“In a hundred years, America and Britain as we know them will be
nothing more than a page in the history books. Our Muslim influence will
spread throughout their lands until ultimately the whole world kneels before
Allah!”
Mansour had to marvel at the
audacity of the plan, but it was flawed on so many fundamental levels.
“How many sperm banks are there
in the UK and US?” He asked, hoping his master would recognise the scale
of the operation he was proposing.
“Many hundreds,” Al-Asiri told
him, “but we do not need to destroy them all. We have a website ready to
go live, and it will proclaim the formation of the Campaign for Natural Birth.
It is a fictitious Christian organisation seeking the abolition of
medically-assisted pregnancy on the grounds that it is God alone who decides
the birth of every child.
“We will bomb a small number of
sperm banks in each country and CNB will claim responsibility for these
actions, warning that more attacks will come unless they are closed down.
They will also claim that anyone donating to one of these banks makes
themselves a viable target.”
Mansour could see the sense in
that approach, and if nothing else it would tie up the security services in
both countries for quite some time. Nevertheless, he still had major
concerns about the overall plan, and he wasn’t sure how much criticism he could
level at his master’s idea.
“That still leaves them
with a very large stock pile. I’m not sure these efforts will deliver the
results you are looking for. I am also concerned that the bombers will
give away the fact that a Christian group wasn’t actually behind the attacks.”
“That is why you are here,”
Al-Asiri told him, his demeanour a lot less convivial than moments
earlier. “I have given you the tools and explained the effect I wish to
achieve. It is now up to you to make it work.”
Mansour sat in silence, the
enormity of the task weighing heavily on his shoulders. His rise through
the Al-Qaeda ranks had been meteoric, but fail this mission and all of his
efforts would have been in vain.
Al-Asiri saw the blank, almost
pained expression on his general’s face and offered a powerful incentive.
“As you know, since the Sheik died and I took over his mantle, I delayed in
filling the vacant place on the inner council. There was a reason for
this.
“I have been watching you
develop over the years, and your commitment to the cause, your courage and
skill all point to you one day making a great leader.”
Al-Asiri paused to let the words
sink in. “Complete this mission and take your place on the council.”
Mansour’s excitement was
tempered by his concerns over Al-Asiri’s mental state. He had hoped to
one day become a regional commander, but he’d envisaged that being many years
in the future. To have it handed to him on a plate at such a tender age
was a blessing from Allah himself, though it meant being led by a man who was
obviously cartwheeling towards senility.
The seed of a plan popped into
Mansour’s head, one that would need to be nurtured, but for the time being he
gave his leader the reaction he desired.
“Of course I will take on the
challenge,” he smiled. “Tell me what plans you already have in place.”
Chapter
7
Friday
May 4th 2012
“I’m bored!”
Alana Levine sat with her arms
folded, staring at the caravan floor. “Wish I could have brought my iPhone.”
Her father was drying dishes in
the tiny kitchen area and he slammed down the cup in his hand, smashing it into
a dozen pieces. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He snarled.
Sandra Levine grabbed her
husband by the arm. “Carl, leave her alone. What do you expect from
a thirteen-year-old?”
Carl Levine took a couple of
deep breaths before gathering up the shards of porcelain and dumping them in
the trash. After getting a look from his wife he went to sit next to his
daughter and put an arm
nothing more than a page in the history books. Our Muslim influence will
spread throughout their lands until ultimately the whole world kneels before
Allah!”
Mansour had to marvel at the
audacity of the plan, but it was flawed on so many fundamental levels.
“How many sperm banks are there
in the UK and US?” He asked, hoping his master would recognise the scale
of the operation he was proposing.
“Many hundreds,” Al-Asiri told
him, “but we do not need to destroy them all. We have a website ready to
go live, and it will proclaim the formation of the Campaign for Natural Birth.
It is a fictitious Christian organisation seeking the abolition of
medically-assisted pregnancy on the grounds that it is God alone who decides
the birth of every child.
“We will bomb a small number of
sperm banks in each country and CNB will claim responsibility for these
actions, warning that more attacks will come unless they are closed down.
They will also claim that anyone donating to one of these banks makes
themselves a viable target.”
Mansour could see the sense in
that approach, and if nothing else it would tie up the security services in
both countries for quite some time. Nevertheless, he still had major
concerns about the overall plan, and he wasn’t sure how much criticism he could
level at his master’s idea.
“That still leaves them
with a very large stock pile. I’m not sure these efforts will deliver the
results you are looking for. I am also concerned that the bombers will
give away the fact that a Christian group wasn’t actually behind the attacks.”
“That is why you are here,”
Al-Asiri told him, his demeanour a lot less convivial than moments
earlier. “I have given you the tools and explained the effect I wish to
achieve. It is now up to you to make it work.”
Mansour sat in silence, the
enormity of the task weighing heavily on his shoulders. His rise through
the Al-Qaeda ranks had been meteoric, but fail this mission and all of his
efforts would have been in vain.
Al-Asiri saw the blank, almost
pained expression on his general’s face and offered a powerful incentive.
“As you know, since the Sheik died and I took over his mantle, I delayed in
filling the vacant place on the inner council. There was a reason for
this.
“I have been watching you
develop over the years, and your commitment to the cause, your courage and
skill all point to you one day making a great leader.”
Al-Asiri paused to let the words
sink in. “Complete this mission and take your place on the council.”
Mansour’s excitement was
tempered by his concerns over Al-Asiri’s mental state. He had hoped to
one day become a regional commander, but he’d envisaged that being many years
in the future. To have it handed to him on a plate at such a tender age
was a blessing from Allah himself, though it meant being led by a man who was
obviously cartwheeling towards senility.
The seed of a plan popped into
Mansour’s head, one that would need to be nurtured, but for the time being he
gave his leader the reaction he desired.
“Of course I will take on the
challenge,” he smiled. “Tell me what plans you already have in place.”
Chapter
7
Friday
May 4th 2012
“I’m bored!”
Alana Levine sat with her arms
folded, staring at the caravan floor. “Wish I could have brought my iPhone.”
Her father was drying dishes in
the tiny kitchen area and he slammed down the cup in his hand, smashing it into
a dozen pieces. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He snarled.
Sandra Levine grabbed her
husband by the arm. “Carl, leave her alone. What do you expect from
a thirteen-year-old?”
Carl Levine took a couple of
deep breaths before gathering up the shards of porcelain and dumping them in
the trash. After getting a look from his wife he went to sit next to his
daughter and put an arm
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