Adiós Mañana: (A John Cansler, P.I. Novel – Book 3)

By Burt H. Slaughter

Tomorrows Possible Headlines Today!

Are you concerned about what happens on our southern border with Mexico? If not, perhaps you should be!

The following plausible tale underscores the real danger we all face when the action of our government go awry and lead to the radicalization of two Iraqis, Mukhtar and Jamila, who are sent to the United States on a mission of Jihad. Big things of a cataclysmic nature are in store for the unsuspecting people of central Texas.

A testament to how forgiveness, and love, can sometimes conquer the forces of darkness. A nail-biting finish! John Cansler, PI extraordinaire, at his best!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514418178

Book preview

~ Part I ~

Chapter 1

March 23, 2003; four days after the siege of Baghdad

Baghdad, Iraq

From the depths of complete and utter blackness, his mind was slowly, slowly, awakening. Little by little, his senses were returning; the barely audible sounds of whispering, someone moaning with pain nearby, then little flickers of light, someone stirring near him, the feeling of dryness and soreness in his throat. Then the feeling of pain, not excruciating, but all over, and he couldn’t move his legs.

Then, his eyes fluttered open and he was in a world of white.

What happened? Where am I? What is this place?

Ah, a hospital!

Nurses were speaking softly near the foot of his bed. One of them noticed his eyes were open and turned to him,

Mr. Amjid, I am happy you are awake!

He whispered a reply through his sore throat,

Water, please?

Just a small sip is better for you. He gave a small nod. She poured a little into a cup, inserted a bent straw, and handed it to him. He pulled a little of the delicious liquid into his dry mouth, managed to somehow swallow, and then handed the cup back to the nurse who set it on the bedside table.

How long have I been in here? he whispered hoarsely.

The nurse looked at his chart.

You came in on the 19th. That was four days ago.

What happened? How did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was going to the washroom with my sister. Oh, Allah! Where is my family; my wife, my son?

We were attacked by the Americans. The doctor can tell you about your family, but your sister is next to you on the other side of this curtain. She waved her hand at the privacy curtain separating them.

Then it came back to him; through the wispy fog of drugs, he remembered the event:

The bride, Johara Hakim, and groom, Hasib El-Amin, had just completed the procession of the zaffa, leading the crowd to the main area of the hall they had rented next to one of the government buildings near downtown Baghdad. They were happy and smiling and waving their hands overhead from side to side, in rhythm to the chanting of the crowd.

Soon, they reached the kosha, or dais, and were seated. Servers passed out drinks of sharbat and everyone toasted the bride and groom to wish them good health. When that was done, the bride and groom switched the wedding rings they had given each other from the right hand to the left hand, as was the custom.

The DJ had been seated in the enclosed area and, as the music began to play, the bride and groom stepped to the dance floor and began to dance. After the first dance, everyone took to the dance floor.

* * *

They were about five years older than the wedding couple but Mukhtar Amjid and his twin sister, Jamila Nagi, both now 25 years old, were there with their families. They had been close friends with Johara and Hasib and their parents since they were little children playing together in the streets of Sadr City, on the northern outskirts of Baghdad.

They were sitting together and Jamila whispered to her brother,

Where are the washrooms, Mukhtar?

I do not know. Come with me and we will find them together.

They walked together to the entrance and Mukhtar asked a server the location of the washrooms. They were directed down a short hallway which led away from the wedding party.

A high pitched, whistling scream penetrated the air for a millisecond. They both looked up in response to the sound…and then their world turned black.

Now, he and Jamila were in the hospital, having, by the grace of Allah, survived an errant Tomahawk cruise missile that landed on the adjacent building. Although not a direct hit, the blast had caused the concrete ceiling to collapse and 19 of the 40 people in the main reception room had been killed; crushed by the massive concrete beams. Among those were Mukhtar’s parents, his wife and son, and also his sister’s husband and daughter.

When Mukhtar and Jamila heard the news, they were sick and overcome with grief and sorrow. He prayed to Allah to allow him also to die. He vowed revenge, if he lived, for the murderous acts of the Americans. Someday, when his body had fully recovered, he would avenge their deaths.

Allah, be merciful. Hear my pleas, he cried.

The attending nurse, aware of his precarious state, increased the morphine drip and soon the velvety darkness enveloped him once again.

* * *

Mukhtar awoke the next day, vaguely aware of where he was and what had happened. He reached to his head to quell a headache and felt his head completely encircled with a bandage.

He’d apparently had a head injury. That could explain why he had lost track of the time passing.

A nurse entered the room.

Time to take your vital signs, Mr. Amjid. How are you feeling today?

Mukhtar shook his head,

Not good. How is my sister, Jamila?

She will be all right…a few broken ribs and a few cuts on her leg. She will likely be leaving the hospital today.

Would you remove the privacy curtain between us and move the beds together, please? I wish to touch my sister.

As you wish, Mr. Amjid. She opened the privacy curtain, unlocked the bed wheels, and pushed the beds together. The nurse said,

I will give you a moment of peace to talk with her. She silently stepped from the room.

Jamila, Mukhtar called, and waited for a few moments before repeating,

Jamila, he said again. She slowly opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.

Oh, Mukhtar, my brother; it is you! I was so afraid you were dead! Allah has answered my prayers. You are back in the land of the living! She extended her left hand to him, he grasped it with his right hand and they lay there, holding hands, tears sliding down both their cheeks, as they realized they had only each other; that they had lost all else that was precious to them both.

Jamila finally wiped her cheeks and whispered,

What will we do, Mukhtar? What will become of us?

I do not know, Jamila. We must let Allah guide our footsteps. Perhaps in time, he will reveal his plan for us. Until then, we must be patient and have faith.

Yes, I suppose so. She paused for a moment, and then she said,

The doctor says I can leave today. But there is nothing to go home to. They told me my husband and daughter were killed in the attack. She started sobbing again. Mukhtar tried to console her,

I will be here for you, to comfort you as I can. We must be strong. We will live for a better day.

Mukhtar, why did this happen? she asked between sobs.

What have we done to the Americans, that they should attack us? Mukhtar replied,

I do not know for sure, my sister, but I read where the Americans believe our leader, Saddam Hussein, has many chemical weapons; weapons of mass destruction, or WMD’s, as they call it. He has used some chemicals to kill some of his enemies, perhaps, but that is an internal matter. I heard the American President, George Bush, gave Saddam 48 hours to turn over all the stockpiles of chemicals. I do not know if there are stockpiles of chemicals, or not, but apparently our leader was unwilling—or unable—or he believed the American President was bluffing. Now death and destruction has been visited upon us. He paused, a sob caught in his throat.

May Allah bring death to the murderous infidels!

The nurse came back in and took and recorded his blood pressure, pulse, and his temperature.

How is your pain? she asked Mukhtar.

I am feeling a little better, he answered.

Good! I will remove your morphine drip and give you other pain medication, when the pain becomes too great. She removed the morphine from his IV line.

I could not move my legs yesterday. What happened?

Your right leg was broken in three places. It is in a heavy cast.

She pulled the covers back from his feet.

Can you move your toes for me? He wiggled his toes and moved his feet up and down.

Good! The painkiller must have kept you from feeling your legs yesterday; apparently, there is no permanent nerve damage. That is very good!

What happened to my head?

You had a wound to the top of your head and a concussion. The doctor gave you something to keep the brain from swelling. That is why you were unconscious for a few days.

Thank you, Nurse! May Allah’s blessings be upon you!

* * *

Jamila bade her brother goodbye and left the hospital later that morning Her mother’s sister, Latifa, who also lived in the home with Mukhtar, Jamila, their families, and their parents, had come to bring her home. Fortunately, Latifa had been temporarily too ill to attend the wedding.

Mukhtar was released the following day, also into the loving hands of his aunt. They both returned to the compound which had housed them all and now felt like a mausoleum, the memories fresh and raw; the halls no longer echoing with the sounds of the children.

Latifa cared for Mukhtar and Jamila; bringing their bodies back to health within a year. But hatred burned in their hearts for the Americans who had murdered their loved ones.

Chapter 2

February 19th, 2014

Sadr City, Iraq

Almost eleven years had passed since the bombing of Baghdad. Saddam Hussein had been captured, tried by the Iraqi Special Tribunal and found guilty of war crimes against humanity and was executed by hanging on December 30th, 2003. He was buried near his hometown of Tikrit, Baghdad.

Within a year after the siege of Baghdad, Mukhtar had returned to work for the Administrative Offices of Baghdad while Jamila stayed at home and took care of the compound, along with Latifa. They were all devout Muslims and answered the salat, or call to prayers, daily, as their religion requires.

Jamila stayed busy in a nearby daycare center, trying to assuage her grief over the loss of her husband and daughter. With time the pain became bearable but the memory never faded.

One day, a co-worker of Mukhtar invited them to attend worship services at a new mosque that had just opened. They said okay.

Mukhtar and Jamila went to the new mosque, stayed through the worship services, and then met with the Imam. He was a young man of great passion and persuasion. He wanted to know all about Mukhtar and Jamila and their past. He listened very attentively and with great compassion when told about the horrific event that had brought them so much pain and suffering. He spoke of the need to strike back at the infidels who had brought suffering to so many people in their country.

Allah commands us to slay the infidels where they live, he said. They have no souls. They are like vermin, to be eradicated as such.

Yes, yes, Mukhtar said, his passion having been stirred by the passion of the Imam and the terrible pain in his heart.

They attended services for several weeks at the new mosque, each time being moved by the fire in the Imam.

Imam Abdullah Darzi observed them very carefully and came to know them well and could sense the depth of the hatred felt by Mukhtar and his sister for the Americans.

After about two months, in a small room by the worship area, he spoke with them both,

"Allah is pleased with you! Are you willing, with Allah’s blessings and commandments, to carry out jihad against the west, the Great Satin?"

Yes, yes, they both said, feeling an overwhelming desire to be of service to the cause of jihad…to strike back at the Americans for the pain they had suffered.

Good. Allah will be pleased. We have been searching for someone for this mission. If you are successful, it will result in death to many, many, thousands of the infidels. If you die, you will die as martyrs and you will be taken immediately to paradise.

What is this mission of which you speak? Mukhtar asked.

It is highly secret. You must speak of this to no one. Do you swear by Allah that your lips are sealed?

Yes, Imam Darzi, we swear, they both said.

Good! This mission has taken at least four years to prepare for and recent events have now made it possible to proceed. A man in our group, who is connected to Al-Qaeda, has come into possession of enough radioactive material to build a bomb that will kill many of the infidels and strike fear into the hearts of those remaining. He paused, before continuing,

Allah has sent you to us. Your name is Mukhtar, meaning, the chosen one". It is a good sign that Allah will be with you on your journey across the great water." He paused, and then added,

Since you will be living, at least for a short time, among the infidels, you must learn to dress and to talk and to act like them. Since it will be in furtherance of your mission, fear not; Allah will forgive you these sins and you will be pure in his sight.

The Imam Darzi arranged for them to be transported to an area northwest of Baghdad. There, the approaching forces of the ISIL group spreading from Syria had established a training camp for those new recruits wishing to learn how to build IED’s (improvised explosive devices), using whatever explosive materials that were readily available in the immediate area; dynamite, unexploded ordinance (mortar shells, etc.), ammonium nitrate, C-4, etc.

Upon arrival at the training camp, Mukhtar and Jamila were assigned to a Syrian-born fighter named Sayid, who had been recruited and had become an expert in building bombs and detonators.

Another teacher, Ahmed, had been assigned to westernize Mukhtar and Jamila by teaching them what to expect, how to dress, how to talk, and how to act, so as to blend in when they got to the United States.

As part of her learning and transformation to the western methods of dress, Jamila, whose beauty had been hidden from the world around her, was no longer required to wear the traditional Muslim garb. Even the hijab, or head scarf, had been dropped. She kept her beautiful black hair plaited, flipped on top of her head and under a ball cap. But even though she was given loose-fitting clothing to wear, she could not hide her femininity; her beautiful, large brown, almost black eyes, long eyelashes, thick eyebrows, her flawless light brown skin, her ample breasts, and the slightly hourglass figure. She had a sultry, sensual, exotic look that could drive men wild.

She was kept separated at night and housed with three other women. Only in the daytime was she allowed to mingle with the other male jihadists.

Mukhtar, himself, was a handsome man, being about five feet, ten inches in height, having the same dark hair, eyes, small nose, and tan skin as his sister. He kept his hair short and facial hair removed, so as to look more like a westerner.

Since the loss of their immediate families, both had devoted themselves to their faith and to each other, pushing aside all thoughts and feelings for members of the opposite sex. Both had been consumed with the need to strike back at the infidels. Only at night, in his dreams, did Mukhtar become aroused and dream of being with a woman.

Ahmed spoke to them both about the mission,

"May Allah bless you as you seek to avenge the loss of our brothers and sisters. You will be transporting radioactive material across the Atlantic and into Texas through Mexico where you must construct and then detonate a very, very, large bomb. You will have contacts along the way to help you, until you get to your final destination, which is between the cities of Dallas and Fort Worth. The material is safe to handle because it is in a container lined with lead.

Of course, the bomb, when exploded, will disperse the radioactive material over a wide area.

That place was chosen because many infidels reside there; thicker than fleas on a camel’s back, and it is not nearly as well guarded as New York, or Los Angeles. The entry through Mexico was chosen because the coast of the United States is too populated; too many eyes to see. The journey will take many, many days, but I am told you are very patient…and committed.

You will go through a physical training camp to condition your bodies for the tasks. You will be given new identities. Paperwork is being prepared that will indicate you are citizens of the United States. The color of your skin will let you be seen as Mexican Nationals." He paused a moment, and then continued,

"Mukhtar, you will be known as Juan Aguilar. Jamila, you will be known as his sister, Maria Aguilar.

Changing your names is required because people with Hispanic names will be less suspected than people with Arabic names."

Mukhtar and Jamila nodded in understanding.

June 1, 2014

For a period of thirty days, they had gone through the physical training to harden their bodies. They had gone on long marches into the desert by day, ran in sprints, were trained in the use and maintenance of small arms and, at night, learned how to build a number of the IED’s and learned to use a number of different devices to detonate the bombs; those being primarily impact sensors, or trip wires, timers, and cell phones.

Ahmed started teaching them how to make their speech sound like an Americanized Hispanic. He said to them,

When you say yellow, pronounce it as jello". Jamila tried it a few times, as did Mukhtar.

Good! Now, the man that comes in first in a Mexican race is called a winner, but pronounced like ‘wiener’. Try it. Mukhtar and his sister did.

Good! Now, in the United States, the prefix Mr. (Mister) that comes before a man’s name is pronounced by the Hispanics as meester. There are a number of other words similar. He gave them a training DVD to watch and listen to that would help them learn the different sounds.

Ahmed then said,

All your expenses will be paid; travel, housing, food, etc. Everything you need will be provided to you. Your contacts will meet you at your point of entry and will escort you and the material to your final destination. You will only then be required to build and detonate a bomb large enough to disperse the material over a wide area. You must make the bomb as large as possible. Do you have any questions?

What material should we use to build the bomb with? Muhktar asked.

That will be up to you. Use what material is available. It is a very large area, so it will require a very, very, large explosion. Your contacts there may be able to help you gather the explosive material, if help is needed. Dynamite may be available, or if not, perhaps a combination of diesel fuel and ammonium nitrate.

Jamila asked,

How many days will it take us to cross the ocean?

If all goes well, about three weeks. We will supply you with training and reading materials to occupy your time while you are on the boat.

What kind of vessel will we travel on? Jamila asked.

We have arranged for a medium sized fishing boat to carry you and the material. The sleeping quarters are small, but you will be quite comfortable. Mukhtar asked,

Can you describe the package we will be carrying?

Yes, it will be a rectangular metal container marked Medical Supplies. DO NOT OPEN. The container is lined with lead, to make it safe to transport. It will have stick-on placards with the radioactive symbol. Paperwork will be prepared to indicate it is a legal shipment to a hospital in Monterrey, Mexico, in case you are stopped by the U. S. Coast Guard. If you are stopped and boarded, you will pretend to be crew members. Before going ashore in Mexico, you must remove all the radioactive symbols. This is important. If you do not remove them, the people who we have arranged to help you may become fearful and refuse to help. Do you understand? Mukhtar replied,

Yes, it will be done.

How much does it weigh? Jamila asked.

Ninety two pounds. Light enough that both of you together can lift it. The material is extremely concentrated.

They had no further questions. It was late in the evening, so they left to go to their assigned sleeping places to say their evening prayers and to rest for the night.

Jamila had been troubled and having second thoughts about going through with their mission. Even though part of her heart had been torn to pieces with the death of her husband and daughter, she began to have a little charity in her heart and began to look back at the war and all that had happened in their country.

Their great leader, Saddam Hussein, had been given a fair trial and had been found guilty of horrendous crimes. She asked herself; was there truly any justification for the Americans to remove Saddam Hussein from power? Did