Jihad

CHAPTER 13

The pain came in waves, shaking Asad bin Taysr’s head from the inside, as if his brain were pounding against his skull, trying to escape. The doctor had said something about pain killers, and while Asad wouldn’t ordinarily trust an Egyptian — they were as a rule decadent, corrupted by their proximity to the Jews — the man had seemed to know what he was talking about, accurately describing how the pain would feel.

He was lucky to have escaped so easily. God had delivered him from calamity, from the Devil himself, to preserve his mission. In a few days, Asad bin Taysr would lead Islam to the next stage in its historical battle with the demonic West. His blows would strike at the heart of the western economies, sweeping away the foundation of their oppression against Islam. The strikes would not be as symbolic as the glorious raid on the World Trade Center and Pentagon in America on 9/11, peace be with the souls of the brave martyrs who had carried it out. But it would be more devastating. Their economies would crumble.

“Find out what this medication is.” Asad handed over the prescription to Abd Katib, the chief of his bodyguards. “And get me some.”

“Yes, sheik. It will be done.”

“The others?”

“The driver is still in the hospital. He broke his leg and his face was burned by the air bag.”

The driver had joined them in southern Turkey; though a Saudi who had been recommended by a trusted associate, Asad did not know him well enough to gauge how far he could be trusted.

“He is a liability in the hospital,” said Asad.

“That will be taken care of before the sun goes down.”

“His widow will be told that he was a martyr. He was a soldier of God, and peace be upon him.”