The Ragnarok Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page B

like the prey when the predator was near.
    Too many training cells had disappeared. Only months ago, theirs was one of the most promising training centers, already receiving praisefrom terrorist groups seeking their fighters. He was proud of the demonstrations of their prowess and the respect they had earned. Suddenly, everything had changed. Groups stopped returning from missions. At first, it was explained as American interceptions, until they became too numerous, too frequent, and often occurred in locations not patrolled by United States forces. Not once had they recovered the bodies of their slain brothers. The mystery fueled a growing superstition: of dark forces, demons, spirits sent out by the Evil One to undermine the jihad.
    Today, his small training cell had slipped past a second American patrol just that morning, and the sense of threat had only grown. The Americans were not the threat. His mujahideen brothers began to mutter old nonsense from grandmothers and pagan times to ward off the evil. Fools! They did not even understand the words.
    Kamir signaled to a haggard man stirring the fire. “Jawad, see that there is little smoke.” Jawad grunted but showed no other sign of having heard him. Kamir stood up and quickly walked over beside the fire, crouching low.
    Finally Jawad spoke. “I don't like it. We have not heard from the scouts for too long. We should wake the others. Something is wrong.”
    Kamir nodded and muttered a curse. He glanced anxiously around the campsite. “Not even the insects speak.”
    The men around him stirred restlessly, and several rose from their pallets and fingered their machine guns. Whatever it was, whatever had been following them like a wraith, it was here now. He felt it.
    A harsh cry sounded out from one end of the camp. Kamir turned his weapon toward the sound. He jumped back as a mujahideen warrior staggered into the light of the fire, his hands covered in blood, his neck sliced open. He fell suddenly into the blaze, scattering the logs and tossing sparks into the air, his dry clothing bursting into flames.
    From around the campsite, muffled shots were heard, and, one by one, the trained guerrilla fighters around him fell. Kamir spun in circles, unable to identify the attackers. Next to him, Jawad cried out, having been hit simultaneously in the chest and head, and fell backward several feet to land roughly on the ground. Kamir dropped to a proneposition and scanned quickly outside the camp for a target. A blur to his right suddenly came into focus, a metallic gleam of a broad blade glinting. He turned rapidly to aim, fired wildly, but he knew he was too late. He felt an icy burn in his chest, and several gunshots thumped against his shoulders and abdomen. Momentarily, he passed out.
    Opening his eyes to a fog of sound and pain, he tried to move but found himself unable to do so. He watched helplessly as several others managed to fire into the darkness, his eyes discerning only blurred shadows and motions. Each man soon fell, brought down by weapons unseen, controlled by hands unknown.
    A silence fell around him, and yet he watched. A body continued to burn, now in the center of a circle of bodies, the stink of charred flesh carried on the soft breeze. His vision receding, he heard rapid shuffling sounds from the darkness, and several man-sized shapes sprinted into the camp. The fire was doused, and darkness infiltrated the area. A faint light from the stars weakly illuminated a group of active shadows that seemed to drift above the bodies, dragging the dead forms away. He felt his ankles clamped tightly.
    He knew no more.

Savas struggled in a dream like a man drowning in water. It was the same nightmare. Dimly, a part of him recognized this, but his unconscious was in control and doomed him to walk through it again.
    It was late September, 2001. He felt the storm rage over New York City. From above, he saw a depression, born in the Gulf, crouched over the