Infidels Read online

  Infidels

  A Delta Force Unleashed Thriller

  by

  J. Robert Kennedy

  From the Back Cover

  FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY

  ISLAM’S HOLIEST RELIC IS STOLEN.

  AMERICA IS BLAMED.

  CHAOS ERUPTS.

  When the elite Delta Force’s Bravo Team is inserted into Yemen to rescue a kidnapped Saudi prince, they find more than they bargained for—a crate containing the Black Stone, stolen from Mecca the day before. Requesting instructions on how to proceed, they find themselves cut off and disavowed, left to survive with nothing but each other to rely upon.

  With the worldwide Muslim population erupting in violence at the news of the theft by infidels, Bravo Team desperately tries to return the relic they are accused of stealing, relying on the help of friends who defy the orders of their government. Colonel Clancy, the CIA’s Dylan Kane and Chris Leroux, as well as Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer, all join forces to save America’s heroes after their country abandons them.

  For should they fail, all-out war could be inevitable.

  From USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy comes Infidels, a heart-pounding thrill ride sure to keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page. Filled with action, humor, romance and heartbreak, prepare to be emotionally exhausted after finishing this provocative, controversial thriller.

  About J. Robert Kennedy

  USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty-five international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series of which the first installment, The Protocol, has been on the bestseller lists since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months. He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

  "If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

  Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

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  Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.

  Books by J. Robert Kennedy

  The James Acton Thrillers

  The Protocol

  Brass Monkey

  Broken Dove

  The Templar's Relic

  Flags of Sin

  The Arab Fall

  The Circle of Eight

  The Venice Code

  Pompeii's Ghosts

  Amazon Burning

  The Riddle

  Blood Relics

  Sins of the Titanic

  Saint Peter's Soldiers

  The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

  Rogue Operator

  Containment Failure

  Cold Warriors

  Death to America

  Black Widow

  The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

  Payback

  Infidels

  The Lazarus Moment

  The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

  Depraved Difference

  Tick Tock

  The Redeemer

  Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

  The Turned

  Table of Contents

  The Novel

  Acknowledgements

  Get 5 Free eBooks!

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  For Dave Camp, a loyal fan taken before his time.

  Glory to (Allah) Who did take His Servant for a Journey by night from the Sacred Mosque to the Farthest Mosque, whose precincts We did bless, - in order that We might show him some of Our Signs: for He is the One Who heareth and seeth (all things).

  Koran 17:1

  Narrated Abu Dhar: I said, “O Allah’s Apostle! Which mosque was first built on the surface of the earth?” He said, “Al-Masjid-ul-,Haram (in Mecca).” I said, “Which was built next?” He replied “The mosque of Al-Aqsa (in Jerusalem).” I said, “What was the period of construction between the two?” He said, “Forty years.” He added, “Wherever (you may be, and) the prayer time becomes due, perform the prayer there, for the best thing is to do so (i.e. to offer the prayers in time).”

  Hadith 4:585

  Preface

  On September 30th, 2005, the Jyllands-Posten, a Danish newspaper, published twelve cartoons, mostly of the Prophet Mohammad. They claimed it was an attempt to contribute to the debate surrounding criticism of Islam and self-censorship.

  Never could they have imagined what would happen next.

  The controversy may have gone mostly unnoticed if it were not for the fact a group of Danish Imams put together a 43-page dossier about the cartoons, perceived injustices and insults, and several factually incorrect allegations. They then toured the Middle East, handing copies of this dossier to anyone who would take it. It’s hardly surprising that protests began soon after.

  Violent protests erupted in many Muslim dominated countries, but they weren’t limited to these nations. Protests were held in the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Australia and many others.

  In the end over 200 people were killed, including Christians specifically targeted because of their religion.

  In time the protests died down, yet the violence never ended. There have been multiple attacks and attempted assassinations against those involved, and then of course there were the Paris attacks in January 2015 over another set of cartoons.

  If millions protested around the world over cartoons, if hundreds died over cartoons, how many would die if something truly egregious were done that offended the Religion of Peace?

  What would happen if the most holy relic in all of Islam were stolen?

  And blamed on America’s most elite of soldiers.

  The Delta Force.

  Author's Note

  What follows is a work of fiction, not commentary. The topics discussed in this novel are inflammatory, emotional and all too real. If you are easily offended by fictional characters expressing anti-Islamic views, or by fictional events portraying Islam in a negative fashion, be forewarned you will most likely be upset by what you are about to read. The views of a character are not necessarily those of the author.

  Assistance Publique Hôpitaux de Paris, Paris, France

  “She seems to be doing well.”

  Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson nodded as he stepped on the hospital elevator with his girlfriend, Maggie Harris, the car filled to capacity. Just as the doors were about to close a man rushed up, squeezing himself inside, much to the annoyance of those already aboard.

  Dawson gave him the once over, the man Middle Eastern which unfortunately in his line of work as a Delta Force operator meant he deserved a second look, profiling perhaps not politically correct, but a necessary and effective tool.

  Even if he was on vacation.

  He and Maggie had been dating now for over a year, and after wrapping up an off-the-books op helping out some old friends, he had invited her to join him here for a week-long vacation with the blessing of his Colonel, and Maggie’s boss, she his secretary.

  Or assistant. Or whatever.

  He still hadn’t figured out how to ask her the correct term for her job. He just knew ‘secretary’ couldn’t be it since he had been told in no uncertain terms years ago that the term was now apparently offensive.

  Mom never seemed to have a problem being called a secretary.

  Times had changed, everyone so concerned with offending everyone else, Western society had turned into a bunch of apologists, so hung up with apparent past transgressions they we
re willing to hand over all they had accomplished to those who were offended by it.

  The doors opened on the ground floor and the elevator emptied, he guiding Maggie out with a gentle hand on the small of her back, he long having decided that if any woman he dated felt chivalry were sexist, she wasn’t for him.

  Maggie didn’t mind, in fact loved it.

  “She’s looking a hell of a lot better than when we found her,” he said, resuming their conversation. They had just visited Professor Laura Palmer and her husband, Professor James Acton. Both were archeology professors with a knack for getting themselves into trouble, and events just last week in Italy, France, Spain, Austria and right here in Paris had resulted in her being shot and kidnapped.

  But she had been saved, and the grateful couple, who had become friends over the years—though in an odd way considering he had tried to kill them in their first encounter—had insisted on paying for his vacation. One of his best friends, Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung, who had been instrumental in saving the professor, had headed off to Spain for a week on the beach, the Actons sending their private jet to pick up Maggie.

  Must be nice to be rich.

  According to the dossier he had read on Professor Palmer, she was ridiculously rich, her brother leaving her hundreds of millions of dollars when he died, he having apparently sold some dotcom startup for megabucks.

  Yet despite their ridiculous wealth, they were normal people, not flaunting it. He had never seen either of them dressed up, they lived in the house Acton had bought on a professor’s salary, drove a normal car and ate normal food.

  And would do anything to help friends, including using the wealth at their disposal for just that.

  Despite their less than auspicious introduction, in the end he had spared their lives, and over the years had made it his mission to try and make up for what had happened, the false intel they had been fed leading to too many innocent deaths.

  And the two professors had repaid them in kind, helping them whenever they could.

  Definitely an odd relationship.

  Maggie was saying something but he had tuned her out for a moment as he watched the Middle Eastern man holding open one of the doors to the outside, ushering people through with a smile. As Maggie stepped through the door with a “Merci” his alarms went off, two other Middle Eastern men in suits standing outside.

  Something slammed against the back of his head sending a searing pain through his entire body. His eyes watered and he collapsed toward the ground, his training kicking in as he tucked in his left arm, swinging his right out so he ended up on his back instead of his stomach.

  “Stay down, Professor Acton!”

  Acton?

  Somebody screamed in the distance, the only clear sound the pounding in his ears as a foot pressed down toward him, slamming into his chest, taking his breath away.

  As the pain pulsed through his body, his senses almost overwhelmed, the screams coalesced enough in his fog-filled brain to register the source.

  Maggie!

  “BD!”

  His world rushed back.

  His hand darted out and he hammered his clenched fist into the man’s nuts, causing him to scream out in pain as he began to double over, his foot lifting slightly. Dawson grabbed the shoe, twisting the man off balance and sending him tumbling to the floor then rolled, raising his right leg off the ground then dropping it hard on the man’s neck, crushing his windpipe.

  He popped to his feet, catching sight of Maggie as two men held her by the arms, half dragging, half lifting her toward the open side door of a black van.

  “Maggie!”

  He bolted forward, his feet shoving hard against the ground as he gained speed, racing toward the first woman he was pretty sure he had ever truly loved just as they reached the van, tossing her inside and climbing in after her. The door slid shut as the van raced away, Dawson slamming his fist against the side, reaching it too late.

  Sprinting after the vehicle, he spotted two motorcycle cops to his right, one talking to a group of civilians, the other just climbing off the back of his bike. He broke right and pushed the new arrival off balance before he could remove the key. Straddling the Yamaha FJR1300, he fired up the engine and gunned it into traffic before the surprised officer could react.

  Threading the bike between the vehicles, he caught site of the black Mercedes van before it turned right and disappeared from sight.

  A siren sounded behind him and he glanced in his side mirror to see who he assumed was the second officer now in pursuit.

  And it gave him an idea.

  He looked at the dash and found the switch for the lights and sirens, flicking them on then pressing the button on the handle to fire the siren.

  The traffic took notice, angling out of his way as he gained on the van.

  A horn blared to his right as he was about to enter an intersection, the van blasting through just after the light turned red. He looked and cursed as he gunned it hard, his front wheel popping up as the large delivery truck racing toward him locked up its brakes, missing his rear wheel by too close a margin.

  But it was forgotten, the van his only concern, his siren aiding in his efforts to clear through traffic, but it also being heard by the traffic ahead of the van, it clearing out of the way of his target as well.

  Damned if you do…

  He had a clear line of sight now, nothing between him and the van. Gunning the motor, he rapidly closed the distance, his heart slamming into his chest as he saw two hands suddenly appear on the rear window then Maggie’s horrified face press against the glass for only a moment.

  Hold on, hon!

  The left lane was suddenly clear and he tilted left, roaring up beside the vehicle. The driver swerved toward him and he jerked the bike out of the way, narrowly missing a row of parked cars. Falling back slightly, he visually assessed the situation, noting the van had running boards and a luggage rack on the top.

  Foot and handholds.

  The van swerved away from the parked cars and Dawson rushed into the void, pushing his weight onto the handlebars as he kept the throttle steady, his feet rising off the pedals and onto the seat.

  He leapt.

  His right hand caught the rack and he tightened his grip, hard as the van swerved again, his motorcycle knocked off balance and sent careening into a parked car, flipping end over end before coming to rest in the back of a convertible, top down, several car alarms now screaming for attention.

  Flipped onto his back, he held on, determined not to let the kidnappers get away, his shoulder protesting angrily as his entire bodyweight smacked against the side of the van.

  Suddenly they turned right, physics working with him, the pressure instantly gone. He swung back, reaching up and grabbing on with his other hand then swinging onto the roof, crawling toward the front. The van was jerking from side to side now, but his feet were spread out across the roof, braced against the rack, and his hands had firm grips.

  They weren’t getting rid of him that easily.

  Maggie screamed.

  A gunshot rang out, a hole appearing six inches from his head.

  Shit!

  He shoved himself forward as another shot rang out. At the front, he reached into his pocket to get his keys, a window breaker on the keychain.

  And flew headfirst over the hood of the van as the driver locked up the brakes. He hit the ground, tucking into a roll, tumbling several times before coming to a stop. He took a knee, reaching for his non-existent weapon.

  Hard way!

  He burst to his feet as if running the hundred-meter dash at the Olympics, his eyes on the driver, when suddenly Maggie’s head was thrust between the seats.

  And a gun pressed to her head.

  He stopped, his hands slowly rising as he realized there was no hope.

  The driver reversed then turned, disappearing down a side street as the second officer finally caught up to him, screeching to a halt, his weapon drawn.

  Droppin
g to his knees and clasping his hands behind his neck, he burned the license plate into his memory.

  And swore revenge.

  Al-Masjid al-Haram Mosque, Mecca, Saudi Arabia

  Three days earlier

  Qasim Hatina’s heart pounded in his chest as it always did on this day, but today it hammered a little harder, for he was “The First”. It was he who was personally handling the ceremonial handover of the Black Stone to the royal representative, the Governor of Mecca, Prince Khalid bin Abdullah Al Saud. It was a rare event and only occurred if a problem was found during the semi-annual ceremony known as “the cleaning of the Kaaba”. Last week the Prince himself had noticed a crack in the support structure for the Black Stone and it was now to be repaired in preparation for Ramadan.

  He had been witness to the cleansing ritual dozens of times in his years as one of the Ulama, the most senior of clerics responsible for interpreting the Koran and the hadiths, but today he was The First at this rare ceremony.

  A true honor.

  And a true terror.

  Neither he nor Prince Khalid touched the relic, in fact, no one actually touched it, metal poles slid into two slots at the base of the stand containing the stone and its silver frame. He still remembered as a young man how he had felt when the curtains that hung around the Kaaba were pulled back to reveal the stone. The illusion the massive cuboid building the faithful marched around seven times at the Hajj was shattered in one moment, the revealing of the revered stone almost anticlimactic, almost a disappointment in fact, he expecting something much more elaborate.

  But the disappointment had done nothing to shake his faith, and he had pledged his life to Islam and the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, and would continue to do so until his death, whenever that might be.

  He bowed to Prince Khalid as the men transferring the Black Stone to the military transport truck completed their task. The ceremonial guard snapped to attention, their rifles smacking against their shoulders, their faces all etched with the pride and humility they all must have felt at the event they were participating in.