But on that day the faithful will mock the unbelievers as they recline upon their couches and gaze around them.
--The Koran
He'd be guided by voices. That's what he'd been told. But unlike the Great Prophet whose name he had adopted, he was not required to memorize his instructions, merely to obey them. He looked down at the mobile phone, which had been modified to only receive calls on certain frequencies, frequencies that changed to avoid detection. That was what they had told him.
"You will hear our voices but not be able to reply. This is so that the unbelievers may not trace your signal. It is vital that you do everything exactly as we tell you."Voices. He'd never meet the men who would give him his instructions yet he trusted them implicitly. They were fighting for the same cause.
He clicked the mobile onto his belt, connected the earphone and adjusted it in his ear. A voice startled him. It was a man's voice, thin and nasal, like the Hero's.
"Praise be to Allah, Lord of Creation, King of Judgement-day! Him alone we worship and to Him alone we pray for help. Mohammed, you must prepare to leave. Take with you some money and also your nametag from work. Put them in your pockets. Now go. Allah's blessing be upon you and your mission."Without delay, he did as he was told and left the flat, locking the door behind him so as not to provoke the suspicions of his neighbours. A different voice spoke. It was old and wheezy and reminded him of an aged professor he'd had at school.
"We shall drive the sinful in great hordes into Hell-fire. Listen carefully to what you must do. First you must go to the petrol station and buy a full canister of petrol. Then you must make your way to the Tower of Babel..."Mohammed listened carefully and then set about carrying out his orders. In ten minutes time he stood in front of the building, which was easily recognizable, its great height making it a hub around which the city spun.
"Attach your name tag so that it is clearly visible. Once inside you must take the canister to the basement. You will then be told what to do with it."He approached the tall building, steeling himself for the coming ordeal. The glass doors opened splitting his reflection in two as he entered. He found himself in a large room. Clients and customers milled about its polished marble floor like African game at a water hole. No one gave him a second glance as he stood by the door, uncertain how to proceed.
"Mohammed" said a new voice, deep and throaty,
"ask the guard."Standing next to the door was a uniformed security man. Mohammed turned to him with a smile.
"Excuse me, please. Could you tell me where I can find the basement?"
He had his head turned slightly so that the man wouldn't notice the earphone. The guard looked him up and down and read his nametag: John Turner, Technician, before replying. He pointed to a door marked 'STAFF ONLY' and said "Go through that door, down the passage, turn right and you'll find it at the end of the corridor. You'll need to get Mr. Hammond to unlock it for you. You'll find his office in the same corridor on your left."
* * *
A few moments later he was standing in front of a door marked 'Edward Hammond, Resource Manager.'
"Knock."He did so.
"Come in, come in" called a voice from within. Mr. Hammond was a small middle-aged man, whose balding head was crowned by an untidy laurel of greying hair. His watery grey-blue eyes blinked from behind his spectacles as he eyed the visitor.
"Good morning, sir. I was told to take this canister to the basement. Do you think you could unlock the door for me?"
"That's odd. Nobody told me anything about this. It must be that fool Higgen's fault. He never remembers anything. Wait a moment while I phone and check." He turned to his desk and lifted the telephone receiver.
"Kill him."He needed no further urging for the sight of a stone Buddha on a shelf had set his blood boiling. Picking up the offending statue he crossed the room in two strides and brought it down upon the man's head with all his strength. The man cried out but the second blow cracked his skull and silenced him. Mohammed hit him repeatedly until the body had ceased to move. Then he stopped and listened.
Silence. No one had heard. He checked the man's pockets and found a bunch of keys and a lighter. Mohammed smiled.
Leaving the idolaters corpse, he made his way to the basement. After rummaging around for a bit he found some plastic bags and a roll of duct tape, which he used to cover the fire detector. As an afterthought he pocketed a screwdriver someone had left there and then proceeded to pour petrol over everything.
"They shall burn in Hell; evil shall be their fate."As the voice died in his ears he set the lighter to the fuel and stepped back. The room blazed. Turning his back to the furnace he retreated from the room, locked the door and leaned heavily against it. The corridor was empty. He straightened and walked calmly back to the main hall. On entering, he began to whistle and, without breaking his stride, he went straight to the guard.
"Excuse me again, sir. Mr. Hammond told me there was a problem with the door and asked me if I could have a look at it while I'm here. Apparently someone in Management complained."
"There's no problem with the door."
"What a mess! Somebody else has probably already fixed it. Still there's no harm in checking. If you'll allow that is?"
"Alright, there's one control box here and another outside. Whatever you do, don't jam the door or it'll cause no end of trouble."
"I'll check the outside one first. It's more likely to have a fault."
So saying, he stepped outside and unscrewed the box's cover. The guard watched him through the door. He saw the technician peer into the works, his brow furrowing. Then a smile came over the man's face and he beckoned to the guard.
"Is there something wrong after all?"
"Just take a look at this," he said, pointing to the mass of wires and electronics he'd exposed. He moved back to give the guard some room.
"I can't see -" The guard broke off in mid sentence and whirled round as he felt his pistol being snatched from its holster. Mohammed darted away and pointed it at the wide-eyed guard. The fire alarm rang. Mohammed smiled.
* * *
Catherine, the head waitress from the café opposite, stared horrified as the man shot the guard. He fired again at someone inside the building and then shot twice more, destroying the motion detectors on either side of the doors. He began to rummage in the control box, ignoring the screams and shouts coming from both sides. Catherine turned and screamed at the other waitresses "Call the police now!
* * *
It had been a simple matter for him to lock the doors, but glass could be broken. Mohammed reached up and grasped the bottom rung of the grate they used at night. With an effort he pulled down the bars turning the building into a cage. Inside people screamed. They had seen the smoke. He turned and gazed at the rapidly emptying café. Two fountains bubbled in the courtyard in front of it, heedless of the panic and mayhem surrounding them. Mohammed walked straight past them and faced the three petrified waitresses who, like the rabbit before the car, hadn't the wit to run.
"We will deliver those who fear Us, but the unbelievers shall be left to endure the torments of hell."Flames drove the terrified people against the glass doors, which did not open and could not be forced. The glass shattered and the throng crushed itself against the bars.
Mohammed sat on a chair outside the café, surrounded by bubbling fountains and dark-eyed maidens, who reclined shaking by his side. In his left hand he held a glass of sparkling water, aromatic and sweet of taste. In his right he held the pistol with which he kept the police and firemen at bay.
"The righteous shall surely dwell in bliss. Reclining upon soft couches they will gaze around them and in their faces you shall mark the glow of joy."A multitude of hands reached out from behind the bars, groping and flailing. Some bled, cut by the broken glass; others had been broken against the bars. Some merely twitched, their owners having been crushed to death. People suffocated in the black smoke that billowed forth and those at the back began to catch fire. Their screams rent the air.
Mohammed smiled.
* * *
The police sniper carefully sighted Mohammed's head and fired.
"He's hit! I confirm; the terrorist is hit."
As the police and fire-fighters rushed forward, Catherine pushed away the dead man's body with a shudder. His headphone caught on her hand and, after a moment's hesitation, she traced the wire down to the phone.
The phone's screen was blank.
