Infidels (31 page)

He
sucked in a deep breath as he made a decision, one he should have made long
ago.

Maggie
deserves a man who will keep her safe, and that’s not me.

He
squeezed her hand in his, his heart breaking as the decision was made.

Once
you’re better, it’s over.

It was
for the best. He couldn’t protect her, not from all the dangers out there, and
with him around, those dangers were simply too close to home. She deserved a
man who would be there for her every day, not someone who spent half his life
either on ops or training.

She
deserved a man who led a normal life, who’d be beside her at the end of the day
where she wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not he’d be coming home,
whether or not that knock on the door was the padre coming with the news of a
“training accident”.

He
looked down at her, moving a stray hair out of her face.

You
deserve to be safe.

He
turned to Niner and took the phone. “Dylan?”

“Yes?”

“End
this thing.”

“One way
or another, buddy, this ends tonight.”

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Is it ready?”

Leroux
looked up as the door to the Op Center opened and his boss, National
Clandestine Services Chief Leif Morrison entered. Officially the United States
was denying any involvement with or knowledge of the Black Stone, but the CIA
operated slightly differently. Morrison had authorized the use of an Op Center,
manned by Leroux’s team, in order to push out the message Kane had requested,
and to monitor their progress through satellite and drone surveillance feeds.

If
Kane’s plan worked, it just might diffuse the international crisis the world
found itself consumed by.

If it
didn’t work, Leroux wasn’t sure what was going to happen.

The
slaughter in France had taken on epic proportions, the army opening fire on
groups of protesters with gunships and armored vehicles, essentially targeting
anyone on the streets, a full curfew in effect, martial law declared. Vigilante
groups had formed to protect their neighborhoods and were identifying
themselves to patrolling aircraft with French flags, and the tide seemed to be
turning at last report.

Yet at
what cost?

How
could these two solitudes, Muslim and non, coexist after such a brutal
confrontation? He feared even if Kane succeeded and the violence waned, the
crisis would simply shift into a different gear, militant groups provided with
a massive new source of disaffected youth to tap, resulting in a larger
caliphate and stepped up terrorist attacks the likes the West had never seen.

He feared
what would happen to the majority who just wanted to live in peace.

What
freedoms will we sacrifice
this
time to feel
safe?

And how
far would we take things? Would the West look to rid themselves of the problem
should it escalate? Would Europeans tolerate frequent bombings, murders and
restrictions on their freedoms all because of a minority in their midst?

Europe
had a history that wasn’t so old that had dealt with another perceived problem,
supported by not only Nazi Germany, but sympathizing states including Vichy
France.

Surely
we’ve evolved beyond that?

He hoped
civilization had, but then again, look at what had happened. Tens of thousands
were dead in the civilized cities of Europe. Tens of thousands more in Africa
and Asia. If calm were restored to Europe, what about the rest of the world?
Would America and its allies spend money and blood to protect the Christian
minorities from being ethnically cleansed from the continents of the Third
World?

Eight
hundred thousand people, mostly Christians, had been slaughtered in Rwanda in
one hundred days.

And the
world had stood by and done nothing.

Would it
have made a difference if it were Muslims killing them instead of fellow
Christians?

He
doubted it.

What was
truly terrifying to him was the dearth of Muslim leaders speaking out against
the violence. Despite heads of state begging the Islamic religious leaders for
help, they were silent. Most in the Western countries were thunderously quiet, the
few speaking out quickly silenced, some by death, some through threats.

Even the
Muslims were afraid of themselves.

He
wondered what those Muslim families, those who had never harmed or wished
anyone any ill will in their lives were thinking now, huddled in their homes,
waiting for the chaos to end. Were they wondering what their neighbors would
say to them tomorrow, what their co-workers would do next week? What would be
the backlash against those who hadn’t participated? Would they be blamed for
not standing up to those committing the violence?

It’s
hard to confront an angry mob when you’re just one person.

And that
was the problem. Was there a silent majority out there that truly did condemn
this violence? After the attacks in Paris where reporters were murdered, a
disturbingly high percentage of Muslims had indicated their support, despite
having lived in Western countries for most if not all their lives.

Would
anyone dare take a poll this time?

And now
that almost everyone had been affected, would a poll like that ever be ignored
again?

He
sighed.

“Chris?”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. It was Morrison. “Where were
you?”

Leroux
shook his head. “Sorry, sir, just thinking.”

“About?”

“About
what’s going to happen tomorrow. Next week. Next year.”

Morrison
smiled, clearly understanding what Leroux meant. “We’ll worry about that
tomorrow. Tonight we do our jobs and hopefully we’ll make tomorrow, next week, and
next year a little bit better than it’s looking right now, okay?”

Leroux
nodded, then motioned toward one of the screens. “We’re ready to launch the broadcast.
We’re hitting every major and minor news network in the world, posting it all
across the blogosphere, social media, everything we can think of. We’re
expecting it to go viral very quickly, we just hope it makes it to where it
needs to go.”

“Will we
know?”

Leroux
shook his head.

“The
only way we’ll know is if they don’t shoot them out of the sky.”

St. James’s Hospital, Dublin, Ireland

Niner wasn’t good at just sitting. He had never been good at it.
When he was a kid they thought he had ADHD but his father had called bullshit
on that.

“He’s a
boy! Boys fidget. He’ll grow out of it.”

He had,
sort of. He still fidgeted, especially when he was uncomfortable. Place him in
a foxhole or some deep growth, lying in his ghillie suit for hours on end, no problem.
He’d be as calm as a turtle in the cold.

But
force him to wait in a hospital for word on whether or not the girlfriend of
one of his best friends was going to survive?

He was
going to fidget.

He
jumped from his chair and paced the room, Dawson silent, staring at the floor.
“Can I get you anything?”

“A valium
for you.”

Niner
stopped then chuckled. “Sorry, I guess I’m not helping.”

Dawson
smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you get me a coffee, decaf
for yourself, and check in on the professors, give them an update. It’s going
to be awhile before we hear anything anyway.”

Niner
nodded. “I guess no news is good news in this situation.”

Dawson
sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment. “If she was dead they’d tell
us.”

Niner
nodded, not sure of what to say. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Dawson
returned to staring at the floor, saying nothing as Niner headed toward another
section of the hospital where Laura was being tended to. The priority had been
to get Maggie to the hospital, Laura insisting the paramedics ignore her until
Maggie was safely ferried away with Dawson. It was then that she had finally
given in to the pain, the seat on the airplane, the mad rush from the embassy,
taking its toll.

Niner
hadn’t seen Laura since arriving at the hospital but had been given the room
number when Acton came to see how things were going a little while ago. He
knocked on the door gently, just in case Laura was sleeping.

“Come
in!” called Acton.

Niner
pushed the half-open door aside and poked his head through. “Allo! Allo!
Disturbing you?”

“Not at
all, come in,” said Laura, smiling and looking much better than when he had
last seen her.

Niner
entered the room, closing the door over just in case the conversation took a
turn to the classified. He looked about the private room. “Must be nice,” he
said. “I think I’m entitled to a semi-private room
if
there’s one
available.” Acton laughed, Laura trying to limit her reaction to a smile.

“Laura
didn’t want to take up the space but I figured with what we’re mixed up in, a
private room might be better. More secure too.”

“We
should get a cop on your door,” said Niner. “We don’t know if they’re still
after you.”

Laura
shook her head. “They’ve got their hands full, I’m sure. Hugh’s on his way,
he’ll be here in an hour.”

Hugh
Reading was an Interpol Special Agent that Niner had met on several occasions
and had tremendous respect for. An ex-soldier, former British Army, former
Scotland Yard Detective Chief Inspector, he had put in his dues and was good in
a fight, though getting a little old for all the running around that sometimes
entailed. But with him on the door, Niner would breathe easy, as he was certain
the Actons would as well. “How’d he get away?”

“I’m not
sure if he told anyone he was leaving,” grinned Acton. “You know Hugh, friends
and family come first.”

“He’s a
good man.” He looked at Laura. “You seem to be doing better. They must have you
on some good drugs.”

Laura
nodded, gently patting her stomach. “They checked me out and said I’m okay.
Just all the bending and twisting caused it to become a little inflamed and
painful, but the stitches held and there’s no bleeding. Bed rest is what I’m
needing.”

“When
can you be moved? We should get you stateside ASAP.”

“We’ll
wait to make sure Maggie is okay then worry about that.” Laura’s face clouded
over. “Any word?”

Niner
shook his head, dropping into one of the guest chairs. “Nada. BD’s going crazy,
I can tell because he’s not saying anything. I guess no news is good news at
this point.”

“Our
prayers are with her and BD,” said Laura, her eyes glistening. “She’s such a
nice lady, I hope to get to know her after this is all over.”

Niner
pursed his lips, taking a deep breath. “BD wanted to thank you for what you did
with the hospital expenses but, you know, he’s a little preoccupied.”

“Think
nothing of it. He should be focusing on Maggie, not money,” replied Laura. When
they had first arrived there had been questions at the front desk on how
Maggie’s care would be paid for. Acton had produced a black credit card ending
the conversation. Once Maggie and Dawson had disappeared, Acton had insisted on
speaking with the hospital administrator and explaining the situation and the
fact that no expense should be spared, it would all be covered. They wanted the
best, and apparently just that had been called in, one of the best
neurosurgeons in the country now working on Maggie.

Niner
just wished they were back home. Ireland was a completely modern country, but
there was just something about being back in America with access to what he
believed was the best healthcare in the world—if you could afford it.

But
America didn’t have a lock on all the best surgeons, so he just prayed this was
one of the best in the world, not just Ireland.

“I don’t
know what BD will do if Maggie doesn’t make it. Back in Paris you should have
seen him. He snapped. He was perfectly willing to stay and die as long as he
took as many of those rioters out with him.”

Acton
took Laura’s hand in his. “I understand how he feels.”

Niner
spotted something flashing on the television mounted on the wall, CNN playing
silently. “Something’s going on.”

Acton
looked then grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. Helmet camera footage of
what was clearly the assault on the Yemini rebel camp was being shown, spliced
together from the initial insertion from the helicopter, to the assault and
finally the discovery of the Black Stone and the decapitated head of Prince
Khalid.

With a
computer distorted voice over in Arabic that then switched to English.

“
We
are the American soldiers that have recovered the Black Stone. As this footage
proves, we did not steal it, nor kill Prince Khalid bin Abdullah Al Saud. At
the request of the Saudi government, we raided a Houthi rebel encampment in
Yemen in the hopes of rescuing the kidnapped Prince Khalid. What we found
instead was his severed head and the Black Stone. I repeat, the Prince was
already dead for some time before we arrived.”

The
footage changed, a reporter Niner recognized appearing. “That must be the guy
they rescued.”

“My
name is Josh Pullman. I was kidnapped by a group of militants called the New
Qarmatian Order. Prince Khalid was a member of this group. Their sole purpose
is to destroy the holy relic known as the Black Stone. The footage you have
been told was faked was not. It was a genuine interview with the prince, and he
was speaking freely and was not coerced in any way. Prince Khalid and members
of the New Qarmatian Order stole the Black Stone with the intent of destroying
it on live television, however Houthi rebels attacked them first, killing
almost everyone and taking the Black Stone with them as well as myself.