Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (27 page)

"Maryam?"

Nodding, the Imam smiled.

"She believes in you. Al-Bashir believes in you. Allah believes in you. And so do I."

"In'shallah," Recai replied before handing the Imam his keys and heading off into the caverns deep below the city, on his way to the address sent in the strange text message.

Isik waited until the room was full before nodding for the door to be shut. No one from outside was getting in now, and those in attendance were staying until he was ready to let them go.

Lighting another cigarette, he eyed the hidden office. Darya was in there, plotting his death he was sure. This betrayal would be the end of them. Isik loved her; she was his only sister, the only one who had known his father, the only one who knew just what he was capable of. She really shouldn't have been so surprised.

Isik stepped up onto the seat of a folding chair and watched as his presence commanded silence. This was power. To control without ever saying a word. He saw Darya's connections standing on the peripheries of the room, not wanting anyone to see them in association with this kind of underground movement. But the money was here, and their loyalty followed the cash.

"Brothers," Isik began with a low voice. The men unconsciously leaned in or stepped closer to hear him.
Power does not lie with the man who screams, but with the one who whispers.

"My name is Dayar Yildirim. Some of you know me by other names. Some of you know my assistant, but you are all indebted to me. I have freed you. I have freed the city."

Isik paused, looking out, waiting for his words to register. The group was eclectic: men in suits, men in uniforms, men in taqiyahs of all colors. With a single breath they waited, united in anticipation of his next words.

"The mayor is gone. He will not be returning. It has been too long that he's stood apart from the daily lives of his people, so much so that I have been able to take his money and his power without him ever noticing. His final moments were pathetic, like a dog pleading for his life. He whimpered like a woman."

He sneered, inhaling the nicotine from his cigarette before tossing it aside. Smoke swirled in the room, and the temperature rose. Brought together in fear, the men faced Isik and the future he promised.

"With our leader so far from the reality of the streets, crime has sprung back up. Drugs have been infiltrating our homes, and women are allowed freedoms The Prophet never intended."

Heads nodded, encouraging him to continue. Isik stepped down from the chair, pulling the attention of the room as he moved. His voice rose as he continued, flowing in waves over the crowd, inciting even the withdrawn men to a call for change. All around him men from high above his social standing and those who worked every day for what little food they had came together in fear and the promise of something greater.

"The paper says our city is in decay, that we need a hero like The SandStorm to protect our women. But why? Why are these women out walking the streets alone at night at all? Because the mayor lost sight of his responsibility and became bloated with his own power and prestige. Without him, we have a choice. We can let our city fall farther into decay. Our women and children can wander unsupervised, and the vices of the West can continue to seep into our streets. Or, we can join together, take the reins of this driverless coach, and steer our people back to the right.

"We need curfews for our women!" Isik proclaimed.

"Yes!" a man in a suit cried out.

"We need respect for our officers!"

"Yes!"

"We need freedom from corruption and greed!"

"Yes!" The crowd cheered.

"We are leaderless. Who will lead you?"

"Dayar Yildirim!" a man in the back called.

"Dayar Yildirim!" another cried.

"Day-ar, Day-ar, Day-ar…" the chant began, rising in pitch as the men wrapped their arms around one another in celebration.

Isik watched as the frenzy of revolution rocked through the crowd. Alone these men were pawns; together they were his army. He smiled broadly, relishing the sound of his success, then wrapped an arm around a young man with curly hair who had been standing near the front of the crowd.

"Everything will change now, Brother. All our dreams will come true," Isik promised.

"Even mine," the strange man agreed, passion and determination in his voice.

From the tunnels below the city, Recai reached his destination and climbed out, entering the sewer system before going aboveground. Below ground he had navigated instinctively, unable to see through the darkness but sensing the movement and location of the sand that called him, drove him forward, whispered to him the secrets of the colonized desert. The alley was black now that night had fallen. His eyes were sharp, able to make out even the subtle changes of the wind by watching the sand that rode its current.

Recai spotted a fire escape and climbed the narrow metal rungs. Hand over hand he climbed easily, scaling the wall of the building until he reached a small window. He peered through from his perch two stories above the alley. Although there was only one dim lamp in the room, the smoke reflected its light, creating an ocean of fumes around the figures who had gathered.

At the back of the room there was a man standing on a chair, speaking animatedly. When he stepped down to address the crowd more intimately, he turned his head to the left, giving Recai a direct look at the snake eyes tattooed onto his skin.

Fury flashed through Recai. His skin tightened as his muscles involuntarily tensed. He was taken back in time to when Rebekah had lain across his lap, eyes wide as she was violated again and again. He remembered his uselessness as he lay injured, unable to do anything. Leaning forward, Recai carefully lifted the window so he could listen. Particles of sand drifted past him into the warehouse. The man's words were meaningless, making no promises, making no real statement, only provoking the fears and pandering to the egos of the gathered crowd.

When a chant began, Recai's mind reeled with sudden recognition: Dayar Yildirim was the Board Member who couldn't be found for questioning about the money missing from Osman Corps.

Recai waited until the crowd was in a frenzy before raising the window higher. He swung his legs through the opening and crept inside the warehouse, using exposed pipes and scaffolding to climb to the floor. Crouching low, he backed silently into the clothing racks before anyone could identify his presence.

No one looked his way; the crowd was too wrapped up in its own momentum. He moved through the racks, creeping forward toward Dayar Yildirim. A rapist, a Board Member, an RTK officer, a financier. The numbers didn't add up for Recai.

Recai slunk down an aisle left open between racks of clothing. The oppressive head of the badly ventilated warehouse bore down on him as sand shone in the air around him. Its presence surrounded him, further obscuring him in the dim light. Boxes of clothing were piled around him, some open, some stacked haphazardly. The chanting continued, rising into a fevered pitch, giving Recai the perfect opportunity to attack from behind.

Ducked low, he rushed out behind the tattooed man and pulled his arm back in a crippling lock. The curly-haired man who had been standing with Dayar fell to the ground and yelled out, even as the chanting crowd dropped into a hush.

"Let go of me!" Dayar seethed, pulling against his grip until Recai had no choice but to wrap a forearm around his neck. Recai held him tight, his muscular arm pushing into the rapist's jugular vein. The desire to squeeze until the man hung limply in his hold raged within Recai, making him pant as he restrained not just his enemy, but also his fury.

"Dayar!" the young man who had fallen yelled as he struggled to stand up.

Recai backed away from the crowd as they ceased their celebration and turned their full attention to the masked man. The smoke in the air became denser as sand began to rise in compliment to Recai's adrenalin.

"This man is not who you think," Recai proclaimed.

"It's The SandStorm!" someone cried out from the crowd.

"You cannot follow this insanity! This man is not a leader. He's a rapist and a murderer!" Recai continued.

"And what are you?" his captive hissed. "A coward behind a woman's veil, sneaking in the night—Allah only knows what you've been doing out there!"

Recai's fury rose in spite of his best efforts at self-control, and the air in the warehouse began to move. Sand and grit drifted through the room, slowly at first but picking up speed. The hanging garments moved with the wind, filling the open space with the whisper of fabric.

From deep within Recai another voice rose, and as he opened his mouth to speak, The Prophet's words were repeated:
Do you then feel secure that He will not cause a side of the land to swallow you up, or that He will not send against you a violent Sandstorm?

The men nearest Recai hesitated at being reminded of their beliefs. With Recai's attention on the crowd his hold on Dayar loosened, allowing the murderer enough leverage to slam his elbow up into Recai's ribs.

Recai called out and crushed Dayar in his arms. He growled before the mob rushed forward.

Dragging Dayar with him, Recai knocked over the shadeless floor lamp, shattering the bulb and dropping them all into darkness. The wind accelerated and every remaining speck of sand within the room rose into the air. Chaos consumed the crowd as some ran blind for the only door and others searched for their new leader.

Weaving through the racks, Recai dragged Dayar until the man dug in his heels and brought them both to a stop.

"I go nowhere with you!" he screamed and finally wrenched out of Recai's hold. Over his shoulder, Recai could see smoke rising from where the lamp had been. The exposed wires or one of the many discarded cigarettes had ignited the clothing.

"We have to leave, now!" Recai reached out to grab Dayar, but the man had pulled something out of his pocket and was backing away.

"The whole place is going to burn! You aren't safe!"

"You are so right about that," Dayar sneered before lunging, aiming the tip of his butterfly knife toward Recai's throat.

Recai watched the knife move through the air. He lifted his arm in defense, turning as he ducked. The knife slid deep into his shoulder.

Recai sunk to his knees in pain and yanked the knife out, dropping it to the ground. The blade had missed his artery but cut deep into the muscle. Blood oozed from his wound. The screams of the murderous crowd shifted from lust for blood to fear for their lives as the fire blazed across the racks, surrounding them in flames. Dayar had fled.