Exiting the Holland Tunnel, New York City, New York
Nazari stuffed his phone back in his pocket, his chest swelling with pride, his stomach with butterflies as he realized the enormity of the message he had just received and the plans he had just read.
He was in charge.
The leadership was presumed dead and he was the most senior commander to have made it across.
The entire plan, its success or failure, was now on his shoulders, the fate of the Islamic fight against the infidel his responsibility.
He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes as they continued toward their destination, the others chatting quietly in the back, the driver focused on his one task.
Islam will not fall should you fail.
The thought comforted him slightly. Allah had a plan, and it was in His hands whether they succeeded tonight. If they failed, then it was His will.
But he couldn’t see Allah wanting them to fail.
If they should succeed, the Caliphate could expand, could grow stronger, could restore Islam to its former glory, and eventually fulfill its destiny.
And tonight could be an incredibly important step on that journey.
The Prophet had said the Mahdi would return when the Romans landed troops in Turkey or Syria, and they would be met by an army of Muslim warriors who would stand side-by-side with the converts, the Romans—or Westerners—demanding their return. The battle would be brutal, with two-thirds dying, but in the end they would be victorious over the infidel, the Mahdi would return to rule, subjugating the entire world, then the Day of Judgement would come, with only the righteous, those who had fought for Islam, given eternal entry into paradise.
Could what we do tonight force the Romans to invade?
The thought sent chills up and down his spine.
“We’re almost there.”
Nazari’s eyes focused once again on the road, glancing at the GPS indicating their arrival in less than ten minutes. The commanders on the ground had chosen the target well. The men he was about to take command of knew the plan, but they needed an iron fist who had proven himself in battle to make sure the plan was followed, to make the tough decisions that less experienced men might hesitate to make.
He pointed at a sign. “Go to the service entrance.” He turned to those in the back seat. “Weapons ready. Be prepared to shoot the guards, but wait for my order.”
The men suddenly became all business, these seasoned veterans of the conflict back home. The driver lowered all the windows as they were flagged down at the gate, one of the officers holding an iPad, reading their license plate.
He smiled.
“Welcome, Commander!” he said, stepping over to the passenger side window. “They’re waiting for you inside. Straight ahead, to the left, and through the large doors. One of our men will be there to guide you.”
“Thank you.”
“Allahu Akbar!”
Nazari smiled.
“Allahu Akbar!”