The Chemist

Chapter 1

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."