Beyond Return

By Samuel Adedotun-Ishmael

An embittered senator who had been sidelined by the same people he helped into power will do anything to unseat them without care about what it will cost him, even if he loses his life in the process.

A racially-inclined top government official who lurked in the shadows, planning the annihilation of innocent foreigners was read

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adedotun Ishmael Books
• Release date: Jul 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737344537

Book preview

PROLOGUE

He didn’t feel sorry about what he planned to do. It was time someone did something and he had taken it upon himself to get it done. Lives would be lost, but at this stage, it didn’t matter, it was designed for the greater good of the country.

He sat down far away, in fact, as far away as possible from the human filth roaming the park. He watched them run around, irritated and nauseated; anger boiling within him. It was like they had taken over the state.

They made him remember some of the movies he had watched way back in Nigeria, Africa. There was nothing to differentiate them from the masquerades depicted in those dark movies. At least in that country, particularly in both the southern and the eastern part of the country, they had the decency of dressing like humans without the excessive coverage of the whole body.

He wasn’t against them dressing up and being suited up like people going to the moon. To him, that could be another style if properly presented. What he was against was the flowing, dirty and baggy look that instantly turned wherever they were located into a picture of religious extremism and poverty.

He’d been to the Emirates and he was attracted to their lifestyle, but with the invasion of these Islamic sects from Somalia, Ethiopia, Afghanistan and Iraq, they seemed to have brought with them the dirtiest part of not only their religion, but also their mentality.

He used to think the saying about acting like a Roman when in Rome applied everywhere, but these guys would rather force their beliefs on their benefactors. He was aware a network of American Muslims was brewing somewhere and now was the time to cut it short before it became too late.

He’d aired his opinion once but was met with rebuke from people who he believed also didn’t like the invasion but were too scared to talk. They were probably politically, diplomatically or plain stupid.

He wouldn’t have to round them up, he wouldn’t have to raise a finger, he wouldn’t even have to speak about it, but pretty soon, he would expose their wicked, mean and intolerant nature and the people would surely revolt against all Muslims living in New York and the United States at large. He had it all planned out.

It was going to be brutal. They would certainly be flushed out, using their kind.

Standing up, he looked around one more time, with his political appointment about to be announced in a few days, his tool to get the job done was set.

At the end, Bosnia and Herzegovina in the 90’s would be a child’s play.

He wasn’t sorry at all about what he had set his mind to do, and knowing himself, he would rather die than not get it done.

CHAPTER 1

He was known as the unforgiving evil manipulator; a name he earned over the years.

He had proven himself to be a ruthless man who would stop at nothing to bring down anyone who dared to stand in his way. He wasn’t one to ferment trouble and he wasn’t one to be forgotten in a hurry either, when crossed.

The knowledge that he was feared and revered amused him, though, as age crept in slowly, the urge to remain so was gradually fading away. These days rather, his mission was to correct most of the mistakes and wrongs he had made and carried out as a much younger man in the days of his quest for success and power.

He was also known for addressing the ills of the society; an act he was bold enough to exercise.

His recent escapade was when he attacked the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, his home of origin, for its style of ruling and the dictator-like attitude of the Salman and his entire crew.

As it was expected, the Kingdom had fired back, albeit silently and in the most brutal of ways.

Ahmad never thought that an ordinary criticism could be taken that far. He still had hopes that the insane decision about to be made by the Saudi Prince in collaboration with the United States would be done away with for the sake of innocent lives that would suffer directly from the decision.

He saw himself taking on a role and personality he had discarded a few years ago.

………………………………..

They had gotten him where he least expected.

The atmosphere was tense. He fought back his tears with much effort. He waited patiently for the phone call. He was certain it would come. Nothing could stop it.

Feeling dejected, he paced the large living room, totally lost to the beauty of the multimillion-dollar apartment.

There was an impending doom lurking in the corner, ready to swallow him. Although he had braced himself for the impact, the more he thought about it, the deeper he felt the anguish. How well can a man be prepared for the death of his own son?

He regretted ever speaking against the Salman. How could he have been so careless to think that the distance between Saudi Arabia and the United States was wide enough for him to air his opinion with hopes that changes would be made.

He found out too late that distance meant nothing to the powerful.

After what was termed the most courageous message spoken against the throne; a popular message that was full of truth and sincere love for all Muslim faithfuls, he perceived danger in the shadows but he was oblivious of the form it would take.

It wasn’t long before the handwriting appeared not only on the wall, but everywhere in his life.

He watched as his friends turned foes. Blackmail became the order of the day even as the sovereignty of evil prevailed amongst his closest pals.

Threats and media attacks mounted from unknown quarters in a counter-attack specially designed to cause the ultimate damage to his image.

He had endured it all in good faith and fought back the tears. He needed to clear his name from the false report purportedly dug up from his past. He was determined to stand by the truth, but the truth had a completely different meaning to certain people, especially when it involved money and power.

Then came the news. It was as devastating as he had imagined. His world simply stopped for a few seconds. In a fleeting moment, he lost touch with his immediate surroundings. Darkness enveloped his mind completely, washing away every atom of humanity left in him. His heart pounded hard.

His only son, Ahmad Al-Hassan Ahmad II, had just been beheaded in Saudi Arabia for an alleged crime of espionage. A crime he was innocent of.

Al-Hassan had been caught in the crossfire of political unrest he had no say in. He was just a kid who took his Islamic beliefs rather seriously. He never committed any crime. He was only a frontliner at various demonstrations and maybe a little outspoken and radical.

When they were rounded up at an unauthorized rally against the discrimination of foreign Muslim students on campus at the New York University, Main Square, Ahmad had never thought it would end up this ugly for his son.

Al-Hassan had been threatened with deportation if he refused to make a video confessing to espionage against his native country. The innocent young man, oblivious of the magnitude of trouble he was getting into, had been used to strike the last blow on his father, for daring to speak the truth.

All it took was the video evidence shown to the jury and off they were, shipped to the waiting hands of their killers.

Ahmad just understood the meaning of collateral damage.

Although he had desperately reached out to the authorities, his entire attempt proved abortive as powers that-be stood in his way and blocked every effort for negotiation.

Even after he publicly apologized on TV, wrote letters and sent emissaries, he lost it all. His grief intensified as he stared at the picture frame which held his son’s once smiling face.

He walked slowly towards his patio absentmindedly; his world felt empty and lonely.

The millions of Dollars he had stashed in his various bank accounts meant nothing to him. His money couldn’t save his son. It was all worthless.

He wept.

Holding the table to steady himself as the pain of the loss became too hard to bear, his attention was drawn to the television set.

The faces of Al-Hassan and his three friends were splashed boldly on the screen with a shameful inscription, Death Penalty Ends Espionage in Saudi Arabia.

Ahmad could only stare at the screen. For a long time, he stood there, listening to the boisterous and sickening voice of the reporter who jubilantly reported from Riyadh.

He forced himself to stay steady, staring squarely at the face of the governor and his deputy who were currently using Al-Hassan as a campaign topic, boasting how they were making progress in defeating evil.

He felt his old self emerge. His heart grew cold. The grief he felt a while ago was slowly replaced by another emotion. Bitterness took over.

The camera veered towards the jubilating crowd. He recognized the venue. It was the New York University, Main Square, same venue where his son had held his rally a few months ago. This time, the students were singing songs of victory.

He found himself smiling suddenly; these people had just signed their death warrant. No one would be spared for the death of his only heir.

It didn’t get better when the students at the university of New York raised a banner reading, ‘Peace at Last!’.

At the gathering was the governor, his deputy and the speaker of the house. They all seemed joyed at the news of the killing. Al-Hassan and his friends were likened to Al-Qaeda terrorist group.

Ahmad took a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote the names of the governor, his deputy, the speaker and the name of the university in capital letters, crossing them out with a red pen.

Relief flashed through his mind, revenge replaced every fiber of reasoning left in him. He would commit every dollar he had to bring these people to their knees.

The United States wasn’t left out. Ahmad was determined to kill some of its citizens to equal the brawl. They could have intervened. If they hadn’t released his son, there was no way his son would be dead today. Al- Hassan’s death meant one thing – Retaliation.

……………..

Cleo watched with dismay from the corner of the street as illegal transactions were carried out in the open. It was pathetic to see a police vehicle parked not too far from where drug dealers boldly sold drugs to under-aged kids.

He couldn’t believe the level of impunity in Harlem.

Sitting in his SUV, he had the urge to go after the dealers and serve them instant justice but he restrained himself.

He remembered what his father told him as a young boy about the aim of the 1935 and 1943 riots respectively. It was to create a better Harlem and not a place where chaos and disregard for law and order reigned supreme.

The sacrifice of his grandfather, Adam Clayton Powell Jr. and his comrades wasn’t for the society to degenerate to this level.

He was appalled at the audacity of the prostitutes who exhibited blatant rudeness, lashing out at every male walking the street corners at night who refused to acknowledge or patronize them.

In today’s Harlem, it had also become the norm to freely buy and sell guns on the street.

Greed had become the custom and lawlessness, the law.

It was shocking to see police officers look away when heinous crimes were committed and allow the criminals go scot free.

On his return from Africa, Cleo had heard about the Street King whose presence he had hoped would curb the madness in Harlem. Unfortunately, rather than stop the mayhem, he had distributed the franchise of lunacy while enjoying kickbacks from his dirty, twisted, illegal deals. Cleo knew the bastard held a certain kind of power that made him untouchable, but that was about to change.

Cleo was not pleased with the Street King, the influence he wielded could have been put to good use, rather, he was rumored to be in close alliance with the Captain of the precinct who covered up his atrocities.

He had plans to pay him a visit, one he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

Cleo identified the four problem areas that needed urgent attention – drug trafficking, prostitution, illegal weapons trade and extortion.

He knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task but he was ready to do whatever it would take for Harlem — including killing!

……….

In his mansion, Senator Brian couldn’t concentrate on anything else. His eyes were bloodshot. He was angry. Never had he been relegated to such a level. With clenched fist and gritted teeth, he cursed for the umpteenth time, furious beyond words.

Gazing at the live broadcast of the smiling governor, bile churned in his stomach.

He also watched with disdain, the chief judge and the speaker of congress.

Such betrayal.

These were men who not only sought his advice in times past but were at his beck and call.

This was the third major State House event he had not been invited to. He’d thought the previous two were errors of omission, but this event made it clear that he had fallen out of favor with the arrogant buffoons.

There they were, at the governor’s lodge, celebrating their victories on the successful official bid for re-election and the death of the young terrorists with his name struck off the guest list.

The attack on the terrorist base had been a collective effort and so, the celebration should have been a joint one but that wasn’t the case here, he had been dumped.

The thought that a re-election campaign was about to kick off without his consultation made him sick. He feared that this could be the end of his political career.

He was certain that his failed relationship with his ex-wife, who happened to be the governor’s younger sister, was the reason for the diplomatic abandonment.

How easily people forget. Only three years ago after endorsing the governor and his deputy during their campaign, he was sorted out as a senator.

Now that he was not needed anymore, they were about to make him politically irrelevant.

He had to do something before he was rendered politically useless.

His brutal nature was not in contention. With his military background and the good number of retired and forgotten soldiers, marine and special forces on his payroll, all he needed was a well detailed plan.

Pouring himself a glass of red wine, a sinister thought crossed his mind. Maybe it was his destiny to become the governor of the state sooner than he’d planned.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Senator Brian said to himself. The wrath of a grieving father could help shape his plan. He needed to act fast.

He punched in a few numbers on the dialer of his intercom and said slowly, Get me Ahmad Al-Hassan Ahmad’s phone number!

Senator Brian sat down heavily on his chair.

The men who considered themselves New York’s power house were about to find out in shock that they were nothing but common humans placed in office by mere opportunity.

…….

The impact of the blow was devastating.

Luke O’Neal felt a sharp pain as the bed collapsed under him. The pain surged up his spine. The last time he felt such pain was during his days on the streets which was ages ago.

The last thing Luke O’Neal remembered was going to bed. In a split second a barrage of questions hit him.

Where was he?

Who could be attacking him?

Why?

He opened his eyes and saw his girlfriend, Claire, flung against the wall. The excruciating pain made him so weak he couldn’t stand up. He may have broken a rib, he thought.

That was strange, he tried rubbing his chest at the same time forced his head towards the door. He blinked twice when he saw a shadowy figure standing right there, a strange looking weapon dangling from the right hand. The figure was completely covered in black, almost like a spirit. There was something frightful about the character standing at the door, almost like it was floating and extremely evil looking. Luke tried to focus but the pain he was going through made him blink more and at a point, he felt the image was a figment of his imagination.

Claire’s cry for help brought his attention back and he struggled to stand up. Still unsure of what was going on and the reason for the attack, he realized that he couldn’t stand straight and the pain made him cave under his feet.

Luke crawled towards Claire. He feared she had been hurt and needed help, and for that moment, his pain meant little to him, all he wanted to do was protect her. He struggled, forcing his mind to ignore the agonizing pain as he crawled towards Claire, but he was stopped by another unexpected hit.

Another devastating blow from the side of the body sent Luke flying to the ceiling, crashing with a heavy thud and sending pieces of furniture flying everywhere. The pain was terrible as he let out a scream. There was obviously a powerful, almost spiritual force behind this figure. The second blow felt like an uppercut from a heavyweight boxer on a kindergarten.

For a moment, Luke thought he would pass out but he didn’t. His eyes were dim. He felt the pain all over his body and had to lay still for a while knowing he had to take it easy or else, he might as well take his last breath.

He heard Claire scream and he could only turn to see what was happening to her. Even though the shadowy figure was far from her, he could feel her fear deep in his heart. Luke felt the side of his body and this time, there was no guessing, he had a broken bone.

The pain was severe and he wondered what was going on with his body. He had not felt this way in a long time; a sign that his body had gotten accustomed to the luxuries of life or something else was at work. He feared the latter. The glance to see why Claire had screamed was brief and he was relieved to know that the dark figure was not interested in her.

Claire was more scared than hurt.

Luke sighed painfully as he turned to check on his unexpected visitor. Expecting a killer blow, he was baffled when he watched the image walk out of the bedroom silently and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Luke O’Neal shuddered, trying not to give in to the strange fear that gripped him at that moment.

Why did his attacker walk away? This man had the opportunity to take his life right there but he did otherwise. His walking away meant something else. It had a mystery around it.

Luke had a bad feeling that this was the beginning of something new and unpleasant. He unconsciously braced himself up for it as he painfully stood up and dragged himself towards Claire.

Fortunately, Claire seemed not to have suffered much. He lifted a part of the bed which had fallen on her thigh up and helped her to her feet as his phone started ringing.

It was a call from his friend, Captain Misty. He immediately knew something very unpleasant has happened.

Luke, we might have a major crisis on our hands.

There was an obvious tremble in her voice as she spoke and he felt she was almost at her breaking point.

Captain Misty always relied on his support because of his influence on the streets. Because of his effort, there had been considerable peace in and around Harlem. His cordial relationship with the police was an added advantage.

What are you talking about? Luke asked, bothered this might have everything to do with his attacker.

A very dangerous visitor has come to town. This is not good at all, turn on your TV. The line went dead.

Still reeling in pain, Luke switched on the television set and his fear was confirmed. For the first time in a long time, Luke broke a sweat.

The TV reporter was in the middle of a report on how a group of people had massacred the Russian mob who were the major gun dealers in town. Over ten people were reported dead in the building.

That same night, the Mexican drug cartel was also badly hit. Scores were also killed and an entire warehouse of drugs was burnt down.

Could this be another style of cleansing or an outright takeover? Luke wondered.

It certainly was not a takeover because, anyone interested in a takeover would go for the head and although he was attacked, his life was spared. So, he was certain it was more of a cleansing.

Claire came behind him, vividly shaken, holding a phone in her hand. He turned and looked at her. Realizing it wasn’t over, he took the phone from her.

Hello. Yeah, I’m watching it on TV. We definitely have a very dangerous visitor, but I can assure you, he is not going to stay long around here. Luke concluded.

Slowly he gave Claire the phone and sat down heavily on the chair next to him. Aside the pain he felt all over his body, he also had a very bad feeling about all this. Something was definitely going down and this time, he doubted if his power was enough to stop whoever was behind this.

Luke, what is going on? Claire’s voice sounded more scared than curious. Luke forced a smile as he said, I think we just had a weird and dangerous visitor. His voice held no assurance.

Claire sat down beside him. She feared this could be the beginning of another long battle for the soul of Harlem. She hadn’t recovered from the last separation she painfully went through with Luke. This time, she wondered if she could continue with this lifestyle despite the fact that she loved Luke.

CHAPTER 2

Cleo needed someone he could trust. Someone who would be loyal to him. He needed someone who was street smart yet clean and decent enough to be introduced as a worthy commander. Someone he could trust with his life. And he knew who that someone was. He set his plan in motion.

A few days later, there was another visit but this time, it was to the jail house.

The man he was about to go visit in jail had been a victim of other people’s actions. What was profound was that he was in jail because of his unflinching loyalty. He needed to be set free, men like him were hard to find.

He arrived, silently standing in front of the night guard on duty after successfully picking the locks.

The guard jumped from his seat and went straight for the gun by his waist but stopped right before he could pull out the pistol as he felt two very sharp machetes, two inches from his throat. He shivered, understanding that this could be his last day if he made the wrong move.

This fight is not yours. Remember you left a lovely family back home. Cleo said. His voice wasn’t the voice of a killer. It sounded really nice and gentle. This made the guard’s fear increase.

He could remember the speed with which the visitor in black moved from the entrance right to his side within a few seconds and knew he should be saying his last prayers. Such speed does not belong to nice people, it was usually reserved for killers, assassins and those born to cause trouble. He was not deceived by the tone of his voice.

"Leave your gun where it is." Cleo instructed, as he got off the desk and returned the machetes to his rear. The guard was surprised at what was going on. Could this day be his lucky day? He asked himself, while still toying with the gun.

Don’t get any ideas with that toy, you might end up killing yourself. Cleo warned.

The guard knew the killer meant every word.

How many guards are on duty tonight? He asked as he walked towards the beautiful frame on the wall.

Eight in total. The guard’s voice sounded strange, even to himself.

Okay, call everybody down here. He instructed without turning back.

At that moment, it was tempting to take an aim at the back of the stranger’s head but the guard was too scared to try. He simply picked up the radio and said, All personnel, to the front desk Immediately. I repeat, all personnel to the front desk.

Perhaps, the visitor was gathering everybody for one kill. At least, the guard mused, he would not die alone tonight.

There was some clatter on the radio, then they started arriving. The strange man had withdrawn into the shadows and when they had all gathered, he stepped out holding a semi-automatic, even as they were thrown off balance.

Who the fuck is this? The most senior officer barked angrily while pulling out his gun.

I am here to see an inmate. I come in peace though. Cleo’s voice retained the strange confidence.

This is government property and I am giving you ten seconds to walk out or regret ever stepping on this ground! The commander’s voice was louder this time and was beginning to take aim.

You don’t have to do that; it could have an adverse effect if you proceed with that action. Cleo warned.

The commander raised his gun but wasn’t fast enough as two gunshots rang out loud, sending the commander straight to the wall even as he landed heavily on the ground, dead.

There was a brief silence. Everyone in the room was caught off guard, none attempted going for their weapons. Despite him being just one man, it was obvious they stood no chance as he had them in a corner.

The strange man stood there, doing nothing. They all wondered what was going on and out of fear, they dropped their weapons on the floor.

Go and lock yourselves in an office. I don’t want to see any of you again this night. He spoke gently to them like a teacher instructing his students.

They all had come to the realization that their guns could do nothing to save them that night even if they tried using them. As if hypnotized, they left their weapons lying down on the floor as they scampered to a nearby office.

They were gone within minutes. Cleo shook his head in pity at the dead body on the floor and proceeded towards the cell hallway.

It was peaceful in here. He knew the prisoners were sleeping already. How he loved the serenity. He was impressed at the orderly manner this particular prison was arranged,

It looked like a banking hall in Africa. He mused as he made his way down the hall.

……………

Shades felt it coming. In his tiny cell, he knew something was wrong. The air felt thick in his lungs. The silence was overwhelming. Something was definitely not right.

He had spent most all his life on the street and this had sharpened his senses to know when trouble approached. This time was no exception. He knew the trouble might be coming straight for him. He sat up, certain it was only a matter of time.

He heard two distinct gunshots. His spirit was never wrong. Something was about to happen and he felt it was for him. Shades was ready for whatever.

As the silence persisted, he could hear his heart beat loudly. He slowed his breathing, trying not to make any sound. He could hear no sound, no clatter from the other cells and the wardens seemed to have vacated their posts.

Death has surely come visiting.

Out of curiosity, he stood up from the bed and approached the burglary. Suddenly a figure appeared right in front of him at the other side of the iron burglary. It happened so fast, and despite his naturally calm disposition to every situation, Shades took a step back, nearly jumping off his skin.

Standing in the shadows was a figure not taller than 5ft. He was partly hidden and Shades couldn’t make out who it was.

The image was motionless and seemed to be studying him from head to toe while making no sudden move. Shades knew he was not safe because if the stranger could find his way into the jail house, his cell would be easy to penetrate.

The atmosphere remained tense; he shivered from fear as he knew this could be his last moment. He hoped for a quick death though.

The motionless figure slowly stretched out his hands showing a gun, and aimed at the lock of the cell, took a shot and before long, it was opened. Shades froze with fear but tried to mask it as he kept calm while backing against the wall. He needed not to act smart as this person was obviously very deadly.

The figure walked slowly into the tiny cell, his face still mysteriously hidden in the