A beach on the Mediterranean Sea
Near Misrata, Libya
The wind is shifting,” the jihadist warned as he slipped into the front seat of the parked Land Rover.
The backseat passenger behind him appeared unconcerned as he looked up from the portable computer balanced on his thighs, which was connected via a satellite phone to the Internet. He glanced out a side window into the desert.
“Yes,” he replied. “I am almost finished.”
Only one percent of Libya’s land was arable and only a fraction of it supported permanent crops, which meant strong winds could create dust storms so thick they hid the ground. Before dawn, there had been no wind, and when the four-vehicle convoy had arrived at this beach, the air had been stale and thick with the smells of rotting jellyfish washed ashore.
The man in the Land Rover’s rear seat was dressed completely in black: black combat boots, black trousers, a black long-sleeved shirt, and black gloves. His face and throat were hidden behind a snug-fitting black hood. Only his eyes were exposed, and those eyes, which peered through a narrow slit, were as black as his apparel.
To his followers and his enemies, he was known only as “The Falcon.”
Unlike other radical Islamists, who would show their faces when they were among friends and their fellow fighters, the Falcon never removed his mask. None of his men would have recognized him if they had passed each other on a street.
Many believed the Falcon was an Egyptian who had first drawn blood during the Luxor Massacre in November 1997 at the Egyptian archaeological site of Deir el-Bahri. Six gunmen had murdered fifty-eight foreign nationals and four Egyptians during forty-five minutes of bloodshed. Women were hacked to death with machetes, a five-year-old child was slaughtered, and a note praising Islam was tucked inside a disemboweled body.
Others believed the Falcon was much younger. He appeared fit, with catlike movements. No matter, the Falcon had become legendary in the Arab world. He claimed Allah had shown him a vision of a united Islam and had instructed him to create a caliphate rooted in Sharia law, a unified Islamic territory where all believers—whether they be members of the Taliban, Al-Qaeda, Boko Haram, Al-Shabaab, ISIS, or hundreds of other Islamist splinter groups—would live together and create an invincible fighting force capable of crushing their non-Muslim enemies.
The Crusades, first launched by Christians in 1095, had never ended, in the Falcon’s thinking. Modern-day weapons and propaganda had simply replaced the long swords, maces, spears, and arrows used by medieval warriors. The proliferation of corrupt Western culture, calls for democratic governments, demands that women be educated—all were abhorrent to him and therefore to Allah.
“All Muslims must join in our fight against America and its satanic alliance with the sons of Zion and worshippers of the Cross,” he declared in weekly messages his followers posted on Internet jihadist sites. “Any Muslim who is physically able to join us but refuses is no different from an infidel and will suffer the same fate. Death!”
The Falcon typed three words—Await my orders—on his keyboard in the Land Rover’s backseat and hit send. The message was encrypted and traveled through multiple relays to protect it from being intercepted and deciphered by Western intelligence.
Shutting his laptop screen, he said, “Two of our fellow fighters have achieved martyrdom. Unfortunately, they failed to kill the American president. But Allah’s wishes will not be denied. The president will be dead soon and the Great Satan will be brought to its knees.”
He put his laptop aside and opened a satchel at his feet. Taking a twelve-inch-long knife from the bag, he asked, “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes,” the jihadist replied.
Six Coptic Christians were waiting for the Falcon on the shoreline in orange jumpsuits.
“Do you know why we behead our enemies and post videos on the Internet?” The Falcon asked as the two of them exited the SUV.
“They are infidels, our enemies.”
“Tell me,” the Falcon said, “do you know the group Jama’at al-Tawhid wal-Jihad?”
The jihadist shook his head, indicating no.
“The Tanzim Qaidat al-Jihad fi Bilad al-Rafidayn? Or the Mujahideen Shura Council?”
“No,” the jihadist replied. “I arrived from England only three months ago through Syria and am unfamiliar with those names.”
The Falcon said nothing. He did not explain that the groups he’d named were earlier versions of the Islamic State (ISIS).
Why had his young protégé not recognized those earlier incarnations? Because they had never achieved the worldwide notoriety that ISIS had the moment its members beheaded a Western journalist. A religious war needed a steady stream of believers willing to die, and while most Westerners had been appalled by the beheadings, others wanted to join the Islamic group that formed the tip of the Islamic spear.
“Why haven’t you asked me?” the Falcon said as he and the jihadist approached the captured Coptic Christians. “When I removed my knife, you saw their book inside my satchel.”
“Yes,” the jihadist replied. “It’s blasphemy. Pornography.”
“You have not read their Book of Lies, have you?”
“I would rather gouge out my eyes.”
“In the West we are considered ignorant savages,” the Falcon explained. “They believe we are uneducated, even though many of us have graduated from their best schools in England and the United States. They believe we don’t understand how democracy works, otherwise we would choose it for ourselves. They believe we are unfamiliar with their freedoms, otherwise we would embrace them too. But they are the ignorant ones. They are arrogant. We know all about their Western democracy and we choose to reject it. We know all about their freedoms and we reject them. This is not ignorance, it is enlightenment. We believe in Sharia law as delivered by the Prophet, blessed be his name. We do not need their false teachings. We live by his teachings.”
The Falcon stopped walking so that he could look into the eyes of the jihadist with him.
“Their Book of Lies contains a story. A king named Sisera is fleeing from his enemies when he comes upon a tent where a woman named Jael lives. She offers him shelter. When he says he is thirsty and asks for water, she gives him milk. When he asks to rest on the floor, she makes him a bed with her finest blankets. She tells him if his enemies come to her tent, she will send them away. King Sisera falls asleep. And when he is snoring, the woman named Jael drives a stake through his head, nailing him to the ground.”
The Falcon glanced at the six Christian prisoners kneeling in the sand a few feet from them.
“We will not defeat our enemies fighting here in our lands. We must take the fight into their homes and onto their streets. There are many living among them who can be recruited to do Allah’s bidding. The beheadings we perform this morning will show them our resolve. And they will be the servants of Allah who will drive a stake into the heads of those who trust them when they go to sleep. We will use Americans to defeat Americans.”
The wind grew stronger. Sand began pelting their faces. The Falcon stepped behind the first prisoner, glanced at the camera filming him, and lifted his knife.