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Authors: Ronie Kendig
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he continued to beg.
“Colonel.” Irfael nodded to the end of the street.
He turned and saw two of his guards assaulting a young girl. “See what it is you have done, Shamil?
You
have done this. Your sin.”
“No, no, no,” the man cried as he hung his head. “Please stop this, Colonel. You have the power. I beg you. I will do anything. Just do not do this.”
“I have the power because it is given by Allah.” He lifted the sword and let it ring along Shamil’s neck. Once the head rolled from its body, the colonel marched over to the girl. Hauled her up and away from the body.
“A prize, Colonel?” A sneer on Irfael’s face infuriated him.
He held her up before the men. “Shamil was a fool. He believed working with the Americans and British would bring peace. But only Allah can bring peace, and I am an instrument of peace. Through violence. We must not work with the devil! Did not the Prophet Muhammad—peace be upon him—”
“Peace be upon him.”
“—say: ‘My Lord has enjoined upon me justice.’ Then we must be that justice.” He swept his arm around the village. The smoke fleeing the sins of the people. The fire searing away their evil ways. “This,
this
, is what happens when one is not faithful to Allah!
“You wear the uniforms of the Infidels. A year ago, I would have shot each of you dead in the street. But today”—he drew in an impassioned breath—“today I give you a chance to redeem yourselves. Wage war on the Americans. You have access to the bases. Wipe them out!”
Uncertainty flickered through the men’s gazes. Some slid sideways glances to the others. Others refused to look at him.
Cries of women rose and grew.
“If you do not follow this way, Allah will bring death upon you. And I pray with all my heart that it is me who will deliver that justice.” He gripped the face of the young girl with his right hand, resting his other on her shoulder. “If you do not, then this”—he snapped her neck—“is what will become of your families.”
She fell onto the dirty earth.
The colonel walked over to his armored vehicle and opened the door. He knelt against the running board and cupped the face of a ten-year-old boy. “Did you see?”
Wide brown eyes held his. The boy nodded.
“Do you understand, my son?” The two months he’d had with the street urchin transformed the youth, but doubt still lingered in his eyes.
He nodded.
The colonel smiled.
“No.” The boy shook his head. “Why did you harm them? The women, the children—”
“Oh, Dehqan.” He motioned the boy over, climbed into the warmed seat, and closed the door. “What does the Qur’an say, son?”
Uncertainty flickered where confidence should rest.
Nudging aside the disappointment, he gave the boy a hint. Instruction would take time, to convert the boy, to have him consumed with a passion for Islam. But it was time well spent. More of the sons of Islam needed to be raised up, trained, equipped both mentally and psychologically. “ ‘We did not wrong them, but they wronged themselves.’ ”
A crack of a smile. “Surah 16, verse 118.”
The colonel hugged the boy. “Well done, my son.”
Seven
Austin, Texas
Y ou’re serious? Black-tie formal?” Staring past her booted feet propped on the table, Timbrel ignored the way her stomach squirmed over wearing a dress again.
“Absolutely.” Khaterah Khouri’s smile gleamed as she sat at the conference table at the back of the ranch house. “We’re bringing in some very distinguished dignitaries and holding it at the National in New York.”
“New York,” Timbrel balked. “Do you know how expensive that will be?”
Khat nodded. “I’m aware, but most of the investors are in that area, and we want to make a good impression.”
“You mean, you want to empty their pockets into ABA’s coffers.”
Khat’s smile went wicked. “Is there a difference?”
Timbrel shoved her hands through her hair.
“Colonel.” Irfael nodded to the end of the street.
He turned and saw two of his guards assaulting a young girl. “See what it is you have done, Shamil?
You
have done this. Your sin.”
“No, no, no,” the man cried as he hung his head. “Please stop this, Colonel. You have the power. I beg you. I will do anything. Just do not do this.”
“I have the power because it is given by Allah.” He lifted the sword and let it ring along Shamil’s neck. Once the head rolled from its body, the colonel marched over to the girl. Hauled her up and away from the body.
“A prize, Colonel?” A sneer on Irfael’s face infuriated him.
He held her up before the men. “Shamil was a fool. He believed working with the Americans and British would bring peace. But only Allah can bring peace, and I am an instrument of peace. Through violence. We must not work with the devil! Did not the Prophet Muhammad—peace be upon him—”
“Peace be upon him.”
“—say: ‘My Lord has enjoined upon me justice.’ Then we must be that justice.” He swept his arm around the village. The smoke fleeing the sins of the people. The fire searing away their evil ways. “This,
this
, is what happens when one is not faithful to Allah!
“You wear the uniforms of the Infidels. A year ago, I would have shot each of you dead in the street. But today”—he drew in an impassioned breath—“today I give you a chance to redeem yourselves. Wage war on the Americans. You have access to the bases. Wipe them out!”
Uncertainty flickered through the men’s gazes. Some slid sideways glances to the others. Others refused to look at him.
Cries of women rose and grew.
“If you do not follow this way, Allah will bring death upon you. And I pray with all my heart that it is me who will deliver that justice.” He gripped the face of the young girl with his right hand, resting his other on her shoulder. “If you do not, then this”—he snapped her neck—“is what will become of your families.”
She fell onto the dirty earth.
The colonel walked over to his armored vehicle and opened the door. He knelt against the running board and cupped the face of a ten-year-old boy. “Did you see?”
Wide brown eyes held his. The boy nodded.
“Do you understand, my son?” The two months he’d had with the street urchin transformed the youth, but doubt still lingered in his eyes.
He nodded.
The colonel smiled.
“No.” The boy shook his head. “Why did you harm them? The women, the children—”
“Oh, Dehqan.” He motioned the boy over, climbed into the warmed seat, and closed the door. “What does the Qur’an say, son?”
Uncertainty flickered where confidence should rest.
Nudging aside the disappointment, he gave the boy a hint. Instruction would take time, to convert the boy, to have him consumed with a passion for Islam. But it was time well spent. More of the sons of Islam needed to be raised up, trained, equipped both mentally and psychologically. “ ‘We did not wrong them, but they wronged themselves.’ ”
A crack of a smile. “Surah 16, verse 118.”
The colonel hugged the boy. “Well done, my son.”
Seven
Austin, Texas
Y ou’re serious? Black-tie formal?” Staring past her booted feet propped on the table, Timbrel ignored the way her stomach squirmed over wearing a dress again.
“Absolutely.” Khaterah Khouri’s smile gleamed as she sat at the conference table at the back of the ranch house. “We’re bringing in some very distinguished dignitaries and holding it at the National in New York.”
“New York,” Timbrel balked. “Do you know how expensive that will be?”
Khat nodded. “I’m aware, but most of the investors are in that area, and we want to make a good impression.”
“You mean, you want to empty their pockets into ABA’s coffers.”
Khat’s smile went wicked. “Is there a difference?”
Timbrel shoved her hands through her hair.
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