Private Paris (Private 10)

“It’s Al-Buraq,” Louis said.

I nodded in grim awe. “The Prophet’s warhorse.”

Part Five

Warhorse

Chapter 89

8th Arrondissement

April 12, 7:20 a.m.

Brothers and Sisters,

We the warriors of AB-16 fight in the name of Al-Buraq, warhorse of the Prophet Mohammed, blessings be upon his name. Flying into battle on the back of the winged Lightning, AB-16 calls to all immigrants and immigrant youth:

Look at the way France has treated you.

No job. No future. No hope.

And brutal oppression when you protest.

This will be your useless life unless you join our fight now. Take up the sword of divine justice. Wage holy war for your children’s lives.

Help us drive out the decadent French culture now, and replace it with one that will make the Prophet proud.

Lightning has taken flight over Paris. The warhorse soars over all of France in 2016.

Hear his battle cry. Spread the message. Join our ranks.

Al-Buraq in 2016!

AB-16!

Sitting in the living area in the suite, with the television on and my breakfast eaten, I set the letter aside. It was the fifth time I’d read it since Ali Farad first received a copy three days before, but it was the first since I’d watched the sculpture of the Prophet’s warhorse ignite and burn so furiously hours before.

The two together—image and call to jihad—felt greater than the sum of their parts. The letter alone was incendiary, a call to treason and revolution. But footage of the factory fire and the statue was dominating the news in ways the letter could not.

Every station I turned to, even the ones out of Japan and China, was showing images of the Prophet’s warhorse engulfed in flames. CNN kept broadcasting a clip with firemen arriving on the scene. When they had turned the hoses on the still-glowing sculpture, it had hissed and thrown steam, which made it seem otherworldly and threatening all over again.

The BBC was reporting that in response to the bombing in Sevran and the factory fire in Pantin, the riots had spread. The feed cut to a knot of youths, their faces wrapped in head scarves, defying the curfew and chanting, “AB-16! AB-16!”

In voice-over, the British reporter said that police and army officers, firemen and ambulance workers, had been shot at repeatedly during the night, and dozens of vehicles had been set ablaze and used to block streets.

I changed to a French station and was reaching for the pot to pour myself more coffee when the screen jumped to someone I recognized.

It was Major Sauvage, the French Army officer from the night before. He was giving the press a briefing. He looked hard and focused, not tired at all.

“It has been a violent night,” Major Sauvage began. “While trying to stop a van of immigrant men from breaking curfew and attempting to leave Les Bosquets at around three a.m., my men came under intense fire. Three men in the van were killed. The other two are in custo

dy.

“All five men were carrying AK-47 assault rifles and a considerable amount of ammunition,” he went on. “As of now, we consider all members and supporters of AB-16 to be armed and dangerous.

“Despite this brazen show of force, my soldiers remain committed to preventing outside forces from destroying France and its culture. That, I can tell you, will not happen on our watch.”

The screen jumped to Barbès, where the imam’s mosque had been firebombed, and several white French teenagers had been beaten by immigrant gangs.