they’d set out, a single truck making the long trek to the Turkish border, losing sight of the dust cloud made by Ringo’s caravan headed east.
After hours of bouncing in the back, they passed through Raqqa without stopping. Jacob said, “Looks like there’s no going back now.”
Carlos and Devon grinned and fist-bumped. Hussein said nothing, studying Jacob. Seeing the change that had occurred in his friend, like a virus that had invaded his soul and taken whatever humanity he had left.
20
J acob had always been crazy, even on the inside of the boys’ school, but he’d had a limit. You could push him only so far before he’d react, but even then, he’d cause just enough damage to solve the problem. Now those limits were gone. Destroyed in the cauldron of the Islamic State. What remained was anybody’s guess.
Hussein knew Jacob would never be a Muslim. He was nothing like Carlos and Devon, two men who lacked both the intelligence and the self-esteem to even understand the cause they were being used to serve. Embracing the charnel house as a womb, they projected onto others the pain they’d felt their entire lives, for the first time harnessing a power they’d never had by holding a blade in their fist. A blade that was not only sanctioned but encouraged.
Jacob was different. And had grown more distinct in the time they’d been inside Syria. He was like a pit bull that had been trained in a gladitorial arena, punished again and again, then released into the wild. Free to run among the other dogs, but holding a killer instinct that none of the others possessed.
Hussein remembered cutting the head off of the other Kurd. Remembered the revulsion and the absolute fear. Remembered the man’s life force leaving his body as his limbs vibrated in their binds, the tapping of his legs as he cut, the image seared into his conscious like a physical branding, never allowing him to sleep again.
But what he remembered most of all was Jacob yelling at him. Jacob ordering him to do it for the white house. Jacob’s eyes boring into him. A visage completely devoid of emotion or empathy. A man who had crossed over. It scared him beyond belief, and he no longer knew if his greatest sin was killing the Kurd or turning Jacob loose.
The truck bounced along, traveling ever north, and Jacob scooted over to him, leaning in close. He said, “You can leave once you get to Jordan. You know that, right?”
Hussein said, “I won’t do that. I know my duty.”
“Bullshit. You aren’t cut out for this. Get to Jordan and get out. Anyone says anything about hunting you, and I’ll deal with them.”
Hussein studied his friend, seeing the same compassion from after the white house, when he’d been thrown back into the barracks. After the atrocities. Seeing the man who had helped him survive those days. Conflicted, he said, “Ringo told me what will happen if I flee. They’ll kill my father.”
“Why does that matter? That asshole left you when you were four. You don’t even know him. He’s getting what he deserves. You wouldn’t even be in this mess if he’d hung around.”
Hussein looked into Jacob’s dead eyes and wished he had the same pitiless mind-set. He did not.
“I know. I know in my heart, but I don’t know if I can do it.”
Jacob laughed and said, “You were always soft. Even inside.”
Hussein had a wild fantasy flit through his head, a solution to all of their problems. He said, “My mission is easy. All I have to do is get a door open, away from the security of the hotel.”
“So killing a hundred people is worth the life of your father? A guy you’ve never known?”
Hussein drew in, tucking his head like a turtle, wanting to get away from what his simple opening of a door would accomplish. He said, “What about you? You’re going to be a
shahid
. Kill yourself. You want to go out like that?”
Jacob got that distant look on his face and said, “I’ll follow this a little bit further.” He
After hours of bouncing in the back, they passed through Raqqa without stopping. Jacob said, “Looks like there’s no going back now.”
Carlos and Devon grinned and fist-bumped. Hussein said nothing, studying Jacob. Seeing the change that had occurred in his friend, like a virus that had invaded his soul and taken whatever humanity he had left.
20
J acob had always been crazy, even on the inside of the boys’ school, but he’d had a limit. You could push him only so far before he’d react, but even then, he’d cause just enough damage to solve the problem. Now those limits were gone. Destroyed in the cauldron of the Islamic State. What remained was anybody’s guess.
Hussein knew Jacob would never be a Muslim. He was nothing like Carlos and Devon, two men who lacked both the intelligence and the self-esteem to even understand the cause they were being used to serve. Embracing the charnel house as a womb, they projected onto others the pain they’d felt their entire lives, for the first time harnessing a power they’d never had by holding a blade in their fist. A blade that was not only sanctioned but encouraged.
Jacob was different. And had grown more distinct in the time they’d been inside Syria. He was like a pit bull that had been trained in a gladitorial arena, punished again and again, then released into the wild. Free to run among the other dogs, but holding a killer instinct that none of the others possessed.
Hussein remembered cutting the head off of the other Kurd. Remembered the revulsion and the absolute fear. Remembered the man’s life force leaving his body as his limbs vibrated in their binds, the tapping of his legs as he cut, the image seared into his conscious like a physical branding, never allowing him to sleep again.
But what he remembered most of all was Jacob yelling at him. Jacob ordering him to do it for the white house. Jacob’s eyes boring into him. A visage completely devoid of emotion or empathy. A man who had crossed over. It scared him beyond belief, and he no longer knew if his greatest sin was killing the Kurd or turning Jacob loose.
The truck bounced along, traveling ever north, and Jacob scooted over to him, leaning in close. He said, “You can leave once you get to Jordan. You know that, right?”
Hussein said, “I won’t do that. I know my duty.”
“Bullshit. You aren’t cut out for this. Get to Jordan and get out. Anyone says anything about hunting you, and I’ll deal with them.”
Hussein studied his friend, seeing the same compassion from after the white house, when he’d been thrown back into the barracks. After the atrocities. Seeing the man who had helped him survive those days. Conflicted, he said, “Ringo told me what will happen if I flee. They’ll kill my father.”
“Why does that matter? That asshole left you when you were four. You don’t even know him. He’s getting what he deserves. You wouldn’t even be in this mess if he’d hung around.”
Hussein looked into Jacob’s dead eyes and wished he had the same pitiless mind-set. He did not.
“I know. I know in my heart, but I don’t know if I can do it.”
Jacob laughed and said, “You were always soft. Even inside.”
Hussein had a wild fantasy flit through his head, a solution to all of their problems. He said, “My mission is easy. All I have to do is get a door open, away from the security of the hotel.”
“So killing a hundred people is worth the life of your father? A guy you’ve never known?”
Hussein drew in, tucking his head like a turtle, wanting to get away from what his simple opening of a door would accomplish. He said, “What about you? You’re going to be a
shahid
. Kill yourself. You want to go out like that?”
Jacob got that distant look on his face and said, “I’ll follow this a little bit further.” He
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