V Plague (Book 11): Merciless (36 page)

Trevor was on probation with the King County Juvenile Court, and she had probably tried calling him on their home phone.  He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere other than at his residence.  No school.  He’d been expelled after what his father had taken to calling “the incident”.

He hated that term.  Somehow it trivialized not only what he’d done, but everything he believed.  It made light of not only him, but the global cause in which he’d gladly become a soldier.  A holy warrior.

Four months ago, half way through his Junior year of high school, Trevor had slipped out of the house late one night.  Sneaking through his quiet neighborhood, he had arrived at his school in the early morning hours.  Getting in had been simple.  A window in one of the classrooms had broken easily and he was able to reach through and unlock it. 

Trevor well knew the consequences of what he was doing.  Both of his parents were attorneys, his father practicing criminal defense law and his mother working as part of Microsoft’s legal team.  He’d heard enough stories at the dinner table about his father’s clients to realize the seriousness of what he was doing.

But, he was only 17 and knew he could still commit many crimes that would never go beyond the authority of the juvenile court system.  Short of a violent felony, he was confident he’d get nothing more than a slap on the wrist and could look forward to his record being sealed when he turned 18.

So he’d moved through the dark hallways, heading for the large vestibule where visitors first entered the school.  There, in a glass display case, was a well worn, leather bound bible.  It had belonged to Luke McRedmond, the founder of the small city of Redmond in which Trevor lived.  The bible, and several other historical artifacts, were on loan to the School District from the Historical Society as part of an effort to foster interest in local history among the younger generations.

The presence of the bible, and several writings that prominently featured bible verses, were offensive to Trevor.  He had been raised in a Catholic home, but his parents were far from devout Christians.  Mass on Easter and Christmas Eve had been enough for them, and as he had grown into his teens, Trevor had begun looking for something more than what his parents professed to believe.

Like most middle and high school aged children, he’d turned to the internet.  Surfed the plethora of web sites devoted to different religious beliefs around the world.  For a time, he had identified with Shinto, then quickly moved on to Buddhism.  But neither sparked his interest the way Judaism did. 

For several months he devoured everything he could find about the history of the Jewish race and faith.  Accounts of the holocaust fascinated him, and as he learned about the formation and struggles of the nation of Israel, he decided he wanted to emigrate and become a Jew.

It was during his searches for information on how to do this that he began to encounter sites and chat rooms where the visitors were calling for the destruction of Israel and the annihilation of all the Jews.  At first he was horrified and incensed, but for some inexplicable reason he kept reading.

Reading eventually became posting questions.  He didn’t understand the hate filled speech being directed at such a small population.  Many of the posters responded vehemently, calling him a Jew lover or an infidel.  He was taken aback at the level of animosity directed at him for simply asking questions. 

There was one man who responded articulately and with extreme courtesy.  They began talking each night.  Trevor’s new online friend patiently explained the plight of the Palestinian people at the hands of Israel.  He had slowly and meticulously drawn the impressionable teen into his dialogue before carefully branching out into examples of how the United States and its Western Allies were keeping their boot firmly on the throat of the Arab world.  Within a month they were having deep discussions about Allah and his prophet Mohammed.

Trevor withdrew from his friends and family as he learned the “truth” of what Christianity and Judaism were really all about.  He soon came to believe that all of the death and despair in the world that he saw on the internet was coming directly from US foreign policy.  A policy intended to hold down any non-Judeo-Christian nation.

Two months after meeting Abdul in the chat room, the man suggested they move their conversations to a more secure forum.  Trevor had a Play Station and happily began using it to communicate.  They would both login to an online game at the same time each evening, speaking directly over headsets connected to the gaming consoles. 

Trevor was surprised the first time he’d spoken to Abdul.  With nothing more than movies and caricatures to draw on, he’d expected a voice with a thick, Middle Eastern accent.  The last thing he’d been prepared for was a man with a quiet, cultured tone who spoke with a slight English accent.

They talked for hours at a time, Abdul telling him about the struggle against the Great Satan.  Trevor reveled in the stories, feeling envious of the soldiers fighting and dying in the global jihad.  Soon, with Abdul’s instructions, he was praying multiple times a day, prostrating himself before Allah as he faced Mecca.

Desperate to belong to a cause, any cause, and wanting to impress his new friend, Trevor had decided to take action when the McRedmond bible went on display at his school.  If he had told Abdul what his plans were ahead of time he would have been talked down, but he had wanted it to be a surprise.

As he entered the vestibule he’d noted with disgust that a small spotlight was on, illuminating the bible in its display case.  Prepared for the moment, he’d brought along a hammer, a homemade stencil and a can of fluorescent red spray paint.  Smashing the glass, he put the cardboard cutout in place and carefully began working.  He sprayed the words “Allahu Akbar”, first on the cracked leather binding, then on dozens of the internal pages of the antique book.

Finished, he looked around and smiled when he saw the large American flag standing in the corner.  Pulling it down, he spread it across the floor.  Using the stencil again, he defaced it with the same words across the white stars on the blue field.  He was standing over his work, mumbling a Muslim prayer under his breath when a brilliant flashlight spotlighted him.  He hadn’t known the school had an alarm system.

Several court appearances later, and the calling in of multiple favors by his father, Trevor was placed on supervised probation until his 18
^th
birthday.  He’d been expelled from school and his parents had taken away his computer and Play Station.  Most 17 year olds would have been lost without the conveniences of modern technology, but he had retreated into his newly acquired faith.

With approval from his parents and his probation officer, Trevor had enrolled in an online high school.  While they thought he was showing promise, he had no intention of wasting another moment on his education.  He just wanted to regain access to the internet so he could talk to his friend.

Abdul had praised his jihadist’s zeal, but had also cautioned him to do nothing more without first discussing it.  For several weeks he continued Trevor’s indoctrination, finally steering the conversation to the rewards given to the faithful in the afterlife.  Never even having had a girlfriend, Trevor was enthralled with the thought of a small army of virgins, waiting just for him.

The discussions were carefully steered until Abdul felt Trevor was ready.  When he began talking about an opportunity to strike at the heart of the infidels, Trevor’s heart had beaten faster and his breath had grown short in excitement.  Abdul elegantly painted a detailed portrait of what the young man’s life would be in Paradise.  When Trevor asked how to make it happen, the hook was set.

Events accelerated rapidly from that point.  Abdul, a top recruiter for the Islamic State, was in Turkey.  But one of numerous teams spread across North America were quickly moved to the Seattle area.  Trevor was given a method to contact them upon their arrival.

Late at night, he climbed out a window and slipped into the dark forest that backed to his parents’ property.  Five minutes later he reached a quiet residential street and was picked up by a man no more than a couple of years older than he was.  The driver didn’t speak.  Staying below the speed limit and carefully obeying every traffic law, he drove them from the quiet enclave of Redmond to a commercial area of nearby Kirkland.

There, in a hastily rented warehouse, Trevor was introduced to the team leader and got his first look at the white GMC box truck he would drive.  It was only a couple of years old and adorned with signage for a plumbing company that he’d never heard of, complete with a local phone number and website.

“The number works and will be answered if anyone checks, and the website is good, too,” the team leader assured him.

They spent the next two hours driving around the Kirkland area, getting on and off the freeway.  Trevor was behind the wheel, getting the feel for the vehicle.  The team leader sat in the passenger seat, giving him occasional tips and repeatedly cautioning him to hold his speed slightly under the legal limit.

He was driven home and was back in his room before the sun came up.  As he had been leaving the warehouse, each of the members of the team had hugged and kissed him on the cheek.  His heart swelled with pride as he realized they were showing him great respect.

“Be ready in two days,” the team leader had said in parting.  “Allahu Akbar!”

Trevor responded in kind, smiling all the way home.

Time had passed slowly.  The hardest thing for Trevor had been containing his excitement.  But he was an only child and both of his parents were busy.  They didn’t notice anything different about him.  Daydreaming to pass the time while he waited, he briefly considered killing them before he left.

It would have been simple.  Take one of the large, razor sharp knives from the kitchen and creep into their room while they were sleeping.  He knew his mother would be out from her nightly Ambien.  His father would be sleeping soundly from the five Scotches he consumed every evening after dinner.

They wouldn’t even know he was there until the blade slipped home.  But he had taken Abdul’s warning to heart.  No further actions without discussing them first, and Abdul had gone dark leading up to the strike.  He had explained it was necessary to maintain operational security, which was something Trevor thought he understood from watching spy movies.

He had let them live, but still experienced a visceral thrill in the knowledge that he could have ended their lives so easily.  On the day of the strike, they left for work early.  Each of them were already talking on their cell phones before they were out the door.  As soon as it closed, he texted the number given to him by the team leader.  Even though he was assured they hadn’t drawn the attention of the infidels’ law enforcement, he had been instructed to only send a simple, generic message of “whassup”.

If he had received anything back, it would have told him that the operation was compromised and he should do nothing further until contacted by Abdul.  He didn’t get a response, and three minutes later the same car and driver from before pulled to a stop in front of his house.

When they arrived at the warehouse in Kirkland, the team leader met Trevor at the door and greeted him warmly with hugs and a kiss.  Leading him inside, he steered the young man past the truck’s cargo area to the front driver side door.

“Drive carefully, just like you practiced.  The GPS is already programmed and will take you to the dock.  Here is money for the ferry toll.”

Trevor accepted the cash and shoved it into his pocket.  He was nervous and excited, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.  The leader recognized this and with a smile, placed his hand on Trevor’s shoulder.

“You are a young lion and I am very proud of you.  Abdul sends his love and respect.  Would you like to pray before you depart?”

“But it’s not the right time,” Trevor said after glancing at his watch.

“It is permitted for lions going into battle,” the team leader said, nodding his head.  “Allah will be pleased.”

Trevor nodded and together they spread prayer rugs on the concrete floor and faced to the east.  As they prayed, Trevor felt his mind begin to calm and his resolve harden.  By the time they were done, he was steady and prepared to go.

“Turn the headlights on high beam to activate the trigger,” the team leader said, making sure Trevor understood the instructions. 

  With additional praise, and reminders to drive carefully and not draw attention, the young Lion of Redmond was sent on his way.

Trevor’s phone rang again, his mother still trying to reach him.  He declined the call and powered the device down.  There was nothing he had to say to her, and nothing she had to say that he wanted to hear.

All around him, people had returned to their vehicles and started the engines in anticipation of loading onto the ferry.  The last car drove down the ramp and onto the dock, turning sharply and heading for the exit from the terminal.  Traffic control cones were moved, and a worker waved the first two lines of waiting vehicles forward.

They moved, each line being sent to opposite sides of the cavernous car deck.  Most of the passengers were locals and they drove quickly to the locations indicated by crew onboard the ferry.  There were tourists who didn’t know the routine and slowed the process.  They were quickly identified by the men and women overseeing the loading and given assistance in getting their vehicles to the correct location.

Trevor glanced in the mirror at the sounds of a commotion.  A person on a motorcycle was driving between two rows of waiting cars and the drivers were shouting and honking their horns at the severe breach in etiquette.  He watched long enough to satisfy himself it wasn’t a cop on the bike, then the line ahead of him began moving.

The truck was already in gear, Trevor holding it in place with the brake.  As soon as the Toyota sedan in front of him moved, he lifted his foot and followed.  The GMC’s tires thumped as he drove onto the ferry.  The Toyota was directed towards a ramp that swept up to a second car deck, but the crewman pointed at Trevor and waved him to continue straight forward into an area at the center of the large boat.