Synchronize

By Sean Clair

The new century saw a furthering of violence hinged in some bizarre way to organized religion, religions that were centuries old and born of good will toward man. Within months of the terror attacks ultimately linked to Bin Laden and his platter. The initial shock, horror, revulsion and sorrow was now replaced with vengeance served up big-time and brought to you nightly by CNN or whoever had the best feed. The far reaching effects trickled down into the communities we lived in. Surprise anthrax packages, remember Tom Brokaw's little gift at the network home site? The attacks continue today with assaults at Fort Hood attributed to a madman, English transit, in Spain and everyday something new. The recent Shafia trial in Kingston Ontario was blocks from our fictitious setting, imagine...

The setting is ever changing in this thriller set between Ontario prisons and the fluid world of terrorists who maneuver their agenda with well laid out plans that cover several months or more of planning. We've grown somewhat callous perhaps to the daily bombings and activities of the Middle East. Picture some of the same events in our own towns and communities, the scope of the 911 attacks on a smaller scale, but with potential to devastate lives. A must read

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449082970

Sean Clair

Sean Clair is a new author bringing with him years of experience and interpersonal dealings from the time spent employed in the Canadian penitentiary system. His role in that environment was that of a negotiator who in times of crisis dealt face to face with parties either determined to get their own way or achieve a goal no matter what the cost. Clair's writing style grips the reader and plot line will have you not putting the book down.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter One

The sun sinking low signaled the boys that they would best be heading back to their village. The hills of Jordan were not always kind to the weak, young or inexperienced hikers. Older youths, gangs, perhaps kidnappers or insurgents and foreign workers all might linger beyond the safety of their neighbourhood. The steadily descending darkness quickened their pace. The tales that children spun filled their heads, the rapes, deaths by horrible means, demons and other unknowns helped speed the lads toward home. Still gullible enough for the scare tactics to work on them but bold enough to test the limits, they halted close to their neighbourhood. The low murmur caught the boys’ attention. A prayer they knew, but who was praying in the wilds and not at the appointed hour. They slid down the trail, shushing each other lest they be given away. The sound was closer now, a couple of voices and then laughter. This was not right, what was the point of praying then joking about it. The boys stood motionless. There ahead of them was a tent like structure, a tripod and camera, and a flag they were unfamiliar with. They froze.

Hani just turn on the camera said a voice unknown to the lads.

H’okay, h’okay came the reply. In a thick almost phony delivery a voice began a diatribe that was full of threats and offers of violence, promising doom and death, the boys slid behind boulders and gaped at each other.

Western dogs you will fall, your children and the offspring of the great Satan will be consumed, do not expect the Sons of Islam to fear your bombs, Marines and F-18s, we know and accept our fate. The laws of the great Leader shall dictate the ends of your time. You will no longer defile the Sands of the East. All hate and revile you, scorn on yourself and offspring.

Good, good.

The boys had stumbled upon an Al Qaeda taping of vengeance against the American and other Westerners. They knew they were in grave danger for the faces were visible to them. Jami motioned to lay low, stay quiet. The danger was also very interesting to him. His quiet life at home was far from this, he had heard of these men and the roles they played in retribution for crimes against the Arab and Middle Eastern countries.

Ah-choo! One of the boys sneezed. The dust and the cramped quarters taking its toll on his reserve to remain quiet. Rifles snapped and a spray of bullets covered the area. Nalla was dead and Jami screamed in pain as he was hit in the forearm.

Come out, come out! screamed the terrorists and former video makers.

Yes, yes, don’t shoot… arms high Jami walked from behind the boulders.

Who are you? From where? Are there others? questions bombarded him.

No others. He shook whether from the gunshot or fear or both.

Who is he… ? pointed weapons directed his gaze.

His friend was dead, he could tell from the blood loss and the bullet holes. Jami made a quick decision that would alter his life; his reply would be replayed for years to come in his head. . . . a fool.

And you aren’t? asked the obvious leader and shooter.

Fun times. Yes the young man reflected on those days, the long evenings now a millennium it seemed from his current status. Jami Hassan was doing a five year prison sentence in a foreign country. It was foreign in customs that he had grown up with, foreign in thinking and foreign in just about every aspect of his Islamic upbringing. At the time of his arrest, he was a university student. It was a part of a greater plan and though committed to the cause, it disgusted him. Jami accepted it for the greater good. God is Great. Remember the mantra, it will get you through the tough times.

Jami was twenty-four years of age, born in Jordan, south of Amman and one of five sons of a proud government official who was a devout Muslim. He had learned English from the developers, businessmen and traders who frequented his family’s home. He had fled, one might say, when he first saw the opportunity arise. Enough of the ways of his father and his father’s father, what crazy talk it all seemed. Then it happened. World altering. It was 9.11. The World Trade Centre attacks had left a pall on Islamic and Arab people to say the least. Every proud Muslim must have felt the call as well, internally a gnawing, a hurt. A jihad was called for. He felt he must respond. He was in Ottawa at the time and watching on television in a cramped student apartment, in the section of town near the Canadian Parliament Buildings. He shared the apartment with two other ‘Arabs’ as they were referred to by other students, worse names by the neighbourhood residents. He had been referred to just recently as a Syrian dog, oddly he found that comment amusing but maintained his flat demeanor. The training would get you through, God is Great. This evening low on supplies, he went out, shopped for necessities. He paid the corner store clerk and brushed past the leather bound toughs who had uttered more insults. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave thanks and began to eat the pita as he walked the two blocks back to his apartment. The shop windows provided him the opportunity to secure his surroundings and know his safety. He strode quickly but with confidence. He was too interested in the nightly updates on CNN to consider any type of reprisal toward insults. As well it might give him away, foolish! Why do that anyways? As Jami rounded the corner to the last block a striking young woman appeared before him. She was a student at the University and carried a number of books with her as well as the mandatory student backpack. Jami quickened his pace to align her travels and then spoke carefully a Jordanian greeting.

What? She turned and with a wrinkled brow.

Jami repeated the phrase but again drew only a slightly turned up left side of the mouth lip and a roll of the eyes. For all she knew he might have thought her a hooker or something less and was asking how much.

Just leave me alone, said the young student, pulling her coat together at the neck. Jami slammed his right palm into her throat and she slumped to the sidewalk, gasping for air. His frustration with the leather bound thugs, the day to day grind, everything was being taken out on this beautiful young woman. It engulfed him, he began to choke her and then struck her fiercely on the side of her