ASSASSIN 5 - SITTING DUCKS (Assassin Series) Read online

  ASSASSIN 5

  SITTING DUCKS

  A Jake Harrigan Thriller

  By

  BRYAN MURRAY

  Copyright © 2015 Bryan Murray

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  The characters, their names, company names and products in this Book are fictitious. Any similarity to known persons, their names, company names or products, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This Book Five is a continuation of the Jake Harrigan Series of Political Thrillers.

  The Previous Books in the Series are:-

  Book One - Assassin

  Book Two - Assassin 2 - ‘Sleeping Dogs’

  Book Three - Assassin 3 - ‘The Wrong Man’

  Book Four - Assassin 4 - ‘First Son’

  It is suggested that the Reader may perhaps wish to read the above Books first to further improve the enjoyment of this book.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  The phrases ‘Collateral Damage’, ‘Casualties of War’ and ‘Friendly Fire’ are three of the most heartbreaking phrases in the English language, particularly when they are reported by the international media. This is due to the fact that they are describing what is inevitably the injury or death of one or more innocent civilians, as a result of some kind of weapons fire between warring factions in any of the war-torn corners of the current terror-ridden planet.

  Such injuries and death are always a result of the poor unfortunate people being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and previously the major cause of such casualties had been due to the fact that the weapons involved were invariably unreliable and in many instances difficult to target accurately.

  However, in the current days of high-tech, high-speed, high-accuracy weaponry, things have changed drastically to where the capturing, aiming at and hitting the assigned targets electronically, has become amazingly accurate, so much so that when collateral damage does occur, the reason is now almost certainly due to human error.

  Not a human error in aiming the weaponry to hit the target, which is now incredibly easy, but in actually identifying the target correctly so that the weaponry will kill the intended hostiles and destroy their assets and location.

  With an accuracy capability that could aim a missile and hit a six inch diameter target from up to forty thousand feet altitude, many properly set up targets are now being very effectively terminated.

  In many current instances, the intended targets are invariably terrorists and their locations and to provide a shield against the incoming aggression, this was when the terrorists started to place innocent civilians deliberately in the line of fire so that their high-tech enemies would perhaps think twice before launching their deadly payloads. Then, in the event of collateral damage occurring, this would give the terrorist spin doctors the chance to claim that genocide of innocent people had been perpetrated by their enemies.

  Needless to say, this had not deterred the military of the Western World from searching out and accurately eliminating many terrorist leaders. The old adage that stated ‘Cut the head off the snake and the body dies’, was still very much the mantra of every country fighting terrorists within their borders.

  * * *

  One such terrorist group ‘The Jihad of Death’ (JOD), had been heavily targeted by both the Israeli and American forces together with their European allies in an effort to stop the violent activities of JOD across Syria, Iraq, Israel and Yemen.

  They were virtually an insurgent Muslim army, gathering momentum in their war against the infidels particularly after their leader, Imar Abu al-Bengari had forged a formidable alliance with Al-Qaeda that was now growing daily as the JOD continued to pursue their simple but deadly-violent recruitment policy.

  On a calm, clear, sunny day in the peaceful, small encampment on the Israeli side of the hostile border with Iraq, the inhabitants of the small village were going about their daily business until a small boy, Lufti, who had been playing with his friends on a hill on the outskirts of the village, looked out across the desert and sudden fear showed in his eyes.

  In the distance he could see a small convoy of military trucks heading for the village in a cloud of dust. He quickly left his friends and started to run down the rocky road into the village, screaming as he went, waving his arms in the air.

  “JOD! The JOD are coming!”

  The villagers all rushed to their doors and sudden fear showed in their eyes.

  In one of the dirt houses, a Muslim woman Adila, wearing a burqa, called to her two younger teenage brothers who were trying to repair an old truck behind the house.

  “Irfal, Kalil!” she screamed. “Quickly, you must hide. The JOD are coming!”

  Irfal, in his late teens, the mistaken courage of youth clouding his judgement, was in no hurry. “I do not fear the JOD!” he replied.

  His brother Kalil was more of a realist. “Listen to me, Irfal, we must not be taken, we have to take care of our family. You must hide with me until these barbarians have gone. I beg of you, my brother!”

  * * *

  In the streets of the village, the locals were already closing their doors and heading inside as the convoy of terrorists approached. Out in the street, the young boy Lufti was quickly grabbed by his mother and she dragged him inside the house, her hand over his mouth. “Be silent, my son!” she whispered as she closed the door.

  Seconds later, the convoy of military vehicles screeched to a halt and the armed terrorists of the Jihad of Death climbed out to check that the location was safe after which Jamal, the terrorist leader, stepped out to survey the scene. He was a big, cruel-faced man with an ugly scar on the left side of his face.

  He looked around and waved to his men to search the houses and start driving out the men of the village. They quickly went along the dirt road, banging on doors, shooting locks off and dragging the nervous Muslim men and their families outside.

  Jamal then went over to the second vehicle and opened the door respectfully. He motioned to the person inside. “It is safe to get out
, General. Now you can see how easy it is to add willing, new Muslim soldiers to our ranks!”

  The occupant of the vehicle slowly climbed out and with the aid of a walking cane, General Ibrahim Al-Amabakhu, in his late fifties, with a cruel face and in traditional Arab dress, slowly straightened up, his leg obviously giving him pain as he surveyed the scene developing in front of him.

  “This must not take long, Jamal,” the general began. “I have an urgent meeting back at al-Farakesh.”

  Jamal nodded. “I understand, my brother.”

  Jamal then moved into the open square of the rock-strewn village. His armed men from the other vehicles were now herding the men of the village into a nervous line, their families looking on in fear as Jamal started to speak in a loud voice.

  “As you all know, we are the Jihad of Death, Allah’s soldiers of Jihad. We fight for a righteous cause against the infidels and at Allah’s bidding, we are adding additional warriors to our chosen ranks!”

  The men of the village were very nervous. This was not the first time that Jamal and his men had been to the village and they were also aware of the unpredictable venom of the general with the cane.

  Jamal continued. “Today, we seek ten new men to join our cause and there will be no refusals from the men chosen. It is an honor to be selected to join the Jihad of Death and those refusing to do so will be executed!”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from the families gathered behind the men of all ages.

  Across the street, Irfal and Kalil were watching from their hiding place in the wooden shed at the side of the house where Adila lived with her mother and her grandparents.

  Jamal, with his brother the general watching, walked along the line of the men, all of whom were trying to avoid his withering gaze.

  He looked closely at those who appeared healthy enough for duty and he brutally dragged each one that he selected a step forward of the rest of the line of men, who were aged all the way from sixty plus down to fifteen.

  The general looked on silently.

  When Jamal had finished his selection, he was still two men short of his quota for the day. He looked at his men and screamed. “Keep looking!”

  When the men moved back towards the dirt houses, in the direction of where Irfal and Kalil were hiding, the two boys suddenly decided to make a break for it and started to run away up the street.

  Jamal looked after them and screamed at his men. “After them!”

  His men moved quickly and within seconds, they fired a spray of bullets that hit the ground ahead of the two boys who realized that it was useless to continue on and they stopped in their tracks. The terrorists reached them and prodded them back at gunpoint into the square where Adila was now out in the crowd, concerned for the safety of her younger brothers.

  * * *

  On the outskirts of the village on the hill, a small flock of emaciated sheep were grazing on the sparse scrub land and sitting amongst them inconspicuously, was the older shepherd Wasim.

  He appeared to be very poor, with greying, dark hair and a beard, wearing the traditional Muslim dress of the hill people of that region.

  However, there was nothing impoverished about the extremely expensive and effective binoculars that he was looking through to observe the scene unfolding in the village below.

  The reason was that Wasim was also a paid informant of the Israeli Mossad, one of the most elite intelligence agencies in the world and the binoculars were standard issue to help him to report more accurately on any unusual activities he might come across in the desert.

  The fact that he was just a shepherd had helped him on more than one occasion to stay beneath the radar when an event like the one in the village below was about to unfold.

  * * *

  Back in the village, the two young men, Irfal and Kalil, had been punched and left on the ground by the terrorists and Jamal was now standing over them, his gun in his hand. He looked down at the two boys, a venomous look in his cruel eyes.

  “And where were you going?” he snarled.

  The two youths didn’t answer.

  Jamal then kicked Irfal. “Answer me, you dog?”

  Irfal was courageous beyond his years. “I am not interested in the Jihad of Death!” he answered.

  You could have heard a pin drop. Jamal looked down witheringly at the boy. Across the street the general was watching closely, leaning on his cane.

  “Is that so?” Jamal replied before kicking Kalil who was still on the ground.

  “And what about you?” he snarled. “Do you also reject the requests of Allah?”

  Kalil looked across towards Adila who was watching in the background. She nodded imperceptibly to him to agree with his brother.

  The boy looked at Jamal nervously. “I must do what my brother does.” He replied.

  Jamal turned to the shocked villagers. “Do you hear that?” he screamed mockingly. “He must do what his brother does!”

  Without warning, he suddenly shot both young men through the head and screamed at the villagers who were in sudden, shocked revulsion.

  “Now you see what happens when you do not follow the will of Allah!”

  Adila rushed over to her two brothers, sank to her knees, tears in her eyes when she realized they were both dead in a pool of blood.

  Jamal was now on a roll, pleased that he had been able to show his older brother his dedication to the cause. “And so, the next time I visit this dung heap, I will expect total allegiance to our cause!” he suddenly fired his weapon in the air as the villagers jumped in terror.

  “Is that clear?” he screamed at the shocked villagers who nodded obediently.

  * * *

  Up on the hillside, Wasim was in shock as he continued to watch the scene below. He shook his head sadly. “Barbarians!” he muttered to himself.

  * * *

  Back in the street below, the eight men chosen were bundled into the back of one of the Humvees and the general climbed laboriously back into his vehicle as the convoy rolled out of the village in a cloud of dust. On the street, the tearful villagers were already reverently carrying the bodies of Irfal and Kalil back indoors.

  * * *

  Further down the valley, closer to the Iraqi border, the impressive, old Bedouin Fortress at al-Farakesh, stood majestically up on the mountain ridge. It had been built many, many years previously to command an easily-defendable view of the valley below.

  Beneath the ridge, was the old building being used by General Al-Amabakhu as one of his many temporary field locations for the Jihad of Death. It was being run by his brother Jamal and his thugs,

  When the convoy returned back from the recruiting mission, Jamal and his men herded the new recruits into a makeshift barracks where they were given their first initial indoctrination training by Jamal and his men.

  In the general’s quarters, he was holding a secret meeting of his special operations team and the topic of conversation was the infidel Americans. He was surrounded by his elite guard of murderous terrorists and also in the secret meeting was his technical liaison officer Omar Al-Bikari, the fanatically ruthless team leader of the general’s specially chosen operations group.

  Al-Amabakhu addressed the meeting. “The time is now close, my brothers for our special revenge on these infidel Americans,” they all nodded in agreement. “What is the current status?”

  Al-Bikari started to explain to the general. “We are ready to move, General. Our technical people are now in place and the unbelievable irony is that the Americans welcome them with open arms!”

  “Where are our people now?” the general inquired.

  Al-Bikari nodded to his team leader and he opened the door and motioned the people waiting outside to enter the meeting. Four young men entered and surprisingly they were all young Americans!

  Al-Amabakhu looked pleased to see that they were white Caucasians, obviously his mind doctors and clerics had done their jobs well. He went up to each young man, hugged each one and kissed
them on both cheeks.

  “Welcome to our world, gentlemen,” the general began. “And where do the infidel Americans think you are at the moment?”

  All the four young men looked like fair-skinned all-American boys and they spoke excellent English.

  The first man answered. “I am Jeff Dearden, General,” he pointed to the young man next to him. “And this is my brother Eric. The Americans think we are in Dubai on vacation. We fly back to the US on the morning flight.”

  “Excellent!” Al-Amabakhu replied. He turned to the other two. “And you gentlemen?”

  The first to answer was a handsome young guy. “I am David Fuyara. General,” he began. “I came in through Abu-Dhabi, supposedly on vacation. I return tomorrow to the US.”

  The general looked at the fourth man who told him that his name was Kurt Masuri, also on vacation in the Emirates and returning to the US the next day.

  The general was very pleased. He turned to Al-Bikari. “And when they get back to the USA?”

  “We will give them their final training ready for when we make our move, General.”

  “And the rest of the team?”

  “They are already safely in the country, the fact that they all have US passports makes it so much easier, General.”

  Al-Amabakhu nodded. “Very well, let us proceed with the plan and may Allah be with you all. Now will be the time for the infidels to feel the venom of the Jihad of Death!”

  They all hugged each other and the meeting dispersed.

  CHAPTER 1

  Unknown to the JOD General, a meeting was currently being held in the Oval Office of the White House in Washington DC.

  The President of the USA, Stephen Parker, his Vice-President Robert Coulter, John Mulroney the White House Chief-of-Staff and the Directors of the FBI and CIA, were in an urgent conference.

  What had triggered the meeting was that after recently capturing a senior JOD terrorist and after subjecting him to interrogation in the Guantanamo Detention Camp in Cuba, he had disclosed that the JOD were planning a major attack.

  Even after the repeated sessions of questioning, details of which the Americans would never disclose, it had become apparent that they had got all the information that the terrorist had. Unfortunately, he only knew the attack was coming, but he didn’t know where or when.