“So you’re Nasir?”
He nodded and indicated the seat next to him. “Sit, please.”
She sat down next to him, and he immediately fired off a relentless barrage of questions. Asked her why did she want to become a Jihadist? Was this a fad? A way to put some excitement in her life? After all, he pointed out tersely, she wasn’t even a Muslim.
She glared at him, fire smoldering in her eyes. “This is absolutely not a fad. I plan on converting to Islam. Ask Jamal, I read the Koran every day. It’s America and all of Europe who are the aggressors. They want to invade the Middle East and kill all Muslims, just like the Crusaders did in the name of Christianity back in the Middle Ages.”
“So, what do you think you can do about it?” he retorted.
She smirked. “You don’t take me seriously, do you? You wait and see. I am going to the Middle East. I will join the fight for ISIS and do my part, while you and Jamal are sitting around here, talking a good game and doing nothing.”
Hakim looked at her soberly. “What if you could join the fight right here?”
Maggie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We will show this country what we can do. We are bringing the war to them.”
She squinted at him. “How?”
He shook his head. “First you must answer my question. Are you ready for jihad?”
She hesitated, and he leaned in closer to her face. “You say you want to go to Syria. Once you do, let me tell you what will happen. More likely you will die. The worst part is, you will die in obscurity. No one will even remember you. If you stay here, if you take part in our attack, they will never forget you. Which do you prefer, Maggie?”
She eyed him carefully. “If I join your group, what do I have to do?”
“Take part in our plan. I can’t tell you what it is yet. Right now, you have to trust me.”
After a short moment, she nodded solemnly.
“Good, you won’t regret it,” he assured her.
He came back to the present. Everyone was seated. He stood at the head of the table, his hands on the back of a chair and his eyes roaming the room. This was his moment.
“As you know, our brothers in ISIS have entrusted us with a mission to bring this country to its knees once again, Inshallah.” Hakim tightened his grip. He could sense their eagerness.
“Saturday, September third, the Wonder of the Seas, the biggest new cruise ship in the world, is scheduled to sail out of Port Everglades for its maiden voyage with five thousand four hundred passengers…”
He paused a moment. “But that ship is not our target.”
The silence was palpable. He went on. “Our target is the ship’s terminal. Number Eighteen.”
Surprise was written on their faces. Hakim waited again, giving them time to process the information. “You see, in order to board the ship, every single cruise passenger must go through this terminal. This is where they check their luggage. This is where they get screened. Boarding starts at eleven am. In less than an hour, this terminal will be jam packed with excited travelers waiting to be processed so they can start partying. They don’t know it yet, but they won’t be going on this cruise. As a matter of fact, they will be on their way to hell.”
Jamal spoke up. “If this nerve gas is our weapon, isn’t it going to be a suicide mission?”
Hakim shot him an annoyed look. The man was interrupting his flow. “No, Jamal. Even though we will use a very strong grade of gas, our plan limits our exposure. And we will have the protection of an antidote.”
Jenna scoffed. “Where do we get sarin? You can’t just smuggle it in, like guns.”
Hakim remembered she wasn’t present during their previous talk about the nerve gas. “You’re right, Jenna. One of Saddam’s top scientists is set to arrive here any time now. He will manufacture the sarin in our lab. He’s had lots of experience”—he grinned—“and hundreds of dead Kurds are proof of the potency of his product.”
She nodded and he continued. “The port has three entrances and each one has a checkpoint. To get past them, we’ll need two things, a valid passport and a cruise ticket. We’ll have both. Ticket information will show Jamal and Maggie are a married couple. The same will apply to Jenna and myself. Abdul and Mohamed are booked as single passengers. The two married couples will have rental cars. One of the single men will arrive by cab, the other by hotel shuttle. We will allow fifteen minutes between our arrivals and we will use different entrances.”
“Tell us more about the operation,” said Mohamed softly.
Hakim smiled at the man he knew he could count on to retain a level head. “Each one of us will have a backpack with sarin containers.”
He paused as all eyes were riveted on him. “Gaining entrance to the terminal is easy. Once again, you will only be required to show your ticket and ID. The pre-boarding security check, which includes luggage, is inside the building. It’s located at the very back of the terminal, before the exit to the pier and admission to the ship. But our attack will take place long before that point. Our goal is to set up all the cylinders to release the sarin inside the terminal. Then we get out of there.”
“And if our path to the exit is blocked?’ Jamal asked.
“With the element of surprise and the confusion to follow we should be okay. There’s always a possibility we will have to fight our way out,” Hakim said.
“So we’ll have weapons?”
“Yes, we’ll go over it later.”
“You mentioned new passports?” Abdul asked.
“Everyone will have a new identity. When you leave here today, go to a drugstore or a UPS store and get your passport photos taken. I will turn them over to our supplier along with our new names and he will provide us with new passports.”
A shrill sound interrupted him. Hakim reached into his jeans pocket and fished out a phone.
“Is this Nasir Hakim?” a terse voice asked.
“Yes?”
“I have your merchandise. But there’s a problem.”
“What do you mean?” Hakim asked.
“I will explain later. Where do we meet?” the man said abruptly.
“Where are you right now?”
“On I-95, going through Deerfield.”
“Keep going on I-95, when you get to Cypress Creek Road, take the exit and head west for about a mile. The Sheraton Suites will be on your right. Turn in and go around to the back.”
“Okay,” the man said.
“What are you driving?”
“A delivery truck with ‘Canadian Imports’ on the side. What about you?” the man asked.
“A dark blue Ford Taurus. I’ll be there in a half hour.”
The conversation ended there, leaving him to wonder about the potential problem the transporter alluded to. In the meantime, most of the group had dispersed. A couple of the men remained seated.
“If you have any more questions, it’ll have to wait, I have to go. The Iraqi is here. Abdul, let’s go pick him up.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It took twenty-five minutes to get to the Sheraton. A line of cars weaved through the parking lot waiting to load or unload luggage at the main entrance. Hakim navigated around them, then made his way to the back of the building until he reached an area with only a couple of cars. He parked and killed the engine.
A few minutes later, a small truck came around the corner of the building, driving slowly before stopping at a back entrance. A man got out, stacked some boxes on a dolly and wheeled them inside. Hakim hesitated and was about to drive around the front once more, when the man came back out, jumped into his cab, and left. Another five minutes went by before a larger truck appeared and drove toward them. The driver flashed his headlights twice, then parked next to a tall hedge. On the side, big bold lettering read “Canadian Imports”. Hakim and Abdul remained seated, waiting while a short bulky man got out and walked over to them. He eyed them cautiously.
Hakim frowned. “You said something was wrong
. What is it?”
“It’s the package. He’s sick. Been throwing up all over my truck, and now he’s passed out.”
“How did you get him into Canada?”
The man shrugged. “Came in on a freighter three days ago. We have a couple of men working at the port. Got him in easy. Lucky for us, the Canadians aren’t too concerned about security, not yet anyway.”
“And getting him across the border?” Hakim asked.
“I have a regular delivery run every week to New York. So the customs guys are used to seeing me. Of course, for the kind of merchandise I carry, we had to make special provisions,” he smirked. “There’s a false bottom in the truck. We use it a lot. I had him in there. They told me to warn him if he made as much as a peep, his family would be dead. I didn’t have to. He was out most of the time.”
Hakim didn’t ask what sort of merchandise the man smuggled in. His guess was it would be either weapons or drugs, maybe both. None of it mattered to him. His only concern right now was to get the nerve gas production going. He nodded his approval and the driver raised the back door of his truck. He pointed to stacks of boxes.
“I put him back in the hold after I checked on him last time and let him take a piss. Then he started getting sicker. I didn’t want to keep him in there, but I had to. In case I got stopped. Had to move all those damn boxes by myself, so now you two are going to do it.”
Hakim was fuming at the man’s lack of cooperation but knew better than to put up an argument and attract attention. He ordered Abdul to get in and hand him the boxes. Fueled by his anger, he quickly stacked them on the pavement as the driver watched impassively. Once they were done, they waited while the driver hopped in the back and pulled on a latch in the floor of the truck. It was barely visible. As soon as he opened it, they were greeted by a revolting smell. They instinctively stepped back, hands over their noses.
“Damn. He puked again,” the driver growled.
Hakim fought off the stench and glanced into the opening. With the box too short to hold someone as tall as he was, the man was drawn up into a fetal position. His body was gaunt. His clothes were stained with vomit. His pasty complexion stood in stark contrast with the greasy black hair stuck to his skull. Shielding his eyes from the brightness of the light, he moaned weakly.
“Well, at least he’s not passed out anymore,” said the driver curtly.
Hakim leaned in. “Rasul Ahmad?”
The Iraqi nodded and Hakim reached down and took a hold of his arm. He motioned to Abdul to grab his other arm. “Come on,” he ordered.
They pulled the man out of the box only to have him collapse on the floor, too weak to stand. Hakim laid his hand on his forehead. He was burning up.
“How long have you been sick?” he asked.
“A week maybe, I don’t remember. Since the ship.”
“You’re a doctor. What’s wrong with you?” Hakim barked.
“Pneumonia, I think. I’m not sure,” he answered, so softly they could barely make out the words.
“He needs medicine,” the driver said.
“If he was sick when he got off the boat, why didn’t your people get him some meds?” Hakim asked angrily.
“They were too much in a hurry to ship him here. I told them he wasn’t well. They decided to send him anyway.”
“Bringing us a dead man wouldn’t do us any good, now would it?” Hakim scoffed.
They hefted the Iraqi off the truck and shoved him into the back seat of the car, where he immediately collapsed. Hakim got in the car and Abdul climbed into the passenger seat. The driver frowned, motioning to the boxes sitting on the pavement;
“Hey, you’re gonna help me load these?”
Nasir didn’t answer. He started the engine and pulled away. Glancing at the rear view mirror as he drove off he smirked at the sight of the angry driver standing by his truck, cursing at them.
“What are we going to do about him?” Abdul asked glancing at their sick passenger in the back seat.
Hakim didn’t answer. He was assessing his situation and he didn’t like the results. They only had a limited time to get ready for the attack. Now, instead of being able to start making the nerve gas right away, he had a man who could be dying. If Ahmad had pneumonia, he would need antibiotics as soon as possible. To take him to a doctor would be risky at best. In his present condition, they might insist on admitting him to the hospital. Obviously, that was not an option.
“We have to get our hands on some antibiotics,” he said.
Abdul creased his brow and Hakim glanced at him.
“What? You have any ideas?”
“I may know where to get some pills.”
Hakim shot him a doubtful look. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I know this guy Tony, he’s from the old neighborhood. He works at a pharmacy in Tamarac. Every time I see him, he bitches about it being a shit job and how rotten his pay is. With a little incentive, I think I can talk him into giving me some pills.”
“Think he’s there today?” Hakim asked.
“Man, the guy is there every day. Like he said, it’s a shit job and he needs the money. You got to come up with it, though. I only have a twenty.”
Following Abdul’s directions, Hakim got off 95 at Commercial and went west. The pharmacy was tucked away in a strip shopping center. There were several available parking spaces in front of the store, yet Hakim kept going until he found a spot in an area devoid of traffic.
Abdul stared at him. “What the hell? You could have parked right over there. Now I have to walk through the whole damn parking lot.”
“It’s better here. I don’t want anybody to worry about him back there.”
Hakim took out his wallet, pulled out a wad of cash, counted out a hundred and handed it to Abdul, who eyed the money skeptically.
“Not enough, man.”
“How much?” Hakim said, impatiently.
“You want him to turn me down? It’s not easy, you know, they have cameras in there watching them. He gets caught, he gets fired.”
Hakim sighed and peeled off another sixty. Abdul grabbed it. “That should do it. After all, generic antibiotics shouldn’t be more than a few bucks.”
Grumbling, Abdul got out and took off toward the store. After waiting a half hour, Hakim was getting nervous. From his seat, he could hear the Iraqi wheezing as he struggled to take short shallow breaths, followed by violent bouts of cough. The man might not make it if they didn’t get the medicine, and he couldn’t leave him to go check on Abdul. So he kept on waiting, ready to take off in a hurry if he heard sirens or noticed a cop pull up to the pharmacy.
Finally, Abdul came out of the store. As he approached the car, he raised his arm and held up a small bag he was carrying.
“You got it?” Hakim asked anxiously.
“You bet your ass.”
“What took so damn long?” Hakim asked.
Abdul snarled. “Geez, relax, will you? First I had to wait till there were no more customers around so I could talk to Tony. I told him it was for my grandmother. I said she was sick with the flu and refused to go to the doctor. Then I slipped him the money. For a minute he was confused, and I wondered if he was gonna rat on me. Then he nodded he was okay with it. But he had to wait until the pharmacist got a phone call, so he could go and get the pills off the shelf without him noticing.” He shoved the bag at him. “Here, it’s all yours.”
Hakim opened it and grabbed the pill bottle. It was Levofloxacin. The name was familiar to him. Inside were a dozen pills. He turned to Abdul with a nod of approval.
“Good work, man. Now let’s get out of here.”
Ahmad was passed out again in the backseat. When they got to the house, they picked him up and carried him upstairs to his cell. Once he was lying on the cot, Hakim touched his forehead and nearly recoiled. The man was burning with fever.
“Bring me the pills and a glass of water,” he told Abdul.
“How you gonna get him to take a pi
ll when he’s out?”
“Never mind, just get the stuff,” Hakim snapped.
A few minutes later, he pried open the man’s mouth, inserted a pill, pushing it as far back as he could with his finger, then carefully poured a trickle of water in the corner of his lips.
“You don’t think he’s going to puke again?” Abdul asked.
“We’ll soon find out.”
It took a couple of days before Ahmad showed any sign of improvement. Although Hakim managed to get him to swallow the antibiotics, he couldn’t get him to eat, and he barely drank anything at all. Finally, his fever broke, and he was awake more often. Each time Hakim walked into his cell, the Iraqi’s dark eyes stared at the ceiling, ignoring his presence. He reeked of vomit and rancid sweat.
“Time to take a shower, Rasul,” Hakim told him one morning. The man didn’t react. “Look, you may not like your situation right now. I understand. You know what your purpose is here. And as soon as you’re done, you’ll be on your way home. So, try to make the best of it.”
“You really plan on letting me go?” the man asked, his eyes reflecting doubt.
“Yes, of course, why not? We won’t need you after you get us the sarin. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You’ll feel a lot better. You’ll see. Can you stand up by yourself?”
Ahmad nodded, pushed himself off the cot and Hakim led him to the bathroom. He handed him a towel, a bar of soap, and a set of clothes.
“These should fit you,” he told him.
As he sat waiting for the Iraqi, he pondered his next move. The man had been sick for four days, which meant they were further behind than ever. Now he would have to push him to produce the sarin in half the time they planned.
Ahmad still retained his pallor when he came out of the bathroom. At least now he was clean. And better yet, the stench was gone.
Hakim grinned in approval. “Good. Are you hungry?”
Ahmad shook his head. “What do you want me to do?” he asked in a resigned voice.
Diamond Lilly Page 20