Part 9 (1/2)
Already Noor observed the effects of the drug. After a few minutes the men began to perspire, then fidget on their prayer rugs. Voices became loud, almost shrill. Soon the drug-induced tension was palpable - then almost unbearable.
When the moment was right, Noor stepped through the curtains and mounted the platform. An almost fearful silence greeted him, all eyes following the ma.s.sive man as he stepped up to the podium.
After an opening prayer, during which Noor seemed to slip into an almost mystical trance, the holy man opened his eyes again, and his intense gaze swept the room. There were men of many races present - Middle Easterners, Albanians, Afghanis, and Saudis among them - but the vast majority of the men in this room were African Americans, former inmates of the Federal and state prison systems.
”The Imam Ali Rahman al Sallifi sends his regards and his blessings to you, his Shahid, Shahid, his Warriors of G.o.d,” Noor began, his voice so low that men in the back of the room strained to hear him. his Warriors of G.o.d,” Noor began, his voice so low that men in the back of the room strained to hear him.
”The Imam wants you to know that with our actions and our sacrifices this day and in days to come, the world will take its first step on the long road to Khilafah, Khilafah, to a world ruled by Muslim law...” to a world ruled by Muslim law...”
Both cheers and imprecations greeted Noor's words. Men cried out in praise of G.o.d and the Imam, while they cursed the Great Satan America and her evil, G.o.dless allies. When the walls began to shake from their cries, Noor waved the men to silence, then his own voice boomed.
”To you, my Shahid, Shahid, I repeat the words that Ali Rahman al Sallifi said to me when he came to me in my prison cell, ten years ago,” Noor declared, his voice becoming louder with each word. I repeat the words that Ali Rahman al Sallifi said to me when he came to me in my prison cell, ten years ago,” Noor declared, his voice becoming louder with each word.
”This world does not want you, the Imam said. Because this world is diseased and decadent, it has no place for the Faithful. This world has no place for you, you, because you do not grasp for money, nor do you fornicate with tainted women. This world does not want you because of the color of your skin...” because you do not grasp for money, nor do you fornicate with tainted women. This world does not want you because of the color of your skin...”
Noor paused; his expression darkened.
”I wept when I heard those words because I knew they were true, and you know they are true, too. From the womb to the ghetto to the Great Satan's jails, that is the path the G.o.dless have set out for us! A path as deadly as the slavery they inflicted on our ancestors!”
Boos and catcalls greeted Noor's words.
”But do not despair, the Imam told me that day. Do not despair, Ibrahim, he said, because Allah wants you, and He has a special place in Paradise for all of His faithful servants...”
Noor's voice trailed off, until they feared he would say no more. But suddenly he cried out, the sound of his mighty voice shaking the rafters.
”It's true true!” he roared, raising his arms and throwing his head back. ”I know, for I have seen the place in Paradise reserved for each and every one of you! Your great mansion, your forty virgins, your seat at the One G.o.d's table.”
The wild shouts swelled in volume, until they battered the ears of every man in the room. With difficulty, Noor waved the martyrs to silence.
”Today you will secure a place in Paradise. By defending the only true faith, you will take your place in a long line of martyrs,” Noor continued. ”Like our brothers in Palestine, in Sri Lanka, in Pakistan, in Egypt, and in Saudi Arabia, you will find favor with Allah, and you will never be forgotten.”
Noor paused, as if to collect his thoughts.
”But you will not merely martyr yourselves,” he continued, his voice tight with emotion. ”You will become a warrior for the cause - a sword of G.o.d. And with that sword, you will take many thousands of infidels with you when you die. They will plunge into the fires of h.e.l.l, while each one of you climbs to the very Gates of Paradise!”
The martyrs leaped to their feet, shook their fists in the air, and howled for the blood of the infidel.
”Your chariots await you!” Noor cried. ”Go and smite the enemies of G.o.d. With each blow of your sword, cut out their lying tongues. Pierce their evil hearts with your spears. Open their throats with your knives! Blow them up with your explosives. Shoot them with your guns. Burn them with your fire!”
Faces contorted by hatred and anger, the narcotics magnifying their emotions, the men howled like maddened wolves.
”Go, Warriors of G.o.d,” Noor shouted. ”Shower destruction and death on our enemies and show no mercy toward the infidel's children or their women. Go! Go and smite the unfaithful. End this abomination and enslavement the West calls civilization. End it forever!”
”Yes!” Fars.h.i.+d Amadani cried when he heard his cue. He leaped in front of the podium, brandis.h.i.+ng an AK-47 over his head.
”Come,” bellowed the Hawk, ”let us rain destruction down on the unfaithful!”
The martyrs burst from the Community Center and charged down Kurmastan's deserted main street. Crying for blood, they reached the factory and swarmed around their a.s.signed trucks. Some ran final checks on the vehicles; others armed themselves from their cache of weapons.
The sound of roaring engines filled the hot afternoon. Diesel fumes belched, filling the compound with blue smoke. Then, one by one, the trucks rolled toward the gate.
As they rumbled through town, wives and children peeked out of their windows to watch the vehicles pa.s.s. They peered through dust kicked up by a hundred spinning wheels, hoping for a final glance at their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, their uncles.
Those billowing clouds hung over the tiny settlement long after the last truck rumbled through the security gate.
1:17:35 P.M. EDT.
Central Ward Newark, New Jersey ”I'm really sorry, Agent Almeida,” the woman said, a frown curling her glossed lips. ”On a good day, you can make this trip in twenty minutes, but that mess at the Holland Tunnel really set us back.”
While she spoke, Rachel Delgado kept her eyes on the road. Tony Almeida, unaccustomed to riding in the pa.s.senger seat, mostly watched her.
”Don't apologize,” he replied. ”Anyway, the sign says that we're almost there.”
Rachel slipped into the left lane. As she steered them onto the exit ramp, she gave Tony a sidelong glance.
”Next stop, Newark. My hometown.”
They drove for a few minutes in silence. As in many urban areas, Newark's hospital was in the older part of town. Soon they reached a squalid street lined with graffiti-scarred bodegas, check-cas.h.i.+ng outlets, liquor stores, and boarded-up businesses.
”Are you really from Newark?” Tony asked.
Rachel's eyes flashed with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Born and raised in University Heights, right here in the Central Ward. See that place with the tall fence and the barbed wire at the top? That's the junior high school I almost flunked out of.”
She grinned. ”Not the nicest community in America, maybe, but it's my hood.”
Her expression was suddenly guarded. ”I admit it wasn't easy. I made a lot of mistakes when I was young. But there were people who took an interest. Saw a future for me that I couldn't see.”
”People?”
The silence hung heavy for a moment. ”People,” Rachel said at last. ”Community groups. Mentors. Teachers. People. People. With their help, I got a college scholars.h.i.+p and a Get Out of Newark Free card.” With their help, I got a college scholars.h.i.+p and a Get Out of Newark Free card.”
At a traffic light, she faced Tony. ”You have that look, you know.”
Tony frowned. ”Look? What look?”
”That swagger. Don't con a con man. You were a street kid, too, Agent Almeida.”
Tony snorted, and a smile flashed across his guarded face. ”Yeah. And call me Tony.”
Rachel waited a moment, then two, for Tony to say more, but he stopped talking. Finally, she nodded. ”Okay, Mr. Mysterious. I get it. Chitchat's over and it's back to business. There's the hospital, anyway.”
Rachel twisted the steering wheel. Tires squealed in protest, and the van swerved into the visitors' parking lot.
1:26:06 P.M. EDT.
The Novelty Inn, off Route 12 Clinton, New Jersey Brice Holman stepped out of the shabby motel room, into the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Head throbbing, he slipped a pair of dark gla.s.ses over his eyes, then popped the top of a small bottle of Advil with his teeth. He quickly gulped down the last three pills dry, then tossed the plastic bottle into a trash bin.