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expressed horror at the slip.
Khalidi studied his friend with a cold, hard expression for a long moment and then slowly he smiled broadly. “Ah, my dear Sahaf. Do not look so morose. Do you think I didn’t know you would have spies among the ranks? I wouldn’t doubt you have one or two even among my closest staff at Abd-el-Aziz. It’s quite okay as long as they are not spying on me.”
“Never, Abbas,” Sahaf said, coming out of his chair. “Never would I allow anyone to spy on you. I would tear them apart. I would—”
“Relax, Sahaf,” Khalidi said in a quiet but firm voice. “Please sit down.”
The scientist took his seat, removed his glasses and mopped his upper lip with a pocket towel.
“Go on,” Khalidi prompted.
“There are some indicators that Ibn Sayed has been slowly amassing a private army.”
“Private army of what?”
“Islamic jihad fighters,” Sahaf said, donning the glasses once more. “Most of them are said to be brothers who fought alongside him during Ibn Sayed’s days in Afghanistan, although a few may have already been in America before he arrived.”
“And what purpose is this army to serve?”
“That is not something I can know with any certainty yet. My spy has not yet been able to penetrate the inner circle. However, there are rumors that he is training this army at a secret camp somewhere in America. My concern is that he may try to overthrow our operations there, loosen our foothold and take over for himself.”
“And why would he do this?” Khalidi replied. “We have been more than generous with him.”
“I would completely agree but who knows what motivates the mind of some men. Ibn Sayed is a young man, trained to fight for the Islamic jihad from practically the day he was born. As a young warrior he will think like one. He’s brash and impetuous, and these are not traits that have proved themselves to make for particularly stable representatives in the past. He may see it as duty to Allah, or perhaps even as the only way to prove his commitment to the fatwas.”
“Bah! The days of Osama bin Laden’s reign are now long dead, buried with the old man and his arcane ideas. Surely an intelligent man like Genseric Biinadaz can see there is a new Muslim order worth fighting for. There are too few left who believe in the old ways, and most of them that do are all but impotent.”
“Maybe the old ways are dead but not necessarily in the minds of men like this one. Ibn Sayed is unpredictable, my friend—of this much I am certain. Whatever he plans to do with this army, if he has an army—”
“And you believe he does.”
“Yes...I believe he does.”
“You’ve given me a lot to consider, Sahaf.” Khalidi paused to think about this new turn of developments.
Khalidi had no doubts that someone like Biinadaz, a man with such experience and talents, could build a private army and use it to steal Khalidi’s operations. What didn’t make sense was the motive. An Islamic jihadist swore an oath as a warrior to promote only Islam and the laws of Allah—there had never been room in that oath for personal gain. If Biinadaz had no intention of taking over the human-trafficking ring Khalidi had established in America, that could only mean he had other plans that would ultimately divert his attention from those operations.
In either case, the amassing of such an army would doubtless prove a distraction and put Khalidi to considerable inconvenience, not to mention the effect on their timetable. They were ready to begin peak transshipment operations to all of their locations in Europe. There had never been a higher demand for the product Khalidi produced, neither in quantity nor in frequency of deliveries. With that increase would come more profit and that could only further the cause of the new Islamic regime Khalidi envisioned for the world.
“I must admit, Sahaf, that you have now solicited my complete attention,” Khalidi said. “I would appreciate you looking further into this matter and keeping me informed. If Biinadaz is building his own fighting force then he has done so without my permission. Such an activity could threaten our plans on a number of levels, in spite of whatever his intentions may be.”
“So I am to assume you’re giving me a free hand in this matter?”
Khalidi raised a hand of caution. “Only insofar as acquiring more proof of these allegations. When you’ve provided it, and only then, shall I decide what course of action may be necessary. Nothing can interfere with our plans. Nothing. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course, Abbas.”
“Excellent.” Khalidi rose from his seat and Sahaf followed suit. “And now, if it is convenient, I’d like to accompany you on a tour of the remainder of the complex, to see the areas that were not fully complete on my last visit. And then, perhaps, a few days’ leave on the surface. Allah knows you have earned that much.”
“With pleasure, Abbas,” Ebi Sahaf replied.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daytona Beach, Florida
Everything is proceeding on schedule, Genseric Biinadaz thought. We grow stronger each day and soon we’ll be ready for phase two.
The thought brought a smile to his lips—the first time he could remember smiling in some time. Managing Abbas el Khalidi’s entire human-trafficking location from this part of the country had been a greater task than Biinadaz anticipated when he’d first agreed to undertake it, but what he now heard was proof that his hard work had paid off.
Not that this was the moment to become overconfident.
Rumblings among the ring’s network indicated that Khalidi could quite well be aware of Biinadaz’s extracurricular activities with regards to the Red Brood. What a farce that was! It sounded more like a Communist organization than a front for one of the largest human-trafficking networks in the world. And right under the Americans’ noses, which was why Biinadaz had opted to exploit it for his own purposes. Maybe Khalidi would have agreed with his idea and maybe not, but that didn’t really matter now. Biinadaz had sunk too much time and was too deep into it to give it all up now.
He would not give up his efforts without a fight and whether the great Abbas el Khalidi thought so or not, Biinadaz had now procured an army large enough and well equipped enough to hold that position indefinitely. There were many additional supporters who were not Islamic jihad fighters or trained combatants, but they had thrown other resources into the mix that only strengthened Biinadaz’s hold in America. This pooling of resources had proved beyond any doubt that Biinadaz’s war against the Great Satan could and would be won—it was only a matter of time.
Of course, he would need to keep Abbas el Khalidi’s hounds at bay until his plans came to fruition. Already there were rumors that Khalidi had more than one spy within the ranks, someone actually reporting to that incompetent waste of a Muslim, Ebi Sahaf. The guy was a lecher, a spineless automaton in Khalidi’s employ who could do little more than criticize Biinadaz and speak out of turn on subjects that didn’t concern him. At one point in their most recent conversation, Biinadaz had suggested that perhaps if Sahaf thought he could do better he should come to America and oversee these operations himself. That had brought about a bit of mad sputtering coupled with some lewd remarks, but nothing of substance to Biinadaz’s satisfaction.
That was fine—he would deal with the likes of Sahaf soon enough once he had full control of the situation here.
Biinadaz checked his watch as he exited the highway and entered the city limits. He’d been impressed following his inspection of the small training camp set up in some privatized wetlands bordering a private wildlife park. The undeveloped area, protected by law, had been the result of legislation Biinadaz had encouraged Acres to get passed through his state connections. In so doing, Acres had facilitated the creation of a training site in an area marked as restricted for development or industrialization, putting it under