Insidious (134 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by NerfHerder <NerfHerder.at.comic.com> (View user info) at 2006-10-05 12:02:50 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"No other group in American history has received the kind of prejudice we have to deal with today!"
The anger in the ample living room escalated, spewing steam and ash like a volcano ready to erupt.
"We don't have to take this anymore!"
The lava rose to the top of the brim, peaking out to survey the destruction it would cause were it to be let upon the unsuspecting world.
"This is supposed to be the land of the free!"
Just spilling over, the lava began to make its way down the mountain. Slowly, the mountain itself began to tremble at the awesome force it had contained for long and shuddered at the thought that it might be escaping.
"It is," I said calmly, the first person to not use an exclamatory tone and the first to jolt the three other occupants of the room into submission. "Listen to yourselves," I said in a slightly more agitated tone, "you're playing right into their stereotypes."
My left and right eyes focused on the person to my left.
"Adil," I said to the man in focus, "have you not found prosperity and honor, the very things you sought in this country? Look at all of the pleasant trinkets here in your living room. Surely this kind of prosperity would not be yours had you stayed in Saudi Arabia."
My attention stayed partly with Adil but also encompassed the rest of the company in Adil's living room.
"And the rest of you are just as well off. Habib, the jacket you wear and the shoes protecting your feet are no longer made of corn husks and substandard leather. Here, you wear only the finest of textiles."
The young man's neck drooped, sagging so his ears nearly rested upon his shoulders.
"And Samir, you have found a lovely woman to share your life with here. I can think of nothing more paramount that one could possibly want in life."
"Thank you, Wafai," Adil said to me as he stood and rested his hand on my shoulder. "Your voice of reason sometimes I think is the only thing to keep the rest of us from taking too much from this land of plenty which has given us all so much. Perhaps it is better if we adjourn for tonight."
I stood to look Adil in the eye and bid the group adieu but the other two remained motionless and seated on the couch across from where I had been sitting.
"Are you two not leaving as well?" I asked, feeling as if I was being thrown out for calming these men down from their fervor.
A glance was exchanged between Samir and Habib on the couch as if to decide who would speak.
"We merely have a matter of business to discuss with Adil," Samir said. "It will take but a moment. I look forward to seeing you next week, Wafai." Samir nodded his head in approval and glanced at me as if demanding I leave at once.
I finally realized it was not my place to stay where I was not wanted. I had planned to bring up the incident next week, but now was not the time.
-
At our meeting time next week, I decided not to directly bring up the issue but poke around for at least an explanation. I was greeted like any other week, the members of our little group standing at my arrival, offering their hands and smiles to me as brothers rather than the evictors I scurried from last week. I took their hands and returned their smiles in the pretense of brotherhood, thinking perhaps the anomaly from last week would not be repeated again.
The meeting progressed as normal. We discussed family life, coping with any minor atrocities committed against us merely because of our religion and the like until Adil's wife left at 8:45 for her weekly bridge club meeting three houses down. Adil watched her leave much closer than normal. As soon as she shut the door, I found out why.
Three gazes were all glowering at me, waiting for a reaction I knew not how to give as of yet. Adil spoke.
"Wafai," Adil addressed me, "I am sorry for the confusion of last week. It must have seemed like we kicked you out merely so that we could continue talking without you."
"No, no," I said, "but it was quite peculiar. Do you mind telling me now what the meaning was behind all of that chicanery?"
"Actually," Adil spoke, inching himself closer to me and farther out of his seat, hushing his voice so even Habib and Samir had to lean forward to hear, "we have planned a drastic action."
Habib and Samir inched back into the recesses of their couch, as they had already heard the explanation due to me.
"A drastic action," I queried. "Whatever are you fellows referring to?" I became nervous. My eyes could not focus on any one thing in the room. They darted from the family pictures on Adil's mantle to the prayer rug stuffed in the corner.
My instructor at the FBI Academy had told me I would have literally a one percent chance of being placed in an actual terrorist group. The FBI were making no mistakes again after those Arab scum took down two of our most glorious symbols of capitalism. Never again would that happen. Slowly, agents had been introduced into small Islamic groups to monitor their activity. How I longed to be in the other 99 percent.
"The terrorists who crashed planes into the World Trade Center five years ago were heroes, true," Adil spoke with a gleam of malice in his eye, "but they were also stupid. I value a martyr as much as the next Muslim, but if there is one thing that America has taught me it is that one's life is worth so much more than just one act of violence."
"Adil..." I started, trying to sway him from the path he had already taken steps down. I suspected it would be unsuccessful, but there wasn't much else I could say in my state of shock.
"Wafai," he said, extending his hand, "are you with us?"
The ironic "with us or against us" ultimatum used by George W. Bush so many times flashed through my memory. I thought it ironic these small-time terrorists were using the same ideology to frighten me into their plan. I, of course, knew what my answer had to be to live at least a little longer.
"I am with you," I said, folding my hands over those of Adil, "but you must tell me what sort of felony I have committed myself to."
Adil removed his hands from mine, a sly smile appearing across his face. He looked at Habib and Samir on the couch, who seemed to have the same silly smile on their faces.
"We will first strike at the very organization that seeks to destroy our brothers-in-arms across the globe. Every day they hunt us down like animals all in the name of liberty and security. For the stars and stripes they kill," Adil said, "or so they claim. We shall first strike the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Headquarters in Washington D.C."
-
"S-sir," I spoke panic-stricken into a public telephone three blocks from my apartment. "Sir I think we have a situation here in Georgetown."
A weathered male voice on the other end sounded unsympathetic to my situation, as if he had heard the same thing plenty of times before.
"First, your badge number, son. Then your clearance code and operating number. Then I transfer you to your supervisor. What are you, fresh out of the Academy?"
I gave the worn speaker my codes and was passed through the appropriate channels to my handler.
"Sergeant Eidam," the end of the telephone said to my ear. I pressed it against my skin, the receiver still cold from the night air. I composed myself and tried to let the shock of the meeting wear off but I couldn't shake it. This was the first contact I had initiated with my handler and I wanted to at least appear professional."
"Sergeant this is Quilted Chicken. We have a situation here in Georgetown. My infiltration group has moved into level three hostility."
Silence filled the receiver.
"Sir," I said, "they're going to hit FBI HQ."
At this point I had talked more to the air than I had to my handler and wondered if he was still there.
"Sir?" I tentatively whispered into the phone.
"Those insidious bastards," I heard Sergeant Eidam cursing in the background. "Quilted Chicken this is Sergeant Eidam," he said as though he had been on top of the situation the entire time. "Is there an execution date as of yet?"
"Yes sir," I replied. "They plan to hit the building a week from today around 9:45 P.M., sir."
"Fine, just fine," the sergeant said, "Quilted Chicken, check back in with me at 1700 hours the day before the attack to confirm the details."
Before I could reply, the receiver clicked and I was alone again in the fight against terrorism.
-
Next week came much slower than normal. Maybe it was the fact that I slept much less than normal or perhaps it was the feeling of doubt lodged in my gut. Early in the week I just wanted to get the damn thing over with and move on to the next job. But as the days passed, I longed to be anywhere else with any other job.
As I arrived at Adil's house, the mood was cheerless and somber. The rest of the group was already there, laying out their prayer mats. I did the same. We recited portions of the Qur'an, each of us detecting the nerves in the others' quaking tones. But none of us scared enough to admit it.
After we had finished the last Sura, we silently rolled up our prayer mats, stored them in the corner of Adil's living room, hiked to Adil's 1999 Honda Accord and got in, each of our eyes focusing to the front with not an inch of deviation.
Deep in thought, Adil turned the key in the ignition and felt the car rumble to a start. He put the car in drive and carefully pulled onto the street.
"Brothers," Adil said, finally breaking our silence and some of the tension, "it is with great honor that I share these moments with you. Through thick and thin we have been and I believe this will only strengthen the bond between us."
Pausing for a moment, Adil added, "...and between us and Allah as well."
Nods of agreement filled the car, including mine. Adil continued to speak.
"This blow to the FBI may not be big enough to topple the organization. But they are now finding out how to fight cells such as ours. They have to do it on the smallest of levels. It is a wise strategy. But if we continue to outfox them at every turn, honor will be ours!"
The nodding continued. I realized my heart was noticeably pounding. By looking at my chest, you could see the material of my clothing move with every beat, even with the bulletproof vest I had adorned that morn. And with every admission of blood in my heart, I wondered if agents would swoop out of nowhere to apprehend these villains. With every departure I was disappointed.
And still, Adil continued to speak on behalf of the rest of us, perhaps to reassure himself he was doing the right thing or perhaps he knew the rest of us were too scared to make a peep.
Suddenly the speech stopped.
So did the car.
Three doors opened.
Mine did not.
Three doors closed. I looked outside my car window and could see nothing but the clothes of my companions, each facing one another in a triangle.
I smiled. The agents are here! Finally! I thought about opening my door as well to help the FBI agents detain the criminals and gain the glory I deserved. I heard no shots or yelling but put my hand on the handle for when the time came.
"Get out," said Adil's voice, muffled by the door in between us. "Get out," he said again, with more volume and intensity. "I said get out of my fucking car, Wafai."
I did as I was told and came face to face with three extremely pissed brothers. I looked around me and saw the exact opposite of what I expected. Instead of the well-paved streets of D.C., quaint trees alongside the road and the majestic flags of our nation past and present on FBI Headquarters, I saw a dingy landscape fill my view.
The car had stopped at a riverbank, that of the Potomac. Its muddy shores and grimy stream had never seemed so dark.
"Are we setting the bomb off by the riverside?" I asked, gesturing to our muddy surroundings.
Habib and Samir started to hint at a chuckle but were silenced by Adil.
"No," Adil said. "Setting off a bomb in the FBI would cause too much unwanted attention. Were you, by chance, listening to the little speech I made in the car?"
"Sure," I said, attempting to muster up a little enthusiasm.
"Well you boys at the FBI aren't too smart, are you then?" Adil pulled out a handgun and pointed it at my chest.
"Woah, Adil," I said. "What are you talking about with the 'you boys at the FBI?' You're crazy, man."
"Crazy is better than stupid," he said. "So you boys at the FBI think that while you can go after tiny cells of terrorist organizations that we can not do the same? It's not exactly a secret that the FBI was inserting operatives into predominantly Muslim groups, Wafai. All we had to do was meet and wait until a new guy moved into the neighborhood and wanted to start meeting with us. Painfully obvious, you naive American simpleton."
"What - no, Adil you've got it all wrong."
Fire erupted from the barrel of the gun once, twice, three times into my chest as I fell to the ground. Each bullet engulfed by the standard-issue vest I had worn to protect myself from stray bullets from the FBI agents I knew could do me no good now.
"Maybe next time, don't advertise your battle scheme, you clueless, insidious snake."
With that, Adil raised the barrel to rest in between my eyes and squeezed.
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