Guardian by Erik Williams

unfortunate you have allowed yourself to be misled.”
    â€œMisled? What do you mean?”
    â€œKharija is a dead man.”
    â€œI do not understand. I talked to him myself. He is as alive as you or I.”
    â€œNo, he is a dead man who has yet to be killed.” Abu rubbed the stock of his rifle. “He has betrayed our order.”
    Haddad’s mouth moved but no words came out. After a few seconds he said, “What are you doing here, then?”
    â€œWe were told Kharija was being held here. As a prisoner.”
    Haddad shook his head. “I was told you were coming to pick up the American.”
    â€œWe know nothing about this American.”
    â€œThen who—­”
    â€œClearly Kharija played both of us. I received a call that he had been captured. You were told we were coming to pick up an American spy. It was Kharija spreading lies to perpetuate his own plan.”
    Haddad looked away, the betrayal clearly setting in. “And that is?”
    â€œWe have not figured that part out yet.”
    Haddad buried his face in his maimed hand. “How long ago did Kharija betray us?”
    â€œWe figured it out two weeks ago. How long he has been working against us only he and Allah know. We thought we had him cornered in Cairo last week but he was ready. Had his own private guard made up of other traitors. Three true Brothers died that night.”
    â€œI have not checked in for almost a month.”
    â€œWhich is why you did not know Kharija was a wanted man. You have become lazy in your duties, Amol.”
    â€œThe foreman job has been eating all of my time.”
    â€œThe job is not your primary duty. Have we not learned anything from the failure to keep the prison sealed? Remember Basra? It is still under cordon. The world still does not know the truth of what happened. Yet we continue to go about our daily lives as if everything is normal. We know the truth, Amol, but we are not the only ones. We must be more alert than ever. The prison was opened. Now, one of our own has turned from the light to the shadows and is working against us.”
    â€œThe shadows.” Haddad seemed to roll the word around in his mouth. “You are sure?”
    â€œWithout a doubt.”
    Haddad nodded. “I am sorry for my failure. It will not happen again. We will find Kharija.”
    â€œWe will.”
    Abu patted Haddad on the shoulder and moved away from the table. He walked over to where one of his men stood, his light shining on the fallen body of a fat man. Heavily bearded. Nice round hole in the center of his forehead. Loose jowls. Thick lips. Something about him, though . . .
    Abu recognized the dead man just as he heard commotion behind him. He spun around to see Haddad snapping the neck of the driver and freeing the gun from his now dead hands. The AK-­47 rose, the flashlight attached to it blinding him. Abu fired without aiming, knowing he only had a second before Haddad would shoot.
    Haddad screamed and the flashlight beam dropped away from Abu, who shined his own light on the floor and found Amol Haddad clutching his stomach. Blood seeped between his fingers. He let loose a half scream, half groan. Abu frowned at the immediate satisfaction growing in him at the sound, the pain. This was not a moment to enjoy on any level.
    â€œKharija bought you,” Abu said, walking toward him, light on his dying Brother’s face. “But the Israelis and the torture were not part of the deal, were they? Nor was us arriving. You never thought Kharija would betray you, too, even though he has so easily cast aside his honor and loyalty. When did he approach you?”
    Haddad said nothing, only coughed blood around his intermittent cries. Abu put the heel of his boot on Haddad’s stomach and pushed down. The man’s cries became wails, echoing off the walls around them.
    â€œWhen?” Abu lifted his boot away. “And do not forget our methods are