After a late breakfast and a walk around the ranch facilities, Barak headed back to the ranch house for Kaamil’s final briefing before he returned to Las Vegas. His plan was flawless and would succeed, if all his players did their part, especially Kaamil.
Over a cup of Turkish coffee in the den, he ran down the list of things he wanted Kaamil to do, and then asked about the attorney.
“What success have you had with the man you wasted three men trying to kill?”
Kaamil’s eyes flared before he answered.
“He hasn’t shown his face again. The imams are putting pressure on the cops to find out what happened to our brothers. My source says their investigation is also looking into his role in their disappearance.”
“Find a way to turn up the heat. If he comes around again, make him disappear. The police will think he’s running from their investigation,” Barak said. “Don’t you like the coffee? Drink up, you’ll hurt my chef’s feelings.”
“I was waiting for it to cool,” Kaamil offered. “It’s very hot and very strong.”
“That’s the way I like it, hot and strong. Great Turkish coffee is supposed to be ‘Black as Hell, Strong as Death, and Sweet as Love’ according to an old saying. Are you comfortable with the arrangements for tomorrow’s party?”
“Everything is set. Roberto is bringing the girls and the food. None of the regular staff is here, because it’s Sunday, and I didn’t want your chef involved. Their juice will be laced with the drug you designed, and it will be in their meals until Wednesday. They’ll be as courageous as lions and have the time of their lives.”
Barak finished his cup and nodded his approval. “What have they been told about the plan for their extraction?”
“The truth. I’ll be there in the Medevac helicopter to pick them up. I don’t expect they will make it that far, but if they do, we don’t want them captured.”
“And are you willing to do what’s necessary, if it looks like you might be captured?”
Kaamil met his leader’s gaze directly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll never let them take me alive.”
“Good. That’s what I expect of my leaders. In this fight, the price may be death. If you’re not willing to pay it, you will remain your country’s slave. Remember that.”
On his flight back to Las Vegas, Barak thought about his young lieutenant, and how easy he was to motivate. Telling him that jihad was his way to take revenge against whitey was all it took. Inflaming his anger had been easy, once he discovered Malcolm X was the young man’s hero. Convincing him that martyrdom was noble had been harder, but Kaamil’s fear of returning to prison guaranteed the end would be the same.
Looking out his plane’s starboard window at the verdant mountains stretching south toward California, Barak wondered how America was going to react when it realized the racial violence rising up against it was being mobilized by its enemy.