CHAPTER 19

Andrews Air Force Base

Washington, D.C.

YOUSSEF NAWABI CRACKED his knuckles as he waited for the military police at the guard station to grant him access. He held up the security pass to Nawabi’s face and compared the two. With an exasperated exhale, the guard trudged back to his post and picked up the phone.

Sweat beaded up on Nawabi’s hands. As he eyed the guard’s movement, Nawabi reached down next to his seat and grabbed his pistol. If he was going down without ever getting a shot off at President Young, Nawabi was going to take some people down with him.

After a few more tense seconds, the guard stepped out of his hut, raised the arm, and signaled for Nawabi to proceed. Nawabi slipped his hand off his gun and gripped the wheel. He eased forward, nodding politely to the guard who returned the gesture.

While Fazil had explained that great planning could always be spoiled by bad luck, he preached the importance of giving the mission the best chance at success. And advanced scouting was one of the pillars of Fazil’s wisdom when it came to dealing a deathblow to the infidels. Nawabi took the instruction to heart, which was why he didn’t question Brady Hawk’s suggestion to visit the base ahead of time to get a better feel for it. However, Nawabi held everything else Hawk said suspect, including the suggestion to bring a weapon a day before and stash it somewhere.

Nawabi parked his car and got his weapons out of his truck, all disguised in boxes of office supplies. As he wheeled the dolly through the parking lot, he didn’t notice any wary glances, which surprised him. He’d been told that everyone in America viewed anyone of apparent Middle Eastern descent as an enemy. While he hadn’t experienced such blatantly rude acts in the general public, he certain expected to garner them on a U.S. military base. Instead, he was met with friendly nods and waves from several people who passed him.

Focused on the mission, Nawabi didn’t dwell on the friendly demeanor of the infidels. He had a job to do, not to mention the fact that someone who just flashed a welcoming smile also could’ve been the same person who authorized bombings over his homeland or even pulled the trigger on a jet.

They’re all infidels, Youssef. They all deserve the same fate for the war they’ve started against Islam.

As he walked toward the last hangar, he kept his head down, denying even the slightest chance that he might be beguiled by the strangers’ affable approach to him. Once he reached the hangar, he knocked on the door and prepared to give his speech as a deliveryman.

But no one answered. He waited for a couple minutes before picking the lock and entering the hangar.

The cavernous space inside was lit only by the sunlight eking through the opaque windows ringing the upper portion of the structure. A lone airplane occupied the hangar, though there was room for more if necessary. Nawabi ogled the technology surrounding the large tanker before snapping out of his trance.

Do your job, and do it well.

He hurried back to his stack of office supply boxes and maneuvered it toward a group of offices that rose three stories high. The top story appeared to have an access ladder emerge out of it, butting up against a hatch leading to the roof.

Removing the boxes from the dolly, Nawabi opened each one carefully and reassembled his RPG along with the missile. He then picked the lock to the office on the ground floor and ascended to the third floor, where he used the ladder to navigate his way to the roof.

The sunlight momentarily blinded him as he climbed on top of the building. Hunched over to keep a low profile, Nawabi surveyed the area to find the optimum place to hide his weapon and take a shot. There were several ventilation fans located atop the structure that could serve both purposes. He eased his way over to the mechanism and hid his launcher. He proceeded to imagine what his activity leading up to the firing of his missile might look like.

As he closed his eyes, Nawami saw Air Force One lurching skyward through the end of his sights on his RPG. He squeezed the trigger and watched as vicious flames engulfed the plane and sent it crashing to the earth.

Nawabi opened his eyes, satisfied with his accomplishment and looking for a quick way out if possible. There was little doubt that the base’s military police would descend on the hangar, scouring it for any evidence.

The boxes!

Satisfied with his dry run, Nawabi scurried back down into the building and collected all the boxes before loading them onto the dolly. Once finished, he prepared to leave when he heard the clanging of keys just outside the door.

“Hey, Mitch,” a man said. “Are you in there? I forgot my keys.”

Nawabi didn’t go anywhere. Instead, he crouched down low, waiting for the man to leave.

“Damn it, Mitch. This isn’t funny. I know you’re in there.”

Nothing.

“Fine. I’ve got to get my keys. I grabbed the wrong set. I’ll be right back. And your ass is mine for not opening the door for me.”

Nawabi exhaled as he heard footsteps sound as if they were leaving the building. He gathered all evidence that he had even been there and crept toward the door. Opening it slowly, he stuck his head out to see if the coast was clear. Instead, he was startled by the appearance of a man right near the entrance.

“Gotcha!” the man yelled, his expression morphing from giddy excitement to disappointed bewilderment.

Nawabi jumped back, his eyes widening as he stared at the man.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said. “I thought Mitch was back from lunch, and I thought he was fooling around with me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Nawabi waved at the man dismissively. “It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”

“Hey, I don’t think I know you,” the man said. “Who are you again?”

“Just delivering some office supplies.”

The man put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. “Really? You were making a delivery? And who ordered these supplies?”

“I just dropped off some reams of paper like I was told.”

The man eyed Nawabi carefully. “And who placed these orders?”

Nawabi shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I just go where I’m told to go and drop off the supplies at the designated location. If you don’t like it, you can take it up with my boss.”

“I think I just might do that. Where’s your card?”

“My card,” Nawabi asked.

“You know, the one that tells me who you are and what you’re doing here.”

“Oh, my business card.”

“You idiot. What kind of card did you think I was talking about?”

“Never mind,” Nawabi said. “I must have left mine in the company van.”

“In that case, I’m going to walk back with you to your van to make sure I get it so I can properly address this bizarre situation.”

Nawabi took a deep breath. He had to do something differently now that this mystery man was demanding to speak with his supervisor.

“You know what?” Nawabi began. “I set my keys down inside when I was unloading the boxes. I need to get them before we head back over to the parking lot.”

“I’m sticking with you, Mr.—”

“Reynolds,” Nawabi said, offering his hand. “Arnold Reynolds.”

“Mr. Reynolds, you better not be playing around with me because I don’t appreciate this kind of activity in my hangar.”

Nawabi waited until they had both reached the far corner of the building before he recoiled and delivered a brutal blow to the man. The man teetered back and forth until his eyes shut and he crumpled to the floor.

Snatching a nearby tarp, Nawabi placed the man on top of it. After securing the man’s arms, legs, and mouth with duct tape, Nawabi rolled up the unsuspecting hangar supervisor. Nawabi worked quickly to cut out the bottoms of the boxes and use them to disguise the shrouded body on the dolly.

He wasted no time in exiting the hangar and headed straight back to his vehicle. He’d only walked about twenty meters away from the building when another man passed him before stopping and furrowing his brow.

“Did you see Dave in there?” the stranger asked.

Nawabi shrugged and kept moving forward. “I just made my delivery and left.”

“That’s strange.”

Nawabi closed his eyes and said a little prayer that the man wouldn’t become too curious.

Just go inside. I don’t have room for two bodies in my trunk.

Nawabi didn’t breathe until he was certain the man’s footsteps were headed toward the hangar and not in pursuit.

Once Nawabi reached his car, he checked around to see if anyone was standing nearby. Satisfied the area was free from any prying eyes, he hustled to get the body into the trunk. Nawabi stored the dolly and headed for the exit.

The security guard gave a respectful nod to Nawabi as he drove past the guard gate and turned onto a surface street.

Though he had been caught up in the moment, Nawabi finally relaxed and remembered Fazil’s sage advice about being prepared for anything. Nawabi had simply gone to get a feel for the place and make somewhat of a dry run. Instead, he had to knock a man out and sneak the body to his car. And later that night, Nawabi knew he’d have to kill a man, not the man he’d come to the U.S. to kill.

Nawabi thought it was a shame, too. As he reflected on every move he made while at the base, he remembered the man’s face as one of the people who smiled and said hello.

Don’t go soft, Youssef. He is an infidel.

Nawabi pulled out a picture of his dead brother and glanced at it for a second while stopped at a traffic light.

“Tomorrow, I will avenge your death, Abdul,” Nawabi said. “I will kill the president—and then I will kill Brady Hawk.”