The Terrorist Comedy
Or:
FUNdamentalists
Monday, July 1st
Akbar McTowelhead stares at the bowl of soggy cereal before him on the kitchen table. He speaks to the bowl, “Why must I eat you, my friend?”
He grumpily eats his Mueslix when his son, Akbar Jr., runs into the room holding up a fingerpainting. Akbar holds it up to the light, “Hey! That’s a helluva….fox?”
Akbar Jr. snatches the painting back, “It’s Mr. al-Wazir. Your boss, you idiot!”
Akbar stares at him as he runs off and his wife, Amil, enters the kitchen.
“Our son just called me an idiot.”
“Well the kasava never falls far from the kasava tree. Unless the tree’s on a really steep hill.”
Akbar looks confused, “Wait, did you just call our son an idiot?”
Amil stops Swiffering for a
moment to think of a reply, “I’m not sure. Will you be killing anyone today,
dear?”
Akbar
gets up and grabs his briefcase, “I do not believe so, Amil.”
He kisses her on the forehead and heads for the door.
“Will you be killing anybody in the near future? We cannot live on Mueslix and falafels alone.”
Akbar turns back, “Believe me, I know.”
He holds his wife’s arms and pulls her close, “We’ve just hit a little dry spell, Amil. But the operation is not dead. We have the tools, we only need a target.”
“What about the Portuguese?”
Akbar chuckles, “I promise you, I will kill many many people and soon. All of
He kisses her again and leaves.
~~~
Agents
Malone and Malone are in an unmarked black van, cautiously following Akbar McTowelhead as he makes his
way down the dusty dirt road towards downtown
Agent Blake Malone is taking snapshots of the city and Agent Avery Malone is behind the wheel, hunched over although all the windows are tinted. Agent Avery radios CIA headquarters, “Following target to compound. Permission to intercept.”
Headquarters radios back almost immediately, “Permission denied. Pursue and report but do not intercept. Repeat, do not intercept.”
Agent Blake looks glum as he takes another photograph, “Darn, I really wanted to intercept.”
Agent Avery shoots up and points ahead, “Wait, what’s he doin’ here? What’s he doin’ here?!”
Agent Blake squints and goes back to photographing stray dogs, “He’s tying his shoe.”
Agent Avery slinks back down into the driver’s seat, “Looked suspicious. Thought it mighta been one of them shoe bombs.”
“I dunno. He doesn’t seem the martyrdom type.”
They reach the al-Wazir compound and park their van across the street and watch Akbar head in the front door.
“Alright Agent Avery, jump in the back and get out the sound equipment. I want this entire complex covered. If that guy so much as queefs I wanna hear it.”
Agent Avery wrinkles his nose, “Ew, I don’t wanna hear that.”
Agent Blake shakes his head, “Yeah, neither do I. But the boys on the Beltway do.”
“I don’t think they wanna hear it either.”
Agent Blake stares at Agent Avery intently, “No. Seriously, they do.”
~~~
Akbar stares at the basement room filled with anti-tank missiles, shaking his head, “What am I going to do with you, my friends?”
Abdul pokes his head in the dark room, “Are you talking to me Akbar?”
“No
Abdul, I am talking to my bombs.”
“Oh, again?”
Akbar
exits the room and heads back upstairs, followed by Abdul.
“The day is nearing, my young soldier. Soon all we have dreamed of will become a reality.”
“Do you know when all we have dreamed of will become a reality, because we have been sitting on these missiles for close to six months now. All my friends from grade school have blown themselves up already. Their families are so proud. And I am sitting here—still alive—like an idiot.”
Akbar stops at his office door, puts a hand on Abdul’s shoulder and smiles warmly, “Soon Abdul, soon.”
He enters his office, shuts the door behind him and begins pacing, “Oh my Allah, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?”
A deep voice calls out from the dark corner of the office, “I was just about to ask you the same thing, Mr. McTowelhead.”
Akbar whips around to find his boss and financier—Baraq al-Wazir—sitting, holding his cane between his legs.
“Mr. al-Wazir! I did not hear you…sitting there.”
Mr. al-Wazir stands up and approaches Akbar, “Yes, well. I am a quiet sitter. So has there been any progress since my last visit?”
“Define progress.”
“Akbar, you have a dozen Russian 9M133 Kornet anti-tank missiles in that storehouse, have you exploded them?”
“No.”
“Have you even picked out a target yet?”
Akbar opens the padlock to his mini-fridge and fiddles around inside, muttering, “Where the hell are all my Snickers? I spend thirty dollars on the padlock and I still can’t enjoy my chilled candy bars.”
al-Wazir begins to get angry, “Akbar! Have you picked a target?”
Akbar stands up, unpeeling a cold banana, “I’ve got some
prospects.”
“Akbar,
I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt in the past given the circumstances.
But perhaps you were not cut out for this line of work.”
“What are you saying Baraq?”
“I’m bringing in a contractor to finish the job.”
“You’re firing me?”
“No, I’m merely demoting you. We still need your expertise Akbar, we just don’t need your leadership, or lack thereof. That will be all. Take the rest of the day off, we need to clear up your office for the contractor.”
Akbar sadly walks out the office door, half-eaten banana at his side.
~~~
Agent Avery Malone is dozing off and Agent Blake Malone nudges him as the target exits the compound. Agent Avery yawns and stretches, squinting his bleary eyes in the direction of Akbar, “What’s he so glum about?”
Agent Blake shrugs, shaking the directional microphone, “I dunno. This fuckin’ thing shorted out on me. I heard something about Snickers bars and then I lost it. Did you charge the batteries last night?”
“They have Snickers bars over here? I’ve been eating these A-Rab bars.”
“That’s racist, Agent Avery.”
“No, that’s the brand name.”
Agent Blake turns the ignition , slowly pulling out into traffic and following Akbar to the center of town.
Agent Avery point up ahead, “Watch out for that rickshaw.”
“I see the rickshaw, Agent Avery.”
~~~
Akbar sullenly trudges through the hot Iraqi
And then he’s bolt upright as a blast rips the front off a market directly behind him. Sirens sound from blocks away and there is loud yelling and confusion as Akbar makes his way through the crowd toward the fire. He sees a backpack on the ground and what’s left of Aziz, a young man from a friend’s cell. He kneels down and shuts the boy’s eyes, gets back up and exits as the American soldiers show up, first on the scene.
Reaching the outskirts of the commercial district, Akbar spies Abdul sitting on the front stoop of the barber’s, head in his hands, sobbing heavily.
“Abdul, what is all this?”
Abdul looks up and Akbar takes a step back.
“It’s that bad?” Abdul asks, through sobs.
Akbar averts his eyes, “What’s that bad?”
“They fired me, Akbar! They took a machete to my face and cut my beard off! They cut my terrorist beard off!”
Abdul’s face has been hacked full of bloody cuts, and the removal of the beard has uncovered many long-dormant zits and unsightly pockmarks.
Akbar finally faces Abdul, “Jeez, you look worse than Aziz, and he’s just a head now.”
“Aw man, Aziz blew up? I was supposed to be the next martyr on the list. But they said I wasn’t ‘fierce enough,’ so they let me go.”
“Why, you’re the fiercest young man I’ve ever known. Even more so now with the new look.”
Abdul looks up with baleful eyes, full of tears, “Did they fire you too, Akbar?”
“Ha! Are you kidding me? I’d probably kill myself if I was unemployed. Jesus. I mean, Allah. No, I was merely demoted. al-Wazir’s bringing in some sort of ‘specialist.’ I don’t know, I think I’m done with that cell. Maybe I’m just not fierce enough either.”
Abdul’s eyes widen, “Why don’t we start our own terrorist cell? You can lead and I’ll be second in command.”
Akbar nods, “I don’t know about that second part, but I do like the part where I’m the leader. And I know just how we can get our hands on some bombs.”
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone have lost their target in the confusion of the suicide attack and they sit and watch the American soldiers as they cordon off the area. Agent Avery looks gravely concerned, “Wow, I hope nobody got hurt.”
Agent Blake glances over at his partner and back at the scene without a word.
~~~
Amil calls Akbar on his al-Wazir-issued cellular telephone, “Dear, can you please pick up some falafel mix at the store on your way home after work?”
“Amil! How many times have I told you not to call me on the terrorphone?”
“And how many times have I told you to get your own phone, so I can contact you?”
“I’ll get the falafel mix. Hold your Arabian horses.”
“How’s work?”
“Oh, fine. How’s…home?”
“Fine.”
“Well I’ve gotta go steal some anti-tank missiles, so I’ll talk to you later, dear.”
“That’s fine, just don’t forget the falafel mix.”
~~~
Agent Avery tears his eyes away from the bombing, “So, should we go look for him?”
Agent Blake exhales for a good minute and then finally pops the clutch on the van, “Yeah, I guess. You look out that side, I’ll look out this side. God, this could take hours.”
“There he is. Over there, walking with that weird kid with the crappy facial hair. Looks like somebody took a machete to his face.”
Agent Blake slows down a bit, “They’re headed back to the compound. Get in the back and charge the directional microphone up fast. I have a good feeling about this.”
~~~
Akbar enters the compound and talks to Aman, the head of security.
“Hi, can I get my hands on those bombs?”
“I don’t see why not. You just need to sign that form. You need help loading them in the truck?”
“No thanks, Aman. I’ve got Abdul helping me.”
Just as they’ve finished loading up one of al-Wazir’s Company trucks with the warheads and are about to leave, Baraq al-Wazir sticks his head in the truck window, “Where are you going with our missiles Akbar? And why is Abdul driving?”
“Um, we’re just taking them to the…bomb cleaners. Gotta get ‘em nice and shiny for the attack. We don’t wanna look like some hayseed Hezbollah operation, do we?”
al-Wazir laughs deeply, “Ohhh, those Palestinians. Anyway, the bomb cleaners can wait. C’mon, I want to introduce you to your replacement. You’re gonna love him.”
Akbar reluctantly gets out of the truck and turns back to Abdul, “Stay here and don’t let anybody touch those missiles.”
Abdul is already asleep at the wheel, snoring loudly.
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone are scrambling from audio to visual equipment, desperately typing in coordinates and enhancing video feeds. Agent Blake yells as he types feverishly, “What the hell did they put in that truck?!”
Agent Avery is smacking the directional microphone against the floor, adjusting his headsets, “Goddam piece of shit, I can’t hear a thing!”
Agent Blake is past the point of panicking, “Is this it? Could this be it? What if this is it?”
“Then we’re a couple arrests away from going home and never eating another falafel again.”
“Damn, if that fence wasn’t there we could just walk right in and drive that truck back to headquarters.”
Agent Avery nods, “That’s probably why they put that fence up, so people can’t do that sorta thing.”
Agent Blake ignores his partner and points at some movement near the truck, “That old guy’s taking the target back inside. Probably getting his final instructions. I think this is it. I’m radioing HQ.”
Agent Blake gets on the radio and Agent Avery adjusts his binoculars, “I think Machete Face is sleeping.”
~~~
Inside, Baraq leads Akbar back to his old office and they enter to see a large leather chair facing the window. The chair swivels dramatically and a tall clean-shaven well-built Caucasian man stands up, easily a foot taller than Akbar and nearly two feet taller than Baraq.
“Akbar McTowelhead, I would like to introduce you to Jim Swanson.”
Akbar is confused, “Jim…Swanson?”
Jim Swanson holds out his hand, “You can call me Jim, Mr. McTowelhead. Pleased to meet ya.”
Baraq grins as the two men shake hands, “Jim’s from the States.”
Akbar drops his hand and pulls Baraq aside. “Let me get this straight. You have hired an American to help us kill Americans?”
Baraq nods, “Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”
Akbar turns back to Jim, “And you have no qualms over killing your own people?”
Jim grins, “Ah, it’s nothing personal. Just business. And I don’t really like that many Americans, anyway.”
Baraq laughs, “I know, they’re so obnoxious! God, isn’t he
cool Akbar?”
Akbar
nods bewilderedly, “Yeah, the coolest. I must leave now.”
Baraq hollers after him, “Be sure to get those missiles back from the bomb cleaners by five so we can lock up for the night!”
~~~
“—and the truck may be fully-stocked. I repeat, send military personnel to the al-Wazir compound at once. Target may be approaching Zero Hour. I repeat, target may be approaching Zero Hour.”
Agent Avery thumbs his chin as Agent Blake puts down the radio, “Zero Hour. Sounds like an awesome Seagal/Van Damme buddy cop movie.”
Agent Blake hands Agent Avery a small black soap bar-sized device, “Here. You need to stick this tracker under the truck before they leave in case we lose them.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”
“They just opened the fence, go in there and make up some shit.”
Agent Avery gets out of the van, slips on his shades and makes his way toward the compound, his palm sweating as he tries to hold onto the tracking device. The guards give him suspicious looks but do not approach him as he knocks on the driver’s side door of al-Wazir’s truck and arouses Abdul from his slumber.
“Whz, wha?”
“Hi, hello there sir. I’m with Arabian Meineke
and we’re going around today placing these tracking—, uh, these
automotive…performance…things on every car in
Abdul nods confidently, “Sounds good. I have been concerned about my automotive performance lately. An automotive performance thing sounds like just the trick. Slap her on there, Slappy.”
Agent Avery does so, thanks Abdul and skitters back to the van giggling high-pitchedly. He jumps in the passenger’s seat and Agent Blake stares at him, “Well?”
“I told him I work for Arabian Meineke!”
“Twelve years training to be a CIA agent and you come up with Arabian Meineke.”
“I
know! I never would’ve came up with that
“No high five.”
“High five?”
“No high five!”
Agent Avery sullenly slaps himself five and slinks down into his seat.
~~~
Akbar gets back in the truck and Abdul is staring at him expectantly, “Well? What happened in there?”
“Nothing, just drive.”
Abdul puts the truck in motion and they exit the compound, muttering “Touchy” under his breath.
“Where we goin?” he asks.
“We can’t go back to my house, my wife will kill me if she sees all these missiles. Let’s go to your apartment.”
“I don’t think we can fit all these missiles in my apartment, Akbar.”
“Sure we can!”
~~~
Agent Blake is listening on the directional microphone, shaking his head, “I don’t think they can.”
Agent Avery takes a big bite out of his nougaty A-Rab bar, “Sure they can!”
~~~
Akbar and Abdul are crammed into Abdul’s basement apartment with missiles from the windows to the wall. Both men are stuck against the back wall, pinned in by missiles.
Abdul grins, “Man, we got some weird looks lugging these things upstairs.”
Akbar frowns, “How are we gonna get out?”
~~~
Agent
Blake is behind the wheel, yelling at Agent Avery who’s frantically unfolding
the giant map of
“It’s upside-down, you moron! How the hell did we lose that tracker?”
Agent Avery shrugs as he flips the map over, “Musta fallen off. Nope, it’s still in Arabian.”
“We’re
in
“Oh, it had adhesive?”
“Oh my god, Agent Avery. You’re an ingrate. You didn’t peel
off the strip on the adhesive? You mean to tell me a CIA-manufactured tracking
device is lying in the front parking lot of the most dangerous terrorist
compound in the entire
Agent Avery scoffs, “Well it’s not like it says CIA on it…does it?”
~~~
An al-Wazir guard wanders over to shut the fence and notices a small black box lying in the dust. He picks it up and quietly reads to himself, slowly in broken English, “CIA-manufactured tracking device.”
~~~
After some clever maneuvering, removing all the missiles and putting them back in again, the men high-five awkwardly and shut the door to begin brainstorming their target.
“
Akbar shakes his head, “Nah, that’s too far away. The launchers can only shoot around two hundred yards.”
“The American embassy?”
“Too cliché.”
“Hehe, how ‘bout the Portuguese embassy?”
“That’s an inside joke, Abdul. Nobody would get it.”
“Well,
the
Akbar slowly rises off one of the missiles he was sitting on and claps his hands, “That’s it!”
“Hm?”
“We don’t blow them up!”
“Um…hehe…come again?”
“We have all these missiles and we just don’t use them. It’s so terroristic, it’s not even terrorism. It’s anti-terrorism. We’d be Dadaistic terrorists. We’d destroy nothing and instill fear in everyone!”
Abdul shakes his head confusedly, “No, I don’t think that would work. Frankly, I just wanna see something blow up.”
Akbar sits back down on the missile and puts his chin back on his fist.
Abdul scratches his itchy Arabian scalp, “Damn, this terrorist stuff is hard!”
“Shut up, Abdul. I’m thinking.”
“Can we plot over dinner? I’m starving.”
Akbar nods, “Yeah, let’s go to the falafel shop. Bring your idea notebook.”
“The one with nothing written in it?”
“Yeah, that
one. And start thinking like a terrorist, will ya?
You’re going soft on me.”
“Okay. Grrr, I hate Americans.”
Akbar nods satisfiedly, “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”
~~~
“Oh! I see them! They’re moving! They’re moving!”
Agent Blake picks up the radio, “Targets A and B have been located. The truck is parked and the subjects are moving northeast on foot, towards the culinary district. Following in van, will try to collect audio surveillance.”
“Why don’t we sneak over there and see what’s in that truck?”
“Our orders are to follow the targets and nothing else.”
“K fine, but can we at least pick up something to eat while we’re in the culinary district? I’m starving.”
“You just had an A-Rab bar!”
“A man cannot live on nougat alone, Agent Blake.”
“I could.”
“Yeah, I probably could too. Especially when it’s topped with caramel and smothered in decadent dark chocolate.”
“But wherever could you find such a mouthwatering mélange of flavors?”
Agent Avery pulls a candy bar out from his breast pocket, “Why right here, in the new Arabian Nights flavored A-Rab bar. Arabian Nights A-Rab bars: A darker shade of delicious.”
Agent Blake glances at Agent Avery as he pulls into a spot across the street from the park where their targets have sat down to eat, “Well, um, why don’t you just eat that if you’re hungry?”
“How can I eat chocolate when all I can smell is falafel?”
Agent Blake sniffs the air, “I can’t smell anything, what does falafel smell like?”
“It smells like happiness wrapped in a pita pocket.”
~~~
Akbar and Abdul are sitting at a picnic table eating their falafels as Abdul taps his pen on the still-empty notebook.
“Army convoy?”
Akbar shakes his head, picking the falafel out of his beard, “No moving targets. What are we, al-Qaeda training camp graduates? That shit’s hard for the pros, let alone you.”
“What about you?”
“I’m
the brains. You’re the muscle.”
Abdul looks down
self-consciously at his ropey arms, “I think we need more muscle.”
Akbar scratches his big bushy beard, “You know anybody?”
“My cousin Buka’s pretty strong. Pretty dumb, but pretty strong.”
Akbar continues to stroke his beard, staring off into the
~~~
Akbar and Abdul have been handing out pamphlets for the
past two hours in the evening light of the town square to men, women, children
and small animals. The wastebaskets surrounding the square are littered with
the unread pamphlets asking the reader to join the fastest-growing terrorist
cell in
Akbar turns to Abdul, sweaty and exhausted. “What was your cousin’s name again?”
“Buka.”
“Buka, eh?”
~~~
“Well? Did you get one?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think they bought the fake mustache.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the short one, Machete Face, recognized me as the Arabian Meineke guy and asked why I’m wearing a fake mustache.”
“And what did you say?”
“I panicked and ran. But I got the pamphlet!”
“Smooth, Agent Avery. Smooth.”
~~~
Back at the al-Wazir compound, after most of the terrorists have gone home for the night, the front guard shows Baraq the CIA tracker from the parking lot. Baraq al-Wazir quietly reads the label to himself, sets it down and swivels his chair around to stare out the window.
“Do you know what this means, Akil?”
Akil thinks for a minute, “Um, it means it’s a CIA-manufactured tracking device?”
“Precisely. You are excused.”
Once he is alone, Baraq jumps on the horn to Jim Swanson at home, “Jim, I need you. Come here now.”
Jim is still half-asleep, having hit the hay early that night, “Whz, wha? Who is this?”
“Get to the compound immediately, Jim. We have to escalate our attacks, the CIA is onto us.”
“Jesus, I’ll be right over.”
“And bring some of your wife’s oatmeal cookies I love so much.”
~~~
As
Jim Swanson is racing through the dark streets of uptown
“Jim, how are ya? Yeah, they got two of their best men on the job. But they’re supposed to be discreet, no contact. How did you hear about them?”
Jim swerves around a small orphaned boy on crutches, “Because they dropped their tracker right on his doorstep. Now he wants to push on with the attacks ahead of schedule and my entire operation is compromised. I can’t get anybody if this attack doesn’t happen on the day I chose. Get at whoever you need to get at in the Agency and get their “best men” off the trail. I’ll try my best to repair things on this end.”
“Right-o. Hey, how are those falafels?”
“Ugh, please. Come smell my stool and ask me again.”
~~~
Abdul has been knocking on his cousin’s door for the past ten minutes while Akbar has been skipping stones across the street. Finally Buka opens the door with no shirt on and his pants around his ankles, caked in sweat. Abdul is unfazed, but Akbar gives Buka a queer look.
Buka looks over their shoulders, “Cousin!”
Abdul rolls his eyes, “Buka, you wanna be a terrorist?”
Buka nods, “Terrorist!”
Buka violently hugs Abdul and he looks back over his shoulder at Akbar, “Well? We got our muscle!”
Akbar drops his stones, “That’s it? The guy can’t even pull his pants up to answer the door, how is he going to fire a Russian 9M133 Kornet anti-tank missile onto a locked target?”
Abdul frowns, “Well, you just press a button right?”
Akbar sheepishly replies, “Um, yeah.”
Buka throws his hands in the air, “Buttons!”
~~~
Agent
Blake Malone is on the satellite phone to the higher-ups back in
Agent Blake quietly sets the phone down and rests his hands on the wheel of the parked CIA van as Agent Avery tears into his third falafel, “You know what these things need? Ranch sauce. Do they make that out here?”
“We’ve been fired,” Agent Blake says quietly.
“Yeah, I’m tired too. Ten minute catnap?”
“Fired. We’ve been fired.”
Agent Blake starts banging the wheel violently and Agent Avery stares dead ahead, “Like no-more-job fired?”
“Yes. Like career’s-over-might-as-well-kill-yourself fired.”
“Fuck,” Agent Avery says through a mouthful of falafel.
“Well, at least we’ll get severance,” Agent Blake mutters to himself.
“What if we keep going?” Agent Avery asks after swallowing the last of his third falafel.
“What?”
“What if we keep going, what if we see this thing through to the end? We’re so close right now, I can taste it.”
Agent
Blake stares out the driver’s side window at al-Wazir’s
truck and Abdul’s apartment building, “All you can taste is falafel.”
“Yes. And it tastes delicious.
But I can also taste justice and it’s right around the
corner. And justice tastes even better than a thousand falafels wrapped in one
big mother falafel.”
“That might mean something to
you, but I hate falafels.”
“C’mon
man. This is our chance. God or Allah or Washington or somebody has given us
the opportunity to prove ourselves all over again. Now are you gonna drive this van back to
“Well first of all, you know nothing of world geography. And second of all…fuck it, let’s take a chance.”
Agent Avery claps his hands together, “That’s the Agent Blake Malone I know and love!”
“Love?”
“Like. Like. Just…like.”
The awkward silence is broken
by the targets returning from Buka’s and heading
upstairs as the night gets darker.
Agent Avery clears his throat nervously and points, “Look. Terrorists.”
~~~
Back at Abdul’s, the moon shines bright and the outdoor temperature is down to a comfortable 110o in the shade. The two men continue plotting deep into the early morning until they can hardly keep their eyes open.
Akbar curls up next to one of the missiles and rests his head on its wing, “I must get some shut-eye before I return to the compound in the morning. Can you hit the light switch, Abdul?”
“Sure thing, Akbar.”
Abdul reaches above his head and flicks off the switch. The two men lie in the dark, wondering what that ticking sound is.
Abdul bolts upright, “Wait a minute! I don’t have any lights in my apartment!”
Akbar bolts upright as well and bonks his head on the missile just above the one he has been resting on, “Ow, fuck! Then what switch did you hit?!”
The two terrorists look at the missile above Abdul as a timer counts down rapidly.
“Oh my Allah! Five minutes!”
Akbar stands up and shoves the missile, thumping it on the side a couple times to no avail, “Isn’t there a killswitch?”
Abdul pulls his hair out at the roots, “No! They’re Russian missiles! Russians aren’t that smart! We have to get this missile out of here or they’ll all blow up!”
Akbar races around the missile, “You grab that end, I’ll grab this end!”
They lift up the heavy ballistic, scurry to the shut door and slam into it. Abdul loses his grip and the missile drops on Akbar’s toe.
“Ow! Mother Fallujah that hurt!
Open the door and let’s go!”
Akbar
hops around on one foot for a bit before they pick the missile back up. They
hurry down the stairs and outside as passersby stare in shock at the two
terrorists racing their missile out of harm’s way. They race through the
shopping district of the city under the shadow of night as the timer reads
three minutes remaining. They pass the local elementary school as the timer
reads two minutes. They pass the local “Cute Kittens and Puppies Shelter” as
the timer reads one minute. They reach the government district with thirty
seconds left and find themselves outside the Portuguese embassy.
Abdul laughs and Akbar shakes his head, “Probably shoulda thrown it into the kitty shelter.”
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone are awoken by a loud rumble a few miles behind their van. Agent Blake pulls himself into the driver’s seat and pops the clutch, “Let’s check it out.”
As they race down the empty pre-dawn streets, they pass Akbar and Abdul running the other way, Abdul laughing uproariously.
Agent Avery nods, “Fleeing the scene of the crime. These guys are good. That’s exactly what I would’ve done too.”
Agent Blake rolls his eyes, “Yeah, you would’ve been a great terrorist.”
Agent Avery is smiling, still staring out the passenger’s side window, “Gee, thanks.”
They pull up in front of the embassy, now a smoking husk of its former self. Agent Blake quickly pulls a U-ie, “Ah, it’s just the Portuguese. C’mon. Let’s get back and catch a couple more hours before they get up and go to work.”
Tuesday, July 2nd
Akbar stops by his home the next morning on his way to work as smoke billows up into the sky behind him. He stops at a local electronics store and takes a look at a phony Sony playing the local news.
“A spokesperson for the Guatemalan embassy
has not ruled out terrorism in Tuesday night’s missile attack.”
Akbar
angrily dials Abdul and yells into the receiver, “
Abdul inaudibly shrugs on his end, “I got the flags mixed up.”
“It does not matter. We must find a new location to hide our arsenal. It is not safe in that apartment complex; too many prying eyes. I will meet you for lunch and we will discuss this further.”
Abdul excitedly asks, “Falafels?”
Akbar shakes his head, “No. No falafels. Please, no more falafels.”
~~~
Agent
Avery puts down the directional microphone gently and picks up his world map
book, flipping to the G’s, “Oh, it was
“Did
you hear what he said about an arsenal? You see what this means? They didn’t
just have the one bomb from last night. They have all the bombs. In that little
apartment lies enough ammunition to destroy the entire
Agent Avery thinks for a minute, then nods his head, “Cool.”
~~~
Amil is waiting at the door as Akbar enters, “Where were you last night, Akbar O’Herlighy McTowelhead? Are you cheating on me?”
Akbar smiles, exhausted, “No dear. I could not even imagine such a sin. I was merely plotting my latest terror attack with my young protégé Abdul Azzbalazzmatazz.”
Amil sighs, “Oh, thank Allah. You had me worried all night. I could not sleep. Especially after that terrible blast at the Portuguese embassy.”
“It
was
Akbar Jr. jumps into the kitchen and flips the bird at his father, “Shut up, poopface!”
His father stares at the five-year-old in bewilderment and turns to leave, glancing back at his wife, “I’m beginning to believe our son does not care for me much.”
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone are back at Abdul’s apartment complex. Agent Avery is keying Abdul’s lock as Agent Blake stands in front of him, swaying back and forth, whistling uncasually.
An elderly couple shuffles by, the wife eyeing Agent Blake suspiciously as they pass. Agent Blake smiles, winks at her and her face turns red.
Just as they turn the corner, Agent Avery finally busts the door open, but it can only open halfway as the missiles take up the entire studio apartment.
Agent Avery’s eyes bug out, “Holy Shiite! This has to be a fire hazard.”
Agent Blake runs his fingers along one of the missiles, “They’re Russian. Mid- to late-Eighties. Highly unstable. No killswitch; that’s probably why they had to toss the one last night.”
Agent
Avery puts a hand on his chin and begins to pace, trying too hard to look like Columbo, “Yes, but why
~~~
At
“What did you tell them about the missiles?”
Akbar shakes his head wearily, “It was not easy, but I believe I bought us some time.”
~~~
Earlier that day al-Wazir asks Akbar, “So, where are those missiles?”
Akbar nervously clears his throat, “Still back at the missile cleaning shop. They had to back-order some more missile shaft shiner. You should see them back in the storehouse any day now.”
al-Wazir nods cheerily, “Fair enough! You wanna head to the cafeteria? It’s falafel day.”
~~~
“Wait, so you’ve had two falafels today?”
“Abdul, can we focus on the matter at hand?”
Akbar continues, “Now, what have we been missing here?”
Abdul’s eyes light up, “Well, we haven’t been missing a meal! That’s for damn sure! Ha ha, ahem, um, I don’t know, what?”
“A hostage.”
“A hostage?”
“We don’t have a hostage.”
Abdul nods, “This is true. Do we want a hostage?”
“Every terrorist cell, at one point or another, gets themself a hostage.”
“Fair enough.”
“So we need to get ourselves a hostage and make our first video.”
“Oh cool! I have a blank tape and everything, I’ve been waiting for this.”
Akbar nods, “We’d want an American, preferably. The most coverage. But I’d be willing to settle for an Englishman or a Canadian.”
“What about—”
“No Portuguese. You’d probably end up getting us a Guatemalan or an Ecuadorian, anyway.”
Abdul
crumples up his falafel wrapper and misses the wastebasket by a good three
yards. He has no chance to retrieve the wrapper before an Arabian Seagull (
“So where do we go to get hostages?”
Akbar rolls his eyes, “The hostage store.”
Abdul stares straight ahead, no response, so Akbar continues, “We’ll need ski masks and some sort of sword. All them terrorists have swords.”
Abdul gets up to leave, “I know! They’re so cool!”
~~~
Agent Blake is sitting on one of the missiles, thinking. Agent Avery is standing rigidly in the center of the room, too nervous to touch anything. Agent Blake finally stands up, “If I’m a terrorist and I’ve got my weapons. I’ve got my manpower. I’ve got my base of operations. I’m still searching for a target. What’s my next move?”
Agent Avery shrugs, “Liquor store?”
“My fatwa. My declaration of war. I want my voice to be heard. I want people to hear my words. How would I go about doing that?”
The two former CIA agents spend a moment pondering and then at the exact same moment Agent Blake shouts, “Hostage video!” and Agent Avery shouts, “Youtube!” Agent Avery then corrects himself, “Oh, I meant…hostage video…on Youtube…Arabian Youtube.”
Agent
Blake points at Agent Avery, “Get on the phone to
“Agent Blake, Agent Blake. We don’t work for them anymore. Remember when we got fired like, an hour ago?”
“Goddamit! We’ve got these guys!
Agent Avery smiles, “You’ve got me.”
“Yeah, you and your fake mustache,” Agent Blake shakes his head, “we’re fucked.”
“Hey, it’s made of real horse hair. I think it’s quite convincing.”
Agent Blake scans the room, “Well, there’s no way we can remove all these missiles before those guys come back or somebody else spots us. Let’s get outta here.”
“Hold on, I gotta go pee.”
“There’s no bathroom in here, it’s an Arabian slum.”
“I’ll just go in the corner, this place already smells like a camel’s ass anyway. But wait for me out in the hallway, I can’t perform in front of an audience.”
~~~
After urinating and heading back downstairs, the agents notice al-Wazir’s truck is gone.
“Oh shit, we missed ‘em.” Agent Blake races toward the CIA van.
They jump into the van, pop the clutch and screech off down the dusty street, a cloud left behind them. Agent Avery yells at Agent Blake, “Hold on! Lemme get my seatbelt on!”
Agent Blake frantically swerves around corners, “They’re looking for Americans. We have to check every American facility in the city. Embassies, contractors, army barracks. Fish out those surveillance photos in the back. Our targets are out there somewhere, scouting out their victim.”
Agent Avery clutches his gut, “Easy Mannix, I just had three falafels.”
~~~
Doug Clemons is mopping up an unspeakable mess (alright, it was poop) in the men’s room of the US Army’s main barracks just outside the city. He peers out at the happy laughing children frolicking just outside the bathroom window and sighs.
Outside and across the street, Akbar and Abdul are hunched low in al-Wazir’s truck. The two are wearing shades and fake beards, Akbar wearing his over his real beard.
“Alright, so we nab one of the officials exiting the barracks and take him back to my cousin’s?”
“That’s right. No blood, no mess. We just take ‘em and run.”
“Not even a little blood?”
“Well…maybe just alittle.”
~~~
Agent Blake has pulled over on a long dirt road outside the city and is running down a long checklist, “Alright, that’s the last of the private contractors. Every man’s been accounted for in the embassies as well. Looks like all we’ve got left is the main Army barracks.”
Agent Avery groans, “God, that’s clear across town. Can’t we take a break?”
“Do you want this hostage’s death on your conscience?”
“We’re not even sure they’re gonna take a hostage! This is just some wild assumption you made and we’ve been screamin’ around town like Steve McQueen ever since.”
“Listen Agent Avery, I know how these terrorists work. I know how they think. I know how they tick.”
Agent Avery’s eyes widen and he slowly turns to his longtime partner, “Maybe you’re the terrorist.”
“Don’t joke around Agent Avery, it’s been a long day.”
“No no. It makes perfect sense. You know where the bombs are. You know where these guys are at all times. You’re always one step ahead. You’re the leader! They’re all following your orders and you’re following them to make sure they’re obeying you. al-Wazir’s just a patsy, you’re the mastermind!”
“For
the week that we’ve been over here in
Agent Avery shrugs, “There were a couple bathroom breaks…”
“If I’m a terrorist, you’re aiding and abetting me, which makes you a terrorist too.”
Agent Avery stares straight ahead at the long stretch of road back into the city, mouth agape, “Oh…my…god.”
~~~
Doug
finishes cleaning up other people’s poop and clocks out on his timecard. He
flashes his badge to leave and wanders outside as the sun sets on another
sweltering day in
“He doesn’t look like a high-ranking official to me.”
“I’ve been watching this complex all week. He is the first one in in the morning and the last one to leave at night. I have never seen a man work harder than this man does. We must take him.”
“He’s
wearing a jumpsuit.”
“It’s probably Casual
Tuesday.”
“Isn’t it usually Casual Friday?”
“I dunno, our calendars are different from theirs’ I think.”
Just then, Doug turns and heads back inside. He smiles and flashes his badge again to the security guard at the front desk, “Forgot my lunchpail.”
Akbar and Abdul are standing outside the complex and Abdul asks, “What are we gonna do now?”
Akbar’s eyes turn to slits, “We’re goin’ in.”
~~~
Back on that dusty dirt road, Agents Malone and Malone are still arguing.
Agent Blake hollers, “Look, Agent Avery. If I was a terrorist, do you think I’d be running around with a CIA agent?”
Agent Avery holds a finger up, “Well, I’m not an agent anymore. I got fired. So…”
Agent Blake rolls his eyes, “Wow, my plan is working perfectly. It’s all coming to fruition.”
Agent Avery squints at Agent Blake, “You’ll never get away with this Agent Blake. If that is your real name.”
After
a long staredown, Agent Avery adds, “Who’s coming to
Fruition? Is that in
~~~
“Hi
there, welcome to the United States Army Headquarters of
Akbar smiles, “Hi, we’d like to come inside?”
The security guard looks confused, “Why do you have those fake beards on?”
Akbar thinks quick, “Um, our Halloweens are much earlier than your Halloweens.”
“Aw man, I didn’t even know you guys had Halloweens. I coulda been in ZZ Top too, like you guys. We could’ve trick-or-treated together.”
Akbar grins awkwardly, “Yes, well. If you could just let us in…”
“I can’t let anyone in without proper ID.”
Abdul pipes up, “We know where Usama is!”
The security guard immediately picks up the phone, “Huh, I always thought it was Osama. Well jeez, why didn’t you say so? Head inside, an agent will be right there to see you.”
The two men head into the lobby and take a seat. Abdul’s fake beard begins to slide down his face as beads of sweat loosen the glue. Akbar quickly pushes it back up his face as the agent comes out of a back room and holds his hand out to greet them.
“Hi fellas, I’m Agent Wilson. I heard you guys have some information for us. Why don’t you join me in my office.”
The two look at each other as they follow him towards the back room. Abdul sees Doug Clemons at the end of a long hallway, elbows Akbar and points toward him. Akbar nods, the two veer away from Agent Wilson and begin to follow the janitor. Doug turns the corner and the two begin shuffling down the hallway quickly to keep up.
Doug re-enters the locker room and picks up his lunchpail on the bench where he left it. He turns back to see a young bald-faced man with a fake beard locking the exit and an older double-bearded man grinning with his arms crossed in front of him.
“Greetings, American pig.”
Doug is more confused than scared, “Um…greetings.”
Abdul drops a length of rope at the janitor’s feet, “Tie yourself up.”
Doug picks the rope up and turns back to Abdul, “Uh, how do you want me to do this?”
Abdul raises the back of his hand towards Doug, “Just do it, American scum!”
Doug begins to tie his wrists behind his back, “You know, I hate to break it to you guys, but I’m actually Canadian.”
Abdul slumps his shoulders and turns to Akbar, “Aw man! He’s just a stupid Canadian!”
Akbar shakes his head, “It’s too late. We’ve gotta get him outta here. This is alright. We can make this work. Put my beard on him.”
They glue Akbar’s fake beard to Doug’s face and Akbar scratches at his real beard, “Feels weird to have it off.”
They lead Doug Clemons towards the entrance until the front desk guard steps in front of them, not recognizing them without their fake beards, “What’s all this about?”
Akbar puts his hand over Abdul’s mouth as he begins to speak, “We’re transporting this war criminal. We need to move now before the insurgents learn of the transport and cut us off.”
“Are you guys with the Arabian police?”
“Um…yes.”
“Very well then, carry on.”
Outside, they throw Doug in the back of the truck and head towards Abdul’s cousin’s house.
~~~
“Ah,
here we are. The Army barracks of
Agent Avery glances over tentatively at his partner, “You’re not gonna blow it up, are you?”
Agent Blake gets out and slams the door, “For the last time I’m not a terrorist, you idiot!”
A couple people glance at the agents as they head towards the front entrance and ding the bell at the front desk, taking the security guard away from his ham and hummus sandwich.
With a big grin he says, “Hi there, welcome to the United States Army Headquarters of Arabia City. How can I help you fellas?”
Agent Blake holds up the surveillance photos of their two targets, “Have you seen these men today?”
The security guard smiles and nods, “Yes, the Arabian police officers. You just missed them. They were transporting a war criminal back to their headquarters.”
Agent Blake glances at Agent Avery and back at the security guard, “You do realize you don’t hold any war criminals in these barracks?”
The security guard gulps audibly and edges away from the front desk, “Um, I’m actually on my lunch break, so…”
Agent Avery starts to pull Agent Blake’s arm, “C’mon, don’t bother the guy. He’s eating lunch. Although it seems to be something non-falafel-based, I don’t quite understand that…”
Agent Blake pulls his arm away, “Did these ‘police officers’ say where they were taking their ‘war criminal’?”
The security guard shrugs, “Probably to the police station.”
Agent Blake sets the photos down, frustrated, “Well that wouldn’t make much sense if they’re not real police officers, now would it?”
The security guard looks hurt, “Hey! Stop confusing me!”
Agent Blake slams his fists on the counter and points at the photos, “I need to know exactly where these two men and their hostage are at this very moment! A man’s life is at stake!”
A taller, muscleyer guard steps up to the counter and calmly speaks to Agent Blake, “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to vacate the premises immediately.”
Agent Blake raises his voice even louder, “I’m a CIA agent!”
The
bigger guard changes his tone slightly, “I’m sorry sir, if I can just have your
badge to double-check. Never can be too careful here in
Agent Avery grabs Agent Blake’s arm again and this time doesn’t let go, “That’s alright. We were just leaving.”
~~~
Buka is sitting across from a gagged and bound Doug Clemons as Akbar paces behind him. Abdul nervously threatens the janitor-hostage, “You just…don’t try any funny business, mister. Or my cousin Buka here will snap your neck.”
Doug grunts earnestly and Abdul removes the gag.
Doug takes a breath and then says, “Oh that’s okay. We Canadians get free healthcare.”
“Wow,
seriously? That actually sounds really good.”
Buka
smiles at Doug, “You’re pretty.”
Doug smiles back, “Thank you, Buka.”
Abdul smacks the back of Buka’s thick skull, “Buka! Stop being nice.”
Buka quickly turns his smile to a scowl, “You’re not pretty.”
Abdul nods approvingly and Doug lowers his head, pouting.
Akbar claps his hands together, “Alright Abdul, do we have everything? Are we ready to make our demands?”
Abdul nods eagerly, “Yup, I’ve got the videotape right here. Let’s do this thing.”
Akbar stands there for a moment, sizing up his co-conspirator, “Um…do you have a camera to put that tape in?”
Abdul drops his head in shame and Akbar throws up his hands, “Allah dammit! Abdul, can you do nothing right, my friend? Now we have to acquire a video camera, although we have no funds.”
“We could hit up Jeru’s Pawn Shop.”
“But we have nothing to pawn, Abdul.”
Abdul scratches his stubbly chin, “Maybe we do Akbar, maybe we do…”
“What? Buka?”
~~~
Agent Avery is behind the wheel now, as Agent Blake is too flustered to drive.
“The fucking Army, man; the fucking Army. If it wasn’t for these Arabians they’d be back West. Homeless.”
Agent Avery, unfamiliar with Arabian driving, strangely motions with his left hand like a bicyclist before making a turn.
“Actually, Agent Blake, a lot of former war vets are homeless. It’s really a pretty bad situation for them.”
Agent Blake is still heated, “Yeah, I know. They’re idiots.”
Agent Avery tries to calm down his partner, “Let’s just drive back to Target B’s apartment and wait for them to come home.”
Agent Blake continues, “I mean, we had them! They were right there! Those brazen motherfuckers! They waltzed right through our compound like it was nothing and then waltzed right back out again with a new dancing partner. No disguises, no nothing!”
Agent Avery chuckles, “Yeah, not even a fake mustache. What a coupla rubes.”
~~~
That night, Amil catches Akbar fumbling around in the garage and coming out with Akbar Jr.’s old baby carriage.
“What are you doing out here with that dusty old thing, dear?”
Akbar freezes and thinks quickly, “Oh, uh. Abdul and his…wife are having a child and I thought I could give them a baby shower gift.”
Amil caresses her husband’s soft cheek, “You are such a sweet man, Akbar McTowelhead.”
Akbar smiles sheepishly and scuffs the ground with his sandal, “Aw shucks.”
Amil slowly sashays back towards the house, “Now come ravage me like a Kurd.”
Akbar smiles up at the starry Arabian sky, “Thank you Allah, thank you Mohammed, and—what the hell—thank you Jesus, too!”
And with that he scurries in after his wife.
~~~
Baraq al-Wazir is up late that
night in his office, on the phone with his boss, secluded off somewhere in the
countryside of
“Yes, I sent two of my worst men out for him days ago and they have yet to return…Well of course he’s still alive, I’m quite sure that’s why my men have not returned…Of course they’re dead, that’s why I sent two of my worst men…Because he doesn’t have email. Look. Khalid will help us. He must. With these missile cleaners giving us the run-around, McTowelhead AWOL, and the CIA on our ass, Khalid is our only hope…Yes, I’m certain he doesn’t have email…”
Wednesday, July 3rd
The next morning, Akbar and Abdul are pushing their baby carriage down a dusty Arabian street with one of the 9M133 Kornet anti-tank missiles jutting out the top. Some people turn and stare as the two men cart their baby missile to Jeru al-Farsi’s Pawn Shop.
An elderly woman approaches the couple and pats the missile, “Aw, how sweet. How old is she?”
Abdul
glances at Akbar and shrugs, “Well it was brought
over from
Akbar elbows him hard in the Arabian ribs, “One month, ma’am.”
“Beautiful baby girl. And I think it is so wonderful that you gentlemen adopted. My friend Edna has a grandson who’s a friend of Dorothy’s as well.”
The two men look at each other and Akbar smiles, “No ma’am, we’re not a couple. We just, um, work together.”
The elderly woman pumps her eyebrows and grins, “Yeah, I bet you guys ‘work together’ all night long, ya know what I’m sayin’?”
She holds her hands up for a high-five, but the alleged gays leave her hanging.
The two arrive at the pawn shop with their stroller only to find a sign on the front door stating Jeru would be back in an hour, after his falafel break. Abdul scratches his embarrassingly stubbly chin yet again, “Hmm, how can we pass the time?”
Akbar is slumped over, exhausted, “We could sit here in complete silence and wait.”
Abdul shakes his head, “Nah. How bout this? I betcha I can name all the local warlords in alphabetical order before you can.”
Abdul then begins to ramble on for a full hour, reciting name after similar-sounding name until he’s blue in the face and Jeru shows up, wiping the falafel grease off his lips.
“Hello
my friends, how may I be of service to you and your child today?”
Akbar
stands up and shakes Jeru’s hand, “Hello Jeru, we need a video camera.”
“Ah perfect! I just got one in today. Come inside, please.”
Abdul pushes the stroller inside as Jeru bangs around in the back, returning to the counter with a dusty, rusty grey “Magnabox” video camera.
“Magnabox. Best in Western world.”
“Magnabox, eh? We’ll take it.”
“Very well and what are you willing to part with for such a fine piece of equipment?”
Akbar smiles and opens the top of the stroller, “A Russian 9M133 Kornet anti-tank missile. Best in Western world.”
“But
“Yes, well. Westish.”
“And what would I do with a missile, my friend?”
Abdul scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Blow shit up?”
“Very well then. You have yourself a deal. If you throw in the baby carriage as well.”
Abdul furrows his brow and looks down at the stroller, “I dunno, this is a quality carriage.”
Akbar claps a hand over Abdul’s mouth, “Deal.”
The transaction is made and as the two men are leaving the pawn shop, an Arabian police officer leaps out at them, “Hey! Did you just pawn your baby for that video camera?! You damn opiumheads, you’re coming with me.”
He restrains and detains the two, one in each hand and leads them back to his paddywagon which is actually just an old station wagon. The wagon putt-putts to the station as the two men bicker quietly in the back seat. Abdul elbows Akbar, whispering quietly and urgently, “Just tell him it wasn’t our baby!”
“It wasn’t a baby at all, you idiot!”
“Just tell him the truth, he’ll understand.”
“Yeah, he’ll understand we had to pawn one of our eleven remaining Russian anti-tank missiles in order to purchase a video camera to record a hostage tape to declare war on the West.”
Abdul rolls his eyes, “Well you don’t have to tell him about the hostage tape, dummy.”
“I think the pawned missile will be enough to keep us in lockup for awhile.”
The
station wagon pulls up outside
Akbar raises his eyebrows and feigns a smile, “Oh…goody.”
The warden drops his smile and puts a finger in Akbar’s face, “But if I ever catch you babykillers so much as jaywalking, I will not hesitate to slam you right in the bing.”
Abdul shakes his head, “I don’t wanna get slammed in the bing.”
Akbar tries to explain, “Look, even if that was a baby; we didn’t kill it, we just pawned it.”
The warden scowls and Akbar clears his throat nervously, “No, that didn’t come out right.”
al-Wazir’s men grab the two babykillers and put them in the back of an al-Wazir Company van, “Let’s go gentlemen, we have much to discuss.”
Abdul gulps, “Gulp.”
al-Wazir turns around, one eyebrow raised, “Did you just gulp?”
Abdul shakes his head, “Um…no. I said…pulp.”
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone are awoken by a barking on the police scanner, tracking local stations, “ACPD transporting a Mr. McTowelhead and a Mr. Azzbalazzmatazz to Arabia City Penitentiary—”
Agent Blake shuts if off before the dispatcher can finish and he starts the engine, “The Penitentiary’s downtown right? If we hurry we can intercept. Dammit! How the hell did the keystone cop Arabia City Police Department crack this case before we did?”
Agent Avery shrugs, “I dunno. I guess they’re better at speaking Arabian and stuff.”
Agent Blake swerves around a corner, “They didn’t mention the hostage. What’s his name again? Bring up that file.”
Agent Avery opens and peruses, “Doug Clemons. Yeah, he’s probably dead. But he is only Canadian. So technically he’s not even our responsibility. We really shoulda had the Mounties on this.”
Agent Blake shakes his head, looking forlorn, as he bumps over a stray Arabian cat, “I wonder what happened to that poor man.”
~~~
Buka slams a rook down on the board and yells, “Checkmate!”
Doug struggles in his chair, “Buka, how can I play with my hands tied behind my back?”
Buka stares blankly at the hostage, then grins and yells, “King me!”
Doug squints at the table more closely, “Is this a Clue board?”
Buka laughs and yells, “Sorry!”
~~~
In a windowless basement room of the al-Wazir compound, usually used for torture of foreigners, Akbar and Abdul are tied to chairs and have been stripped down to their boxers/briefs. Akbar (briefs) spits a mouthful of blood at al-Wazir’s feet, “I told you Baraq, your missiles are still at the cleaners.”
Baraq removes the leather gloves he’s been wearing to beat the gentlemen mercilessly, “I looked in the yellow pages and found no such establishment in the tri-city area. And why did I hear on the local news that a Russian 9M133 Kornet anti-tank missile was used in the attacks on the Guatemalan embassy the other day?”
Abdul (boxers) shrugs, “Must’ve been the Russians.”
al-Wazir slaps Abdul across the face with one of the bloody leather gloves, “This was deliberate and it was done by someone in this room.”
Abdul glances up at al-Wazir, “Was it you?”
al-Wazir ignores him, “Someone in
this room with a vendetta against
Abdul
pipes up again, his face pink from the slap, “Actually Guatemala’s in
al-Wazir slaps Abdul again, “You
sure do know a lot about
Baraq al-Wazir shakes his head, “I’d shave your beard to shame you, but we already did that. I guess I’ll have to shave something else to shame you further.”
al-Wazir turns to leave and his men follow suit, locking the door behind them, leaving the men in the dark. Abdul leans towards Akbar and whispers out the corner of his mouth, “I hope he was talking about shaving my back.”
“Shut up, Abdul. We’re in serious trouble here. This is no time for pube-shaving jokes.”
Abdul is shocked, “What, you think he’s gonna shave my pubes?”
Akbar stares straight ahead, thinking.
“I was thinkin’ my eyebrows…that would suck…”
Akbar ignores Abdul, continuing to stare straight ahead.
Abdul tries to catch his attention, “My eyebrows? Akbar?”
Akbar snaps his fingers, though they’re still strapped behind his back, “I’ve got it!”
Abdul’s eyes light up, “What? What?”
Akbar turns towards Abdul, though he can’t see anything, so he just turns in Abdul’s general direction, “It was Ted Danson!”
Abdul tries to throw his arms up, though he cannot, “Ohh, Ted Danson. You’re right. I owe you a rupel.”
~~~
In his office, Jim Swanson is at his computer, slumped over playing Solitaire (which is much more difficult in Arabic) when al-Wazir bursts in and Jim quickly switches over to the schematics of the very American military compound that Akbar and Abdul had kidnapped Doug Clemons from the day before.
“We have the two traitors tied up downstairs. I’d appreciate any advice you have on what we should do with them, Mr. Swanson.”
Jim looks up from the schematics with an expression of puzzlement, “The man I replaced is downstairs right now? Don’t dispose of them just yet, I must speak to the towelhead fellow—”
al-Wazir clears his throat sternly and Jim corrects himself, “Right, the McTowelhead fellow. There is some crucial information that only he can provide me.”
al-Wazir is intrigued, “And what is that?”
“The combo to this mini-fridge. I mean, who puts a padlock on a mini-fridge? What’s he got in there?”
al-Wazir waves his hand, “Oh,
that’s easy. It’s
Jim nods, “Mmhmm. Oh, well in that case, kill him.”
al-Wazir shrugs, “Ah, I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s such a nice day out. I’m tryin’ to dip out early.”
Jim stares out the window at his thermometer, “It’s 110 degrees out there.”
al-Wazir shivers as he exits the office, “I know, I brought a scarf.”
~~~
Back at Buka’s, Abdul’s cousin smiles sinisterly at the janitor-hostage, “Go fish!”
Doug shakes his lowered head, then looks back up at Buka, “Buka, I told you. I can’t play when I’m all tied up.”
Buka throws the entire deck of cards up into the air and yells, “Checkers!”
~~~
The warden is eyeing Agents Malone and Malone suspiciously, “College buds, eh?”
Agent Avery nods nervously, “Yup. Um, ASU.”
“ASU?”
“
The warden nods, “Ah yes, ASU. How are the old Fighting Camels?”
Agent Blake is getting impatient, “Look, we just need to see those guys for a couple seconds. The short one? Machete Face? He owes me a couple dinars.”
“Well, I’d love to help you get those…dinars back. But I’m afraid Mr. al-Wazir has taken the two babykillers into his custody and is holding them in his compound.”
Agent Blake’s eyebrows shoot up, “Babykillers?”
The warden nods grimly, “Yes, I’m quite sure those two won’t be killing any more babies anytime soon.”
Agent Avery nods and the two turn to leave but just as they hit the door Agent Blake turns around and races back to the warden, “Just to clarify, you said ‘babykillers’?”
~~~
In the compound basement, Akbar and Abdul are fumbling around in the pitch black.
“Easy, just alittle this way.”
“Ow! That’s not my leg!”
“Just lean back alittle.”
THUMP
“Ow fuck! Now I’m on my back. I feel like an Arabian turtle.”
“Ooh, how often do you think they clean the floor of the torture chamber?”
“Ewww…”
~~~
Buka finally unties Doug and he stands to stretch as Buka rummages through the piles of board games. He holds one up, “Mouse Trap?” and Doug shakes his head, “No more games, Buka. Where’s your cousin?”
Buka is looking down, concentrating on setting up the Mouse Trap board, as he mutters, “Pawn shop.”
Doug glances at his watch, “For the past seven hours?”
Buka nods, “Yup.”
“Well let’s go get them, ‘cause I don’t know where I am and I need to get home.”
Buka stands up, trying to take a bite out of the small plastic cheese, “K.”
~~~
The CIA van is once again parked in front of the al-Wazir compound.
Agent Avery is resting his chin on his fist, his elbow hanging out the window, staring at the lone sentry guarding the front door, “Well, here we are again; back where we started.”
Agent Blake is staring at the van’s computer screen as a thermal sensor layout of the building is displayed, “We’ve got two bodies in the basement. One’s standing, one seems to be flopping around on the ground in a small room. That’s gotta be our targets.”
“Why is one of them standing? I thought al-Wazir detained them.”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just said that to stay in the authorities’ good favor.”
“Then why is one of them flopping on the ground?”
Agent Blake shrugs, “Maybe it’s some sort of Arabian breakdancing.”
~~~
Amil is banging on the front door of al-Wazir’s stronghold with Akbar Jr. hiding behind her knees. A young cronie opens the door and puts a gun in Amil’s face, “Restricted! Go away!”
Amil places her hand over the barrel and lowers it, “I’m Amil McTowelhead. I’m looking for my husband, Akbar. He works here.”
The man peers at her, “Wait here.”
He shuts the door and reappears a few minutes later, “Come in. Please.”
He
leads Amil and Akbar Jr.
down a long hallway into Baraq al-Wazir’s
wide sprawling office with plush red carpeting from wall to wall and a large
bay window overlooking all of
Amil wraps her hand around her son’s tiny arm, “No, he will remain here with me. I will not keep you long. I just need to see my husband.”
Baraq takes a seat, “In due time Ms. McTowelhead; in due time. How is your marriage, may I ask? Are you happy?”
“I am very happy, thank you very much.”
“But you could stand to be happier, no?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“If that is all Mr. al-Wazir, I would like to see my husband now.”
“I am afraid that is out of the question.”
“And why, may I ask, is that out of the question? What have you done with Akbar?”
“I have done nothing, my dear lady. He is merely out of town on a reconnaissance trip scouting out new targets for our impending attack, Allah willing.”
“He told me nothing of this trip.”
“It came up at the last possible second. I assure you he is in good health. Now if you will excuse me, my wife has a big falafel dinner waiting for me at home.”
A tear forms in the corner of Amil’s eye, “Akbar loved falafels.”
“Ms. McTowelhead, you speak of your husband as if he is dead. I have told you, he is simply out of town. Abid!”
The young man from the front door pokes his head in Baraq’s office, “Yes sir?”
“Will you kindly escort Ms. McTowelhead and little Akbar Jr. to the door. You have my word, Ms. McTowelhead; I will send your husband straight home when he returns.”
As Abid walks Amil and the boy out of the office, she turns back to Baraq before shutting the door, “Goodbye father.”
“Yes yes, goodbye dear.”
Akbar Jr. takes his mother’s hand as they make their way down the long hallway. Right as they reach the front door Amil taps Abid on the shoulder, “May I use your ladies room?”
Abid guffaws, “Ha! Ladies room?!”
“You do not have any female terrorists?”
“Ma’am, can you think of anything more dangerous than a woman with a bomb?”
Amil scowls, “As sexist a statement as that was; no, I cannot. Are you positive there are no ladies rooms?”
Abid scratches his beard, “You know, now that I think of it, there may be one down in the basement from back when this place used to be a bank. Go down those stairs over there. I will be here at the front door when you are done.”
“Okay, thank you sir. C’mon Junior.”
The two head downstairs as Abid checks out Amil’s ass from behind, nodding solemnly, “Maybe we should get a couple female terrorists…”
~~~
Agent Avery now has both elbows out the window, arms crossed, his chin resting on his hands, getting drowsy, “Who was that chick with the kid? She was kinda hot.”
Agent Blake is quickly flipping through the suspect profile database, “I believe she’s our main target’s wife.”
“Milf.”
~~~
“Whaddya mean ‘arrested’?”
“I mean arrested. By police. With guns. You wanna buy a Russian 9M133 Kornet anti-tank missile?”
Doug and Buka are standing in Jeru’s Pawn Shop as the owner explains to them the circumstances of Akbar and Abdul’s detainment. Buka starts to cry and Doug pats his back, “No no, relax Buka. We’ll find them. What were they charged with?”
“Trying to pawn a baby.”
Doug winces and turns to Buka, “Ooh, that sounds serious.”
~~~
One of the two men, either Akbar or Abdul (it’s impossible to tell in the dark), is still writhing and flopping about in the muck left by the last torture victim, “Ew, it’s so sticky!”
“Well get up then!”
“I’m tied to a chair, you dumbfuck!” (Alright, that one’s Akbar. Abdul would never dare call Akbar ‘dumbfuck.’)
“Use this.”
Akbar hears a metal clink next to his head and slowly begins to seethe with rage, “What was that Abdul?”
“Razorblade.”
“You had a razorblade this whole time?!”
Abdul scoffs, “Uh, yeah. I’m still tryin’ to even out this crappy shave job al-Wazir’s thugs gave me.”
“And you chose to throw it at me so I have to scrounge around in the pitch black for it?”
“Apparently so.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Akbar begins to rub his palms along the slimy grimy floor for the blade as a spark is lit in the corner and Akbar looks up to see the faint outline of Abdul pulling a cigarette from his lips and puffing a large cloud of smoke, “What the fuck, what is that?!”
Akbar finds the blade, unties himself, gets up and heads toward Abdul, who shrugs, “It’s a cigarette, doofus.”
Akbar grabs Abdul by what he thinks is his neck and shakes him til he drops his cigarette, “You had a lighter and a razorblade the whole time? What are we still doing here?!”
As the lit cigarette lands, the entire floor ignites in high searing flames that nearly lick the ceiling. Both men shriek like small Arabian schoolgirls and bang on the door, as the flames climb higher and spread wildly.
~~~
On the other side of the torture chamber door, Amil and Akbar Jr. are returning from the ladies room when they hear the tortured screams.
Amil gasps, “Oh my goodness! Those poor little girls!”
She calmly opens the unlocked door only to be met with a faceful of fire and two smoldering men who fall out on top of her and slam the door behind them.
Amil looks up, shocked, “Oh my Allah, Akbar! What are you doing down here in this room? Father told me you were out of town!”
Abdul begins to explain, “He—”, but Akbar clasps a smoking hand over his partner’s mouth, “I was, we got back early. And we have been testing the new flame retardant suicide bomber vests, so perhaps some glorious day there will no longer be suicide bombers, just bombers; bombers who shall live to bomb again.”
Amil looks confused, “But, where are the vests?”
Akbar sees the flaw in his lie, “Burned up. Still workin’ out the kinks. Now let’s go home.”
Abdul is nervous, “How are we gonna get outta here? This place is crawlin’ with terrorists!”
Akbar stares at Abdul incredulously as Amil looks up and down the empty hallways, “I don’t see anybody. And who cares anyway? You guys work here.”
Akbar smiles weakly as they make their way toward the front door, “Yes we do, dear. Yes we do.”
~~~
“Whaddya mean ‘released’?”
Doug and Buka are at the front desk of the Arabia City Penitentiary, speaking with the warden who detained Akbar and Abdul.
“I mean released. Let go. Not here. Mr. al-Wazir picked up those dirty baby-pawners hours ago. Yes, I’m sure they’re getting their “just desserts” now, if you catch my drift.”
Buka’s eyes light up, “Cake?”
The warden looks at Doug, “He didn’t catch my drift.”
Doug pats him on the shoulder, “Later, Buka. Um, where exactly is Mr. al-Wazir’s place?”
“Right down the street. Big sign out front, says ‘al-Wazir.’ Ya can’t miss it.”
Doug grabs Abdul’s cousin by the arm and drags him outside in the stifling dry heat, “Buka, can you get us inside this al-Wazir character’s compound?”
Buka stares back blankly, “Cake?”
Doug nods hurriedly, “Yes, cake. Pounds and pounds of fluffy cake, slathered in sweet sweet frosting.”
Before Doug can finish, Buka is off and running and the ex-janitor bolts after him, desperately.
~~~
Abdul, Akbar and his family are walking away from the compound and Abdul is laughing, “Hey, thanks Ms. McTowelhead, for helping us get out of there.”
Akbar nods, arm around his dear wife’s shoulders, “Yeah, thanks for showing your tits back there, hun.”
“I still don’t understand why we had to distract the guard to get out of there. And I did not appreciate the way that young man ululated at me.”
“You know how your father is about his employees skipping out early.”
Abdul puts his arm around Akbar, grinning from ear to ear, “Look what I kifed from the storage room on the way out!”
Akbar laughs at the video camera Abdul is holding, “Nice work.”
Abdul nods, “Yeah I’d say, overall, we had a pretty good day…except for the burning.”
Akbar grins, “Yeah that sucked. I’m gonna take my family home, I’ll meet you back at the place in an hour.”
Abdul nods solemnly, “Yes, the place.”
Amil looks back and forth between the two of them, “What are you dolts talking about?”
Akbar pats her on the back and laughs, heartily, “Never you mind, dear. Never you mind.”
~~~
Agent Avery is sulking in the passenger’s side seat as Agent Blake slowly pulls out and begins to follow Abdul and the McTowelheads.
“You still pissy ‘cause you didn’t get to see the target’s wife’s breasts?”
Agent Avery has his arms folded across his chest, “I’m not pissy, I’m pissed.”
Agent Blake pulls the van back a few yards and down a gear as Akbar glances over his shoulder, “Well, it seems we were right the first time. al-Wazir detained them, because that was definitely a distractionary tactic by the wife as our targets escaped. Escaped out the damn front door. Those brazen motherfuckers.”
“The first exciting thing to happen in our whole trip to this godforsaken Kingdom and we’re sittin’ on the wrong street.”
“What about when they blew up the Guatemalan embassy?”
“Yeah, that woulda been pretty cool, but we missed that too.”
“What would you rather see, explosions or tits?”
“Tits. Definitely tits.”
“What about exploding tits?”
“Oooh.”
~~~
Buka knocks on the front door of the al-Wazir compound, a detained Doug Clemons on his righthand side. Abid opens the door and Buka grins and shouts, “Cake!”
Doug elbows him in the stomach and he stops grinning and says, “Hostage.”
Abid nods, impressed, “Nice, Buka. An American?”
Doug nods, “Yup. Hot dogs and Cheez Wiz, that’s me!”
Abid shakes his head, disgusted, “You Americans and your Cheez Wiz. You make me sick!”
Doug nods, “Yeah, Cheez Wiz kinda makes me alittle nauseous too.”
Abid motions the two inside, “Hey Buka, you wanna see your cousin?”
Buka nods excitedly.
“Follow me, we got him and the McTowelhead guy downstairs in the oil torture chamber. Man, McTowelhead’s wife came by and showed me her boobs. I’m pretty sure she wants me.”
Doug clears his throat, “I’m sorry. Oil torture?”
“Yeah, we got so much of the damn stuff, so we just came up with this method of pouring gallons of it down a subject’s throat until they talk and/or vomit it all up. Or die. A lot of ‘em die.”
“How do they talk with a mouthful of oil?”
Abid turns the corner on the long basement hallway, “We’re still workin’ out the kinks.”
Abid opens the oil torture chamber door and a hot burst of flames erupts out at him before he shuts it again, “Allah dammit! Can’t these fools read?”
A sign to the right of the door reads “No Smoking” in Arabian and “No Fumar” below that.
Abid continues down the hallway, “Sorry about your cousin, Buka. C’mon, we’ll take him to the goat torture chamber.”
Buka pushes Doug against the wall and walks up behind Abid with both hands clasped together into one giant fist which he brings down with tremendous strength on the top of the young cronie’s now-concave head.
Doug stands there staring at the certainly-dead terrorist. “Jeez louise, Buka. Why don’t we check and make sure they’re gone before we go killing everybody.”
The two stand outside the oil torture chamber door and Doug counts to three, running into the flames on three, while Buka stands there staring at the burning Canadian.
“Jesus, Buka! Help me!”
Buka joins Doug and they quickly move from wall to wall, covering every inch of the chamber before bursting back out into the hallway and slamming the door behind them.
“Hot!”
Buka is running around in a circle with his entire back on fire while Doug sits against the wall, sizzling, “There’s no bodies in there. They must have escaped. Remember when the dead guy said he saw Akbar’s wife’s boobs? Do Arabian women just walk around flashing chesticles at the drop of a hat, er, burka?”
Buka shakes his head, “Nope.”
Doug nods, “Well if they ain’t here, then we shouldn’t be either. Let’s go home, Buka.”
“Cake?”
Doug smiles, “Ya know what? Hell yes. Let’s get some Arabian cake.”
Buka claps and dances his way out of the compound, chanting “Cake!” while a smiling Doug brushes the ashes off his shoulders.
~~~
Back at the McTowelheads’, Akbar is rummaging around in the garage before finally yelling to his wife in the kitchen, “Honey! Where’d you put my machete?”
Amil hurries into the garage, drying her hands, “Why do you need such a weapon?”
Akbar laughs, “Dear, it is not a weapon. It is a simple gardening device. I need to do some…simple gardening at Abdul’s.”
“But Abdul lives in an apartment.”
“Yes, well. Indoor plants.”
“So Abdul has indoor plants…in his apartment…that are so overgrown they need to be macheted?”
“Um, yes. On a completely unrelated note, do we have a tarp or something that could contain a lot of splatter? I mean, really, a lot of splatter.”
Amil moves closer, “Akbar, what are you planning?”
“It’s business, my dear. Strictly business.”
“Indoor gardening business?”
“Um, yes.”
~~~
Agent Avery gasps as he spots Target A leaving his home with a machete and a large tarp, “Ooh, that does not look good.”
Agent Blake pops the clutch, “This could be it. We might have to intercept now.”
Agent Avery thinks, “Maybe he’s just gonna shave Machete Face again.”
Agent Blake shakes his head as they begin to follow Target A, “My God, that poor Canadian. The horrors he must be facing right this second.”
~~~
Doug and Buka are back home, at the kitchen table with big bowls of ice cream.
Doug smiles, “Mmm, ice cream.”
~~~
Akbar is on his way to Buka’s with the machete when he runs into Abdul halfway there.
“Hey, I was just back at my apartment, checking on the bombs.”
“Well?”
“Um, they’re still there?”
“Good.”
Just then, masked bandits leap out from both sides of the skinny city street, yelling incoherently with small automatics pointed at the two bewildered terrorists. In a thick accent, so thick you could cut it with a knife, one of the bandits holds up a knife and yells, “You come with us!”
Abdul and Akbar have their hands in the air and one of the bandits has taken the machete. Abdul nods vigorously, “Yes! Yes! We come with you!”
They are dragged into a side alleyway and down through a small basement door. Once downstairs, they are tied to chairs and the masked bandits surround them. One holds a gun to Abdul’s head and in another language hollers urgently, “Bullah bullah bullah!”
Abdul is trembling, “Ahhh! I don’t know what you’re saying! That’s not Arabian! Akbar, what is he saying?”
“I don’t know! Stop yelling!”
“You’re yelling too!”
“I know! Let’s both agree to stop!”
“Okay!”
The
same man yells in a thick accent, so thick you could pour it over waffles, “Put
your hands up!”
The two obey.
“Now put your hands down!”
They obey again.
“Now put your hands up!”
They do so, glancing quickly at each other, too scared to speak.
“Now put your hands back down and pull your right foot in!”
Akbar pulls his right foot under the chair, Abdul pulls his left. The man stomps his foot and presses the gun barrel against Abdul’s cheek as he begins to sob, “Your right! Your right!”
Abdul switches his feet, “Now put your right foot out and shake it all about!”
Abdul’s voice cracks as he shakes his foot, looking up at the masked bandit, “What? Why?”
The man quickly gets right in Abdul’s face and screams, “Let’s call the whole thing offffffffffff!!”
Abdul sobs harder, shuts his eyes and yells, “What are you talking about?!”
Akbar calmly looks toward the bandit who spoke first outside, “What do you want from us?”
The man approaches Akbar, bends over to get right in his face and calmly replies, “We…are…terrorists.”
Akbar stares back, nonplussed, “Yes. Clearly. But what do you want?”
The crazy bandit with the gun in Abdul’s face jumps in front of Akbar, “We want to terrify you!”
Akbar shakes his head, “Well you’re not, so let us go!”
“Fine!”
And with that they’re untied
and pushed back onto the street. Akbar turns back and
asks, “Can I have my machete back?”
They throw it at his feet and
slam the door in his face.
Abdul wipes the tears from his eyes as Akbar rubs his raw wrists, “What was all that?”
“I don’t know Abdul.”
“Sorry I cried back there.”
Akbar grins and walks ahead of Abdul as they continue towards Buka’s, “Pussy.”
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone are scrambling around the van parked outside the abandoned building, moving sound equipment and infrared sensors to no avail.
“What the hell’s going on in there?” Agent Blake shouts.
“I dunno, I dunno!” Agent Avery yells as he trips on a cord and slams into the back door.
Passersby give queer glances towards the rocking parked van.
Agent Blake shouts, “Stop!” as he spots the targets exiting the building and continuing towards Buka’s. Agent Avery sits back down in the passenger’s side seat and Agent Blake slides behind the wheel.
“What was all that about?” Agent Avery asks.
Agent Blake shakes his head, “I don’t know, but those were some professionals.”
Agent Avery nods, “Yeah, they had guns and ski masks.”
~~~
al-Wazir is storming from one corner of his office to the other, hollering at two lackies standing in front of the door, “This is ridiculous! I’ve got two dangerous men on the loose, I’ve got a fire in the basement that I can’t stop, I’ve got a man with a caved-in head over there!”
Abid stands up, a thick gauze bandage around his concave skull, “Nah, I’m fine boss.”
al-Wazir charges right up into the faces of the two lackies, “I want you two to find Khalid and get him on this immediately. I will not be embarrassed again. Have them rubbed out.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“Killed. Have them killed. And find out where that damn missile cleaners is. We really need those things.”
~~~
Akbar and Abdul are greeted with cheers when they finally return to Buka’s house. Buka hugs Abdul, picks him up and cracks his back. Doug shakes Akbar’s hand, grinning, “Glad to see you made it out of there, Mr. McTowelhead.”
“Please, call me Akbar.”
“Well, Akbar. I was wondering if you fellas could give me a lift back to my apartment complex, I’m not exactly sure where we are right now.”
Akbar smiles, “No, I’m afraid we cannot let you go just now. We have gone through too much to get to this point. But I assure you that once the tape is completed, we will return you back to your custodial duties.”
Doug thinks for a second and nods, “No hurry. Where do you want me?”
Akbar points into the living room, “Sit right in front of the Arabian flag over there. I’ll be in in a moment to blindfold you and gag you.”
Doug waves his hand, “Aw shucks, you don’t need to do all that for me.”
He makes his way into the living room and Buka follows with the camera. Abdul turns to Akbar, “Are we really gonna let him go?”
Akbar shrugs, “Do you wanna kill him?”
“No, do you?” Abdul asks.
Akbar shakes his head, “Nah. He’s not even American.”
Abdul nods, “Yeah, nobody would care if a Canadian died.”
They turn and see Buka laughing and recording their entire conversation. Akbar covers his face and yells, “Buka! You’re not supposed to film us without our masks on!”
Abdul waves his hand, “Relax. He probably doesn’t even have it on. Now Buka, put the camera on the tripod and press the big shiny red button.”
The last thing Doug sees is Buka grinning from ear to ear and then everything goes black.
~~~
Agent Avery has the directional microphone pointed at Buka’s home and Agent Blake is recording the entire conversation.
Agent Avery glances back at his partner, “Well there ya go. They’re not gonna kill him.”
Agent Blake is not so sure, “They may just be saying that because they know they’re being monitored.”
“So are we gonna charge in there, guns a-blazin’, and save the day?”
Agent Blake shakes his head, “We can’t risk it. It’s cold but the hostage is on his own. The attack is what we need to stop. Anything less and we only have them on a technicality and they’ll be out on the street again to plot another attack. We need to catch them with the missiles, in the act and put them away for good.”
Agent Avery slumps down in his seat, still holding the microphone, “Rats.”
~~~
Jim Swanson bursts into Baraq al-Wazir’s office with a look of nervous fright on his face, “You hired Khalid?”
al-Wazir looks up from writing his latest fatwa and nods, “I am afraid he is the only man for the job.”
“What
about me? What about your own men? What about anyone else in the entire
“Might I remind you, Mr. Swanson, that you are currently working for a terrorist organization?”
“Yeah,
but at least you guys have reasons for fighting. This guy kills when he goes
out for bread.”
Baraq
calmly puts his pen down and looks up at Jim, “Mr. Swanson. I hired you to
organize the attack. Nothing else. No other aspect of
this organization’s activities is of any concern to you. Now if you would
please excuse me, I have fatwas to write.”
Jim exits the office muttering to himself, “What the hell’s a fatwa?”
~~~
From behind the blindfold Doug Clemons can obviously see nothing, but he hears Akbar on his right, his voice muffled by the ski-mask, reading from a prepared speech, “Citizens of America. Your government has lied to you. They have misled you down the road to war, famine and certain doom. The road to—”
Doug hears a loud metal clang and Akbar begins hopping around on one foot, swearing in Arabian.
“Careful with the machete, you fool!” Akbar screams.
Doug begins to perspire, “Whoa, there’s a machete?”
Abdul cringes and takes his mask off, “Sorry Akbar.”
Akbar sees Abdul and starts hopping toward the camera, “Dammit Abdul, keep your mask on. Stop rolling! Stop rolling!”
Doug glances back between Akbar and Abdul, or at least between the sounds of Akbar and Abdul, “Uh guys? There’s a machete?”
Abdul walks over and picks it up, “Don’t worry pal. I got it right here.”
~~~
al-Wazir’s two lackies—Amdi and Bamdi—are strolling along, in no hurry to meet up with Arabia’s fiercest, most ruthless bounty hunter known simply as Khalid. Amdi switches his rifle onto his other shoulder with a grunt, “So do you think this Khalid guy is going to kill us, Bamdi?”
“Probably, Amdi. He is pretty ruthless.”
“If he kills us, does that make us martyrs?”
“I dunno, Amdi. No one really knows how that martyrdom stuff works. Most of them don’t really stick around to tell the rest of us.”
“They say he once killed three men with one bullet.”
“How’d he do that Amdi?”
Amdi shrugs, “I dunno. Had them line up in a row? Or maybe it wasn’t all at the same time. Maybe he just fished it out of the first guy and used it two more times.”
Bamdi grimaces, “Ew, Khalid’s gross.”
~~~
“Action!”
Akbar throws his speech up in the air and walks away. Abdul walks over and puts his arm around his cousin, “Buka. You only yell action once, at the beginning of the shot. You can’t just yell it out when Akbar’s in the middle of his speech.”
Doug, still blindfolded, smiles, “You’re doing great, Buka.”
“Action!”
~~~
Agent Blake sets his earphones down and stares at nothing out the windshield, “These are quite possibly the worst terrorists ever.”
Agent Avery glances back at him, “I dunno. They’ve got missiles and stuff.”
“We might not even have to arrest anybody. They might just blow each other up.”
Agent Avery’s eyes light up, “I hope so. I really just wanna see something explode besides my ass from eating all these delicious falafels.”
Agent Blake wrinkles his nose, “Okay, I’m putting the earphones back on now.”
~~~
Jim Swanson enters his two-bedroom apartment, the same complex that Doug lives in, and is greeted by his five-year-old son Cory leaping into his arms, “Daddy!”
“Hey pal, how was school today?”
“It was great! We played pahlavi!”
Jim’s wife, Susan, appears at the alcove entrance with an apron on and her arms across her chest, smiling. Jim looks up with a peculiar expression, “Isn’t that the one where they kick a goathead around?”
Susan rolls her eyes and walks back into the kitchen, her two men follow, “They use a kickball, Jim. How was work?”
Jim takes off his jacket and relaxes into his recliner in the living room, Cory hops on the couch and turns on Arabian Nickelodeon, “Ah, boss is bustin’ my chops. I gotta get this project done soon or he’ll have my head.”
Susan brings in some spaghetti on a spoon for him to test, “Oh stop being so dramatic.”
~~~
“The people of the United States of Albania—dammit!”
Buka yells “Action!” which sometimes means “Cut!” and Abdul shakes his head, “You want me to read the damn thing?”
“It’s hard to concentrate when your cousin’s making faces like that.”
Abdul
looks at Buka, who’s crossed his eyes and has his
tongue hangin’ out behind the camera. Abdul shrugs,
“Looks like regular Buka to me. Look. It’s all in
your head, man. Just imagine everybody in
The two wait a beat gazing at each other then burst out laughing. Abdul wipes a tear from his eye, “Can you imagine them all? In their American briefs?”
Akbar guffaws, “They probably don’t even wear farloongs!”
Doug looks up from behind his blindfold, “What’s a farloong?”
Abdul stares at him like he’s an idiot, “What are you, an idiot? A farloong? It’s a long piece of fabric, connects the dijri to the palakti. You’re wearing Buka’s right now, since there ain’t any blindfolds in this house.”
Doug grimaces and shudders a little, “In that case, never tell me what a dijri or a palakti are.”
“A dijri wraps around the scro—”
Abdul punches Akbar’s shoulder, “Dude, he told you to never tell him! Now let’s give those Albanians a piece of our minds!”
“Action!”
~~~
Agent Blake’s eyes narrow, “That’s the last straw.”
Agent Avery looks back, “What? Making fun of our briefs?”
“No, torturing the man like that. Wrapping his head in a farloong. That’s cruel and unusual. We’re going in there.”
Agent Avery drops the directional microphone, “What? You just said it yourself, we can’t risk it. We gotta get ‘em with the bombs.”
“I know, but I can’t wait any longer. That man might die in there and I can’t live with his soul weighing on my conscious.”
“It’s only a Canadian soul. They don’t weigh as much as American souls.”
Agent Blake opens the driver’s side door when Akbar, Abdul, Buka and a farloong-hooded Doug Clemons race out of the house and into the street.
Agent Avery frowns, “What the hell?” and Agent Blake quickly jumps back in the van and slams the door.
~~~
Akbar looks back at the house as smoke billows out the front window and a fire alarm goes off inside. He looks back at Buka, shaking his head, “How the hell did you set that camera on fire?!”
Doug takes off his farloong, “There was a fire? I thought you guys were cooking some crappy Arabian food.”
Abdul scowls at their hostage, “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’d rather have some crappy Canadian food.”
Akbar claps his hands, “Enough you two! There is no time for bickering! We need to get out of here and back to Abdul’s apartment before the FDAC shows up. Now let’s move.”
Akbar and Buka set off running with Abdul and Doug behind them, shoving each other as they run.
~~~
Khalid smokes a freshly-rolled cigarette in his cave-home, sitting on a rock with his feet propped up on the bodies of Amdi and Bamdi. A boy from the nearby village runs in, “Mr. Khalid! Mr. Khalid! Old man coming, he have men with guns!”
Khalid nods and picks up a semi-auto as the village boy runs back outside and down the hill. Khalid stands at the entryway to his cave, gun at his side, standing tall with a shock of wild hair and a thick scraggly beard, looking like a lion’s mane. Baraq al-Wazir smiles and waves from the bottom of the hill he is struggling to climb, with two bodyguards following closely behind. Huffing to the top, he waves his men to put their guns away.
“Wait for me at the bottom of the hill, boys.”
They do so and Khalid invites al-Wazir inside. Khalid sits down and puts his feet up and al-Wazir sits down across from him.
Still trying to catch his breath, al-Wazir glances underneath Khalid’s feet, “Ah, there they are. Mr. Khalid, I hope before you killed my men they delivered the message they were sent to deliver.”
Khalid lets out a long cloud of smoke and glances back towards the cave entrance, “No.”
al-Wazir looks even more
disappointed in his men/foot rests, “Oh, fair enough. Well Khalid,
as you know, my men are preparing for a tremendous attack against the infidels
and everything is going as planned except for one little hiccup. It seems one
of my former employees has become a bit disgruntled. I was supplied with a
dozen Russian anti-tank missiles to carry out the attack and this employee got
his hands on them and is hiding them somewhere in
Khalid takes another long pull on his cigarette, “And what do I get out of all this?”
al-Wazir looks around, “Well, for one, I can get you out of this cave.”
Khalid looks hurt, “I like this cave.”
al-Wazir laughs nervously, “Of course! What’s not to like?”
He motions to the foot soldiers-turned-foot rest, “I love what you’ve done with the place. Um, I’ve got money. I can give you lots and lots of money.”
Khalid butts his cigarette, “I have no need for money.”
al-Wazir is getting desperate, “Uhh, you can kill some people. Lots and lots of killing.”
Khalid smiles bashfully, kicking softly at his footrest, “I like killing.”
~~~
Agents Malone and Malone are parked out in front of Abdul’s apartment building as the night gets darker.
Agent Avery is shaking the directional microphone, “It stopped working.”
Agent
Blake bangs on the keyboard of the onboard PC, “Yeah, neither is this. The CIA
must’ve finally realized it still has an active van with two inactive agents.”
Just then, the van’s telephone
rings and Agent Avery answers, “Hello?”
“Yes, hi. This is Brian with the local
Agent Avery panics, says “Wrong number,” and hangs up.
~~~
In Abdul’s apartment, the four men are wedged in with the ten remaining missiles. Buka is bouncing a Superball against the wall and Akbar, Abdul and Doug are sitting on missiles, discussing their next move.
“Well, we lost the camera,” Akbar says.
“And the house,” Abdul interjects.
“So that means no hostage tape,” Akbar finishes.
Doug exhales loudly, “Phew, I was getting alittle nervous about that video. Stage fright, I guess.”
“So what are we gonna do now, Akbar?”
Akbar waves his hand dismissively, “Ah, we don’t need a hostage video. I didn’t even really have any demands anyways. Frankly, my head’s just not in this terrorist thing anymore. Let’s face it. I’m not a killer. None of us are.”
Abdul kicks one of the missiles, “Yeah, let’s just give ‘em back and give Doug a ride home.”
Akbar shakes his head, “No no, we’re not giving anything back. Not to al-Wazir, he can’t have these missiles.”
Doug nods understandingly, “Because you can’t have anymore innocent lives on your conscious? Because you realized the man you once worked for is the epitome of evil? Because he’s setting you and your people back by attacking the West in the name of your religion?”
Akbar shakes his head, “No, because he fired me. And replaced me with an American.”
Doug looks shocked, “An American?! Who?”
Suddenly, the door bursts open and in runs Jim Swanson with a pistol pointed at the would-be-terrorists.
Abdul points at him, “That guy.”
~~~
“Who was that guy? The American,” Agent Avery asks.
Agent Blake eyes the apartment building suspiciously, “I don’t know.”
Agent Avery glances at his partner worriedly, “Maybe he’s CIA. Maybe he’s our replacement.”
Agent Blake unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the driver’s side door, “Well fuck that, this is our case.”
Agent Avery pumps his fist and opens his door, “Yeah! Should we bring our guns?”
Agent Blake looks back at his younger partner as he cocks his revolver, “We’re charging into a roomful of terrorists.”
Agent Avery stares at him, “So…guns? Or…”
Agent Blake looks down at his gun and back up at Agent Avery, answering calmly, “Yes.”
Agent Avery pumps his fist again, cocks his revolver, runs around the van to high-five Agent Blake and fires a shot in the air as they charge the building, yelling, “CIA motherfuckers!”
~~~
In the apartment, Jim Swanson still has his gun trained on Akbar, “So we meet again, Mr. McTowelhead.”
“Hey!”
An angry Doug takes a step towards Jim, when Akbar holds him back, “No, that’s my name.”
“Oh, right.”
“How’d you find us here, Swanson?”
“Well, it took a few days, but once I discovered where Mr. Azzbalazzmatazz lived, I knew the missiles would be here as you, Akbar, are too much of a family man to keep the bombs so close to your young son”
Akbar nods, glancing sideways over at Buka, “Yeah, that would be irresponsible.”
Jim cocks the pistol and waves it around wildly, “Now gimme the missiles!!”
Before
Akbar can say “Never,” Buka
has hoisted one of the three-hundred-pound missiles over his head and heaves it
towards Jim Swanson, yelling, “Missiles!”
Jim’s eyes bug out as the
missile rises high in the air and with a sickening
thump it pins Jim to the ground.
Abdul stares, shocked, at the prone Jim Swanson, “Is he dead?”
Doug races over to check for a pulse, “No, just unconscious.”
At that moment, Agents Malone and Malone burst into the room, guns drawn.
Agent Blake aims his gun at Akbar, “Hold it right there, terrorists!”
Agent Avery lowers his gun and turns to his partner, “That’s the great line you’ve been working on all week?”
Agent Blake lowers his weapon as well, “It sounded better in my mind. Just…shut it.”
Suddenly a shot goes off and Doug is rolling on his back, holding his shin, “Ahhh, fuck! Oh, you shot my leg!”
Agent Avery cringes, “Ooh jeez, I’m sorry. I thought I had the safety on. Man, are you alright?”
Doug lies there for a moment, staring incredulously at Agent Avery before hollering, “Arrghhhh!”
Agent Blake kneels down and checks Doug’s wound, “Looks like he just grazed ya. You’ll be fine.”
He helps Doug up to his feet and Doug limps back to Akbar and Abdul, who have still not moved.
Abdul finally breaks the silence, “Who are you guys?”
Agent Avery holsters his weapon, “CIA.”
Akbar swallows, “Oh jeez. Listen, this isn’t what it looks like.”
Agent Blake surveys the scene, “You’ve got ten bombs, one of them on top of an unidentified American citizen. And you’ve got a hostage. That’s what it looks like.”
Akbar starts to think fast as he talks, “Well…ya see…we were going to use these missiles…you guys are after al-Wazir, right?”
Agent Blake raises one eyebrow, intrigued, “Um…yes.”
“Well…we
were going to use these missiles…on the al-Wazir
compound. So there’d be no more terrorists in
Agent Avery grins and elbows his partner, “Hey! That’s like a win-win. Can we help?”
Akbar looks surprised, “Of course. The more the merrier.”
Agent Avery pumps his fist yet again, “Hell yeah! I finally get to see some shit blow up, when are we doing this? Can we do it now?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Nice, we’re s’posed to have clear skies tomorrow.”
Agent Blake rests a hand on his partner’s shoulder, “Easy Agent Avery. How can we trust you? You’re a terrorist.”
“Not anymore. I was fired.”
“Cool, so were we!” Agent Avery replies.
Abdul holds up a hand, “Wait, so you guys aren’t CIA?”
Agent Blake struggles to respond, “Well…not…alright, we’re in.”
The terrorists cheer as does Agent Avery who holds up a hand for a high-five from his partner, “Yeah! Terrorism motherfuckers!”
Agent
Blake quietly responds to his partner, “Don’t…say that.”
Just then, a masked man swings
in on a rope and crashes through the one window in the apartment, landing on
top of Buka. He leaps to his feet with guns in both
hands and everyone else freezes.
Abdul mutters, “Jeez, what is this, a fiesta?”
Akbar whispers under his breath, “Oh my Allah. Khalid.”
Khalid trains a gun on Akbar and the other on the former CIA agents, “I am returning these missiles to Mr. al-Wazir, their rightful owner.”
Abdul is getting frustrated with everybody in his apartment, “Why? He’s a jerk.”
“Yes, well. These are his.”
Akbar pipes up, “We were actually going to blow up his compound with them tomorrow. Those CIA agents were gonna help us.”
“You wanna help too?” Abdul asks.
Khalid glances over at the two men in suits and shades and lowers his mask, “CIA?”
The agents nod nervously.
Khalid drops the guns and approaches the two men, holding out a hand which Agent Blake shakes tentatively, “I love the X-Files. I always wanted to be CIA. Do you fight aliens, like on show?”
Agent Blake scoffs but Agent Avery elbows him hard, “Yeah, totally. You wanna sign up? I got some forms down in the van.”
Akbar snaps his fingers, “Ah! You are the men from the van!”
Abdul laughs, “Oh, the van guys! We thought you guys were just pervs.”
Agent Avery and Khalid head downstairs.
Agent Blake takes a seat on one of the missiles, “So. How are we gonna do this?”
Akbar begins to map it out, “Right. Well, I told al-Wazir we took these missiles to the missile cleaners. So we were thinking you and the other agent could pose as the cleaners and return the missiles to the compound and just activate them before you leave. Buka will lift the heavy stuff and Khalid will eliminate any of al-Wazir’s men who try to stop us.”
Agent Blake nods, “Missile cleaners, nice.”
~~~
Outside by the van, Khalid is filling out a form as Agent Avery looks on smiling, arms crossed.
Khalid speaks as he scribbles in Arabian, “This has always been a dream of mine, since my boyhood days growing up in Kachakajakirakistan. When can I start?”
“Now. We’re going to be taking down the al-Wazir compound tomorrow.”
Khalid nods, “Good. Those terrorist bastards have been on top for too long. On an unrelated note, in my background check you may uncover a few…incidents.”
Agent Avery puts his arm around Khalid as they make their way back indoors, “Mmm, yeah I had a few in my days before the Agency, too. If we have time I’ll tell you about the time I got busted both loitering and jaywalking in the span of an hour. I’m alittle more hardcore than you might think.”
~~~
That night in the al-Wazir compound, Baraq is up late plotting with a few of his cronies, “Tomorrow is the day. The plan is set, there is no turning back. Khalid will complete his mission and join us.”
One of al-Wazir’s men speaks up, “Don’t you think we are rushing things, sir?”
“The plan is tomorrow. We will celebrate tomorrow. That is all.”
The men begin to file out of al-Wazir’s office when he asks, “Has anyone seen Mr. Swanson today?”
The men shake their heads and leave.
~~~
Akbar crawls into bed beside his wife, Amil, and shuts his eyes to rest up for the next day’s events when Amil rouses from her sleep and puts an arm around Akbar.
“Akbar Jr. was asking about you today.”
“Oh? And what did the little hellion have to say?”
Amil rests her head on Akbar’s chest, “He wanted to know when his father is coming home.”
Akbar smirks, “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. And you better start cooking tomorrow morning because we will be having a sumptuous feast in celebration of our glorious victory over evil tomorrow.”
“Who is coming?”
“Oh, me, Abdul, Buka, two former CIA agents, a former hostage, and a hired killer.”
“Pardon?”
“So, what do you think? Roast Ratel? Maybe a few falafels. The younger agent really likes falafels. I mean, he really likes them. A little too much, if ya ask me.”
“Did you say a hired killer?”
“Well, he’s done with that. he’s gonna join the Agency with the other fellas. Turning a new leaf?”
“A paid killer? Turning a new leaf?”
“Oh, Amil, you’re so judgmental.”
“Akbar, you don’t like when my friend Trina comes over because she wears her burka alittle too low.”
“Trina’s a whore. Will you just trust me on this one? Besides, we’re not going to be able to blow up your father’s compound without him.”
Amil raises up off Akbar’s chest and he turns on his side, realizing his mistake.
“Excuse me?”
“Hmm? I’m trying to sleep, dear.”
“My father’s compound?”
“What’s that? Can’t hear you, sleeping.”
“You will not blow up my father’s compound. I’ll call him and tell him before I let you do that.”
Akbar flips over quickly and grabs Amil
by the shoulders, “No you won’t because you hate him just as much as I do,
maybe more so. He’s a monster. This is the only fitting way for him to leave
Amil’s voice cracks, “But he’s my father.”
“He’s a terrorist first and your father second and he always has been. Nothing matters but his work. He didn’t show up to our wedding or Akbar Jr’s birth.”
Amil nods solemnly, “You know, you’re quite lucky Akbar O’Herlighy McTowelhead. A less understanding wife would be alittle more upset about her husband killing her father.”
Akbar grins and kisses Amil on the lips, “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Thursday, July 4th
The sunrays through the shades of his bedroom stirs Akbar from his slumber and he quietly gets out of bed as not to wake his still-sleeping wife. Out on the front stoop, Akbar breathes in a deep lungful of hot Arabian air and exhales with a smile growing on his face.
Agents Malone and Malone pull up in their commandeered CIA van and open the back door.
Agent Avery is smiling in the passenger’s side seat, “Hop in, you terrorist.”
Akbar laughs and joins Khalid in the back.
Khalid holds out his hand, “Hello again, my friend.”
Akbar grins, “Hello Agent Khalid.”
Agent Blake looks in the rearview mirror as he pulls out into the dusty street, “You ready for this, Mr. McTowelhead?”
“Yes I am, sir. Are you?”
Agent Avery turns around with his fake mustache on, “Do I look ready?”
Akbar hesitates, “Um…”
Agent Avery peels his mustache off, “Don’t worry Akbar, it’s me!”
Akbar raises his eyebrows insincerely, “Oh! Hey!”
Agent Blake shakes his head as they turn the corner onto Abdul’s road. Abdul is standing outside the fully-loaded al-Wazir Company truck, waving. The van pulls up behind the truck and all the men spill out. They all shake hands and then Agents Malone and Malone get in the front cab of the truck and Khalid gets in the back with the missiles. Akbar and Abdul get in the front of the van and Buka helps a limping Doug into the back.
Agent Blake turns on the walkie-talkie and hears, “Waffles!”
He looks down, confused, and almost loses control of the truck before hearing, “Buka, gimme that! Sorry Agents. Alright, you’ll pull into the compound and Buka will carry the missiles down to the bomb room in the basement. We’ll be parked across the street.”
“And
you’re sure this ‘bomb room’ isn’t reinforced to withstand a blast?”
“al-Wazir cut costs at every corner in building that
compound. It’s drywall from head to toe.”
“Okay, and then we’ll activate the missiles and we’ve got how long to get outta there?”
Akbar shrugs and looks at Abdul who grabs the walkie, “As long as it took us to run from my apartment to the Guatemalan embassy.”
~~~
The
streets of
Old Man #1 smirks as the Company truck passes, “There go those damn terrorists again.”
Old Man #2 shakes his head, “Makin’ a bad name for Muslims everywhere. Damn kids.”
Old Man #1 nods, “No respect for the old days. If one of us had trouble with the West, ya just write a stern fatwa.”
Old Man #2 agrees, “That’s right. There’s no need for the blood and the guts and the bomb full of thumbtacks.”
Old Man #1 spits on the ground as the van passes, “No respect. Just no damn respect.”
Old Man #2 stops rocking and peers cautiously over at his old friend, “I love you, Frank.”
Frank stops rocking and glances around nervously, “Crazy weather we’re havin’, huh?”
Old Man #2 nods and continues rocking, “Yup, still hot.”
~~~
Agent Blake Malone backs the al-Wazir Company truck into the front parking lot and right up to the compound, as the fence has once again been left open. Buka jumps out of the van parked across the street and begins unloading the missiles and carrying them to the bomb room downstairs. Khalid is leaning against the truck with his trusty semi-auto in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Agents Malone and Malone are standing near the front of the truck.
Agent Blake watches as Khalid smokes and Buka shuffles in and out of the compound, “Sittin’ around, doin’ nothing. He’s gonna be a helluva CIA agent.”
Agent Avery is slumped over on the head of the truck, “Man, I wish Buka didn’t burn his house down. I so wanted to videotape this explosion for my boys back home.”
Agent Blake nods, “Yeah, this is gonna be pretty sweet; taking down the biggest terrorist organization in the Kingdom of Arabia and a dozen black market anti-tank missiles in one fell swoop. Hell, we might even get our jobs back.”
Agent Avery nods enthusiastically and holds up a hand for a high-five, “Ya damn skippy. CIA motherfuckers!”
~~~
Abdul is resting his head on his arms, hanging out the passenger’s side window, furrowing his brow at the compound, “Don’t you think it’s weird we haven’t seen anything except our own people out there?”
Akbar shakes his head, “They’re probably just short a man or two. You know how bad turnover is in these terrorist organizations.”
“Maybe they’ll hire us back after all this is over and they see how good we’ve done on our own.”
Akbar glances over at his young protégé, “Abdul. We’re blowing up the entire compound. We’re singlehandedly taking down the entire al-Wazir Company. There won’t be any jobs left. There won’t be any Company left.”
Abdul pauses for a moment, “Oh…not even an internship? Something part-time?”
~~~
Running back upstairs and outside after the last missile, Buka throws his hands up in the air and yells, “Done!”
Agent Blake claps his hands and hops in the truck. Poking his head out the window, he motions to the former paid assassin, “Alright, Agent Khalid. I’m pulling this truck out onto the main road and then you’re gonna run downstairs, flip those missiles and sprint out here and into the back of the truck and we’ll take off back to Akbar’s before this whole block goes up.”
Khalid nods and stomps out his cigarette as Agent Avery begins jumping up and down, “This is gonna be awesome! This is gonna be awesome! This is gonna be awesome!”
Buka starts jumping up and down beside him, shouting, “Waffles! Waffles! Waffles!”
~~~
Akbar, Abdul, Buka and Doug take off in the CIA van ahead of the al-Wazir Company truck as Khalid comes sprinting out of the compound. He dives into the back and turns around ululating.
People peek their heads out of apartment windows as a low rumble rises toward the city streets. A ball of orange erupts out of the open front door and all the windows on the first floor blow out. The rumble rises and turns into a roar as flames shoot out of every door and window in the compound. The third floor begins to rock and finally collapses into the second which collapses into the first which collapses into the ground with a final resounding thump and a cloud of smoke.
The seven men in both automobiles ululate or cheer loudly, depending on country of origin, and race back to Akbar’s house for a celebratory feast.
Buka throws his hands up, yelling, “Colors!”
Agent Avery triumphantly rips his fake mustache off and throws it into the wind, screaming out the window, “CIA motherfuckers!!”
~~~
On a high hill above the city, Baraq al-Wazir and his entire Company, their family and friends are enjoying a company picnic.
A young cronie walks over to Baraq, “Sir, the plan has come about perfectly.”
Baraq nods, “Yes, it has been a wonderful picnic.”
As the blasts erupt in the city below and echo up the hill, al-Wazir turns around smiling, his arms outstretched, “Friends, I give you fireworks. In honor of this day and our enemy’s arrogant independence. May we one day turn them back into the subservient dogs they once were.”
The crowd applauds raucously and marvels at its fearless leader.
The same cronie from before whispers into Baraq’s ear, “Um, sir, just one question. Where will we work now?”
Baraq holds up a finger and steps up onto a makeshift podium set up under a large fig tree with a table to his right. A bulky object sits on the table under a large white sheet.
“My
friends, I am here today to announce that we are breaking ground on an exciting
new project. The most incredible thing
He rips the sheet off to reveal three tall steel towers, each one alittle taller than the previous one rising over a lush green manmade tropical oasis.
“Right on this very ground we will be building the most state-of-the-art terrorism facilities ever seen by modern man!”
The crowd applauds again and flashbulbs go off around al-Wazir as he grins with the same cronie whispering in his ear, yet again.
“Um, sir, this is all well and good but…where are we going to work in the meantime? This will take years to develop.”
al-Wazir’s smile drops, “Oh.”
He looks directly into one of the cameras from The al-Wazir Network filming the event, shrugs and grins saying, “Oh well, back to the caves!”
~~~
The seven men and Akbar’s family are sitting around a picnic table in the backyard enjoying heaping plates of roast Ratel, yams, fig jelly, hummus and pitas as they watch the portable television at the end of the table, laughing.
“And our top story this hour…”
Abdul rubs his palms together, “This is it!”
“Mr. Baraq al-Wazir has announced the opening of the al-Wazir Company Towers. And the event was complete…with a fireworks display.”
Clips of al-Wazir’s press conference and the explosions follow as the table watches in stunned silence.
“They weren’t in there?” Abdul sputters.
Agent Avery shakes his head, “So we blew that compound up for nothing?”
Doug nods, “We probably saved them some money on a demolition crew.”
Everyone has their heads down, picking at their roast Ratel as The al-Wazir Network shows clips of the compound’s destruction.
Agent Avery shakes his head again, “I never thought I’d be so disappointed to see such a sweet-ass explosion.”
The
entire table looks glum and then Buka stands up with
a wide Cheshire grin, raises his hands in the sky, yells “Balloons!” and out of
nowhere, balloons and confetti rain down on the McTowelheads’
backyard and everybody jumps up laughing and dancing deep into the night.