The Finale Part Two

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The Finale Part One
In case you missed it, that is :) Go back and read the first part, otherwise this makes no sense.

The Finale
Part Two

Lola McLaughlin awaited the arrival of her lawyer, Meredith Stanislaus, who would be bringing with her the news from Osama bin Laden. Meredith was also there that day to assist in her escape, that way Lola could rejoin bin Laden for September 11, Part Two. Meredith was bringing with her all the tools needed for the escape: herself, the needle with the drug, and her clothes.

The guard arrived right on time and escorted Lola to the interview room, closing the door on Lola and Meredith. Meredith was just about the same height as Lola, with the same build, and extremely similar facial features. One might imagine the two to be twins, separated at birth. The resemblance was made even closer by Meredith's recent hair dye job and the new hairstyle.

"A salaam Alaykum," Lola greeted her friend.

"Greetings to you as well," Meredith replied. "The Emir brings great news. You are to travel to the United Arab Emirates and from there, go with Kazid Abu Szafir to Pakistan. There you will meet with the Emir himself."

"All is well?"

"Yes," the lawyer replied. As one might imagine, Meredith wasn't really a lawyer, despite being a member of the American Bar Association. Both women used names that were only aliases, one of several dozen they had used in the past.

"See to it that Michael Schmidt-"

"Who?"

"The conductor. See to it that he thinks of nothing but me and my unhealthy obsession with him."

"You are lustful?"

"Another part to play," she replied. "One of many that we must use."

"I see."

The two of them were silent for a moment, and then Lola reached for Meredith's arm. "We should switch now."

The two of them wordlessly stripped and exchanged clothes. Lola stood in Meredith's woolen sweater and skirt, while Meredith faced her client in the orange jumpsuit. They quickly checked each other's face and hair, smoothing out any obvious differences. When they were satisfied, they sat down again. Lola slipped the needle from the spine of one of Meredith's law books, and held it up.

Meredith nodded, and Lola pricked her with the syringe, releasing a slight overdose of heroin into her bloodstream. The drug would take a few minutes before beginning to affect Meredith's central nervous system. By that time, Lola would be out the door.

"Good bye," she said.

"Insh'allah," Meredith whispered. "Go in peace, and God be with you."

Lola nodded shortly, rapped on the door, and strode rapidly down the hall, not resting until after she drove out of the parking lot in Meredith's shiny red Volvo, away from Fort Knox.

***
Michael Schmidt sat at the piano, his head in his hands, the music lifeless, not coming to him. What to do, what to do. He had had several rehearsals and a performance scheduled for this day, but he told his secretary to cancel everything. Surely someone could take his place.

"Lola, what have you done?" he asked. But there was no reply. He was truly alone in the house. Like a Georgia O'Keefe painting, he felt himself slowly slipping into the depths of his soul, magnified a billion times before his eyes...and he was disgusted at what he saw.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud on the door. "FBI! Open up!"

Startled, he stared at the door, unmoving. Through the window blinds he could see people standing on the doorstep.

"FBI! We know you're in there, Mr. Schmidt!"

Michael dragged himself over to the door and opened it, allowing the group of agents to waltz into his parlor. "Wipe your feet on the rug," he found himself saying, "and let me take your coats."

Then he shook his head and momentarily pulled himself together. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Your late wife, Mr. Schmidt. Stephanie Schmidt may have been involved in terrorist activity. Please remain in the living room while we search the house."

"You have a search warrant?"

"Under the Patriot Act, we don't need one."

"The Patriot Act?"

The burly man ignored him and joined his comrades traipsing up the stairs. A skinny young man sat with Michael on the expensive couch.

"My name is Special Agent Keith Weathers."

"Special Agent Weathers," Michael repeated dumbly. "I'm, I, I'm Michael Schmidt," he said, finally recollecting his name. Man, I need to get it together, he told himself. "Terrorist activity? My wife?"

Keith nodded.

"What did she do?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"It's okay," the senior agent said, coming down the stairs. "You can tell him."

"Well," Keith said, absentmindedly straightening his hair. "Stephanie is believed to have been in contact with Osama bin Laden himself. There is reason to believe she was collaborating with the CIA, but they've denied everything."

"But, she's dead!"

"Exactly," Keith nodded affirmatively. "We think that al-Qaeda retaliated because she became an informer."

"But it was my...my paramour that killed her, not al-Qaeda."

"Exactly."

"Are you implying something?"

"I imply nothing," he replied, his face a mask of solid iron. Another agent walked up to him and whispered something in his ear. "We're done here. I'd like you to sign this paper for me."

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"Well it's an inventory of the items we seized. By putting your signature on it, you are confirming that we did not take anything other than what is listed."

"Oh," Michael replied, "well, okay."

He skimmed the paper, noting that they had seized both his and Stephanie's laptop computers, as well as several file folders and some older bills and bank statements. He signed at the bottom, a flourishing signature that he was famous for. Michael A. Schmidt. With a long line at the bottom just to emphasize his fame.

****
Osama bin Laden waited in his prayer room. The home belonged to an acquaintance of his, Ivrahim al-Bakr. Al-Bakr was gracious enough to allow bin Laden the use of the home, for himself and his closest circle of advisors. Only the uppermost echelon of al-Qaeda members was permitted to enter this home and leave alive.

The complex was large for a house, but smaller than a typical office building. Built out of stone, it was built into a large cave on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. There were several courtyards, and it was ringed by a high wall, with two watchtowers built in. al-Bakr was a recluse; his family lived with him, although in separate quarters. Most of them were well acquainted with the sagacious bin Laden.
He knelt on the prayer rug, remembering the events of September 11. The infidels, powerful though they were, had not been stricken hard enough. Their sins demanded a more grave punishment. And so September 11, Part Two, would unfold. The operation was code named The Sword of Fire. And so it would commence, in sh'allah. Kazid Abu Szafir would return in a few days time with Lola McLaughlin. Both of them would serve the jihad wonderfully.

Bin Laden looked towards the door, a feeling of hope come over him, but not so powerful as to dissipate his great sadness. He hadn't always been this way though.

"Sayyid?" a voice called from outside the room. Bin Laden heard footsteps.

"Please, come in."

A harried man with a lopsided turban ran into the room, nearly out of breath, sweat painted on his face. He adjusted his turban with one hand, while fiddling with his beard with the other.

"What is it, Hassan?" bin Laden sighed impatiently.

"She's on her way."

"Shukran," bin Laden replied. "Thank you. You may go, now. It is almost time for prayers."

"Yes, of course," Hassan said, backing respectfully out of the room. Bin Laden watched him go, moving only his eyes.

***
Meredith Stanislaus awoke in the prison infirmary, concerned officials standing over her. She blinked several times to clear her vision.

To dwell therein for ever: no protector will they find, nor helper.

"McLaughlin? Can you hear me? McLaughlin?" The voices were shouting, desperate, panicking, and for some reason, directed to her.

So taste ye My Wrath and My Warning.

She tried to lift her head, but it was pounding, like it weighed a million pounds.

And slay them wherever ye catch them, and turn them out from where they have turned you out; for tumult and oppression are worse than slaughter; but fight them not at the Sacred Mosque, unless they first fight you there; but if they fight you, slay them. Such is the reward of those who suppress faith.

"Who?" Meredith asked through parched lips, her voice a whisper.

"McLaughlin?"

"McLaughlin?" she repeated, in a haze.

O Prophet! Strive hard against the Unbelievers and the Hypocrites, and be firm against them. Their abode is Hell-an evil refuge indeed.

"Lola McLaughlin," the technician repeated. "Can you hear me?"

Stop quoting the Quran in your head, she told herself. Her eyes narrowed. "That's not..."

"McLaughlin? Not what?"

Remember thy Lord inspired the angels with the message: "I am with you: give firmness to the Believers: I will instill terror into the hearts of the Unbelievers: smite ye above their necks and smite all their finger-tips off them."

"Not my name," Meredith said.

The nurse frowned.

Meredith shook her head, fighting the urge to slip into sleep.

"Lola McLaughlin. It's not my name. I'm Meredith. Meredith Stanislaus."

The men and women standing over her let out a collective gasp.

"Surely she's gone insane," one said.

"No," another replied, shaking his head. "I've seen the lawyer and McLaughlin together. They were quite the pair."

"But you can't know that for sure she's not faking," the first insisted.

"Guys, break it up, we can do a DNA test," a third interjected. "Open your mouth," he said to Meredith.
She was insulted by his brashness, but did so anyways. He pulled out a cotton swab and swiped the inside of her mouth with it before sealing it in a plastic bag. "My buddy'll take about two days to get back to us. What should we do with her?"

"Keep in her in the infirmary. When the results get here, then we'll know what to do." They all walked away, leaving her feeling quite alone. But Meredith was wrong. There were two guards outside the door.

***
Two days later, Lola Mc Laughlin and Kazid Abu Szafir had entered into the inner sanctum, where Osama bin Laden was waiting. Meredith Stanislaus's identity had been confirmed, and the prison staff was in the process dealing with a complicated situation. Apparently, they had believed that she had been drugged and forced into a switch with her client while clearly out of it; at least that's what they had convinced themselves of. The prison had issued a wanted notice for Lola, but Meredith knew she was safe in Afghanistan.

Two days later, Michael Schmidt was chilling in a small windowless room with an FBI interrogator and his attorney while Detective Thomas Harding frowned over the Stephanie Schmidt murder with a second FBI agent.

***
"Look," Michael asked. "I've told you all I can. Can I go home now?"

"Yes. We're done here," the interrogator said. "But this is just the beginning."

***
"All right, so we wait for your contact to successfully steal the thing, meanwhile we wait undercover in some foreign country with another set of aliases, and when we're all nice and ready to go, we make a huge KA-BOOM that gets everyone rattling, even Allah up in heaven."

"We're done here," bin Laden said to his two guests, scowling at the woman's blasphemy. "I want the two of you in Italy tomorrow. You're now going to be Giovanni and Maria Spinelli, returning to your homeland for your anniversary. Imran Khan will meet you there to begin Phase One."

Lola and Kazid nodded to bin Laden, and made their way back to their quarters in his safe house. They would hop a plane tomorrow. Meanwhile, the world was reeling from September 11. But it would have a shocker: Part II. Everything good always had a bigger, better sequel. Lola smiled. America would pay.
But bin Laden's thoughts were different. Osama bin Laden waited in his prayer room alone, his guests gone. He bowed his head in contemplation, praying to Allah.

Oh Allah, Your will be done, I submit myself to Your most holy will. In your glory, not mine. Oh but that I would die for your cause; but I am an old man, and there are so many who are zealous in their faith. Let their prayers be heard, and grant us victory over the faithless infidels. Their evil has stained the earth, rendered it unfit to step foot upon, this beautiful earth You have created with Your own hands.

You brought us up in Your perfect mind, and made us to inhabit this earth, praising you. But oh, how we have turned from Your perfect teachings, and how we have strayed so far from Your Truth. We have sinned greatly, doing all of the things You have commanded us never to do, for those were the acts of the unfaithful.

We are a holy people unto the earth, these last of us who remain. And the infidels outnumber us by the millions. Deliver us, Allah, and let each fallen infidel know in the moment before death, that You alone are real, and that You have the power over life and death. Let us triumph over these godless peoples, those who blaspheme Your holy name, and shamelessly kill Your humble believers. Have mercy on us, but lend none to those who curse Your name, and deface Your Holy Q'uran.

You did not bring us up to die at the hands of the unfaithful. Let ours be a battle cry that shall sound the world over, and bring the infidels to their knees. Let them be slaughtered mercilessly, as they slaughtered our own brothers and sisters, our mothers and fathers, our wives and husbands, and our children, mercilessly, in the names of detestable gods and in the name of war against You. Let our suffering end, Lord, and bring peace to Your world through the death of the infidel.
Insha'Allah. Thy will be done.

TO BE CONTINUED