by Lewis, Rykar
“A perfect strike,” Parks congratulated as he applauded the beaming player.
A broad smile spread across Solomon’s face. He had never had a game better than 75 points, and now, counting this strike, he was at 82.
“Okay, let’s see it,” he told Parks, taking a seat in the row of chairs.
One more ball was left for Parks. He was poised to smash his record of 250. He was now at 249, and he figured he could get a 259. It had been a good game, and it was about to get better. Taking in yet another long, slow breath, he balanced the ball and readied himself for what he had to do. He took this seriously. This last turn could mean a broken record or a smashed record. Parks preferred the latter, but he was sure at the very least he could get a 251 which would make his bowling record a point higher.
Solomon watched intently, not taking his eyes off the center pin even for a second. He was fascinated with Parks’ expertise in bowling. He was not just a good player, he was pro quality. He hoped Parks would teach him a few tips so he could eventually score higher than 82 points.
Parks lined up. Just as he was drawing back to throw, his cell phone went off. Pivoting around, he almost dropped the heavy ball on his foot. He quickly recovered and placed the ball in the holder. He walked over to the chair where his phone was lying, and he found he didn’t recognize the number. He cautiously answered. “Major Parks.”
“Major Keith Parks?” the voice on the other end questioned.
“Speaking.”
“Go secure.”
After the crypto synched up and the tone for clear communication started, the man began speaking. “This is the senior watch officer of the CIA Ops Center in Langley, Virginia. We have a lead on a terrorist. He’s in the U.S. as we speak. Report to the National Security Advisor in the Situation Room immediately.”
The person hung up the phone.
Parks was surprised at how calm and cool the voice had been. It was not in the least bit panicked or nervous.
Parks snapped his phone shut and wheeled around to face Solomon. “We’ve got to get in the office – now.”
Solomon didn’t think twice. He yanked off his bowling shoes, pulled on his own, then put on his jacket and pocketed his cell phone. Parks did the same, except as he followed Solomon out of the alley, he looked back at the scoreboard – 249 points and still ten more possible. It could have been a record for sure. Shaking his head, he watched Solomon toss the bowling shoes back at the attendant and walk out the door. Parks followed, being careful not to drop his bowling ball.
“Come on, KP,” Solomon urged as he waited at the truck.
Parks jogged up and fished in his pocket for the keys. He found them and opened the doors. While putting his ball and shoes in the back, he realized Solomon was in the passenger’s side. “What? Ain’t you drivin’?” he asked in dismay.
“No, you know how to get back. Now hurry.”
Reluctantly, Parks jumped in the driver’s seat and started the truck. Tearing out of the parking lot, he grabbed his phone and dialed Marler’s number first. The phone rang a couple of times and then he picked up. “Marler. Go,” he answered.
“This is Major Parks. We need you in the office, right now. Meet in mine, and hurry up,” Parks ordered, not betraying the nervousness he felt. He was in no way prepared for something like this. Why did this have to happen now of all times?
“What’s going on?” Marler wondered.
“Tell you later. See you in a few,” Parks replied quickly.
The duo called the other team members simultaneously, one calling one person and the other someone else. Parks wasn’t sure how big a threat this terrorist was, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. He had his orders to gather his team quickly, and he was going to do just that.
* * *
Aziza was restless. He had gone to bed early to try and catch some desperately needed sleep, but it was of no use. He couldn’t sleep even for a minute. The stress and chaos of the day had frazzled him, and though he was ready to end this disastrous day of decisions and frustration, his body wouldn’t let him.
The prime minister of Israel wasn’t a large man, but his vision for the State of Israel was bigger than any of his predecessors. Even when he was a kid, he’d dreamed of making Israel a superpower that the world would respect and fear. When he took the office of prime minister he had not promised peace by treaties and agreements, but by the only real, lasting way there was: international respect. Aziza was not a war-hungry man, but he was willing to go to war if it meant peace and respect for his country. His wife had disagreed on many occasions, saying that he would never see peace by winning wars, but he did not agree. Neither did many officials in his cabinet. War was an inevitable evil if one wanted peace. War would end eventually, and peace would emerge from its ashes, but first, one had to wage a war that would earn the necessary respect and fear from other nations. Right now Israel desperately needed both. She was on her way to respect – Israel was now the strongest power in the Middle East – and likewise fear was spreading through the surrounding countries that she would forever dominate the Middle East. This was very appeasing to Aziza. The part that was not was the inevitable loss of life that war would promise.
Aziza was ready for peace. He was war-tired and exhausted. But he had to fight on. Never before in recent history had his nation been so close to peace. Never had they been the leading power in the Middle East. This chance might never return, and Aziza needed to take advantage of it. Peace was near, he could feel it. War was closer though, and this time he’d have to fight even harder for the peace that was sure to come afterward. He would fight to the last if need be. He’d fight for peace if it meant the deaths of a hundred thousand. He had to. He had no other choice. The war that was inevitable would be the truth teller, and Aziza had no intention of backing down to anyone for any reason.
Aziza believed that the Jews were God’s chosen people. He was a rare Jewish Christian that believed Jesus already came down to earth to save the Jews and the Gentiles. He also believed that God would help him and his country win respect from other countries and ultimately gain peace. Why would He not help His people? In a time like this the only help for Israel was God. This land was sacred to all Jews. God had given them this land and no one at any time would ever take it away from the Jewish people. As for the Golan Heights, Aziza would rather die than see an inch of it go to the Lebanese. This was God’s land. These were God’s people. How could he ever give up any of God’s land to a heathen nation? How could he ever unite Israel with a Muslim’s state? Whoever thought he could was crazy. Peace could only come by war-won respect, not by giving up holy land and uniting nations.
The Americans were a great example. Did they ever give up their land just to stay at peace with their enemies? Did they ever unite with Mexico just to make sure that war wouldn’t come? No. They never did. They never would. The U.S. was respected and feared, revered and honored, because they fought and won their wars. They stood up against their enemies and beat them down. Yes, many people would love to see America destroyed, but rarely was anyone brave enough to try and do that. Israel needed to make it to the place where the U.S. was. They needed what the Americans had. They had to get it, and they would get it. By the Messiah’s help and with the leading of His hand they would. Of that, Aziza was certain.
* * *
“What did the Americans do after they were attacked?” Hazeroth asked his most trusted advisor.
“Nothing yet. They are still looking for who did it. But they have pledged that when they find out who is responsible they will retaliate with all they have,” the Mossad agent replied.
“Are they assuming a fly-by-night terror group is responsible, or a nation?” Hazeroth wondered. “What if it’s a nation that’s responsible?”
“Are you implying that Lebanon is the culprit of those attacks on the U.S.? There is proof that that is not the case.”
“No, I am not saying that Lebanon is responsible,” he corrected. “
But you are wrong; there is no proof that they are innocent. However, I for one am suggesting that Iran is guilty.” Hazeroth coughed loudly. “If the Iranians really are behind the attack on our nation, will the U.S. declare war on them?”
The advisor pondered that. “I don’t think so. Not unless we were in need of some serious help. But if they have proof that Iran was guilty for the attacks on them, I would say there’d be almost nothing that could stop them.”
“What more proof do they need? They know Hamas was involved in the attacks. So in turn, that means Iran.”
“Yes, but wait a minute. You really think Iran would rebound so soon after the one-two the U.S. just gave them? Their government was destroyed. How could they rebuild one good enough to take on the U.S. so soon after the War on Terrorism?”
“I get your point.”
“President Winnfield is preparing something. I feel it,” the agent assured. “There is no evidence to prove that, but I feel it is true.”
“Who do you think Winnfield will strike?” Hazeroth wondered.
“He will strike the right someone. Maybe Lebanon or possibly Iran. He is just waiting to make sure he finds the right target.”
“Do you think he’s waiting for another U.S. attack so he can pinpoint the source?”
The agent nodded. “My guess is he’ll try and capture a terrorist that comes into the U.S. or find some kind of information about him that would give the CIA a clue as to who’s behind this. He thinks the Iranians are the culprits but he will not strike them without further confirmation. But he will strike. He will when he confirms his target.”
“Winnfield is a man of war,” Hazeroth said bluntly. “He wants to strike out at someone, but he will wait to strike the right someone. We are now in the same situation as he is. We need to retaliate but we don’t know whom to retaliate against. I just pray our prime minister makes the same decision the American President has. We need to wait to fight until we find out who did this. We cannot just assume the Lebanese are the ones and go in there and fight them. We must be sure they are to blame. We need some kind of proof. I think we should just wait it out until we find some more information.”
“Agreed,” the agent voiced. “But can you convince Prime Minister Aziza to wait? He is ready to fight. He is ready to tell the world that no one messes with Israel without paying a price. I guess the big question is, will he wait for a confirmed target?”
Hazeroth didn’t say anything. He knew that if the prime minister did not wait Israel could be destroyed, either by the Iranians distracting Israel toward Lebanon or by the entire Middle East. But then again, could anyone destroy Israel? Numerous countries had attempted to obliterate them but none had succeeded. It seemed as if the Jewish people were indestructible. It was strange. It was not that they had been a superpower that no one could take out; it was something almost supernatural. Almost as if God had His hand on them and would not let anyone harm them. Sure, there were hard times. Ever since the Bible days the Jews had been at war or in captivity. But they always bounced back after those hard times. What was it? Hazeroth was not a religious man. He believed there was a God but he didn’t have a personal relationship with Him. But maybe he should. If God was the reason Israel had stayed around so long, maybe he should make time for Him. Maybe God had the answer for this problem, as He had with all the others.
Hazeroth didn’t know what to think or what to do. He needed to get answers. He needed to find something that could point his nation in the right direction. But he didn’t know what he was looking for.
“Mr. Hazeroth,” the agent interrupted, “do you think that we could be wiped off the planet?”
Hazeroth snapped back into the present. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. But why have we not yet been obliterated if it were possible?”
The agent shrugged his shoulders and scribbled down some notes on a piece of paper. “Of course you know,” he said in a hushed voice, “there is a first time for everything.”
20
Monday, March 17th – 2200 hours
Washington, D.C.
Parks pulled into his personal parking space. “Hey Solomon,” he began, “I need you to go into my office and meet all the guys. I’m heading over to the White House to see the National Security Advisor.”
“Yeah, sure,” Solomon accepted, flinging the truck’s door open.
Parks and Solomon split ways. Solomon casually strolled over to the EEOB while Parks briskly walked up to the White House. Jogging up to the guard, he offered his badge. The Secret Service guard looked at the photo and back at Parks, as if trying to match the face. The guard handed the badge over to another nearby Secret Service agent who looked as wary as he had been.
“Major Keith Parks?” the agent asked without taking his eyes off the badge.
“Yes sir, that’s me.”
“New here?”
“Yes sir. Just got here today.”
“You a Marine?” the guard pressed.
“I am, sir.”
“Your ID please.”
Parks handed it to him and waited.
“Date of birth?” the man questioned, checking to see if Parks was who he said he was.
Parks didn’t have time for games, and he wasn’t about to get bullied by some hot-to-trot agent that was trying to keep occupied so he could stay awake. “Look, if you don’t believe that I’m who I say I am, just apply some common sense. What are the chances of me swiping a White House badge and a military ID? And if you’ll notice, I fit the ID’s description perfectly,” he assured. “I need to get in as soon as I can because I’ve got an emergency meeting with the National Security Advisor.”
Suddenly convinced that everything was okay, the guards allowed him to go inside where several bomb checks and other security precautions took place.
When all that was finally done Parks realized that he didn’t know exactly where to go. He had to find the Situation Room, but where was that located? How would he get there from here? Reluctantly he asked one of the Secret Service agents standing guard. “Um, excuse me, sir, but could I ask you to do me a big favor?” Parks asked the short man.
“Yeah, what do you need?”
“I need to go to the Situation Room, but I don’t really know how to get there. Could you point me in the right direction?”
The agent did better than that; he actually walked with Parks to make sure he arrived. Parks was memorizing the way when they suddenly arrived at their destination. He thanked the agent, zipped up his coat, and prepared to go inside. He was nervous, very nervous. He was so unprepared for this that he probably was going to look like an idiot.
Drawing in a long breath, he pushed open the door and walked in a few steps. He saw the President, the Vice President, the National Security Advisor, the Directors of National Intelligence, the Central Intelligence Agency, the FBI, and Secret Service, all huddled around a large conference table. Parks stood at attention and waited.
“Oh,” the President said, looking up and seeing him. “Come on over, Major.”
Parks stiffly walked over to the group and took the seat on the President’s far right. Winnfield nodded to the D/CIA who stood and slid a file of papers over to Parks, who was sitting as straight as he had been standing.
“Naji Wa’il is this man’s name,” Cummins explained. “He’s number five on the CIA’s terrorist ranking list.”
Parks opened the file and scanned the papers.
“That’s the file we’ve got on him,” the Director continued. “It ain’t much but it’s all we need.”
Parks swallowed hard when he looked at the photo of the devil-like terrorist. He looked so haunting and evil that it sent chills up his spine. He hoped no one had noticed his reaction.
“He’s in South Carolina right now. An FBI agent spotted him when both of them were sitting in a traffic jam side by side. He’s assumed armed and potentially dangerous, and he’s headed this way.” Then Cummins cleared his throat and said, “If you’re wondering wh
y the agent didn’t do anything about him, it’s because we told him not to. We’re saving him for you.”
Parks closed the folder and handed it back to the now-seated D/CIA who took it and slid it over to Travis.
“Mike, will you get us the image?” Travis asked.
In the next minute, the Director had a live video feed playing of Wa’il who was driving through heavy traffic.
The video feed was the result of an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) – commonly referred to as a drone – which was hovering somewhere in the space above South Carolina. The video was then down-linked to a ROVER (Remotely Operated Video Enhanced Receiver), via radio waves. The ROVER could bring the video into the Situation Room where the footage could be watched in real time with absolutely no delay.
Parks was captivated at how easily something that difficult could be accomplished in just a matter of minutes.
“He’s in the Charleston area right now,” Cummins informed Parks. “He’s most likely going to still be in his vehicle when you get to him.”
“Give him the plan, Josh,” Anders instructed quietly.
Travis nodded to the FBI Director who stood and walked over to the corner of the room. Suddenly a map of some kind was projected on a screen on the wall and Watkins continued with his job. “These are the states of South Carolina and North Carolina and the area around them. Charleston is here,” he said, walking to the screen and pointing to the city. “By the time your team gets to Wa’il he’ll be somewhere near Fort Bragg in North Carolina. Our job is to get you to the fort in time to intercept him. We have about four hours, maybe more depending on traffic.”
A more detailed map of North Carolina was then projected and Watkins went on with his briefing. “Here’s the road that Wa’il will be traveling on,” he informed Parks. “And your team will intercept him about...” he trailed off and tried to find the right spot, “here. He has to travel by that way if he’s going anywhere north of Fort Bragg, and so far, it looks like he is. Anyway, this road is far enough away from the fort so he’ll feel comfortable, and it’s a sure bet he’ll come by you guys. Around that interception point,” he began, pointing again to the spot, “there’s nothing but meadows and forests so you’ll have a clean, clear shot.”