Black Friday by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

and smiled.
    Habib saw the small, semi-automatic pistol in the American’s hand. With a smile on his own face, he asked, “Expecting trouble, Donald?”
    â€œYou mean this?” Reed gestured with the gun. “Nah, just being careful. I wanted to make sure you guys were alone.”
    â€œWho else would be with us?”
    â€œI dunno.” Reed stepped back so they could come in, then closed the door behind them. “I guess I’m just paranoid. I was afraid Homeland Security or the FBI or somebody like that might have grabbed you and forced you to lead them to me.”
    As if anyone would ever care about such a tiny cog in the machine as Donald Reed, Habib thought. It wasn’t like Reed was the mastermind behind the plan.
    No, that was Habib.
    â€œNo one has discovered the plan. No one has reason to suspect a thing,” he said. “Everything is going exactly like we want it to go. That is, if you’ve done your part.”
    â€œHey, of course I have.” Reed sounded a little offended at the thought he might not have carried out his assignment. He set the pistol on a table and went on, “Everything is locked up in that supply closet just like it’s supposed to be. As far as anybody knows, it’s just cases of industrial-strength cleaning supplies.”
    Mahmoud said, “The janitors will not bother it?”
    â€œNo reason for them to. I stacked the boxes in the very back, like you told me. Under normal circumstances, it would take a couple of weeks before anybody would touch them.” Reed grinned. “And of course it’ll all be over with long before that, praise Allah.”
    Habib managed not to wince at the sincere but awkward sound of the phrase. He hated to hear that name in the mouth of an American, even a deluded fool like this one who considered himself an ally of the holy jihad.
    He knew that Donald Reed had drifted in and out of a dozen different religions and movements in his life before deciding that Islam was the answer for which he had been searching all along. Habib was certain Reed had thought that about all the other impulses he had followed.
    Someone who honestly converted to Islam could be accepted, even an American. Reed probably had visions of fighting the Great Satan alongside his new Muslim brothers. To Habib, though, he would never be fully trustworthy. The blood of too many infidels ran in his veins.
    Better to make use of him, then be certain that he wouldn’t lose his resolve at the last moment and ruin everything.
    That was why Habib and Mahmoud were here tonight.
    â€œYou’re sure your people will have a way out for us?” Reed asked now.
    There, Habib thought. He’s already wavering. Worrying about his own life, instead of being happy to give it up as a martyr to their glorious cause.
    â€œEverything is arranged,” Habib lied. “Once we have carried out the mission, helicopters will land on the roof of the mall to carry us away from there. We’ll take hostages with us, so they won’t dare shoot us down. Then there will be planes waiting at the airport.”
    â€œI can’t wait to actually see Mecca,” Reed said.
    There would be no helicopters, no planes, no Mecca for Donald Reed. Not for any of them. Reed thought this plan had originated with the leaders of the movement in the Middle East, but in truth it had come from an entirely different place.
    It came from the brain of Habib Jabara. He had planted the seeds, cultivated them, nursed them along, adding a piece here, a piece there, recruiting this man and that, building an invisible organization right under the noses of the Americans, right here in the heartland of their country.
    Let others protest, hold press conferences, file lawsuits. Let them infiltrate the government, worm their way into the corridors of power, exploit the foolish obsession many Americans had with “diversity” and “tolerance.” In the long