Fourth of July
Birch River Books
Smithfield, Utah
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Fourth of July
COPYRIGHT 2014 by Camille Coats Checketts
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by
Janna Barlow
Interior Design by Heather Justesen
Birch River Publishing
Paperback ISBN 978-1497451636
Published in the United States of America
To Stan. Thanks for being my hero in every way that matters.
Thank you to my critique partners: Daniel Coleman and Eric Bishop. I love that you push me to be better. Thank you to Detective Keller for saving me many hours of research.
Thank you to Janna Barlow, Marissa Barlow, and Jenny Speth for my amazing cover and Heather Justesen for beautiful formatting.
AHMED MAHADI PACED HIS SPACIOUS London flat. His knuckles paled from the grip he had on his cell phone. Dark hair uncharacteristically tousled, he wrenched the tie from his neck and hurled it and his tailored suit coat across a stainless steel end table.
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
“It’s been con-confirmed. He’s dead.” The words were accompanied by a deep wail.
Ahmed stared out the wall of windows without seeing the view. His hand trembled. He thought the loss of his family would be the worst experience of his life. He may have been wrong. Ah, Joseph.
“How? Who?”
“I don’t know how they found him, but they did. They found him. Shots were exchanged. He and all of his protection were killed.”
Ahmed grabbed a white throw pillow off the couch. He threw it at the fresh flowers on the coffee table. The shattering of the vase on the slate floor infuriated him further.
“Who?” he yelled.
“Th-the Americans.”
“Of course it was the Americans.” Ahmed cursed his subordinate’s stupidity. Long, slim fingers snaked across his forehead, rubbing back and forth in an effort to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. “Which group?”
“The FBI.”
Ahmed didn’t respond. His stomach churned with apprehension. Joseph. Possibly the only person in the world Ahmed counted as an equal, a friend. How could the Americans have found him?
“All is lost,” Yusuf whined. “Allah has forsaken us.”
“All is never lost. Allah would not forsake his own.” Ahmed’s short strides traversed the room. He kicked at the disheveled flower arrangement as he stomped past it. His mind raced. No tears surfaced. His ability to feel sorrow had withered as each family member was plucked from him. Anger was all he possessed now.
“Joseph’s death will be the catalyst we need to motivate everyone. We have reached a pivotal moment in our cause. The Tawhid and Jihad groups are finally united with us. We will proceed as planned.”
“No, they are getting too close. If they located Joseph, it is possible they could find you.”
Ahmed had similar fears, but he wouldn’t let them stop him. His life meant nothing when compared with their cause. But…Joseph? How could the Americans have killed him? A lifetime of hatred burned deeper with the news. He clung to the cell phone, his palm slick with sweat.
“We must abandon the plan,” his man begged.
“No! We will avenge Joseph. The FBI will regret the day they hunted down my brother.” Speaking the words gave Ahmed a surge of strength. He straightened his spine. “We will avenge his death upon American soil.”
Ahmed allowed a thin smile to creep across his face, his mind already conjuring a plan that would accomplish his purposes.
“BARBADOS FROM $804.00 PER PERSON, all inclusive.” Chris whistled as he scrolled through the pictures of the resort. He relaxed into the down pillows stuffed against his headboard.
“Nice, very nice.” His index finger lingered over the button. One click and he could use one of the many weeks of vacation he had coming to him.
He squinted at the fine print. “Based on double occupancy?” He sighed.
The ringing of the phone dragged him from his laptop.
“Hello.” His eyes still perused the screen.
“Chris, what are you doing asleep? It’s eight o’clock in the morning.” Danielle’s cheer radiated through the phone line.
“Asleep?” He scratched at the stubble covering his jaw. He and Dylan spent last night at the office. He should be sleeping now instead of dreaming of vacations he’d never take.
