Fan Fiction ❯ DARTS ❯ Darts ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1.

 

Darts.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

Dark is the room where a man sits nude in a lotus position on a plush oriental carpet in its center. Alone in his darkness, he contemplates the culmination of his plans he has labored to bring to fruition for four years now. Revenge, he seeks for the atrocities committed against him and his people by infidels. They all must die - one by one, few by few, groups by groups and masses by masses. Slowly suffering in fear of the wrath of Allah they will experience for all eternity. Deafening is the silence in his room somewhere on this earth. A tiny green light begins flickering on a pillow next to the man meditating. Reaching for the light before it starts to chime its tune, he quickly opens it. The silence is shattered as he flips it open with a thumb and presses the button to connect the call. “Speak!” the man commands into his cell phone.

 

 

“Allah be with you Master, for it is Allah I dedicate my life to serve.”.

 

 

“Rashid! You will meet Allah in Person sooner than you think if you are calling to report anything is not going according to plan.”.

 

 

The man known as Rashid replies with a quiver in his voice, “Everything is going as you have ordered, Master. It was not simple locating the gem stones you decided to change on the map, but it has been done. I do not see why you wanted them changed, Master. It cost us a precious twelve hours, not to mention the three hundred thousand dollars additional expense . . .”.

 

 

“Silence, you insolent pig!” the Master interrupted. “I am the one who conceived this masterful plan and the money means nothing compared to what we will do in the name of Allah. Everything must be perfect. To date, I have spent thirteen billion dollars on this plan. Three hundred thousand is but a drop in the bucket, although it could be the grain that tips the scales in our favor. Tell me about the Dart, Rashid.”.

 

 

“Dart? Oh yes, the dart, Master. It was delivered by Yasser Arafat personally, on Monday. I must say, Master, I saw it myself. The dart and its case is truly a gift fit for a king; gold inlaid intricately around the platinum shaft in ancient runes that will take a millennium to decipher if they even try, its flights durable but, light as a feather of a unique alloy consisting of gold and platinum, And its tip a one of a kind golden polymer like a standard electronic dartboard's except its color and the fact that will adhere in a hole of solid gold. It is incredible that it remains light and balanced considering its components. Its case, made of solid gold which is not apparent, excepting the golden words on top in two lines, `For The Most Difficult Decisions' and `May Your Aim Be True' no other gold is seen. Obscured by glistening sapphires, diamonds and rubies so closely set it glows brightly with only a single ray of light. But, Master, why give such a wondrous thing to this infidel?”.

 

 

“All in good time, Rashid. All in good time. I think in the near future, it will be mine again. But, not until it has done its deed, much like the steed of Troy. By then, it will be a symbolic memento I will cherish until Allah calls me to his side. Known as the sacred dart that punctured the heart of the eagle, it will pass to the leaders of the world, forever, serving as a reminder that it only takes a true aim and Allah's aid to extinguish the flame of infidels polluting this sacred mother earth. “.

 

 

“Rashid does not understand, Master. You have revealed little of the plan to me. You tell me to do this and Rashid does. Nothing I have done appears to be connected. Yet, Rashid does and continues to do, all in the name of Allah for you, Master. Still I do not understand.”.

 

 

“Time and patience, faithful servant of Allah. Time and patience, Rashid. Things will begin to clarify once the tanker is loaded with oil and ready to sail.”.

 

 

“Suppose something happens to you, Master. Nobody knows the plan besides you. I know it is supposed to destroy the infidels but, that is about all I know other than the tasks I have carried out. What if they get you first?”.

 

 

“Do not concern yourself with these thoughts, Rashid. Yes, only I understand what is to be. It is vital to the plan, no other knows. For this reason, no one has lived to leave our employ. Do you believe for a moment I would still be alive with the entire world hunting me if Allah was not protecting me? Allah has chosen me to clean His world of the toxic infidels. He will see that I complete my task He has assigned me. There is no other with the power and means I possess. This I could not have without Allah's blessing. Allah will protect me from harm until it is time for me to join Him at His side.”.

 

 

“Allah protect you then, Master. I have faith in Allah.”

 

 

“Rather than worry about me, Rashid, worry about the Russians. They are a sloppy people. When will my submarines be ready? I expected reports from the sea trials yesterday.”.

 

 

“The sea trials are completed as of this morning, on two of them. The last one is awaiting the arrival of our captain from Palestine. He is suffering from a bad case of the flu, Master, but he should be ready the day after tomorrow.”.

 

 

“See to it that his flu is fatal, Rashid. We have six more captains at our disposal, correct? Who was that young one I liked? I want him in command in six hours and out to sea in four more.”.

 

 

“David? He may have the highest scores of all our captains on paper, Master, but he has less than a fourth of the time at sea as any. He is only thirty years old.”.

 

 

“Age does not preclude any abilities for our purpose, Rashid. Skill is what we need. There are no obvious weapons other than pistols on our subs. We do not have need for combat captains. What we want are dedicated, intelligent, effective captains. What we will do, no one has done before.”.

 

 

“Really, Master, should we retire a quality captain we selected after years of study because he has the flu?”.

 

“Think, Rashid! What would happen if he does get on that submarine? Would you rather replace an entire trained crew if they all get the flu? Or, is there a possibility the Israelis got to him, infected him or maybe he is not, in fact, ill at all; just being retained while they question him? It is a gamble I do not care to take.”.

 

 

“Such is life and death in a jihad, Master, I suppose. Sometimes I find it hard to take. But, I will do as you say, as always.”.

 

 

Dawn is beginning to lighten the room revealing shadows of plush pillows scattered about. Images of statues begin to appear casting faint shadows reaching across the floor like a sun dial. For most, it is the start of yet another day. This man, the Master, is ending this date. He sleeps by day and awakes at dusk, living in the shadows of darkness to avoid being seen by anyone. Only one living person ever sees him - his trusted servant, Rashid.

 

 

An extremely wealthy man is Dr. Rashid Abd al-Jabbaar in his own realm. With his doctorate in business and finance, and a minor in psychology, Rashid was taken under the wing of the Master while he was still a very young naive undergraduate in need of money for books and food.

 

 

Rashid received his doctorate in business administration to add to his degree in petroleum engineering from Harvard Business School in 1988 to add to his bachelor's degree in petroleum engineering. Master insisted on that and Rashid would have done anything he had asked since his Master had agreed to pay for everything.

 

 

Taking his studies seriously, Rashid excelled in every subject; maintaining a 4.8 grade point average throughout his schooling. This quiet, timid, faithful youth was destined to become a financial superman. The Master saw that he had every single tool at his disposal to do so until he graduated with honors. At that point, the Master provided the seed money and property so Rashid could start his business immediately after graduation.

 

 

STRAD Oil was its name derived from its English named, Saudi Arabian oil corporation, which Rashid is listed as one hundred percent owner; Saudi Trading, Refining, Acquiring & Developing Oil Company. With assets around the world of a little over twenty-seven billion dollars, Rashid can now serve his Master's wants and needs through STRAD, anonymously, since most of Master's visible assets were seized by the infidels.

 

 

Deciding Rashid's plate is full for the day; his master is ready to close this morning's briefing. With a long audible yawn he says, “Rashid, you get the submarines ready to dive. Check on the super tanker also. Be certain all will be ready in less than ten days complete with loyal crews. I want those submarines at the coordinates I gave you last week in the next seven days. I am tired and have things to attend to this morning before I retire. Call me at two tomorrow morning with a report of your progress.” .

 

 

“All right, Master. There is one other thing we need to discuss. The Russian ship builders are saying the submarines are too light in the bow. They want to put more ballast up there to offset the weight of the generators they say are large enough to light Las Vegas. With any ballast tanks added there, there will not be the empty space you specified.”.

 

 

“Russians! The damned Russians! They should have said something during the design stage and not after a sea trial! I need every millimeter of space I specified. I told both you and them long ago I was putting five thousand kilos of equipment in that space. Tell them to put a crate of anything weighing five thousand kilos and sea trial again! Advise me of the results in the morning, Rashid.”.

 

 

“They said the room was specified to be empty, Master. They want to know what you are going to put in there. The gimbaled torpedo type doors will not work for torpedoes. They are too small. They do not understand why you want no torpedo tubes, also. Those Russians are a suspicious lot, Master.”.

 

 

“Soviet pigs! Ok, tell them to keep their submarines and return your money, Rashid. Advise them we will have the Americans build our submarines.”.

 

 

“Do I still terminate the sick captain, Master?”.

 

 

“Are you listening to me, Rashid? Or, do you forget the power of money when we talk? They will not trade six billion dollars to satisfy their Russian curiosity. You will have the subs at the coordinates in less than seven days, I assure you. Good day!” The master slaps the phone shut like a castanet.

 

 

Rising to reach the remote control, the Master aims at the skylight of his windowless room and forcefully presses a button out of disgust. Silently and slowly, the shade rolls closed. Dark it is again.

 

 

Time it is to meditate and process the new developments of Rashid's report. “Has Mossad somehow discovered I am up to something? Nobody could possibly know exactly what it is. On the other hand, there are the matters of the sick captain and the newly found curiosity of the Russians. Though remote, they could be connected. The captain has been a faithful member for over fifteen years - or so we thought. If he has been sniffed out now, I must wonder, how? Perhaps there is a traitor in our midst. Some tests of loyalty should be initiated among the ranks. Yes, it seems that would be in order. A diversion might be exactly what we need to focus attention elsewhere while the final stages are assembled. The world is overflowing with infidels in need of extermination. I will dream on this today and when I awake, Allah will have enlightened.”.

 

 

Standing and seizing the remote control, the Master directs it once again toward the ceiling and presses an illuminated button that reads, “Light.” As the shade above starts to slide open, he punches the button once more. Eerie amber light emanates from the five centimeter crack the length of the room, in the center of the shade. Dim illumination pierces the darkness ever so slightly revealing tapestries and fine arts scattered tastefully around the walls of floor to ceiling slabs of white marble veined in what appears to be glistening gold. The slabs are about a meter wide each and are butted together appearing almost seamless. On alternating panels of the white marble with tiny rivers of gold, near the ceiling, there are pentagon shaped, ruby colored, faceted things. They appear to be opaque lenses inset flush in the marble. Though convex with curved faces, the edges of the facets form a star. Those other panels without ruby stars on top have the same faceted pentagons about thirty centimeters from their bottom.

 

 

Down on the floor which appears to be either mirrored glass or chromium; I say “chrome' because, even in the muted light, it reflects an iridescent deep blue, almost indigo silvered metallic surface which causes the priceless oriental rugs scattered around seem like magic carpets floating among stone clouds. As if sprinkled around this furnitureless room, pillows of a multitude of sizes and shapes lay on most of the delicately fringed magic carpets. Few of the plush cushions depict Middle Eastern scenes silk embroidered on both sides. Some covered with Corinthian leather of blood red with small mirrored shapes sown in. One possessing particularly exceptional beauty has large sapphires set in the center of its tiny reflective stars on one side. On a large suede square cappuccino colored pillow, made of horse hide, sitting adjacent to the most thick rug in the room's center, the Master's cell phone rests folded, awaiting its tiny light to begin flashing shortly before its music begins. A glistening snow white silk robe rests furled by its side.

 

 

As the Master reaches out to take the remote in his hand, thumb on its side, he presses a button labeled, “Scan.” Instantly, a marble panel recesses into the wall and slides aside. After it has completely vanished revealing four fifty centimeter square LED screens hung in a diamond pattern arranged for viewing from a stance, a black shelf with keyboard and trackball emerges at the height of the Master's abdomen. The topmost monitor comes to life while he approaches displaying a blueprint of the Master's abode on the top floor. In various places about the rooms displayed, small yellow spots resembling Ms. Pac-Man are sliding across the screen. The two screens below awaken showing more Ms. Pac-Mans scurrying about the first level and the underground bunker below. On the left screen, two minute horsemen also appear; one blue and another pink. Blue appears to be moving about in one small room adjacent to the much larger room where the pink one remains stationary at one end. Each figure contains a number as does each room but in a much larger font. Tapping the down arrow and the left arrow, the arrowhead mouse cursor bounces from the top to the center right and finally on the left center screen. A number six Ms. Pac-Man had appeared on the screen from a side entrance. With a double click on six, the bottom screen displayed text information about her and a small live video window in the upper right showing a female veiled, tugging at her robe and smoothing her hair with a palm as she rushed toward room two, the Master knew as the kitchen. “Late again.' he said to himself with a sigh, “She is a pretty one. I may have to bed her soon.” he thought.

 

 

Reviewing all of the people in his mansion, he takes a little time to watch feeds of certain numbers. The Master was satisfied and assured of his isolation in room nine, the dining room on his level as two yellow dots had just left there. And the blue horseman, number three, seemed to have made a mad dash around the center of the large room, went downstairs and quickly exited entrance one in the front. Double clicking the pink horseman, number two, and pressing the down arrow once, he then double clicked the video image of her. Pressing the top of the bottom monitor thus angling it up as the image filled the screen, the Master pressed a button in the center of the two middle screens marked, “Audio.”.

 

 

The room filed with the hushed moaning of a magnificently beautiful olive skinned woman with sable hair on top and below. A crimson corner of the silk sheet from her bed covered her left breast and abdomen almost to her diamond filled navel. The pinky finger of her right gently massaged the tip of her tongue - almost, but not quite sucking on it. He could see the wetness on her left center finger as it stroked, spiraling while three digits and her thumb brushed her curly hair. Sensuously writhing, she rolled her left leg opening a bit more while thrusting her fingers into her mouth gathering all the saliva she could muster. Switching hands in a near ecstatic jerk, the sheet slid to her side as she involuntarily raised both knees, lurching and with another long moan, plunging her fingers inside, pulling at herself almost convulsing in orgasm following with a few feminine grunts. “Adeeb is not worthy of you, my morning star.” Clutching his own throbbing manliness and continuing his thought, “I do certainly hope six is late again tomorrow.”.

 

 

Squeezing himself as if to say, “Patience”, the master took the control device and tapped, “Scan.” Scooping and swinging his robe so it almost floated down to be donned gracefully as the marble slab crept closed. Scanning the remote for “Dine” and activating it, yet another marble slab recessed and vanished. Simultaneously, a black slab in the hallway crept to a close leaving no evidence a room beyond it existed.

 

 

Directly through the passageway, a meter wide and three long was a grand dining room. Hewn limestone walls exposing fossils and shells surrounded the room with gaslight golden sconces draped with variegated ivies making a warm flickering addition to the three faceted amber chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, billowing tapestries draping above them. And the ruby pentagonal stars were as in the meditation room, alternating top and bottom. A table both long and wide, centered in the room, was of polished ebony. An oval conveyor like contraption extended, centered, traversed around the table containing a variety of fresh fruits, dried fruits, vegetables, shelled nuts, meats, deserts, carafes of wine, chilled champagne, pitchers of water, fresh teas and various delicacies presented beautifully in sterling vessels designed to keep all at their optimum temperatures for consumption. Around this not so lazy Susan were place settings of fine bone china, crystal goblets, pewter mugs and gold utensils resting in their proper place on canary yellow silk napkins. In each of the twenty-seven plates, was a golden colored fine linen napkin origami meticulously folded in a swan. Creamy in both texture and color, leather rolling chairs of comfort so plenty, one sitting felt as if they were being swallowed, bordered the massive table resting on a parquet floor. So finished with thick crystal clear epoxy was the intricately laid floor of palm wood, rosewood, cocobolo and ebony, one felt as if it was deep as a thick carpet. The room was truly a dining hall of a king if not a God. And yet, the entire household, residents, servants and guests all dined here at their assigned times; the food being freshened and replenished on schedule around the clock.

 

 

As the Master sat alone in his place at the table's head, he perused the offerings and sniffed the wafts of enticing scents emanating from the food that passed in front of him and the fresh cut aromatic flowers, herbs, and spices as if on an island centered on the table. To the right of his utensil napkin was a touch sensitive panel on which he could slide the tip of a finger to speed, slow, stop or reverse the parade of dishes in front of him. He ate well.

 

 

Reaching for a stemmed maraschino cherry, half covered with whipped cream, sitting atop a slowly passing parfait, the Master felt satiated with his final morsel. Rolling away from the table, he rose to return to the meditation room. Tapping “Dine” upon his arrival; thus closing his passage and permitting entrance from the outside hallway. Selecting and activating, “Bath” on the device in his hand, he watched another white panel complete its closing as another revealed a set of steps descending. The scent of earthly things rose like a cloud as he stepped from his room of sky down to his tropical grotto. Like a garden of Eden it was. Babbling waterfalls spotted around the smoothly rounded black stone walls gave an ambiance of peace and tranquility. Canaries and finches flitting from branch to stem of the ficus benjamina, bromeliads and fragrant orchids carpeting almost completely from the translucent skylight above down and across the sculpted terrain. Date and royal palms reaching up from the island in the center of the black pool where jets and bubbles churned the lilac scented water. A thin mist of fog from the temperature of the water floated and rolled atop its surface. The walk leading to the steps in the pool was seven centimeters deep, filled with minute perfect spheres of jet black obsidian, both cushioning his steps and massaging his feet as he walked.

 

 

There was no need to scan this room again after dining because it is sealed from all other entry access between the hours of 9:00PM and 10:00AM everyday. Along the walk was a gem encrusted golden statue of five king cobras entwined. The topmost, standing nearly two meters tall, its hood fully extended, mouth agape bearing long fangs and eyes of rubies was a perfect fit between the fangs for the control device. A quarter meter below, the master hung his shiny silk robe on the lower fangs of the next serpent's head. The two next snakes held plush black towels with an unusual texture more like suede than terry. And dangling from each of the bottom fangs was a sponge on a delicate golden chain and a platinum basket of scented soap snake eggs.

 

 

Standing on the sides of the path at pool's edge was two exaggerated golden cobra heads, also with fanged mouths opened wide. On the right, a black bone china cup and saucer sits on the table like serpent's head. The left side cobra hooded table top held four crystal goblets. As the Master stepped down the intricately etched black marble steps into the water, an egg and sponge in hand, he dropped them into a small carved-in shallow basin at the water's edge. Plunging prone underwater, with a few breast strokes, the Master propels himself around the island. Surfacing and gently fluttering his legs while floating, face above water, he returns to the steps. Lathering the sponge to a sweet smelling foam while sitting on the second step, he cleanses his body.

 

 

Diving once more to rinse, he settles on the curved double wide bubbling black underwater lounge. Reaching for a goblet from the cobra's head beside him, and passing it beneath the upper right fang; the crystal is filled as if with venom but, in actuality, fine red wide. Sipping a second serving of wine, his body begins to leaden and his mind starts to numb. Slowing the thought of his plan and having relaxed his once taught muscles, he rises to leave the womb warmth of his bath.

 

 

As the Master stops at the serpents to dry with the luxurious towel, once more he dons his robe and on his way out, drops the dampened towel in a black container at the base of the steps. Poof! It bursts into flames and almost instantly, completely vanishes. Halfway up the stairs, clicking on “Bath” once again and “Scan” immediately after, The monitors fill with floor plans and numbered icons about the place. Bishops eight and ten appear to be in their quarters sleeping. Rook nine is in security control one next to the foyer. Vacant is the top floor hallway and room seven. A tap of “Bed” and “Scan” on his controller a hallway door panel is sealed and a slab moves revealing the Master's bedroom. Monitors cease to exist as if by magic. In the hall, a passage to the bedroom is sealed.

 

 

“Rest, I need this day so I may dream the biddings of Allah. But before I slumber, I must first see the location of Allah's diversion.” Retiring to this very strange room with a floor, glass smooth but entirely covered with the same starred pentagons as in the other rooms.- facets clearly apparent, but covered by clear acrylic. The walls and ceiling, also completely tiled in the ruby stars; all embossed with the stellar facets, not smooth like the floor. A crimson glow of light in a singular band of red stars gives the sensation of being inside a massive precious ruby. On the wall opposite the doorway, a framed hand painted map of the world covers an area three meters wide and two tall beneath the lights.

 

 

The map is inset and white lights along the inside edges give the painting its true natural colors. Dropping his white silken robe in a metal crimson canister, it instantly ignites and vanishes in seconds. The Master knows new ones are contained in the ruby glass armoire adjacent. Opposite of the sealed hallway panel lies his his rosewood turned four poster nautilus king sized bed with a gold and black comforter depicting a scene from the Taj Mahal like a Beardsley pen and ink. A simple black silk tapestry drapes from the posts. Two blood red glass night stands flank the bed. On one, a silk blindfold and a solid diamond encrusted platinum case rests. The other, two goblets and a matching pitcher of rose crystal containing water stand.

 

 

Setting his control device next to the diamond case, he lifts the top revealing a dart, exactly like the one Arafat delivered in his secret meeting excepting the tip which is sharply pointed. Covering his eyes with the blindfold after taking the dart, he throws it at the world of cork. Tossing the blindfold on the bed, the Master follows the dart to the map. “Japan? How odd, Allah. A deception in Japan. I see wisdom in this, Allah. As I dream today, You will further enlighten, I am certain.” And the Master parted the sheets and slid into the bed. Taking the remote in his hand and pressing, “Sleep”, and sliding the device in a carved charging pocket in a post beside his head before he donned the blindfold.

 

 

Dim red lights appeared all round the room and as if tuning grid like beams, finally focusing into tight deadly beams vertically and horizontally everywhere except where furniture lay. Aware but unseeing, the Master drifts off into a deep sleep, certain of his safety.

 

 

Another man sleeps, but not without rest. Tossing and turning; trying subconsciously to find a position of comfort - he aches all over. Sweat pours from his brow stinging his closed eyes. Feeling it all in spite of unconsciousness, he dreams of demons burning his veins from within and asking insane questions. “What is your full name?” sneers one demon.

 

 

“Rafael! Rafael Aashiq Widaad! Please make it stop! The pain, it is too much for one to bear! Pleeeeaaaase!” Raf pleads to the demon intimidating him.

 

“Tell us your real name, Rafael, or the pain will increase!” another demonic creature shouts as he too leans over him.

 

 

 

“Simon knows I am telling the truth! We went to school together as children. Tell them, Simon, please! Why are you doing this to me? Have we not been friends all our lives? Make them stop! Please!”.

 

 

“Die or do as they ask, Rafael. It is you who has strayed down the dark path my old friend. Answer all of the questions truthfully! Who do you serve?”.

 

 

“Allah! I serve only Allah! You know that, Simon! It is the only difference between us. Hurt me no more, please!” Submarine Captain Rafael Aashiq Widaad begs his childhood friend and Allah under his fading breath.

 

 

“Rafael, tell us about your mission. Whose submarine are you commanding?” an unseen demon demands in a softened but firm voice.

 

 

Thinking his heart was about to explode, Rafael tried desperately to recall his training for just this sort of torture. He had been warned it would be worse than the exercises they had practiced. Never in his most horrible drug induced nightmares had he even remotely imagined he would be in such pain. Just when he thinks he can bear no more pain and it can get no worse, another surge of even more intense fire ignites from inside his chest. Hell is inside him burning his soul. Even Allah Himself cannot save such a blackened charred soul!.

 

“Saturday! Saturday, Simon, this Saturday, I am supposed to take command of a Russian diesel-electric submarine. A research vessel, that is all! The only weapons on board will be pistols - mine and my officers'. The sub does not even have any systems for torpedoes. No defenses, not even bridge guns, Simon! Spare me, I can take no more!” With that statement, he passes out.

 

 

“Do you think he is telling the truth?” Simon says. “I have never seen anyone withstand that much. I only reported his plan to go to Russia for a year because a Palestinian submarine captain normally does not do such a thing. Their subs are always delivered in whatever sad shape they arrive in. Possibly, somebody has gotten smarter and decided to have them personally checked before those idiots are paid.”.

 

 

“Although Simon may be correct in his analysis, we cannot afford to take any chances.” the soft spoken man sitting in the dark corner said. “I tell you what to do. Implant that mini-locator, the one actuated by heat, in his neck. It is small enough not to be noticed on any standard X-ray. Put a micro shock timer on the other side set to cause a nagging pain lasting a few minutes, every three hours. We will inject him with the flu, here also and at the same time knock him out for a day. Uniformed officers will take him home and put him in bed. Order his doctor to visit once and call in a specialist - our specialist. He will administer the American's new drug that erases short term memory and almost cure the flu by Sunday. A day late should not affect a research mission. Also, our doctor should tell his wife that his neck pain will be quickly alleviated by a hot water bottle. Let us watch where this Captain Widaad goes for a while. Most likely, he will infect his crew in a submarine in case they are up to no good.”.

 

 

“Right you are, Commander. We have everything in the lab here. He will be home, in bed and ill within four hours; sufficiently for his wife to call his doctor. If his doctor knows what is good for him and his family, our specialist will attend this poor sick submarine captain.” said the sneering demonic agent of Rafael's dreams.

 

 

“Tell me, sir. What if he remembers I have betrayed him?” asks Simon.

 

 

“Simon, you visit him tomorrow evening to insure everything is going according to schedule. Comfort his wife. Help him with a hot water bottle on schedule and if he should wake and have memories left, assure him he has had a very high fever and violent nightmares. All right! We all have jobs to do, get to it!”.

 

 

 

During the next two days and two nights, Captain Widaad had violent nightmares of demons and betrayal. The demons, at first, seemed to be his friends and family. As they repeated over and over in his mind, they became faceless red monsters flying into his own face and out the back of his head. Every once in a while, one devilish face would jab him in the back of his neck on its way out, leaving a throbbing pain.

 

 

Abra, his wife, was trying to gently ease a hot water bottle beneath his neck when he woke at noon on Saturday. “There, there my beloved, the doctor said this will make you feel better in no time.” Rafael rolled on his side permitting the warm plastic pouch to be properly placed. Miraculously, within minutes, the neck pain was gone, although his entire body ached. Something about Simon, he remembered but, the whole world seemed fuzzy right now. It was all he could do to look into those dark, concerned, loving eyes of Abra and force a smile to her. She smiled back and said, “What a terrible shame it is to have spent your last days home like this. It would have made me very happy to have spent these days with you in bed, but this is not what I had in mind at all.”.

 

 

Remembering his flight to Russia, Rafael bolted upright. “What day is this? How long have I been fighting these demons? Has the Admiral called with my exact time of departure? I must get my bags packed. Abra, help me get up and get packed!”.

 

 

“Time out, Rafael! Time out! Everything has been attended to; except your packing, of course, which you never allow any assistance with. I am quite surprised you asked just now for the first time. Today is Sunday. At first, your flight was rescheduled for today and the doctor said you are cleared for takeoff. Only, this afternoon that nice officer, your usual driver, came by and told me you will fly at 3:00PM Monday. He was so worried about you. And Simon visited for the past two evenings. You screamed awful things at him before you passed out each visit. I think you have had some terrible nightmares. Now lie back and relax. You are still not yourself. That was one bad bout with the flu you have had.” Abra said. Shoving him back to his pillow, then taking a bottle of pills from the nightstand, shaking out two in her palm. “It is time to take these.” Handing them to her husband and reaching for a glass of water.

 

 

Sipping the water and swallowing with a huge feigned gulp making it very obvious to Abra the capsules were much more difficult to swallow than they actually were. Granted, sore throat and the size of the caps did make them a bit hard to swallow. The Captain stretched his neck up like a turtle trying to right its shell and said with a cough, “Are you certain, my love, you did not call a veterinarian to cure me? I do believe those pills are for a horse.”

 

 

“Dearest Rafael, my weakling boat captain, they most certainly are not for a horse! Those pills are for a pig! The doctor said you had the swine flu!” With a playful giggle, Abra swatted him using her pillow and a tussle ensued.

 

 

 

Alongside a vacant house two doors down from the Widaad residence, a black van sits parked facing the street, in the dark, sliding side door ajar. Hours prior, from the crack in the door, a lone man had watched lights in the house extinguish one by one. When finally the light blue glow from the bay window in the living room blinked out, the occupant of the van checked to be sure the drapes behind the front seats were securely closed. And with a small amber light he placed to stand on a table, he inspected the items on that pedestal table in front of his stool in the cargo area of the van. Three tiny metal funnels were stacked inside each other. Taking out the innermost, looking at its spout he noted, two millimeters. Nudging it, as he set it down, it rolled in a circle. Removing the next, four millimeters, he knew. It also rolled in a circle not far from the first as if timed to form a rolling figure eight on the table. Knowing the largest was six millimeters, he set it in motion with a flick of his forefinger so nimbly executed that all three rolled in harmony, never touching, making a nearly invisible pyramid of rings in the reflection of the dim light illuminating them.

 

Reaching for a rectangular object that appeared to be two metal bars stacked on top of each other, the dark hooded man thumbed the top plate that had three holes about the same size of the funnel tips along its center. Sliding a finger along the bottom plate, he felt the smoothness of the surface. Prying between the plates with the nail of his thumb, they separated with three distinct clicks. A post in each corner appeared, holding the plates apart by a centimeter at the final, fully extended, click. There were three indentations bored in the smooth bottom plate the same size of their holes above. Setting the tiny rack near the barely rolling funnels, he reached for a glass vial.

 

 

Topped with a cone, the vial appeared not much dissimilar to a sugar shaker, excepting it was a bit smaller than a standard sized salt shaker. A button on its side protruding from a shaft is evidently the means of opening to pour its contents. Its glass vial was about three quarters full of what looked quite similar to talcum powder mixed with salt, only it appeared yellow perhaps by the illumination.

 

 

Sitting beside a stiffened topless paper box that could have been an ash tray had it not been crafted of wooden pulp, was a gun shaped device, fifteen centimeters in overall length and as it lay on the table, one centimeter tall at its peak. Its handle, more like the grips of a pair of stainless steel pliers than anything, terminated into a tiny barrel at its tallest place. The business end of the barrel was a strip of stainless steel, five centimeters long, three millimeters wide and only a millimeter thick. Along the stainless strip was a stainless wire as thick as the strip to which it was attached. Arcing from the very tip to the barrel forming a bow, it was poised stiffly a maximum of five millimeters away from the side of the strip. Grasping the handle with his left, the man picked it up and squeezed. Before the grips met, the bow straightened along the strip's edge. With a muffled click, the wire sprung back. Deftly tossing the gun that wasn't a gun to his right, he rapid fired the device. The little bow repeated its popping almost silently. Slipping the thing in a right side pocket of his black robe, the dark figure reached for the final item on his table - a gun.

 

 

Depressing the clip release by the trigger guard with his thumb, the fat clip of the Glock 22 dropped only slightly. Sliding it out of the Pachmayr gripped plastic butt, he held the backside of the clip noting the fifteen holes all filled with nickel plated brass under the dim amber light. With a firm slap, the clip locked back in place. Easing the slide back ever so slightly with the ejector opening under the amber light, he made certain a shell was chambered. Gun gripped firmly in his right as if ready to release its Black Talons, his forefinger rests straight on the trigger guard. Punching the slide release with the resting index digit, a lens beneath the vented cylinder screwed into the barrel, starts to faintly flicker crimson. Magically, a rapidly flashing red dot appears on the rear door inside the van - the beam casting it, invisible. The man turns off the spring rod laser sight and slips the Glock into a plastic holster strapped to his bare chest inside his robe.

 

 

As he stows the pistol to his person, he reaches to the floor under the little table and extracts an elongated rectangular set of black goggles from an opened case, turning them on while adjusting the strap behind his head, he quickly extinguishes the dim amber light because its apparent brightness hurts his eyes.. He can now clearly make out every detail of the black van's spare tire and jack secured in the corner. Sliding slowly the van's door, he exits.

 

 

Reading the display on top of the special night vision goggles, Sunday becomes Monday.. From shadow to shadow he floats, liquid in his motion, toward the house darkened two and a half hours prior. Through the glass of the bay in front, the shadow watches a woman on the couch cuddling a comforter to her chin as she slept. Back toward the van, the black robed and hooded man crept rounding the corner of the one bedroom suburban house. Over a rattling window unit air conditioner, he peered at the captain slumbering on his side facing a nightstand with a with a shaded lamp, alarm clock, half filled glass and a prescription bottle atop the stand's surface.

 

 

Tripping on a rose bush, almost toppling while he raced to rip his robe free from the prickly stems, the burglar bumped the gate of a chain link fence. Stopping to inhale the silence, excepting the climate control clatter, he raised the hasp. Stealthily sliding to the rear door, he looked through its panes. Past the refrigerator, adjacent to the door, he could see a cat clock over a table. A curved hanging tail swaying back and forth, two ears above a kitty face with round eyes seemingly scanning the room; the black cat's belly verified ten minutes had passed.

 

 

Seizing quickly the gun shaped device from his right pocket, he inserts the tip into the top deadbolt. With a few clicks and a little jiggling to the left, the tumbler turned only a little. It wasn't locked! The knobbed lock was. Clicking and jiggling, first left then right, a click-pop broke the silence as the button inside extended. A twist of the knob while pocketing his pick proved insufficient to open the door. Firmly shoving, he freed the sticking jamb silently. With one finger he pushed carefully in an attempt to instantly detect the squeak of a hinge before it became audible. Opened wide, the dark figure felt atop the refrigerator checking the heft of the boxes there. Taking the heaviest and placing it on the floor holding the door in place - open.

 

 

Darting deftly to the door of the captain's bedroom, the assassin stops. Slowly twisting the knob and slowly shoving so it opens just sufficiently to enter. He scans the room. Keeping an eye on the sleeper as he crept to the nightstand, left hand on his gun, the intruder grabs the bottle on the table. A cough and a moan instantly slides the pistol from the holster. A hole torn by the rose blinks red momentarily, flashing on the floor briefly before vanishing altogether while the sick man rolls over curling into a fetal position beneath the blanket. Retreating, silently shutting the door behind him, the wraith like figure disappears quickly leaving the back door agape.

 

 

Atop his stool in the van, the man sits in front of the table again as if transported there along with the pill bottle on the top. The amber mini light glows once again and the goggles are carefully placed in their case below. Squeezing, pushing and twisting the top off the adult proof pill bottle in both hands, it is uncapped. Dumping its contents into the tray, he fingers and counts a baker's dozen. Sliding apart the two halves of the first, flicking each part with a fingernail, its powder falls into the tray. Slipping the empty inner half into the hole that most closely fits in the tiny rack which he also stands in the tray with the powder and capsules. Taking and steadily holding the largest funnel in the hole in the racked gelatin container; with his other hand; he tips the coned topped vial tapping the button thrice. . Like the sands of an hour glass, crystals tumble through and into the tiny red test tube. As a mound develops on top, he stands the vial and sets the funnel in the tray. The top half of the cap is stabbed together with its filled bottom. Squeezing both ends of the capsule, compacting it firmly, with a ping it plops into the plastic bottle prepared to do its deed of death. Twelve more times he separates, stands, tips, tops and plops. Then capping the bottle with a twist-click and dropping it into his right pocket with the pick.

 

 

Resting on the nightstand an uneventfully returned bottle of pills wait for morning light while a dark van, two doors down, rolls toward the road turning left without braking - its headlights beaming on the pavement but not until a block away. Overhead, clouds flash followed by fierce thunder. A half filled topless glass vial shatters on the road in the wake of the van and a crumpled paper tray rolls atop of the chards as rain starts to wash crystalline powder into a pothole. The driver considers Allah approves of a job well done.

 

 

 

 

“Time to rise and shine swab! Start packing sleepyhead! The Admiral's aide just called to confirm your recovery. After last night's performance, I took the liberty to assure her you could indeed dive and raise a periscope.” Abra giggled. “I will still refuse to kiss you on your lips, my love, for I do not want your bug. Your escort will be here at noon to take you away from me.”

 

 

Staring at the eyes of his wife as he sat up, swinging his legs to the floor, Rafael yawned and stretched arms wide before rubbing his own eyes with clenched fists, then once again focusing on her gaze from those sparkling, loving, bedroom eyes. “Tell me, my dear, how will you be able to save yourself for only me while your wandering captain is away, you sex starved woman? Or, will you, as soon as my plane takes off, grab some sailor by his genitals and drag him to our bedroom and ravish him while that contraption rattles away?” Rafael jokes, pointing at the air conditioner over his shoulder with a hitchhiker's thumb.

 

 

“Damn you Captain Rafael Aashiq Widaad! How could you say such things?” Picking up a duffel from the floor and throwing it at his face. Abra's fury subsides swiftly and softly she says while sitting beside him and stroking his thigh with the back of her nails, “I bought a little plastic thing and a year's supply of batteries for while you are away. I named it `Admiral' after your soon to be rank. Besides, I will be fat and ugly while you are gone.”.

 

 

“Abra, now who is making crazy statements? You are but a long lanky vine of a woman with two firm ripe tomatoes on your chest ready to be plucked.” Raf says with a quick pinch of a nipple. “You will never be fat and ugly; at least not in the next hundred years. Might I have a bit of tomato juice for breakfast?” kissing the firm fruit he'd just pinched.

 

 

Reaching for and firmly grabbing his fully up periscope, with a little shake of her fist, she said, “It is this that made certain I will be too fat and ugly to be chasing down stray sailors, grabbing their groins like this and satisfying my womanly needs! Mister knock her up and go to sea!” Watching a stunned look turn to an ear to ear grin across Raf's face, Abra gives a few tiny nods.

 

 

“Thank Allah, Abra! Glory be! You are with child?” Raf said first in excited exclamation dwindling to a stuttered question.

 

 

“Surely as this is hard now,” she purrs, sliding to her knees to swallow his swollen shaft, holding on firmly as she raised her head to kiss the top with a smile looking up at him with loving eyes.

 

 

During their passionate rocking, rolling, swinging and swaying sensual bed dance, Raf lay flat on his back, head on the pillow, firmly holding her grinding hips, he said in amazement, “A father. Never in my wildest dreams have I ever thought of being a father.” Ecstasy overcame them both and they collapsed in each other's arms, each beaded in sweat.

 

 

As the compressor of the rattling air conditioner kicked in with a thud followed by a Doppler affected low hum fading to simply clanking, Abra awoke with a start. A quick glance at the clock, she shouted, “Nine Thirty! Raf, you must get going! You have only two and a half hours to be ready and packed! Get a move on sailor! Or should I start calling you, Papa?”

 

 

Raf sprung from the bed, grabbing gear and duffels from the closet and sloppily stuffed his duffel, half-folding clothes as they were crammed into the bag. “How could you let me do this, Abra? I have already had enough time off to get bumped from the mission. And now, I am going to be late again! I must hurry!” bending over, grabbing and stuffing the duffel as he spoke. Raf stuffed and mumbled obscenities at himself with the word, “Late”, interspersed.

 

 

“Take your medicine now, Raf. It is two hours past time. You keep packing and get a shower and shave. Then get dressed and I will have a big breakfast ready for you so you can stop and remember what you forgot while you eat. You will be ready on time dear.” Shaking two capsules from the bottle and handing him his water before she ran naked to the kitchen.

 

 

Swallowing the big red caps and drinking the rest of his water, he sighed at the mess in his three quarter filled duffel bag. He dropped it, ran to the shower, shaved and brushed his teeth while scrubbing with his free hand. Tossing his things in his shaving kit after they'd been used, he at last squeezed some goop in his palm and swept his thick jet black hair back with his fingers before a fast frugal three strokes with a comb as he dropped his towel to the floor, stomping to dry his feet. In one sweep of his arm, back in the bedroom, Raf managed to extract socks, shorts and a sleeveless undershirt from his drawer. Tossing them on the bed, he swept the drawer again, taking its entire contents and poking his duffel nearly full. Tossing his toiletries in the top and with a quick jerk, cinched the taught bag into a tight cylinder.

 

 

Donning his underwear and the last shirt from the closet, he felt a stab in his side. While reaching for his slacks, belt and cap, he bent to grab his shoes and kicked his second duffel out of the closet and tossed the captain's cap on the bed. Slipping his slacks on and stringing his belt through the loops, he felt a bit woozy as he buckled the belt. Almost stumbling to his bed, the captain sat on its end slipping his feet in his shoes. With effort, he raised his leg and tied the first. Harder still, was lifting the other knee and bowing the string. With a stomping sound it hit the floor and Captain Rafael Aashiq Widaad, never to see his child, fell back on the bed; his head landing squarely on top of his captain's cap, scrambled eggs on its bill beneath his shiny black curls like a crown.

 

 

Abra was busy in the kitchen, making a royal breakfast. She hummed no song in particular, flitting here and there, still nude but, she had applied some bright red lipstick. She had even quickly darted out the back door and snatched a huge white fully opened rose before running back inside. Selecting a tall vase from the cupboard, Abra sniffed the rose and gently kissed its center, pinking the edges of the petals in the middle before placing its stem in the dry vase. Once settled, she twisted the stem slightly so the bowed bloom faced Rafael's plate. Reaching into her purse for a brush, she sauntered to the doorway between the kitchen and hallway and leaned sensuously in a backlit pose worthy of a centerfold while brushing her thick black hair top and bottom. In her softest sexiest voice she called, “Raaaaaaaaf” drawing his nickname out almost in a tune. Seconds later, thinking she hadn't projected through the door and rattle inside, she called louder, “Raaaafaaaeeeeellll, Brunch is ready. You must come now and eat!” Waiting briefly for the answer that never came; she then shouted, “Captain, it says eleven thirty on the cat! Your food is getting cold!”.

 

 

Raising her arm high while standing and turning, Abra throws the brush like a dagger into the opening in her purse on the counter across the room. Turning back quickly, her hair swinging in the motion, she stomps down the hall angrily, slamming the doorknob into the wall and screams, “Rafael, you come in the kitchen now and eat or. . . Rafael?”.

 

 

Trying to make sense of what she saw, she runs to her fully clothed husband on the bed and attempts to shake him awake. Shaking and pleading with him to get up does not rouse him. Looking around the room with tear swollen eyes, she spots the medicine bottle still on the stand and runs to grab it. Perusing the label, she sees the cell telephone number the doctor had told her was there. Running back to the kitchen to call, she frantically presses the buttons twice before she was confident she got it right.

 

 

She listens to one ringing tone. The second takes twice as long and halfway through the third, a click and, “Hello?”.

 

 

“Doctor, he has passed out. My husband is out cold. I knew he took his pills two hours late this morning but, now he is having a relapse of some sort. Please hurry, I cannot wake him!” Abra begins sobbing and coughing horribly.

 

 

“Abra? Is this Abra Widaad? Slow down girl, get your breath and tell me everything. You say he is unconscious? Captain Widaad? That is a terrible cough you have yourself my dear. We cannot afford to have you get this flu. Take one of the Captain's pills and lie down. I will be there in a half hour - sooner if I can.” The phone went dead as the doctor hung up.

 

 

Realizing her cough did not seem to be from crying, she would rather cry than cough but, she can't stop. She aches also. “The doctor must be right.” she thinks and goes to the counter and pours a glass of juice. Fighting the top, she finally wins and swallows one pill, washing it down with the juice. Capping the pills and setting the bottle beside the sink, she runs back to the bedroom.

 

 

Taking her husband by the arms and pulling him up on the bed completely, stopping only to toss his hat, she rests his head on its side on the pillow. As she does, a blood spotted mucus pours from his mouth. Seeing this Abra places her finger on the artery in his neck and feels nothing. Soft sobs become loud cries and then blood curdling wails for her dead husband, the Captain.

 

 

 

 

Slamming the doors in sequence as they exited the car parked in the captain's driveway, the two officers approached the front door and rung the bell. Time passed - no answer. One rang the bell again, calling for Captain Widaad while the other banged four times on the door. A beautiful woman in a housecoat opened the door with red swollen eyes and a tear streamed face. She cinched her robe's loose belt tightly, took a deep breath and asked with a hoarse voice, “You have come for Captain Widaad, no?” Pausing with a sniffle, she continued, “He will not be riding with you today, unless you have brought a hearse. Captain Rafael Aashiq Widaad is dead.”.

 

 

Diving to catch her as she collapsed, the officer succeeded in spite of his own shock. The driver held the door wide while the other man carried her to the couch, and then running around them to snatch the comforter. After the officer gently set her down, his driver covered her. They both stood back with blank looks on their faces. They questioned and shrugged at each other without a word. Searching the small house, they found their captain, indeed dead in his bed.

 

 

Arriving in his car, mere seconds after the naval officers entered, the doctor went immediately to the woman on the couch and felt for a pulse. A faint heartbeat existed and her breathing light and labored. “She must have fainted.” he thought and went to the bedroom to check on the captain, nearly running into the two escorts leaving the bedroom. Stepping back, the doctor spoke first, “Who are you?” in a demanding voice.

 

 

Returning the question, the uniformed naval officer who had been driving said, “I think the question should be, `Who are you?'”.

 

 

Taking a card from his shirt pocket and presenting it to the inquirer, “I am the Widaad's doctor, specializing in influenza which the captain has been suffering from all week.” .

 

 

Seizing the card and studying it and the doctor, then flicking it back at the doctor who catches it automatically, the navy man states, “You have failed most miserably for your patient, our captain, is dead.”.

 

 

“Do get my bag while I examine the captain then. It is beside the lady of the house who has fainted on the couch. Please hurry, he may still be alive.” .

 

 

Although fairly certain the captain was dead, they both went to get the doctor's bag. Upon arriving, the driver told his fellow officer to take the bag while he tried to revive the woman. “Tell him to hurry, she does not look well.”.

 

 

Realizing the captain's wife may need some water when she woke, the driver went to the kitchen to fill a glass for her. Reaching for a glass and filling it, he eyed a familiar bottle of pills beside the sink and pocketed them. He wondered, “Did she?”.

 

 

The doctor with a stethoscope now dangling from his neck had verified the captain's death and was now examining Abra upon the driver's return with the glass. “Good thinking, sir. She is coming around just now. Give me the water. Abra, can you hear me? Sit up and sip some water. You will feel a lot better.”.

 

 

Sitting up very slowly, taking the glass in a trembling hand, Abra looked nowhere in particular, smiled beautifully and said, “Rafael, I love you. Does this mean I can come with you?” The glass shatters on the floor. Abra's eyes closed peacefully on her smiling face and she fell back to the couch - never to wake again.

 

 

40
Chapter 1 - Darts

 

 

Chapter 1 - Darts
39