56

MONTERREY, MEXICO—16 MAY

Zaid Farooq felt himself being shaken.

“Farooq, wake up—quickly.”

He grunted something unintelligible, then glanced at his watch. “Leave me alone, Tariq. I still have an hour to sleep.”

“Wake up. We’re here.”

Farooq was in a foul mood. And Tariq Youssef did not outrank him. They were both deputy commanders of Kairos. Still, Youssef was their chief of internal security. If he said it was important, it probably was.

Youssef got out of the car and began shouting, waking everyone in the villa. “Come, everyone—come now—quickly.”

Farooq grabbed his backpack and headed past the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room, where Youssef had tuned the TV to the Al-Sawt satellite network out of Qatar. Soon everyone had gathered, staring at the large plasma screen in shock.

It was Father.

He was alive.

For nearly a half hour, the men sat mesmerized as the video of Abu Nakba was shown over and over again. They listened as various analysts in the Doha-based studios reveled in the Kairos leader’s ability to continually defy the Americans’ efforts to hunt him down and discussed whether the White House would give Kairos the $150 million the most wanted man in the world was demanding.

Abruptly Zaid Farooq shut off the television and stood before them. “The truth is, Father was never in danger,” he explained. “Brother Tariq and I, and Brother Badr back in Yemen, have been working on this plan that we are about to unleash. We designed it to lull Washington into a false sense that they had decapitated our leadership. We wanted to see them boast to the world of their perceived success in taking out the head of Kairos and his inner circle, and boast they certainly did. Then we embarrassed the Americans and sowed the seeds of chaos and political civil war in their capital. Allah has granted us favor beyond what even I had imagined. I confess, I had many doubts. But the plan is working. And now the Americans are reeling, trying to decide whether to pay us $150 million—three times our entire budget of last year, I would note—or to take their chances that they will find those three American virgins in time. But believe me when I tell you that Father has many more tricks up his sleeve.”

Farooq sat on a chair by the fireplace.

“Let me now apologize to you all for letting you think, even for a few days, that Father had been killed,” he told the men. “I know that was unfair to you all. It was not Father’s idea. It was mine. We needed absolute operational security. For the illusion to work as long as it did, we couldn’t afford a single leak. Not that I don’t trust you, but we’re at war, men. We are engaged in a holy war against the vilest of enemies, and we cannot take chances. But now you know the truth. You know that we have much to rejoice in, even if we have much hard work ahead. Come, it is time to pray.”

Sobered by the gravity of their mission, yet emboldened by their leader’s cunning, the men laid out their mats and bowed toward Mecca.