Page 227 of Whisper
Dawood stared at his phone. The number, his contact, was texting again.
[ You fucked up big time, and now everyone is hunting for you. ]
I had to see him one last time.
Dawood tossed his phone on the bed and went back to shoving clothes into his duffel, grabbed his toothbrush. He had to hide. The motel wasn’t safe anymore. He could feel long stares on his back, eyeballs digging into his skin, lingering looks that lasted too long. Even in Brentwood, where the residents despised the police with a sizzling, searing hatred, al-Qaeda operatives werenotwelcome.
[ I’ve worked too long, sacrificed too much, to call this op off. Get to the safe house. Stay there. Don’t fuck with Caldera again. You are fucking this up. Didn’t you swear you wanted to watch America burn? Wanted to make everyone suffer like you did? ]
He grabbed his cell, pulled his duffel over his head. He had a new baseball cap and clothes he’d lifted from a street cart.I wish that everyone could feel an ounce of what Muslims feel. Understand the depth of Muslim pain, of our anguish.He hesitated. Closed his eyes, for a moment, exhaled.Should we call this off? Postpone it?
[ Nothing is getting called off. The op goes forward. If you’re not in, then it goes on without you. ]
Dawood cursed, a breath of Arabic and a plea to Allah rolled into one.Of course I am in. In shaa Allah, this will succeed.
[ Then quit fucking up. Get to the safe house. ]
His contact texted him an address, deep in southeast DC, another hard-edged neighborhood where the locals didn’t look too closely at what strangers were doing. It would be slow going on foot, dodging cameras and police, all the way across the city.
When do we meet?
[ Tonight. Your partner is here. You’ll get your mission together. ]
His stomach clenched.Alhamdulillah.
[ If you can keep your head down. If you can make it to the safe house. If you’re caught, you’ll be shot in the face. And this will go on without you. ]
I’ll make it. I swear to Allah I will. Nothing will stop me now. In shaa Allah.
Dawood shoved his phone in his pocket and slipped out of his motel room.
You must follow the path Allah has laid out for you.
He had a long walk in front of him, and prayers to pray. The prayers of the dead, of the martyr, before their sacrifice.
He was ready.
He’d wondered, once, how he’d feel in this moment. How he’d face himself as he prepared. What thoughts, what regrets, he’d have. He thought he’d console himself with thoughts of Kris, dreams of their future in Paradise, or being reunited at last. But…
In a way, Krishadbeen at the end of his path. They’d had a goodbye, of sorts. He’d tasted Kris’s soul, lingered over his lips, felt his body like the sun breaking across the desert of his barren life once more. That was the end, for them. Kris would no longer be with him in the next life, not after this. He had his own path to walk, his own future to forge.
But these memories, the last touch of his love, would be enough to sustain him for eternity.
Goodbye,ya rouhi.
Chapter 33
University Park, Maryland
September 10
2200 hours
His cell phone lingered in a puddle of light, a circle falling from Dan’s bucket lights hanging over the breakfast bar. The house was dark, eerily silent, other than the kitchen.
Silence, from the CIA. From the FBI. From Dan.
No breaking news alert, no police shootings reported on the news. No press release of a wanted terrorist arrested in DC, a plot foiled.
