April 17th, 7:45 p.m. Beirut, Lebanon

Welcome to my action thriller, "The Chemist", the first of a trilogy following the path of former special ops veteran and CIA operative Daniel Strong, focuses on terrorists and their conviction to obtain the most virulent chemical weapon on earth.

Jewish author Shalom Aleichem once lamented the fact that "scientists always end up selling their discoveries to murders." What he was referring to was the military industrial complex that exists within industrialized governments. Along the same line, Robert Oppenheimer basically confirmed that when he said, "It is a profound and necessary truth that the deep things in science are not found because they are useful; they are found because it was possible to find them." We very well know who wrote his paychecks.

So, this idea of scientist doing the 'the devil's work' intrigued me so much that I set out to write "The Chemist". I wanted  to expose the mind of a scientist who discovered a horrific way of killing as many people as possible--without having to worry about those nasty bi-products, then selling the creation to the highest bidder--no questions asked. Would the scientist have any remorse after learning what the discovery will be used for? If so, how would it affect that scientist?

If you are still reading this, I hope that means I have captured your interest. I look forward to reading your comments!

This chapter is dedicated to my daughter, Leah, whose encouragement motivated me to undertake this project.

Sabir Al-Dahar-Essa tightened his grasp around the concealed item he had stuffed in a paper Sabir Al-Dahar-Essa tightened his grasp around the concealed item he had stuffed in a paper bag. He advanced along Bir Hassen Street like a revenant Barbary lion ready to pounce on its prey - head low, gaze focused on his destination. To onlookers, he was like any other 34 year old man amidst the din of sidewalk market peddlers packing it in for the day. The setting sun silhouetted buckling clotheslines and satellite dishes.

Like a lab rat slithering through a contrived maze, he was aware of the men following him who made no attempt to hide. This would be Sabir's first test of unequivocal loyalty, the first of many, and they would watch his every move.

He left the bustling boulevard behind as he turned onto a forgettable side street. Latif's flat was just ahead. He looked up as he walked into the rustic courtyard with crumbling stone benches and overgrown bushes. A flickering light filtered through Latif's curtains as the hum of LBCI soccer match highlights bled through the walls.

Sabir would end this quickly.

He climbed the stairs up to the flat. After three hard knocks, the door creaked open.

Latif appeared in the doorway. Dispensing with a Salaam Alaikum embrace, Sabir stepped back and motioned for his friend to follow him out to the balcony. Latif stepped out, his rawboned body looking slightly plumper, and closed the door, silently waiting.

"Are the four chickens inside?" Sabir spat out as he handed him the paper bag enshrouding the oblong-shaped object.

Latif gave him a questioning look.

"It is a gift," Sabir said.

Latif frowned. "They are not cowards. They will do as they are told."

"There is a difference between blind obedience and achieving glory in the eyes of Allah. Are they competent?"

"As much as they need to be."

Sabir glanced over the edge of the balcony. The last man following him had disappeared, choosing not to enter the courtyard. Nevertheless, omnipresent ears listened. "They are young," Sabir said. "Young men are reckless."

"But, they are eager to see you."

"Fine. Let me see them." Sabir followed Latif inside to the one bedroom apartment.

Four empty-headed recruits - none looking older than twenty - were sprawled out on a brown sofa, their eyes transfixed on a shiny new flat screen. The announcer of the soccer match declared a goal, and the four young men cheered and clapped. Empty, overturned Maltina bottles mixed with the garbage scattered on the floor and coffee table. Shisha smoke filled the air.

Sabir stood near the couch and waited, but the young men took no notice. Latif slammed the front door to get their attention. When they finally bothered to look up at Sabir standing there with hands clasped behind his back, they scrambled to their feet. They did not dare approach him.

There would be no pleasantries.

Four machine guns were angled up against the window sill behind them, recently opened boxes torn and crumpled on the floor. Sabir resisted the urge to shake his head at the pitiful scene. He gave Latif a disapproving glance. "I thought you told them not to bring weapons."

Latif cleared his throat. "They brought them so you could see they are ready for Jannah. They are eager and ready to do what is necessary."

Sabir grinned inwardly. His ultimate task was all too easy, especially with these cretins. He narrowed his eyes at the young men in counterpoint. "You are to leave these weapons behind. I don't care where you got them or how much you spent. Understood?"

They nodded like mindless bobble-heads.

He stroked his scraggly beard that he knew would be shaved off soon. "I am not here to ask you how the family is, or how the girlfriend is, unless she is sitting on my lap."

One of them sat back down and stretched as if in his own living room.

Sabir took a step toward the boy. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Are you a virgin?"

"I save myself for Allah."

Without warning, Sabir raised his arm as he bent over the cluttered coffee table and swept it clear in one fluid motion. Bottles clattered to the floor.

The young man leapt back to his feet. The others flinched and held their breath. Sabir motioned to Latif to place the paper bag on the table. This time, he wouldn't hold back a disapproving shake of his head. "How can we expect to defeat the enemy if you carry yourselves in this way? It is shameful. What kind of way is this to live for a warrior of Islam?"

The young men stared at him attentively.

"The time is now," Sabir continued. "We must act quickly, my brothers." He had changed his tone to one of stoic deliberation. He considered himself a devout atheist from Palestine. The boys in the room hailed from Saudi Arabia and Syria. The last thing he considered them to be were his brothers. He knew how to forge camaraderie with such hollow words.

He motioned at the door. "If you want to leave now, then go. You will not get another chance to save yourself." None of them moved. Satisfied by their collective silence, he continued. "The weapon needed to destroy the infidels will soon be ours, and Allah is counting on each of you to fulfill your roles to secure it."

As they gazed at him with hopeful eyes like docile puppies, Sabir thought of the unwavering goal that had consumed his whole life up to that point; the destruction of the bastard State. The young men on the other hand, sought to extend their brand of terror to a worldwide scale.

What fools. Terror was not something to create for no reason - it must have a purpose and an end result.

Latif spoke up. "But you have not told us where we can find the weapon, Sabir."

"In America."

"But, how can we gain access to American military installations? Our appearance--"

"It is not within the military," Sabir interrupted. "A private company in New York City developed it, so it remains there for us to acquire as our own."

Latif bowed his head slightly. "What will you have us do, Sabir?"

He looked upon them with a demonic glare. "We will go to this company and learn how it is made. Then we will bring what we know back here. And when I—," he paused. "When we do, we will elevate terror upon the West unlike anything seen before." He couldn't tell if they even understood the urgency of the matter. The ignorant hypocrites. If not imbibing was a way to respect Allah, then why spit on Allah's legacy? They would justify it through the doctrine of Taqiyya, all the while knowing their knowledge applied only under threat or duress amongst infidels. They had become the true infidels.

Sabir wanted Israel. He wanted it to become an everlasting hellfire. Stooges like the ones before him could have the West for themselves.

He studied the young men. What a waste they were. "By now," he said, "you have all heard about me and what I will demand of you. The company who made the weapon will require some persuasion. You will assist me with that."

"You can count on us," Latif said, eyes beaming. The others nodded.

"Good. We leave tomorrow." He allowed himself a plastic smile, to put them at ease, then he stood. "My brothers." He paused, the words sour in his mouth. "My brothers, the hour is late and I need to secure our passports. Come morning, we shall alter our appearances. It will be a long journey." He motioned at the paper bag on the table. "Enjoy my gift. I only wish I could revel in celebration with you."

Sabir embraced Latif, who he'd known since their days in the BakkahValley. He would miss him. Latif would be a small sacrifice in reaching his ultimate goal.

He opened the door before turning back to the group one last time. "Enjoy your celebration. The work ahead has only just begun."

Sabir walked out quickly and shut the door behind him.

He had been an ambitious terrorist and had tortured more Israeli soldiers than he could recall. How much more terror could the world take?

As much as it deserved.

Disappearing into the milieu of the bustling thoroughfare, he pondered what his place in history would be. Hero of the Palestinian people? Jannah, the so-called eternal place for Muslims, was for illiterates with misguided ideals. He would live to see the day Israel would crumble to dust.

He felt the presence again of the men who had been following him. As he turned off the forgotten side street and stepped onto Bir Hassan Street, the ground rumbled and he heard the explosion of fire and broken glass behind him. His gift had been opened.

He thought of the five million Riyal sitting in his bank account, courtesy of his new friends. That was incentive enough to throw away the life he had known and pursue their presumptuous vision of a new world order - for the time being. But most of all, he thought of the one woman who made his life worth the risk he was about to take.

My habibti, soon we will be together.

So the stage has been set. Where do you think this is going? Is it clear enough what is going on here? What information let unanswered would make you want to read on? Let me know how I could make the characters more "real" than how I have written them.

Copyright © 2016 by Alan Field. All Rights Reserved.