Union and NATO, will be under Sharia law.
“Allah will be the judge and jury of what’s permitted and what isn’t. There and in the major European cities—Antwerp, Amsterdam, Rotterdam. And my home country, France. It’s all going to be under Sharia law very soon.”
“Twenty-five years is not soon. Things can happen that derail your plans.” Dempsey knew it was a weak shot, a punch without any muscle behind it. Because he knew Prideux was right.
“This is different. We control the process so I can wait. Twenty-five years? Just a matter of time now. Nothing anyone can do to stop it.” Prideux chuckled. “Unless non-Muslims start having six kids per couple—which is not going to happen. We will out-reproduce them. We will outnumber them. We will then out-vote them—and vote them out.”
“And what is that going to get you?”
“It’ll get us Europe. And then we’ll move on from there. North America? South America? Maybe both at the same time? Eventually it’ll be everything. That is our goal, Lucas. Not just an Islamic state. An Islamic world .”
Dempsey wondered what he had gotten himself into. Then again, was there really a choice?
“It’s all so very simple, Lucas, but they are fools. They don’t see what’s going on right in front of them, all around them. We even tell them what we’re going to do. It’s not a secret. And still they don’t see it! We say it on TV, in interviews, in our mosques, they debate it in their government offices. Their own Members of Parliament warn of it. And still they let it happen. Religious tolerance, the political correctness of this generation only makes it easier, faster.” His left eye narrowed. “They have let it happen. Willingly. None of those countries deserve to survive as a nation, as a culture. And they won’t.”
Dempsey cleared his throat. He felt a sense of anxiety, as if he were Dr. Frankenstein … and the monster had just awoken and was about to leave the nest.
Prideux clapped a bony hand on Dempsey’s thigh. “Thank you for your time, Lucas. We’ll be in touch.” He winked, then popped open the door and got out.
6
U zi set his leather satchel on his desk at the FBI’s Washington field office, then headed over to check in with a member of the Joint Terrorism Task Force, Special Agent Hoshi Koh.
Hoshi’s desk was a hodge-podge of files, notes, and a variety of tech gadgets: her smartphone, a tablet, a Bluetooth headset, and an external battery pack.
“I’m impressed,” Uzi said, taking inventory of the devices.
Hoshi tilted her head and examined his face. “You look tired.”
“Late night.”
“Another hot date?”
“Not exactly.” He stifled a yawn. “Who says hot date anymore?”
“Obviously I do.”
“Hey, where do we stand with that wild and crazy theory of Hezbollah collaborating with the Cortez cartel?”
“Soon as I got your email this morning I checked in with DEA. They’re running a new informant in San Diego that’s shown promise.”
“When are we expecting to hear?”
“They’re going to get back to us. Any day.” Hoshi slipped her glasses on. “Oh—Shepard wants to see you.”
Uzi walked into his ASAC’s office a minute later. Marshall Shepard leaned his large frame backward in his chair, making the springs creak loudly. “’Bout time you brought your ugly ass into my office. Left that message with Koh an hour ago.” He yanked off his glasses. “Take a seat, man. You look tired.”
“Jeez, between you and Hoshi, a guy can’t have a bad night.”
“You hear about that explosion on Irving Street, near 14th? They’re calling it a gas main, but I’m not buying it. I called Metro and they said they had no complaint on file. I ran it up the line and the brass wouldn’t even take my call, like they were dodging me. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Uzi tried to maintain a neutral expression. “Yeah.”
“I want you to look into it. Quietly.”
“Quietly, Shep?”
“Yeah, just
“Allah will be the judge and jury of what’s permitted and what isn’t. There and in the major European cities—Antwerp, Amsterdam, Rotterdam. And my home country, France. It’s all going to be under Sharia law very soon.”
“Twenty-five years is not soon. Things can happen that derail your plans.” Dempsey knew it was a weak shot, a punch without any muscle behind it. Because he knew Prideux was right.
“This is different. We control the process so I can wait. Twenty-five years? Just a matter of time now. Nothing anyone can do to stop it.” Prideux chuckled. “Unless non-Muslims start having six kids per couple—which is not going to happen. We will out-reproduce them. We will outnumber them. We will then out-vote them—and vote them out.”
“And what is that going to get you?”
“It’ll get us Europe. And then we’ll move on from there. North America? South America? Maybe both at the same time? Eventually it’ll be everything. That is our goal, Lucas. Not just an Islamic state. An Islamic world .”
Dempsey wondered what he had gotten himself into. Then again, was there really a choice?
“It’s all so very simple, Lucas, but they are fools. They don’t see what’s going on right in front of them, all around them. We even tell them what we’re going to do. It’s not a secret. And still they don’t see it! We say it on TV, in interviews, in our mosques, they debate it in their government offices. Their own Members of Parliament warn of it. And still they let it happen. Religious tolerance, the political correctness of this generation only makes it easier, faster.” His left eye narrowed. “They have let it happen. Willingly. None of those countries deserve to survive as a nation, as a culture. And they won’t.”
Dempsey cleared his throat. He felt a sense of anxiety, as if he were Dr. Frankenstein … and the monster had just awoken and was about to leave the nest.
Prideux clapped a bony hand on Dempsey’s thigh. “Thank you for your time, Lucas. We’ll be in touch.” He winked, then popped open the door and got out.
6
U zi set his leather satchel on his desk at the FBI’s Washington field office, then headed over to check in with a member of the Joint Terrorism Task Force, Special Agent Hoshi Koh.
Hoshi’s desk was a hodge-podge of files, notes, and a variety of tech gadgets: her smartphone, a tablet, a Bluetooth headset, and an external battery pack.
“I’m impressed,” Uzi said, taking inventory of the devices.
Hoshi tilted her head and examined his face. “You look tired.”
“Late night.”
“Another hot date?”
“Not exactly.” He stifled a yawn. “Who says hot date anymore?”
“Obviously I do.”
“Hey, where do we stand with that wild and crazy theory of Hezbollah collaborating with the Cortez cartel?”
“Soon as I got your email this morning I checked in with DEA. They’re running a new informant in San Diego that’s shown promise.”
“When are we expecting to hear?”
“They’re going to get back to us. Any day.” Hoshi slipped her glasses on. “Oh—Shepard wants to see you.”
Uzi walked into his ASAC’s office a minute later. Marshall Shepard leaned his large frame backward in his chair, making the springs creak loudly. “’Bout time you brought your ugly ass into my office. Left that message with Koh an hour ago.” He yanked off his glasses. “Take a seat, man. You look tired.”
“Jeez, between you and Hoshi, a guy can’t have a bad night.”
“You hear about that explosion on Irving Street, near 14th? They’re calling it a gas main, but I’m not buying it. I called Metro and they said they had no complaint on file. I ran it up the line and the brass wouldn’t even take my call, like they were dodging me. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Uzi tried to maintain a neutral expression. “Yeah.”
“I want you to look into it. Quietly.”
“Quietly, Shep?”
“Yeah, just
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