosque at 3:30am, with an armed guard, bringing in equipment and supplies, was up to no good. They would be treated under Diesel’s highly effective rules of engagement: kill ‘em all, and let God sort them out. Or Allah, or Muhammad, or whatever in this case.

  “Suppressed weapons only. I want the guards taken out first,” Diesel reminded them for the hundredth time.

  That called for a quiet infiltration. No flash bangs, no busting in the door, just complete silence. The mosque’s walls were fairly close to two businesses, one on either side. Nobody should be at work so early, so chances were that nobody would hear them. The plan called for giving AJ access to the mosque’s computers for a few minutes, before they torched the place. It would be tight, and operating on American soil made them uneasy, but they were committed to doing it.

  “I know, I know,” Playboy groused, “I just want to get the intel dump to AJ and get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re not worried about the tangos?” Lewis asked, surprised.

  “I think he’s more worried about you finding out about him and your sister,” Grim said, biting his lip as Lewis sputtered.

  It had been a long running joke. Lewis’ older sister had been smitten with Playboy since they were teens, but because of man-law, Playboy had never asked her out. Even inferring he might sent Lewis into fits, so the guys never let up on it.

  Everyone laughed, and suddenly the tension was broken. Even Lewis cracked a smile after a minute.

  “Yeah, he better be scared of me finding out,” he said, punching Playboy in the arm, and looked to get the nod from Diesel, who gave it to him.

  Show time.

  * * *

  They stacked up outside of the unlocked side doors, and entered the mosque silently. Balaclavas covered their faces and features. Their black tactical gear, with flat dull surfaces, made no reflection from the dim lights of the foyer. One more set of double doors, creating an air-lock, stood between them and the extra-wide hallway that joined this, the administration side of the square-ish building, with the main prayer hall. Diesel, peeking through the stained glass, could see five men armed with long guns, guarding the hall just beyond.

  “Three left, two right. On my mark,” he whispered. He felt the gentle squeeze on his left shoulder, indicating that Tank was lined up beside him, and ready.

  “Go,” he whispers.

  Diesel and Tank hit the doors, rolling inside to the right and the left, coming up on one knee, firing. As the double doors are flung wide open, before either of them banged loudly against the wall, the guards inside, with surprised looks on their faces, hesitated to raise their weapons for a split-second. During that micro-hesitation, the three remaining members of the team had fired, taking down all five guards, and then entered the room as planned. Their suppressed HK rifles made bursts of pfft, pfft, pfft sounds, and the bullets hitting flesh made wet slap, slap, slap sounds, at practically the same instant.

  All five guards dropped their rifles as they fell, and six others, whose arms were full, were on the floor within three seconds. Ammunition, spilling from dropped boxes, scattered in all directions. One of the men, who didn’t quite know he was dead yet, let out a loud gurgling moan, just prior to catching a round in the throat, one in the cheek, and one in the head from a quick sweeping burst.

  A voice called out in alarm from an adjoining room as they quickly advanced towards the door. A dark skinned man poked his head out and asked, “What was that sound?” as Diesel put a three-shot burst through his head. He fell like he’d been hit by a sledgehammer, and voices beyond the door began shouting.

  “Go, go, go, go, go,” Diesel ordered.

  Diesel pulled the door open and stepped back to clear the firing lane, as Playboy, Tank and Grim stood just outside of it, firing, just like before. Diesel’s size and bulk played against him in tight places, so he stood to the side of the door, as look-out. From where he stood, he could see several desks on the far right side of the room, where an old man, hiding behind one of them, was reaching a hand up for a phone on top. He had no shot, except the hand, so he took it. Then he held down the trigger, emptying the magazine through the side of the desk. Everyone heard the wet ‘smack’ as the imam hit the floor hard, except Diesel, whose ears were now ringing, despite the suppressed weapons.

  “Clear,” Tank panted.

  “Clear,” Grim said.

  “Clear,” Lewis spat, looking at Diesel with a grin.

  Playboy stuck his head up over a divider. “Boss, you’re going to love this,” he snickered.

  The guys always teased him about his snicker. Like a little girl, he’d snicker twice and then let out a soft snort as he began laughing. Every time!

  The men piled into the room that now stank of cordite, blood and evacuated bowels. Diesel was the last one in, his shoulders brushing either side of the door jambs. He saw four large open crates and started laughing. Inside of them were AK-47s and AK-74s, grenades, claymores, and boxes of ammunition. Everything needed to wage jihad on a large scale.

  “I don’t think we ought to torch this place,” Diesel said. “I think it’d have more value to let AJ get into their computer data, and then call it into the police.”

  “Fucking A,” Tank said. “Maybe it’ll wake the fucking media up that there are terrorists, right here on our land.”

  “Remember the Oklahoma City Bomber, Michigan dude?” Lewis asked.

  “Yeah, Timothy McVeigh,” Grim said.

  “Well, this time, our Timothy McVeigh isn’t some crazy white dude, it’s a bunch of radicalized Muslim men. Trust me though, somebody sends me good intel that some crazy white dude was planning the shit these boys were,” Diesels said, his deep voice booming in the room, “and I’d take him down just as fast as we did these fuckwads.”

  “Amen,” was chorused all around the room.

  “Police the brass,” Diesel boomed, and walked over to the computers behind another partition.

  He had four thumb drives, each loaded with the contents of a .zip file AJ had sent them. He plugged one into each of the three computers, and made sure they were online. He put the fourth back into his pocket. He was no computer expert, but he understood that what was on those thumb drives would allow AJ to find and take over that computer, downloading everything on it.

  The only snag to the plan was not torching the place. They’d wanted to give the impression that the silent majority was ready and willing to kick the doors down, get payback, and torch them where they lived. But there were just too many explosives present.

  The burner phone buzzed silently in Diesel’s pocket, and he pulled out it.

  “Give me five minutes to copy files, and then light the fire,” the message said.

  “Found motherlode of weapons. Can’t use fire. Need to call police,” he typed back, his large fingers making it hard to hit the correct buttons on the small phone.

  He waited a moment and then the phone buzzed again with a new message.

  “Text me pictures of the weapons and explosives. Leave the flash drives there. I’ll contact police with pictures ten minutes later. Make sure nobody, and no reflections of you, are in pictures. Then go.”

  “Hey guys,” Diesel said, “hope you’re done policing brass, cuz it’s time to move! Total body count?”

  “Eleven out there, three in here,” Playboy said.

  “I thought you said 15 counting the old man?” Diesel asked, suddenly concerned.

  “I did,” Tank murmured, “we’re missing one.”

  “Let’s go,” Diesel said. “AJ’s calling the cops in nine minutes.”

  “You got it boss.”

  9

  Dharma Bednarski:
<
br />   Home in Hamtramck, MI

  2:00 p.m. Saturday, Dec 26th, 2015

  “I can’t believe these pictures!” Jade exclaims. “Just look at all this shit! They could start a war with this much weaponry.”

  “They already have. I don’t know where HPD got that many SWAT units from that fast after AJ reported the mosque, but holy cow! They went through there like a swarm of ants. I can’t wait to see what their reports say about what they found.”

  “Turn on the news Dharma, I’ll bet the cops and reporters are still there. Boy, anyone that goes to church or whatever there must be sweatin’ bullets right about now. You know they’re gonna investigate every one of them.”

  “Ha! Any of them that have anything to hide are already making tracks right now as fast as they can,” I say. “Do you really think that everyone that went there knew what was going on? I have a hard time believing that. Professor Langston says that here in America, the Sunnis and the Shiites have historically shared mosques, purely for financial reasons. There just aren’t always enough Shiites in an area to be able to afford their own place. He says that’s slowly beginning to change though. I wonder what will happen at the ones they still share if that caliphate he was explaining gets universally recognized? Will he order the Sunnis there to cut the heads off of their Shiite friends they’ve been going to church with their whole life?”

  “I dunno. I doubt it. I just can’t imagine that. Mom used to make us go to church when I was a kid, and I never remember seeing stuff like this in a Catholic church. Some of them were ‘better’ Christians than others, but even the lousy ones like me probably wouldn’t go around cutting heads off of old ladies and stuff, just because somebody told us to,” she says.

  “I hope you’re right,” I say, “but that Hussein guy’s neighbors didn’t think he was that kinda person either…”

  “Speaking of that interview, look who’s on the TV right now. Ole Miss Shot-myself-in-the-ass Marie Krantz! Damn that must’ve hurt!”

  “… today in Hamtramck, HPD, ATF and the FBI raided a mosque in the city, after an anonymous tipster sent pictures of weapons caches alleged to be inside. What authorities discovered upon entering, was a continuance of the slaughter that this city has been plagued with for too long now. Thirteen men and the imam were found dead inside, after an apparent gun battle took place there in the early morning hours. What, I must ask, are the mosque’s men and the imam himself doing with guns inside of it in the first place? Police say assault rifles, hand grenades, boxes of ammunition, and several computers were seized. Testing is underway to determine if what was found there matches with what was found in the remains of that white van that exploded downtown Wednesday after a high speed chase, killing a number of police officers, or the mass shooting at St. Stanislaus church recently. Was this mosque responsible for radicalizing local Islamic terrorists? Are other mosques, right here in Michigan, and around the country doing the same? What is the motivation that drives this kind of madness? More, after this from our sponsors…”

  “Whoa!” Jade says. “Sounds like somebody might be starting to change their tune! Maybe she should’ve shot herself in the ass a long time ago!”

  “Haha! You’re a terrible person Jade. Bad, bad, bad!”

  * * *

  “How does this look Dharma? Ready to send?”

  “Perfect, as always,” I tell her, and smile. We make such good partners!

  “And… Here we go!”

  [AJ] Salutations, all. I now have iron-clad proof that at least ten of the dead protesters from the Thor’s Gun Shop incident attend the mosque in Dearborn, MI. That means there has been radical cooperation and communication between these two locations at the very least. If weapons and explosives were delivered to the mosque in Hamtramck after the gun shop incident, one may wonder if there was a similar delivery in Dearborn.

  [AJ] I will soon provide a list of names and addresses of as many of the dead protestors, and the 13 at the mosque in Hamtramck, as possible. Those that can may find this information useful.

  [AJ] Please remember, use caution what you post in public places. No discussion on this topic is necessary here. Discussion is best done in private.

  “That ought to stir the shit up some! Think?” Jade says.

  “For every name and address we list, any others living there - and probably the home itself - will face retribution. As bad as I feel doing that, it should send out a huge message. Any Muslim in the country, that is on the fence wondering, ‘Should I, or shouldn’t I support this?’ might just change their mind, when they hear that these guys were killed, identified, and then actions were taken against their homes and families…”

  “Right? They’re not like, stupid. They’ll get the message. Genius plan, Dharma.”

  10

  Detective Miller:

  HPD, Hamtramck, MI

  10:00 a.m. Tuesday, Dec 29th, 2015

  To say the last week and a half has been bad would be the worst understatement ever. Every single thing that could go bad did. It was a week that even Murphy himself wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. The St. Stanislaus church shooting, William, the gun shop, then the van explosion last Wednesday… That explosion was felt all the way to the PD, where Wayne and I had been dressing in tactical gear to respond to the massive shooting at Thor’s Gun Shop. Right after explosion, calls started flooding into 911 dispatches, and it soon became apparent that everything within a two block radius of the van had simply ceased to exist.

  It was like 9/11 all over again, only outside. 300-plus civilians dead, 27 law enforcement officers dead, more than 70 houses flattened, the Board of Education building flattened, a big portion of the stadium wall and bleachers destroyed. Hospitals and urgent care centers for miles were full of people injured by flying glass from shattered windows. Fire departments and law enforcement agencies from all over Michigan responded. It seemed like every news reporter in the country came and camped out here…

  The whole community has been in an uproar ever since. Everybody knows somebody who has been either killed or maimed. I myself have doubts about just how safe it would be for a Muslim to walk down the street. Then came Saturday morning. When the text messages had been delivered, they came to my cell phone! Pictures of crates of rifles, grenades and explosives, in large quantities, came through first. Following was a message claiming that all of this was just photographed at the Islamic center in Hamtramck by someone who called himself ‘Anonymous Justice’.

  The first thing I’d done was notify my boss, who’d called out the cavalry. That technically made this my case, but I had to wait for SWAT to clear the building before I could even enter. By that time, the FBI agents already in town were there too. They’d figured that that made it their case. Fourteen dead in a very one-sided firefight, one of whom was the Imam, or local Muslim spiritual leader. Maybe having this be the FBI’s case wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Their guy claiming lead on the case was a very self-important Special Agent Mark Clay.

  When the media showed up, led by Marie Krantz and company, she already had the same pictures and message that I got, only 10 minutes later! Her network already had them on the air as they arrived, so there was no chance of our shutting it down first.

  The bitch is good at her job!

  A quick phone call to the captain had confirmed it. It was an FBI crime scene. That was fine with me. It pissed me off, but it was fine. They insisted that everyone wear the cutsie little shoe covers and gloves to be in there, so we did. The crime scene was very tight. No mistakes. This wasn’t done by the masked guys from Thor’s Gun Shop, for sure. These were professionals.

  Keep your damn mouth SHUT Miller, I told myself.

  We’d had to stand around with our thumbs in our asses, in our own city, watching their CSI team collect evidence, before we could walk around ourselves. Something had caught my eye. It was on the far side of the room on a window ledge. It gleamed dully in the harsh lights.

  “Did you check the windows and d
oors for entries?” I’d asked them, moving to stand in front of the window.

  A 9mm shell casing was gleaming up at me, almost hidden behind the shade.

  “Of course we did,” said the CSI team member nearest me, with a little too much attitude.

  I’d put my arms up on the window as if to lean on it and look outside. In fact, I’d taken the 9mm casing in my left hand.

  “Okay,” I said, turning to leave. “Your crime scene. Captain confirmed it.”

  As we’d walked away, the brass casing in my suit pocket had felt heavier than I’d anticipated.

  Screw ‘em. I’ll check it out on my own, quietly. Maybe they did me a favor. I dunno.

  * * *

  Now, the very next day, the captain is sending us on a field-trip to look at another mosque in Dearborn that’s been attacked, to see if it’s related to our case. I’ve never missed this much sleep in my life. All of us left in the department have been almost literally working around the clock trying to track the sick fucks behind all of this. The heat is on me to find and interview the owner of Thor’s Gun Shop to see what he knows about all of this, but that’s not high up on my list. Yet.

  “You want to drive?” Wayne asks.

  He’s a rookie, and he really isn’t a bad guy, but he always wants to drive. Today I’m more tired than anything else, so I just grunt and toss him the keys. The smile he gives me is big and toothy. I give him a grin in return and slide into the unmarked.

  “You care what we listen to?”

  It’s well known he’s big into sports and he loves the sports talk radio programs on 97.1. Me? I couldn’t care less. I have a reason for making his day by letting him drive for once.

  “No, just wake me when we get there,” I tell him.

  He gives me a sharp look, then lets out a chuckle and starts the car.