[The Fear Saga 01] - Fear the Sky (2014) (55 page)

The sudden death of the first cleric awoke the guards from their vacillation and they started shouting at the prisoner with renewed vigor. No one was prepared for this. No one was willing to fire the first shot. Not here. Not during the tribunal. This was simply unprecedented. But the men continued thrusting their guns into Shahim’s ribs in the hope the man would desist.

Shahim ignored them, his eyes glued now on his other victim, who was weeping with fear, urine dripping down his quivering legs and pooling at his feet. Shahim shouted at the remaining man, “Do you still doubt my ability to escape the Americans, Cleric Wa-Alahd?”

The man shook his head as best he could in the man’s grip and whimpered his response, but he couldn’t be heard over the shouting of the two guards. Shahim needed silence. Killing the first cleric had left Shahim’s left hand free, and without warning he whipped it around behind him and grabbed the muzzle of one of the rifles poking into his back. The guard felt the gun be powerfully wrenched from his grip and then watched in amazement as Shahim tossed it smoothly into the air, catching it again a second later by its grip. A part of the guard’s mind registered the precision with which Shahim’s finger slipped into the trigger mount of the rifle but his awe turned to shock in a flash as the gun swung back to point directly between his eyes.

Shahim shot him at point-blank range without qualm and then swung the gun under the outstretched arm still holding the struggling cleric and fired another single bullet through the other guard’s chest. All the while never taking his eyes of the doomed cleric in his grasp.

The gun’s loud reports echoed around the enclosed space, the crowd now utterly silent as they looked in disbelief at the center of the room. Shahim stood grasping the rifle in his left hand, the whimpering cleric still gripped in his right. Three bodies lay sprawled around him and his once tight bonds lay behind him in a pile where only moments beforehand the warrior had seemed so … contained.

The room’s stunned silence allowed Shahim to say his next words calmly and quietly, “Wa-Alahd, do you wish to recant your statement? Do you wish to beg for mercy?” Shahim lightened his grip ever so slightly, allowing the man to speak.

The openly crying cleric gasped to the silenced room, “Yes! Please, I beg of you! Let me live! Hear this man! Please, hear him! He is innocent! I tell you this man is a true servant of God!”

His eyes were pleading and pathetic, and a stench spread around the room as the cleric soiled himself. Shahim spoke once more, lacing his words with cold, bitter disdain, “You are pathetic, begging like this. Would you choose ignominy over death, Cleric? If I grant you forgiveness for your statements against me, will you renounce your position and leave this place forever?”

The cleric was spastic with fear, sobs wrenching his body as he writhed in Shahim’s iron grip. He screamed, “Yes, please, forgive me. I will leave here, I promise. I will never return. Do not kill me, I beg of you.”

Shahim nodded, “Very well, I forgive you for your accusations.” The man struggled a moment longer but then paused, trying to see if his attacker was really going to let him live. A look of childlike hope filled his face, a hope he had never given the hundreds of people he had murdered, raped, and abused in the course of his patently hypocritical life.

The rest of the people in the room were reeling at the cowardly display. Shahim was not just killing the cleric, he was destroying him. As a sense of disgust washed through the audience at the display of the pleading cleric, each one of the onlookers couldn’t help but wonder how they would behave in the face of such righteous fury. Having seen this, no man present would ever stand against this warrior in the future, he had purchased their fealty with the threat of utter humiliation. His resolve was clearly absolute, his wrath terrifying.

Shahim stopped talking to the broken man in front of him and addressed the whole room, “Here me, tribunal, I forgive this man for his statements against me. But I tell you now that if any of you ever question my faith again I will not be so lenient. Is that clear?” The room’s silence was his answer, and Shahim looked back at the man in his grip and smiled.

“That said, the punishment for renouncing Allah’s holy jihad in order to protect your own irrelevant life is and should be immediate death. Wouldn’t you agree, Cleric Wa-Alahd?” The cleric’s fear surged up inside him once more and erupted in a final scream as he looked into the vicious smile of the warrior, but his curdling wail was cut off as Shahim’s hand tightened around his throat once more.

The crowd stared in shock as the man’s head turned purple, and they recoiled in horror as each of the gurgling man’s eyes popped from his head, the pressure forcing the tissue from his neck up into his skull to crush his brain.

After a final squeeze to drive any hint of remaining life from the little shit’s body, Shahim tossed the man’s limp frame aside, and wiped his hands on the shawl that still lay around his waist. Then he pulled the shawl back up over his shoulders, restoring some measure his dignity, and slung the dead guard’s rifle over his shoulder.

“Now, I believe this tribunal was summoned to vote on whether I should be considered a faithful servant of the jihad. Are there any among you who wish to say I am not?” He looked at each of the remaining men in turn and they each shook their heads vehemently.

“Good, then I humbly submit to the will of Almighty Allah and ask that I be sent back into the service of our Holy War. In fact, if the tribunal would care to hear them, perhaps I may even suggest some ways in which I might continue to serve our great cause?” With four bodies lying still warm at his feet, Shahim smiled pleasantly and bowed to the panel arrayed in front of him. The anathema of that smile scared them in ways even the brutal slaughter they had just witnessed could not.

* * *

Three weeks later the warrior Shahim Al Khazar clambered once more into his old cave deep in the Hindu Kush Mountains. His long buried relay now back in his possession for the first time since his departure for America, he placed the device in one corner and knelt to pray. Two men had apparently taken residence in the cave since he had left, but when news of Al Khazar’s return began to spread, they had quickly evacuated the chamber, fleeing his now legendary wrath.

As Shahim knelt on his prayer blanket, he felt the Council convene once more, and settled in for his first full-bandwidth Council meeting in months.

The eight Agents floated in their virtual circle and waited for the AI to detail its agenda.

The Artificial Intelligence that chaired their meetings went through its list, various assignment changes, and new business. First on the list was the revised location and status of Shahim Al Khazar after the Agent’s return to Pakistan. His next moves would be discussed by the Council, but both Shahim and his new ally John Hunt were clear on what they thought had to happen next. The team had a defined, if risky, course to steer during the buildup to the impending attack on the satellites, and Shahim’s role would be pivotal. Now it was up to John and Shahim to subvert the Council’s will in order to align it with their own.

As Shahim and John thought about this in silence, the AI continued its agenda review, and they were both shocked from their reverie when the AI reached item number six on its list,

Neither John nor Shahim allowed their shock to show on their faces, but nor could they believe that the antigen’s effects were registering so quickly. Had Ayala really been that effective in getting it out to the population? They sat in silence, allowing the meeting to run its course so they could learn more without showing their hand.

They had all seen his updates on the trial in Peshawar, and things had moved quickly from there. He began his report, “Things have progressed well since my trial. Many are afraid of me, and though I believe some of the old guard still plot against me, the bulk of the fighting force here has taken my name as anthem, and I am heralded as invincible. A nickname has started to spread that I am ‘Osman Returned,’ a reincarnation of the legendary Islamic warrior Osman Gazi, who was so victorious against the Byzantine Empire in the 1300s.

“It is clear that in order to promote my success here I am going to need to capitalize on that developing hero persona, possibly by discreetly encouraging an internal war between some of the factions in order to eliminate some of my rivals. Once I have declared for one side, I can swing power to the leader of that group in a series of lopsided victories. That will remove my naysayers and also leave me as heir apparent and right-hand man to the remaining leader. The distraction will also serve to help the Pakistani government to relax a little, softening them for the coming blow.

“Currently they are still very much on their guard from my attack in Islamabad, and the fast spreading rumors of my return have only bolstered their paranoia.”

Lana spoke, “It’s hardly paranoia, Agent Shahim, you did kill about 150 of them in one night.” His avatar merely nodded, but inside Shahim cringed at the memory while Lana continued snidely, “Of course, we can only hope you will continue to be as successful now you have returned to Pakistan, and not repeat the errors of your time in America.”

She looked at him and he was reminded of the conversation they had had in his apartment in New York when she had wielded the echoes of her royal influence over him. Oh, Princess Lamati, you think you are disappointed in me now, just you wait, thought Shahim.

But outwardly he looked grave and bowed slightly to the princess who called herself Agent Lana Wilson, averting his eyes in respect.

John Hunt nodded and the AI registered his accession, automatically initiating a vote. As Shahim had hoped, it was not a controversial topic, and the motion passed easily. So far, so good.

The meeting moved on, through discussion of the various topics left for them, winding its way excruciatingly slowly toward the all important final item on the agenda. Finally they got to the elusive topic and John allowed himself a brief glance at his sometime partner Shahim across the room as the AI introduced it.

John and Shahim watched the room as this information was relayed, and to their surprise and relief the Council did not seem particularly worried by the AI’s comments. Hoping to avert further investigation John decided to play upon their lack of interest, “I am unclear why this is relevant to our mission here.” he said, “The virus is only a backup plan at best, a last resort. We have no intention of using it unless we are discovered, and so far, in over a year on the planet, we have successfully remained hidden. If you remember, we easily dispatched the only people who ever came close to discovering our presence when they stumbled on Agent Parikh’s capsule in India. The
King’s Transom
was sunk over nine months ago and there has been no further sign that the humans even suspect our presence since then.”

He let that sit out there, then decided to try and get an ally from the group’s most outspoken member, “Agent Lana Wilson and Shahim Al Khazar proved this even further with their investigation of the two survivors of the incident not three months ago.”

Ever happy to hear her name used, Lana spoke up, “I agree. So what if a few humans have recovered from a disease. It will hardly protect them from what is coming.”

The AI persisted,

Not wanting to go too far out on a limb, John glanced at Shahim in the hope that he would offer up some point to support John’s and Lana’s statements. The other double agent took the hint.

“Arbiter,” said Shahim, “what numbers are we talking about here? Is this a large sampling or merely anecdotal?”

The AI responded immediately and without emotion. It was no more capable of being frustrated at the persistent refusal of the Council to acknowledge the problem than it was of caring when it was being asked to provide information that would refute its own argument.

Shahim threw his virtual arms in the air and several others joined him in expressions of skepticism, but both John and Shahim knew that it was a cheap trick. To have fifty-seven reported cases was actually a very significant number. Only fifteen years beforehand, Great Britain had slaughtered and burned four hundred thousand cows because of only fourteen fatalities from Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease. And reported recoveries, like reported cases, are always only the tip of the iceberg. Fifty-seven represented a relatively significant threat. These things always started small, but for now the Council did not know that the immunity was actively spreading through the population, and they could only hope they remained ignorant long enough. With less than two-tenths of a percent of the American public living with AIDS, that meant that nearly one tenth of a percent of that population was already seeing the effects of the antigen. And that was just the cases that had been reported. People may go months without blood tests if they were not showing symptoms. The antigen appeared to be moving quite quickly.