12
The driver shook violently to try to escape the chair. The four Americans watched, somewhat amused, as his muscles tensed against the ropes.
“You know, it will just be way easier if you tell us everything we want to know,” Sean said.
He stood a few feet away from the prisoner, facing him with arms crossed and a stern look in his eyes.
The man shook his head and wiggled again, as if this time would be the lucky try that freed him.
“Not sure where you think you’re going to go if you get out of that,” Tommy chimed in. “We’ll just shoot you in the knees and drag you back over here. Then you’ll be in the chair and in agonizing pain.”
Sean looked over his shoulder at his friend standing next to him and smirked. “Yeah, you know he’s right?” he asked the driver. “That’s what we’ll do. Of course, we don’t have to wait for you to try to get away.” Sean pulled out his pistol and pressed it to the prisoner’s right knee.
The man screamed in anticipation of the shot.
Emily was standing behind the other two with Fitz and started to move forward, but Fitz put out his hand to stop her. “Hold on,” he whispered.
“Is that what you want?” Sean’s voice escalated. “I got no problem blowing off your kneecap right now!”
The driver shook his head and yelled. “No! Okay! What do you want to know?”
They’d already asked him several times about where he was headed with the delivery. Maybe he was stalling, or perhaps he just needed a reminder.
Emily stepped in. “Where were you taking the missiles?”
The man looked genuinely puzzled. “Missiles? What missiles?”
Sean jammed the muzzle of his weapon deeper into the man’s leg.
He yelled in pain and fear. “I swear! I don’t know anything about any missiles! I was told we were running guns to the coast. I only know where to pick them up and where to drop them off. But I swear, I don’t know anything about missiles.”
Sean looked over at his friend, then at Emily. “He’s telling the truth.”
Emily wasn’t so sure. “How do you know?”
“I always know a bluff when I see one.” He turned back to the driver. “I don’t suppose you know who Toli was delivering these crates to?”
The man’s head snapped back and forth rapidly. “I already told you. I don’t know anything about it except the pick-up and drop-off points.”
Fitz took a step forward. “Show us.”
They propped the prisoner in front of a map they’d spread out on a bare table. Sean kept a wary eye through one of the windows in the room to make sure no one was entering the courtyard. As far as he could tell, everyone had abandoned the place with no intention of returning.
“There’s a port, in Dar es Salaam. Heavily guarded. The men there are not Tanzanian.” He virtually vomited the words.
“Wait,” Emily stopped him. “What men? The guards?”
The driver nodded eagerly. “Yes. The guards and the ones loading the ships. They are not from this country.”
“Where are they from?”
“I don’t know for sure. They were speaking another language. All I know is they are of Arab descent.”
Tommy looked at Sean. “The plot thickens.”
“You said they were loading ships. What kinds of ships?” Sean asked.
The prisoner raised his shoulders as far as he could. “I don’t know. Different kinds. Some were big. Others were smaller.”
Sean took in a deep breath and sighed. “Whoever is moving the missiles is trying to hide their tracks. By using different kinds of vessels, it will make it harder to identify any kind of pattern or similarity. Smart.”
“Hard to police every boat in the ocean,” Tommy added.
“What I still don’t get,” Fitz spoke up, “is why this charade with Toli? A guy like him wouldn’t have the connections with American manufacturers to get this kind of haul. So what was his part of the deal?”
“It’s a shell game,” Emily said. “Just like with the trucks and the boats. The big picture is one giant shell game. Toli was a cover. They brought the missiles to this part of the world and delivered them to a crazy warlord desperate to get his hands on some powerful new weaponry. Whoever is behind all this probably promised Toli a few of the missiles in exchange for the risk he was taking holding them until they were moved.”
“He was certainly crazy enough to take on that risk,” Sean commented.
13
The sounds of the Maghrib, or sunset prayer, echoed through the streets of the city. When the chanting ended, Omar Khalif stood from his usual place near the window and dusted off his knees.
He looked out over the Garden District with satisfaction. Growing up in utter poverty, no one would have believed that he would have achieved such stratospheric success. Yet here he was, on top of the world.
Khalif had been born to poor parents in the slums of Cairo. He’d spent many years away from the ancient city — moving to Pakistan for the better part of the last two decades. There he established himself as a global financial player.
But Khalif’s heart beckoned to remember the lessons Cairo taught him. From an early age he learned how to survive on the street and quickly developed the necessary skills to make money. It began when he conned other kids out of their money. Later, he turned to outright thievery.
His destiny had long been on a troubled path.
When his mother died, Khalif’s father didn’t want anything to do with him. He pushed the boy away, shunning him almost entirely. Young Omar grieved the loss of his mother. And at the same time he loathed his father.
Realizing there was nothing for him in Cairo but pain and hatred, Khalif planned to leave. Running away wasn’t a cowardly thing to do; at least not in his mind. But why should he stay?
He gathered his things and took off, running down the city’s sidewalks and alleys. Khalif had no idea where he was going. He’d not thought that far ahead. He just had to leave his home and go wherever his feet would take him.
Now Khalif smiled as he remembered that day. He’d turned a corner and run into the man who changed his life forever. That man became his spiritual father and taught him everything about God and the universe.
Young Omar had bumped into the man in white robes at nearly full speed. Yet the older man had simply smiled. He’d asked, “Running away, are we?”
The wise, beady eyes narrowed with a sun-wrinkled smile.
How did he know?
Khalif had been mesmerized by that simple question.
He’d cried to the older man, told him everything about his life. The man in robes listened and let young Omar spill his guts. And when he was finished, he uttered words that Khalif had remembered, and would remember, for the rest of his life.
“Come with me, and I will show you the purpose God has for you.”
Some might have considered it weird or dangerous to go off with a stranger like that. But Khalif had never sensed anything sinister or evil about the man he eventually called “Teacher.”
His real name was Asar al-Farrat. Khalif never called him that, out of respect.
Al-Farrat had been in Cairo on a visit. He’d been recruiting young men to come to his spiritual academy in Tripoli, Libya.
Khalif had never even left his neighborhood, much less the city or country. Traveling so far away seemed like a major undertaking. But he was ready for the adventure. And he was anxious to learn what this teacher had to tell him about God.
Al-Farrat taught Omar and the others about the different paths God had planned for them. He started them off about how God forgave them for their past sins and that they could each have eternal life if they pledged allegiance to Him.