Reb's Revenge (Reb Rogers Book 1)

by J B Black

“Our General Davidson, Commander of 4th Scouts Group?” Reb interrupted.

  “The very same. Anyway, he’s been appointed as the new Director of the Federal Bureau for Internal Security and he’s offered me the job as his Deputy Director of Operations, which I’ve accepted.”

  “Congratulations, Jake.”

  “Thanks, Reb. What I wanted—”

  “I can’t think of anyone who’d be better qualified,” Reb interrupted, again.

  “I know what you’re doing asshole,” Jake said with a smile. “Now, are you going to let me finish what I’ve been trying to say?”

  Reb raised his hands in surrender and said, “Sorry, so what is this Federal Bureau for Internal Security? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

  “After 9/11, the Shrubb administration recognized that we were at war with an unconventional enemy that used unconventional methods. Who would have ever thought to use a commercial airliner as a bomb except in a movie or a novel?

  “There were concerns in the government that there might be sleeper cells of radical Islamic jihadists operating covertly throughout the United States just waiting for the chance to establish a Caliphate in the United States. And there were indications that funding and other support for these radical Islamic jihadists was coming from foreign sources.

  “President Shrubb’s advisors convinced him that the situation called for a new clandestine agency to deal with the problem—an agency that didn’t have the kind of restrictions placed on the FBI, the CIA, and the various and sundry Federal, State, and Local law enforcement agencies.

  “This new agency needed to be able to utilize methods much more harsh in dealing with radical Islamic jihadists inside or outside of our country. Similar to what happened in World War II, the rights otherwise afforded to radical Islamic jihadists operating inside of our country had to be suspended if we were to have any chance of winning the war we are in.

  “Congress agreed and authorized the creation and funding for the new agency with one major provision. In addition to radical Islamic terrorists, the FBIS was also authorized to go after narco-terrorists. Because of its mandate, it was decided that the FBIS would operate in the black. Any questions?”

  “When you say harsh methods, just what exactly do you mean?” Reb asked.

  “The FBIS deals with radical Islamic jihadists as follows: they don’t get Mirandized, they don’t go before a criminal court judge with a lawyer so they can get released on bail, they don’t get thrown into regular prisons where they can be released later to go back to trying to destroy our country again, and by-God-damn they will get water-boarded when we interrogate them.

  “We’re at war with an enemy that calls us infidels, uses terrorism to achieve their goals, and doesn’t hesitate to kill their fellow Muslims when they get in the way. They are ruthless and think we are stupid when we afford them the same rights American citizens have. Now, how stupid is that?” Jake said.

  “Pretty fucking stupid when you put it that way,” Reb agreed.

  “So, the short answer to your question, Reb, is that the mission of the FBIS is to prevent anyone who has ties to radical Islam from causing harm to our country. We find those people and neutralize them using any and all means necessary to get the job done. You could say we have a license to kill.”

  “But what about the elephant in the room?” Reb asked.

  “I guess you mean the new guy in the Oval Office with his pro-Muslim leanings?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Well, the Democrat leadership in the Congress—being the politically astute folks that we know them to be—realized that another major attack on the homeland by radical Islamic terrorists might throw a monkey wrench into their re-election plans. Furthermore, they knew that the FBIS had single handedly disrupted several radical Islamic terrorist plots inside the country since its inception. So, shortly after the new President was sworn in, a small, but powerful delegation of Democrat Congressional members met with the new President and politely suggested to him, if he wanted their support on any legislation he was thinking about bringing before Congress, that he should leave things with the FBIS as they were. The President, being the political genius that he is, saw the wisdom in their suggestion and agreed to leave matters with the FBIS alone during his Presidency.”

  “Damn Jake,” Reb said. “Sounds like you and the General have a hell of a mandate.”

  “Yeah, we do,” Jake replied. “By the way, what I started to tell you and almost forgot is that the General and I both believe that one of the Taliban we killed at Lashwan was an American and that the woman you spoke to on the satphone that day was probably an American, also. We think that the woman—who was the only outsider who knew about what happened at Lashwan—was responsible for the press getting wind about that operation.”

  “That certainly makes sense,” Reb agreed.

  “Anyway, since I’ve got to believe that the woman has ties to radical Islam and because she threatened you, we’ll have the NSA monitoring communications for any reference to that operation or your name just in case they ever learn who you are.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate you watching my back,” Reb said.

  “No problem.”

  “So, when do you start your new job?” Reb asked.

  Jake stood up to go. “I fly out tomorrow. By the way, Reb, there is one other thing. General Davidson wanted me to let you know that if you ever get bored with civilian life, we can always use someone with your skill set at the FBIS.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Reb said.

  CHAPTER 7

  Atlanta International Airport

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Wednesday, November 4, 2009

  9:10 p.m. Eastern Time

  Hassan was sitting in a quaint little coffee shop on Concourse B of the Atlanta Airport drinking a latte. Any minute he was expecting the announcement that boarding could begin for his connecting flight back to Washington, D.C.

  It had been almost six months since Hassan had setup the new mosque in Pensacola, Florida.

  * * *

  After receiving the funding promised by Faisal Al-Waheed, Hassan, with the assistance of a real estate agent, found a small vacant strip mall in Pensacola that was available for sale at a very reasonable cost. When he filled out the business license, he named the mosque the West Pensacola Islamic Center.

  The contractor he hired to perform the renovations promised to complete the work in two weeks time. Part of the renovation work included building a small efficiency apartment in the rear of the mosque as living quarters for the new Imam.

  The person Hassan selected to be the Imam, Abdul Aswad, was a radical cleric whom Hassan had known for years. When Hassan explained to Abdul what the purpose for the new mosque was, Abdul enthusiastically accepted Hassan’s offer for him to become the Imam for the new mosque.

  Hassan was at the mosque to meet Abdul when he arrived in Pensacola and Abdul moved into his apartment in the rear of the mosque the same day the contractor completed his work.

  Hassan and Abdul wasted no time going over the plans for recruiting the jihadis for the attack on the air show. Both men knew they were on a tight schedule. It would take time to build a membership at the mosque and it would take more time for Abdul to screen out potential candidates who would be willing to commit themselves to waging jihad and, in all likelihood, become martyrs. Abdul was an expert at radicalizing young Muslim men and Hassan had every confidence in Abdul’s ability to complete the task ahead.

  The plan for the attack on the air show called for three teams of three jihadis each. Each team would act as a cell. Each cell would have no knowledge of the other two cells to reduce the possibility of compromising the operation. Only Abdul, Hassan, Mohammed, and Faisal would know the identities of the jihadis.

  Hassan and Abdul also established their protocols for communications. If they needed to call one another, they would use burner cell phones. Hassan would use the code name Sinbad. Abdul would use the code n
ame Imam. For any other communications, they would use a website that Hassan had set up on the darknet.

  The last item on Hassan’s to do list in Pensacola was to find a secluded property not too far from the mosque where the jihadi cells could continue their training after returning from the terrorist training camp in Libya. When Hassan explained what he was looking for to the real estate agent who had assisted him in the purchase of the vacant strip mall, the agent told him about a small parcel of land just outside of Cantonment that could be used as a hunting camp. Cantonment was north of Pensacola and the drive to the property only took forty-five minutes. The property was a couple of hundred acres of mostly wooded land with an old, but functional hunting lodge that could easily sleep ten or more adults. Hassan authorized the agent to make an offer. Thirty days later Hassan had the deed in hand. When the first team of jihadis returned from the terrorist training camp operated by Faisal in Libya, they would be able to continue with their training at the newly acquired training facility in Cantonment.

  With everything moving forward in Pensacola, Hassan started flying around the country on his mission to establish the other new mosques he and Faisal had discussed at their meeting in Dubai. After six months, Hassan had established new mosques in Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, and St. Louis. Hassan had no problem finding Imams with suitably radical Islamic leanings and the new mosques were steadily increasing their memberships. Hassan was well on the way to achieving his goal to establish ten new mosques in ten of the larger American cities by the end of the first year.

  Just three weeks ago, Hassan had flown to Tripoli, Libya aboard Faisal’s private jet. He arrived in Tripoli a day earlier than the first group of jihadis from Pensacola were scheduled to arrive for their training at Faisal’s terrorist training camp. At the airport in Tripoli, Hassan was met by a Brit by the name of Randall Wilson. Wilson was a seasoned terrorist who had been hired by Faisal to provide the training for the jihadis from Pensacola. Hassan reviewed the training schedule with Wilson and decided to take the training course alongside the three jihadis. The next day when Hassan and Wilson picked up the three men at the Tripoli airport, Randall introduced Hassan to the jihadis using a fake name and told them that he was just another jihadi who would be receiving training with them.

  Driving a Toyota Land Cruiser, Wilson transported them to a remote camp in the desert where they spent the next three weeks learning everything that Wilson could teach them about being a terrorist in the limited amount of time they had.

  For those three weeks, Hassan and the three young jihadis spent everyday at the shooting range learning how to become proficient with the Beretta M9 semi-automatic pistol and the AK-47 semi-automatic rifle.

  Wilson showed them how to assemble a bomb, which could be hidden inside a large ice chest and smuggled past a security checkpoint.

  They were given security protocols to follow in order to avoid suspicion and scrutiny by law enforcement officials. Wilson told them, “Never discuss your mission outside of a secure location. Never discuss your mission with anyone who is not a member of your team other than your Imam. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. Do not associate with your team members in public—as far as the world knows you do not know each other.”

  At the end of the three weeks, Wilson had trained the jihadis to the best of his ability. They knew how to use the guns they had been trained to shoot and they had become passable marksmen. They knew how to assemble the bombs that would go inside the ice chests that they would take with them to the beach for the air show and they knew how to detonate them. During the three weeks, they assembled nine bombs and detonated all of them, successfully. More importantly, by the end of the three weeks of training, the jihadis gained confidence in their newly acquired capabilities and their ability to succeed in their upcoming mission.

  Over the course of the three weeks, Hassan spent most of his after-training time talking with Wilson trying to pick up any pointers he could. In the process he learned quite a lot about Wilson’s background.

  Hassan found out that Wilson was the bastard offspring of a thirty year old Syrian migrant worker and an eighteen year old English girl, who had the bad luck to be taking a shortcut through a dark alley in the Tottenham section of London on her way home from her job as a barmaid. Like many Muslim migrants, Wilson’s biological father believed that he had a perfect right to rape any infidel woman who was stupid enough to walk down a dark alley late at night by herself.

  Wilson’s mother gave birth to him some nine months later and, being a good Christian, she did her best to raise him on her own. As is often the case, where a young girl is the single parent, Wilson’s upbringing suffered from the lack of guidance and discipline a father would have provided. Wilson joined a street gang at an early age and, although he was very intelligent and had high marks in school, he dropped out at age fifteen and turned to a life of crime. His juvenile record included such crimes as stealing purses from elderly women, rolling drunks, and burglary.

  When he turned sixteen, Wilson decided he needed a car in order to impress a girl he wanted to ask out on a date. So, he stole a Jaguar whose owner had foolishly left the keys in the ignition. Two years later, the police caught him stealing another car and Wilson was arrested, convicted, and sent to prison for two years.

  The Muslim faction of the prison inmates controlled the prison and they recognized Wilson, with his middle-eastern looks, as one of their own. Wilson liked what he was told about the Muslim religion and he became a convert. To prove himself, Wilson was tasked with the job of killing another prison inmate—a member of a neo-nazi, white-supremacist faction of the prison inmate population.

  Wilson discovered that he had a talent for killing and that he derived a perverse enjoyment in killing people. During his stay in prison, Wilson executed a total of five other inmates.

  When he was released from prison, Wilson traveled to a camp in Libya run by Faisal al-Waheed where he received his training in terrorism and met other jihadists from around the world.

  After the Americans invaded Iraq and overthrew Saddam, Wilson went to Iraq to fight against the infidels and honed his skills as a terrorist. By the time he left Iraq in 2008, Wilson had built and detonated more than 100 bombs that killed and maimed more Muslims than Americans and other coalition soldiers.

  By the end of the three weeks, Hassan and Wilson had become friends and Wilson provided Hassan with his private contact information. Wilson told Hassan, if he ever needed help with anything, to not hesitate to get in touch with him.

  * * *

  “I thought that was you,” Hassan heard a female voice say. He had been staring at his empty coffee cup lost in his thoughts while waiting for his connecting flight to be announced.

  When he looked up, Hassan couldn’t believe his eyes. “Megan Gallagher. You’re just as beautiful as I remember you. How are you doing?”

  Megan Gallagher was a thirty-five year old, very attractive redhead with emerald green eyes. Hassan had met Megan in their freshman year at Harvard. To her, he had been a young, handsome exchange student from Palestine and she had been a starry-eyed romantic about all things Arabic and Middle-Eastern.

  She would later confess to him that in her childhood she had read every book and watched every movie that romanticized the Middle East and she often daydreamed about being seduced by Arab men who were always very handsome and strong and romantic men.

  During her first week at Harvard, Megan attended an off-campus rally for Palestinian independence. Megan was instantly attracted to the young Palestinian activist who was urging his fellow students to join with the Palestinian people to take a stand against those who were responsible for the injustices that had been brought upon all of the people in the Middle East. As he spoke, she felt as though he was speaking directly to her. At the end of the rally event, Megan had invited Hassan back to her dorm room and they had become lovers.

  “I’m doing very well and yourself,” Megan replied, as she to
ok a seat at the table and joined Hassan.

  “I’m fine,” Hassan said, looking at Megan’s left hand and not seeing an engagement ring or a wedding band. “What have you been doing since I last saw you?”

  “Well let’s see. I last saw you the night of the graduation ceremony when we received our undergraduate degrees. You promised to stay in touch, but never did. I stayed on at Harvard and attended law school.

  “After graduating from law school, I joined a law firm in New York City where I made partner in record time and was allowed to perform pro bono work on behalf of various Palestinian liberation groups.

  “This past election, I worked on the Barry Soetoro campaign and, when he took office, I received an appointment to a minor position in the State Department as a reward for my hard work. So, now I’m living in Washington and, right now, I’m on my way to attend a State Department conference in San Francisco.

  “What about you, Hassan?” Megan asked. “What have you been doing since I last saw you? I thought that maybe you’d returned to Palestine.”

  Hassan took out one of his Institute for Palestinian American Relations business cards and slid it across the table to Megan. “I traded in my student visa for a green card and I’ve been in Washington lobbying Congress to support the creation of an independent Palestine ever since I left Harvard.”

  Megan picked up his business card and was reading it over when the announcement was made over the public address system that Hassan’s flight was about to begin boarding.

  “That’s my flight they’re announcing,” Hassan said, as he reached over and retrieved his business card from Megan.

  Hassan turned the card over and quickly wrote something on the back of it before handing the card back to Megan. “I’ve written my private cell number and my home address on the back.”

  Hassan stood up and grabbed his carry on luggage. “I’m sorry, Megan, but I’ve got to run. It was good seeing you again. Please, give me a call when you have time to grab a bite to eat or something.”