Sex Files from a Therapist Chapter 4
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Chapter 4
Chris stood in Sarah’s kitchen as she looked at him. She was taking the news fairly well seeing as how he had just told her he was going to Chicago for a while, and an NSA agent would be following her while he was gone. He also was leaving his pistol with her. For one he couldn’t get it through the airport, and also he wanted her to have some form of protection. She had nodded through his whole explanation, not quite getting the whole story, but he was able to tell her the gist of it. She stood across the room from his smoking what was her first cigarette in years taking it all in. Before he left she told him to be careful and had given him a drawn out kiss as if tempting him to stay with her.
He took a cab to the airport boarded a plane and fell asleep shortly after take off.
Across the country Karim was headed to LAX to catch a plane to Ireland, from there he would board another plane which would take him back to Saudi Arabia where he would return both a hero and a wealthy man. He had succeeded in striking a great blow to the American people. The drive to the airport had gone by fairly quickly, the streets had since been emptied. Fear he thought was the most effective weapon in his arsenal, and it had been wielded expertly today. He pushed a button for short term parking and found a spot. He flashed his high beams twice and waited. After a minute a man opened the passenger door and sat down.
‘You did good Karim.’ The man said handing him an envelope, here is everything you need.
Karim beamed as he opened the envelope expecting a plane ticket and a good amount of money. He found only a piece of paper with a prayer scrawled on it.
‘What is this? It is only a prayer.’ Karim asked still looking at the paper.
‘I will give you time to read it brother, but tonight you must become a martyr.’ The man said which brought Karim’s eyes up only to see a pistol gripped in the man’s hand. The pistol had a suppressor screwed onto the barrel.
‘And the others, will they all die to?’ Karim asked referring to the other bombers of earlier.
The man nodded. ‘You will meet them in paradise.’
Karim gave a weak smile and folded his hands in his lap. He looked up at the ceiling of his car and silently said his final prayer. ‘Will you stay with me father? Until I go?’
‘I will.’ The man said as he reached across Karim’s body and placed the barrel of the pistol above his heart and pulled the trigger.
Karim jumped in his seat as the round penetrated his chest and struck his heart. He took a breath and relaxed as he felt the life leave his body.
‘Go in peace my child.’ The man said as he tilted Karim’s head back to make it look like he was sleeping to anyone who passed by. He put the pistol on the floor of the car, and stepped out quickly making sure no one had witnessed what he had done. When he was satisfied he walked into the airport, and handed the man behind the ticket counter his Passport. The tickets Karim thought were his were actually this mans.
‘How was your visit to LA?’ asked the pimply faced man behind the desk.
‘I’m afraid I had to bury my son.’ the man said.
‘Oh I’m sorry, well uh have a good flight Mr. Barraick’ the ticket man said as he handed him the boarding passes.
‘Thank you.’ If only the ticket man had known how literal his words were. Although it brought him pain, Malik Barraick had to kill his youngest son. It brought him relief that he had died like a true Muslim. He had completed his task though, and in the war machine Karim was but a small cog. His son had been brave to his death and that’s all he could have asked for. The similarities between the two didn’t stop at their ideologies though. Karim had inherited his fathers features, and when Malik looked in the mirror he swore he could see his son. Yes he had a few extra pounds on his son and had started balding, and sure his skin was worn from his 52 years of jihad, but he could see his son in his own reflection.
Karim looked forward to returning to Saudi Arabia. His job here was done, but his war with America was not close to being done. The cell in Chicago still had one more job to do. One final blow to America’s heartland that would be symbolic in more ways than one.
chapter 5
As the day was coming to a close in America, It was just beginning in Riyadh. Sheik Riahl Mohammad had just finished eating his breakfast and was seated at his desk in the office provided to him by the mosque he preached at. He was in his early 40s, but looked good for his age. While he had lived a life fighting the infidels he had never picked up a weapon in battle. His father had been the leader of the United Islamic Brigade. Rather than acknowledge the growing rift between Sunnis and Shiites, his father had understood that a united following that focused on the non believers would be more powerful than a group divided by differences of sects. His father had been right to, over the last 15 years he had grown the group into a world wide connection with different names, some less militant than others, but the same message. In France they were the United Islamic Front, in America the United Brotherhood, and in England they called themselves the Nation United. Each group though fed directly into the United Islamic Brigade.
It had been so successful in part because of the departmentalization of the operation. The Brigade never carried out any missions themselves. Instead the group in the host nation would carry out the attack. Also funding didn’t come from the Brigade, but rather individual donors who rather than give to the Brigade gave to the three other groups as it was needed. Mohammad’s father was a genius in creating an autonomous group like this, but Riahl felt like his picture wasn’t quite large enough so he had taken action against him. One night while he was sleeping Riahl had walked into his room and injected his contact solution with a poison. It had taken several months to work, but that meant less attention would be drawn to him. His father after all was an old man at 72. When he had finally passed control of the Brigade had been passed down to Riahl.
Once in power Riahl had wasted no time in scaling up the tactical operations of the Brigade. His efforts now played out over CNN’s website which he browsed from the laptop sitting on top of his desk. Riahl ran his hands through his long beard and straightened his tie on his western style suit. As he leaned back in his chair to revel in his recent victory there was a knock on his door.
‘Enter’ Riahl said.
A large man entered the room. He wore a prominent scar under his right eye that he had gained while fighting the Americans in Afghanistan. The mans name was Darrel Hawkins, and unlike almost all of the members of the Brigade he was white. He had been born in Dearborn, Michigan, and converted to Islam in high school. He had joined the Army and been deployed to Iraq where he said he ‘witnessed first hand the war crimes perpetrated by the United States. When he had gone home on leave he went back to say good bye to his parents and flown to Saudi Arabia. It had been tough for an American soldier to gain acceptance into the brigade as they had been skeptical at first, and by Darren’s own admission rightfully so. He had proven himself as a true Muslim through months of attendance at Riahl’s mosque, and that’s when Riahl had started to give him menial tasks. Then one night Darren had been taken to an old building down the road from the mosque. He had been strapped to a chair and tortured for hours by Riahl’s men. They demanded to know who he worked for. At first he thought they actually believed he was a traitor but when they cut him loose he realized it was a test, or at least the first part of a test. When his blindfold was removed he saw another white man strapped to a chair. Riahl approached him and held out a pistol.
‘Brother Darren this pistol holds one round. In that chair sits a British MI5 ag
ent, he was caught snooping around my mosque. Your knowledge of your faith, and your innocence as a traitor has been proven, but your devotion has yet to be proven.’ With that Riahl stepped back from Darren.
Darren walked confidently toward the man sitting in the chair. The man wore no blindfold and his eyes wore a determined look, but there was a hint of fear hiding behind the façade. Judging by the marks on the man’s body he had been tortured as well, but Darren didn’t know if he had broken and given them Intel. It wasn’t his job to know though it was only to do what was expected of him. He brought the gun up to the mans forehead.
‘Allah Akbar.’ Darren pulled the trigger and watched the mans head fly back than slump forward. His body slumped in the restraints. The slide from the gun locked back as the shell ejected from the chamber and hit the concrete ground with a soft ping.
Riahl remembered that day fondly. Since then Darren had proven to be a most loyal follower and Riahl entrusted him with the position of chief of security.
‘Sheik Mohammad all the handlers are on their way back, and we have ten more brothers who have martyred themselves for our cause.’ Darren said showing no emotion on his face. ‘Are we still going forward with the rest of our plans?’ Riahl just nodded. ‘Very good the two cells in Chicago have gone into lockdown and are awaiting the president’s arrival within the week.’
Riahl smiled at the predictability of America’s leaders. The weak emotions made his job easier. They had made sure the shooting at the football field had been the bloodiest. Riahl knew the president would no doubt make an appearance in the aftermath. He had taken a gamble hedging his bets on Chicago, but the presidents predictability would be his own undoing.
No one had successfully killed an American president since JFK, and this one would be monumental to their cause. President Farad was the first Muslim president elected in America, but he had downplayed his faith, and that was a great injustice. Riahl felt shamed that a fellow Muslim would continue the unjust wars in Islamic lands, but soon America would be sent a message.
Riahl smiled and motioned toward Darrel that he could leave. ‘Thank you brother Hawkins.’
Hawkins nodded and walked out of the room.
While Malik Barraick and Chris were flying towards their destinations, millions of television sets were showing the same image of President Farad making his way to the podium. Behind him hung the American flag. The president wore a black suit and tie with an American flag pin on his lapel. He was one of the first modern president to opt for eyeglasses instead of contacts. His brown skin was slightly wrinkled. And his hair was a fine color of white. He took a sip of water from the glass sitting on the podium and cleared his throat as he prepared to address the nation.
‘Fellow Americans, over the last two days this great country has come under attack from a group of treacherous cowards. They refuse to meet our men in uniform on the battlefield, and instead opt to attack innocent civilians. They attacked Americans of all ages and races at a football game in Chicago. Innocent shoppers in Indianapolis and Minnesota lost their lives while doing nothing but shopping for Christmas gifts for their families. In Ohio college students were gunned down on their way to classes. The future leaders of this nation had their lives ended prematurely. In Detroit a rally of protesters exercising their first amendment right, which our enemies hate so much, were murdered in cold blood. Today 22 Americans were murdered on their way to work, schools, sporting events, or just driving home. In all 290 American lives were ended violently at the hands of men who hide in the shadows. Well the shadows will soon give way to light as we search for them wherever they may hide. As of right now all agencies are working round the clock to bring those responsible to justice. The military has been placed on high alert, and I will be sanctioning several special operations around the globe. To our friends, we ask for your support. To our enemies, stay out of our way or fall with those responsible.’ The president took a break for another drink of water, and adjusted his glasses.
‘As a Muslim man I have had to defend my religion many times to many different people. It is because of men like these that I must have to defend it once more. Many Muslims despise acts like these, there are many Muslims who serve honorably in our armed forces, and many work in our intelligence agencies. To those looking for someone to blame I beg you do not blame your neighbors whose skin may be a darker shade than yours. If you blame anyone blame me. I have failed this country and allowed these acts to happen. I will not fail again though, and I will not allow them to go unpunished. As we mourn those who have died let us praise those whose heroic efforts put an end to this madness before it claimed more lives. From the police that ended the attacks, to the medical workers who saved many people, to the man in Indianapolis who single handedly put an end to the attack at the mall. They are all American heroes.’ Another sip from his glass.
‘Finally America I ask that, regardless of your religion, you pray tonight. Ask your god look out for the 290 families that will never be the same. Pray for our men and women over seas who risk their lives so that we can be free. Pray for those who work in the deepest shadows of our enemies lairs. Risking their lives to gain intelligence and thwart future attacks. And pray to whatever god you pray to that he gives me guidance of these next few weeks, for I will surely need it. Good night and God bless America.’ The president stepped back from the podium to a smattering of flashes from cameras and questions from reporters.
An aide stepped to the podium to tell the news core that the president would not answer questions at this moment, and would be issuing a more in depth statement at a later time.
Riahl leaned back in his chair behind his desk, watching the press coverage on his computer. He smiled ‘you will need more then a prayer Mr. President’ he thought to himself. ‘You will need a miracle.’
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