"My Master wishes that you be properly rewarded..."
The tall, dark, man was not native, but wore local dress like a uniform. He bowed and made greetings as one of the faithful, but there was something so very strange about him...
"Truly, your master is most generous," the Muslim street-preacher replied. "Why, if I might ask?"
"You were one of the ones who led that crowd in bringing down the infidels, this past Friday? My Master was very impressed."
"Tell your master that the money is appreciated; we will spend the Beasts' money on good works," the preacher said, and gave the envelope with its $30,000 to his brother-in-law, who helped him with the work.
The illness and fever came over him and his associates so swiftly that they took to their beds that afternoon, soiling themselves with diarrhea, soaking their clothing through with sweat, burning, burning... the bones of his face were painful to touch, and he almost felt as if they were shifting around, creaking and grinding painfully against each other.
In the morning, his wife screamed and ran out of the house. When he looked in the mirror he could see why. His face... was very wrong. The bristly hairs, the elongated mouth and upturned nose, the squinty eyes, were all like a pigs face. He opened his mouth to scream, and squealed.
The delivery man wore brown on brown; light brown, mixed race, the Southern preacher noted with annoyance. He signed for the package without comment, and the man said, "Enjoy."
"It's good reading. My Master thinks so. He also thinks that you shouldn't burn this one."
The preacher stared after him, and then opened the package on the spot, despite the little voice of caution that said to leave it for the bomb squad. As the delivery van started up, he held up the English-language version of the Koran and wondered what it meant.
Inside of twenty-four hours, he knew.