Bobby groaned as the messages began piling up. He clicked the board again and typed, “Didn’t you see the msg from GabrielsButler_72?”
A round of negatives filled the screen and Bobby swore. “Fucking great. Everybody go take a piss at the same time or what?” He pushed away from the computer and stormed into his kitchen. He opened the fridge and his hand instinctively wrapped around the cold neck of a beer. He hesitated for just a moment then put it back. He reached behind and grabbed a bottle of water instead. “I need my head on straight.”
Bobby marched back in and sat at the computer. The conversations had moved on to other hate filled topics and Bridger wanted no part in it. The only members participating now were bit players. The heavy hitters had already logged out or went inactive. Bobby closed the lid and unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water. He stared at the closed laptop and sipped the water. “Who the fuck are you, GabrielsButler?”
Karachi, Pakistan
MAMOON-UR-RASHEED yelled into his cell phone, “I do not care! I need those paints now. I have an order going out tomorrow and my man cannot fill it without the paints.” He glared out the small window of his office and the busy street beyond. He pounded his fist on the desk as he yelled again. “I do not care about your delivery driver. I will send my boy to get them. I need them now!”
He smiled to himself as the voice on the phone relented. “And I expect a discount if I am to come and get them.” He listened again then nodded. “Good. Tariq will be there within the hour.” He flipped the cell phone closed then stuck his head out his office door. The litter and dirt throughout the shop would give the odd passerby the perception that the shop was abandoned if it weren’t for the small generator running in the back.
“Tariq!” the shopkeeper yelled. He watched the young man scamper down a flight of broken stairs and slide to a stop.
“Yes, sir?”
The young man was breathing hard and his eyes were wide as he waited for Mamoon-ur-Rasheed to count out money. He held it out to him carefully. “Go to Kashif’s and bring back paint. We have an order for fifteen Israeli flags and we are out of blue.” He shoved the boy toward the back door. “Go. And hurry. They must be done before noon tomorrow.”
He watched the boy run out of the shop then he turned and yelled up the stairs again. “Sameer, Bilal! We have more flags to paint for tomorrow.”
Sameer leaned over the railing of the third floor and glared at the man below. His cigarette hung precariously from his lower lip as he yelled back, “Which flags do we make?”
“Israeli! Fifteen flags by noon.”
Sameer threw his hands into the air and let loose a string of epithets. “We have no blue paint! How can I make Israeli flag without blue paint?”
“Tariq is gone to Kashif’s to bring you paint.” He pointed a finger at the designer and shook it. “And watch your tongue. If you are heard by the wrong people, it could be lashes for you!”
Bilal threw a dirty rag down from the fourth floor. “These Indian flags drive me insane! Orange everywhere!” He stomped as he came down the stairs and walked into the makeshift kitchen. He poured hot water into a press and prepared to make a coffee. “I need a break before I burn the cursed things myself.” He set the press to the side and approached Mamoon. “We are running dangerously low on fabrics. We need to buy bulk, I tell you.”
Mamoon glared at the man. “When you are running things here, then you can make those decisions.” He pointed back to his office. “I have three other businesses to run. I cannot always be thinking ‘flags.’”
Balil waved his hands mockingly. “And when we get a large order and you want to use that fancy screen print of yours, all you will need is the fabric. Oh, but wait…you won’t have it because you wait and buy scraps because you think it will save you money.” He nodded and turned back toward the kitchen. “I forget that you know what you are doing.”
“You can be replaced, Balil.” Mamoon glared at the man as he walked away.
“And you should listen to others, Mamoon. If you buy the fabric now when you don’t need it, you can negotiate a lower price. If you have to wait until you do need it, they know you are at their mercy and you must pay more than what it is worth. They always smile to see you coming.” He placed a hand on the man’s cheek and patted it. “Just once, listen to another who is thinking of you first. Browse the different fabric shops until you find the best price.”
Mamoon groaned and rolled his eyes at the man. “Fine! I will go out after I have eaten. But you will see. None will offer a discount for buying bulk. They all know what this is for. This thin fabric is only good for one thing and that is burning.”
“Then tell them you are shopping for the best price. Let them compete.” Balil poured his coffee into the stained cup and sipped it. “One of them will undercut the others just to sell a whole roll. Trust me.”
Langley, VA
“AS YOU ARE well aware, the target is Syrian born terrorist leader, Muhammad al-Abadi. We have intel that he is holed up in Pakistan and is about to stir up anti-Western protests again. Historically, within weeks of his protests, Western states see a marked increase in terrorist activities. We still aren’t positive if al-Abadi is directly tied to the terrorists or if they just get stirred up by his actions.
