Shadow Tag Read Free Page B

thought of it first.”
    Both authors’ jaws dropped. “What?”
    “I was reading up about Bin Laden, trying to inspire myself into greatness like his, and I found out that just after 9/11, your government brought together a bunch of top producers and writers from Hollywood and asked them to brainstorm how someone might try to attack America. And it got me thinking that I should do the same thing.”
    “Brainstorming ways to save people’s lives over a weekend in some nice Malibu beach house is a bit different from … this,” Khoury protested.
    The man gave them a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. Best I can do.” Then he clapped his hand, hard. “Okay. Enough wasting time. You have your assignment.”
    He snapped his fingers.
    The goon in the leather jacket reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a couple of small black notebooks and two pens. He tossed them onto the mattress closest to Berry.
    “Let me know when you have something,” the lead goon said.
    He turned to go when Berry blurted, “Wait, hang on a second.”
    The man turned.
    Berry asked, “You seriously expect us to come up with a brilliant plan for you, just like that?”
    “Your lives and those of the ones you love most depend on it.”
    “How do we even know you’ll let us go if we do this,” Khoury asked.
    “I have no use for you once it’s done,” the man said. “And letting you go will only help fuel my legend. Besides, it’s not all bad. Think about it. After this, you’ll become global celebrities. Anything you write will sell a zillion copies.”
    “We’ll be the most despised people on the planet,” Khoury objected.
    Their captor wasn’t moved. “I’ve always read that any publicity is good publicity, no?”
    Khoury exhaled and looked over to Berry. They seemed equally exasperated, outraged, despondent. But then Berry gave Khoury the tiniest of nods, firing up a kernel of resolve inside him.
    “Get to work,” the man said.
    He turned to go, and again, one of the authors interrupted his exit.
    “Wait,” Khoury said. “We need more. To work with.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Any decent plot starts with the antagonist.”
    The man seemed confused.
    “The bad guy,” Khoury explained. “These stories are only as good as their bad guy.”
    The man said, “Fine. That’s me.”
    “So we need to know about you.”
    The man laughed, then wagged a finger at him. “Clever. Trying to get some information out of me?”
    “No, I’m serious,” Khoury said. “It’s all about character motivation. It has to be solid. So we need to know, why are you doing this?”
    “Where does this lust for blood come from?” Berry added. “Why are you angry at America? Was it something in your past? Maybe you blame us for something that happened to you or your family? Someone you cared for?”
    The man thought for a moment, then shrugged. “No.”
    The writers seemed thrown by his answer.
    “Okay,” Khoury said, “you said you wanted to be bigger than Bin Laden. Where does that come from? Were you bullied at school? Or maybe at home? Did anything happen that changed you, that turned you into, if you don’t mind my saying it, a raging psychopath?”
    The man considered the question, then shook his head. “No.”
    The writers exchanged a perplexed look.
    Berry asked, “So why are you doing this?”
    “It’s more fun than driving an Uber.” He grinned, then fired them a look that said they were done and headed for the door.
    “Wait,” Berry said.
    The man exhaled loudly, dropped his shoulders, then turned around grudgingly. “Now what?”
    “We need a name,” Berry said. “Something to call you.”
    Khoury added, “Ideally, something with a strong ring to it.”
    The man nodded, then proudly proclaimed, “My friends call me El Assad . The Lion.”
    Khoury glanced at Berry, then shook his head.
    “What?” the man asked.
    “Can’t use it,” Berry said. “Nelson DeMille already used it. Twice.”
    “Then there’s the