Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (diy ebook reader TXT) 📕

whistling noise was so loud that we didn’t hear the bell the first time. The guy packing up the weapons upstairs peeked from the top of the stairs asked, “Can I come down?”

“What’s wrong? Have you finished packing?”

“Not yet… Omar’s is on the line.” As if to emphasize this, he stretched out his arm and showed the communication device he had in his hand. “He said he has spoken with Mukhtar in the estate and he has bad news.”

Yassin nodded his head slightly and one of the men passed the device from the guy’s outstretched hand on the stairs to Yassin. He said, “I’m listening.” He listened for a few minutes and, in a quick movement, grabbed a cup that moments before had been filled with steaming tea, and smashed it on the wall opposite him. All the people present in the room held their breath.

“What do you mean, she doesn’t want to come?” He whispered those words into the telephone, sounding like a venomous cobra. I clearly understood that ‘she’ was his wife, Juliana, and also why ‘she’ didn’t want to come. I too had no wish to be on the path leading to evil self-destruction.

“She didn’t even get on the plane?” He listened to the answer and then asked, “And Muhamed? Did she send Muhamed? Tell her that if she doesn’t get on the plane and immediately, I will take a second woman to be my wife and I will send her to Afghanistan. She shouldn’t doubt me, I am serious.” The conversation ended and Yassin looked through me as if I were air. Suddenly he shook his head and smiled, “What do you say? Will she agree to come after all?”

“Do you really want my opinion?”

He sat on the edge of the table fastened to the floor, crossed his arms slowly and answered with the utmost seriousness, “Actually, yes. I want your honest opinion.”

“I think it is easier to tempt a woman with good than with bad.”

“So, what should I have done?”

“Reminded her how much fun it is to be with you. That is a lot more persuasive than…” I hinted at the surroundings circling with my finger.

He smiled and picked up the cell phone from the table. “Post a few pictures to Instagram from the club yesterday. I want the pictures with the curly blonde chick…” One of the men said he’d do it in a moment and Yassin yelled, “Not in a moment. I want it done now!” At long last a smile lit his face. The ice in the room melted a little. A weak ray of sun had managed to shine through. Yassin was charismatic, good looking and wealthy but also, he could be a scary cruel megalomaniac. It wasn’t surprising so many followed him in awe.

“You…” He pointed at me and got up from his place to hug me. “You are becoming my asset. I think that out of respect, you should become a shahid.”

How could I tell him that the idea of becoming a shahid -- someone who would die in a suicide attack, was a punishment and not an honor? How could I say that to someone like Yassin without getting a bullet in my head? I put my right hand on my chest near my heart and noted humbly, “This is a real honor for me Yassin.” I wanted to say that I would agree to be a shahid right after he died himself, but I didn’t want to gamble on how much humor he had left, not at this stage.

“We need to make our way to the location and begin putting our plan into motion. I suggest each of you go to your cabins and grab an hour’s sleep. Tomorrow, with the sunrise, we will arrive at the city and start amassing the weapons. Then we will begin sending the warriors to their allocated positions. We have a limited amount of time to make those who survive to understand the real meaning of Thanksgiving.”

Guy Niava,

Niava family home, Philadelphia,

November 14, 2015, 3:00 a.m.

Gideoni said, “We can’t know for sure, but you have put forth an interesting theory…”

“So, do you think it is possible he has a double?”

“That would explain the report that we were trying to decode a few months ago. The last time Yassin – well, most likely the real Yassin -- was seen in Europe was the beginning of the summer. Or to be specific, it was the first time the fake Yassin was seen. A crowd of noblemen went out to hunt a bird called ptarmigans, which is only found in Scotland. Yassin always participated in this event. That time, he showed inconsistency with his abilities. It was reported that everyone was talking about the fact that Yassin had lost his touch. Or in other words, the new Yassin hadn’t been groomed his whole life for such a hunt.”

“I suppose it was a trial run, to see how the people around him reacted or if they would notice the change.” A wave of adrenaline shook me out of my tired state. This theory gave us a new direction to investigate.

“Exactly. On Sunday he was an amazing marksman, as usual. On the second night a car arrived, and someone left. My men didn’t know to say whom, because no one was missing the following day. Only today, in retrospect, I understand what happened there. If your theory is correct then the real Yassin left and a new one debuted.”

“And still no one realized.”

“One of his closest friends noted that he must have ‘partied too much the night before’. Whoever thought about it chalked it up to alcohol, drugs or women.”

“Alcohol strengthens the perception of the modern Muslim man, keeping at bay the stereotype of the Islamic radical terrorist who strictly observes sharia and avoids drinking liquor,” I thought out loud. After a moment I asked, “All this happened in the summer. When exactly?”

“The hunt officially started on August the 12th.”

“So our searches in the United