Enemy In the Room
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“Fasten your seatbelt! Parker Hudson drops you into just-future scenarios in rapid action sequences that fire the imagination. Could these things really happen? Are they happening now? And he weaves into the stories the power of faith in the midst of the chaos. I could not put it down.”
Shan Gastineau
“Once again Parker Hudson has hit the mark. Powerful characters with a hint of sensitivity and you feel like you are there. It’s as if he sees into the future. I recommend this read to everyone! I look forward to the movie.”
Wilma Hall
“Parker Hudson has crafted a thriller that delves into the dark side of our high tech culture with its temptations of money and power, while at the same time espousing courage and integrity. The result: a page turner you will not be able to put down!”
Susan and John Yates
“Enemy in the Room is full of realistic characters responding to life with choices that are sometimes regrettable, occasionally laudable, but always engaging. Faith is woven into their lives in a way that is genuine and believable – a far cry from the religious caricatures that are so often found in modern entertainment. What an enjoyable and inspiring read!”
Becky Hoover
“Parker Hudson’s Enemy In The Room is a great read at a great pace.”
Bryant Wright
“A page turner with substance and passion. A thriller with a message which is proving to be prophetic for our time. Enemy In The Room describes an enemy impacting our country, our homes, our children, and our very lives. Parker writes with wisdom, concern, and hope. His characters are flesh and blood, and his many subplots coalesce into an exciting ending and a great read.”
Caroline and John Dean
“Enemy In The Room is truly entertaining and insightful. I was eagerly turning pages. And not just entertained—I actually found myself having a better understanding of the world around me. Parker Hudson is a great author and teacher. He puts on paper things that I have been deeply troubled by but have not had the words to express.
“I think Hudson has given Joel Rosenberg a run for his money with this one.
“I could relate to every element of the story. I loved the conversations. Hudson had to have had help with the female relationships. The interactions are so believable and actually “spot on” to conversations I have had with women when developing personal friendships with them. I don’t ever remember reading a male author who had the ability to keep female relationships authentic.
“The book gets five stars. The ending is exciting. I recommend the book to everyone, young men and women, and to anyone struggling (which is everyone). I think this book could break the ice and open up conversations between moms and daughters, friends and neighbors, fathers and sons. Let’s just say that I loved the book.”
Kathy Paparelli
“Parker Hudson is one of my favorite American novelists, and Enemy in the Room is his best so far. As an Iranian-American who has lived in the US for the past 35 years, I was drawn to this novel. Not only because its plot involves Iranian-Americans, but because it is written as a warning. It shows what could happen to the West because of a small percentage of Muslims who have decided to follow the violent side of Islam and promote terrorism. My hope is that Enemy In The Room will further open the eyes of Americans who continue to believe in politically correct ‘tolerance’, and refuse to face the reality of the greatest threat of our time.”
Iraj Ghanouni
“Having read Parker’s previous books this one did not disappoint. What a story!
“Or is it? As you read Enemy In The Room, you will have to remind yourself that this is a work of fiction. The storyline takes current day events and situations and weaves a path towards what could be, so you find yourself praying for yourself, your family, and our nation.
“The plots and characters leave you in suspense. In addition, the ills of humanity that manifest themselves through our behavior are captured all too well. But you are not left there. The book’s story of redemption, captured through love and grace, leads the reader to a place of redemption and peace. You must read!”
Carla and Roy Smith
“Enemy In The Room is a masterpiece of intrigue, suspense, the grit of life, redemption and forgiveness. It delves into who we are and where we live. Family, business, career, money, entertainment and the forces governing them all. The story is so real you’ll feel like you are living it.
“This is fiction at its best. Well written, researched and carrying an eternal lesson. You get to know the characters so well you’ll want to invite them to the house for dinner or hope you never see them again. The dialogue just flows and the story flies. Entertaining and enthralling.”
Charles Paparelli
Enemy in the Room
Parker Hudson
ENEMY IN THE ROOM
Copyright 2013 Parker Hudson
Published in Atlanta, Georgia by Edge Press, LLC
Edited by Danelle McCafferty
Cover design by Marshall Hudson
International Standard Book Number 13: 978-0-9666614-9-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013948904
All rights reserved.
The events, characters, and organizations depicted in this novel are fictitious. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, or to any organization, past or present, is merely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission, except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles.
For information:
parkerhudson.com
Dedication
Dedicated to the memory of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the many Germans of goodwill who, though they did not agree on every issue, recognized their true enemy and did all that they could to try to stop the horrific catastrophe that followed.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: SUNDAY, MARCH 27TH
CHAPTER 2: TUESDAY, MARCH 29TH
CHAPTER 3: SUNDAY, APRIL 3RD
CHAPTER 4: WEDNESDAY, APRIL 6TH
CHAPTER 5: WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13TH
CHAPTER 6: FRIDAY, APRIL 15TH
CHAPTER 7: SATURDAY, APRIL 16TH
CHAPTER 8: TUESDAY, APRIL 19TH
CHAPTER 9: WEDNESDAY, APRIL 20TH
CHAPTER 10: FRIDAY, APRIL 22ND
CHAPTER 11: MONDAY, APRIL 25TH
CHAPTER 12: SATURDAY, APRIL 30TH
CHAPTER 13: MONDAY, MAY 2ND
CHAPTER 14: WEDNESDAY, MAY 4TH
CHAPTER 15: SUNDAY, MAY 8TH
CHAPTER 16: TUESDAY, MAY 10TH
CHAPTER 17: WEDNESDAY, MAY 18TH
CHAPTER 18: FRIDAY, MAY 20TH
CHAPTER 19: MONDAY, MAY 23RD
CHAPTER 20: THURSDAY, MAY 26TH
CHAPTER 21: FRIDAY, MAY 27TH
CHAPTER 22: TUESDAY, MAY 31ST
CHAPTER 23: WEDNESDAY, JUNE 1ST
CHAPTER 24: SUNDAY, JUNE 5TH
CHAPTER 25: WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8TH
CHAPTER 26: FRIDAY, JUNE 17TH
CHAPTER 27: WEDNESDAY, JUNE 22ND
CHAPTER 28: THURSDAY, JUNE 30TH
CHAPTER 29: SUNDAY, JULY 3RD
CHAPTER 30: MONDAY, JULY 4TH
EPILOGUE
AFTERWORD
ALSO BY PARKER HUDSON
1
SUNDAY, MARCH 27TH
Because it was chilly that morning, no one noticed Ahmad’s oversized sweater as he paused to let a family enter the church in front of him. Greeters smiled and shook the college student’s hand, just as they had the previous three weeks, only this time they added, “Happy Easter.” He smiled a
nd nodded. “Yes, Happy Easter.”
They filed into the huge building, a mega-church it was called. It is large, Ahmad thought, about the same as our Mursi Abul Abbas mosque in Alexandria. He walked quietly down the center aisle toward the large stage with the crucifix hanging above it. From all sides rose the cacophony of chatting women and bleating children. How can this be a house of worship?
He took a seat near the front and began flipping through the service program. A family with three children moved in next to him, all dressed in their Easter finest. The oldest child, a blonde girl of not more than eight, sat next to him in a white dress. She looked up at him and smiled. He nodded and smiled back, then returned to the program, although he wasn’t reading.
My cousin Karim was the third martyr to hit a Jerusalem bus. It was all my father talked about for weeks. What will he say about me, today, in America? In this place?
He smiled as the congregation stood and began singing about Jesus Christ being risen today. What blasphemy! Allah has no son. For the third time that morning, he put his hand in his pocket and ran his finger along the smooth metal of the trigger which was connected to the explosives, nails and metal filings wrapped around his upper body.
Thirty minutes later, as the sermon wound down about God’s love and sacrifice—as if Allah the All Powerful would imagine to sacrifice himself for people!—his heart started beating faster. One more hymn, some prayers, and he knew the communion would begin.
As the ushers moved up the aisles to indicate each row’s time to go up front, he said a prayer to the only real Allah, and stood up. He walked to the center of the serving area, where he would be in the middle of the greatest number of people. The little girl wound up on his right. As he fished in his pocket for the trigger, she smiled up at him again.
The priests—a man and a woman—were coming around with the bread and wine. Allah, you cannot be blasphemed as a wafer! The imams are right—these people are beyond saving.
The priest held out a wafer to him. Instead of taking it, he turned around and shouted, “There is no god but Allah. Muhammad is the messenger of Allah!” Then he screamed and pulled the trigger.
From two blocks away a short message was sent via a handheld. Within five minutes Trevor Knox had read it.
That evening David Sawyer was sitting alone at the large mahogany desk in his study, once a spare bedroom on the first floor of their home. A Persian rug accented the hardwood floor, and an antique grandfather clock stood by the door. He looked up from his papers. Almost ten. All those people killed and maimed in that church today. How could anyone do that?
His wife Elizabeth took two steps into the room with a book in her hand. “David, won’t it keep until tomorrow? They’ve just confirmed the bomber wasn’t Iranian. He was Egyptian. His father was beaming on USNet, saying how proud he is. Let’s watch the news in bed. You’ve done enough tonight.”
He caught her reflection in the oval mirror between the curtained windows and nodded to her. “Mom called, worried that it might be an Iranian student this time, particularly during the Persian New Year. If my father were alive today, he’d reenlist. So much has changed since they came here. Not sure I want to go to the Hafezis’ tomorrow night to celebrate the Persian New Year after all those people were killed.”
She walked around the desk, stood her book on its edge, and gently shook her still mostly blond hair. “You know we have to. It’s March. They were your parents’ closest friends in Tehran, and they’ll be offended if we don’t go.”
He sighed and looked around his desk, then back at Elizabeth. ”So even more reason why I have to finish this stuff tonight. We’ve got a big meeting with Trevor on Tuesday. Lots riding on it. Kristen’s been in New York all week. I have to report on six site acquisitions. Paul needs my input for the real estate part of the budget, and I want to focus Trevor on Capital Tower before someone else buys it. The money we’ll save there should earn a nice bonus for the Sawyers this year, which we certainly need. So I see a long night. How about you? Do you have to go in tomorrow?”
“It’s tax season. Gotta be in the office to help the walk-ins.”
“Good luck to them, and to you!” He smiled. The clock chimed.
“Hey, let’s call Callie. Isn’t it still early in California?”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He picked up the phone and pushed a preset number. Elizabeth came close and put her book on his stack of papers. He held out the handset.
Elizabeth listened to the rings, then frowned. After the beep, she said, “Callie, hey. It’s Mom and Dad. How are you? We wanted to say hello. How are your courses going? When will you know if you got the part in that play? Call us tomorrow. Don’t forget to call and wish your aunts and uncles a Happy New Year. We love you very much.”
She shrugged and returned the handset to the cradle. “She almost never answers.”
“Maybe she sees it’s us.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s her new boyfriend. I’m glad you have a lot of family in L.A. to keep an eye on her.”
“At the university? But at least they’re there if she needs them.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe she’ll graduate in just over two years.”
“Are we getting old?”
Elizabeth came around behind him and began to rub his shoulders. “No way. Not us. We just started early. And Rob will keep us young. He’s been playing that virtual game in his room for hours.”
“He’s fifteen and a boy. He’ll be a human being again in about six years, if we’re lucky.”
She smiled. “Were you like that?”
“No, I was perfect.”
While she kneaded, he looked at the pile of papers. I need to hand off more. But who’s ready?
After five minutes she bent down and kissed a gray spot on the side of his head. “Come to bed when you can.”
He swiveled in the chair, stood up and hugged her. “Thanks. As soon as I can.”
“I love you, too, even if you are Iranian.”
“American,” he smiled. “Born and bred here—as American as you. Just with Iranian parents. You inherited all those wonderful folks when you married me.”
She put her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “I know. A Southern girl marrying a Persian from California. What were we thinking?”
“I think it’s been pretty wonderful.”
She paused, her head on his shoulder. “Yes. But I worry about your family over there. Have you heard from Omid?”
“No. It’s gotten crazier and crazier. Omid sent a text two weeks ago that he and Goli were OK, but nothing since. I’m waiting to hear whether the phones that we sent through his Turkish friend arrived safely.”
“And with no one arrested. What does your cousin say?”
“I’m sure she wishes that her son and new daughter-in-law would stay away from politics, but Omid seems to be intent on trying to help fix what’s wrong. Anyway, I can’t help us or any of them if I’m unemployed, and that may happen if I don’t finish this stuff.” He gently pushed her away and motioned to the desk.
She smiled. “Trevor Knox will never fire you. Where else would he get someone to work so hard for so little pay?”
“There are plenty of people who would gladly run real estate for USNet.”
“But none would be as tall, handsome or smart as you.”
“OK. You better go to bed now before I follow you and really don’t finish this stuff.”
She smiled. “All right. But just remember it was your choice.”
“I know. I know. Not fun. We could always skip the Hafezis’ tomorrow.”
She picked up her book. “No way. We have to do that. It’s the Persian New Year, and you are your mother’s son. Good-night. Don’t stay up late. I love you.”
“Good-night. I love you, too.” As she walked down the hall to their bedroom, he sat, looked at the stack, and picked up the top paper.
Early the next afternoon Da
vid paused from reading a report and glanced across his desk on the thirty-third floor of Midtown Tower. The afternoon sun played off the impressive assembly of office towers downtown, only a few miles to the south. Beautiful. And most of them built while he’d been in the game—the past twenty-five years or so. It certainly wasn’t Manhattan, but pretty respectable for a city that had hardly been on the map when he started.
Those were good people back then. He eyed the overflow of papers and reports that needed his attention. He now led fifteen people in the real estate group at USNet. Fifteen. Several years ago—when they were still called Knox Communications—there had been thirty-five, before downsizing and outsourcing.
The team today is sharp, too. Kristen, Todd, Cheryl, Chris. And they’re great with technology. But you still have to write.
He reopened a document on his computer and sighed. I’ll have to finish the Capital Tower report for tomorrow. He bent forward and twisted his wedding band under the desk. Elizabeth won’t be pleased if I have to work after tonight’s party.
Two floors above Sawyer in the penthouse of Midtown Tower, his boss, USNet’s CEO, Trevor Knox sat alone at the large desk in his paneled office. After pushing a button with his gold pen and hearing the lock click on the office door, Knox swiveled to a single monitor embedded in the desk’s surface. He typed a special code memorized as a nursery rhyme seventy years earlier in his native Egypt.