Transfer of Power

RAFIQUE AZIZ AND Muammar Bengazi walked up the main staircase of the mansion. Aziz was furious. They had been lucky enough to take the White House without losing a single man, and now, when he was within twenty-four hours of achieving his ultimate goal, he had lost a valuable man due to outright stupidity. Momentum was something that Aziz was acutely aware of. The battlefields of history are littered with the corpses of soldiers whose commanders failed to notice the crucial role it plays in every conflict. Bengazi walked a half a step behind, ashamed that one of his men had been foolish enough to get killed by a woman.

When they reached the second floor of the mansion, Aziz and Bengazi proceeded directly across the hall and into the president’s bedroom.

Every light in the room was on. Aziz walked to the other side of the bed and looked down at the bloody naked body. Ragib, the man who had found his slain comrade, was standing on the other side of the body, his radio in one hand and his assault rifle in the other. He started to speak, but Aziz raised his hand and silenced him. The leader of the group said nothing for a long time while as his eyes took inventory of the scene.

After several minutes, Aziz looked up. The expression on his face was one of controlled anger. In a curt tone, he asked, “What in the hell happened?”

Ragib nervously began to recount the events, content that for now Aziz hadn’t executed him. Ragib told him how Abu Hasan had knocked the woman out and dragged her from the room. He gave his leader the details of what he had found and what little he knew about the woman. When Ragib was done, Aziz looked at the body for a second and then at the nervous man standing before him. No bad deed was to go unpunished. Examples had to be made; fear had to be maintained. With no warning whatsoever, Aziz brought his hand up and slapped Ragib across the face.

Ragib held his ground, offering his chin for another blow.

Although he was stronger and bigger than Aziz, he feared his leader deeply. Fighting back or blocking the blow was not a consideration.

Taking the muzzle of his MP-5, Aziz shoved it under Ragib’s chin and backed him up until he was pinned against the wall.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you for your stupidity.”

“I have no excuse.” Ragib kept his voice calm, knowing that any sign of fear or disrespect could end his life instantly. “I deserve to die. I was stupid.”