Ahmed knew that going out into the world would put him in uncomfortable situations. This was all just a test. He remembered well the teachings of his Imam. Do not outwardly judge the sins of the ignorant and blind. They know not the evils they commit against themselves and their world. Keep your judgments to yourself and your Allah. Blend in, and act like their ways and customs don’t violate everything you believe. Smile at them, even though you’d rather run a blade through their gullet. Your time will come. Living amongst the sinners only teaches you the importance of why you must do what you do. Now is the time to store away your disgust and anger. Don’t forget it and don’t forgive it, but do allow it to fuel your inner arsenal. Let that arsenal grow and multiply like the children of Allah will when the infidels cease to be parasites.
Ahmed confirmed the address on the apartment building with the sheet of paper he held. This was the building where his brother Harish lived. This was the location where he would finally be reunited with his flesh and blood. And, this was the day he would save his brother, and take him away from this sewer of a city. Not only would they be reunited by blood, but also by purpose. It may take some time, but eventually Ahmed believed he would teach his brother how his life had a greater purpose. Together, they would be among the elite to enlighten the rest of the world.
Ahmed’s finger shook—just a little—as he pressed the intercom button. The voice on the other end surprised him. The timbre of the voice sounded so like himself, but the accent was American.
“Yeah, what the hell do you want? I told you peckers I didn’t want to read any of your fucking religious pamphlets. Now piss off and leave me alone before I call the cops.”
“I do not have any religious pamphlets to give you. I simply would like to talk with you,” Ahmed said.
“So, go ahead and talk then. Make it quick. I’ve got things to do.”
“It’s important that I see you in person. The things that I want to talk about are not the kind of things that should be shared over an intercom. Believe me when I say that I have life-changing information that you will want to hear in person. Face to face.”
“Seriously? You’re one pushy fella. Look, man, I’m not interested in buying whatever it is you’re selling. Just go on and press the next guy’s button and bother him.”
“I am not a salesman, and it is not my intention to be pushy. What I have to tell you is of real value. Life-changing value. You will be grateful you let me in. Have faith in that.”
There was something in Ahmed’s voice that seemed oddly familiar to Harish, but not in a good way. It made him uncomfortable and just a little annoyed. “Look, man, stop with the hard sell. I told you, I’m not buying anything. Try apartment 312. That guy’s dumber than a fire hydrant. He’ll buy anything; probably two of whatever you’re selling.”
“I knew your parents,” Ahmed said. “Both your parents. Aadil and Galiah.”
“That’s it. I’m calling the cops. Right now.” Harish’s voice got louder. “I’m sick and tired of you pushy fuckers ringing my bell just to aggravate me. I’ve got no money to waste on your crap.”
“You lost your parents at a very young age. You had a brother, whom you probably don’t remember, and you used to have nightmares about being trapped in the bottom of a big boat as it sank.”
Momentary silence. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m someone you want to talk to face to face. Kindly let me up. I have good news for you. I’m not selling any crap as you call it.”
For a few moments there was only the noise of distant sirens from outside, then the door buzzer sounded and the lock popped open.
“C’mon up, the door’s open.”
Ahmed and Harish stared at each other through the open door. Ahmed recognized the eyes instantly. He knew he was staring into the face of his own blood.
“May I come in?” Ahmed asked.
“Yeah, sure.” Harish stepped aside, and motioned Ahmed towards the living room. Harish looked down the hallway, as if expecting others, then closed the door. He sat across from Ahmed.
“Who are you?” Harish asked.
“Can’t you tell? Surely you know your own blood. I can see my brother in your eyes and your face. Your face still looks like a child’s since you’ve removed the lihyah from your face.”
Harish rubbed the scrub of a beard just starting on his face as he looked at the long beard on Ahmed. “I’ve never met you before. What makes you say that?”
“Open your eyes, and listen to what your heart says. I am Ahmed, your brother. You are Harish, my brother. We were separated by the government workers who cared little for us, our family, and our ways. Surely you remember that day? You were so young, and so distraught. Have you forgotten? Have you blocked out that day? I understand, that some choose to mask pain that way.”
Harish got up nervously and started towards the kitchen, then stood behind the chair. “I still have that dream, about the boat. How do you know it? I’ve never told anyone about it.”
“You used to wake up crying when we were small and shared a room. You talked very little back then, but I understood you. In your dream our whole family was taking a boat ride to a special place, for a big party. We were all very happy, and then a man in uniform came and took away our parents, because he said the party was only for children. The man in uniform pushed our parents off the boat into the water. You tried to throw a life jacket to our parents, but the uniformed man stopped you and locked us in a jail cell deep in the bottom of the boat. Then, water started flooding the jail cell, and you woke up. You had the same dream on many nights.”
Harish crossed his arms tightly. “And then you would tell me that father used to be the captain of a boat, and that he would never let that happen. You would say that the captain never gets pushed off the boat. It’s a rule. The captain always stays with the boat. It’s a rule, you kept saying over and over. Then you would take me to Mother’s bed, and we would watch her sleeping peacefully. Once, I remember, she woke and kissed us and told us to go back to bed.”
“Yes, I remember that also.”
“Was it true? Was our father the captain of a boat?”
“I don’t know, but it made you stop crying whenever I said it.”
Harish nodded his head. “So, you are my brother then. You are alive and well.”
Ahmed smiled, got up, walked to his brother and embraced him. Harish hesitated at first, but hugged his brother back.
“As I promised,” Ahmed said, still embracing his brother. “I have good news for you.”
“More good news?” Harish said, feeling a little out of sorts. “I’m not sure I can handle too many more surprises in one day.”
Harish let go of his brother and walked into the kitchen. “Are you hungry, Ahmed? Thirsty? Can I get you anything? I don’t have much. Just some leftover takeout and beer. You wanna beer?” Harish held out a couple of cans.
Ahmed shook his head. “I do not partake in alcohol. Water would be fine.”
“Oh, um, OK.” Harish put the beers back in the fridge. “I just have tap water, if that’s alright.” He looked in the cupboard for a glass.
“That will be fine.” Ahmed noticed the half-opened fridge seem to be filled mostly with beer. “Do you consume much alcohol on a regular basis?”
Harish pulled a dirty glass out of the sink, and proceeded to wash it. “Well, yeah, you know, maybe a few after getting home from work. The boss can be a bit of an asshole, and a few beers takes the edge off.” Harish managed a smile. “Better than offin’ the boss, right?”
He handed the glass of water to Ahmed, who set it aside.
“I’ve come here today with both good news and a real purpose,” Ahmed said.
Harish gave his brother a questioning stare as he took a seat. “A purpose?”
“A purpose, and a meaning. I can see already from this brief encounter that your life is missing something.”
Harish shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I thought you said t
his didn’t involve pamphlets? Maybe I do need that beer.”
Ahmed shook his hand. “I’d prefer you didn’t drink alcohol in my presence. And whatever this concern of yours with pamphlets is I don’t understand, but I assure you I have none. What I do have is a mission for you. Perhaps more of an opportunity. A chance for you to regain your true place on this earth and allow Allah back into your life. He was there once, and can be there again.”
“So this is a religious sales pitch.” Harish backed towards the fridge. “My life has been alright without Allah up to this point.”
“I assure you, brother, that’s not entirely true … you just don’t see it yet.” Harish pulled a beer out of the fridge, but Ahmed continued. “I need your assistance. And for that assistance, I will save your soul. The prophet has spoken through our Imam to me, and now I to you. There is an infidel that has wronged our people. Our Imam.” Harish popped the top of the beer can open, despite the disapproving look from Ahmed. “We need to kill the infidel. We need to extinguish his family and stop his seed from spreading.” Harish drank half the beer in one swallow.
Harish sat across from his brother, and plunked down his second beer, ignoring the coaster on the table. He could feel the first beer starting to take the edge off, and he was grateful for it. He never did have much of a tolerance for alcohol, but was OK with that. It made getting drunk cheaper, and took less of a toll on his liver. Today was quickly becoming one of those days when he should have stayed in bed watching a bunch of cheap, trashy shows. It was supposed to be his day off. He had nowhere to be, and no one to talk to or deal with. Answering the door was usually a bad idea in Harish’s world, and today … doubly so.
“Look, man, I’m grateful. I really am. This is all unbelievably terrific. I’m reunited with my long-lost brother.” Harish managed to smile. “I’ve seen stuff like this on television, you know. Kids separated at birth who end up getting adopted by different parents, and then when they’re like eighty years old, all of a sudden a friend of a friend of a friend or someone ends up connecting the dots. One of them ends up flying halfway around the world, then they end up meeting each other with lots of hugging and crying in some airport terminal while paparazzi cameras go off. They reminisce, look at scrapbooks, and talk about what life could have been like. They share all the gory details of their love lives and heartaches, and then they go on. Or more like they go back to their regular lives. I mean, they don’t really show that on TV or anything, but you know that’s what has to happen. I mean c’mon, they’ve lived their whole lives apart. They’ve got friends and jobs and responsibilities. They have no choice really. That’s just the way it works. It’s not bad or anything, it’s just life. They certainly don’t show up and start trying to recruit each other into some crazy terrorist lifestyle, and ask them to start killing people they don’t even know.”
Ahmed listened and watched as Harish opened his second beer, and took a second swallow. “Look, Ahmed, don’t get me wrong. I’m super glad that you tracked me down and stopped by to say hello, but I’m not ready to throw away my life,” Harish lifted his arms and looked around the apartment, “and do something all crazy. I mean hey, I’m more than willing to break a few laws now and again, if it works to my advantage, but murder? No. No way.”
Ahmed started to speak, but Harish wasn’t finished. “Look, I’m thinking we should maybe have a nice visit here today, then get back to our regular lives with jobs and friends and such. We can get together for holidays; Christmas, Thanksgiving, whatever.”
“I don’t celebrate holidays of the infidels,” Ahmed said. “And you shouldn’t either. These are the people that destroyed our family.”
“If you’d prefer, we could do it on Muslim holiday. Just let me know which ones are the important ones, you know, like Christmas and Thanksgiving, and we can get together then.” Harish raised his beer in a cheers. “Any excuse for a party.”
“There are no Muslim holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving.” Ahmed leaned forward. “This is not an insignificant thing I ask of you. I realize that. This is not something that I take lightly, and neither do the Imam. There has been a grievous sin committed here that needs to be addressed. We do not have a choice.”
“Look, I hear you, but I do have a choice. You can’t just expect me to join you in this. I have a life here. That life you’re talking about, it’s buried in my past. I know nothing about what you’re talking about. I was raised by Americans in foster homes. Some of them were horrible, but most were pretty good. They tried to do right by me, given the circumstances. I didn’t always fit in, and not a lot of people wanted some foreign kid living in their homes, but I managed. I got through school without getting beat up too much and actually graduated. My foster parents might not have agreed with all the decisions I made in life, and where I ended up, but that’s not their choice anymore now, is it? It’s mine. That’s one great thing about being an American. You get to make your own choices. You get to live your own life. Freedom. Other things about this country may not be perfect, but I get by. And I have my freedom. No one takes that away.”
Ahmed stood and paced. He shook his head, muttering some Arabic words that Harish didn’t understand. He sat back down and picked up the glass Harish had given him. He wiped off a yellow smudge, then took a drink.
“This is no way for a child of Allah to live. You can do more with your life. Does it not bother you that both our parents were murdered in violent crimes?”
Harish’s eyes grew larger, and he started to say, “I didn’t know—”
“You were too young to know what really happened, and your foster parents either didn’t know, or chose not to tell you. Our mother was still pregnant with you when our father died. I didn’t know the truth about Mother till I was an adult, when the Imam first contacted me. They’ve been keeping an eye on us from a distance all these years. They gave me some of Mother’s personal effects they’d recovered. I ran away from my last foster home, I wasn’t as lucky as you. All of mine were horrible. The government officials didn’t even try to keep us together. They assumed that because we were so young it didn’t matter. I was older than you, but still too young when she died. Gang violence. Infidel transgressors who probably didn’t like what she was wearing or how she spoke. The police record didn’t say. I saw it. I have her diary and a police record and some distant memories. She wouldn’t have wanted this life for you. She would have wanted you to be a man, not a nobody. She was a very proud Muslim woman. If she had lived, she would have taught us about our culture, our heritage, and our father.”
“You have her diary?” Harish asked rhetorically. “Does she say anything about me?”
“Yes, our mother loved her entire family. Of course she talks about you. You were her Little King. That’s what she called you. She had big dreams for you.”
“That’s … that’s good to hear. I’d like to read it some time if I could.”
“Of course, I could show it to you, when you come with me.”
Harish stood and paced around the room. “I still don’t know about this whole mission and hunting down some guy I don’t even know. My life may not be all that great, but I get by. I have a job, and a place, and food. That’s more than a lot of people in this country have right now.”
Ahmed failed to hide his disappointment. “You weren’t put on this Earth to just get by Harish. Neither of us were. We’re destined for something more.” Harish started to speak, but Ahmed cut him off. “There’s another thing you should know, about those that have entrusted me with this mission. Entrusted us. They punish failure without compassion. There is no place for weakness in their world. If I do not finish what they have asked of me, than they will not hesitate. I will not find me right full place with Allah.”
Ahmed stopped pacing, and faced his brother. “But … that’s got nothing to do with me. I haven’t agreed to any of this. They wouldn’t hurt me … would they?”
“Given what you now know, I’m not sure what they w
ould do to you. As for me, there is no question as to my fate. If I can’t convince you to join in our cause, then my life will be forfeit. Of that I have no doubt.”
Chapter 21 ~ Big Strategy
Ahmed spread the plans out over the floor of the grungy apartment. The plans included blueprints, hand-drawn sketches, technical definitions, and a schedule. Ahmed and Harish weren’t the only ones involved in this operation. Their leaders had agreed that now was an opportunity to make a bigger statement for the cause. Multiple cities across the US were being targeted. Timing was critical, and it was essential that all the participants understood their role. Little of the big picture was disseminated. There were others that would play a part in the national attacks, but Harish and Ahmed only knew their jobs. The coronal mass ejection which crippled the power grids of the West had created unparalleled opportunities for those who believe that Western culture had outlived its usefulness.
“Why are they attacking so many?” Harish asked. “That doesn't seem wise. The Americans will retaliate. Remember 911.”
“We can’t see everything that Allah sees,” Ahmed answered. “Besides, the infidels will be too weak to retaliate. This is a glorious opportunity, one that won’t come again for many lifetimes. We are blessed and fortunate to participate. I'd prefer a bigger role, but the leaders have spoken, and we will play our part. Both of us will.” Ahmed fixed his stare on Harish. “After everything these people have done to our family, I would’ve expected you to be a little more enthusiastic.”
“I try not to live in the past,” Harish answered. “It's painful, and living in the moment made me happier. Now, I'm not sure. This plan in this moment scares me.”
“When are you going to stop thinking like that, Harish? Haven’t I taught you anything? You’re starting to sound like them. This life is just a trial, a test. An opportunity to guarantee us a place in the true everlasting hereafter. How can you not believe? Can you not see how everything has fallen into place for us? The Westerners’ time is done. It’s our time. Time for our family and our people to take over this world, and to prepare more souls for a glorious afterlife.”
America's Sunset: A Post Apocalyptic Fight for Survival Page 10