Treasured-Excerpt

Prologue

"Someone w

ill stop by for the parcel tonight."

The voice was heavily accented-speaki

ng in half-English, half Pashtu, and

soft-spoken,

making it

difficult for Jamilah, who understood the official language of

her parents' native country,

decipher his words.

"Please, you have taken enough. I want to be finished with this."

"You will be finished when we say you are finished! Must I remind you again that it

is the

duty of

all Muslims to show their support for the Jihad? We first sought only

to recruit al-Rashad.

It was

you who decided to make the payments rather than

sacrifice your brother for the holy war.

Must I

also remind you about what happens

to those who deny Allah and his will? Al-Farghani

went to

the police and he no

longer breathes. Al-Nawfali makes his residence in a hospital bed. If

you are

tempted to tell anyone of our little arrangement, just remember that the same fate

awaits

your

father. We will kill anyone who tries to stop us. Ah, but you we will not

kill; for you, a lovely

house awaits in Sudan where wealthy clients love to share

their evenings with beautiful, young

women."

An involuntary shiver ran through the entire length of Jamilah's body, and she

replied in the

only

way she could. "The back door will be unlocked; I'll leave the

package in the usual place."

Jamilah dropped the telephone into its cradle and her

face into her hands as the tears that

inevitably came when he contacted her ran

unchecked from her eyes.

She was at his mercy; she had to do everything he asked. She could tell no one;

otherwise Jamilah

knew without a shred of doubt that he would carry out his

threats.

If only she had never met this man. If only she had listened to her father and

married the

agreeable, if not passionate, suitor he'd chosen for her. No, she'd

reminded her father of the

reasons that they had left their country of origin, of the

horrors that had befallen the women under

the rule of the Taliban, and then she'd

demanded that he provide her with a college education like

that given to her

brother, Rashad.

Under his silent disapproval, she'd enrolled at Colorado State University. While

there,

pursuing a

degree in journalism, she'd met a charming and ardent foreign

exchange student

majoring in

political science. Then he'd called himself a citizen

of the world, and she'd been wildly

attracted to

the charismatic orator whose fiery

speeches blamed all the evil of man on the pursuit of

materialism

and capitalism.

Aroused by his passion, Jamilah had found herself blissfully falling in

love with the

good-looking Armenian, unaware that he would one day threaten everything and

everyone that

she held dear.

Her first inkling had come two years later, when she'd found some pamphlets

extolling

terrorist

activities in her brother's bedroom. Upon confronting Rashad,

she'd learned that the love

of her life

was not the man she'd thought he was-that

he was in truth a soldier of the Jihad. She'd

threatened

to turn him in to the

authorities. He'd disappeared, only to resurface a few years later

with his

scheme

to extort, what he'd called `protection' money from her family and other members

the

small, tightly knit Muslim community.

Isma'il Shashi. The man might have the name of a prophet, but Jamilah knew him

something

else entirely. To her, he was Isma'il, the liar! Isma'il, the deceiver!

Isma'il, the thief!

Taking the keys, she walked around the counter to the front door. She locked the

door and

turned

the closed sign forward, then stood staring out at the busy street

as her mind whirled in a

cloud of

sadness and despair. Jamilah was tired of living

her life in fear. She could no longer abide

the

thought of her weakness in giving in

to his threats, knowing that the money she handed over to

Isma'il would be used

for evil purposes. Her family had come to America to escape the poverty of

their

homeland, and people like him.

Then, like a sudden spring shower that cleansed the air of dirt and grime, her

mind cleared and

determination was born. She couldn't talk to anyone outside of

the Muslim community, but if she

could just convince enough of them to stand with

her and refuse to pay, Isma'il's threats would lose

their power, and she could get

herself, her family and her community out from under the thumb of

that maniac.

CHAPTER ONE

The hot sun beaming down on his head was relentless.

When a bead of sweat emerged from the edge of his neatly barbered hairline and

began a slow

trek

down the side of his face, Gregory Hunter forced himself to

ignore the small irritation. He

stood

stiff-backed, still and calm. This was not the

time to break. This was the time to stay strong.

Hearing a soft sob to his left, he gathered his sister Carolyn in a close embrace

with his left

arm.

She rested her head on his shoulder, turning her face into his

black-suited chest as she

struggled to

regain her composure. His mother, sitting

on one of the white chairs in front of him,

sniffed and

Gregory placed his right hand

on her shoulder. He gently massaged her, imparting a bit

of his

strength, until she

raised her hand to pat his, letting him know that she was okay, for the

moment.

At least it`s a nice day, Gregory thought, as the echoing sound of the last of a

three-rifle volley

faded into the distance. Sunny and warm, with abundant blue sky

and scattered white clouds, it

was a day unlike the typical cold and blustery days

normally associated with Colorado at the onset

of the winter months. Birds still

chirped in the trees and bees still buzzed about the colorful petals

of the fall

flowers in an effort to gather the last of the pollen. The kind of day Gilbert Hunter

would

have loved. The kind of day Gregory would always associate with his brother.