Heart Strike Read online

  “Hate is bone deep, and we are deep into hate. We shall strike at the heart of the unbelievers until we have driven them from the face of the earth.”

  Unknown

  Heart Strike

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Dear Readers: If you encounter typos or other errors in this book, please send them to me at: [email protected] . Even with the many rereads by this author, editors, and several proofreaders, mistakes can slip through. Together, we can eliminate those pesky critters.

  Copyright © 2018 David M. Bishop.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  FICTION: Except as otherwise provided for herein, this book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Permission is hereby granted for casual, short quotations and comments with attribution.

  Please visit David Bishop, his books and characters at www.davidbishopbooks.com. At the website, click on Newsletter subscription. This will let us send you announcements of coming book releases and special offers made available to David’s loyal readers.

  David loves to hear from readers. Contact him at [email protected]

  The author and publisher did not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for any third-party websites or their content.

  To visit the author’s website: http://www.davidbishopbooks.com

  Stories by David Bishop

  For current information on new releases and to subscribe to David Bishop’s newsletter, visit:

  www.davidbishopbooks.com

  Mysteries currently available – By Series:

  Matt Kile Mystery Series (in order of release)

  Who Murdered Garson Talmadge, a Matt Kile Mystery

  The Original Alibi, a Matt Kile Mystery

  Money & Murder, a Matt Kile Mystery Short Story

  Find My Little Sister, a Matt Kile Mystery

  The Maltese Pigeon, a Matt Kile Mystery

  Judge Snider’s Folly, a Matt Kile Mystery

  The Year We Had Murder, a Matt Kile Mystery

  Two stories, David co-authored with his fictional author Matt Kile

  Love & Other Four-letter Words, A Maybe Murder

  Scandalous Behavior

  Maddie Richards Mystery Series (in order of release)

  The Beholder, a Maddie Richards Mystery

  Death of a Bankster, a Maddie Richards Mystery

  Linda Darby / Ryan Testler Series (in order of release)

  The Woman

  Hometown Secrets

  The First Lady’s Second Man

  Heart Strike

  Ryan Testler Costars in: (order of release)

  The Woman, a Linda Darby story

  Death of a Bankster, a Maddie Richards mystery

  Hometown Secrets, a Linda Darby story

  The First Lady’s Second Man, a Linda Darby story

  Heart Strike, a Linda Darby story

  Jack McCall Mystery Series (in order of release)

  The Third Coincidence, a Jack McCall Mystery

  The Blackmail Club, a Jack McCall Mystery

  Stories in Development

  Game of Masks

  Alias Marilyn Monroe

  The Ladies’ Lunch Club Murders

  Life & Times of Maggie Morrow

  www.davidbishopbooks.com

  [email protected]

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to a loyal readers of many years, who became a treasured pen pal, Rick Crabtree. I will miss Rick and his sense of humor. In his honor, and with his wife’s permission, in this novel, his name is used for the character of the Director of the United States Secret Service.

  This novel, as with all things I do, is also dedicated to my family, and friends, including all those who have read my novels. I appreciate your interest in my writings, and the faith you display by purchasing my stories. I trust you will enjoy this one. I would be pleased to hear from you after you read it. [email protected]

  In writing this and other stories, my aim is to create characters with whom readers can relate, like or hate, as they reach deep within the story to learn if those characters get what they deserve, are captured or saved, seduced or simply survive. The connecting magic of the author-character-reader triad rests in the fact that readers, like the characters living within the pages of fiction, have themselves endured trials and tribulations in their own lives.

  I would like to acknowledge all who have found their way into my life, challenging me and enriching me by their presence, goodness, and affection. And last, but certainly not least, this book, as with my others, is dedicated to those I love.

  Special thanks to my fellow writers, editors, and the wonderful professionals who tirelessly read my early drafts and make suggestions. They deserve much of the credit for transforming my rough prose into entertaining stories. Thank you.

  Back cover blurb

  An International Thriller:

  The President of the United States assigns Ryan Testler a cloak-and-dagger mission to Europe in pursuit of support for his new doctrine dealing with the Middle East. Linda Darby accompanies Ryan to create the look of a couple of tourists. That cover story fails. Meanwhile, back in Washington, D.C., a lone terrorist, after four years as a sleeper, is activated. He wants to complete his sworn duty and make his family in Egypt proud. At the same time, his years in America as a sleeper has given him a different view of the country and its people. He struggles with this conflict as Ryan Testler leads the government's efforts to locate him before its too late.

  Chapter 1

  Ryan Testler’s cellphone rang.

  The caller provided no identification or pleasantry. “Chocolate ice cream tastes best on?”

  “Cherry pie,” Ryan said without hesitation. The question told him who summoned him and his destination.

  “Tomorrow morning at ten, come in through the entrance for deliveries. Do not provide your name or identification. To the officer on duty, say only, “Odd numbers are really odd, but not to a mathematician. The officer will escort you.”

  The call ended.

  * * *

  Ryan went out the door into the backyard of Linda Darby’s home in Caruthers, Kansas.

  She looked up from a chaise lounge near the pool. She was sunbathing in a bikini, the sun bright overhead. Her hair had lightened some in the few weeks since they arrived. A blue and white tree swallow sat on a branch about ten feet away. The entire scene was in stark contrast to what Ryan came out to tell Linda.

  He went to her. “I thought you were inside watching the news.”

  “I couldn’t watch anymore. The terrorist attack on the subway in London was horrible. So much destruction, so many injured people—useless violence. It’s all
so damn crazy.”

  “It’s the world we live in, darlin’.”

  Linda scooted her legs to the side. Ryan sat beside her. “I hope it all ends soon. … Let’s change the subject.”

  “I take it Steffi got off to school okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “How does she like the school here in Caruthers?”

  “Fine, I think. She talks about how different Kansas is from Portland, Oregon. She likes it here, but she misses the boarding school, having breakfast with the other girls. She did her entire elementary school that way. It’s really all she’s known. Now she’s in the seventh grade at a public school, going back and forth from home. It’s a big change for her.”

  Ryan glanced to the side when the bird flew out of the tree. “The school year just started. So much of life is routines and familiarities. She’ll get new friends and adjust.”

  “I expect so. … She loves her honorary Aunt Vera and Uncle Dix, and, with encouragement from Mayor Caruthers, Steffi sometimes calls her grandma. It’s just different for her. I need to be patient. Give her time.”

  He frowned. “I need to go to D.C.”

  “Oh? What’s up?”

  “It’s … you know.”

  Linda squirmed and wiggled until she was more upright. One of the untied straps of her bathing suit top trailed down her arm; the other across the left cup of her suit top. “What can you tell me?”

  “Nothing really, other than I’ve got to go.”

  “I thought you were going to try and avoid these occurrences whenever you could.”

  Ryan watched Linda grab the strap striping her left breast and toss it to the side. “Key words: whenever I can. This one I can’t.”

  “What makes this one so special?”

  “The need for that better world you spoke of. It won’t get here from wishing.”

  “There has to be more to it than your simple explanation.”

  “There is, but that’s part of the ‘I can’t’. I’m sorry.”

  “How long?”

  “I’d only be guessing.”

  “Is it something you might not come back from? … I know. I know. You can’t say and you wouldn’t know anyway.”

  “Well, actually on this point, I can say a little more.”

  Linda sipped from her iced tea and offered the glass to Ryan. “Well?”

  He took a drink. “I don’t know because I don’t know what it is.”

  Linda placed her hands in her lap. The move plumped up her breasts. “You call that more?”

  “Hey. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. We talked this through before we tried cohabitation here in Kansas. In my line of work, this kind of shit happens.”

  “That’s the crux of it all, isn’t it? Your line of work. Were you ever normal?”

  “I don’t know the answer, or what normal is.”

  “As certain as the sun will rise in the morning, your line of work is far from normal.”

  He gave her back her glass of tea. “Don’t be naïve. Admittedly, what I do is far from an ordinary day in the town of Mayberry. Nonetheless, in the world as it is, what I do is integral to America’s needs.”

  “But you could die?”

  “Not important.”

  “Damn it. It is to me.”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes, I can. I just don’t want to. At least not right now. Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Right now, I’m thinking never. Oh, I don’t mean that. It’s just … just—”

  “Just what? Say whatever you want.”

  “Before I met you, I thought people needing someone like you hunted in bars and brothels for men with mean faces, who broadcasted immorality … I don’t know. You’re a good man, but your goodness is wrapped in so much ugly. … I also know … Oh, I don’t know.”

  Ryan reached across and put his open hand on Linda’s cheek. She looked over. He smiled. “Got to be done.”

  “Same old, same old. I get it. Whatever it takes defines you. The end justifies the means. Is that it?”

  “How I do what I do is what kept you alive when we first met.”

  “Obviously, I can never thank you enough. But, in a wider perspective, which does that mean?”

  “It means we’re here. It means Steffi isn’t growing up without her mother. So, yeah, the short answer is the end does justify the means.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I am as long as I’m on the side of what’s best for our country and for those I love.”

  Linda moved her towel to shield her legs from the sun. “What about the work you did for Webster?”

  “I drifted. I admit it. But I got that straightened away. … But, yeah, the end’s my game. I’ll leave others to wring their hands about the means. My experience is that their righteousness melts away when they and theirs are in someone’s crosshairs.”

  “Okay, so much for Ryan Testler, modern philosopher. Let’s get back to you and me in the here and now. You leaving without any explanation is unavoidable?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t refuse even though you don’t know what it’s about?”

  “I know enough to know refusing isn’t an option.”

  “I love you, Ryan Testler, although sometimes I wish I didn’t. I really do. … Will you tell me more when you know more?”

  Ryan leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “When I can. If I can.” He pulled down on both her bathing suit straps, lowering her top fully. “I got maybe an hour before I have to leave for the airport, if you’d like to come in outta the sun.”

  Chapter 2

  At the age of fifteen, Faraj Arafa, together with three other boys, was selected by his imam to be isolated and immersed in education and terrorist training. For the next three-and-a-half years he was mostly kept from his family. At nineteen, Faraj was brought to the American capital, Washington, D.C., where he was instructed to enroll in the College of International Business at Georgetown University. In addition, he was ordered to carry as many pre-med courses as he could. These two fields of study, simultaneously, were a great challenge.

  Upon arrival in America, Faraj was shocked by the way women used their bodies to titillate men. Men they didn’t know and to whom they were not promised. And to do so in public was egregious. Libidinous behavior in public, in all its forms, was offensive and contrary to the teaching of Islam. Truth be known, Faraj enjoyed looking at such women, but doing so made him feel unclean, which made him feel guilty.

  After four years of living among Americans, observing them, and, despite his loathing of their obsessions with money and sex, Faraj concluded Americans were fundamentally good. In America the choices about general behavior and specific indulgences were largely left to the individual. As long as one’s choices did not violate the rights or property of others, it was each person’s freewill to conduct their life pretty much as they preferred. While this seemed tolerant and inspirational, it violated the rigid dictates of his faith. He was conflicted more on some of the differences than on others, but he kept such reasoning to himself.

  He didn’t know just when, but he came to see many of the Western idiosyncrasies as nothing more than wrinkles in a different society. America benefitted from many outstanding women of commerce and government. In the quiet turnings of his own considered judgment, particularly after spending time on the Georgetown University campus, he could not avoid admitting Middle Eastern societies underutilized females. American women seemed to enjoy the role of sex symbol, while concurrently demanding, and increasingly accomplishing, intellectual and positional equality.

  As his training dictated, he held to his routines. His life in America remained about staying prepared while learning all he could. His country needed more men educated in the intricacies of international commerce. The immersive training he received in Egypt dictated he obey all the rules in America and not draw attention to himself. As a one-man sleeper cell, he wa
s to avoid the mosques and conduct his prayers in private. In short, encourage all the Americans with whom he came into contact to see him as a good Muslim, void of the fanatical allegiances feared and distrusted by Westerners. Live humbly and remain fit and ready.

  His sworn duty was to serve as a soldier in the jihad of those he followed. Until he came to America, others who served his imam were his exclusive sources of knowledge. He was fascinated by how available education was in America, without attached religious or political strings.

  Quietly, he struggled with a basic question, one for which he dare not outwardly suppose an answer. Did he want to return to Egypt or deny his heritage and stay in America? He missed his family, particularly his mother. He was allowed to see her twice during his years of training in Egypt. Four years had passed since he felt the warmth of her arms. The charm of her wrinkled eyes hovering over her caring smile.

  His life was study, prayer, and waiting. Always, he waited. What scared him most was not the sanctity of waiting, but the fear of the call-to-action which would end his waiting.

  He knew what was expected of him. It had been drummed into him from the first day he received wisdom as to who and what constituted good and evil in the world. On the first day, when he was selected and taken from his home, he was so happy. He anticipated he would ride the mythical magic carpet to learn at the feet of those who knew all he did not. Now, he felt like Atlas with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. His religious leaders and trainers were dedicated to cleansing the world of infidels. It was a great honor to be honed into one of the swords for this task.

  The roots of Faraj’s family stretched back to the ancient order of Kharijism, formed during the time of the third Caliph. In the late 1920s, his grandfather joined with Hasan al-Banna and others who still followed the ways of the Kharijites to form the Muslim Brotherhood.