Policemen are often confronted with situations which baffle them at first. A certain crime scene may seem meaningless, but they have to derive some meaning out of it. They have to connect the dots, find the links, delve into its history, look for evidence, come up with a zillion theories and arrive at truth. The thing is, truth is always stranger than fiction.
It happened as it always did, swallowing her swiftly and completely. Intense. Painful. Quick, vivid colors spun beneath her eyelids. Sounds were sharp inside her skull. Fire shot up through her bones. She may have been screaming and she wouldn’t have known. There was smoke in her nose, thick and black, and she couldn’t breathe. It stung her eyes and licked at her skin. Wood and metal crashed down as skin blistered and popped and she knew this wasn’t her, knew it was someone else, someone with a bigger body, bigger boots and darker jeans, and big ol’ hands with scars on the fingers. Men’s hands. Nails blunt and dirty with oil and grease and burning and- The cars were on fire. Paper burned and curled and rags ignited, the cement floor pockmarked by flash fires. Meat withered in her nose and she realized it was her. Him. Dancing embers blackened and burned bone. He screamed and she hoped she was not. He writhed and she really hoped she was not. He was dying, dead, and-
He was too damn old to run now, too tired of that romantic idea of freedom that infected the heads of the young and later killed most of them with crushing disappointment. The Cassinis had always made sure he was just comfortable enough to want to sit tight and not risk the generosities they’d afforded him, and the older he got, the more comfortable he became. Comfort had a way of killing the romance in just about everybody.
Have you lost your damn mind? Running like that?” He spoke in Spanish. “You’re pushing me over the edge, Antonio.” She pitched her voice so low he could barely hear. “Bringing me to this place, hanging the possibility of my father out in front of me. You are driving me to do crazy things.”“Kiss me,” he whispered into her ear.“Now you’ve lost your mind.
Cal opened another cabinet and removed a bottle of anti-inflammatory tablets, placing them on the table in front of her along with the ice pack he snagged from the freezer.She glanced at him, suspicious. “What’s this?” “The drug I offer to all of my victims to make them more compliant. It’s ibuprofen,” he said when she glared at him. “It’ll help with the pain and hopefully keep the swelling down. As will the ice. Do you need help taking your boots off?”“So that it’ll be more difficult for me to run away when you bring out your collection of shrunken human heads?”“Now you’re catching on.
The reality of his predicament hit him hard. There’s no way out of this now, save arrest or death. Professor Ratib had made it sound so academic, but it wasn't. Regardless of whether we're attacking human- or infrastructure-related targets, it's terrorism. If Husam thinks that I’m a risk, I’m dead.
You can tell Allah that when he judges you. Explain how you helped them build their obscene wealth. Explain how you helped them dole out scraps to the general population in order to keep it in check. Explain how you looked the other way while your employers raped the holy land for their own benefit and enjoyment. And why did you look the other way? So you could keep your modest civil servant post. Take the money,” Siraj insisted as he pushed it across the table. “You've done more to earn it than I have.