Jihad

CHAPTER 153

“Heavier than he looks,” grunted Tommy Karr as he hauled Dabir over his shoulder. “How we lookin’, Rockman?”

“Coast is clear. I thought you were going to wait until he’d eaten?”

“I sees my chances and I takes ’em, boss,” said Karr, still talking like the cab driver he’d pretended to be. He slid open the door and hustled into the hallway.

The door to room 213 opened and Hernes Jackson’s face appeared.

“Here we go, Ambassador,” said Karr, striding into the room. “One patient, prepped and ready to go under the knife.”

Sweat rolled down Dr. Ramil’s fingers as well as his brow. His first thought was that Dabir was dead. He felt for a pulse at the neck.

It wouldn’t be a great loss if he were dead, Ramil thought. But the thump beneath his fingers was strong and steady.

“Did you give him the drugs?” Ramil asked Karr.

“Popped him on the head, poked him with the tack,” said Karr. The “tack” was a hypodermic needle designed to be concealed in a fist. It looked like a rubber ball with a metal snout and needle.

“Is there a problem, doctor?” asked Jackson.

Ramil looked across the bed at him. “No, I–I just want to make sure we’re ready.”

“Looks gone to me,” said Karr.

Ramil turned around to the second bed and opened the two attaché cases. He pulled on the gloves, aware that he was breathing deeply.

This is your chance. Cut the veins in the neck. It will take only a minute.

Ramil looked at the knife, then went to Dabir. The new device was designed to be inserted at the back of the skull. Its design made it harder to detect, and it had a range nearly twice that of the one he had implanted in Asad.

Do it, Ramil. Rid the world of the vermin.

The knife felt heavy in his hand. Ramil looked across the room at Jackson, who stared back at him.

Was this really what God wanted? Murder? It was not murder to kill an enemy of the faith. And Dabir clearly was an enemy.

But Allah would not command him to make such a judgment. The voice was not God’s, it was his — a product of stress.

Yes. Every time he’d heard it he had been under heavy stress.

Take revenge for the people he has murdered.

And if it weren’t stress, surely it came from the Devil, not Allah. For wasn’t what it commanded him to do not only a sin, but one that would harm many others? It would stop the operation, depriving Desk Three of the chance to save others.

Karr’s heavy hand clamped on Ramil’s shoulder. “Don’t cut the wrong place, right?”

Ramil turned and looked at Karr. The op grinned, then took his hand off his shoulder.

Ramil made the cut. His hands took over, moving swiftly, expertly. The device was a little more difficult to handle, but he got it in, checking twice to make sure it was oriented properly. The shape and location of the incision allowed them to use surgical glue rather than stitches; with a bandage in place, Dabir would never know he’d been slit open.

A tear slid down Ramil’s cheek as he finished. He felt his shoulders sag.

Done.

He would never hear the voice again. But God’s true voice — in the flow of the river, in the wind, in the science that saved lives and made men whole — that voice Ramil was only beginning to hear.

Jackson watched Ramil finish. The doctor’s hands were shaking, but he had held up.

“Maybe we should get a drink,” Jackson suggested as the doctor cleaned up. “Then bring something back for Mr. Karr.”

“Sounds good,” Karr said. “Two Italian heroes, the works. I saw a sub place up the block.”

“I don’t drink,” said Ramil. He smiled weakly. “It’s against my religion.”

“Sorry,” said Jackson. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense,” said Ramil.

“Doc doesn’t drink,” said Karr. “I’ve tempted him myself.”

“Sometimes we all give in to temptation,” said Ramil. “We all occasionally slip.”

“It’s difficult to do the right thing,” said Jackson.

“Very,” agreed the doctor, closing his medical case.