No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (22 page)

2

On the other side of Batak Island Samudra sat upright on his hammock at the rear of his five-bedroom property in the lush hills looking over the ocean. He threw his legs over the side and attempted to push the dark thoughts of his sister out of his mind.

His son, Osama, was playing with Ali, his pet monkey, a six-month-old long-tailed macaque, at the far end of the garden.

Praise be to God for the next generation.

The comfortable home was a short helicopter ride from the compound and had been built by his late brother Arung. It provided a constant reminder of Arung’s untimely death at the hands of the order.

The sound of a fast-approaching helicopter shifted his attention to a far more pressing matter.

At the compound the night before, two of his men had demonstrated worrying signs of doubt about carrying out the planned jihad in Sydney, putting their families and existence on earth above eternal salvation.

Doubt was a spiritual malaise that would not be tolerated or allowed to spread through his men under any circumstances. His years of training with veteran mujaheddin in Pakistan and Afghanistan had taught him the necessity of eradicating such contagion.

His thoughts were interrupted by the aroma of warm chilli spices and fried chicken drifting across the humid air.

“Samudra! Osama!” his wife called from the kitchen. “Lunch is ready!”

He stepped off the hammock and glanced over his shoulder toward the house.

The sound of the approaching helicopter would displease his wife greatly. For Premita, family lunch on Sunday was a sacred event. Particularly as he’d only returned last night from business and this would be his last meal with them before his departure for Sydney the next day.

If the helicopter brought the news he expected, he’d need to return to the compound without delay. It pained him to disappoint his very good wife. As befitting her role, she never questioned his duties as clan leader, even when he operated well outside the bounds of man’s laws. But inside the family confines she saw herself as the undisputed ruler – making her the one person on earth whose wrath he feared.

A cry came from the far end of the garden.

“Gotcha!”

He turned toward his son, who was clutching his monkey by the tail.

The monkey shrieked and Osama squealed with excitement. “I have you now!”

“Samudra! Osama!” Premita called again in a much sharper tone.

Samudra pointed his finger at Osama. “You heard your mother. Leave Ali alone and wash your hands for lunch.”

“No!”

“You dare question your father?”

The monkey jumped up and down on the spot and started clapping.

Osama burst out laughing.

Samudra couldn’t help but grin. He controlled the destiny of his clan and was the sole architect of the most audacious and holy plan for God and Islam since the attack on the Twin Towers. Like his hero, the great Osama bin Laden, he saw his life’s purpose as striving to unleash death and destruction upon the enemies of Allah. When it came to his family, though – his son, his daughter and his wife – he was powerless.

Still, weakness was the wrong message to pass on to his son.

He glared at him. “You want to experience the joys of God’s heaven and live in paradise forever or burn in the fires of eternal hell?”

“Paradise, please.”

“Then do as you’re told.”

Another call came from the back of the house, full of anger and impatience, causing them both to look around.

“Hurry up! Lunch is getting cold!”

Osama turned and ran toward the house.

Samudra looked up at the approaching helicopter and wondered how far the situation on the compound had deteriorated.

He reached under his white robe and ran his finger over the smooth handle of his sheathed kris, which he carried with him at all times. Then he patted the Beretta Bobcat, a small semiautomatic pistol, tucked inside a leather holster strapped under his armpit.

He thought of his beloved grandfather, Fajar, who had fought on the battlefields of Afghanistan, witnessing the defeat of the Russians. The great victory had galvanized Fajar and his Indonesian comrades, who saw themselves as fighters in a global struggle for Islam. By defeating the might of the imperialist Soviet superpower, they had proved themselves capable of achieving anything in the service of God.

On returning to Indonesia as highly disciplined and highly trained devotees of jihad, they continued the great work by carrying the flag of Islam and vowing to create a unified Muslim state worldwide.

Samudra had sworn on Fajar’s deathbed that he’d pursue his grandfather’s holy fight, striking fear into the heart of his enemies, no matter how long and difficult the struggle might be.

As much as he loved his wife and family, he needed to remember who he was and where his true duty lay.

3

Samudra strapped himself into the passenger seat of his Robinson R22 Beta helicopter, placed the audio headset over his ears and scrutinized his second-in-command, Abdul-Aleem, who was absorbed in checking the controls.

At thirty-seven years of age, Abdul-Aleem was at the height of his physical powers, possessing the strength of a mighty elephant and the agility of a wild monkey. His extensive military and martial-arts background and inside knowledge of the order were most impressive.

He’d organized the placing of a GPS homing device inside Erina’s computer at the film shoot near Boggabilla, enabling them to track her and Carter’s movements every step of the way. They, along with Thomas and the young boy, would be executed at dusk.

Samudra recognized Abdul-Aleem’s ingenuity and usefulness.

For now.

Abdul-Aleem flicked a few switches and the helicopter roared to life. He moved the control stick back and they lifted off in the direction of the compound.

Though the man had shown marked improvement in his character since converting to Islam, Samudra still believed that Abdul-Aleem was, at his core, a decadent westerner, and never quite trusted him.

Samudra was not naive. He recognized that the man’s conversion in prison was most likely born out of his desperation to get out of jail rather than a true love of God and a desire to do his will on earth.

To insure against any weakness of faith or lack of loyalty on Abdul-Aleem’s part, Samudra had promised him $250,000 once the jihad was successfully executed. Of course he never intended to honor the debt. In fact, by accepting the bribe, Abdul-Aleem had greatly hastened his own end.

Samudra switched his headset on and asked, “What happened with Usif and Mohammed?”

Abdul-Aleem stared straight ahead. “The stupid fools want to withdraw from the mission and be allowed to return home.”

“Not acceptable.”

“Agreed.”

Samudra closed his eyes, rotated his head from side to side to relieve the stiffness in his neck and thought through his options.

“What of the others?” he asked.

“No one else has uttered a word. But we must assume there is potential dissent in the ranks.”

“I presume the two men’s families are on the island?”

“Yes. Both have wives and small children.”

“Excellent. And what are the men doing now?”

“They’re playing football on the beach.”

“Radio ahead and have them all assemble on the top training field in formation. And make sure the families of the misguided are present as well.”

Abdul-Aleem turned to him. “What do you need them for?”

“Just do as I command.”

Samudra switched the headset off and looked out the window away from Abdul-Aleem.

He answered to no one but God.

—

The helicopter climbed over the peak of the volcanic mountain that separated the two sides of the island and began its descent toward the U-shaped mujaheddin compound below.

Samudra peered through the tinted window at his creation in the name of Allah. The compound was surrounded by sea at the front, a steep mountain escarpment at the rear and sheer rocky cliffs on either side. The self-contained camp provided his men with everything they needed to prepare them for the great tasks ahead. He’d built a shooting range, two training fields, a gym, a communications center and a weapons and explosives storage unit.

His eye was drawn, as always, to the sparkling white-tiled dome of the mosque, the compound’s centerpiece, of which he was most proud. It offered a constant reminder to him and his men of their duty to God and their need to obey, honor and serve him.

He closed his eyes and recited one of his favorite passages of scripture to himself in his head.

Let those believers who sell the life of this world for the hereafter fight in the cause of Allah, and whosoever fights in the cause of Allah, and is killed or is victorious, we shall bestow on him a great reward.

One unerring truth governed his every breath. He was a mujaheddin, a holy warrior for God. Nothing else in existence mattered more than his sacred duty to Allah.

And every one of his men would soon be reminded of this fact.

4

Twenty-four mujaheddin dressed in black caps and olive fatigues stood at attention in three rows of eight on the flat ridge of the compound’s training field, a hundred and thirty feet above sea level.

Samudra positioned himself in front of them next to Abdul-Aleem and surveyed his assembled men. Seeing them in perfect parade ground formation filled him with immense pride. Their demeanor and discipline were testimony to the hard work and training they’d endured and the respect they afforded him as their leader and obedient servant of Allah.

Usif and Mohammed, the two men whose fate hung in the balance, were in the front row and to the left. Their wives and children huddled together at the back of the ridge under the shade of a red calliandra tree.

Only Abdul-Aleem and himself carried arms. As instructed, Abdul-Aleem had an Uzi submachine gun slung over his right shoulder.

Samudra had rehearsed in his mind exactly what was required to ensure the group remained committed to their great objective, jihad. Not only must the men love God – most importantly they needed to fear God.

Samudra pulled himself up to his full five foot and five inches. He maintained the smile on his face. It demonstrated to the men that his faith in the rightness of what God ordained was strong.

“Rejoice with me,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “I am proud to announce that the order, a most despicable enemy of our clan, of Allah and of Islam, has been all but destroyed. We have captured four of its people, and this evening you shall all witness their death – a testament to the power of the one true God we all serve and the vengeance he wreaks on his enemies.”

He paused, allowing the men to drink in his carefully chosen words. He ran his sharp gaze over them, seeking out any visible signs of weakness or dissent.

“Even though we are few in number, we shall very soon strike a mighty blow for Allah. So long as every single one of you maintains your faith and is prepared to sacrifice all for God in performing his will on earth, we shall perform great deeds in his name.”

He raised his right hand high above his head in a salute to Allah. “Jihad is the greatest thing you can do with your life. It represents the supreme service you can offer almighty God.”

Again, he gave the words time to sink in, then punched his right fist into the air. “Rejoice! We are mujaheddin, holy warriors of Allah. Never, ever forget this great fact.”

A surge of passion rushed through him, lifting his heart rate.

“For your life to have meaning,” he said, “you must live nobly and obey God’s law, one hundred percent. For God’s warriors, sharia is more important than life itself. A human life without strict adherence to God’s law means nothing.”

He clenched his fist in front of his face and raised the pitch of his voice. “You must be prepared to forfeit your life for God and not cease your struggle until his law rules first this country and then the entire world. This is our sacred duty.”

As he spoke these words, many of his men nodded and their eyes shone. Their devotion warmed his heart.

He spread his arms out wide, the soft ocean breeze billowing his robe like a sail. He loved sharing his profound message, firing up the men’s spirits with the power of God.

“Those who commit to jihad shall enter paradise, where mighty rivers flow beneath verdant bowers. Myriad physical delights in all forms, the sweetest of earthly fruits, shall be perpetually and abundantly available to you. This shall be your great gift for serving God in the supreme manner. Do you understand this great fact? Do you understand the opportunity you have been given?”

The men, including Abdul-Aleem, replied in unison: “Yes, sir.”

He wiped the smile from his face in an instant and frowned.

“But the reward for the unbelievers who defy God … is the searing fire of hell, where there is nothing but pain, suffering and degradation for all eternity. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, sir!” they shouted.

He marched along the line toward Usif and Mohammed. Eight months ago he’d recruited them from a poor fishing village on one of the Mentawai Islands off Sumatra.

When he reached them, he stopped and stared deep into their eyes, attempting to read their hearts and minds. What he saw displeased him greatly. Neither could hold his gaze.

“Do you love God?” he asked softly.

“Yes, sir,” they answered.

“Tell me then, why are you no longer of a mind to serve almighty Allah? Why is it you are unwilling to commit one hundred percent to jihad and perform your sacred duty?”

Neither said a word.

“Are you not prepared to sacrifice all for God and experience the unimaginable pleasures of paradise?” he asked. “Or do you prefer to live like animals and die like dogs before burning in hell for eternity?”

All that greeted him was grim silence.

“Answer me!” he yelled.

Usif, the skinnier of the two, dropped to his knees, put his hands in the prayer position and looked up at Samudra with pleading eyes.

“Forgive me. I am not yet ready. I do not wish to die.”

A wave of disgust rose in Samudra’s stomach. The selfish coward began crying and whimpering like a baby. The man’s weakness threatened the whole operation.

“Please, I beg you. Allow me to leave this island with my family, return home and live a normal life as a fisherman, a good husband and father. I am a good Muslim.”