Marissa Danforth dozed off shortly after finishing dinner and awoke to a dimly lit cabin. Most of the other guests were either asleep or watching one of the many available movies. She felt a little dehydrated and headed to the attendant’s station for a bottle of water.
Just beyond the refrigerator, she noticed Erin Laurent’s private suite door ajar and a lamp still on inside. She decided now might be a good time to speak with her about support in the next election. She stepped toward the suite and pushed the door open. Every other thought vanished in a blink. Fear, panic, and anger all registered at once. Every neuro chemical in her brain flooded in tenfold. Every receptor, every muscle was seized and taken over by the most primitive areas of her mind and thrown into action. Marissa would later remember feeling like a passenger in her own body as she witnessed the unspeakable and became a weapon herself.
Abu Dahl held a firm grip on Laurent and was clumsily sliding his pants down with one hand while holding her steady with his other over her mouth. Marissa launched forward, thinking only of stopping this man.
Six steps from now, she would have to impede his actions and subdue him until help arrived.
Four steps away, she remembered a kata she composed while working to earn her first black belt. Her sensei believed in both standard kata, a series of offensive maneuvers strung together like a dance and injecting personal creativity. “You cannot assume your enemy will attack in a fashion you have trained against,” he would say. “Therefore, know the basics of form and function, but also be prepared to adapt what you know to the situation at hand.”
Marissa ran forward, following a plan she had no knowledge of formulating.
Tom Kellogg was enjoying a quiet moment as he stepped through the darkened cabin of the impressive Jetliner. He had been the pilot for Ethan LeClair for six months now and enjoyed nearly every moment so far. The aircraft was an absolute joy to fly, and the conditions flown under were near perfect. Of course, he catered to the whims of the Hollywood and Washington DC elite, who did indeed believe their feces was non-odorous. ‘Self-absorbed bores,’ he referred to them to his co-pilot. But he would not hesitate to climb into the cockpit of this glorious machine and fly them anywhere in the world. His contact with them was minimal. And he always had an excellent excuse for leaving a less than stellar conversation. He needed to get back up front and fly the plane.
Tonight, as they cut through the dark moonless skies toward their destination of Islama-who-the-fuck-cares, he left the cockpit to get fresh coffee and a snack for himself and his co-pilot. He passed the other passengers who were hunkered down for the evening after celebrating their successful and fearless conquest. They were wiped out and would feel the effects of their over-imbibing in the morning, just about the time the plane was making its fuel stop. For now, they slept off their hangovers with ‘delusions of grandeur dancing in their heads.’ Kellogg smiled as he pictured them in the morning, all looking for Motrin, Pepto, and breakfast at the same time.
He set out two cups, filled them from a fresh pot, then gathered up a few breakfast bars and other quick snacks. He was heading back to the cockpit when he heard a loud, out-of-place yell.
The plan fell into place quickly, naturally, as if some greater force programmed it into Marissa’s head and she was following the script. Some of it she knew; other parts would be variations of moves she trained for. Some of it, she expected, was going to hurt like hell. It didn’t matter. She was in motion.
Step one; distract the opponent. She ran up behind the five-foot-eight Abu Dahl and stretched both of her arms out. With lightning quickness, she brought both clenched fists together like weighted pendulums, directing the force into his ears. Marissa yelled out in a loud and piercing Kiai as her fists made hard simultaneous contact to both sides of his head. The concussive force knocked him nearly unconscious. Not quite, but enough to make him stagger back, breaking his hold on Laurent.
Marissa then launched into step two, disable the opponent. There was no way in hell she could stop this man other than to cut his oxygen, so that’s what she did. She cocked her left fist back and launched it in a roundhouse punch into his groin, crushing his testicles. He reacted to the pain with a low guttural moan that emptied his lungs. That’s when she made her next move. Her right forearm shot across his neck and pulled back hard against his windpipe. She locked that arm in place by gripping it with her left hand. She dragged him back toward her, causing a loss of balance as he gasped for air. She held him in an excruciating and effective chokehold that no one from her dojo had ever been able to break loose.
All thoughts of sexual gratification vanished as Abu Dahl now found himself in a fight for survival. He thrashed over his shoulders, grabbing for his attacker’s hair. She responded by squeezing her arm harder against his throat, nearly crushing his windpipe. Dahl fought against the pain, struggling for a precious breath of air. But her grip was tight and effective, showing no signs of weakening. He was at this little bitch’s mercy.
Erin Laurent lay crumpled on the floor, eyes open, helpless to do anything but observe the struggle. She had nothing to offer in defense against this brute. She watched as he swung both arms out and around, trying to gain a grip on the skinny powerhouse that held him tight. Marissa continued walking him backward. He flailed, swinging his elbows back in an attempt to hit her in the kidneys. Her small but solid frame worked in her favor, and his blows barely made contact. Of all the unlikely rescuers, Laurent thought, her salvation depended on this meek young woman. And she was succeeding! She was beating him! Her lips moved silently as she prayed for Marissa to find the strength to finish the bastard.
Abu Dahl believed if he could regain firm footing, then he could flip her over him and beat the life out of her. He tried to stop the backward shuffle that she moved him in but could not get his balance. In all his years, it never occurred to him that a woman, any woman, could get the better of him in a fight. Yet here was this tiny little American, and she was winning. He wheezed as he fought to fill his lungs. The pressure of her bony forearm on his windpipe was excruciating and deadly in its effectiveness. He struggled against her with the last of his waning energy. But now, as consciousness began to slip away, he comprehended for the first time that she would be the victor.
What the hell was that? Kellogg froze as the muffled but mighty yell reached him. Instinct told him exactly what it was, a karate Kiai. He looked around, unable at first to correlate the scream with his surroundings. Then it came to him; the prisoner they brought on board. He was attacking someone!
He dropped the snack tray and searched for the source of the alarming yell. It came from inside the bedroom suite of Erin Laurent. He reached up into a storage compartment above the coffee machine and pulled away a false panel, revealing a Kimber nine-millimeter with a fifteen-round magazine. He slid the weapon from its velcro holster, pulled the slide back and chambered a round, then brought the barrel up as he bolted through the open suite door. He dove to the floor, then rolled and aimed at the two people now embroiled in battle. He watched for a moment, unclear what he was witnessing. He nearly smiled when he comprehended the rare event. A petite brunette was taking this terrorist down. Kellogg felt a wave of pride in her courage and strength.
Black spots began filling Abu Dahl’s vision. He dug his unkempt nails into Marissa’s arms, drawing blood instantly. She did not scream out, did not wince. Nor did she loosen her grip. In fact, the arm across his throat pressed in even tighter, restricting the blood flow to his brain as well as completely cutting off air. His arms dropped lifelessly, his legs buckling beneath him. It was over.
Kellogg stood, keeping his pistol trained on Abu Dahl as the young woman dragged him, struggling across the room. The man had seventy pounds of muscle on her, yet she did not relent. Finally, he collapsed upon her, taking them both down. The woman never let loose of her hold on the terrorist’s neck. After he lay unmoving another few moments, she released him, then rolled out from under his limp body.
&n
bsp; Marissa sat for a moment, all of her senses still fixed on the man she just defeated.
She got up and hurried over to Laurent, who was now curled in a fetal position on the floor. Marissa brushed the hair out of Laurent’s eyes. “It’s over,” she said, “you’re going to be all right.”
It took a moment longer for the actress to comprehend that she was now safe. She finally looked up into Marissa’s piercing eyes with the bewildered look of a lost child. Her bottom lip quivered as she sat up and locked Marissa into a tight embrace as the tears began flowing.
“Thank you,” she sobbed. She buried her head against her champion’s chest. Finally feeling secure. Comprehending now that the threat was passed. This tiny woman had saved her. “Thank you.”
Abu Dahl convulsed, reminding Kellogg that he was still a danger to everyone on board. He kept his pistol trained on the man’s head and jammed his knee into his back.
The flight attendant entered the suite, shocked at what he saw.
“Marcus,” the captain said in a composed but commanding tone, “we have a situation. Please go to the cockpit and tell David we need the restraints we got from Gitmo. And bring a few tie wraps back with you.”
Marcus acknowledged with a nod and hurried to the front of the jet.
Kellogg kept his attention trained on the prisoner as the young woman got up off the floor. She grabbed a robe and wrapped it around Laurent, then helped her into bed. She straightened the covers, made sure Laurent was comfortable, then dropped into a chair. Kellogg could tell by her pained expression that she was reliving the moment. The adrenalin would be receding as she began realizing what she’d done. Her face registered disbelief, and he worried she might slip into shock. He needed to engage her in conversation to keep her focused and coherent.
“That was amazing, miss,” he said. “One of the bravest and most selfless acts I have ever witnessed. You are a hero.” He glanced down at her arm, then added, “And, you are bleeding.”
Marissa stared into the steel blue eyes of the sandy-haired pilot, not yet connecting. She noticed her arm and the deep gouges.
“When did that happen?”
No sooner had she spoken when all sensation returned. She winced in pain.
“When our ungrateful guest here realized he was about to be defeated. Looks like he dug his nails in, hoping you would loosen your grip.” He looked down at Abu Dahl. “It didn’t work. That was a very effective chokehold.”
He watched as the color drained from her face. She was fading from him. He needed to get her talking more. “What degree black belt are you?”
Marissa shook her head as if pulling back from an all-consuming void. She stared with a puzzled expression. “Third, how did you know?”
“Miss, nobody pulls off moves like that without extensive training and discipline. What I saw you do would put many Marines in their place, and they’re the toughest sons of bitches I know, next to Navy SEALS.”
“Your Marines are weak and powerless against our —“
Marissa jumped in her seat at the sound of Abu Dahl’s voice, a look of fear and disgust spread across her face.
Kellogg rapped him hard on the back of the head with the barrel of his pistol, silencing the outburst. “Please don’t speak again,” he said quietly.
Marissa regained her composure and asked, “I heard you say you had his restraints from Guantanamo. How did you end up with them?”
“One of the guards explained how dangerous this guy was and strongly suggested we bring them along. That was all I needed to hear.”
Marissa’s face flushed with embarrassment as she comprehended the folly of their actions over the past several months. This evil bastard took something from Erin Laurent that she would never get back. She was lucky to be alive. It hadn’t entered their minds that he could be anything but the victim of a system that imprisoned innocent people. How could they have been so wrong?
Marcus returned to the suite, taking a full inventory of the situation before approaching the pilot. He eyed the former prisoner, face down on the floor with Kellogg’s knee in his back and pistol pointed at his head. He pulled out the H&K that the co-pilot had given him and covered Abu Dahl while passing the restraints to the pilot. Kellogg tucked his weapon into his belt behind his back and secured the cuffs on Dahl, then clamped the manacles on his ankles.
“I was thinking of strapping him in the forward jump seat with those tie wraps. What do you think?” Kellogg asked.
“Best place to keep an eye on him, but there’s nothing to tie him down to up there. It might be better to strap him into one of the rear-facing seats where the other passengers can keep watch.”
“Even better,” the pilot agreed. “On your feet, twinkle toes,” he commanded the assailant, lifting him by his cuffed arms. Marcus took a position ahead, making sure no other passengers obstructed their path. He needn’t have worried. All slept soundly through the entire ordeal. He walked past Senator Dunwade, thinking how oblivious the man was to events happening within yards from where he snored like a clogged vacuum. Typical politician.
20
Location unknown
Whenever possible, Sirhan Abbas began his day by meeting the sunrise in the saddle. While he believed in the importance of the morning call to prayer, it fell to him to ensure those millions of prayers stood for something. So he rode, ever vigilant, the enforcer of Allah’s word.
His horse snorted as its hooves slipped, then regained footing on the uneven rocky trail. Abbas pulled back on the reins and waited. The first shards of daylight danced upon the crest of the eastern mountain top. It brightened and glowed as though the mountain itself fought to retain all of its power within. In an explosion of light, the sun burst over the edge, consuming the shadows as it rose. Abbas gave praise and thanks for the new day as his face was illuminated in the warm glow.
No one accompanied him on his morning rides. This was his moment to be alone with his thoughts. Yet today, he was burdened with more of them than usual. His confidential sources shared with him the American treachery surrounding the release of Abu Dahl. The information had proven reliable. What troubled him equally was that the data gleaned from his spies arrived so shortly before the same news was shared with the entire world on Al-Jazeera television. Improvements were necessary in his collection of intel. The message, however, would have been painful no matter how or when it was received.
Abu Dahl survived his protracted ordeal in the American prison only to be used as a tool by his captors. Abbas also learned that he was the intended target of the deception. He was looking forward to Abu Dahl’s release and welcoming him back to the holy fight. Abbas seethed with anger at being forced into a compromised situation by his enemy. There would be a fitting price to pay, and he vowed his revenge against those responsible.
Now, what to do about the ill-fated homecoming? A message needed to be sent for all to see, one so powerful that none would ever again doubt the temerity of Sirhan Abbas.
Choosing the appropriate messenger would be as critical as the message itself. He thought of his faithful legions, the thousands of soldiers who would stop at nothing less than death before dishonor. Many could be relied upon to follow his word to the letter. Still, one name always came first to mind. A man who proved himself time and again. A man capable of blending in with the enemy and striking without ever being noticed. Crico Dreas. He nodded reluctantly to himself. His decision, although painful, was the most appropriate and decisive way to begin the retaliation. His greatest weapon was fear, and he would thrust it deep into the minds of the millions he would soon control. His jaw tightened with deep resolve as he prodded his horse forward. It was time to enact the plan.
As Abbas neared the cave’s mouth that served as headquarters and home, a pair of horse handlers rushed out to meet him. He climbed down and handed them the reins, then walked to the entrance. He pulled off his gloves and marveled again at the near whisper silence of the massive diesel generator that supplied electricity
to the mountainside fortress. His architects and engineers designed the secret headquarters so that it would never be discovered. Just inside the mouth of the cave, the rough-hewn rock gave way to poured concrete. A few more meters in, and he felt the cool breeze of the air conditioning system. His footfalls were silenced by the Persian rugs that decorated the floor and walls.
He walked past armed guards that stood outside the weapons arsenal, past the kitchen, where chefs bustled about preparing the morning meal and entered the communications room.
Two technicians worked at a table covered with computers, monitors, and radio equipment. He approached the one wearing headphones as the man tuned in radio signals picked up by a large antenna hidden in the mountain’s top. Abbas tapped the technician on the shoulder. The man turned, caught sight of Abbas, ripped off his headphones, and stood at attention.
“My general,” he said, then tapped the other technician, who gave him a wondering look before seeing their leader. He, too, jumped out of his seat and stood erect.
Abbas nodded and waved him down. “Go back to your duties.” He looked to the first technician and said, “When can you send an encoded satellite phone message?”
“Within the hour, my general, we must wait for the American spy satellite to pass out of range.”
“Good,” Abbas responded. “I want you to make a call. Get word to the Ghost that I need his assistance. Come to my quarters when the call is connected.”
21
31º37’43”N 65º43’69”E
The flight attendant came through the quiet cabin collecting the remaining cups and glasses and informing the passengers they would be landing soon. The giddy atmosphere of the previous evening was replaced with somber silence.
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES Page 11