Chapter 34 – Saeed Kahn’s Congregation
Sunday morning June 8, 2008 – 8:30 AM
Saeed Kahn sat cross-legged and barefoot chanting in a foreign tongue along with his fellow worshipers in their mosque-like temple of doom. As the scent of incense wafted through the small hall, which was once a shoe store in this, the commercially zoned section of Medford, the disciples reached a fevered pitch; a cantankerous frenzy that would undoubtedly rival the most zealous of Sunday morning gospel services found anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
The ceremonies, which consisted of one half prayer services, one half secret-society business meetings, came to define the lifeblood of this most ancient of organizations, and for sheer passion and pageantry few could match the devotion of these zealots, who like Saeed Kahn, would fall on their swords without question for the sake of their master.
And even though no one had ever bothered or harassed this sect in any way, the faithful shared a common hatred for their adopted homeland, which they regarded as a nefarious purgatory littered, like a poisonous smokestack, with billowing, wanton streams of wicked city towers and immoral suburban wastelands; in their narrow eyes, it was a civilization akin to a demonic wilderness filled with savage beasts; an unholy empire inhabited by an unrepentant people; a frozen Hell which would surely crash and burn on the glorious day of redemption.
No, this sanctuary was not a place of worship for the good many people who have emigrated from a myriad of Middle Eastern countries which, when combined, assisted in molding America into the grand melting pot that it has become. And no, these were not law-abiding immigrants, the brand of quality citizens who have built our country into the greatest nation that the modern world has ever known. But rather this was the gathering place for a small group of sycophants with a different take on how an authoritarian society should operate.
This was a group of people who enjoyed the American way of life and the freedoms that came with it, and yet these same people denounced us as the great deceiver…as the great Satan…as the root cause of all that is wrong with mankind.
And so it was written that Saeed Kahn and the rest of the minions, who joined forces as one with their mysterious supreme leader in preparation for zero hour, would someday see their prayers answered in a blaze of flame and glory.
After the liturgy, a group of the more fanatical worshipers, including Saeed Kahn, lingered over tea and discussed their plans to defeat the great venomous serpent.
“We must dismantle their glass jungles one brick at a time if necessary. We must leave no stone unturned…and once we have succeeded in taking their cities, we must destroy their villages as well. We must break their spirits until they retreat to the fires of hell from whence they came,” preached their spiritual leader.
“Praise the Almighty,” replied the obedient God-fearing faithful in reverberating unison. But just as their echoes had evaporated back into dead air, a voice commenced to speak out of turn…it was the voice of Saeed Kahn. And although it took every ounce of courage that Kahn could muster, he somehow managed to timidly offer up his own personal strategy for the jihad.
“Oh dear master, I had a vision just the other day…a vision that came to me from above. Imagine if you will, that we storm their residential towers, level them without mercy, destroy them beyond recognition…randomly, one by one, city by city…the authorities would be unable to contend with such a force. In my mind’s eye I see turmoil and fear spreading throughout this accursed land. I see the heretics fleeing to the streets in panic as their cities burn. I see the end of their days, and the return of our King to his rightful place at the foot of the Almighty. I see…”
“Saeed my fine friend,” interrupted the cerebral governor, “are we to believe we can take down the great Satan one dwelling at a time?”
“No, no, no, not one dwelling at a time my holy one, but hundreds in one attempt…the high rise complexes. I assure you that the condemned are unguarded and ill-prepared for such a divine assault of this nature,” enthusiastically explained Kahn.
“Your vision is worthy of further contemplation my son, but if we are to sacrifice civilians, the retribution would be unprecedented,” replied the supersensible administrator.
“Let them suffer as they have made our loved ones suffer…collateral damage they call it. In the eyes of these filthy dogs we are less than human…inanimate objects made of stone,” argued Kahn.
“And how are we to accomplish your vision my devout dreamer?” asked the pious guru.
“With trucks my master…with trucks…powerful trucks which are built with the fortitude of a thick-skinned camel, capable of carrying heavy loads through deserts and mountains. I’ve seen it with my own eyes…the weak underbelly of the dragon…the vision became clear to me…clear as the morning sun,” bellowed Kahn.
“My son, this strategy has been unsuccessful in the past. The amount of weaponry needed to implode such a large structure is vast, and cannot be concealed as easily as you might imagine,” reasoned the master.
“Dear leader do you not recall the American martyrs in Oklahoma City, how they took down the infidels?” calmly asked Kahn.
“Ah my prince…we certainly have studied the heroic act of these saintly warriors…but you may recall that they attacked a government tower, and the amount of explosives needed to topple the structure is not feasible for our current operations,” theorized the master.
“Yes, yes, I recall…but we must not underestimate the technological advances we have made since then…is it not so my master?” challenged Kahn.
“It is so my son, but I must say no. I believe we must stick to our plan for zero hour…to deviate now would be to put our operation in jeopardy,” insisted the master.
“With the grace of the all-powerful King I put my trust in you oh wise master,” replied a visibly dejected Saeed Kahn, while the up-until-now silent faithful added a less than enthusiastic chant of, “praise the Almighty.”
Sensing his disciple’s disappointment, the master added, “my dear Saeed we must bow down in prayer to the Supreme Being for guidance in this matter. We must search our souls for a sign. We must look above for direction. We must scour our scripture for an answer. And only then may it be as you have seen in the mind of your heart.”
Kahn kneeled and kissed his celestial master’s hand but in his mind he thought, “Perhaps I must, as the Americans say, take matters into my own hands. Perhaps the time has come for the ultimate sacrifice…and may thirteen virgins await me as I make my exodus to the land of eternal happiness.”
However, despite his perilous zeal, Saeed Kahn’s onslaught would have to wait for another day. And so, instead of being crowned a Prince, he said his goodbyes to the congregation, and he slovenly turned to go home; not to his spiritual home, but to his physical home…a home that, for some unearthly reason, he wanted so badly…to destroy.
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 43