Page 98 of End of Days

Raphael nodded, and they entered the town on a small two-lane rutted asphalt road, threading through the concrete buildings. Eventually, they stopped at an outdoor service station that doubled as a coffee shop. Tariq said, “Go get a table on the patio. We’re going to fill up.”

Raphael looked at Leonardo, then exited the vehicle, taking a seat in a rusted iron chair, Leonardo sitting across from him. Leonardo said, “This is much harder than I thought it would be.”

Raphael said, “Tell me about it. You didn’t do the killing last night.”

Leonardo said, “Who do you think those men were?”

“I don’t know, but they weren’t good men. They were trying to smuggle just like this asshole, and they paid the price.”

Leonardo nodded and said, “I’m not sure we can complete this mission. We’re living one lie after another.”

Raphael saw he was scared and said, “This is no different than the last time we were here. The only difference is we were official then. These men aren’t any more dangerous.”

Leonardo gave a halfhearted laugh and said, “Yeah, the last time we were here, they cut our boss’s balls off. Looking forward to it.”

Raphael said, “Hang on for a day. You have the skill. You’re just disoriented by the language and the culture. You remember what you told me before? About the Bosnian war?”

Leonardo looked at him, then slowly nodded.

Raphael said, “You wished you were old enough to make a difference. And now you are. Those savages then did more than just cut off balls. They raped our women and tortured our fathers for sport. These men are the same, just like the ones you wanted to fight. No different.”

Two men approached the table asking in English if they could take a seat. Raphael said, “There are other tables here.”

The first, dressed in a track suit and a two-day stubble of beard, said, “We think we’d like to sit at this table.” He didn’t say it as if he was asking permission.

Raphael looked toward Tariq filling up the tank of the Land Cruiser, and the second man, wearing camouflaged pants, boots, and a loose-fitting combat blouse, said, “Tariq knows us. And now we want to know you.”

Raphael pushed a chair out with his foot and said, “Go ahead.”

They sat down, track suit guy saying, “So you believe in the Prophet?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He leaned forward and said, “Where are you from, you pasty monkeys?”

Raphael said, “Bosnia.”

“Did you fight there? Against the Crusaders?”

“No. It was before my time. I was too young, but I saw the damage. It’s why I’m here now.”

Track suit studied him, then said, “Because of the Ummah? Because of what was done to the faithful?”

Raphael locked eyes with him and said, “Yes. It’s why I’m sitting in front of you. I told myself it would never happen again, and the only way to accomplish that is to fight.”

Satisfied, track suit said, “So you know about drones, is that correct?”

Raphael said, “Yes. I wouldn’t say I could build one, but I know how to make them work.”

“Good, because we have some that have been in storage, so to speak, and we’re getting asked to prepare them for use, but don’t know how to get them in the air. They’re big.”

“The cache in Daraa? Is that the one?”

Surprised, the camouflaged man said, “How do you know about the cache?”

Raphael said, “We work in the same circles. I was in Daraa once before, during the war against the rebels. I saw them then.”

Daraa was a city in southern Syria, on the edge of the borders of the Golan Heights, Israel, and Jordan, and was the wellspring of the current civil war inside the country. In 2011, it was the first city torise up against the Syrian regime as the Arab Spring was sweeping the Middle East, with students protesting peacefully against the government. As had happened all over the Middle East, that peace lasted only as long as the regime held patience.

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