Bakr Nadir got out of his car. This was it. There was no going back. He thought about his wife and children. They would all be back from school now. He thought of himself as a progressive, after all, he allowed his daughter to attend school. She would do so until she was eight years old, learn to read and to do basic counting - all that a good Muslim wife would need. Her husband would teach her how to take a fuck.
He looked for a mirror. Found it. Vaguely curious, he looked different today, this day when one of his soldiers would meet his maker. He preferred to think of meeting Allah rather than dying. Everyone died. Not everyone got to meet Allah. He though that today was a good day, and he smiled. Only a few hours left.
He straightened down his clothes and stood straight. Like a soldier, he thought. A soldier of God. The only God, the most powerful, all knowing and merciful God. His God.
Today he would place himself the bomb on his soldier, speak encouraging words, giving strength and guidance. The soldier would wear, carry and detonate the bomb amongst the disbelievers and send them straight to hell where they belonged. He looked again at himself in the mirror.
“Allahu Akbar,” he said smiling.
Of course, he would not wear the bomb himself, Allah had other plans for him. Plans that needed him alive. Plans like killing that Scottish fucker. Allah would surly grant him this wish.
The soldier arrived in the car. They were all waiting. It crossed his mind that here were no Infidels waiting? Perhaps, for Allah, Arabs, Muslims, were also now Infidels?
He deferred to Allah.
The soldier had turned 14 only two weeks ago, he was already a man. He did not think. What was there to think about? He remembered his training, took out the grenades and threw them. Time stopped. He thought of the girl his father had chosen for him, Aisha. She was seven, just like the Prophet’s last wife. But by the time they would have been married she would have been a woman, at 12. Now? He would meet Allah, first. He felt inside his jacket for the trigger. He was sad. So very, very sad. Today his life would end. He felt for the trigger. He pictured the image of his young, Muslim wife. Thanked Allah that he had made him look like Bakr Nadir, then pulled the trigger. Mohamed Alnik was blown to pieces. Bakr Nadir, twenty miles away in his car, heard the explosion and smiled. Allua Akbar, he said.
There was no question about the bomb he wore. But, if the bomb he threw exploded on the ground near him the force would go mostly down and up and to the side, chopping off legs. But if it exploded at or around head-height most damage would be done, so he lobbed it high , watched it fall, watched it explode and felt the first pieces pierce his body. Then his suit exploded. His limbs flew apart in all directions, his body a mass of tissue. His left hand, still firing the gun, was hurtled through space, still firing. It chopped a mother and baby in half on it’s way, leaving them bleeding and dying for a full minute on the cold earth.
The big fat terrorist had received the message. He walked up to Julie. She was lying in the damp earth. Dead. Film her, said the voice in his ear. Let them see. He had turned the camera to his face. “Allahu Akbar, “ he said into the camera.
Ax would see and remember that face. He would kill it. The Ziffer.
Again the bomb had been massive. Although there was only one bomb it had shocked the British people just as much. This could not be happening. We have entered a new stage in the fight against terror, said the politicians. All the T.V stations were alive with pictures of the carnage. It was beautiful! For this time they had chosen a huge Tesco supermarket. It had been packed with mothers and children. The death toll was enormous.
Ax had seen the news and knew he must stop this madness. He knew in his heart it was too late for Julie, but he must stop this madman to save many, many others. And he must do it quickly.
Anne Pembleton watched the video that had arrived. Julie was naked on the earth. Curled up in a ball. They had pulled her up. Punched her in the stomach. Julie had bent over. Vomiting. The big guy smacked her on the head. Another grabbed her hair again. Julie was naked. She looked small. Helpless. A face came on the camera.
“You. America! Britain! We have your whore! Look!”
Julie came on camera and one of the big guys smashed a huge fist into her face. Julie reeled. Another big guy caught her. Yet another smashed her again. This time in the stomach.
Julie folded. Coughed. The life was leaving her.
Then they took her. Spread her legs. Held her open. They made a close-up of her little fanny. Her golden hair. Then they filmed the sword as it cut her. Allua Akbar!!! They shouted. God is Great! As they cut her.
Blood poured down her leg. Julie folded and fell. “Fuck you”, was the last thing she said before the sword chopped off her head.
Anne had made sure that Ax saw the video. If she thought to control him she was wrong. Totally wrong. Ax was going to fix this, his way.
Ax had gone to London. When he had gone to Rainbow in Zurich he’d had a feeling, something was wrong. It was all wrong. He had watched the video. Left for Scotland again. His heart heavy. He had taken too long. Julie was dead. He would do this his way
Ax knew they would contact him so he had taken the first train to London. He had taken buses, then walked, to the station at Inverness. Fed the seagulls by hand. Flying Rats!! He'd heard! What a joke, he thought. You had to wait for a bus with a seagull eating chips, in line with you! He knew you could go to places in Inverness where the “Scottish Rebellion” was still active. But the bearded guys there just got pissed on cheap whiskey and talked shite. They just hated the English and anything English, was all. No reason, no rhyme. He woke up on the train. Too hot and no air.
He changed at Glasgow, then got off at Victoria (funny how that English Queen was fucking everywhere, he thought) and started to walk.
It would not take long. Especially as getting off a train in Victoria was filmed . Every exit, 17 cameras. Overkill? That is what the English did. He knew. So, he knew it would not take long to be picked up. It took one minute and 07 seconds.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Take me to Anne.”
They did.
“I am just curious,” was all he said.
“Why did you not stop this? Another false flag shite?”
Anne looked at him, stared. “Ax, there are things you don’t understand,” she started to say.
“HEY! He said, very quietly. Fuck you, your monkeys and what YOU think YOU understand. I understand much better. Anytime I want YOU dead, BITCH, you ARE.“ He had started out of his chair, Anne had not moved. Her face was a mask of pure hatred. She had pressed a button under her desk. Ax had seen her do it so when they came in he had turned and put them, not dead, on the floor.
He turned and said to Anne:
“Next time you try that they, and you, are dead.
Then, he simply walked out.
He took the first train back from London.
It was in Glasgow that his luck ran out. He did not see the two guys standing on the platform waiting to board the train he had just left. But they saw him. And they were in shock. They did not get on the train. One of them ran out of the station for a taxi while the other dialled a number on his mobile. His instructions were clear. He was to stick to Ax like chewing gum on a Glasgow pavement. He was to find out where the fucker was going.
Three hours later he dialled the same number. “I know where he is,” was all he said. “Give me the address. Stay there and watch him. Don’t get caught. We will be there shortly.”
Charlie wrote down the address on a card, turned and spoke to the three heavies in the room.
“Go, “ he said, handing the biggest the card.
Ax had decided to spend the night in Glasgow and take an early train back. They were watching the hotel. Ax heard a floorboard creak and stopped eating. Fuck, he said.
Then he walked quietly to the door and stood behind it.
Four men burst into the room, holding machine guns. Ax closed the door. As they realized their mistake and started to turn Ax started on them. They had no chance. He left the last one alive long enough to get Charlie’s phone number. Card in hand, Ax pulled the trigger. Then called Charlie. The call was very brief. “Try that again and I will kill you,” he said. He put the phone down, put the bodies in one corner, and went to bed. Early the next morning he left for Inverness, Charlie’s card lying on the bed.
It was cold in Inverness. Wet. He knew what was coming. So he had prepared. His last night, so he went to the hill, dug into the grass, wrapped the earth around his body. Now he was invisible. Nobody could see him. Not even infrared. Could feel him. Ax felt dead. He did not care. People would die, yes. But he would not die. He was so sad. Yet he felt nothing. They had to die. That was all.
Ethan Harrington smiled.
"Gentlemen. I think we have a problem. Anne told us about this “Rainbow Man.” We all believed he was our man. Apparently he is not, our man. Apparently, he is dangerous. We must get rid of him. Suggestions, please.
We cannot be caught. No one can know what we are doing. We have a huge merger next month. Chemicals and beans. We have India, Pakistan, Canada. We need Europe. We need the TPP. We need the west to be in a war with the Arabs. Now. And we need to get rid of this Rainbow man. Now. Anne had a plan. Use him. We need him to die. To go after the Arabs. Be killed. What is the plan? Our money is at stake!”
“Gentlemen. You have all seen the news of the bombings in London. There will be more.”
All three just looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“That was the start. We think we know who is behind the bombings. I am sure you have all heard of Bakr Nadir. It seems his money and fingers are all over this. It could not have worked out better. Gentlemen, we are now ready for stage two, a leak.” She looked directly at Ethan Harrington. “We will release the name of a Rainbow agent to the terrorists directly. This will get him involved, and therefore we will get involved, as a rescue mission, of course. When he is captured, and we hope that will be soon, we will leak to the press that he is a British agent and must be saved. This Rainbow operative killed a child in a secret operation a few years back. The father of that child is Bakr Nadir. We will leak to the terrorist that this agent is responsible for the death of this child. They will know which child and certainly take revenge. We will leak to the press that the terrorists have attacked him for revenge. We will tell them how the man, devastated, retired from active duty. The press will love it.”
She smiled, then. A sick, evil smile that contained no humour.
“There will be more bombs. We are sure of that. We have intelligence from a dozen European agencies. There will be more deaths. It will become quite horrible for everyone. Well, except us, of course.” Again she smiled. “All we will have to do is sit back and let them kill each other. We will give the T.V stations access to everything and they will broadcast it all. Public opinion will be massive. On both sides. They will focus on the killing and while they are doing that we will steal the oil.” They were so gullible, so stupid, she thought. All they could see was their money and power increasing. Anne would have a new life. A life of freedom.
Anne stood up then, and served tea herself as there was nobody else allowed in the room. She waved a long, slim hand and said “So, Gentlemen.” At first nobody spoke, then. “So, what, exactly, is the plan, Anne,” said Ethan. He smiled a private smile at his words, clearly showing his disrespect. Anne Pembleton leaned forward and carefully placed her gold pen on the table in front of her. She screwed up her eyes, cocked her head to one side and looked at each man in turn. “I will answer your question with a question,” she said. She put her hands behind her back, pushing out her breasts, knowing that they would be looking at the bumps in her shirt. “How far are you willing to go?” She spoke the words quietly and there was silence in the room. The men looked at each other, each unwilling to be the first to speak, the first to fill that silence with intentions.
Then, Sam Withers sighed heavily and spoke.
“Anne, you know us all,” he said, “there is always a price and I’m sure you know that…”
“How far are we willing to go for what?” It was the voice of Sheik Jubair Qureshi, cold and hard.
Silence. Then, “I’m sure that each of us here is willing to pay whatever price is asked, if it furthers our aims?” continued Sam Withers.
Anne ignored the Sheik, locked eyes on Sam, then, again looked at each man in turn. Each was hard in his own way. Each man had a lot to lose but more to gain. She wondered if now was the time to just lay her cards on the table. “O.K.,” she said, “here it is.”
“We know that Bakr Nadir is behind these recent attacks. We believe he has only just started, that he is preparing something big, bigger. Indeed, we believe he already has a new group, much more radical, in place. We know he is behind the bombings and I believe I have a way to find him.” She paused. There was no reaction.
“My plan? I want to bring total chaos the the region. I want to cause an all-out war in the middle east. I want all the Arab nations to unite against the United States and Britain and NATO and I want for us to crush the Arab nations into total submission. We will then control all of the oil, hence all of the money and power in that region. We will therefore also control Russia and China. Nothing will move without American controlled oil.”
She slapped her hand on the table as she finished.
“You mean American and British controlled oil, surely,” smiled Sheik Jubair Qureshi. Anne looked at the Sheik. Then she smiled. She doubted if anyone in the west knew just how many Arab populations were being lied to and cheated just like their western counterparts.
“Yes, yes, but, getting America and Britain into a fight that will become a war with the whole Middle East? Iraq will seem like a playground brawl by the time we are finished. And, by the time anyone takes notice we should have total control over the whole area. All the oil will be ours.“
“And the Saudis?” asked Jubair Qureshi.
“And the price?”, asked Sam Withers. “And, no, I don’t mean the price of oil.” He chuckled.
“Sheik Qureshi. Obviously we will need you to smooth the path with the Saudis. Our continued support through delivery of the latest weaponry should help ease the way, no? Special deals to oil the wheels, so to speak? This war will not be fought on Saudi land so this war will leave you, well, we will leave you, as the only functioning Arab nation with some control of the oil. You will have a huge market. Our market. Together we will control the price of oil. Everyone wins. You will all become much, much richer. Of course, we will cause a war, millions will die. You will all have to live with that.”, she said.
Ethan Harrington spoke up.
“Millions dead? Because of us? They do this to themselves, they don’t need to fight the inevitable, they could just give us the oil,” he said. His voice sounded completely condescending. Just like the prick he was, thought Anne.
“The world is ruled by a few. They all know and allow that. They are nothing but sheep. We cannot be interested in the masses. They are nothing unless they get together, unless they mass, otherwise they are just a bunch of scrap and deserve to be treated as such.”
“I agree,” said Sam Withers, “we have always controlled the masses. If anyone starts getting too much attention we just kill him off. “
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Accidents happen all the time, all over the world. What does it matter, in the long run of things, if you kill 100 just to make sure you kill the one? The other 99 never counted in the first place, and left unchecked, that one could perhaps cause some damage to the system, to us. So, better to kill him off. Let the rabble shout and scream conspiracy and cheat. They will do nothing without a leader. And if such a leader appears, we kill him. End of story.
He paused and looked around the table.
“We are not talking about killing one or two people here,” said Anne.
“So, we kill a few million more sheep. So what? Does the world need more sheep-shit?” Sam Withers shrugged and puffed. He could not understand what the fuss was about, where any possible danger could lie, and he said so.
“I’ll tell you,” said Anne Pembleton. She dropped her voice and spoke carefully as if she were giving a lecture to intellectually challenged children.
“Most of you know what we did in the Bosnian war. A few years ago we had an American commander who had been in charge of some of our death squads. I’m sure you have heard of the Serbian Death Squads. They rounded up and killed Bosnians. Women, children, men. No difference. Well, our Americans, they, too, rounded up what we considered to be war-criminals and executed them. Just like that. There were supposed to be no records kept, except ours, of course. This American, he kept records. And a few years ago he tried to blackmail our governments. Well, what could we do? This American was a top killer from an elite killing squad in the American army. A very dangerous man. We hired Rainbow and sent a man after him. Exactly one week after the Rainbow man received information on the whereabouts of this American, said American just disappeared. He was never heard of again. A body did turn up, in a river in Southern Germany a few weeks after all this. But it was not possible to identify the body. Whoever killed him made sure of that. Now, what you have to worry about gentlemen, is this: you don’t, ever , want this Rainbow man to find out what we are doing. If he does, we are dead. It is that simple. We have used this man before, on many occasions. He never fails. He is never seen. He is like a ghost. A shadow. If he looks for you he will find you and you are dead.
Anne pulled her hands to her chest and looked down. Gentlemen. Please don’t ask any more about this man. Let us all hope we never meet him, that is all. Now, let’s get down to details. I have a plan, and it must be top secret.”
Sheik Qureshi laughed out loud. Anne! You are scaring us!! Now, tell us, who was this man, this Rainbow man?
Sometime in the night Cookie had left. Lucy felt strangely alone. It had felt good holding this girl, this very strange girl and they had shared strange, tearful moments. Lucy thought that Cookie had needed it, and something had made her do it.
Then they had come for her. Taken her. Hands over her mouth to silence her. That strange smell on the cloth over her nose. She had tried not to breath but it was impossible. They removed her. They had been very proficient. Had taken her cleanly. How had Cookie escaped? Lucy was glad for that, at least. She was sure if Cookie had been with her then little naked Cookie would be dead. And then a terrible thought. Had Cookie, naked Chinese Cookie been a part of this all along? Oh how she needed her Ax, now. More than ever. She needed him to rescue her. To save her. To find her, wherever they were taking her. She needed to be saved. Please.
Cookie woke up with a Cognac headache. Heavy legs ,heavy head. Needing water.
She had left the cottage and gone to the village last night. Booked into the hotel, bought a bottle of Cognac and drank to forget. She thought of Lucy and knew she should go back soon, to let her know what she had done and that she was OK.
She guzzled down a couple of pints of tap water and checked out. But as she had laid her head for a few moments she had fallen into a deep sleep.
It was strangely quiet when she got back to the cottage the next morning. The curtains were still drawn and it was dark inside. Lucy must still be asleep. She went to Lucy’s room, to say sorry for crying and being so weak. But Lucy was not there. And Cookie knew right away.
She knew that Lucy had been taken.
Fear. Fear arrived. If they had taken her then it was fear. They could not take Lucy. What was happening? Fear. But her fear was not for Lucy. Her fear was for the people who had taken her. How had she escaped? “Fuck that was lucky, “ she said. They would have taken her too, and would surely come for her again. Ax would find them. She remembered Julie. The world became cold. She had to find Ax, she thought, as she shivered. Ax called Cookie from a street-phone. “Ax, “ was all she had said. Sobbed. “Ax” There was a long silence. “Cookie, it’s alright. When?” was all he had said. “Ax, I so sorry, I try to make it better, you know? I went to Lucy last night, I think she like it.” Silence. “You were with Lucy last night?” “Ax, I just try make things better, you know me!” she said. “Hey, Cookie, ya, I know you,” he sighed. And Cookie could feel the warmth of his smile through the telephone. How had she met a man like this? But she knew, and then she started to cry. For herself. For Lucy, then for Ax. “Ax, they take her, she gone.” “Leave the cottage. Don’t go back. Go to Angus. I will call him to let him know to expect you.” “OK,” was all she had said. She was scared. Terrified, actually. It felt like it was happening all over again, like with Jade.
She cried then for Lucy. She cried for hours after she had hung up the phone. Ax would bring them a war. There was no going back. She cried again, and there was nobody there to hold her. And now she knew.
She remembered walking the streets of Glasgow, that time. Knowing that somebody was after them, her and Jade. There were no words to describe that type of fear. It sat deep inside you. Every person who passed became a suspect. They had taken back streets, dark and frightening but the fear of the streets was nothing compared to their fear of being caught. That the people looking for them were violent there was no doubt. It was the type of violence. The people committing it rejoiced in it. Enjoyed it. Cookie and Jade were terrified of being caught. And then the terrible had happened. Turning a corner. A smiling man saying hello. Next thing they were bundled into a van. There were two other guys in the back, they had one each. Holding them. Big hands over mouths. Cookie had felt her heart beating wildly and as she looked at jade she saw eyes wide with terror. She had wondered if her eyes looked the same. It was then, that moment of knowing that they had been taken. That moment when the fear became terror. Blind terror. Of knowing there was no way out. She had tried to kick out harder but the man had only held her tighter. He was far bigger than she and she never stood a chance.
“Stop!” she shouted. Her heart was beating wildly again at the memories. She was helping no one. She had to calm down. Ax would sort it out. He would know what to do. Where was he? She did not even know. The only thing she knew is that a war was about to start.
Cookie trembles as she remembers what Ax is like when he starts to kill. He is not human. She looked at the phone in her hands. “Ax?”
“I’ll call you,“ he said.
Click.
It was the silence. The peace. Ax needed to be alone and this was why he had gone back to Scotland. To the hills. He started his Tai Chi, Sun Style, martial. In the cold. In the silence. He breathed in the cold, became the cold. He would find them and he would kill them. The scum who had taken Lucy. This was certain. He had walked through the frosty field, remembering his childhood. The smell of dank trees. The sound of frost breaking as he walked over pristine fields. Warm in his jacket. Ice cracking as he walked through the frozen streams. Feet warm from pounding the hard, frozen earth. Birds, immune ,overhead. He remember, and now , thanked Zau.
His days were simple. He woke up in the morning. Went out into the cold. Became still. Became silent. Became nothing. Felt everything. He became death. Later, back in his cottage he drank. To forget what he had not yet done. How could you explain this? First the training. Then the drink. Nights did not exist. Then the morning, again. The training. Again. Explain it? He wanted, no, he needed to forget. To forget real life. Because the things he was about to do were not real. Not human. Not acceptable in a "normal" world.
He knew he was talking to himself. But he had nobody else? He could not talk to Lucy about what he had done, OK, he had, but, did she get it? Could she? Even, especially, his Cookie. She had been there at the beginning. She new. She knew. No? She of all people, surely. Each day was the same. Training. Drink. “They” could not, ever, understand this. Them in their little worlds of curtains, carpets and T.V. It was what their life was made of, the simple people. They would never see it happening. Had never seen it. They would just put their heads deeper in the sand, pay more, and question even less. The drink made everything more difficult the next day. He knew, he would not drink when he was there. It was an excellent training, is all.
Sand. He would go through Oman. The Omanis had sold themselves to the Americans. They would not care. They would take him for the tourist he would become. Take his money while smiling big, fat smiles. Then he would arrive in Yemen. There he would be careful. Too west? He was dead. Too Al Qaeda? He was dead. In Yemen, the Islamic debate was alive and well. Everyone killed everyone. There, he would survive.
Back in his cottage, talking and thinking to himself, he broke down, again. For the thousandth time he asked himself why him. He spat on the carpet and took a huge swig of whiskey. Felt it burn it’s way down his throat. He fell to his knees and wept. He wanted an end to all this killing. He wanted peace, not war. He had planned to set up home with Lucy. Who knows, maybe even have a kid one day. And now this. This shit. Tears ran down his cheeks and he threw his glass against a wall, smashing it into small pieces. He picked up the bottle and sucked hard. Later he fell asleep on the carpet, still clutching the now empty bottle.
He woke up. Who had he been talking to?
Something was happening. People were doing stuff. Dangerous stuff. Ax bent his head and sniffed. So be it. You want this? You get it. He knew he was losing it. Losing control. But that is what it took.
His body was already hard again from the training. Ax knew death. Knew the feeling. Knew the avoiding. He would not die. They would die. He would kill them. That is how things were. Simple. It was something he had come to learn. To understand. It was a knowledge. Of things. He did not know why he had it. But he knew he did. He laughed. Despite himself. He laughed. It was the silence. They did not have that,the others. They were too concerned. Ax was not. He was calm. He was death. He knew this. He was not proud. But he knew this. He was death. Ax was death.
People with guns always thought they could win. But they had to point, then shoot. Ax was faster. Did they really think that a bullet, in, say, the shoulder would stop him? Laughs out loud.
He went out every morning. To the hills. He practiced his Tai Chi. On the uneven ground. It did not matter. The air was cool. The ground was hard with frost. And Ax practiced. Moved slowly. Very slowly. He could feel space. None of them could kill a man like this. A man who could feel space. They would all die. He moved space. There would be no powder-puff war this time. He slowed his movements. Slower and slower. More and more control. There were things he knew. Nobody could know these things. He remembered his training in Orchid Island. The power of movement, of being. He knew that their “training” was useless against him. Man or Woman, no difference. He had been there. He knew.
“Gentlemen,” Anne was in another meeting with Withers, Harrington and Qureshi. “Our plan proceeds. But in unexpected ways. They have taken his woman. A certain ‘Lucy’. This is good and bad. It will certainly get our Rainbow man involved, but I’m afraid we will not be able to control him.”
“He is only one man,” said Qureshi. “What can he do?”
“This one man, Sir, is the most dangerous agent Rainbow has ever had. No one will go near him. The biggest trouble with this Rainbow is not his killing ability, spectacular though that is, no. It is his intelligence. He scored off all the charts when he was inducted into Rainbow. Nobody had ever seen scores like his. He is anti-social. Tested positive for Asperger syndrome. Highly functioning autist. You would never know. He has an IQ of 172 and plays chess better than most grandmasters. He can be charming, reads people very, very well. That is, he reads certain things very, very well. He senses danger like an animal. He cannot read what we define as normal human reactions. He does not know if people like him or not. He does not know when he is perceived as being offensive. But he does know if you harbour bad intentions,violence towards him. Then, he will read you, know you, better than you know even yourself. If you combine all that with his outstanding physical abilities you get a very dangerous man indeed, gentlemen.”
It was Harrington who spoke first. “Then we must kill him. Make sure he is dead. Nobody can interrupt our plans. Now is the time. The world is breaking apart and we must offer them the saving grace. It has always worked. Make it difficult enough, make it horrible enough and the sheep will come bleating to us to save them. The whole world his now afraid of Islamic terrorism. Let us now give them the ultimate reason to fear it. Then when we arrive on our white horses with our swords and crests and promises of safety they will welcome us will open arms. The One World will be ours for the taking.”
“He is right,” said Withers. Strike now. Now is the time. Unle