The unusual sound brought the man wide-awake. The exclusive ring tone announced the caller before he even checked the ID.
Glancing at his bedside clock, he groaned. It was only three o’clock, the middle of the night in Washington DC. In Iran, though, it was eleven-thirty in the morning. As usual, his demanding uncle ignored the time difference.
He grabbed the encrypted satellite phone from the nightstand and turned on the light. “Uncle, how can I be of service to you?” He said in the unique Arabic dialect of his early childhood.
“Abd al Rashid.” His uncle always called him by his Arabic name. He refused to use the name given to him by the Catholics who had brought him from the Middle Eastern refugee camp to the United States to be raised as a Christian. Both he and his uncle had come to accept this as Allah’s will, especially during the man’s surprising rise to one of the highest positions within the Central Intelligence Agency. “Reassure me you have secured the information Gabriel Davis stole from us.”
He was not about to correct his uncle, the true caliphate and the founder of the New Islamic State, but Gabe hadn’t stolen the information. He had been given it as a faithful follower of his uncle, Nassar al Jamil. The American had done much to further their cause, primarily by keeping the Muslim leader off the United States’ most wanted terrorist list.
His uncle’s following had grown significantly since Iran had granted them the promised land on Lake Urmia in the northwest corner that borders Iraq and Turkey, less than one hundred miles from Syria.
Their recruitment within the United States had tripled in just two weeks. His secret camps in Pennsylvania, Washington, and Kansas were thriving, bursting at the seams with young men anxious to follow the fundamentalist ways of Mohammed.
Money had poured in like Niagara Falls when he had gone against his uncle’s advice and leaked the good news to the American press. Tens of thousands of displaced Middle Eastern Muslims, disillusioned and disgusted with the liberal United States and their lack of acceptance of Sharia law, had been willing to donate millions of dollars to the cause. He’d been able to hire the best mercenaries to train his secret armies, equip them with leading-edge weapons and ammunition, teach them modern-day tactics, and feed them well.
“Nephew, did you hear me?” His uncle’s words brought him back to the conversation.
“Uncle, we searched his apartment immediately after his death and found nothing.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and once again asked Allah to forgive him. “I went to the home he shared with his wife on occasion. While searching his office, his wife walked in.” He quickly added, “She wasn’t supposed to be there. She saw me. Recognized me. I had to kill her.”
“American women,” the holy man said with disdain. “They are too interfering. Their husbands need to teach them better, keep them in line. It would not been a problem with any wife of mine. She would know enough to keep her mouth shut and walk away. His wife, she was nothing. A casualty of war.”
His uncle was right. He was looking forward to joining his real family in the New Islamic State. He intended to take several wives, of various ages. He could afford them and all his children they would bear. He would arrive a hero and have his choice of the most beautiful women. Then he would fuck day and night, impregnating as many as possible. No more need for condoms, necessary to protect himself from dirty American women. He would have untouched virgins. His unsheathed cock would be the only one to ever enter those women.
He grew hard at the mere thought, proud that he had no problem getting it up at his age. Instead of watching his grandchildren grow, he’d be taking wives of that age to assure the continuation of his bloodline…and their virginity.
But he had much work left to do in the United States of America. Most importantly, bring the country to its knees, bowing to Allah.
“Are you going to get in trouble with American laws?” The man sixty-five hundred miles away asked with concern.
He sat up in his bed and leaned against the headboard, grinning. “No. I made it look like a suicide and the detective in charge of the scene, filed it as such. Nothing can be traced back to me.”
“Excellent, my favorite nephew. I look forward to you joining us here in the promised land. Allah be with you and give you strength.”
The line went dead.
The man smiled and ran his fingers through his curly dark hair, fisting his cock. Part of him hated to allow his seed to go unplantable, but his private doctor had told him an active sex life would keep him verile longer. He would be in Iran soon.
Everything was progressing as planned.