INFLIGHT
Book #2 - Terror Bloodline Series
Books #2 INFLIGHT continues with the action oriented plot of dangerous and intriguing, multi-dimensional characters revolving around a family sharing a terrorist bloodline, including their agenda of personal vendetta.
Book #2 - Terror Bloodline Series
Book #2
Terror Bloodline Series
International fast-paced Action #Thriller
# Suspense #Adventure
#Crime #Mystery
Books #2 INFLIGHT continues with the action oriented plot of dangerous and intriguing, multi-dimensional characters revolving around a family sharing a terrorist bloodline, including their agenda of personal vendetta.
Read here the Preview of CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
2006
Yonkers, New York City.
FBI Informant, Youssef Hariri
Monday - Morning
Youssef Hariri was highly distressed, demoralized, and at the same time extremely outrageous with the FBI, holding them responsible for the turnout of the disastrous events which led to the killing of his father by the Mossad when they raided the terror-cell.
He was now full of remorse. He couldn’t believe that he, born of a race of the true believers of Allah, had collaborated with both the FBI and the Israeli intelligence - the sworn enemies of Islam.
The blood of his father’s death was equally upon his head. He had tried to make amends with his father, if only to spy on his tenants.
Youssef was now convinced that his father had paid a heavy price to redeem his son. He’d immediately give up his present decadent and wicked lifestyle, and seek the tender mercies of Allah to walk in His righteous path.
Youssef had made up his mind. Only his ultimate martyrdom would truly evoke the Merciful Allah to absolve him of his past sinful life. He would become a Jihadist, and get his revenge on the Great Satan and its ally.
The Lebanese-American continued to reside in his city apartment since his father’s house was still cordoned as the crime scene area. Despite their alienation, his father had nominated Youssef as the heir to his house and the other property in Yonkers.
Youssef, however, planned to sell it all after the legalities of his entitlement had been completed.
Abdullah, the errand man in and around Yonkers, among the Arab communities, had interacted with Youssef as a low-level informant. He had no permanent residence. After his father’s death, Youssef asked Abdullah, the short, past fifty years something, near-bald, Lebanese man, to come over and stay in his Lower Manhattan apartment. Abdullah also served as a cook, which naturally took care of their meals.
They had been keeping to themselves, Youssef refusing to take calls from his usual wayward friends. In fact, he had removed the SIM card from his cellphone and switched to a new phone. He had instructed Abdullah to turn back any visitors at the door by telling them that he was away.
On this Monday morning, the two of them had been sitting in the small lounge, looking out of the glass windows of the third floor apartment, overlooking the busy traffic in the street down below.
“Abdullah,” Youssef declared firmly, “I have made up my mind. I am going back to Lebanon. You can accompany me, if you wish to. You have a family there, don’t you?”
“Yes. But haven’t been in touch with my family for years.”
They were speaking alternately in English and Arabic. This conversation was a part of Hariri’s plan to mislead the clandestine eavesdropping and wiretapping equipment installed in his apartment. He had discovered that he was under surveillance even as he began his double-life as an intelligence informant.
All important oral conversations were carried out outdoors – in the park, street, cafeterias and the metro. If at all it had to be in the apartment, then the exchange was in written Arabic.
Neither had he, his FBI control, William Bank, nor the Mossad Sayan, Shimon, contacted each other after the Mossad’s recent raid on the Yonkers terror cell. He knew they were lying low because his father was a collateral victim. The spies, however, would be watching his every move outside the apartment.
Sooner or later, they’d make contact offering excuses and sympathies and even monetary compensation. Having lived the lives they do, Youssef was wise to their ways. Now, it was time for payback.
Taking a pad of writing paper, Hariri wrote on it in Arabic for a few minutes. There was a possibility that Abdullah was not a known face to some of the watchers. He had to risk him to make contact outside.
Abdullah was fluent in Arabic, being a native Lebanese. In his youth, he’d learned to memorize verses from the Koran. He was the Mullah’s favorite student.
He now took pride in mentally learning by rot the whole written message within a few minutes and nodded bemusedly at Youssef.
Next, Abdullah went to the kitchen, burnt the paper note completely over a steel tray and dumped the ash into the wash-basin, opening the tap to let the water drain away the paper trail. He would be repeating this task a few more times.
Later, as the older Lebanese made ready to leave the apartment, Youssef said to him, “Abdullah, we need to restock our grocery. On your way to the Mosque, leave a list of the items we need at our regular grocer and ask for door-delivery.“
“Tayyeb, alright, ya Youssef. I should be back by afternoon. Ma’ah Salaama.”
“Inshallah. Fi Amanillah.”
Half an hour before Abdullah left, Youssef had called the NYPD Mortuary office of the Chief Medical Examiner and was informed that the autopsy was yet to be conducted. Hopefully, as a next of kin, he could claim his father’s body on Wednesday or Thursday, if there was no objection from the NYPD investigation team.
Abdullah would convey that message to the Imam at the Anjuman Mosque, in addition to the secret contents of Youssef’s message.
Hariri would make his move only after his beloved father’s remains were interred.
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