CHAPTER 14

Zagros Mountains, Iraq

KARIF FAZIL SHOOK HIS HEAD as he watched the report about Noah Young’s speech on terrorism that the newscaster described as “stirring and inspiring.” Fazil considered the rhetoric nothing more than empty talk, the kind of message that would only excite his current base of supporters. Though Young sounded benign politically, Fazil didn’t miss Young’s opening salvo. If elected, Young had promised to make terrorists’ lives difficult through an aggressive campaign.

Too bad you won’t be able to follow through on your promise.

Fazil studied several documents detailing the next steps in his plan once the U.S. election was thrown into disarray. Once there was a vacuum of leadership, Fazil recognized there would be an optimum window of opportunity to strike. And Al Hasib needed to strike fast and furiously. He understood enough about the American political culture to know that the nation’s attention would be zeroed in on avoiding a constitutional crisis, just like the one the country almost had with Daniels’s death. Only this would be much worse. All Fazil needed to do now was wait for the first domino to fall. Once Young was dead, chaos would ensue.

“Come, come, Jafar,” Fazil said, snapping his fingers to signal for the bird to join him. “We must check in with Youssef and make sure he has everything he needs to—how do they say it in America?—get the party started?”

Fazil punched in Youssef Nawabi’s phone number and pressed send, waiting patiently for the marksman to answer.

“Alo,” Nawabi answered.

“How are your preparations coming along?” Fazil asked, being discreet as possible in what he said.

“There have not been any surprises yet, so I guess you could say that they are going well.”

“You must stay vigilant,” Fazil said. “Nothing ever runs smoothly—at least, nothing ever runs as smoothly as you’d like.”

“I expect disruptions any day now and am ready for whatever might be thrown my way.”

“Excellent. You must be on guard. Our entire mission is counting on you. Once you remove their leader, we can begin to move into phase two of our plan.”

“How is your training coming along? Have you been able to practice as you had hoped?”

“I believe I’m ready. The past few days I have fine tuned my skills, though I’m not sure anything can prepare me fully for the moment.”

“I know you will be ready. Keep me informed on any changes. I’ll send you the details for the next meeting with your liaison there.”

Fazil was proud of Nawabi and the journey he began after his brother was killed at the hands of Brady Hawk. Nawabi approached Fazil about training for one of Al Hasib’s special missions. At first, Fazil wasn’t sure if Nawabi simply wanted revenge—something Fazil would certainly never hold against anyone—or if he genuinely wanted to help the cause. After a few months of watching Nawabi grow from a fighter in the trenches to one of the best shots with an RPG in the ranks of Al Hasib, the answer was clear.

Fazil always had several missions running, some active while others were of the long-range variety. Sleeper cells, deep cover, infiltrating the U.S. military ranks—they were the kind of operations he needed to prepare for in case he had the opportunity to strike swiftly. Nawabi had been preparing to put his training into action for more than six months, and Fazil had little doubt that his most skilled shooter was prepared. On top of Nawabi’s excellent ability to hit targets with his RPG, he was also a solid marksman. He regularly hit his target from 800 yards, which was enough to help Al Hasib advance as it attempted to besiege several strongholds in Iraq and Afghanistan. Nawabi had thrown a few mundane afternoons in several villages into complete chaos based on his long-range shooting ability. Fazil always preferred the silent assassin, though such a tactic wasn’t always the best. Nawabi’s ability helped Fazil cover both options with one soldier.

Fazil said a quick prayer underneath his breath for Nawabi. The last thing Fazil wanted was to lose his prized asset before Nawabi ever got off a shot. But Fazil knew Nawabi was as good as gone the moment he left for the U.S. If Nawabi did his job, he’d die a martyr’s death, joining his brother in eternity. It was what Fazil wanted, but he couldn’t deny a soldier unafraid to stare death in the face for Al Hasib’s jihad cause.

Fazil paused for a moment before hanging up, adding one final instruction.

“When you meet your contact, control yourself,” Fazil said. “I know you’re going to want to kill him, but please refrain. Your mission will be in vain if you attempt anything, plus you will have to deal with my wrath should you return.”

“Your wrath? Don’t you want him out of the picture?” Nawabi asked.

“I want him eliminated almost more than anything—but I want to be the one to do it. If you bring him back with you, make sure he is still kicking. If not, there will be serious repercussions for your actions. Is that clear?”

“I understand,” Nawabi said.

“I didn’t ask if you understand. I want to know if you think my instructions are clear—and that you plan to abide by them?”

Fazil waited out an awkward moment of silence before Nawabi finally spoke.

“They are clear, sir, and I will abide by them.”

“Good, that is what I was hoping to hear,” Fazil said before he hung up the phone.

I have my own special plans for Brady Hawk.