Act of Terror

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Washington

Mujaheed Beg lay flat on his back on a piece of cardboard he’d found in a nearby Dumpster, staring up at the grimy undercarriage of his target vehicle. He much preferred killing people to killing cars.

Somewhere up the quiet street, beyond the CVS pharmacy, a dog barked in the darkness.

Over his years in America, he’d found he truly liked motorcars and cringed when he was forced as a last resort to shoot out a window or plant explosives under a hood. Badeeb had sent him to do a little mischief-make some necessary modifications as insurance. The problem with Congressman Drake would not solve itself.

Holding a penlight between his teeth, he inched his way deeper under the car before reaching up with a small Leatherman multi-tool. As always, it fell to Beg to take care of the doctor’s problems.

Once he was finished, he slid out from under the car and brushed the dust of his jeans. He ran a comb through his thick hair and walked into the darkness singing “Love Me Tender” under his breath.

Marc Cameron

Act of Terror