Read Online Retribution by Anderson Harp - Free Book Online Page A

finger.”
    â€œSo what’s the threat? He seems another tyrant quietly killing his people on the other side of the earth.”
    â€œHe wants to kill more than just those in the Sherani clan he doesn’t like. Some time ago this man, in the shadows in a videotape on the Internet, started talking of a new state of Islam.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œGood question. On the lands of the Ghaznavid Empire. Ghaznavid stretched from western Iran, across Afghanistan, and into most of Pakistan.”
    â€œOkay . . .” Parker’s response was more of a question than an acknowledgment.
    â€œEven more important is why. He wants to establish a totalistic Islamic state.”
    â€œThe Ghaznavid Empire was over a thousand years ago.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt was known for butchering the babies of its enemies. But he has one sizable problem.”
    â€œI know what you’re going to say.”
    â€œCentral Command is in his way.” Parker had to give Yousef credit for dreaming big. Much of the military force of the United States lay in the center of his planned kingdom.
    â€œDon’t think he is a fool,” Scott said. “He is bright and persuasive. And extremely well financed. He makes bin Laden look like a child.”
    â€œShit.” Parker rubbed his shoulder. “What would it take for him to pull this off?”
    â€œA horrific event that breaks the will of the American people.”
    Scott paused.
    â€œDo you want to meet him?”
    â€œYousef?”
    â€œYes, the man who put the bomb on Pan Am Flight 103. Would you like to meet the man who murdered your father and mother?”
    Parker said nothing. Scott was being obnoxious in his directness. He stared into the fire as the wood popped with the occasional flare-up. The ember bounced against the screen and flew back into the fire. Listening to Scott, he had to wonder whether he was the ember or the fire.
    â€œWe’ll talk in the morning.”
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    Scott slept well past sunrise, which was unusual for him. He was nearing his fortieth birthday but felt closer to fifty as he rubbed his face with both hands while sitting on the edge of the bed. He had not slept for more than five hours at a time in the last decade. As he dressed, he slipped on his Rolex, looking at his watch. It was well past 9:00 A.M .
    The bedroom was connected to a small library that was just off the great room where the night before he and Parker had drinks by the fireplace. Scott heard the rattling sound of someone in the kitchen on the other end of the lodge. The previous night he thought he had heard the same noise of someone in the kitchen, out of sight. The smell of fresh, brewing coffee was mixed with the smoky residue of the fireplace.
    Scott paused as he stepped from the bedroom into the library. It was more of a small office than a library, with a table desk, a leather chair where the arms were well worn, down to the yellow leather under the stain, and across from the desk another smaller table with a chessboard. The marbled men on the board were paused mid-game. He recognized the opening move. The knight had been moved before the bishop.
    On the center of the desk was a small blue-and-yellow Chinese ceramic bowl with a gold-leaf trim around its edge. It was full of medals. Scott picked up one of the medals, each having long, brightly colored ribbons. This one was pewter and engraved with Boston Athletic Association and the Boston Marathon. Next to the bowl, on the center of the desk, was a gold pocket watch linked to a thin chain. Scott, without thinking, picked it up. The chain had a fob on the end. A Phi Beta Kappa key etched on the back with “Columbia University, Class of 1959.”
    Obviously not Parker’s. Perhaps his father’s, Scott thought. He knew that both of Parker’s parents had been killed by the terrorist bomb that took down Pan Am Flight 103 over Scotland. William Parker knew what terrorism was