Free Flash Point by James W. Huston Page A

got up from his seat in the front and walked to the podium.
    “As some of you know, I’ve been looking at emerging terrorist groups in the Middle East for a long time. My job is to recognize a new group before they know they’re a group. You get all kinds, the young boys who have delusions of grandeur, people who want an Islamic state, people who hate the West, or Israel, or the ones who want money and are trying to figure out what they need to say to get that. You’ve heard about them all.”
    “Right,” one of them said, encouraging him to go on.
    “As you know from my preliminary memo, I read a report from NSA the other day about an intercept—”
    “What kind?” someone asked.
    “Cell phone.”
    “Where?”
    “Eastern Lebanon.”
    “What did it say?”
    “Nothing, really—”
    Kinkaid didn’t like the exchange and prompted Sami. “What about it gave you concerns?”
    “A name.”
    “What was that?”
    “A man was talking about a meeting. To discuss Gaza. Clearly a reference to the attack.” Sami looked around and went on. “He talked about a time and place, which didn’t make a lot of sense, but then, signing off, the man on the other end was talking to someone else. Like he’s got to explain who he’s talking about. It’s a little hard to hear, they think because he put his hand over the phone, but he said ‘Sheikh al-Jabal.’ “
    Ricketts, slouched in his chair, said, “So?”
    “It’s the name of a legendary leader of the eleventh century. Others later used his name to sort of carry on a tradition. Marco Polo even met his successor, who carried the same title. He called him the Old Man of the Mountains. But the name he called himself is the same name that has been passed down through the centuries, Sheikh al-Jabal. He started an empire from a fortress in western Iran called Alamut. They were called the Hashasheen.”
    “Hash smokers? When?” Ricketts asked, suddenly hearing the “eleventh century” part of what Sami had said.
    Sami looked at his notes. “To be exact 1090.”
    “What the hell does—”
    Kinkaid cut him off. “You think I asked him to tell you this because it has nothing to do with what we’re doing?” Kinkaid’s look shut him up.
    Kinkaid nodded to Sami.
    “So this guy gets boys, twelve years old or so, and raises them to adulthood in his gardens. Big fortress, gardens, the whole thing. Calls it paradise. Then when it’s time for one of them to kill for him, he just tells him he will return to paradise if he does the killing—”
    “Tie it in,” Kinkaid said.
    Sami Haddad looked at their eyes, which showed both interest and skepticism. “The Hashasheen were formed during the Crusades. They terrorized the Crusaders, killing many of them, but staying out of the typical battles. They would sneak up on the Crusaders and cut their throats. They were the forerunners of modern terrorists. Born killers, who would gladly die for the cause, which is defined by the current Sheikh al-Jabal.
    “They basically disappeared, but there have always been rumors of their existence, all the way from Lebanon, to Egypt, to Iran, to Pakistan. This is the first time since the early nineteenth century that someone called himself Sheikh al-Jabal. That time they fought for Napoleon’s interests in the Middle East for money. So if this is new, and he is what he claims to be, it could be huge trouble. They have no friends. They’ve always been ostracized by Muslims too. They’re considered heretics. So they don’t trust anyone. Unless you grew up with them, you’re the enemy.”
    Kinkaid looked at their faces. They weren’t sure what to think. They’d never heard of anything like it. Kinkaid spoke first. “If for some reason this guy is the one who started the fight in Gaza, he’s way ahead of where our knowledge is. We’re playing catch-up. Ricketts, we got anything that can get close to these guys?”
    Ricketts was more at home in a foreign country disguised as a beggar