Warren Murphy: Angry White Mailmen

The bad was that the cordon had been broken, and no one knew by whom or, more importantly, why.

There was nothing to do but wait for the next de­velopment and hope this was not the last day of their FBI careers.

The summons came by cell phone.

It was Yusef Gamal's turn at the wheel of the prac­tice missile. So Jihad Jones took the call.

"Yes, yes?" he said. "Yes, yes. Yes, yes!"

Then Jihad Jones hung up the cell phone.

"Yes?" Yusef said.

"It is Sargon. The criminal FBI has surrounded the mosque."

"Imbeciles! Have they learned nothing from Waco or Ruby Ridge? What are our instructions?"

"The Fist of Allah is to be launched immediately."

"But where is it?"

"We are told to return to the mosque with all speed and at all costs."

"Then it is the ordained hour for you and I, my brother."

"Do not call me your brother. I am not your brother."

"We are cousins, then."

"You are driving this practice missile now. There­fore, I will pilot the true Fist of Allah."

"That will be for Sargon to say," spat Yusef as he bore down on the gas and the big silver bus roared down the Ohio Turnpike.

It was a simple matter to reach the ring of FBI ar­mor. The infidel made it easy for them. Then, be­cause there was no time, Yusef threw the bus into the great portal as instructed.

The portal caved inward, despoiling the mosque. But this was the only way.

Inside they piled out, only to be met by the Afghan Taliban guards, who were pledged to protect the Deaf Mullah.

"Sargon awaits in the launch-preparation room," one thundered.

"Where is it?" asked Yusef.

"Two doors down. The green door. It is unlocked, inshallah ."

Jihad Jones saluted. "May Allah protect you brave ones."

They raced on.

"The Fist of Allah is here!" Yusef said excitedly. "And we never suspected."

"Obviously it is one of the minarets," Jihad said.

"The left."

"No, the right. It is closer to Mecca."

"I favor the left minaret."

"And you may pilot it to foolishness if you wish while I pilot the true Fist of Allah into Paradise."

"The Deaf Mullah will decide this."

"He will decide nothing. It was ordained before the beginning of time."

"Then your prayers are but the yapping of the dogs that follow the caravan," Yusef growled.

The green door was thick but fell open at a touch. Inside there was gloom, and the sense of a great shape.

Jihad Jones lifted his voice. "Sargon, where are you?"

The Persian's voice said, "Wait. I am nearly done." It sounded as if it were coming from some vast, en­closed space—a cave or a chamber where giants might dwell.

"We are beneath the right minaret," Jihad whis­pered.

Yusef said nothing.

Then came a sound like that of a vast brazen portal clanging shut.

"Prepare yourselves for the sight that will freeze the blood of infidels the world over," proclaimed Sargon the Persian in a doomful voice.

The snapping of a light switch preceded a blinding burst of light and between that and the enormous shape that stood before them, Yusef and Jihad let out gasps of comingled awe and pride.

Remo parkedthe rental car on the green grass near where the Ohio Turnpike merged with Route 75.

Chiun got out first. His hazel eyes took in the aus­tere beauty of the al-Bahlawan Mosque.

"It is Seljuq," he said.

"What?"

"The architecture. Seljuq dynasty. A good period for Arabic architecture. Later they went mad with mosaics and arabesques."

The bus had already disappeared into the portal, breaking it down and leaving a gaping hole.

"Guess we got our work cut out for us," said Remo.

"If a blundering bus can breach those ninjas , we can do the same."

"Those aren't ninjas, Little Father, but an FBI SWAT team."

"After today, they will learn the true meaning of swat ."

"Just remember they're on our side, okay?"

They were moving closer. The FBI's attention was fixated on the mosque, and no one noticed them slip­ping up a grassy incline.

Remo noticed Chiun sniffing the air.

"I smell Afghans," said Chiun.

"They'll die just as easy as Arabs," growled Remo.

"No, harder. But only slightly." .

They were very close now. Close enough that they had to part and move in separately so that they were less likely to be spotted.

Remo took a southerly approach, Chiun easterly.

Their techniques were similar. They found weak spots and exploited them. Remo slipped under the chassis of an LAV, and the Master of Sinanju made noises of distraction by breaking a twig with a san­daled foot. While FBI heads snapped one way, he flit­ted by the other with utter soundlessness.

They were neither seen nor smelled nor challenged as they reached the broken and gaping portal to­gether.

"Okay, let's see how easy this will be," said Remo.

"How difficult can it be when our foe is himself deaf as a post?"

"Good point," said Remo, starting in first.

Harold Smith was tryingto assure the President that there was no such thing as the Fist of Allah and that an Islamic bomb, if it did exist, could not suc­cessfully be delivered against sovereign U.S.soil.

"How can you be sure?" the President demanded.

"Common sense. A low-technology jihad group such as the Messengers of Muhammad simply does not have access to the funding or tools to construct a working thermonuclear device. Their bombs to date have been crude but effective chemical bombs."

"I can't tell the nation this. Not without proof."

"You can point them in the direction of common sense."

"How are your people doing?"

"No report yet," said Smith.

"Keep me posted—ouch. Poor choice of words there."

"I will be back to you, Mr. President," said Smith, hanging up the handset of his attache-case phone and returning to his screen.

The deep background report on the Deaf Mullah included his penchant for using doubles to fool ar­resting authorities in Egypt and elsewhere. But he had used it one time too many, it seemed.

When the FBI had surrounded the Abu al-Kalbin Mosque in Jersey City three years before, they were prepared for a decoy double to be deployed.

A man wearing the gray garments and red felt tur­ban of the Deaf Mullah's particular religious school had in fact emerged and surrendered peacefully. He was being handcuffed when one arresting FBI agent noticed he wore a modern hearing aid. The agent was sharper than the others. He had read translations of several of the Deaf Mullah's sermons railing against Western science and technology.

Smith reasoned that the real Deaf Mullah wouldn't be caught dead wearing a hearing aid.

The double was detained on-site, and the siege con­tinued. It was broken only when cooler heads pre­vailed and the Deaf Mullah's lawyers convinced their client that to die in an Islamic Waco would not be in the best interests of the world Islamic movement.

The Deaf Mullah, carved horn ear trumpet in hand, staggered out of the mosque to be cuffed and taken away for arraignment.

Smith paused. He searched for the name and legal deposition of the double. There was no further men­tion of him. Clearly he had not been charged.

"I wonder," he murmured.

The Afghan guardstoted Kalashnikov rifles and great curved scimitars, Remo saw as he slipped into the al-Bahlawan Mosque.

They were standing before a shut green door.

"If we take them quietly," Remo whispered, "the FBI won't come storming in to muck everything up."

Chiun nodded.

One of the guards was looking right at Remo and didn't see him until Remo took hold of his skull and shook it violently, until the man's unseeing eyes rolled up in his head.