Khaled Al Asad, the most powerful man in the Middle East.
He executed one of the Middle East's presidents. When he shot with his gun, he ignited a war between Russians and Arabic terrorists against the Marines and the S.A.S forces.( All rights are for the  creators of the original game[ Activision- Raven-Infinity Ward-etc.])

WARNING: DO NOT OPEN! 
Nag Panchami: 'Nag Panchami' is a famous festival of Hindus. It falls on the fifth day of the Krishna Paksha in the month of Shravan according to Hindu Calendar. It is celebrated across all over India. It generally falls in the month of July or August according to Modern Calendar. There are many stories behind the celebration of this festival. Read More...
Basant Panchami: 'Basant Panchami' is a Hindu festival celebrating Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music and art. It is celebrated throughout the India. It is celebrated every year on the fifth day (Panchami) of the Magh month according to Hindu Calander. Basant Panchami marks the end of the winter season. Read More...
Eid: 'Id-ul-Fitr' or 'Eid' is one of the greatest festivals of Muslims. It is celebrated to mark the end of Ramzan. Eid is an Arabic word meaning 'festivity', while Fiṭr means 'breaking the fast'. It was during the month of Ramzan that Holy Quran was revealed to Prophet Mohammed. It is celebrated all over the world by all Muslims. The Muslims fast during the month of Ramzan. Read More...
Bakrid: 'Eid-ul-Zuha' is a famous festival of Muslims. It is also known as 'Eid-ul-Adha' in Arabic. It is also known as 'Bakra-Id' or 'Bakrid' in the Indian subcontinent. Many Muslims in India celebrate this festival on the 10th to 13th days of the Islamic month of Dhul Hijja. The word 'Id' is derived from the Arabic 'iwd' meaning 'Festival' and Zuha comes from 'uzhaiyya' which translates to 'Sacrifice'. Read More...
Christmas: 'Christmas' is celebrated as the birthday of Lord Jesus. It is celebrated on 25th December every year. It is the most important festivals of the Christians. Christmas Day is celebrated as a major festival and public holiday in countries around the world. On this occasion great preparations are made by the Christians. All houses and churches are cleaned and white washed. Read More...
Good Friday: 'Good Friday' is a great festival of Christians. It usually falls between March 20th and April 23rd. This festival is observed to mark the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Good Friday is a religious holiday observed primarily by Christians commemorating the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and his death at Calvary. Read More...
Lohri: 'Lohri' is a famous festival of Punjabi people. It is celebrated in North India especially in the States of Punjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Delhi, Uttar Pradesh, Uttrakhand and Jammu. It is is celebrated on the 13th day of January which falls in the month of Paush or Magh according to Hindu Calendar. Lohri festival marks the culmination of winter. Read More...
Baisakhi: 'Baisakhi' is also called 'Vaisakhi'. Baisakhi is usually celebrated on 13 April, and very occasionally on 14 April every year. The Baisakhi festival is a seasonal festival. It is celebrated all over the India especially in Punjab and Haryana by all classes of people. Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs all take part in this celebration. It is celebrated to mark the arrival of the harvest season.
Pongal: 'Pongal' is one of the most popular harvest festival of South India, mainly Tamil Nadu. Pongal falls in the mid of January every year. It is the auspicious beginning of Uttarayan - sun's journey northwards. This festival lasts for four days. The word Pongal literally has two connotations. Firstly it is the name of the special dish cooked on this day. Secondly the word Ponga means boil. Read More...


I'm worthless but now priceless -Tan Hua

---------
Do you know a reincarnation in modern times with a cliche plot?

A super talented woman. Betrayed by best friend. Cheated by her dear fiance. A broken family. Luckily she is spoiled by the cool ML and the gentle second ML. She also got her revenge!

Ahhh super cliche, no? But still! Isn't it exciting? A lot of girls fawned over this kind of cliche drama and Tan Hua, a talented young fashion designer is also not an exception.

But...will it still be exciting if you one day found out that somehow you have transmigrated into this kind of chinese drama not as the FL or the villainess but as a nameless nobody, a lowly office boy who is actually a girl?! 

That is what Tan Hua, a 22 years old super rich daughter of a famous fashion designer parents ended up in. 

From an extremely rich and pampered life into a poor life of commoner. Not only that...Tan Hua also had to live her new life in disguise as a boy! 

The worst part is that the second male lead-sama the one who fawn over the FL...is going to kill her the moment she just transmigrated in??!! 

Watch as Tan Hua survived from the black-bellied second male lead-sama scheme being only a normal office boy with no money no power at all, slowly rising to be a world-wide famous fashion designer! 

But...could someone tell her just why the hell that evil second male lead-sama who was courting the FL before...is now pestering her??

Other project:
1. The Dragon Prince's Wife is a Translator (completed) 
2. I Become Baby Mafia Boss (on-going)

Follow my Instagram: @zehell2218 for Q&A and fun information! 

For support: https://www.paypal.me/Zehell2218

If u don't like to read imperfect grammar then this novel might not be your cup of tea so please be prepared.

*the cover isn't mine the credit belong to the rightful owner*



 

 

Copyright © 2016 by Oscar Luis Rigiroli 

All rights reserved. Neither this book nor any part thereof may be reproduced or used in any way 

without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. 

 

 

 It is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental. 

 

 

 

 

 Index 

 

Credits and Acknowledgements 

Prologue 

Preface 

Cast of Characters 

Glossary 

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4 

Chapter 5 

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7 

Chapter 8 

Chapter 9 

Chapter 10 

Chapter 11 

Chapter 12 

Chapter 13 

Chapter 14 

Chapter 15 

Chapter 16 

Chapter 17 

Chapter 18 

Chapter 19 

Chapter 20 

Chapter 21 

Chapter 22 

Chapter 23 

Chapter 24 

From the Author 

About the Author 

Books by O.L.Rigiroli 

Author's coordinates 

 

 

 Prologue 

 

As happens with most of the members of my generation- and not just men- Africa has occupied an important place in my imagination since childhood. At the time I read and re-read all the novels and stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Joseph Conrad, Ernest Hemingway, H. Rider Haggard, Karl May, Christopher Wren, Wilbur Smith and many others of the classic period of this genre and even today, I miss the taste of adventure with a special connotation if it took place in the once mysterious Dark Continent. Powerful names like Timbuktu or Zinderneuf evoke romantic stories of courage and danger. 

Then there has been all the rich African literature and even I have written several novels and short stories that take place in Africa today, including issues of painful as "ethnic cleansing", simple variants of genocide, human trafficking and modern slavery. 

But I always miss the spirit of those classic African novels, which happened in imprecise geographical sites in foggy periods and with actors and events that have escaped the scrutiny of history. Is this flavor that I intend to rediscover and reproduce in An African Adventure. 

 

 

 

 

 

 Preface 

 

For countless centuries the African continent was home to one of the most infamous human activities that have been carried out in history: the slave trade. Though the unfortunates were abducted in various parts of Africa, most of them came from a wide strip around the Equator extending from the Atlantic Ocean in the west to the Indian Ocean in the east, or approximately what today are part of the Republic Democratic of Congo, Zaire and Tanzania. 

 Often the slaves’ hunters were Arab merchants and warriors in collusion with native chiefs who captured and sold residents of neighboring villages with which they were permanently at war although they sometimes sold even their own people. Then the Arabs used to arrange the transportation of their victims in caravans that crossed hundreds and even thousands of miles along predetermined paths in which many of the slaves died since they were forced to walk those endless routes on foot and heavily chained to prevent them from escaping. Although there are no credible figures of the magnitude of this traffic over the centuries there is no doubt that millions of Africans suffered this sad fate. 

Arab traders brought their caravans to the Indian Ocean ports that lie off the coast of the island of Zanzibar, powerful trading center which was also one of the major slave markets. From there the slaves were sold and directed towards Arab countries, Persia and even India, where they would work as cheap labor in agricultural plantations in these countries and even serve as cannon fodder in the armies of their employers whilst women were used to work in housework or were used as concubines or prostitutes. Other routes of these caravans extended to North Africa to supply labor to the plantations of the same continent. 

Later befell the expansion of the European empires around the world and in Africa in particular, so that the powers of the continent joined the infamous traffic which fed labor to their farms in the Americas and later in their own colonies in Africa, that in the late nineteenth century covered more than 10 million square miles, or a fifth of the planet's land. 

One of the main routes used by caravans of slavers began in a kind of assembly center in Ujiji, on Lake Tanganyika, and ran 750 miles to Bagamoyo, on the shores of the Indian Ocean off the island of Zanzibar; a large number of secondary routes to the same destination converged in the main path. Along this road can still be recognized ruins of strongholds and stations used by the Arabs in their activities. 

The current population of the coastal area is an ethnic cocktail of the thousands of people who transited the route coming from across the whole African hinterland. 

Eventually the slave trade was banned in most of the world in 1873, under the influence of several western nations including the British Empire, but in practice it continued to exist as an underground activity for decades and we cannot ensure it has been completely eradicated at present times. However the economic equation of slavery suffered due to the persecution and the importance of it in the world began to shrink. Merchants should then seek alternative sources of income. 

During the nineteenth century ivory trade began to occupy the economic space left free by the slave trade and acquired a greater magnitude than it. Ivory in East Africa is softer than other regions, which makes it more suitable for carving and with the finding of new uses for that material Europe and America were added to the traditional ivory markets in Asia, including India and China. These two activities constitute the economic background of the events that take place in this novel. 

 

There is also a political context in which these actions are developed. Although there were intermittent colonies of European nations in North Africa since the Roman Empire, a fast process began to develop in the nineteenth century, culminating as expressed before in the occupation of almost the entire so-called Dark Continent by the main powers of Europe. Indeed, at the end of this process in 1914, only the Ethiopian Empire and the tiny Liberia were independent nations and the rest of the vast continent was colonized by England, France, Belgium, Portugal, Spain and Germany. 

The Berlin Conference in 1884 had the purpose to establish guidelines for the occupation of territories in Africa by the European powers, so as to limit the conflicts between them caused by the expansion of their empires. From there was born the Belgian Congo and the delimitation of the colonial areas particularly belonging to England, France and Germany. 

Germany consolidated its possessions in Cameroon, German South West Africa and German East Africa. 

The area where most of this novel takes place is the last of these colonies, located in the Great Lakes region of Africa, comprising areas that today belong to Rwanda, Burundi and Tanzania. 

 

 

German East Africa 1892 (the year in which our history begins) Cast of Characters 

 

Alain Garnier: French expeditionary. 

Djamba: Garnier´s Congolese assistant. 

Tswamba: carrier and hunting assistant of the manyema ethnicity. 

Helmut Westkamp: Lieutenant of the Schutztruppe. 

Adia: Westkamp´s native girlfriend. 

Abdullah al Shamoun: Bedouin Sheik. 

Alima: Abdullah´s wife. 

Farrah: Daughter of Abdullah and Alima. 

Fadilah: Farrah´s maid service staff. 

Ahmed ben Assaff: Bedouin military leader. 

Leilah: Farrah cousin. 

Faisal al Khoury: Bedouin young warrior. 

Karim and Nadiyah: Faisal´s father and mother. 

Walaka: tribal chief of the Kamba ethnic group. 

Abboud al Kader: powerful Arab leader. 

Mohamed el Amin: Elder in Shamoun´s clan , and one of his advisers. 

Otto von Holstein Ransburg: Colonel of the Schutztruppe, head of an expedition. 

Paul von Öttling: Mayor of Schutztruppe based in Bagamoyo. 

Vijay Avninder: Indian captain of a freighter in the Indian Ocean. 

Captain Jean Paul Duclós: French intelligence officer in Madagascar. 

Colonel Geoffroy De la Fontaine: Alain Garnier´s boss, in Franceville, Gabon. 

Dimitriou Ioannidis: Captain of a Greek steamer. 

Pierre Chenaut: Delegate of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of France, based in Paris. 

 

 

 

 Glossary 

 

Schutztruppe (German) Forces of protection. German Colonial Army 

La illahah illahah (Arabic) There is no God but Allah. 

Assalaamu Alaykum: Peace be with you. Greeting. 

Bismillah (Arabic): In the name of Allah. 

Ya Allah (Arabic): expression of displeasure. 

Tawak kalto ul Allah (Arabic): I put my faith in Allah 

Boma (Swahili): palisade 

Bwana (Swahili) Master, boss. 

Kiji (Swahili): village 

Simba (Swahili): lion, lions 

Temba (Swahili): elephant, elephants. 

Swala wa (Swahili): antelope. 

Askari (Swahili): Native soldier. 

Djellaba (Arabic): long tunic with hood and wide sleeves for male use. 

Chador (Arabic): veil with which Muslim women cover their heads and part of their faces. 

Nasrani (Arabic): Christian. 

Manyemas, Kambas, Konongos (Swahili): Bantu ethnic groups. 

Kibanda (Swahili):Cabin, hut. 

Aduar: Bedouin camp, consisting of tents and huts. 

Baobab: Adansonia digitata. Deciduous tree, typical of Tanzania. 

Savannah: Plain, especially if it is very large and has little or no trees. 

Fatwa (Arabic): Death sentence declared by a competent authority. 

Tirailleurs Sénégalais (French): Regiments of the French colonial force. 

Dhows (Arab): Barges, sailing cargo vessels used by the Arabs in the Red Sea, with one or more masts and lateen sails 

 Chapter 1 

 

Congo Free State-1892 

 

The man left the heavy backpack on the ground covered with grass and sat on a thick root of a large tree. He watched his men unload the packages carried on their heads and their backs and sit squatting on the floor; he marveled at the endurance of those porters who walked tens of miles with extremely heavy bundles that would exceed what a donkey could withstand. Alain hated the kind of exploitation that he had to subject these men to but to carry out his mission he had no choice. It was impossible to travel the kind of sylvan territories they were crossing with horses or donkeys. His dealings with a manyema wren had allowed him to secure the services of five porters at a reasonable cost, allowing him to carry the tents, supplies, weapons and ammunition and other elements necessary to travel through the tropical jungle and set up camps after each day journey . The men seemed submissive and obeyed the orders Alain gave them through his lieutenant. Alain watched Djamba discussing hard with the manyemas to ensure they gave the vital packages a proper treatment; the man was a native sergeant- major of the French colonial army who had been with him for five years, when fate brought them together in a patrol near Franceville, a city founded in 1875 by the Italian Count Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza in Gabon, the territory that France had obtained in the Congo basin in an international agreement between the European powers, the same one that gave the Belgian king Leopold II most of the territory that was then called Congo Free State and would later form the Belgian Congo. 

The small expedition had traveled by river over most of this vast country, many times larger than Belgium, and after three months of sailing and some travel by rail in the area of the Livingstone Falls the group had left behind the Congo River and its tributaries and was now approaching Lake Tanganyika and the border with the colony named German East Africa, its true goal. Alain had mapped the details of the route they had been following and had carefully recorded them in his notebooks, but previously he had coded all relevant data in an encrypted language developed by him for the case where his notes were confiscated by any of the authorities of the sites that they were to transit. His facade was a forest technician who conducted surveys for a Belgian company looking for land suitable for planting rubber trees, that extraordinarily profitable crop originated in Brazil that King Leopold wanted to implant in the Congo State of his property. To this end Alain was carrying forged letters in three languages certifying his status as a researcher ... but Alain Garnier, a lieutenant in the colonial army of the III Third Republic, was actually a French spy. 

After a short break and very reluctantly the Frenchman stood up; as soon as he saw him Djamba began to incite the manyemas to collect their packages and get on track. The small group began to walk the short distance that separated them from the great Lake Tanganyika. 

 

 

Ujiji- Lake Tanganyika 

 

They descended from the canoes with which they had crossed the majestic lake and went to town, actually a tiny and miserable village, which however was the head of a long road of caravans of Arab merchants who transported all kinds of goods, including the most infamous kinds such as slaves and ivory. 

Garnier decided to camp at some distance from the village to prevent getting in contact with the odors and dirt from the native huts. As he looked around the man caught sight of an Arab camp near a tree grove and a stream that flowed into the lake. As ensuring the provision of fresh water not as contaminated as the one coming from the lake was an important task, he placed his camp on the other side of the watercourse. After a few minutes two Arab dressed in their robes and turbans approached the stream and began to observe the small contingent, no doubt in order to guess the intentions of the newcomers. Djamba approached the French explorer with a casual gesture. 

“We're being inspected.” He said. 

“Not only that. Those sentries are sending a message.” 

“That message is that?” 

“That our presence is not welcome.” 

“What will you do about it?” 

“Simply ignore the message. I will not let a bunch of hucksters armed with daggers and muskets drive us away.” 

“But they are numerous and have many Bantu servers.” 

“Even so we´ll stay.” 

“At least let me talk to their servers. I'll try to explain that we are in transit and are not interested in their activities.” 

“Go if you want. Nothing is lost with it.” 

Djamba crossed the flow of water through the narrowest part and approached one of the black men that judging by his outfit looked like an important subordinate of the Arabs, who followed him with his eyes. Alain smiled pleased by the spirit of initiative of his follower. In fact the French officer had unlimited confidence in his deputy, a man of great resources and knowledgeable about the customs of the countries in Central Africa. 

 

The next day Djamba clapped his hands in front of Garnier´s tent in order to wake him. When the Frenchman finally answered he said. 

“Lieutenant, it's already five o'clock.” 

“Well, well, I'm coming. I told you not to call me lieutenant until we get back to Franceville. Have the men rekindle the fire to prepare breakfast.” 

They were working in the camp for a couple of hours rearranging the packages according to the needs of the next few days and mending the tents damaged by the prolonged use and contact with vegetation in countless previous camps. Alain proceeded to clean and condition the rifles and shotguns and preparing cartridges for the latter. 

“We are running out of meat.” Djamba told him. “You should go hunting to replenish our stock.” 

“All right. Tell Tswamba to be prepared. We´ll leave after noon taking advantage that today is not so hot.” 

Tswamba was one of the manyemas, with a special ability as a scout and an instinct for finding hunting prey. 

After an early lunch Tswamba and Garnier set off into the forest north of Ujiji, following the shore of Lake Tanganyika. To do this they had to cross the stream and get closer to the Arab camp with its white pointed tents; the Lieutenant saw the two sentries armed with muskets following their activities, particularly attentive when they saw that the approaching men were also armed. Alain decided to ignore once again the implied threats looking away from the men on guard. Involuntarily his eyes scanned the tents and suddenly focused on a slender female figure dressed entirely in white; the French knew enough of Arab garb and immediately realized that by the richness of the dress she was a lady of importance in her social environment; squinting Alain tried to observe her face but the midday sun at its zenith in the equatorial location dazzled him preventing to achieve his purpose. He felt someone touching his arm and realized that Tswamba was cautiously pulling his sleeve pointing at the two guards who were approaching in a hostile manner. 

Garnier and his companion continued their course and the two Arabs returned to their control location. The Frenchman was visibly affected by the fleeting feminine appearance and his attitude showed it very clearly. 

“Beautiful.”Said Tswamba. 

Surprised by the comment Alain turned to his companion. 

“What did you say?” 

“The Arab woman. She is beautiful.” 

“Could you see her well?” The question was actually rhetoric. 

The manyema nodded. 

Garnier smiled once again both surprised and pleased. He recalled with contempt those imbeciles in Paris who wondered seriously if blacks have soul. 

Garnier and Tswamba spent almost two full days exploring the lakeshore and surroundings seeking adequate game prey to provide food to the small contingent during the subsequent days. Both men flayed and cut the slices of meat from a young antelope to make sure they would not carry unnecessary burdens to the camp and then started back. As they were approaching the stream near which their group had camped Tswamba pointed to the opposite shore. 

“The Arabs. Gone!” Exclaimed with his limited vocabulary. 

Alain felt a pinch in his gut. Since he had glimpsed her in passing he had made a point of looking at the face of the young Arab lady and now she had vanished into the jungle. The man already knew the customs of nomadic caravans of Arab merchants and thought that the chances to meet the woman again in the vastness of the African savannah were almost nil. It would have been only a momentary reverie. 

Tswamba took him again out of his abstraction and the Frenchman followed his steps toward the place where the Arabs had once raised their tents and was now completely desolate. The manyema pointed at marks on the floor. 

“There! Elephants.” 

Alain looked at the place his companion was pointing and saw on the loose soil the unmistakable marks left by elephant tusks that had undoubtedly been stacked on the floor before. 

“So they are ivory traffickers!” Muttered to him. 

In the depths of his psyche Garnier had trouble reconciling the pure image of the woman that his eye had caught with the well known predatory activity of elephant hunters. 

 


Exoticism and romance. A breath of fresh air.1892 in colonial Africa. A classic and everlasting adventure style. A French official travels Tanganyika in East Africa German to perform intelligence tasks. The daughter of an Arab sheik in danger. Ivory hunters, slave traders,conflicts between native wrens and Bedouin traffickers in the context of struggles among the colonial powers.
A gripping thriller that will take your breath from the start.



Chapter 2 

 

 As soon as Lakshmi entered, the office occupant stood up and without even greeting her put on a jacket and said. 

 “We were waiting for you to arrive with the first information from the field. There is a meeting in the Situation Room. You will expose first with what you have seen.” 

 Lakshmi hesitated. 

 “Let me go to the toilet first, I also have a series of photos, I don't think the forensic ones have already arrived.” 

 “While you go to the bathroom, give me your cell phone. I'll ask Mitch to project them when you speak.” 

 “Who will be present?” 

 “I have no idea. All the command in our area, and probably people from the State Department.” 

 

 When both women entered the vast room provided with a wide table almost completely full of all kinds of audiovisual media. Without hesitating for a moment, Jeff Clark, the head of the division in which both women worked, stood up and told the attendees, who in many cases were not known to each other. 

 “I have already given a brief explanation to those present of what happened.” He said addressing the new arrivals. Then he changed his focus speaking to the rest. “The first data we will receive from Special Agent Lakshmi Dhawan, who has just arrived from the crime scene, and who am I asking to tell us her first impression of what she saw before certain fresh details are erased from his mind. Lakshmi, speak without fear of being wrong, we understand that you have not had time to put your ideas in order and prepare a report.” Then he addressed again all people sitting at the table. 

“After Agent Dhawan's presentation, Chief Sullivan will update us on the information about the extinct that has been obtained so far.” 

 

 With a calm that surprised herself Lakshmi began to relate what she witnessed after her arrival at the crime scene, the conversations with Captain O'Keefe and the coroner, her observations during her stay on stage at the same time that the technician called Mitch projected the photos on a wide screen, enlarging the planes as Lakshmi or the attendees requested. The exposition of the woman was well structured despite the improvisation, and it was giving rise to requests for explanation from the different people present. 

 "Was his head severed?" Asked a CIA man. 

 “Not completely.” 

 “ How would you describe the blow to the neck? 

 “The autopsy will say it with greater certainty, but the impression is that it was a single blow given with great force and with an extremely sharp weapon.” 

 "Do you think the murder took place in the same place where the body was found?" Asked a woman from one of the intelligence agencies that Lakshmi could not determine. 

 “ Without a doubt, since there was great amount of blood in the site. The body was not moved after the murder.” 

 At last, an elderly man the woman only knew was a retired Admiral expressed. 

 “What do the inscriptions in letters and in Arabic characters written with blood on the pavement suggest?” 

 “Alamut.” The speaker repeated mechanically. “I don't know if what is written in Arabic is the same as in our alphabet.” 

 "It is." One of the FBI linguistic experts said dryly. 

 “Well ... it reminds me of stories from my childhood ... when I lived in India, medieval stories of murderers and hashish.” 

 The Admiral interrupted. 

 “The same stories that came to the West through Marco Polo's narrations. They also remind me of stories from my childhood, which of course predates Miss Dhawan's by a couple of years.” 

 All present laughed at the break given by the oldest member to the rigid formality of the meeting. 

 After the end of the round of questions Lakshmi returned to her chair. Director Jeff Clark, seated next to her, placed his hand on the young woman's, showing his support and satisfaction in a silent way; then he stood up and announced. 

 “As Keneisha Sullivan had anticipated, she will inform us of what we have found so far about the personality of the victim.” 

 The aforementioned went to the front and took a laser pointer, while Mitch projected a photo of the victim from the front and in profile, and then several snapshots of him on the streets of New York. 

 “This information is very preliminary and we are looking for more data at this very moment. He is ... sorry, he was Kadar Al ash Sheik, born in Saudi Arabia. Direct line descendant of Muhammad ibn al Wahhab, founder of the Wahabite sect. Although he did not belong to the Saudi royal family, his cradle places him among the aristocratic families of the kingdom. That ancestry also assured him a preponderant religious role in Wahhabism. As far as we could determine, he was a director of one of the most important mosques in Riyadh, and had frequent contact with Crown Prince Mohamed bin Salman, which surely explains the presence of the Saudi ambassador at the crime scene as soon as he learned of the event.” 

Keneisha made a pause and cleared her throat. 

“We know that Kadar Sheik's family has significant business interests in their country and ties in the United States, where we have recorded his arrival on average twice a year in the past five years. No relatives or social friends are known in this country. We know that the Saudi embassy was organizing his stay, but we can assume that they will not provide us any information on his activities.” 

 Keneisha stopped again and took a sip from a glass of water placed on the table. She continued. 

 “We suppose that his presence in New York is explained partly by meetings and services in the mosques of the area, but we are trying to confirm it. We do not have news about other possible activities in the city.” 

 The woman allegedly from an intelligence service asked. 

 “I know it's too early, but ... do we have any clue about the motive for the murder?” 

 Director Clark took over answering the question. There was a hint of rivalry in his tone, not unusual between different services. 

 “As you said, it is too early indeed.” 

 The questions continued for a few minutes more. As Director Clark was about to close the meeting, the CIA man got up and asked to speak. He went to the front and gave Greg a pen-drive asking to project one file in it. He began his exposition by saying. 

 “What I'm going to show here is absolutely confidential and will explain to you the reason for the CIA's presence at this event.” 

 He took the laser pointer and added. 

 “You will excuse me for not providing the names of the victims because the investigations are ongoing, although I must admit that there is a lot of darkness in them. This one we see here is a prominent Iranian Shiite cleric killed in Chicago three weeks ago. As you can see, he was also executed with a very sharp cutting weapon blow that almost severed his head, although not completely. In this case, the cleric was not passing through the United States but resides in the mentioned city. Next slide please. 

 “This murder occurred last month in Amsterdam, and the victim was a Syrian smuggler of precious gems, so the crime was initially attributed to a dispute in the closed diamond market. The information comes from Interpol and our own sources in that European city. Look at the horrible gash in the man's neck. There has also been no progress in this case. Next slide please.” 

 As the body of a man with his throat cut appeared in an alley, the speaker continued. 

 “This other episode happened in Barcelona ten days ago. He was a large-scale drug dealer of Pakistani nationality.” 

 The lecturer paused to put his ideas in order. Then continued 

 “In the cases of the Shiite cleric from Chicago and the trafficker from Barcelona, both were already under CIA radars for activities dangerous to the security of the United States. We have no previous data on the other two cases. But I must highlight the similarities and differences between the four cases, including the one in New York City.” 

 New silence to catch up breath. 

 “ In summary we have two clergymen, one Sunni from a branch of Islam with a center in Saudi Arabia, and another from the Shiite branch based in Iran, irreconcilable enemy of the first since the time of the Prophet Muhammad. On the other hand we have two merchants with illegitimate activities and without obvious ties to spiritual or religious issues, that is, all in all human beings with very little in common.” 

 One of the attendees asked. 

 “Can it not be cross-revenge between rival sectarian groups?” 

 “ The relation with two traffickers would still have to be explained.” Replied the CIA man.” But that is not the reason why we have excluded this possibility in principle, but because of the similarities.” 

 "Explain yourself, Mike," said the woman from the intelligence services. 

 “Well, all the executions occurred in the last three weeks and were carried out in dark places in isolated alleys. The technique used to cut the victims' throats was the same executed with precision so as not to entirely behead them, using what we believe were scimitars of the type made in the Middle Ages in the Near East, which speaks of training in the use of this kind of weapons ... and above all ...” 

 Evidently the CIA man wanted to create suspense for his next statement. 

 “In all cases the same legend appeared. The word Alamut written in our alphabet and in Arabic characters.” 

 The surprise at this last statement among the attendees was great. 

 The CIA man concluded. 

 “This series of similarities to our criteria exclude the possibility that they may be mere coincidences, and the fact that the cases and their circumstances have not been disclosed also excludes the possibility of one or more followers or copy- cats who were informed by the media and copying the methods. The only possible explanation is a type of international plot with unknown objectives.” 

 Standing up, the Admiral said. 

 “It is obvious that at the moment there is no more relevant information. I am going to try through the State Department to obtain data from the Saudi embassy on the New York City case, but I would have no illusions about it because they are usually very reserved.” 

 With an evident consensus, Director Clark ended the meeting thanking everyone for their presence. 

 When all attendees had left the Admiral approached Clark and said. 

 “I would like to meet with Special Agent Dhawan, if possible ... alone.” 

 Clark was slightly upset at being excluded from an activity by one of his agents but responded. 

 “Yes, yes, of course, you can use my office.” 

 Then he called Lakshmi who was leaving the situation room and said 

 “Lakshmi, this is Admiral Donnelly, who collaborates with the State Department. He needs to meet you now in my office.”

A strange series of ritual murders in various parts of the world alarms the United States government because of its destabilizing potential in hot areas of the world. Due to the characteristics of the events, the authorities contacted the Bluthund Community, a private organization made up of experts in unconventional disciplines.
Certain keys in common to the crimes lead investigators to the trail of the Sect of the Nizaris, created in the Middle Ages in Persia by a mysterious "Old Man of the Mountain", reported by travelers such as Marco Polo and stories from the time of the Crusades. The assassins that formed it had terrified the kingdoms of the Middle Ages of the Near and Middle East.
Bluthund investigators travel to the ruins of the mysterious Castle of Alamut, located in present-day Iran. There they find with amazement that the sect is still active and must confront the fearsome assassins who guard their sacred site.
A historical thriller that will keep the reader on edge from start to finish.


Saudi Arabia, Riyadh. 11/12/2012. 10:00.

Walking out of the arrivals terminal of the airport , A young blond man could be seen with a yellow suitcase in his hands. Among the crowd of dark/brown hair and arabic looking people walking here, this young occidental was gathering a fair amount of attention and yet no cops or airport security stopped even once to control him or the suitcase. It seems that whatever Khalid Rahal had done, it was effective.  

Walking in the direction of the exit with a carefree gait, Nathaniel could sense someone was following him and two others posted near the exit were examining him with a little too much attention to be normal. He just kept walking, looking like he was obvious to everything happening around him. It was paramount that these people look down on him for the next step. 

So far, everything happened like he had planned it would with Amal and Scott yesterday. They had managed to get the security guard sent by Jean second in command right after he passed the security check and made the swap here. After that, Amal and the man call Jordan left using the service corridor while Nathaniel took the man's place and suitcase. 

Nathaniel was passing the door of the exit when the two men by the door got in his way and stopped him. 

"Lyndon people?" The biggest of the two ask with an atrocious english accent. 

"Yes." Nathaniel answered simply. 

"Come with us and do not make a fuss." He said, the one guy who was following him earlier putting a hand on his shoulder and leading him away. 

A car park in front of the exit while they walk out and the three people ushered Nathaniel inside, one taking position in the front passenger seat and the two others on each side of him., curiously they let him keep the suitcase without making a move for it knowing what was inside or more like thinking they knew what was inside. 

The car then starts to speed away from the airport and starts to dash into multiple back alleys as if they had practiced the move a thousand times to avoid being tail. Making a clueless face, he asked. 

"Why are you driving so fast? We are going to have an accident if you continue like this!" He shouted worriedly. 

"Shut up kid!" The man who talked previously said in contempt and then added something in arabic that made the other people in the car laugh mockingly. Nathaniel did not know what he said but he could easily guess that he was insulted. He let it slide and continued looking at the road with a fearful expression, his hands locked around the suitcase as though it was a life buoy. 

Past the fake stupor on his face, Nathaniel could see that they were going away from downtown in the direction of the outskirts of the city. Nathaniel was okay with that as an isolated place meant more freedom to do what they wanted. Ten minutes of furious drive later the car finally stopped in front of a two stories warehouse. 

His escort started to get out of the car and Nathaniel was asked firmly to follow them. Escorted to the door, Nathaniel spotted three men with machine guns on the roof of the building plus one more by the back door where Nathaniel was going with his escort. Entering the warehouse, Nathaniel could see one more person with a handgun by the door. Walking past him, Nathaniel was led to the only office in the building. 

Knocking once at the door, the only one who Nathaniel talked to, waited until the man inside said something in arabic and then opened the door. Nathaniel had of course seen the picture of Khalid Rahal in the file he was given by Tobias but it was the first time seeing him in the flesh. 

Black, short hair and around 5"8", he had a vicious looking face and a thin scar running from his left eye to his cheek. His file said he was 44 years old but he was looking older than that. He had a hard life which was not surprising considering he lived on the street until fifteen years old when he started killing tourists coming in Saudi Arabia and taking their belongings. 

Nathaniel was not the only one looking attentively at the other as the man was wearing a frown as he looked attentively at Nathaniel's face, convinced he had seen him before. He took him a full minute before he remembered where he had seen this face and an expression of surprise painted itself on his face followed by raucous laughter. 

"I was expecting the usual forty something negotiator that you people seem to like sending to their death but lo and behold we have a celebrity here. The own grandson of the man I hold captive here." He said, smirking. He then adds something in arabic and the other people in the room start to laugh. Nathaniel realized that from the four mens who took him here, the biggest was beside Khalid while the three others were behind him, preventing him from leaving the office. 

"I wanted to make sure everything was going to be okay and sometimes it's better to do the job yourself if you want it done well." He said politely. 

"Ah ah!" He laughed menacingly. "I don't know if you are stupid or if you have gigantic balls but you being there, it's crazy. You know when I did my research to prepare the kidnapping of your grandfather I read many articles praising your intelligence, it's a pity seeing that was all bullshit." He shook his head with greed in his eyes. Nathaniel could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. 

"Whatever, I bring the money." Nathaniel said seemingly unbothered by what Khalid said, putting the suitcase on the desk. 

Laughing again, Khalid made a move to open the suitcase until he realized that it was protected by a four number password. Frowning, he looked at Nathaniel. 

"What is the code?" 

"I will give you the code when I will see that my grandfather is alright." Nathaniel said. 

Khalid was going to rebuke that pretentious kid for talking back to him in his own place when he realized he did not matter. He was already planning to keep the kid and then ask eighty million for their release. That stupid kid just made him a rich man with his reckless actions, humoring him a little longer to get that code did not cost him anything. Ordering his right hand beside him to get the old man, Khalid answered. 

"You are going to see your grandfather right now." Khalid smirk, the moment he gets that code he will make that arrogant kid pay and suffer. 

It did not take long until the man came back to the office, almost carrying Robert Lyndon into the room and dropping him on a chair. Nathaniel could see that his grandfather was ragged, exhausted and tied down with rope but did not appear to have any injury sustained from a beating. He also realized that he was quite smelly, the people here not offering him the basic necessity it seems. Nathaniel could feel a blinding white rage seeing his grandfather in this state and he took everything that he got to control himself. It was not the time to kill everyone here but soon, soon, he told himself. 

Seeing his grandson here, Robert thought he was hallucinating because of the lack of sleep until he pinch himself. Realizing he was awake and that was really happening, he started yelling.

"Are you a fu**ing moron? What the hell are you doing here? Now, none of us is going to go home! What did I do to have such a stupid grandson!" 

"Well, glad that I did eighteen hours in a cramped airplane to hear that." Nathaniel said bitterly at which Khalid started laughing. 

"Blood cannot be denied. I'm not surprised you made the mistakes to come here, we will do everything to make sure our family is alright." Khalid said, making Nathaniel smile brightly. Looking at that smile, Khalid starts feeling uneasy as if he had missed something important until now. 

"I'm glad that you think that Khalid. You know, I have a surprise for you. Can I take a picture in my pocket without getting shot?" Nathaniel asked. 

Looking suspiciously at Nathaniel for a second, the man nodded slowly saying something short in arabic. Seeing that he was not going to get shot, he took a folded picture in his right pocket with two fingers and with slow movement put it on the desk. Lifting an eyebrow, Khalid took the picture and opened it. Seeing what was on the picture, his face drained of blood instantly and he turned pale as a ghost.

Nathaniel was in a coma for four years or at least that is what everyone thought. In reality he was trapped. Trapped in an endless dark world. 

That is until the freshly died soul of Marc, a CIA agent, came along and tried to take over his body. By an accident their souls merged and Nathaniel woke up with Marc's memories intact. 

This is the story of his life and what will become of it. Will he follow the path that was set for himself since his birth or will he forge his own way? Tuned in and find out. 


(Thanks Dolphingirl for the new synopsis)

This book is just random thoughts that I come up with out of nowhere. It's nothing serious at all if I don't feel like continuing I'll quit but if I still have ideas and am not too lazy than I'll post. some of you might think "Oh Yasser you sexy hunk of an author how can we live without your comedic genius and sometimes pretty disturbing thoughts." To that I say "eh dats tuff deal with it." But anyway I might forget to post or not have enough time to post. Now I am going to tell you a little bit about me. I am a freshman at a highscool in the US. Some of you might be thinking "how can this genius and sexy hunky author be from there." Well I wasn't born here so I don't have the big fat ugly bastard genes. I was born in Iraq but I am terrible at Arabic because I was raised here. Anyway I might also write about my childhood and some funny stories. Well that's about it.
                                  <3 Yasser your Arabian prince (;
Fuck I forgot to publish this chapter been here for like a couple days anyway that was embarrassing 
Stay Sexy Peace

This really isn't anything cool or entertaining well it might entertain you, but anyway this is just gonna be me writing down thoughts that appear to me throughout my days in school or at home

P.S pic is just random pic from google images of brook from one pice

At the time of my Death I was alone; you might wonder why that matters since it is a common occurrence for people when they die. The thing is when I died, I'm pretty sure that a floating blob of light wasn't there. Now, my interpretation of alone encompasses not just human beings but also all beings that exist on earth that includes plant life and organisms. Why You may ask that I'm so sure I was alone
Because I died in the barren abyss which is space.

You see I was a scholar, yes, of the ancient type. However, I wasn't the stereotypical scholar. I preferred to travel rather than read books. Some may say a scholar without his books is like a warrior without his weapons. However, I am unusual as such. I am trained in a multitude of arts of warfare. And learned in both the lethal and unlethal arts. Poisons, Blacksmithing, medicine, wood crafting etc. I've learnt it all over the course of my lifetime. 

How can a man learn so much in so little time you may ask? As of this moment; counting the time I've been alive, before transitioning to this state. I'm approximately 10000 years old give or take 400 years. I've been alive before the birth of the common figure called Jesus in English or Esa in Arabic. I've seen the pyramids being built from stones moved on the backs of slaves that travelled from south to north Africa under the tyranny of slave traders. I saw the rare charitable acts of the king of Ethiopia called Mansa Mousa as he completed his great pilgrimage to the Islamic holy city and gifted gold to the poor as he toured with his hundred-mile caravan.

I saw the romans build and destroy civilization in their wake to satisfy their appeasement for the glutinous Caesar who sought to conquer all of man. I was there in the battlefield when Genghis Khan and his Mongolians raped, destroyed and brought fear to the hearts of the common man on his quest for greatness.

And to be honest, much like a watcher I didn't care. These stories I've seen that have happened. The sorrows, the despairs, the loves and hatreds all these emotions become lost with time.
My name is zeil. In a language long lost to time before the oceans submerged Atlantis and Vikings roamed the oceans. I was born again. And now as time ceases to a halt. My introspection ends. The blob of light encompasses me and through a tunnel I am born again.

A man, immortal yet not, never aging, never ending. A victim of deaths callous rejection, stuck in time, until the end of the world only to repeat for eternity. is given a chance, a gift to enter a new world, a new universe, an escape from the limits of his world. Knowledge is his passion 
no, his drive
after losing it all far too many times 
what can a man who has seen everything do in a universe dominated by beings whose emotions are their reasons to live.
 what can a man who finds cruelty and kindness equally the same in his jaded view do?

Magnus's excitement didn't last long on his first use of magic. His attempts only worked five times out of ten. While that would have been a remarkable achievement to anyone else in his position, he wasn't knowledgeable in such matters. In the end he could only shrug and take what he got. The night soon passed this way.
The next morning after a quick meal which was turning bland fast, he set about going through the books, hoping to find something useful. Trying to recall further memories only left him with a headache. He poked the books with a stick that he had gotten from outside to check for any obvious curses. His parents always cautioned him about cursed books that were found in the wizarding world. Any book that's worth something has a charm on it, beneficial or often otherwise. Especially books that were found in a cabin owned by a crazy witch in the middle of nowhere. The foreign language didn't make them any less ominous. Yesterday he was careless in his excitement and he only realized his mistake later at night.
He picked the two books he could understand first, "Tales of Beedle the Bard" and "Legends of the Legendary". "Tales of Beedle the Bard" was less abridged than he remembered, but still nothing new that would matter to him. The other book was a collection of stories of various legends from all over the world. It looked to be old and was handwritten rather than printed. There was no mention of the author either. 'The first book is like a staple of the wizarding world, so almost everyone has it. What's so special about the second one though? I don't think that a lunatic witch would love to read stories in the middle of nowhere. Hmm, the first story is about a warrior who fought against the invaders. Pretty standard story, even those muggle books I read have them. The second is of a scholar who found some cure for a plague. The third is of a legendary beast, fourth is some shapeshifter, fifth is of someone who wakes up in another world…' 
A cold sweat took his back as he was reminded of the witch's words when he woke up in that disgusting cauldron. The words seemed to match the stories in the book, though he couldn't recall his captor's words completely. 'Not ominous at all. What could go wrong when you follow a storybook? Bollocks that's what!' Magnus thought in annoyance. His mum would have admonished him at his use of cuss words, but he always thought they were cool when the older boys used them. He felt like the present situation did give him a leeway with some cussing. He paced around the room for a while till his mind settled down. 'I hope I get out of this mess soon,' he hoped.
He went to the stream nearby and took a quick wash and got the water with the pot. He tried the berries this time. The red one was fine while the purple berry made his tongue numb for a few minutes. When he concentrated on them, the red berries had a brighter glow around them while the purple berry had a dark and dull glow. 'So, bright good and dark bad?' he theorized. He decided to avoid the purple one. The meal of berries while unsatisfactory, filled his stomach. He didn't know how to hunt and decided not push his luck with any potential magical creature that might be lurking around. 
With nothing else to do, he went to the bookshelf again and took down the remaining two books. The yellow covered book in pictograms was put to the side. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. The other book in black gave him a sense of familiarity after an intense staring session. 'Ah yes! This is written in Arabic! I did look at the alphabet just before coming to Egypt. Let me see if I can still recall all the 28 letters. Now what story did I make?' Magnus had a habit of linking information to stories to better remember stuff. After some time, he recalled all the alphabets with the help of the story he assigned for them. 
'Alright, now let's see, this should be Wands in Widows cu-' he stopped with a blush. 'Shouldn't have looked at that book Jimmy gave. Let's try again, "Wondrous Widow's Cures", that should be right.' He waited for a bit for any adverse effects. If there was a curse on the book, it usually takes hold either when you touch it or read it, at least according to his limited knowledge. Since nothing happened, he continued reading the book one word at a time.
The going was slow, but he persevered. He had nothing to do anyway so he took it as a fun way to pass time. The book should be a few hundred pages at the minimum. He took some breaks in between and his reading got faster the more he read. By the time he felt hungry, he read some 50 pages and understood less than a fourth of it. He learned that just because you know the alphabet, doesn't mean that you can understand a language quickly. The fact that it read from right to left didn't make it any easy. While he missed out a lot of what he read, he could make out that it was a potions book. It was only possible because his mum taught him some basic knowledge of potions and he could recognize some familiar terms and plant names. He couldn't make out any of the recipes though.
It was night time so he closed the book. He ate a meal of berries and the last piece of cheese before going to bed.  That night he dreamt of his life in London. What started as a game with his friends in schoolground somehow turned into a battlefield with loud explosions and raging fires. Screams of people filled his dream as a gigantic cackling head of a hag rose from the darkness and swallowed everything.  

Magnus Webb undergoes a tragedy right as he enters the wizarding world. In his quest for revenge he becomes involved in a conspiracy that’s centuries in the making. As if all of this isn’t confusing enough, why is this Dark Lord guy always interfering with his plans? 


The story has a slow start and will pick up as it goes on. The 'system' elements aren't heavy here. The content will get mature as the story progresses. 
PS: I don't possess the rights to Harry Potter and English isn't my native language.

It is of a Father Who his son feel proud of that his stories are like folk tales. Sons hear from common and certain people about their fathers tales, when people says, He was a man with no horror. People often talk about his sharpness in Swimming, kabbadi, Volley ball, Card play, Teaching, Speech writing, fighter, as a Clothing tailor,Political movements, best tuition teacher ever of English, Maths, Urdu, Arabic. Even sons heard from people saying that this man swum against the current of a water in the winter's shivering cold, windy and horrifying nights when no bridges were built over frightening streams. It's been a folk tale about their legendary father. Once his son was in a meeting at one of the politicians family. In a big crowd sitting, a man comes to his son asked from different people about his son who this guy is and where is he from? After confirming the man shakes hands with his son. Starts talking of his father, he says dear I have been trying to recognize you and your personality attracted me that you must be of son of Great father. Let's leave political discussion here. I would like to talk about your father, he said your father is the only person in our territory Who came from another area, lived bravely, fought against social evils, saw him very sharp styles of playing sports that nobody could catch him. taught people who could not afford education to go on foot at 20 to 30 kilometers, found him selfless, sincere and top of every action he made. Once when his son asked, father you could have benefited alot from these highly majority of casts. When asked father, why dad you went against these people in politics even they respect you alot. He said to his son, once I heard from someone that these feudal lords don't want to see minority casts to sit on their levels. Father said, it made me angry and I fought always for the poor even though I'm single handed in terms of cast low number of support.
These are the qualities which made him blunt and bold and even his fellow teachers and pupils still admires him that nobody of his class teacher could ever come again to work selfless for the community in such a passion. It was all about his strength that he was a fearless personality.
This quality of boldness and courage lacked in his sons because He grew his children with more affectionate, loving, comfortable, provision of all sort of basic needs. That made his children to lack all that quality. Fear is the top most weakness which affects personality. It is the asset to groom and use it as wealth.
What actually sons infers out of all from proud dad that He kept children more burgery and fluffy that could not take them as what their father single handedly done and earned.
Therefore, parents needs to be more careful not to make children fear of anything in this world.

A fearless and courageous father with four sons Whom He brought up with care and love but that love and more caring and provision of all facilities made Sons fearful and scared.

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