Enemy Among Us-A Jordan Wright Thriller (2 page)

Jordan was taken aback. It wasn’t the response he would have expected from any priest, particularly one that was a Bishop who used to work at the Vatican.

The Bishop continued, “our world has many enemies. Some we can see, others we can’t. We have to battle both everyday. We are all soldiers in a cause. You must think of your duties and the greater good you bring about. Only when you doubt you are doing good should you question what you are doing. There seems to be something else troubling you.”

Jordon nodded. “Yes Bishop, you are correct. The man I was ordered to find. A man called Tahir is very bad. He plans and finances terrorist actions around the globe. I found him and he is in custody, but he told me something that has me very disturbed. He told me there are enemy cells within the US that have been activated and are in the final stages of planning their attack.”

The Bishop nodded. “Yours is a very hard job, my son. You carry a heavy burden. Remember there are those that will always be there for you. You should find solace with Saint Michael the Arch Angel and say his prayer daily. He will look after you. I know it may not be what you have come to expect. But tell me my son where are you headed?”

“I have a villa rented outside of Siena.”

“You’re far off track for Siena, even for someone on holiday.”

“I’m stopping off in Assisi.”

“I see. Paying tribute to St. Francis. A noble endeavor.”

“He also gets me through the day.”

“I’m sure he does. There is someone you should seek while you are there.”

Oh no, Jordan thought to himself, can’t I ever escape from him.

“Find a Father Marco, he would appreciate what you are going through. Though I’ve never gotten the full story from him, there seems to be some things in his background that are similar to yours.”

Jordan held up his hand with his palm flat out. “You can stop there. I know Marco well. I do hope to see him.”

“I see. I could ask why you don’t confess to him, but I won’t. But getting back to why you are here, pray the Act of Contrition with me and then I will absolve you of your sins. Pray a decade of the rosary and do start each day reciting the Prayer to St. Michael. It should give you comfort for what you are called on to do.”

Jordan recited the Act of Contrition. Thanked the Bishop, turned and left the room, found a pew and did his penance.

When he finished, he left the Church, holding the door for a frail elderly women.

“Is the Bishop still taking confession?” She asked in Italian

“I think he is.” He responded in the language he loved but felt he hadn’t mastered. She seemed to understand.

“I’ve got a good one for him today. I’m sure it will be the best one he hears.” She smiled and winked as she entered the Church.

He stifled a chuckle as he went to retrieve his car

Chapter Two

Mustafa Amadi grabbed the cell phone on the corner of the desk and flung it across the room, sending it directly into the second hand wall unit. On impact the back spun off, with the battery quickly falling to the floor. The rest of the unit took the full impact and fell in several splinters of plastic to the worn carpet.

He pushed back from the table, leaning back in his chair with his hands clenched in tight fists over his eyes.

“I cannot believe this. They are insane. They know nothing about how effective my team can be.” He threw his fists up in the air still leaning back in the chair. He shifted his weight and it brought him forward as he scanned his translation of the note just received. What was it with these people?

Two days ago he received the message, coded in an email that had been routed through several servers around the world to disguise its origin. To anyone reading the message, it would seem to be a note from an aunt to a beloved nephew in another country. However upon decoding, Mustafa discovered his mentor had been killed, or in his mind assassinated. Tahir Alfani had been like a father to him. He had given him this assignment when many had felt he wasn’t ready to lead such an important operation. He pleaded with Tahir to not undertake so many missions on his own, but to rely on others. A plead that was always met with laughter and being told to not worry, it was in Allah’s hands.

Now he was gone, and when he pushed his leaders to let him activate his team as revenge, the response he just received was the time was not right. The time was never right for these fools. Now with Tahir gone, he was almost certain they would never act. They were weak. They were bureaucrats in a battle that needed decisive leadership.

Tahir had spent almost twenty years training his team and getting them legally immigrated to the U.S. and they had assimilated into their neighborhoods. With the funds he had been given he was able to set them up in various businesses. Beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, he had actually been able to send more money back to the leaders in Iran then they had originally given. Capitalism was funding some of their violent activities and allowing them to grow their recruitment and training activities. But with all the success he wasn’t able to convince them he and his team were ready to carry out their mission.

Now his biggest regret was sending the money back. They didn’t know he and his team had generated such income from their endeavors. He wished he had kept it because it would have made him a very rich man. He could walk away from it all and get lost in this big country. Why not? If they weren’t going to let them do what he had been trained for, then why not just go off and live the rest of his life. The families of the team would be fine. They all had jobs and if he no longer required most of their profits, then they would have a very nice life. For all they sacrificed, it would be a small reward because they could never return to Iran and their true families.

But Tahir’s death would forced him to do something. No longer could he just sit there and do nothing. He would move forward on his own, but he didn’t want his masters in Iran to get credit. He pulled open the center drawer of the table and fished through the unorganized papers and cards until he found what he wanted. It was a business card of a man who had approached Mustafa several months ago. He had wanted to form a partnership and had promised it would be very enriching for Mustafa. Mustafa had first rebuffed this man, because he was still a warrior for the jihad. But now with Tahir gone, martyrdom seemed like a vacant cause, but helping someone creates greater injury to this country while enriching himself, seemed more appealing.

He went over to the wall unit. The phone was beyond repair. He fished out the SIM card and went to the back bedroom. In the rear of the closet he opened a bin that had several unopened boxes of similar model cell phones. He quickly opened one and popped in the SIM card. He dialed the number.

“Yes.” Came the response when the call was answered.

Mustafa thought it was the same man he had met. “This is Mustafa. Is this Mr. Medina?”

“Yes, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call? Have your circumstances changed?” Jerome Fernandez-Medina replied

“They have and I think there is an opportunity for us to do business.”

“Fantastic, you will not be disappointed. Is your team ready and are you comfortable with the plan we laid out?”

“I am. It will work.”

“Great. We will begin the work from our end immediately.”

“We will be ready”

Mustafa heard the click on the other end.

“Allah Akbar.” He shouted in his home. He had much work to do, but he now had the green light he always wanted.

Chapter Three

Gleaming off the white granite of the cathedral, the bright sun was making it an even more impressive sight. Jordan had returned to Assisi, the place where it all had started. Driving up the narrow street, keeping his focus on the cathedral as it towered over the village, he was overcome with the sense of peace he found here. Finding a parking space on the street, he walked the remaining few blocks, continually looking at the imposing structure. Though he’d been here on numerous occasions, he was still in awe of the magnificence and simplicity of the church that lay before him.

He crossed the street and stopped in the middle of the plaza. He slowly turned himself completely around, taking it all in — not just the grounds of the cathedral, but the city and the surrounding countryside. Though it wasn’t his home, Jordan felt more comfortable here than anywhere else.

With the sun receding, he walked to the side of the church, entered through a door not marked, which lead to a stairway. He descended several flights and was soon in the lower undercroft, which housed the original church and the tomb of Saint Francis.

He’d not started out to be a fighter against terrorism. He’d grown up as a child of privilege. His father bought and sold manufacturing companies, usually able to buy on the cheap and sell at the top of their value. With his success, Jordan’s dad became more consumed with building his business even larger. To achieve this, his dad was away from home often, and unable to help as Jordan saw his mother turn to alcohol to combat her loneliness. Eventually, the marriage failed and Jordan rarely saw his dad. His mother recovered from her alcoholism, but not before it had seriously compromised her health.

He spent each term at boarding school, then his mother and he would travel to Italy every summer. With all the sadness that had come into his life, these summer trips brought joy. They had come to Assisi together on their first summer visit and came back every year for the next seven. When he was here, he no longer hurt from the pain of his parents’ divorce and his father’s abandonment.

In his senior year, his mother passed away. Jordan was surprised to find his mother was as good at finance as his father had been. She’d used her divorce settlement for a series of shrewd investments, resulting in Jordan inheriting a substantial amount of wealth. He returned that summer, alone, and still felt the peace and calm of the past. It was on this visit that he met Father Marco. Marco, a Franciscan priest, had noticed Jordan and his mother on previous visits. This time, seeing the young man alone, he approached Jordan and they began a conversation.

Father Marco became a mentor to Jordan. He talked to Jordan about pursuing a life of service and not to just live off the money he’d been left. The priest was instrumental in Jordan’s career choice, due to Father Marco’s past. Jordan at first thought Marco was pushing him to pursue the priesthood; but, he later found that Marco had a different life before he joined the Order, with a past of espionage and efforts to undermine the enemy during the Cold War. For a portion of his life, Marco had been an operative of the CIA. As he got to know Jordan, the priest saw a lot of himself in the younger man, enough that he felt Jordan could be of value to his country, as Marco had been. He contacted a former colleague of his, who eventually recruited Jordan.

Jordan was brought out of his thoughts when Father Marco came and sat down. “How are you my son? It is so good to see you.”

“I’m fine. I knew you would find me.”

“Your last mission —it was a success.”

Marco always amazed Jordan. A man of the cloth who still had enough connections that he always seemed to know what Jordan was doing. “Yes, it went well, but I’m troubled by something I was told by the man I was pursuing.”

“Amadi has always been troubling. I’m glad you have taken care of him. The world is a better place.”

Jordan looked at him. How could he know? Jordan had asked before and had never gotten anywhere, so he wasn’t going to waste time now. He related to Marco the comments Tahir Amadi had made that his operatives were already in the U.S. “I need to find out if it’s true. We’ve know there are cells, but he confirmed their activities.”

“There is a man with whom you need to speak. Fortunately, he is close by. We were enemies at one time; but we have grown to be friends. The Cold War changed many things, including turning people who were supposed to kill you into those few people who truly understand what you did for most of your life. He lives in Siena. I’ll contact him and have him meet you tomorrow. I know he can help. Stay at the Grand Hotel Continental and he’ll find you.” Marco rose, gave Jordan a blessing and walked out.