NERVES OF STEEL

CHAPTER 37- BRINGING WAR TO THEM

Nevsky Prospekt was the heart of Saint Petersburg, Russia and at the very middle, was the spot where the scheming bastard was going to build her father's stature. Well, she couldn't say scheming now, given there has been no fault found in him whatsoever but a bastard was a bastard. Scheming or not.

Diane had arrived together with him that morning. They both came from the base to survey the area and honestly, she hadn't been expecting measures to have been put in place so far but it seemed all this Man needed was her permission afterall.

Several trucks of granite, steel, concrete, sand and other building materials were already present and workers were all over the site. They spent a few hours there. And finally, Russo had a few words with the head engineer before leaving with her.

"You were awfully quiet." He started.
"What could I say? You had everything under control."
"Yes but your opinion matters the most in this."
"I think everything's being done beautifully and I have no objections."
"I see."
"Other than been made to stay under the sun for four hours straight." She shrugged and he looked at her, amused.
"We can't let that one slide now, can we?"
She wondered what he could have meant by that. Not until, he took a quick turn and stopped by a restaurant.
"I don't..."
"Allow me treat you to lunch, for the inconvenience ofcourse." He cut in.
"Five minutes." Diane said, reaching for the door handle and getting out.

The moment she walked through the glass doors the strong whiff of hot chocolate and burger hit her nostrils and she immediately felt the need to consume on something. Once they were seated, Diane had placed an order and soon she was eating but Russo, across the table, wasn't.

Not that she cared much anyway. He kept tapping on his phone and she assumed he must be busy and indeed, he was busy but that didn't stop him but stealing occasional glances at her while she continued eating. It brought a small satisfied smile that he hid from view. Seeing her so comfortable with him was something he thought could only materialize in his dreams.

Wasn't that the plan from the beginning? If he was going to make it up to the dead man, it had to be through his daughter and all the better if she no longer held grudges against him. Especially given that she was a military. He hated cracks. The enemies could use that as an opportunity. Getting u, he tapped credit card on the table, alerting her attention. She looked up at him, confused.

"Five minutes, you said?" He asked, corking an eyebrow. "It's exceeded. Let's go."
"What?" She asked through a mouthful.

Surely He didn't take her seriously. Diane looked down at the quantity of food left on her plate and she groaned painfully. But who takes such a statement literally? He leaned with a smile, finding both sides of her cheeks puffed out with food the most adorable thing he'd seen in awhile.

"You should know I keep to time. Five minutes is five minutes." He straightened and slipped the card back into his pocket. "Clean up and meet me outside." He added before leaving.
Jerk. She rolled her eyes.

The Omar desert stretched endlessly, its dunes shifting with the wind. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting a deep orange hue across the sky. Camels and cactus were the only specimens to be seen around apart from the underground base that served as shelter for a group of Omanis.

Inside the dimly lit chamber of his desert fortress, Hassan Al-Jabbar could be seen on his knees, facing the mihrab, his eyes closed as he began his evening prayer, holding the beaded Tasbih in his hand. The room's walls were adorned with intricate Islamic Calligraphy, shimmering in the soft glow of lanterns. The air was thick with the scent of frankincense and myrrh.

"Allahu Akbar..." God is the greatest.....

His deep voice echoed through the chamber as he recited the familiar words.

"A'udhu billahi min ash-shaytan ir-rajim...." I seek refuge in Allah from the accursed Satan.

His men stood guard outside the door, their AK-47s slung over their shoulders. They waited patiently, their eyes scanning the room. Protecting him as they always do from every possible threat or attack. Inside, Hassan continue his prayers, his hands clasped together.

He was a big man with a height of six feet and three inches tall. With piercing brown eyes and complimenting golden light skin, a well chiseled face and hair as thick as it was long, reaching down his shoulders, he had it tied into a ponytail. Even while on his knees, his size was still intimidating.

"Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim....." (In the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful.)
"Rabbana, atmin lana ajrak..." (Our Lord, grant us your forgiveness.)

When he finished, he rose, his eyes opening to the familiar sight of his men waiting by the door.

"Al-salamu alaykum," He said, his voice firm.
"Wa alaykum al-salam,"They replied in unison, their heads bowed.

The men parted, allowing Hassan to pass. They walked dutifully behind him with their rifles held to their chests.

Al-Jihad Al-Mumin was Arabic for "The Faithful Struggle." This however, was a terrorist organization in Omar, Asia which was headed by Hassan Al-Jabbar. One that was feared by all. No one dared crossed their path. Even the government was more than willing to bend to any of their demands.

"What new information have we got from that Russian Soldier?" Hassan asked, a strong Arabic accent booming from his lungs.
"The General hasn't shown any interest in fixing his Father's mess nor has he made any move to continue the deal." Rashid, his right hand man, answered.
"Screw those Russians!" He cussed. "I knew things weren't going to change with a new leader."
"What do we do now, boss?"
"It's time I sent a warning to the new General. As a reminder." Hassan said, a dark edge to his tone. "What if he's reluctant, sir? What if he doesn't comply?"
"What is he? A Saint? His Father's blood still flows through his goddamn veins. One way or the other, they are the same."
"I fear, he might not have been....aware of the deal."

Hassan stopped in his tracks, turning around. His eyes widened in surprise. To think that the possibility had never hit him. Ofcourse, Russo was never present during any of their transactions. It would be possible that Marcov never let his son know in the guise of protecting him or rather, his own shame.

"Too bad. Now, he has to know." Hassan flashed his perfectly white teeth in a dark grin. "And he has no choice than to comply or we bring war to them. What we should have done a long time ago by the way."