“So again, the lady was right. She had a list of killings from around the world. Your people, ours, their own. Whoever. Juba is the one for the job.”

“Juba is promiscuous,” said Gold. “To our misfortune, he has had many encounters with us. And as you know, he’s very good at what he does.”

“You have IOUs to cash in as well.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Cohen, be unusually useful. Tell him about the bus.”

5

Israel, the bus

June 14, 2015

You must do this hard thing for us, Juba,” said the commander. “Bombs have lost their magic. Blow up two hundred and fifty people in the marketplace, and no one notices. It doesn’t even make the news in the West. We need something with an edge to it, something that will make the bastards sit up and listen. And realize they cannot forget us for even a single second.”

“I am in obedience, as always,” Juba said.

The commander had told him of the politics of the situation, not that he knew or cared about politics. The Americans were attempting to negotiate with the Iranians, and if they got a mullah’s name on a dotted line, it would be celebrated as a major event in the West. The idea would take hold that “progress” was being made, delusionary or not. But such arrangements made without the presence of the Islamic State at the table could not be allowed. It would suggest that such a way could lead to a “solution,” when the only real solution was the eradication of the Zionist entity and its citizens. That was the solution that Allah demanded, that and nothing else.

An atrocity was needed that would shock the world and generate such heat that no accord could be signed and an important object lesson would be taken. The leaders had considered many alternatives, but all were difficult to arrange, needed heavy logistic support, and were subject to discovery and penetration.

Juba was one man, with extraordinary skills. With minimal assistance, he could move into position, strike his blow, and vanish. No networks risked, no valuable supplies eaten up, no large bodies of men required. Such was the magic of Juba the Sniper.

“The thought of the death of one by another, that is what scares them to their core. The bomb is impersonal. It has no charisma. It is anonymous and seems almost like the weather. It’s like a tornado arriving. But the man with the rifle intimately acquaints himself with each victim. They are all narcissists, the idea of being not a victim of circumstance but of a conspiracy aimed directly at them—that is something that will linger in their minds.”

“I understand,” he said.

•   •   •