Broken Justice

Chapter 2

Nizar Assadi was sweating profusely as he joined the line waiting outside the refugee camp. Although the temperature was a pleasant sixty degrees Fahrenheit, he wore a long, tattered overcoat. The reason was not to keep him warm but to conceal the heavy vest beneath it.

There were several large double pockets sewn onto the vest. The ones closest to his body contained slabs of C4 explosive, while the outer ones contained small ball bearings and rusty nails. The combination would ensure a lethal hail of shrapnel once the explosives detonated.

Nizar was Syrian and had recently been recruited by ISIS to carry out this suicide mission. Unlike most radical Islamists, he had no past of family being murdered by America or her allies. His family back in Syria were quite wealthy and he had enjoyed a privileged life up to this point.

It was only the recent discovery of advanced cancer eating away at his body that had led him down this path. With less than a month left to live, he had been approached by two men that were referred by his doctor. Just like the good doctor, they were senior members of ISIS. They had convinced him that this final heroic act on earth would glorify Allah and ensure his place in Paradise, where seventy-two beautiful virgins awaited his arrival. Although he was somewhat skeptical, what did he have to lose? Rather go out with a bang than endure a slow, painful death.

As the line began moving again and he edged closer to the entrance, he began to softly mumble several verses from the Koran that he remembered. He was relieved to see that the guards were not searching anybody, just directing them to a large administration hall.

His instructions had been clear. Keep your hands clear of the jacket pockets until you are inside the administration hall. Once he was inside, he would depress the plunger on the dead man’s switch. He would eventually be called into a smaller room where the infidels were running background checks on the refugees. Once inside, he would release the plunger and take his rightful place in Paradise.

* * *

Mark brought the golf cart to a halt and indicated the fenced-off area ahead of us. “Once the refugees have been successfully vetted, they are moved into this area. It is completely self-contained with living, eating and bathing facilities. They are not allowed to leave this secure area until they board the trucks for the airport, where they are flown to various European cities.”

“How long do they have to wait in there?” Danni asked.

“Good question,” Mark replied. “Usually about two to three weeks on average. Most European countries are only too happy to take refugees that have already been vetted, as they have quotas to fill.”

“How kind of them.” Danni’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

I gave her a look. “Now, now, Danni, be nice. I’m actually amazed that they are still taking refugees at all after the latest bombing in Paris.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she grudgingly conceded.

Just then Captain Smith’s hand flew up to his earpiece and he tapped Mark on the shoulder. “We have a Code Black,” he said urgently.

Mark instantly got the golf cart moving and headed towards the security and surveillance building he’d pointed out earlier.

Noting the concern etched on my brother’s face I asked, “What the hell is a Code Black?”

“Someone just entered the camp with explosives,” he explained.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“That innocent-looking wooden frame as you enter the camp conceals the latest x-ray and bomb-detection equipment,” he replied.

Meanwhile, Captain Smith had been urgently speaking into his throat-mike. He turned to Mark. “The target has just entered the main admin hall.”

“That’s great.” Mark skidded the golf cart to a stop in front of the security building.

Confused, I asked my brother, “Why is that great? Surely it’s very bad?”

“We have security protocols in place for just such an eventuality,” he shouted over his shoulder as we entered the security building.

I was amazed. The large room was carpeted and air-conditioned and several people monitored large banks of screens. I immediately recognized most of them as members of the intelligence gathering unit of the Peterson Foundation, which was made up primarily of ex-F.B.I., C.I.A., N.S.A., and Secret Service agents.

“What’s the status of our target?” Mark asked the man in charge.

He indicated one of the large screens. “That’s him. He’s patiently waiting his turn to be called into the vetting room.”

“What happens now?” I asked impatiently.

“Once he entered the admin hall, the door was closed and locked, making him last in line to be called into the next room. Once he is the only one remaining, all doors will be locked and sealed,” Mark explained.

“How is that going to help?” Danni interjected. “It’s just a flimsy prefab building. Surely the bomb blast will destroy it and everything around it?”

“Just what we want everyone to think,” Mark continued. “Between the prefab panels are three inches of armored steel, including the floor and ceiling.”

I nodded. “Very clever. I should have known that you guys would be one step ahead.”

Mark grinned. “It sure helps to have unlimited funds at your disposal.”

“Ok, so what happens once the target is isolated?” I asked.

“As you can see on the screen, he has his right hand in his jacket pocket. He’s probably holding the detonator with some type of dead man’s switch. We’re going to pump an odourless gas through the aircon ducts, which will put him to sleep. If he releases the switch, he’ll be blown to hell along with the cheap furniture in the room. Then it’s just a simple matter of cleaning up the mess and replacing the panels and furniture.”

“And if he doesn’t blow himself up?” Danni asked.

“Then we’ll send in a very advanced robotic bomb disposal system. When our would-be suicide bomber wakes up, he’ll be lounging in a very nice Lebanese prison.”

* * *

Nizar Assadi gulped and took a deep breath as the final two people ahead of him were called into the next room. His time was up and he felt his hand trembling in his pocket. Contrary to his instructions, he hadn’t depressed the plunger yet. He was afraid that he’d accidentally let it go before he made it into the next room. It was a decision that saved his life. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep and a robotic arm was cutting away at the pocket of his jacket.

Assadi would only later discover that he didn’t have terminal cancer. The incredible pain he’d been experiencing was simply a result of the ‘medication’ his doctor had administered to him.

Armed with this information, Assadi quickly gave up the doctor and his two accomplices. A Special Forces team helped them find their way to Paradise shortly after he’d revealed their identities.