Contract With God Part 25

For the next seven seconds, breathing once again dominated the silence. The sliding of the stockinged feet leaving the tent was even quieter than before, and the prowler didn't close the zip when he left. The movement that Andrea made inside the sleeping bag was so brief that it hardly produced a sound. It was, however, enough to provoke the visitors to her sleeping bag into discharging their anger and confusion after being shaken about so much by the prowler before he entered the tent.

The first sting drilled into her and Andrea shattered the silence with her screams.

46.

Al Qaeda Training Manual Found By Scotland Yard in a Hideout Pages 131 and following. Translated By WM and SA1.

Military studies for the Jihad against tyranny[image]In the name of Allah, the merciful and the compa.s.sionate [. . .]

Chapter 14: Kidnappings and a.s.sa.s.sinations Using Rifles and Pistols It is better to choose a revolver, because even though it has fewer bullets than an automatic pistol, it doesn't jam and the empty cartridges remain in the cylinder, making it more difficult for investigators.

Critical parts of the body The gunman should be familiar with the essential parts on the body or [where] to wound critically in order to aim at these areas on the individual who is to be a.s.sa.s.sinated. They are: 1. The circle that includes the two eyes, the nose and the mouth is a fatal area, and the gunman should not aim below or to the left or right or he risks having the bullet fail to kill2. The part of the neck where the arteries and veins meet3. The heart4. The stomach5. The liver6. The kidneys7. The spinal column Principles and Rules for Firing The biggest mistakes in aiming are due to physical stress or nerves, which can make the hand jump or shake. This can be caused by putting too much pressure on the trigger or by pulling on the trigger instead of squeezing it. This makes the muzzle of the gun shift away from the target.

For that reason, the brothers should follow these rules when aiming and firing: 1. Control yourself when you squeeze the trigger so the gun doesn't move2. Squeeze the trigger without too much force and without pulling on it3. Do not let the sound of the shot affect you and do not concentrate on what it will sound like because that will make your hand shake4. Your body should be normal, not tense, and your limbs relaxed; but not too relaxed5. When you fire, line up your right eye with the centre of the target6. Close your left eye if you fire with your right hand and vice versa7. Do not take too long in aiming or your nerves may fail you8. Do not feel regret in squeezing the trigger. You are killing an enemy of your G.o.d

47.

WASHINGTON SUBURB.

Friday, 14 July 2006. 8:34 p.m.

n.a.z.im took a sip of c.o.ke but immediately set it aside. It contained too much sugar, as did all the drinks in restaurants where you could refill your cup as many times as you wanted. The Mayur Kebab shop where he had bought dinner was one such place.

'You know, I saw a doc.u.mentary the other day about this guy who only ate hamburgers from McDonald's for a month.'

'That's disgusting.'

Kharouf had his eyes half closed. He had been trying to fall asleep for a while but couldn't. Ten minutes ago he had given up and tilted the car seat upright again. That Ford was too uncomfortable.

'They said that his liver turned into pate.'

'That could only happen in the United States. The country with the fattest people in the world. You know it uses up to 87 per cent of the world's resources.'

n.a.z.im didn't say anything. He had been born an American, but a different kind of American. He hadn't learned to hate his country, even though his lips said otherwise. To him, Kharouf's hatred of the United States seemed too all-encompa.s.sing. He would prefer to imagine the President kneeling and facing Mecca in the Oval Office than see the White House destroyed by fire. One time he had said something of the sort to Kharouf and Kharouf had shown him a CD containing photos of a small girl. They were photos of a crime scene.

'The Israeli soldiers raped and killed her in Nablus. There isn't enough hatred in the world for such a thing.'

Remembering the images made n.a.z.im's blood boil too, but he tried to keep such thoughts out of his head. In contrast to Kharouf, hatred was not the source of his energy. His motivations were selfish and twisted; they were about getting something for himself. His prize.

Days before, when they had gone into the offices of Netcatch, n.a.z.im had barely been conscious of anything. In a certain way he felt bad because the two minutes they had spent wiping out the kafirun kafirun2 had almost been erased from his head. He had tried to remember what had happened, but it was as if they were somebody else's memories, like the crazy dreams in the chic-flicks his sister liked, in which the main character sees herself from the outside. n.o.body has dreams in which they see themselves from the outside. had almost been erased from his head. He had tried to remember what had happened, but it was as if they were somebody else's memories, like the crazy dreams in the chic-flicks his sister liked, in which the main character sees herself from the outside. n.o.body has dreams in which they see themselves from the outside.

'Kharouf.'

'Talk to me.'

'Remember what happened last Tuesday?'

'Are you talking about the operation?'

'Right.'

Kharouf looked at him, shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly.

'Every detail.'

n.a.z.im looked away because he felt ashamed of what he was going to say.

'I . . . I don't remember too much, you know?'

'You should thank Allah, blessed be his name. The first time I killed someone I couldn't sleep for a week.'

'You?'

n.a.z.im opened his eyes wide.

Kharouf tousled the young man's hair playfully.

'That's right, n.a.z.im. You're a jihadist now and we're equals. Don't be so surprised that I went through tough times too. It's sometimes hard to act as G.o.d's sword. But you have been blessed with being able to forget the ugly details. The only thing left for you is pride in what you've done.'

The young man felt much better than he had in the last few days. He was quiet for a while, saying a prayer of thanks. He felt the sweat trickling down his back but didn't dare turn on the car's engine so that he could put on the air-conditioning. The wait began to feel endless.

'Are you sure he's in there? I'm beginning to wonder,' said n.a.z.im, pointing to the wall that surrounded the estate. 'Don't you think we should look elsewhere?'

2Disbelievers, according to the Koran.

Kharouf thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

'I wouldn't have the slightest idea where to look. How long did we follow him? A month? He only came here once, and was loaded down with packages. He went out with nothing in his hands. That house is empty. For all we know, it could belong to a friend and he was doing him a favour. But it's the only link we have, and we have you to thank for finding it.'

This was true. On one of the days that n.a.z.im had to follow Watson on his own, the guy had started acting strangely, switching lanes on the highway, and taking a route back home that was completely different to the one he usually took. n.a.z.im had turned up the volume on the radio and imagined he was a character in Grand Theft Auto Grand Theft Auto, the popular video game in which the main character is a criminal who has to carry out missions such as kidnapping, killing, drug dealing and fleecing prost.i.tutes. There was a part of the game in which you had to follow a car that was trying to get away. It was one of his favourite parts, and what he had learned helped him in following Watson.

'Do you think he knows about us?'

'I don't think he even knows anything about Huqan Huqan, but I'm sure our leader has good reason to want him dead. Pa.s.s me the bottle. I have to p.i.s.s.'

n.a.z.im pa.s.sed him a two-litre bottle. Kharouf unzipped his trousers and urinated inside. They had several empty bottles so that they could relieve themselves discreetly inside the car. It was better putting up with the ha.s.sle and throwing the bottles out later than having someone notice them p.i.s.sing in the street or going into one of the local bars.

'You know what? To h.e.l.l with this,' Kharouf said grimacing. 'I'll get rid of this bottle in the alley and then we'll go look for him in California at his mother's house. To h.e.l.l with everything.'

'Wait, Kharouf.'

n.a.z.im was pointing at the gate of the estate. A delivery man on a motorcycle was ringing the bell. Seconds later someone appeared.

'He's there! You see, n.a.z.im, I told you. Congratulations!'

Kharouf was excited. He slapped n.a.z.im on the back. The boy felt happy and nervous at the same time, as if a hot wave and a cold wave were colliding deep inside him.

'Excellent, kid. We're finally going to finish what we started.'

48.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Sat.u.r.day, 15 July 2006. 2:34 a.m.

Harel woke up startled by Andrea's screams. The young reporter was sitting on top of her sleeping bag, grabbing her leg as she cried out.

'G.o.d, it hurts!'

The first thing Harel thought was that Andrea had got cramp while she slept. She jumped up, turned on the infirmary lights and grabbed hold of Andrea's leg in order to ma.s.sage it.

It was then that she saw the scorpions.

There were three of them, at least three that had come out of the sleeping bag and were running around crazily with their tails up, ready to sting. They were a sickly yellow colour. Terrified, Dr Harel jumped on to one of the examination tables. She was barefoot and thus easy prey.

'Doc, help me. Oh G.o.d, my leg's on fire . . . Doc! Oh, G.o.d!'

Andrea's cries helped the doctor to channel her fear and think. She couldn't leave her young friend helpless and suffering.

Let me see. What the h.e.l.l do I remember about these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds? They're yellow scorpions. The girl has twenty minutes at most before things turn ugly. If only one of them stung her, that is. If more than one . . .

A terrible thought crossed the doctor's mind. If Andrea was allergic to the scorpion's poison, she was a goner.

'Andrea, listen to me very carefully.'

Andrea opened her eyes and looked at her. Lying on her bedding, clutching her leg and staring blankly ahead of her, the girl was clearly in agony. Harel made a superhuman effort to overcome her own paralysing fear of scorpions. It was a natural fear that any Israeli, as she was, born in Beersheba at the edge of the desert, would have learned as a young girl. She tried to put her foot on the floor but couldn't.

'Andrea. Andrea, on the list of allergies you gave me, were cardiotoxins included?'

Andrea howled again in pain.

'How do I know? I carry the list because I can't remember any more than ten names at a time. Fuuuuuuuuuuck! Doc, get down from there, for G.o.d's sake, or Jehovah's, or whatever. The pain is worse . . .'

Harel tried again to master her fear, putting a foot on the floor, and in two leaps she reached her own mattress.

I hope they're not in here. Please G.o.d, don't let them be in my sleeping bag . . . . . .

She kicked the sleeping bag to the floor, grabbed a boot in each hand and returned to Andrea.

'I have to put on my boots and go over to the medicine cabinet. You'll be all right in a minute,' she said, pulling on her boots. 'The poison is very dangerous, but it takes almost half an hour to kill a person. Hold on.'

Andrea did not reply. Harel looked up. Andrea had brought her hand up to her neck and her face was starting to turn blue.

Oh, Holy G.o.d! She is is allergic. She's going into anaphylactic shock. allergic. She's going into anaphylactic shock.

Forgetting to put on her other boot, Harel knelt next to Andrea, her naked legs exposed to the floor. She had never been so aware of every square inch of her flesh. She looked for the place where the scorpions had stung Andrea and found two spots on the reporter's left calf, two small holes, each surrounded by an inflamed area roughly the size of a tennis ball.

s.h.i.t. They really got her.

The tent flap opened and Father Fowler came in. He was also barefoot.

'What's going on?'

Harel was leaning over Andrea, trying to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

'Father, please hurry. She's in shock. I need epinephrine.'

'Where is it?'

'In the cabinet at the end, second shelf from the top. There are some green vials. Bring me one and a syringe.'