“Not if you are as good as you say. Look, her father is connected. Is that what you’re asking?”
“Connected to what?”
“Just connected, that’s all. He’s a criminal and has his stubby little yellow fingers into a lot. He’s a facilitator. If you need something, he can facilitate.”
“Does he have a crew?”
There was a slight anger in Reid’s response. He wanted the job done and to get on with his life. He wasn’t expecting the third degree from some knuckle-dragger hit man in cowboy boots. “Yeah, he’s got guys who do what needs to be done. This is not some cakewalk. You’ll have to earn your fifty thousand.”
“I suspected I would.”
“That’s why I want this done professionally. If she were working out of some Oriental massage parlor I’ve got rappers who would trade services with me.”
Jake nodded. “I’m gonna do it right. I need to be safe and you need to be satisfied.”
“That’s why I wanted the best. I think you have all you need in the envelope. You’ll have no problem finding her. Her father launders money through some off-the-Strip casinos in Vegas. She’ll be there on Wednesday doing a run. Maybe you can make it look like a robbery or carjacking. I made the reservations for her at the Bellagio.”
“She’s going out in style.”
“Just make sure she goes out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Following morning prayers Mohammed and Kareem retreated across the street to the near-empty diner, where the cell leader quietly held court at a table in the back. Mohammed sipped his tea as his student sat listening.
Kareem was grateful anyone at the mosque was willing to share a moment. The fellowship he once found in prison turned to awkward stares or to being completely ignored by those with whom he now worshipped. The new follower of the Prophet had heard enough platitudes about the five pillars of Islam. He’d been drawn to the movement by exhortations from a prison-visiting imam to wage violent jihad against the enemies of Islam. For Kareem, the United States of America was such an enemy. He also believed the heretics, apostates, and infidels populating the country deserved to be punished — and he was an implement of retribution for their wrongdoing.
The ex-con’s favorite verses from the Koran included the commands “When you meet the unbelievers in the battlefield, strike off their heads and, when you have laid them low, bind your captives firmly,” and “Prophet, make war on the unbelievers and the hypocrites and deal rigorously with them. Hell shall be their home; an evil fate.” He recited them often, a gangster theology that resonated with the life he knew on the street before his conversion — and his new purpose in life as “an instrument of Allah’s wrath.”
Mohammed rewarded Kareem’s successful assassination of Cho Hee Sun with more insights into his personal experience as a faithful warrior in Allah’s army. “I was fifteen when the Jews invaded Southern Lebanon, occupying our nation, attacking those brothers we invited to live within our borders.”
“You mean the PLO?”
“Yes,” said Mohammed, nodding, putting down his cup of tea. “The Little Satan’s Army crossed into our land, violating our sovereignty and assaulting our guests. An attack on our brothers was an attack on us. We had a duty to drive out the Zionists.”
Mohammed grabbed a Koran, raised his arm as if brandishing a weapon, and smiled. “This later gave birth to the Hizb Allah-al-Thawra al-Islamiya fi Lubnan, or Hezbollah, the Party of God. My brothers were trained by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and were inspired by the Ayatollah Khomeini, who encouraged us to attack the apostates, knowing Allah would protect us. The Supreme Leader understood whoever wielded the sword would conquer the earth.”
“Were you part of the fighting?”
Mohammed nodded. “I fought alongside my brothers and later received the same training. It was much more than the hand-to-hand combat techniques we have seen in the al-Qaeda videos they give to Al Jazeera and CNN. We were a tightly disciplined group and superbly trained with advanced skills to defeat any army. We learned how to use bombings and assassinations effectively.
“Until they built their wall, the Zionist occupiers were unable to cope with our tactics and as the war progressed our small numbers grew, encouraged by our friends in Iran. From our ranks arose great leaders.”
Mohammed paused as if gathering his thoughts. “Imad Mugniyeh was such a leader, a pillar in our organization. He led the destruction of American and Jewish interests for three decades. In 1979, when the Ayatollah came to power in Iran, those who hated the Shah for turning his back on Allah seized the American Embassy in Tehran. They held fifty-two hostages for more than a year as an impotent United States looked on. It cost their President Carter his job and proved our advance can never be stopped when Allah wills. Imad was inspired and trained by those same valiant warriors and set up his organization in Lebanon. He was responsible for the bombing in 1983 of the American Embassy in Beirut, and then a few months later he destroyed the crusaders’ Marine barracks. Once again we proved the weakness of the Great Satan, who ran when confronted by power. Even their new president withdrew his troops rather than face the wrath of Allah’s soldiers.”
“You mean Reagan?”
Mohammed flicked his wrist as if backhanding a pesky insect. “The name does not matter. America cannot stop what Allah has ordained. Imad was responsible for the killing of the American CIA station chief in Beirut and the hijacking of their TWA Flight 847. The Americans knew they could not stop him. They even put out a reward of five million dollars, hoping to coax a traitor within our midst. They had no way of finding him though he operated under their noses. He was called Abu Dokhan, ‘the father of smoke,’ because of his ability to evaporate in thin air when pursued. They suspected him of masterminding the bombing of the Jews’ embassy in Argentina, a Zionist community center in Buenos Aires, and the Khobar Towers in Riyadh. He was a great warrior in the cause of Allah. It took the enemies of Islam until 2008 to find him. Then he was martyred in Damascus by a Zionist car bomb.”
Kareem said nothing as he sipped his tea but the eyes spoke volumes, his zeal evident.
Mohammed continued, looking beyond Kareem, as if prophesying the future. “As the Americans like to say, he put us on the map. Now merely the name Hezbollah strikes fear in weak infidel nations. We have more than twenty thousand warriors. They are on every continent, with more missiles than most governments. Even leaders of the United States call us the ‘A Team’ and refer to al-Qaeda as the ‘B Team.’
“Our purpose is to plant the banner of jihad here in America and avenge Imad Mugniyeh’s murder.” His voice rose slightly as he clenched his fist. “We must bring this nation to its knees in submission to the one true God. I want the Zionists and Crusaders to know they can cowardly kill a man of greatness like Imad Mugniyeh with a car bomb, or Osama bin Laden with their foolhardy SEAL teams, or Anwar al-Awlaki with their drones, but it will never stop our cause. We are stronger than one man. Allah is our God. He is the Righteous God of vengeance. He will be their judge and they will learn too late they are on the wrong side of this battle.”
Kareem nodded in agreement, his eyes wide with enthusiasm.
Mohammed paused for a long moment, then, looking directly at Kareem, said, “You will be a great soldier for Allah. I want you to join me tomorrow to speak with Rostam.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As Jake drove from the pier to the café in Brentwood, he spent a few extra minutes “dry cleaning” to lose anyone who might be tailing him. The verbal slipup with Reid heightened his “situational awareness”—and he cautiously employed all but the most drastic of the countersurveillance techniques he had learned at Quantico and since.