The men had all joined the fight willingly, and over the years Karim had met far too many who had talked bravely of war. Cafés and mosques all across Saudi Arabia were filled with them. Only a handful was brave enough, stupid enough, or devout enough to actually pick up a weapon and do something about it. The idea with his group was that they would be both brave and devout. Zachariah had been devout, and smart, but he was lazy. Never bothered to take what they were doing seriously enough. That was the element he had to contend with; young men with nothing better to do. Many of them had been sent by wealthy fathers who wanted to bask in the honor of giving to the cause. More than a few of these fathers also quietly paid to have their boys kept off the front lines. The vast majority showed up with no military training, and worse, a casual, false perception of battle. Even the most well-trained and well-equipped soldiers could soil themselves in battle. Take the novice, though, full of rhetoric and propaganda and see how he performs the first time the Americans drop one of their bruising, ear-shattering 2,000-pound-laser guided bombs. Karim had witnessed entire battalions of men refusing to move for fear that American warplanes were lurking in the dark skies above.

These men were not cowards. He had seen all but two of them fight in battle and all were worthy. Even Ahmed, for all his inability to simply get over the wall, had his strengths. A self-taught sniper, he was by far the best shot with both a pistol and a rifle. Karim had big plans for him. A well-trained sniper on the prowl in a peacetime urban area would be an invaluable weapon. A thought occurred to Karim as he continued to circle his men. Maybe he was pushing them too hard. Maybe it was destroying their confidence. It was against his nature to pull back. Everything he had accomplished in life had been done by pressing forward. By trying harder.

Maybe that was not the answer with this group. In less than a week they would begin their insertion into the heart of the enemy, where they would have few allies. The tension would be tenfold. Karim thought of the other two groups. He’d received word that they’d been intercepted, but there had been nothing in the press. That meant they were more than likely floating aboard some nondescript ship in the middle of the ocean, being tortured. How had they been caught? Did they trip themselves up? Was there a traitor somewhere in their organization? All of these questions and more had kept Karim awake at night for weeks.

Something came to him at that moment as he looked over his tense men. It was guidance from Allah. He knew that almost immediately. Increasingly he could feel the hand of Allah in everything he did. Guiding him, prodding him, gently nudging him on this journey to the belly of the beast. His future was suddenly less certain; his destiny to one day lead a revolt in the holiest of lands. Maybe it would all end in America. Karim couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed, but it lasted only a second. He knew Allah was testing him. Making sure he was humble. Getting him to stay focused on the task at hand. So be it, Karim thought. If America is to be my final battle, I will make it a glorious fiery ending.

Karim turned his attention to Ahmed, who was still breathing heavily. He had yet to address a very important issue; with Zachariah gone the structure needed to be realigned. Karim had designed the team to function much like the Navy SEALs and their swim buddy system. Each man had been assigned a partner to train with. The eight men could be split into two fighting forces of four, or four smaller teams of two. Karim had put much thought into it. This would give him the strength to make the initial assaults and the flexibility to deploy smaller units that would be harder to detect once the powers that be figured out what was going on.

“Ahmed,” Karim said as he extended his hand, “I would be honored if you would accept me as your partner.”

The Moroccan was shocked. “Amir, the honor would be mine.”

Karim smiled. “You are a fine soldier and I have great faith in you.” He glanced at the other men and took pride in their approving smiles. To lighten the mood further he said, “I will have to make sure we don’t have to climb any walls.”

CHAPTER 18

KARIM looked out across the clearing, not sure what to expect, but he thought he would feel something. Some momentous change, a gnawing anticipation for what lay ahead, a sense of pride in what they had accomplished. Something, anything, but all he felt was emptiness. He looked from one side of the clearing to the other. Surveyed the obstacle course they had all run a thousand times, the pistol range, where he had turned each of them into expert marksmen with their Glock 19s. And not just into static marksmen; he’d turned them into gunfighters. They’d learned to shoot with both their left and right hands, extended two-hand grips, close-in single-hand grips, on the move, on the ground, standing and sitting. They’d covered every conceivable situation, and they were all drastically better. But were they good enough?

Karim felt it. The tightness in his chest. The shallow breaths. It was another panic attack. He had told no one. So far he’d been able to convince the men they were just migraines, but he knew better. He’d had headaches before, and these were not headaches. They were far more terrifying. Normally he was visited by the pangs of doubt right before he fell asleep. When he was alone with his thoughts. When he was desperately trying to empty his consciousness of all his worries so he could simply sleep. It was hopeless, though. The more he tried the worse it got, and now it was happening to him in the middle of the day.

The illness, or whatever it was, always came the same way. It started as doubt; doubt in his own ability and that of his men. They had done so much, had come so far, but was it far enough? Where was the sense of accomplishment, or finality, or at least the satisfaction that they were leaving this awful place? The place that had almost doomed them from the start. Karim thought back to those first few weeks when the men had all taken ill, their bodies assaulted by the horrid stew of moisture and insects. It was the one thing he had failed to take into consideration. He knew his men would have to adapt to the new climate, but assumed their youth and health could handle it. They had, after all, survived fighting against the Americans in the cold, rough mountains of Afghanistan. Karim had hated the cold, but never again would he curse it. The cold, dry mountain air killed all of the things you couldn’t see; the tiny microbes and bacteria that would assault the body. Those unseen enemies flourished in the moist jungle air.

Surprisingly it was the U.S. Army that had rescued them, or more precisely one of their handy field manuals on tropical survival. Karim had gotten the men the proper medicine and clothing and had instituted a strict policy on hygiene. It took almost a full month before everyone was cured of their rashes and diarrhea. From that moment on they had made great progress. They were stronger, fitter, more knowledgeable, and more confident, but was it enough? What was he failing to account for?

“Amir.”

Karim turned to find Farid standing a few feet behind him, a look of concern on his face. “Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You do not look well. Excuse me for saying so.”

“I feel fine.” Karim lied.

“The men are ready.”

“Water?”

“Full rations, as you ordered.”

“Do they know we are leaving?”

Farid could not hide his own surprise.

“I didn’t think so.” Karim looked back toward the huts and their rusty tin roofs. The men were standing next to their packs, preparing for what they thought would be just another long march through the jungle. “Bring them over. Tell them to leave their packs.”