May 3
9822 Watchung Road
Essex County
Short Hills, New Jersey
5:06 P.M. EDT
Ziyad fretted over the camera, testing the auto-zoom function and frowning at the result.
Too fast, he rebuked himself. It must be a smooth transition from the wider angle to the close-up.
He ratcheted back the lens and tried again.
Better. But it must be perfect. Unlike in a Hollywood production, we will not have the opportunity for a second ‘take’ today…
Ziyad had already adjusted the lighting, then readjusted it several times more. The three halogen lights were placed at angles so that any distracting shadows or harshly over-bright hot-spots from one would be canceled out by the fill-lighting of the others.
He sighed, wished that instead of the makeshift utility lamps he had lighting units of studio quality: filtering gels, at minimum vanes to adjust the levels. As with his duties in the computer chat room, Ziyad was a self-proclaimed perfectionist, and in each assignment he was tasked considered himself an artist.
He had no doubt that the video he would record very soon would be seen by an impressive number of audience members. While most would only be shocked by the content, Ziyad knew, the more discerning viewers might also be impressed by the technical mastery of framing, of angle, of overall cinematic quality.
Especially in the climatic scene, Ziyad reminded himself. When Ahmad Abu Khaled displays the severed heads for all the world to see…
And that would be a slow zoom-in, he decided. If an eye remains open, I will zoom to its lifeless pupil slowly and deliberately. Just like Bergman, or the talented infidel Steven Spielberg…
The voice broke into Ziyad’s musings, a calm inquiry.
“Is all in readiness?” Ahmad Abu Khaled asked.
“I await your command,” Ziyad replied.
His own voice was reverent, proud, grateful for the impending honor—one that, Ziyad was certain, would make his work an immortal cinematic classic.
• • •
“Have your savages completed their preparations?” Vasily asked, his voice liquid with contempt.
“Nearly so,” Ian Tatum said, in an equally low voice. “I believe that Abu Khaled waits only for the Jew to fully regain her facilities.” He chuckled. “Dragging a semi-conscious woman before a camera to slice off her head…” He shrugged. “That appears not to appeal to his sense of the dramatic. He prefers her to be completely aware of all that is happening to her. It would seem that he has somewhat of a … personal antagonism toward our Ms. Duhahi.”
“The old KGB would have simply put a bullet behind her ear,” Vasily said. “They did so to several of my friends before I escaped to this country. More efficient.”
“It’s a brave new world, my friend. The KGB is now subdivided as the FSB inside your former country. I was more familiar with what is now the foreign side of the shop, the SVR. Nonetheless, I do not doubt that the new FSB ‘secret police’ still deal with petty criminals via a Makarov pistol to the head.”
Tatum saw the expression cross the non-bandaged, non-Ray-Ban’d part of Vasily’s face. “No offense intended; you, as a member of the legendary Mafiya … well, I’m certain you would be treated with more respect.”
“When they find us of use,” Vasily sneered. “As they occasionally find of use traitors such as yourself.”
Ian Tatum smiled, indulgent of the insult.
“I prefer to think of myself as an entrepreneur, a businessman—as you are, of course. We provide them, and their government as a whole, with that always-essential element of plausible deniability. In all of this conspiracy, they wish to be able to deny a great deal. Part of what we charge them for is dealing with what you call ‘savages.’ But I confess that I too find these people equally disgusting, Vasily. Necessary, for now; but taken as a whole, an appalling waste of oxygen on this planet.”
“They smell. They stink of shit and blood.”
“Patience, my friend. Is all else ready?”
“In the trunk of the vehicle. I prefer the Uzi; you may have the MP-5. I have taped spare magazines to each, in case we must reload.”
“Excellent. That should not be necessary, however. They will all gather in a line to watch the infidel heads roll. We will stand near the door, and slip outside and back when their attention is fully focused on the festivities. You rake your bursts from left to right; I will shoot from the right side of the room to the left. Take care not to damage the camera in the crossfire. We must leave that for the Americans to find, after we have departed.”
Ian Tatum winked. “Departed, I should say, as very wealthy men.”
• • •
Ahmad Abu Khaled smiled indulgently at Ziyad’s all-too-obvious eagerness for the show to begin.
“She is awake,” one of the guards said from the doorway behind him.
He turned, his face now that of a stern judge about to pass sentence.
“I wish to speak to the woman alone,” Ahmad ordered. “Bring up the others, the Americans, from the room below. Gather our warriors. When I have concluded my farewells to my wife, it will begin.”