Fatwa

FATWA

By

John R. Boyd

Four Pawns Publishing

901 N. Gadsden St.

Tallahassee, Fl. 32303

www.fourpawnspublishing.com

© 2014, Four Pawns Publishing, All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are 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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To George Modric my best friend, for taking time away from life to help mine.

To my team and friends, Robert, Bernard, Audrey, Donna Carver, Lars the continued effort you have put into my brand is amazing and humbling.

Bonnie Hearn-Hill, for editing, advising and guiding this work, thank you, you’re a pro. Thanks for everything.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are 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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

PROLOGUE

The warm wind blowing off the Mediterranean did little to cool her skin as she knelt. Her young students knew to stay clear when she was close. Close. That was the word she used when history was at her fingertips. Everyone worked nearby, touching only what she had approved. None spoke, and when communication was necessary, they used sign language.

The woman archaeologist’s brown-red hair was cut short to keep it from obstructing her view. Her exposed skin was bronzed by the sun. Short in stature, she was large in her passion. In her right hand, she held a fine brush, one that an artist painting a masterpiece might use. Slowly, she moved it back and forth, being careful not to disturb things that had remained in the same place for thousands of years.

Although her eyesight had diminished with the passage of time, a pair of glasses with thick lenses rested on the tip of her nose to ensure that she missed nothing. Some of her students believed that she studied every grain of sand in a dig area. Others in her profession believed she had lost her perspective because of her unwavering belief in the Old Testament. True, she was a religious person, but not a zealot. Merely a believer, she’d tell you, a person of incredible faith.

That faith and a story written thousands of years ago have led her to the exact spot she now studies. Her mind drifted back to the stories her great-grandfather told of the place that would once and for all time prove the power of the word of God, even for the ones without faith. Her great-grandfather was an archaeologist, and like her, had the same style and attributes that drove her forward when others would give up.

Suddenly, she stopped and, although her expression had not changed, her students working nearby sensed her excitement. She carefully laid the paintbrush aside and chose another tool from her pouch. Working as a surgeon would, with confident strokes, she made an incision in the earth. Ten minutes passed, and she replaced the tool, exhaled a deep breath, then she began to use her hands. Her fingers, strong as a young man’s, gripped the object, and she carefully lifted it free from the hold of history.

She turned her head. Her assistant knew the routine and approached as if walking through a graveyard. She lowered an empty basket and accepted the burden. She turned, then hesitated as her boss removed a flashlight and leaned forward. The assistant, frozen in place, waited for news of what has been uncovered.

She lifted the bright flashlight, and a smile revealed seldom-seen crinkles at the corners of her mouth.

We have found it, she said. Finally.

A quiet celebration was allowed at the small camp. The archaeologist sat to one side and looked away to a distant hill, and the lone man standing on the top. He was surrounded by a flock of sheep. She smiled again, wondering how many others have seen the same sight throughout the long-buried centuries.

***

They came in the middle of the night with no one knowing how they could appear without a warning or a sound. But they did, seeming to ride in on the constant sea breeze that blanketed the villas.

The armed men systematically went from house to house in that village nestled at the foot of the Elburz Mountains, fronting the Caspian Sea. The men had special lists with names and photos. Many people were pulled out of their modest homes. Others were killed where they stood. Some houses were burned, others, abandoned. The sound of screaming and crying children filled the air.

The cries of the children never left the village after its destruction. Today, almost twenty years later, some people say that, on a quiet night, their screaming can still be heard.

He stood looking at himself in the mirror, thinking of that night. He was not there at the time. At the request of his father, he was in a distant land, but that did not stop him from being caught in a living nightmare. He had lost his entire family that night. Some of the children were his brothers and sisters. He didn’t know if his parents had suffered. He knew only that they had died.

Survivors had told him who was responsible for the cold-blooded deaths. They described to him in detail and gave him a name that hasn’t left his mind for one second. For twenty years, he has done nothing but plot his revenge. Killing the now-powerful man would be difficult. It will require patience and persistence. He possessed both of these qualities.

Now the image in the mirror looked back at him one last time. This reflected face wasn’t the one he was born with. Instead he saw the features of the man he has sworn to destroy.

He switched off the light and turned to leave. It was time to fulfill his destiny.

ONE

I was afloat in a dreamlike state, searching for the truth, when I felt a pinprick of reality. I opened my eyes, then quickly I closed them. The light was too bright.

Wake up, Rivers, an unfamiliar voice said.

Before I opened my eyes again, I did a quick inventory of my senses and body. I wasn’t bound. Then I remembered, they have Maria. My eyes shot open, and I sat up. I was in a hospital bed in a sterile-looking room. The only other furniture was a lone chair. Seated in it, with his legs crossed, a casually dressed man of about forty seemed to be sizing me up. He had dark hair and eyes the color of a raven’s.

Nice to see you back with the living, he said, in a clear Midwestern accent.

I noticed a thick file folder on the tiled floor next to his foot, and I took a deep breath, trying to control the anger that was quickly rising inside me. The man in the chair didn’t move as I pushed my legs over the edge of the bed and placed my feet on the cool, tile floor.

Where are Maria and Scotty? I asked.

Scotty Helms is in the next room, he answered, in that same accent. Maria is somewhere safe until this is over.

And where is that?

We’re both professionals. You know how this works, he said, a little too cool.

I was about to see just how much of a professional Mr. Cool was when I realized that something was around my neck.

Insurance, he said.

Insurance? I asked, eyeing him while I ran my fingers over a smooth necklace and rested them on what felt like a small box at the nape of my neck.

If detonated, that charge will separate your head from your shoulders, he said, calmly. Maria and Scotty are wearing similar nooses. The fate of one of you is the fate of all.

He knew how to make a point. I forced emotion out of my voice. Who exactly are you?

My name isn’t important. Think of me as your shadow.

Okay, Shadow, where do we go from here?

John, he said.

What? You don’t like Shadow?

John will work. He stood then, and I realized he was about my height and weight. I’ll see that you get some clothing and food. He pointed to the file on the floor. You study that.

Why?

I said study it. He walked to the door, which automatically clicked unlocked. Without another word, he pulled it open and slipped out.

I sat on the edge of the bed and studied the room. Then I picked up and opened the nearly two-inch thick folder. On the left-hand inside cover two pictures of the Iranian President were stapled side by side. I began to read the information and could not believe what they wanted me to do. I wasn’t sure it was even possible, but I knew it had to be. It must be if I hoped to see Maria again.

TWO

The flight had been long because his Chief of Security had chosen Zurich, Switzerland, as the refueling stop. The options were limited. Many wanted him dead. The Americans and Israelis for certain, and probably the Brits, but that didn’t deter him from flying into the lion’s den.

He loved landing in New York City and seeing that the Twin Towers, the American symbols of greed, had not been rebuilt. It also seemed strange that the safest place for him now was in the heart of his enemy’s country. They wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him here. They couldn’t afford the public scrutiny. It was one of the problems of the West. They were always concerned with image, never substance. This trip and his speech to the full United Nations assembly would demonstrate both his and Iran’s substance. Image was for the weak.

His closest advisers had traveled with him in his private room on the top level of the 747, reviewing his plans to fulfill his dream. After they’d gone over it one final time, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. The vision of the future seemed bright. His country would finally reclaim its position of prominence in the world, and its nemesis would be erased once and for all.

He found it ironic that, in his mid-fifties, he was considered young to be president of a country. His rise to power had been a long one, and he had struggled to find his place after growing up poor during Shad Reza Pahlavi’s reign. But it had all happened as it should have. In 1979, he was one of the students that stormed the U.S. Embassy in Tehran, creating the Iran hostage crises at the end of the Carter Administration. Later, after earning his university degree, he joined the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution. He operated within the intelligence and security groups for years until he rose to a senior level in the Elite Special Brigade of Revolutionary Guard. There he acquired his taste for conflict, participating in covert operations to put down the political popularity of the Kurds. He gained personal popularity by his strict religious beliefs and vocal hatred of the West. Although his favor with his people had slipped, his current plans to erase Israel and strike a blow against the U.S. would ensure his place in history.

History. That was all that mattered now, all that had ever mattered.

THREE

I had just finished eating, when my door opened, and Scotty was led into the room by my shadow, John. Scotty and I hugged but said very little to each other. There would be time to talk later. Scotty wore a necklace identical to mine. I’d seen similar ones but never in practice.

Let’s go, John said, motioning us to follow him.

As we were led down a long corridor, lined with doors, I wondered where the hell we were and whether Maria was behind one.

She’s not here, if that’s what you’re thinking, John said, without turning around. I almost asked him why I should believe anything he said but decided to keep my mouth shut for now.

We stopped in front of an elevator. Although no one pushed a button, its doors slid quietly open. Someone was monitoring our every step. I hadn’t seen any sign of a camera in the corridor or in my room. Scotty and I followed John into the elevator. The doors closed. No numbers had been assigned to the buttons on the panel. Only a slight jolt and pressure let me know that we were rising, and quickly. The elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors opened. We exited directly into a room that looked like a business office. Four men sat around a large conference table. All were dressed as casually as John. All looked as if they had been cut from the same cloth. None stood as we walked into the room, but each nodded as I looked from man to man. Scotty and I sat in two chairs that were side by side. John walked around and sat with the others across from us.

The meeting can now come to order, Scotty said, in his thick Texas drawl. I smiled. The others didn’t. They’d have to get used to his humor.

Our business is serious, the oldest-looking man said.

I recognized him, but I don’t think Scotty did because the four-star general was out of uniform. No shit, Sherlock, Scotty retorted.

I put a hand on his arm, and he shut up.

General Richardson, I said, you’ve fallen a great deal to be involved in this.

How dare you question my patriotism? he turned to one of his flunkies. I told you that working with these cowboys would be trouble.

Fuck you General, Sir, Scotty said, before I could.

Hey, the man sitting next to the general said. Calm down, everyone. Then he looked directly at me. My name is Larry Hicks. The circumstances are unfortunate, but I give you my word that if you help us with the task at hand, and you are successful, the bargain you struck with the Vice President will be honored.

I didn’t know whether I believed him, but at the moment, my negotiating position wasn’t very strong. I puffed out a breath that could have been interpreted as what’s next? then spoke. First, what you’ve asked is going to be damn near impossible to pull off. Second, my trust level with anyone who is associated with the government is at an all-time low. I raised a hand to stop Hicks from speaking and turned to look at the general. As for your patriotism, however warped it may be, I wasn’t questioning it. My parents, my best friends and my girlfriends’ best friends and her grandfather were all murdered by this government. I was questioning your integrity. Before I could continue, the general interrupted.

I don’t have to sit here and listen to this mercenary.

Yes, you do, Hicks said. This mercenary, as you put it, did what you couldn’t do, General. He killed Osama bin Laden.

The general slumped back in his chair, and a clouded look came over his face.

What I was saying before you interrupted me was that, if you condoned the murders of my family and friends, or if my girlfriend is injured in any way, my deal with the devil doesn’t include you, General, or any of you sitting here. I’ll kill you all, and it won’t be quickly. I made eye contact with each man at the table.

I didn’t know, the general said, in a low voice. You were chosen to be used in this operation against my objections. I wanted regular army operators, not a merc or an ex-operator.

What does the military have to do with an operation on U.S. soil? I asked.

The general looked at Larry Hicks. He was the U.S.’s top spook, head of the CIA’s Center for Counter-terrorism. This kind of thing was his bailiwick. The general is here for the military component, he said.

Military component? Scotty asked.

Yes, Hicks said, and for two reasons. One, if you fail, a strike by Iran or others will be imminent. The CIA leader squinted at me. Two, we’ll learn whether a preemptive strike is necessary should the information gathered under interrogation from the Iranian confirm what we suspect.

And what do you suspect? I asked.

That they’ve enriched enough uranium to have a nuclear weapon in their possession, the General answered.

Shit, Scotty and I said together.

If you believe that, I asked, why don’t you just arrest him at the airport as soon as he lands?

He’s already landed, Hicks said. And the threat of the nuclear weapon has already been made through back channels.

Threat? I asked.

He’s here to speak to the UN assembly, Hicks said. However, instead of his usual rant about Western capitalism, 9/11, or how the holocaust was a hoax, he’s going to make threats and demands. He’s going to demand that Israel turn over their lands to Palestine and leave.

He can’t do that, Scotty said.

I’m afraid he can, Hicks sighed. And this time it won’t be just rhetorical when he says he’s going to erase Israel.

What about the Palestinians who live among the Jews? Scotty asked.

For the last two weeks there has been a mass exodus of Arabs fleeing Israel, one of the other men said. Like they know something’s about to happen.

My goal was Maria’s safety and freedom. It wasn’t political, but now I understood the reason for the extreme measures. Why us? I asked.

It’s obvious. You’re the best, and we can’t agree on a method that won’t blow up in our faces, Hicks answered. No pun intended.

I read the file, I told him. The Ops you propose won’t work, but I have an idea. First, I want to speak to Maria so I know that she’s okay and unharmed. Then I want to meet the double myself. I allowed time for that to sink in. Then we’ll get on with this lunacy.

Hicks nodded and pulled a phone from his pocket. He pushed a few buttons then slid it across the table. I picked it up and heard the voice of the girl I loved. I also heard a noise and turned to see a door open, and the President of Iran, or his identical twin, walked into the room.

FOUR

He had ridden quietly on the presidential plane, sitting alone while others around him chattered. He knew each person on the large plane had a role, but he wondered if many had lost sight of their purpose. His purpose was clear. Destroy the enemies of Iran.

With his diplomatic passport, he cleared customs, effortlessly, as did the others who traveled with him. He knew he wasn’t on any watch list even though he’d probably done more to inflict pain against his enemies than any other visiting figurehead. He was sure the Americans had assigned people from either their FBI or