DIOGENES OF SINOPE’S MAN (An Index Card Novel)
Wahhabism is a sect attributed to Muhammad ibn Abd-al-Wahhab.
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Allie Ahmed Ackbar was the perfect agent. Born of a Saudi intellectual and a Scandinavian woman, he looked like a Nordic skier. Raised as a Wahhabi, he learned about all the terrible things that had been done to his people. He was determined to get revenge.
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It was a morality play. Allie hired an actress and three children. All nordic looking. They spoke no English. They were told that it was a pilot for an American TV show. All were very smart, diligent about learning their lines, and focused on giving an Oscar winning performance. This could be their big break.
In practice, the ‘wife’ was concerned, the middle girl could cry an ocean on command, the oldest boy would look fearfully stoic, and the youngest boy could appear to fight back tears. The stage was set.
Greed would spread the tainted money. Infecting all who touched it. Incubation. Launch the flu.
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The fat old white man loved McD’s. His weekly diet treat was to go for a big mac. His svelte beautiful spouse would carefully cut it in quarters. And, give him a single quarter. He also got 22 french fries. He would dutifully and longingly throw the rest away. As he savored his meal in ecstasy, he was watching the hustle and bustle in the counter area. Maybe some day, he’d retire and work at McD’s. Free food. Sigh, and he’d be 800 pounds.
Over by the ATM, a man with a family was working the ATM. Obviously, things weren’t going well. The situation was deteriorating. He couldn’t recognize the language, but he could read the faces. The crying girl tugged at him. He was ready to “help” when his wife said MYOB. He contented himself with some cell phone pics.
The upset family marched out of the restaurant. The mother dragging the crying girl; the father with both boys by the hand marching to their doom. Or so it appeared. He was such a romantic. Now that they were gone, he went over to the ATM. It displayed “Do you want a receipt?” and he poked yes. With that the machine spit out a receipt and a wad of money. He was about grab it and realized he had special sauce all over his hand. He grabbed the money with a napkin.
Looking around for the family, they were no where in sight. He returned to the table where his wife said: “You can never mind you own business. Now what are you going to do?” “Well, it’s not mine and they must need it.” With that he called the cops. Not 911. But the regular number.
The cop looked at the money on the table still partially covered by the saucy napkin. Heard the story. Looked at the ATM and smelled a rat. He’d used that ATM and it looked different. It had a different dispenser. And, why wouldn’t the family have called the manager? He bagged the money as evidence. And, called for the detectives. This just didn’t smell right.
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Back at their airport hotel, Allie’s comrades did some throat slitting. So as not to leave loose ends. He felt no compunction. These were just tools. Sheep to be slaughtered. He was actually doing them a favor. Their genes would permit the pandemic flu to kill them. Horribly. He was being merciful.
The crew went to the airport. They were all on different flights back to Saudi Arabia. They meet again at the mosque tomorrow to survey the collapse of the Great Satan. Taken down by their greed. Contaminated money.
Passport control is a interesting place. It’s evolved over the years. It’s a human man trap. As Allie passed thru passport control, he saw a grainy photo taped by the inspector’s workstation. It was a family by an ATM. The plexiglass partitions snapped into place. The inspector’s face was grim. He could hear excited men yelling at him “Keep Your Hands Where We Can See Them”.
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The fat old white man modestly declined any publicity. He didn’t understand all the attention. He didn’t do anything special. He did what any McD lover would do. But he did accept the McD’s lifetime card for free Big Mac’s. His wife sill cut them in quarters giving him only one. Now he didn’t feel so bad about throwing away the excess.
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