The Imam of the Cave

by J Randall

  The major blinked. “How bad was he hurt?”

  “He’ll probably have some aches and pains for a few days. That’s all.”

  “You left him and his vehicle at their compound—did anyone see you?”

  “We wore civilian clothes and took the license plates off the car we used. No one would be able to recognize us.”

  “Who helped you?”

  Sweat ran off the lieutenant’s forehead until it reached his chin then dribbled onto his chest. “I did, sir.”

  The major thought for a moment before speaking. “Lieutenant, I put up with the abuse and brutality your two men inflicted on the recruits—most of them needed it—but attacking a UN inspector cannot be swept under the carpet. You and the sergeant will take the drill instructors behind the school compound and terminate their service with the Army. This afternoon—before the sun sets on their deed.”

  “Sir, you want us to organize a firing squad?” the lieutenant asked nervously, his face turning pale.

  “That’s not what I said. I want you and the sergeant to take care of the matter. Don’t you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant. Without a pause he grasped the visibly shaken lieutenant by the arm and led him from the room.

  * * *

  The two soldiers had been forced to kneel on the ground with their arms tied behind their backs.

  The lieutenant and the sergeant stood behind them, but only the sergeant held a pistol.

  “I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do,” he said. “Do you have anything to say?”

  The smaller man, who had bruises on his face, said, “We were just doing what everyone’s talking about, sending them away from our country.”

  The other man was crying.

  The sergeant placed the muzzle close to the back of his head and shot him first to put him out of his misery, then quickly shot the first man.

  The lieutenant tried to wipe off the specks of blood that had spattered his cheek. “How can you do that?” he croaked.

  “Lieutenant, you’d better hope the major can tell a convincing story at headquarters today or the three of us will be assuming the same position.”

  CHAPTER 59: ANOTHER RUSE

  “I WAS PREPARING to leave for the hotel.” Gloria looked at her watch. It was two o’clock.

  “I told them I’d be gone two or three days at the most. If I don’t show up today someone will become suspicious…You have the places? Hold on a second—I have to get a pen and paper.”

  She wrote down what the caller told her, pulled a map of Baghdad out of her bag and spread it on the table.

  “Yeah, I see the areas. I should be able to find them okay…I’ll check them later this afternoon…Do you have the times when he’ll be there?…I see. I’ll wait on your call after I visit them.”

  She slid her phone and notes into the bag with the map and checked the house once more. Satisfied that everything was in order, she locked the front door then got into the car and drove to the hotel.

  * * *

  “Ah, Miss Caruthers, we wondered if you have car trouble on your trip.” The clerk displayed the wide gap between his front teeth.

  “No, everything’s fine. It was a good trip.”

  The clerk leaned forward and handed her a sheet of paper and the key to her room. He was rewarded with five dollars.

  She closed and locked the door to her room and removed the electric razor from her overnight bag. She scanned the furniture, the light fixture and a solitary picture of Saddam that hung on the wall, then the bathroom.

  She let out a breath of relief upon finding no indications that the room was bugged.

  She put the razor back in her bag and went over to the bed to sit down and read the fax.

  The previous night she had contacted Walter Terrance in New York and asked him to have a fax sent from Le Figaro in Paris. The fax requested that she drive immediately to another town to do another story.

  The fax was sent in English to make it easier for the curious to read it, but in case they hadn’t, she would leave it at the desk.

  “I’m afraid I’m off on another assignment.”

  Gloria laid the fax on the desk in front of him. “My editor has ordered me to go to Tall Al Muqayyar and do a story on the ancient city of Ur.”

  “When you leave?”

  “I’m afraid I have to leave now if I’m going to get there before dark. I hope I’m not inconveniencing you and the hotel.”

  She layed twenty dollars on the desk.

  The clerk glanced around to see whether anyone was watching. He picked up the money and slid it into a pocket. “There is no bother, Miss Caruthers. How long you plan to be away?”

  “I shouldn’t be longer than two or three days. Will there be a problem holding my room for me?”

  “It will be how you leave it. I hope you have enjoyable trip.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gloria visited the places she had noted down and made it back to the safehouse at six in the evening.

  She was sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette when she felt the vibration of the satellite phone.

  “Hello…Yes, I’m ready…I checked them both out…I’m watching his back—that’s all I can do.”

  CHAPTER 60: “LET THE SWORD DECIDE

  AFTER THE STRATAGEM HAS FAILED”

  –ARAB PROVERB

  BILL AWOKE AT 6 A.M. ON SATURDAY stiff and sore from the previous day’s encounter. Though his body protested his brain’s orders to get up, bend and stretch, it complied.

  Physically he hadn’t felt this bad in a long time, but mentally he was surprisingly refreshed after the fight. Primal instincts, survival of the fittest—he felt that the bout had ended in a victory, though some might question the points he had scored.

  A big breakfast with two cups of coffee—and a few of Berry’s pills—readied him to face the day.

  He got into his jeep—cleaned and gassed up as Chuck had promised—released the clutch, stepped on the gas pedal and merged with the Baghdad traffic.

  Driving through Baghdad, Bill replayed what had happened the day before. He couldn’t find a logical explanation for the encounter with the two soldiers and the even more mysterious ride back to the UN compound.

  The only conjecture that made sense was that it was a fluke, a couple of disgruntled soldiers taking matters into their own hands.

  Nearing the first facility on his list, he noticed how deserted it looked. It was the weapons factory where he had first encountered the nerve agent. And where Derrick Willy and Peter Branham had been abducted.

  Bill parked at the side of the building and got out.

  He unlocked the door and took his time walking the twenty-five feet to the far wall, where the UN detection equipment had been installed.

  He visually inspected the vacant room and saw nothing but rusting machinery—not a single sign that any dust had been disturbed. He proceeded to check the sensors and camera.

  With but one other inspection on his abbreviated schedule, he would get back to the compound shortly before lunch. He was surprised to find that the thought cheered him.

  When he opened the door to leave, a shadow blocked his vision for a split second then everything became quiet.

  The Iraqi who had been watching him when he arrived had reacted quickly after Holden disappeared into the building. He stole a shovel from the jeep and took up a position in front of the door.

  The blow hadn’t been particularly forceful and Holden might have shaken it off, but it landed on the same spot as the fist and the kick the day before.

  Abdullah immediately shoved Holden so that he crumpled onto the floor inside the door. He stepped into the building and closed the door for privacy. He took Holden’s feet and dragged him to the far wall and wrapped ropes around his hands and legs.

  Satisfied that his prisoner was tied up well enough, Abdullah stood near a window close to the entrance and watched the road while he extracted the cel
l phone from the bag he carried.

  * * *

  Mustafa was ecstatic to hear from Abdullah and felt a great burden lifted from his shoulders. He and the faithful had been able to bear the tasks the Imam had assigned them only because of their devotion to him as their religious leader.

  Without waiting to be acknowledged, Mustafa rushed into the room where the Imam was studying the Qur’an.

  “We have him, Imam. William Holden—we’ve captured him.”

  The Imam closed the Qur’an abruptly and lifted his gaze eagerly to the younger cleric. “Where is he?”

  “In a deserted factory on the outskirts of the city. Abdullah happened to be observing the building and overpowered him when he came out. He called a minute ago. He has Holden tied up and will watch him closely until we arrive.”

  The Imam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He was alone?”

  “Yes, Imam…What are your instructions?”

  “Have one of our brothers get a car and tell him to meet me at the east entrance of the mosque. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Yes, Imam.”

  The Imam spoke in reverence to his one and only God. “I praise and thank you, Allah, for bringing the infidel to me. It is your will I do today.”

  He headed toward the door then paused and walked back to the small table.

  He pulled out its drawer, picked up a pair of gloves and a metal canister and put them into one of the pockets of his robe, then grabbed the protective mask carrier from beneath the table and headed to the east entrance.

  Mustafa opened the rear door for the Imam and would have followed him into the car, but the Imam stopped him.

  “Wait here, Mustafa. I’ll be back soon…Does the driver know how to get there?”

  “He’s acquainted with the factory from when we were tracking the UN…Are you sure you should go alone? What if there is infidel mischief?”

  “Allah will watch over me. Do not worry.” The Imam tapped the driver on the shoulder.

  * * *

  They drove down a dusty road lined with desolated structures until they could see someone standing next to a palm tree awaiting their arrival. The driver stopped the car in front of the little factory.

  The Imam got out and spoke in a stern voice to the man before him. “Abdullah?”

  Abdullah nodded, trying to suppress his trembling.

  “Where is he?”

  Nervously, Abdullah looked toward the door. “Inside. I bound his arms and legs, but he’s awake now.”

  “Wait here. I will call for you when I want your assistance.”

  “Yes, Imam.”

  The Imam went through the door and paused for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the dimness.

  He saw his enemy sitting against the back wall and moved toward him.

  Holden had regained consciousness not long before the cleric arrived.

  “William Holden.” The Imam just stated his adversary’s name and stood glaring down at him.

  In Arabic the Imam asked, “Do you recognize me?”

  The venom in Holden’s voice and the hatred in his eyes shot forth like a viper’s tongue when he answered, in Arabic, “I know who you are—you’re the bastard who abducted my inspectors.”

  The guttural vigor of Holden’s wrath made the Imam flinch.

  “But why did you abduct them? That’s what I’d like to know. The prophecy of the medallion said to gather the tools of his enemies and take them to the cave. It didn’t say to take innocent men.”

  The Imam took a step backwards. He was startled to hear the words of the Prophecy coming from Holden’s mouth and his stoic persona was shaken. He hesitated for a brief moment, enough time for Holden to confirm his suspicions.

  “The men were not important—it was their equipment we wanted.”

  “You consider yourself a religious leader, a man who serves God. What kind of God would choose someone with so little respect for human life as you have?”

  Holden leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. “Not the God I know.”

  “We are preparing for the day before judgment when Al Mahdi returns to make this world one under Islam. I want you to understand I have no malice toward your men—they are infidels and know no better.”

  Holden’s brow furrowed and he clenched and unclenched his bound hands. “Christians don’t advocate the extermination of Muslims in the name of their God.”

  “What I have done is in the name of Allah and for the glory of Islam.”

  “That excuse is no better than the Nazis’ saying they were following orders.”

  The Imam waved a hand as though to dismiss something of no consequence and not worth listening to.

  “I am not offering you an excuse,” he said impatiently. “What I do is for Islam. You are an infidel and cannot be expected to understand.”

  Holden shook his head back and forth. His hatred for the man standing over him crossed the threshold of his ability to despise anyone and turned to something like pity.

  “Answer one question for me.”

  “What do you want to know…for the few moments before you forget it?” The sweat building on the Imam’s forehead trickled downward toward his robe.

  Holden shuddered at the depths of the man’s inhumanity. “Where did you get the canisters?”

  The Imam paused and raised up as though he was about to read an indictment in an Islamic court and wanted the accused to be aware that the punishment would be severe.

  “Do you remember the cleric you killed in the cave? He learned of their existence from a dying Hezbollah. The cleric was my friend and he gave me the canisters—the means to fulfill the Prophecy of the Medallion.”

  With the finality of an Islamic judge rapping his gavel, the Imam reached into his robe, slid the gloves out and pulled them onto his hands. He unsnapped the protective mask carrier at his side and extracted the mask. His voice became serene.

  “You will be raised as a Muslim and when you have regained your senses enough to comprehend, it will be explained to you.

  “I am almost sorry that you will have no memory but the new one you will be supplied with. But indeed you will have no memory, and you will agree with everything that we have done.”

  Holden quivered at the thought, but his face didn’t reveal what he had learned about the nerve agent. Each time you come into contact with its residue, your body will work overtime to develop immunity.

  The Imam added, “The man in the cave was my friend—I am exceedingly sorry that you won’t be able to remember what you did.”

  He put the mask over his face, took the canister from his robe and dosed Holden’s face.

  CHAPTER 61: BETRAYAL

  THE IMAM WALKED TO THE DOOR, opened it and stepped into the sunlight, expecting to signal Abdullah and his driver to come collect the unconscious infidel.

  But he found himself surrounded by half a dozen strangers.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

  Four members of the tribe quickly took the Imam’s arms as they had been cautioned to do and held him tight so he could not use the ‘poison gas’ that Sabah had told them he carried.

  A dozen other tribe members were stationed along the road to watch for traffic and anyone attempting to enter their temporary turf. The remaining cousins who had rushed to the factory were gathered at the front of the building.

  The Imam struggled against being seized and held and having his protective mask removed. “You can’t do this!” he protested.

  Sabah reached into the cleric’s black robe and confiscated the canister of nerve agent. He slipped it stealthily into his pocket. “We’re looking for what’s ours.”

  “‘What’s yours’?—I have nothing that belongs to you.”

  Medhat opened the cleric’s robe and exposed the medallion hanging around his neck. “Oh, but you do, cleric—you have treated as yours the medallion that was a gift to our tribe.”

  “What are you saying? The medallion car
ries a Prophecy from Muhammad and it was revealed to me in the cave. Only to me!”

  “It was a gift to our tribe, Holy One,” Medhat spat out, “for helping Muhammad. Perhaps we lost it many years before you found it, but nevertheless it’s our property and not yours.”

  Medhat tried to lift the chain over the cleric’s head, but the Imam twisted his body with a force that nearly freed him from the men’s grip before Medhat could remove the medallion.

  “You may not take it from me!” the cleric yelled in an anguished moan.

  “It holds the Prophecy. Listen to me!” he pleaded.

  The men who held the cleric tied his arms and legs with cord and sat him down beside the bound driver.

  The Imam caught sight of Abdullah and their eyes met for a moment before Abdullah looked down. “How could you betray me?”

  He received no reply. His head fell to his chest and his lips moved in silent prayer. Allah, give me the strength to smite those that would hinder your servant from doing your will.

  Sabah said in a conciliatory tone, “Medhat, take our cousins and the medallion and leave. I’ll give the cleric to Bill.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’ve been trained in these matters and I don’t want the members of the tribe in any more danger.”

  Sabah turned to the cousin who had followed Bill and hit him with the shovel. “You’ve done well, Abdullah, though I think your services to the cleric and the mosque are over. If they hear what you’ve done, there’ll be nowhere safe for you to hide. Go with our cousins. They’ll look after you.”

  Abdullah turned sadly and started to limp away.

  Sabah held his hand out. “But leave me the phone…in case I have trouble. And let me have the keys to your motorcycle.”

  Abdullah handed the phone and the keys to Sabah and followed the others.

  The members of the tribe ran to their cars, which were hidden behind an abandoned ruin two kilometers past the building, where Sabah had recommended they park so no one approaching from the city would notice them.