Abuse of Power

30

San Francisco, California

Talia “Tally” Griffin was convinced that this time she’d struck gold.

After years of dating all the wrong guys, winding up in relationships that went absolutely nowhere, she was certain that she had finally found her Prince Charming.

His name was Victor Massri.

Tall. Handsome. With deep, dark eyes, smooth brown skin, and that exotic, wispy little black goatee.

Tally didn’t normally go for men with beards, but Victor was the exception to the rule, and from the right angle he reminded her of Johnny Depp.

He was Egyptian, he’d told her, born and raised in London, and ever since they’d started corresponding online-through the SF Singles Hotline dating service-she knew she’d found someone very special.

Until this moment, the only contact they’d had were e-mails and text messages, a few photos they’d exchanged, and several prolonged phone calls, but seeing him walk out of that airline terminal flashing those beautiful white teeth was everything she’d hoped for, and more.

He greeted her with a platonic hug. She wanted more but she also didn’t want to scare him. The man was not one of her local jerks, he was foreign. She didn’t know what his customs were.

“Just the one suitcase?” she asked.

“I always travel light,” he told her, tossing the bag into the backseat.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment until Tally said, “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“Nor can I,” he told her.

It wasn’t just Victor’s dark good looks, however, that got Tally’s engine running hot. The two had clicked the moment she answered his request for an online meet. He told her that he’d seen her photo and thought she was “lovely,” and was doubly pleased when he read her profile and discovered she was an urban explorer. Her exact words to him were, “I love all old buildings, especially ones that have all the original furniture and fixtures.”

Victor told her he was an architect who had a great love for history, and had done quite a bit of exploring himself. He said he’d been to many abandoned sites around the world, from the eerie, fortresslike apartments of Battleship Island, Japan, to the decrepit unused underground railway stations right in his own hometown.

“You’re even more lovely in person,” he told her, and Tally knew she had to get this guy alone, real soon. Whatever cultural reserve he might have, she was determined to bridge it.

They climbed into her Toyota and she took him straight to her apartment.

This was going to be a night to remember.

Hassan Haddad had never forgotten just how disturbingly aggressive American women could be. But if he were to judge by this one, he’d say they’d gotten even worse over the last decade.

The moment he set foot in her apartment and dropped his suitcase, this althletic blond, blue-eyed ex-hippie with the ridiculous name and the wild curly hair was already pulling his jacket away and, when he didn’t object-indeed, he forced himself to smile with encouragement-starting on the buttons on his shirt.

Before she had even finished that task, Tally was kissing his chest and somehow unbuckling his pants at the same time as the trail of her kisses moved down toward his abdomen. Then she was on her knees and had him in her mouth and, aggressive or not, Haddad found himself unable to resist.

He was suddenly swept back to those nights at Berkeley, when his two dorm mates would tend to him as if they were his personal sex slaves, their enthusiasm matched by their skills-which were considerable. He had a hard time now remembering their names. Sabrina… and Jennifer?

Yes, that was it.

They were wild women, almost as wild as this one, and they had been more than willing to share themselves with Haddad. While he preferred women who obeyed men and acted in the way Allah had intended, he found himself unable to resist the charms of Sabrina and Jennifer.

Most of the students and professors he encountered in those days were far to the left of the average American, and he had difficulty hiding his contempt for them. In fact, he despised everything about them but pretended to share their views in order to get to know them and understand their thinking. Most of these radical leftists were Jews, which reconfirmed his inherent beliefs about all Jews: they were “chosen” by God to spread disorder across the globe.

On occasion, however, he would notice the ultrareligious Lubavitch Chasidic Jews as they walked to prayer with their children on Saturdays. He couldn’t help but admire their family solidarity, their piety, but most significantly their dignity.

He hated to admit, even to himself, that they reminded him of his own people, especially the most pious. He could not afford to feel charity toward a people who were oppressing so many Muslims. He rejected the argument that the Jews were just protecting their homeland. All they had to do was return to the Diaspora that God had intended and all would be well He remembered the Friday night when his life’s work crystallized. Sabrina (or was it Jennifer?) took him to the Chabad house near the campus. She kept telling him how much he was going to love the people there because they reminded her of him.

How stupid could these American girls be, comparing him, a son of Allah, with these pathetic children of Yahweh? But he needed to play his role so he went. As he entered the room he was enveloped within the loud singing. He noticed the women were on one side of the room and on the other there was a large circle of men dancing, with one hand on the shoulder of the man in front. Some had their small children with their legs around their necks, riding their shoulders.

Haddad was stunned when a very tall man with red hair and a full red beard reached from the circle and pulled him in. He recalled the man’s piercing blue eyes as he was drawn into the whirl of dancing men. He was momentarily swept up in the intoxicating mixture of the loud voices singing in unison in the cousin-language of Hebrew, the feel of the old wooden floors swaying beneath his feet.

For a fleeting instant he felt he was back in Pakistan, among his own kind.

And then he remembered who he was, and who they were. He felt revulsion by their proximity, by their smiles, by their revelry. He wanted to transform it all to still, bloody sorrow. He endured their presence so he could study their weaknesses. So he could protect those Muslims in Pakistan and elsewhere whom these “Chosen People” had chosen to persecute.

Haddad felt that same hatred now. For the Jews, for their American allies, for the sluts like Tally who corrupted all of womanhood.

She wanted to be used? Haddad would oblige. When the time was right he would show this aggressive bitch what few American men would ever dare. She would be tamed and dominated. She would understand what true aggression was.

But he had no time for such things right now. He needed her to be fully on his side until he got from her the information he needed, so he let her have her way with him, right there on her living room floor.

It wasn’t, he supposed, the worst compromise he could make.

“You read all the newspaper columns I wrote,” Tally said, “but they really only touch on the surface of San Francisco’s underground.”

“I am eager to hear more,” Haddad told her truthfully.

“I’m so glad!” she enthused. “So few people know about it, even those who live here. But there’s an entire secret history beneath the city that’s largely ignored or forgotten.”

It was the next day, and they were driving in Tally’s Toyota. Her aggressiveness behind the wheel matched her sexual aggressiveness.

“Educate me,” he said, as he watched the road. It would be absurd for him to die in a car crash after all the effort it had taken to get to this point.

“Well, first there’s Chinatown,” she told him. “During the gold rush, hundreds of thousands of Chinese immigrants came to the city and were forced to live in slums. By the late eighteen hundreds that area was a network of underground sewer tunnels and passageways topped by crowded tenement buildings. It was one of the most dangerous places in San Francisco.”

Haddad laughed inside. He had seen his share of slums in his time, and knew quite well how dangerous they could be.

“Most of the immigrants were destitute, and many of them were sold as slaves to work in kitchens and laundries. Young girls would be forced into prostitution, and those who tried to protect them used the underground tunnels to hide them away.”

Heathen behavior, Haddad thought, but typical of a country run by infidels whose greed and base interests knew no bounds.

She babbled on. But it wasn’t that part of the city’s underground that he was interested in. He had done enough research on his own to know that there was something far more useful to him than a Chinese history lesson. Bloggers had announced the general area of the entrance; she had saved him having to search for it. Fault line maps created by the U.S. Geological Survey-charts showing dip, azimuth, depth, and other data used by San Andreas Geophysical Operations for threat assessment-had unwittingly delineated the tunnels themselves. The route for the assault was planned. Haddad merely had to see the tunnels for himself, make sure they were clear.

Finally, trying not to show his impatience, he directed her towards his needs.

“What about the bunker you referred to in one of your articles?”

“Ah,” she said. “Even fewer people know about that, maybe some old-timers and a handful of urban explorers like me.”

“When were they built?”

“During the Second World War,” she said. “San Francisco was considered a very vulnerable target if the war were ever to come to our shores, so the military built a massive underground bunker in preparation for an attack.”

“How could people not know about this?”

“Because it was a military secret to begin with. After the war ended the place was completely sealed up so that nobody would find it.”

“That seems a waste. Surely they’ve utilized it-say, for storage?”

She shook her head. “Some cities did things like that. New York, for instance. Stocked them with canned goods in case of a nuclear attack. It scared people so they stopped. It was easier just to pretend the bunkers didn’t exist.”

“And you’ve managed to find a way inside the bunker?”

She smiled. “Yep.”

“And it truly leads to this place you told me about?”

She gave him a sly smile.

Haddad felt a sudden flash of anger and wanted to slap the smile from her face. Why couldn’t she just answer the question? He did not have time for games.

“When can we go there?” he asked. “This-this is too exciting.”

The smile widened. “That’s where we’re headed right now. Normally, I’d have to blindfold you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sort of,” she admitted. “Only a few people know about this spot and we don’t want it to become common knowledge. But I can trust you, right?”

“Of course,” Haddad said. “With your life.”

They took a gently winding road along the bay.

Haddad looked out at its clear blue waters, marveling at its beauty as he watched the distant sailboats bob along its surface. He had always loved this view, with the Cliff House Restaurant, the Marin coastline beyond, and the tattered sea-swept ruins of the Sutro Baths on the shore below-which had once been the world’s largest indoor swimming establishment until it burned down before Haddad was even born.

And yet, it was soon to be so different.

By his hand.

There were times when he wished that he could simply go back to his college days, when life was less complicated. When he could hate without having to rein that in, so he could carefully engineer an expression of that loathing. And to be honest, though he had been here to learn and to study the ways of the infidels, there were times he envied them their blissful obliviousness to the world and its dangers. He wondered what life would be like without a larger goal than making money and raising infidel children. He wondered if, in his lifetime, he would ever know the peace and contentment of a Sharia world.

They drove around a bend along Point Lobos Avenue, until they came to a large car park on their left, near the Sutro Baths. Tally pulled in and found a spot, then shut off the engine and turned to Haddad.

“Okay,” she said. “Almost there. We’re in a national park so we have to be aware of other visitors and watchful eyes.”

“I’ll trust you to guide me without incident,” Haddad told her.

She smiled again. “You are just so damn cute, you know that?”

She parked, then leaned over and kissed him, making it very clear that she enjoyed his company. He managed to keep from recoiling and actually returned her smile.

“Shall we?” she said, as she popped open her door.

“Indeed.”

They found their way to Lands End Trail, which was far from rustic and perfectly maintained, surrounded by lush green foliage. They followed a winding path, feeling the wind in their faces, enjoying the quiet-which seemed so unusual considering that they were still in the city.

As they passed the USS San Francisco memorial-little more than a flagpole and plaque surrounded by a few large gunmetal-gray pieces of an old warship that, to Haddad, looked like giant Dumpsters-Tally glanced about, then grabbed his arm and steered him toward the edge of the cliff.

“This way,” she said.

The cliff looked quite steep, but they were both wearing clothes for climbing-jeans, flannel shirts, rugged shoes-so Haddad followed her down through the rocks and trees, until they were very close to the water. He could feel the ocean spray on his face as she led him around a small outcropping, then upward again until they found a secluded patch of land just below the cliffside, full of dirt and rock and grass and surrounded by thick green trees.

Glancing around again for prying eyes, Tally moved up to a large grouping of stones gathered near the base of one of the trees. Taking hold of the largest stone, she said, “Help me with this.”

Haddad grabbed on and they huffed and struggled a few moments until they rolled it aside to reveal a crevice just wide enough to squeeze through. The crevice was formed in a slab of cement, rather than earth, and Haddad could see that it was an exposed portion of a larger structure that had somehow been dislodged, possibly in an earthquake.

“This is it?” Haddad asked. “This is the entrance?”

“Only the brave know for sure,” she said, casting a look around to make sure they had not been observed. “You want me to go first?”

Not one to back down from a challenge, especially coming from a ridiculous female, Haddad waved her away then studied the crevice, looking for the best way to proceed. Deciding to go feet first, he sat down and stuck his feet into the opening, then lay on his back and slowly wormed his way downward, shimmying into the hole.

As his feet penetrated the darkness, he felt the ground suddenly give way beneath them, nothing but open air below.

Catching hold of the edge of the slab, he said, “How far is the drop?”

“Not far,” she told him. “Just let yourself go and be mindful how you land.”

Haddad steeled himself and let go of the slab, working his way downward until his legs were dangling in open air. Then, turning his head to the side, he squeezed through and let himself drop.

He landed hard, but on his feet, the sound of the impact echoing against cement walls. Pulling a small flashlight out of his shirt pocket, he flicked it on and found himself inside a narrow concrete shaft. To his left was another shaft with a built-in rusted rebar ladder that led deeper into the earth.

“Watch out,” Tally said, “here I come.”

He shifted his flashlight beam upward as she shimmied through the hole, having a much easier time of it thanks to her smaller size. As he stepped back she dropped down beside him, faltering only slightly as she landed.

Pulling her own flashlight out, she flicked it on and gestured to the second shaft. “What are you waiting for, slowpoke? Let’s do this.”

She stepped onto the rebar ladder and started down.

Haddad followed her, perturbed by her familiar manner. In a way, that was more annoying than her purely biological need for sex. This behavior was learned.

When he got to the bottom of the ladder he saw only her flashlight shining into the darkness. What he saw was a marvel. A long, wide tunnel-big enough to fit a truck through-made of reinforced concrete. There was occasional graffiti spray-painted on the walls, names of other explorers and when they’d been here. Most of it dated several decades ago, which Haddad assumed meant that the place was only rarely frequented these days. Rusted remnants of a rail system with narrow-gauge tracks ran along the ceiling and he could clearly tell that this had indeed been a military bunker. He had seen this kind of setup before, in Egyptian coal mines in the north Sinai. It maximized space by allowing workers to walk under the cars.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever into the darkness.

“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Tally asked.

“More than I imagined,” Haddad said, thinking that if this tunnel led where he believed it did, the final piece of Allah’s plan was indeed in place. “How far does it go?”

“It branches in different directions,” Tally told him. “Some of the old-timers say there are at least eighty-seven thousand square feet down here.” She gestured. “But if you follow this tunnel right here without deviating from the path, it’ll take you straight to the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Amazing,” Haddad said. “And it also leads to the place we spoke about?”

She nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

She took the lead, working her way through the tunnel with the confidence of a regular visitor. They walked through the dark tunnel for quite some time. As they turned to their right, moving into another tunnel, Haddad saw that it opened out into a space that could have been a bunkhouse or a storage supply. They continued past it, took another turn, and the floor began to rise, getting steeper with every step. They crested the rise and made another turn into a tunnel on their right, where it opened into a single rectangular room. There was another narrow shaft at the far side, a rebar ladder leading upward into darkness.

“This is it,” Tally said, stopping.

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Oh, I’m sure. It’s right over your beautiful Egyptian head.”

Haddad’s lips parted in a smile and Tally came toward him with a seductive look on her face. “Happy?”

“Better than you will ever know,” Haddad told her as he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her into the cement wall, her eyes going wide as she slammed against it.

He ripped at her flannel shirt, breaking away the buttons, then gripped her exposed left breast and squeezed as hard as he could, enjoying the look of pain and terror in her eyes.

This was how all infidel whores should be treated, Haddad thought as the woman squirmed under his grip, her features contorted. They needed to be taught their place in the world.

When he was done here, there would be one less pig inhabiting the earth.

Thanks to her, countless others would soon follow.