2084 The End of Days by Derek Beaugarde Read Free Book Online Page B

Cairo, wagged his finger at his old comrade.
    “Yes, but, in the name of Allah, you are screwing around, my friend!”
    Khan snapped his arms out with his palms spread open in a revelatory motion to the whole Group. This was the only name that they had agreed to go by when meeting, but secretly they were part of the wider Brotherhood of Jihad. Although, what Khan blurted out was no great revelation. The Group all knew what he was involved in as it was related to the Group’s mission.
    “That is not the same thing as Jill! I am doing that with the other woman for the cause of Islam. Aisha al-Gazari is our portal to the path we seek to follow in order to help our brothers in the LOIN to destroy the infidel scum.”
    One of the others, a bearded thuggish swarthy-looking man, known only to the group as the Palestinian, spat an oath back at Khan.
    “That bloody white journalist is the infidel scum!”
    Khan jumped out his chair knocking it reeling backwards and clenched a fist at the scowling Palestinian.
    “Take that back, you bastard! I have feelings for that girl –“
    The Palestinian also made a half-hearted threat to rise from his seat but Mahmoud El Kharroubi stood slowly and upraised pacifying outstretched arms to each of the two men glowering darkly at each other.
    “Brothers – brothers - Allah will be gratified to see that we are spending the cause fighting each other - rather than directing all our venom at our enemies in the West. Please, sit my brother Khan?”
    Khan slowly pulled his chair back in to the table and sat down again throwing an apologetic gesture with his slightly raised palm across to the Palestinian. The Palestinian gave a slight nod in grudged acceptance. El Kharroubi continued.
    “Khan – you have got to accept, my brother, that this arousal of Jill Geeson’s suspicions, albeit somewhat misdirected, is dangerous for our Mission here in the UK.”
    Khan made to interject but Mahmoud stopped him with a quick raise of his hand.
    “Listen, Khan, I am a journalist by trade, so I know what I’m talking about. Jill - she is an investigative journalist. If she really wanted to, how long do you think it would take her to find out things about you, find out things about our Group? I have made discreet enquiries myself. I admit behind your back, my brother, for which I apologize. My journalist friends tell me that she is like a ferret in a rabbit warren. She will dig and dig until she sinks her teeth into the jugular of a story that she is pursuing. She would not necessarily be looking for us, but inadvertently she could stumble across us. And then –“
    Khan looked aghast at El Kharroubi and stuttered over his words.
    “And – then – wha – at!”
    Mahmoud did not get a chance to answer. The Palestinian answered for him in a low and deadly hiss.
    “And then she would have to be eliminated!”
    Back in her small kitchen the microwave oven pinged too loudly in readiness. Jill had been crying since Khan had hung up on her and by now her head was throbbing mercilessly. She went over and slipped the piping hot TV dinner onto a plate. As she peeled back the pierced film on top of the carton a blast of boiling steam burnt her fingers. Jill cried out in pain. She reacted instantly by picking up the plate and smashing the dinner into the kitchen sink. She burst into tears again, sobbing over the sink. Then she vomited. Oh God, Jill thought, what is up with me? Just then her mobile rang and she grabbed it, still half-sobbing into the mouthpiece.
    “Khan, you bastard -”
    A startled voice spoke back to her.
    “Jill?”
    “Sorry, eh, who is this?”
    “It’s Ewan Sinclair, Jill.”
    “Oh, fuck off, Ewan! Not now -”
    Jill hung up on her fellow Scottish ex and switched her mobile off. She could not face any more calls tonight.
    *
    Across London, in their more upmarket townhouse in Chelsea, practically in über-posh West Kensington, the Venters family had begun to clear up the dishes after a