The Islam Conspiracy E-Book

Matthias Richter

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 279

Beschreibung

The Islamic State is at the climax of its power. When a German journalist is captured and sentenced to death, the German government sends a so called Jumper, in order to negotiate a ransom. The experienced secret agent Paulsen and his young and motivated partner take on the journey to Mosul and witness things, the Islamic State is not keen on sharing with the world. The meeting with the caliph ahead, they wonder if they can trust the word of the Caliph. At the same time an attack occurs in Miami committed by an islamist terrorist. The court psychiatrist Adriana Borrero is entrusted with creating an opinion on the suspect. With time she encounters several inconsistencies in his story. She starts to investigate with a police friend of hers and soon discovers that the Islamic State is an invention of the CIA, sacrificing countless lives. But can she save the endangered people in time?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

A last thought

Foreword

The so called Islamic State, which initially overran the middle east like a wave seems now to be on the decline and losing its caliphate. The Perschmerga played a vital role in the defeat of ISIS demanding a just compensation in form of an independent Kurdistan. But how could these young jihadi fighters hold up so long against multiple and highly trained armies?

As disclosed in the DIA Report of the pentagon of 2012, the US had knowledge that al Quaida was leading the opposition against Basar al Assad and that their goal was a caliphate of salafist shaping. The document also reveals that the »west« supported the opposition against Assad. But of course they only supported the moderate opposition...

Only an ingenuous person can believe that there is a moderate opposition in a war. The FSA has also chopped off heads of their captured enemies. And why shouldn't in this particular conflict the old proverb be valid: The enemy of my enemy is my friend?

Remember back when the US supported al Quaida against the Russian occupation in Afghanistan? The same elements of the deep state now used the jihadists against their new target, i.e. president Asad. Like in Afghanistan, Iraq and Ly-bia they did so accepting the predictable consequences of deaths, mass suffering and the refugee crisis.

Reality is wrong. Drams are real.

Tupac Shakur

Believe nothing

no matter where you read it

or who has said it, not even if I have said it

unless it agrees with your own reason

and your own common sense

Buddha

Love comes naturally, hate is learned

unknown

Chapter 1

Boba Fett stepped to the counter of the cinema on sunset Drive and picked up the tickets. The Star Wars Fans were anxiously awaiting the remake of the famous trilogy. Like most of the fans who didn’t have VIP tickets, Andrew had spent the night waiting in line in front of the cinema. But he didn’t mind as he did it for his princess Lea. »Did I promise too much?« He proudly gestured towards the crowd. The reception hall resembled a carnival Party. Stormtroopers, Jawas and Chewbaccas were bustling about to get some snacks and make it to their seats in time. »It should be illegal to call something a snack, which costs 18,50,- $!«, Andrew complained. »You are Crazy!« Sandy laughed and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. They went to the same class in the Miami High School. Sandy liked his smart and insightful character, which was different from most people she knew. She liked his kind of humor as well as their profound conversations which she could only have with him. Notwithstanding the cliche their fellow students gave them - ‚the Beauty and the Beast‘ - they soon came to be close friends. Armed with their snacks they hurried to their seats. Luckily Andrew had managed to get Category A tickets, which meant quite central in the back. That way they didn't need to stretch their necks. »Did you switch off your phone?«, he asked Sandy cautiously. »It’s starting.«

The people’s eyes and mouths were wide open when the movie began and nobody dared to rustle with Pop Corn nor slurp on their Cokes. But there is always one idiot exception. Andrew cursed unbelievingly when his neighbor’s smart phone vibrated and flashed up. »What is wrong with these people?«, he muttered. The man was even so bold and stood up and made his way through the aisle, disturbing all the other people. He didn’t go to the toilets to take a call like everybody else, but walked all the way down to the emergency exit. Andrew was so irritated that he followed the guy with his eyes until he slipped through the emergency door.

»What a jerk!«

Some moments later the door opened again and let the lighting through. »Of course! Here we go again!« The guy looked different though and his movements were also different. Things happened so fast. He made three steps to the center of the screen. Then he threw a smoke grenade into the hall yelling »Allahu Akbar!«, and started shooting indiscriminately into the crowd. An inferno erupted. Screams, panic and blood. Total chaos. Andrew was paralyzed. He clutched to the thought that it was all part of the show of the cinema. But then he saw a little girl being shot in the stomach and thrown back against the seats. Blood splashed in all directions. Real blood. And real fear. In the meantime the lights were switched on and a voice was heard through the speakers. »Homicide in Theater One. Homicide in Theater One!« Andrew grabbed Sandy and shook her. »Let’s get out of here! Fast!« They climbed over the rows of seats and ducked down as soon as they reached the alley. Still more shots were bursting through the air. Andrew didn’t know where they were coming from. So he kept down. At the exit people were jostling but Andrew didn’t let go of Sandy’s hand. When they finally reached the door, he looked back into the hall a last time. In a split second he became aware of corpses in unnatural positions. Bleeding, panicking faces contorted with pain and fear. The image burnt itself into his memory. In the reception hall police men and black clad men from a special unit kept running in the direction of Theater One. In the background sirens were howling. And the flashing police and ambulance lights everywhere. The cinema had changed into a crime scene. Exhausted and drained they sat down on the stairs. »Did you see that?«, Sandy whimpered drenched in tears. »The little girl was shot in the chest and in the head! And all the blood.« She broke into tears and Andrew was about to give in to tears as well. Instead he stroked her hair. »It’s alright. It’s gonna be fine.« He knew that his words sounded hollow in the face of death, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. So he kept hugging and comforting Sandy as good as possible. Without entirely grasping what had been going on, they watched the ambulance taking care of injured people, parents who cried over their dead children and children who cried over their dead parents.

Chapter 2

At ten o’clock sharp the display of his phone illuminated and smooth hinduistic tunes filled his room and invited him with a happy Namaste to a new day. The shutters opened automatically and gave sight to the bright and trickling sun beams. The kind of energy boost he needed to get out of bed. Usually. But this night had been a nightmare for Chris. He had laid sleeplessly and pondered over one single thought in his mind: »Was it the right decision? Should I really pull it off?« But he knew he couldn’t pull out at the last moment.

After his studies of journalism the young man from Berlin had some problems starting off and finding a job. After one year of sending out dozens and dozens of applications he got somewhat disillusioned. His parents slowly started to withdraw their financial support and Chris was forced to work as a personal trainer again. His dream as a successful journalist was not even in sight and he grew more and more anxious. He needed a sensational story that the media outlets couldn’t ignore. And he was on the edge and willing to do everything for that story.

He became a regular at the exclusive restaurant Borchardt’s, where politicians used to meet and tried to make connections. After a short while he befriended a young politician from the green Party, who was working in a commission on the Islamic State. She liked the young and hungry journalist and wanted to help him. »Whenever there is a kidnapping by a terror organization the German government uses so called Jumpers. These Jumpers are supposed to make contact with the terrorist group and settle a ransom«, she told him over a glass of wine. »That is of course, only after all the other actions and possibilities to free the citizen are too risky or infeasible.« Chris swallowed her words. She also told him it was planned to send a Jumper to Syria and Iraq in order to free a German Citizen. »The Jumper is an experienced undercover agent called Paulsen.« She looked Chris in the eyes. »If you are willing to go… I could arrange for you to accompany him?« Chris’ eyes were beaming and he confirmed that he was committed to go.

He had had many encounters with politicians that promised a lot but didn't execute. But this time it was different. After only 2 days he had received a short and poignant email by Paulsen: »Let’s meet!«

And the next day they sat at a table in a little pub. After having scrutinized Chris thoroughly, Paulsen began. »You want a big story, eh? Well, you can have it. You might know, that the Islamic State had brutally murdered two Journalists this year. These graphic videos went viral and were a huge propaganda success for the Jihadists. Now another journalist is exposed and is waiting the death penalty. We need to avoid another propaganda video. So we pay them. Can you follow?« Chris nodded slightly. »We’ve planned for some time to bring a person to the Heart of the Islamic State that has an extra eye for detail and is able to report.« He glanced at Chris in an indiscriminate manner. Our common friend spoke highly of you. You must have been good in bed. Or whatever… she said you are brave and are quick on the uptake. I need someone like that. Are you hungry and fearless?«

Chris returned his look and nodded his head. »Yes Sir, You came to the right person.«

Paulsen clapped his hands. »Fine, then I have company for the trip to the Caliphate.«

At 6 p.m. the Maerst Alabama was landing in King Fahad Industrial Port Yanbu. Miller was standing at the rail and smoking a cigarette. He had joined the container ship by helicopter this morning. With top-class clients it was usual practice of the company for the vendor to supervise the shipment and attend the delivery. As an extra service. Even though Miller had done this numerous times before he was equally stunned by the 155m x 25m container ship. A town on the water. When the ship was anchored and he stepped on the port, he was greeted by his business partner Sheikh al-Walid and his entourage. They knew each other for a long time and they respected and trusted each other. »Welcome to the Arabic Peninsula, my American friend.« He reached out for his hand and shook it. »Delighted to meet you, too.« Miller responded in the same light hearted manner. The Sheikh glimpsed over his shoulder towards the containeship. »Did you bring my new little toys?« Miller gave in to a grin.

»Yes, it is top-notch quality. I am sure, you will love ‘em.«

Chris was seated in the economy class of Turkish Airways and looked into the clouds pondering over his mission. The phenomenon and the rise of the Islamic State to a global threat had shocked the whole world. Nobody had deemed it possible for the off-shoot of Al Qaida, with its origins in the wake of the Arabic Spring in Syria, to conquer so much land in such a short period of time and keep it. The shock gave in to the realization that the Islamic State had changed from a terror group into an established state. What the Jihadists lacked in military training, they made up with their incomparable religious zeal. They longed for death in combat for that would bring them directly to paradise. Chris remembered a story of the crash course he was given, which dealt with an old islamic fighter whose whole body was spangled with scars. He had only one single goal. To die for Allah. But he survived again and again. When he lay in his death bed, he despondently mourned over the fact that he never received the honor of dying as a martyr.

This zeal was revived by the young men of the Islamic state. This made it possible for them to compete and to win against much larger armies in the region. Thus within a few years they had managed to change the map in the middle east drastically. »Chili con carne or Pasta, Sir?« The voice of the stewardess of Turkish Airlines brought Chris back to reality. A tall and beautiful woman with black long hair was smiling at him. Chris regained his composure. »Chili con Carne in an airplane with over 200 passengers? What terrorist came up with this menu?« He winked at her and she smiled back. »Sir, at least you are seated at the emergency exit, so you might have a chance to escape.«

After lunch Chris fell asleep and was only awakened by the pilot’s landing speech.

Konstantinopel! Chris had to think of the capital of the Byzantine Empire. A mega city with over 12 million inhabitants stretched before his eyes. An endless net of houses and streets, even from above. At the same time it was the frontline to the adjacent Islamic State who had started firing against their neighbor.

Chris met his companion Paulsen in the lobby of the Four Seasons in the center of Istanbul. Paulsen had traveled there some days before to take some preperations. The two men that were from now on dependent on each other, greeted themselves with a glass of Jack Daniels. »At least you no longer look like a fashion victim.« Paulsen stated in his dry manner. Chris had grown his beard long and thick which gave him - in accordance with his dark tan - an orientalic note. He had noticed before that the taxi driver had talked to him in Turkish. Paulsen in contrast was rather pale and skinny. But you could see from his face that he had some tremendous life experience. Other than that he emanated a kind of sovereignty that was palatable in the whole room. »As we don’t want anybody to know what we’re doing - especially not the Turkish - we take the same route as the Jihadists. With the help of traffickers«, he continued explaining. »First we go to Gaziantep. There we stay alert until they call us.« He took the glass and emptied it. »After that there is no way back.«

»Darth Vader attacks!«, read the headline of the Miami Herald. Adriana Borrero sat at the breakfast table and read the article carefully. The whole weekend there was no other talk in town. In the media, in the living rooms and in the streets. People could not grasp what had happened. Again. They showed their compassion for the relatives of the victims and anger against the perpetrator. Within 10 months it was the 3rd religiously motivated attack. And this was by far the most deadliest.

Adriana slowly repeated the numbers that every person in Miami knew by now: 17 dead people, 4 gravely injured and 21 injured. For that reason they called him the Black Jack killer. Adriana’s son Santo started whining and she took him out of his seat and onto her lap. »Ven mi hijo, the mush is so yummy, Sabroso. She took a spoon and ate it with pretended pleasure. The single mum was a court psychiatrist and her job was to render an expert opinion on murder cases. They had informed her that her next client was the very Black Jack, the whole city was talking about. She had had several murderers in her practice in the City Jail but it was the first time she had a mass murderer of this category. For that reason she felt an undefined unease. Her mother came down the stairs and joined them at the breakfast table. »Buenos dias, mi hija y mi corazon.« She gave each of them a kiss and sat down. After having finished, they got ready to leave. It was a daily routine in the Borrero family. Her mother drove Adriana to work, brought Santo to the kindergarten and went to the grocery store. »Que terrible es?« Her mother began while wheeling the car out of the gateway. »So many dead and wounded by this Black Jack. »Se ha vuelto muy peligroso por aca. We live in dangerous times, mi hija.« Adriana knew that a rant was on the way, but she had no means of stopping her mum. »You should send these Muslims to jail right away. You are not safe anymore anywhere. I mean, it can happen in the supermarket, in the subway, in the streets - se puede pasar for doquier!« Adriana nodded. Her mum gave the same speech as after the past attack. The first time it happened she was so intimidated that she refused to leave the house for 2 weeks. Now she somewhat got used to it. »But Mum, remember that your son Luis is also Muslim. Not all muslims are terrorists.« Adriana regretted having cut that topic right away. Her mother retorted furiously. »That is Luis! What an idiotic idea for a Cuban living in Miami to convert to Islam. He has got as little to do with Islam as with the Ku-Kux Clan. If he really wanted to discover his roots he should have found out more about the Santeria. The worship of the of the Saints, Santeria, was a common religious practice that was particularly famous in Cuba after the induction of freedom of religion. It had its origins in the slave communities in the 18. Century and was a mix between Catholicism and the beliefs of the kidnapped African slaves. »That’s where he’s coming from! But No. Luis has to be that obstinate child and do things completely different«, she complained. Adriana on the other hand couldn’t stand it if her mother talked that way about her beloved brother. She had a special connection to him and they stuck together against all odds. »You must not criticize him for all he does. You know how he reacts to that. Try to understand him and he will open up to you more and more. You should know that by now.« She changed the subject. »Regarding the attack I will soon find out more about the motives of Black Jack.« Her mother shook her head. »And by the way, how is it possible that a young man can purchase rifles that easily? That should be forbidden at once.« That was the position of a growing number of people and politicians alike: They demanded the ban on guns. And with the growing number of attacks they had the momentum on their side. »Armas para que?« Her mother asked rhetorically. »For what young men need to have guns? If nobody has a gun you don’t need to protect yourself from a gunman. In Cuba there is also a general ban on weapons. Not all Castro did was wrong. You know that.« Adriana was relieved when she saw the facade of the Jail Complex which contained her work place. She gave her son a kiss and left them to themselves.

Moments after she entered the Pre-Trial Detention Center. It contained 1712 beds for male inmates and belonged to the Miami renowned Dade County Corrections System. She sorted her files of Black Jack on her table and threw a reassuring glance at the wall behind her desk, where fotos and certificates as personal accessories and historic artifacts of healing were supposed to lend the place an personal and professional aura. Inconspicuous trustworthy. In the session the patients would sit in the fluffy couch in the center of the room, whose walls were painted orange. Because orange sent a relaxed and serene atmosphere. The last thing she had installed purposely were the many green plants. They were supposed to bring about the feeling of security, tranquility and comfort. The right thing for inmates who came out of their grey cells to feel comfortable.

In all her years Adriana had hosted some of the worst creatures in her cosy practice. Murderers, rapists, drug addicts, gangsters etc. And most of them had the same strategy, i.e. claiming to be not responsible for their actions because of insanity or substance abuse. So it was her job to find out who really had a condition that diminished or even excluded his capacity to discernment.

At 11 o’clock there was a knock on her door. »Hi Sam, Hi Carl.« Adriana greeted the officers who had brought the infamous Black Jack with them. The murderer wore a straitjacket with the sleeves tied together. He was pale like a sheet of paper and his face a display pure distress. Under his dark hair the meager young man looked at her with his gleaming eyes. The officers sat him down at the desk and left the room. When the door was shut, Adriana took a deep breath and opened her files. Yusuf Zaidi, 24 years old, native Maroccan, born in the US.«

Sheikh al-Walid had the delivered goods presented to him. On a secluded part of the port they were looking at three army all terrain vehicles of the brand Oshkosh, which he had purchased at an arms exhibition in Dubai. Miller explained the technical details and assets of the brand new product. The JLTV is a sequel to the M-ATV. It has a length of 6,30m and a weight of 11 tons.« They went around the vehicle. Its Caterpillar engine has a horsepower of 374, which equals a forward speed of 80 mph and a reverse speed of 8 mph. Miller saw that his friend was not so much interested in the details but rather in the armament. »The JLTV can carry various light and medium caliber weapons, plus AGLs or ATGWs if required and carries up to 4 smoke grenade dischargers. The sheik’s expression lighted up. »That humvee is exactly what I was looking for.« He gave Miller a friendly pat on the shoulder and signaled his people to get the humvees out of the port. »I am pleased with your products as always.«

Chapter 3

The first breath of air on the airfield in Gaziantep didn’t bode well. The smell of burnt material lingered in the air. When they left the airport the smell didn’t vanish. »That is probably due to the cars without catalysator and the diesel generators«, the driver answered their question. Chris shrugged with his shoulder. But was as a bad omen. The region was barren and dreary and only once in a while animals appeared on the side of the road. Chris grew melancholic. »No wonder people here are getting creative with the goats.« Paulsen frowned his forehead and kept on studying his map. »Gaziantep is the capital of the province with the same name. It is 35 miles from the Syrian border. The traffickers work from here in order to avoid the police.« In the distance the City lights appeared. The contrast couldn’t be more drastically. There were a few huge hotel complexes whose glaring lights bedazzled one’s eyes. Apparently the city was attractive for the industry and the money. But the normal population lived in basic if not decrepit conditions. The city also had a bad rep for it was no secret that the Jihadists started their adventure from here. Accordingly Chris observed the people in the hotel lobby carefully and vice versa.

The next day the were up early and ready to go, but there was no call from their contact. They waited until lunchtime and then decided to go to the old city. In the market Chris felt like he had time-traveled to medieval times. There was a fuss of voices, honking and hammering. They stopped to watch a man hammer an embellishment into a brass plate. »This is art!« Chris was also impressed by the wide offer of nuts on every corner. As recent vegetarian he liked to have his proteins from nuts. For a small change he mixed a big bag of Cashews, Pekan, Pistaccios and sultanas. He was in good temper when they returned to the hotel and he went straight to the Hamam. »What a nice trip so far! And the best thing is that the German government pays for it!« He was still heated in his face when he met Paulsen in the lobby that evening. Paulsen looked at him and frowned. »You might think we are on our honeymoon. But we are not.« He patted Chris hard on his shoulder. »We have to adjust to the local food so we won’t crap our pants when we cross the border.«

They drove to the oldest Kebab house in town and ordered Shish-Kebab. It was served with a side salad, fresh pita bread, a bowl of humus, spicy chilis and grilled kebab. It was delicious. Chris tried to stay away from the meat at first, but then silently decided that it was not feasible to remain vegetarian on this mission. So he gladly changed his status to meat lover. He also eased his mind with the knowledge thatthese animals didn’t come from industrial cattle breeding but were rather treated like family members.

Paulsen couldn’t refrain from laughing. »You know what a flexitarian is?« Chris shook his head as he was chewing the succulent meat. »Somebody told me recently. It’s those part-time vegetarians who can’t fully relinquish eating meat and then have to ease their conscience like you just did.«

Chris joined in the laughter. Paulsen became more and more talkative and almost likable. He told Chris about his recent mission with the Pakistani Taliban were he negotiated the release of 5 German charity workers. »I had worked with the same Taliban commander for years and it was almost a friendly cooperation. They were rational and you could rely on their word because they really only wanted the ransom.« He sipped on his tea. »It’s a different thing with the Islamic State. It is the first mission and we were negotiating for almost half a year. Yet, we don’t have trusted contacts and they are unpredictable. They assured us our safety, but you know… the first mission is always a risky one.« He reached in his jacked and pulled out a piece of paper. »This is your safety guarantee signed by the official office of the Kalif Abu Bakr al Bagdadi.« On the paper were some Arabic words and a stamp. Chris was puzzled and Paulsen explained. »It says that they guarantee our personal safety and that of our belongings. Signed by the bureau of the caliph.« Chris frowned. »By his Bureau? Is there a reason why he couldn’t sign it himself? That would have been more reassuring.« He folded the paper and put it into his trousers. »The self proclaimed Caliph Abu Bakr al Bagdadi has only once appeared publicly, and that was in Raqqa in 2013, when he proclaimed the Caliphate of the Islamic State. But the Services are convinced that he exists and is running the business in the background, unlike Osama bin Laden. So yeah, I think we can trust it«, Paulsen explained. »But you have to be aware of the fact, that as soon as we are in their so called Caliphate, we have other threats to worry about. It is a secret mission. Nobody knows who we are there. So the coalition will continue to drop bombs and shoot rockets from the sky. It can hit in any market or places we go. Especially as we will meet the leading figures of the Islamic State.« He casually waved the waiter for the check. »I didn’t want to worry you… but just to let you know what you are in for, right?«

Back in the hotel Chris did worry over the words of his friend. He switched on the TV and zapped around until he ended up with CNN. They had the latest news on Syria and Iraq and showed a devastated house with crying people shouting in the cameras. »In the last week 40 civilians died in Iraq at the hands of the Coalition. Only in this month American airstrikes had caused more than 110 dead, although but the number is not verified.« Chris shut off the TV. That was no distraction at all. He thought of his family and pictured how they would react in case he wouldn’t return. He choked. Was it worth worth it? He thought about dumping the whole thing. But he knew he would never ever be able to look in the mirror, in case he missed this great opportunity to come up with a great story. He remembered that he had another episode of his favorite Show on his laptop called ‚The Newsroom‘. He watched it until he fell asleep.

The next day he woke up with major diarrhea and hastened to the toilet. It had become true of what Paulsen had warned him of. The bacteria were different than back home. Chris dropped his plans of going to the hamam early and instead stayed exactly where he was. At the loo. He hoped that their contact wouldn’t call them today. And he was lucky. No phone call that day.

Chris took some medicine and was getting better. But Paulsen grew more and more nervous waiting for the call. When they strolled the market the next day his smartphone finally rang. The caller told them to be ready the next day. He even apologized for the delay. »You know, we are in a war right now. That’s why things are sometimes unpredictable.«

Paulsen introduced Chris for the first time as his fellow negotiator and the man at the other end who called himself Abu Masala had no objections.

Chapter 4

Mr. Zaidi, I want you to know that everything we discuss, every detail you mention within these orange walls, is 100% confidential and will not be used against you. I am exclusively interested to figure out if you are culpable or not. All other incriminating information can not be used in court«, Adriana began her standard introduction. Zaidi had a confused look on his face, but nodded slightly. »Do you feel like talking to me right now?« Zaidi nodded again. She noted that he was tired and exhausted, but his eyes were wide open and his pupils big like marbles. He looked like a hunted down animal. »Tell me about your last two days here. Could you find some sleep?« Zaidi wanted to make a gesture with his hands but instantly realized that he was in a straitjacket. »I have tremendous panic attacks. And I hear voices. Even if there is nobody in my room«, he let Adriana know with a soft voice. He scanned the room again and continued. »The first 24 hours were hard. Now I feel a little better.«

»You are now in solitary confinement. Could you find some sleep?« Adriana made a note and repeated her question. »I don’t do anything else. I feel fatigue like I never had before in my entire life. But maybe that’s normal after what has happened.« »That is normal. The new impressions, the new environment. The new food. All that has to be processed. But the good thing is, humans are good at adjusting to new