Read Online Joint Task Force #4: Africa by David E. Meadows - Free Book Online
Authors: David E. Meadows
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hundred or so families. He even put in the citizenship clauses for these Liberian passports that you had to live in Liberia to vote. I think he expected some Americans of African origin to visit, spend money, and then go home. He didn’t expect them to move lock, stock, and barrel to Liberia.”
Holman looked up at his balding chief of staff. “You’re not thinking of emigrating to Liberia when you retire, are you, Leo?”
Upmann laughed. “Oh, Christ, no. My wife would leave me if I took her away from bingo, Wal-Mart, and the Frances Scott Key mall. No, we’re too integrated into the Frederick,Maryland, social scene to pull roots at our age and head off into the sunset for an adventure that could kill us.”
“I would hope so. You know you can’t go back to a place you’ve never been.”
Upmann’s lower lip pushed against his upper for a moment. “But you know what makes it hard for those of us who are black, Admiral? You can go home, and you can trace your family tree on the Internet—back for generations. For us blacks, we might be lucky to take our heritage back to the end of the Civil War. What Thomaston and his people were doing in Kingsville were analyzing DNA from the various African tribes. You could put your DNA into their program data banks and when, or if, they matched it to a specific tribe, you had a piece of your heritage in which you could take interest.”
Holman looked up. Hovering above them with its camera pointing down was one of the Marine Corps’ miniature UAVs. “Leo, are we providing the fuel for these damn things?”
CHAPTER 3
ABDO, HIS LARGE FRAME PUSHING ASIDE THE BUSHES blocking the faint jungle path, brought the machete down time after time, as effortlessly as he walked. Each slash sent a wave rippling along loose flaps of fat hanging beneath each arm, hiding the strength buried beneath, and sending waves of small, flying, biting insects into the air. Abdo paused, wiping sweat from his forehead. He tucked the machete beneath one arm while using the free hand to poke loose strands of dirty black hair beneath the yellow-stained turban. Cursing, he slapped at the insects surrounding his head. A four-day growth of gray-speckled hair covered his face. Abdo stepped back, leaving the insects swarming around where he had stood. He glanced behind him.
Abu Alhaul—father of terror, Mohammed’s chosen one, Abdo’s brother—followed.
Abdo wiped his forehead and thought of how trulyblessed he was to have a brother such as Asim—born again as Abu Alhaul. Behind Abu Alhaul followed less than thirty of the Islamic Front for Purification remaining with the Jihadist leader. Two years ago they numbered in the thousands—Africans, Arabs, Pakistani—so many, and now so few. Success had been great two years ago with them overrunning Guinea and Liberia before Allah decided to test their faithfulness again. The defeat at the hands of the Liberian president, Thomaston, caused the growing dissension between the Africans and Jihadists to burst like rotten fruit. The Africans shoved aside the teachings of Mohammed, and now followed this charismatic African, Fela Azikiwe Ojo, shunning religion in favor of nationalism.
“What is it?” Abu Alhaul asked as he approached Abdo.
Abdo knew Abu Alhaul both loved and hated him; he who was his bigger brother. It frustrated Abdo to know his brother fought his own internal arguments because Abdo failed to appreciate that Abu Alhaul believed Allah had much bigger plans for him.
“The path splits, my brother. One goes north and the other continues west.”
“We go west.”
Abdo shook his head. He turned and faced his brother. The loyal ones who remained reverently gave the two brothers distance. “It is over, Abu Alhaul. It is time to retreat, reassess, and decide a new direction.” He pointed north. “We turn north, toward civilization, and an aircraft ticket to Egypt.” He sighed. “Ojo is following, and it is only a matter of time until he
Holman looked up at his balding chief of staff. “You’re not thinking of emigrating to Liberia when you retire, are you, Leo?”
Upmann laughed. “Oh, Christ, no. My wife would leave me if I took her away from bingo, Wal-Mart, and the Frances Scott Key mall. No, we’re too integrated into the Frederick,Maryland, social scene to pull roots at our age and head off into the sunset for an adventure that could kill us.”
“I would hope so. You know you can’t go back to a place you’ve never been.”
Upmann’s lower lip pushed against his upper for a moment. “But you know what makes it hard for those of us who are black, Admiral? You can go home, and you can trace your family tree on the Internet—back for generations. For us blacks, we might be lucky to take our heritage back to the end of the Civil War. What Thomaston and his people were doing in Kingsville were analyzing DNA from the various African tribes. You could put your DNA into their program data banks and when, or if, they matched it to a specific tribe, you had a piece of your heritage in which you could take interest.”
Holman looked up. Hovering above them with its camera pointing down was one of the Marine Corps’ miniature UAVs. “Leo, are we providing the fuel for these damn things?”
CHAPTER 3
ABDO, HIS LARGE FRAME PUSHING ASIDE THE BUSHES blocking the faint jungle path, brought the machete down time after time, as effortlessly as he walked. Each slash sent a wave rippling along loose flaps of fat hanging beneath each arm, hiding the strength buried beneath, and sending waves of small, flying, biting insects into the air. Abdo paused, wiping sweat from his forehead. He tucked the machete beneath one arm while using the free hand to poke loose strands of dirty black hair beneath the yellow-stained turban. Cursing, he slapped at the insects surrounding his head. A four-day growth of gray-speckled hair covered his face. Abdo stepped back, leaving the insects swarming around where he had stood. He glanced behind him.
Abu Alhaul—father of terror, Mohammed’s chosen one, Abdo’s brother—followed.
Abdo wiped his forehead and thought of how trulyblessed he was to have a brother such as Asim—born again as Abu Alhaul. Behind Abu Alhaul followed less than thirty of the Islamic Front for Purification remaining with the Jihadist leader. Two years ago they numbered in the thousands—Africans, Arabs, Pakistani—so many, and now so few. Success had been great two years ago with them overrunning Guinea and Liberia before Allah decided to test their faithfulness again. The defeat at the hands of the Liberian president, Thomaston, caused the growing dissension between the Africans and Jihadists to burst like rotten fruit. The Africans shoved aside the teachings of Mohammed, and now followed this charismatic African, Fela Azikiwe Ojo, shunning religion in favor of nationalism.
“What is it?” Abu Alhaul asked as he approached Abdo.
Abdo knew Abu Alhaul both loved and hated him; he who was his bigger brother. It frustrated Abdo to know his brother fought his own internal arguments because Abdo failed to appreciate that Abu Alhaul believed Allah had much bigger plans for him.
“The path splits, my brother. One goes north and the other continues west.”
“We go west.”
Abdo shook his head. He turned and faced his brother. The loyal ones who remained reverently gave the two brothers distance. “It is over, Abu Alhaul. It is time to retreat, reassess, and decide a new direction.” He pointed north. “We turn north, toward civilization, and an aircraft ticket to Egypt.” He sighed. “Ojo is following, and it is only a matter of time until he
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