by Isaac Stormm
“Perhaps he was being too farsighted. Either way, he came up with the best plan to bring this thing to an end.”
“I’m not doubting that, at all. Please do not take this as questioning the operation. But we both know those are extremely valuable men. I just would like them to know that we are working on ways to get them out other than sticking with the original plan should things deteriorate.”
“You are free and clear to do as you wish. Submit a plan to me as soon as you’re ready.”
“Very well.”
Mecca
4:35 P.M.
All Al-Bashir could do was shake his head at the Crown Prince veering at him on the tablet. “I understand your frustration, Excellency. I feel it too. I know the pressure on you by the people is tremendous. We have one complete plan which is what we’re going to try tonight and another that will be implemented tomorrow if tonight is not successful.”
“The mosque imam wants to be with you when these plans are carried out,” the Prince replied. “I’ve given permission for him to observe your actions. Please don’t view it as someone spying on you. He was most adamant that the mosque is just as much his as it is anyone else’s. He feels the fool that he didn’t do more to try to stop the Jews.”
Al-Bashir didn’t need that. He had no choice. Of course, it was spying. “We will implement the first plan at ten p.m. tonight.”
“Very well.” The Prince didn’t bother to say goodbye just left a loud click as the screen went black.
“Our new leader is impatient,” the adjutant said. “He should come here and see for himself the many levels of the situation.”
“I believe he will before too long.”
“As for tonight. The vehicles have been gathered. And the proper units told what to do. Hopefully, this does it.”
“If it doesn’t, we have a much larger operation tomorrow morning. If that fails, I will resign my position and offer my life for the Prince to dispose of.”
“I’ve often wondered if the Jews were of the same mind. Especially those holding the mosque. Are they that self-sacrificial?”
“An old Jewish trick. They’re too modern and westernized. They want us to think they’re willing to commit suicide like the Zealots did at Masada. But I think they want to live more than any one of us here. They must not get that chance.”
A silver Mercedes, its polished exterior shining like a ray of diamonds in the sun, pulled up to them. The driver quickly exited and opened the back door. Out came the Imam Ladeen, his white robe reflecting a giant dark shadow over Al-Bashir and the adjutant. He said nothing, just walked to their side and looked at the mosque off in the distance.
“The exterior has not been damaged, save for some sniping at the minarets which can be easily fixed,” Al-Bashir said.
The imam looked him in the eyes or maybe he looked through them into Al-Bashir’s soul. Bashir figured if he could, then he would see everything had been approached in a methodical, professional manner regarding the mosque.
“I have decided to make an exception. I will hold evening prayers here amongst these warriors. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
“Of course not, in fact, I applaud it.”
The tablet went on again. It was the Crown Prince. “I’ve just spoken to Rustani. Iranian forces are beginning to enter into Syria under the air cover of the Russians who are using it as an excuse to expand the airstrikes against the insurgents. There he says they’re going to halt, dispersed of course, until we can take back the mosque. I assured him we would have it back within twenty-four hours, correct?”
“I plan to do that, Excellency.”
“The entire Muslim world and the world entire will be watching what you do with your decisions for the next day. I will not accept failure under any circumstances. Neither will the people.”
“Your concerns are duly noted. And I will make sure they are not going to come to fruition.”
The Prince nodded and the screen went blank again.
“Get me the Special Forces representative here. We’re going to need them for this.”
The adjutant saluted and left him. The imam took a step back and looked at the mosque one more time. “I want to have tomorrow’s evening prayers there.”
Al-Bashir nodded at him quickly then turned on the tablet again.
He looked over the reconnaissance photos of the mosque again. Tonight he wanted to try to scale the structure. If failure resulted, tomorrow they were going to try to scale again, this time in concert with helicopters landing in the courtyard. Everything would happen all at once. It was the best chance to kill as many Israelis as possible and secure the nukes. He hoped that the Israeli commander could be taken alive because he knew that he would have the codes to disarm the weapons. After that, he would personally take delight in shooting him in the back of the head. Hopefully on television and beamed around the world.
He herded fantasies like that from his mind. Oh, they could come to pass, but first things first. He decided he wanted to scale the western side only instead of trying to do it from each direction as it would be easier to control. For this he chose 500 men and their secret weapon, fire engines with ladders long enough to reach the top floor. Eight in all. They would be driven and crewed by his men under the watchful eye of more sniper teams. Yes, they had been a disappointment so far because the Israelis had an uncanny ability to locate them. Drones? Certainly. Small ones. That’s what helped kill them earlier. No doubt, they would send more back out when the assault started. Were they night vision capable? Another question he couldn’t answer. If he was a guessing man, he would say yes.
Thinking more about the sniper teams, he wanted all to be in action simultaneously and outfitted with night vision scopes. They would rely exclusively on them to cover the approach. He planned on executing the ones that did not perform properly tonight.
Foxmann finished filling up the Camelbak. He took a long draw on its hose and let the water coat the inside of his mouth. He moved out of the way to let others fill theirs and got into the ATV and drove back across the courtyard, meeting David on the other side. “On Grozner’s last contact, he told me Philpot was looking at alternative ways to get us out of here if things don’t work out. I personally see no other way, but more power to him.”
“Be nice to know.”
“We’re going to get hit hard, I suspect, after darkness. “
“We’ll be ready. You been picking up any more sniper activity? I mean movements, changing positions, and the like?”
“None on my end.”
“Then I got something I want to show you.”
Foxmann got out and both men stepped into some shadows and David produced his tablet. “This was taken about fifteen minutes ago and just shown to me. We almost missed it.” He rolled a short clip taken from the drone showing a trio of men walking down a side street with backpacks. All of them had a tube like item riding over the shoulders. “That’s a TOW AT missile crew.” They disappeared through a doorway. “Look at the range.” The number said 2,628 meters. “If they have stuff like this and set up at that range, that puts them beyond our weapons. They can pick at us like hell.”
“Not unexpected. I’ll give the Air Force a heads up. If you get any more feeds like this, route them to me.” He turned and headed back up the minaret.
Washington, D.C.
1:54 EST
“Mr. Ambassador, I know your concerns about the situation. But there are deeper things that you do not know. That is why I called you. I’m proposing a summit meeting at Camp David for the warring parties. You don’t have to shut down the Suez. To do so only adds more fuel to the fire. I cannot stress that enough. So what I want you to do is convince your president to stand down the orders to move the military into the Suez. He won’t take my calls. I’ve tried all day long. I’m trusting you to give him the message I just gave you. Thank you…Goodbye.” He was a mix of emotions. The idea of hosting the summit came to him this morning at breakfast, as he was
watching the protests in the streets of Europe. If he could just get them in the same room with each other. He would moderate. Try to talk them all off the ledge that he was sure they rested their feet precariously upon.
He sat down on the couch, took his cup of coffee in one hand and the reports about the latest movements of the Iranians and the OPEC nations toward Israel. They had stopped. The Iranians had already made it into Syria and were dispersing. There’d been no attacks by the Israelis because the Russians had increased their combat air patrols as an excuse to fight the insurgency threatening the Syrian government. The Saudis had stopped well over 50 miles before they reached the border. Was it because Mecca had been taken? Absolutely. But he didn’t think the Israelis were in a favorable position right now. He envisioned Mecca falling and the Israelis setting off the nukes. Once that happened, World War III would erupt. There would be countless influxes of Muslims from all corners of the globe wanting to take up jihad. And given America’s position, it was destined to be a target. So here they were, two allies indirectly linked to each other by their military actions in the same region at the same time. And it was on his shoulders. History would record his every sentence and every move during these times. Can we meet the challenge? He shook his head yes. Hearing that inner voice that always brought doubt bring it again made him shake it harder.
“Are you okay, sir?” Mitchell asked, flabbergasted by his boss’s headshake when no one was talking to him.
“Yeah. Just combating my conscience.”
“Inner voice? Mine’s been giving me trouble too.” He folded his arms. “I just ignore it.”
”I want to. Nations have risen and fallen on such voices. I still want to be cautious about this. I just floated the idea out to the ones fighting each other less than ten minutes ago. I wonder how receptive they will be.”
“Given what’s happening, I would say… One chance in three, maybe.”
“That good, huh?” Anderson grunted, almost dismissing it. “But your optimism, I wish it would be contagious. I’ve got the Senate and the House encouraging me. That’s the first positive thing I’ve got going for me, since this all started.”
“Mr. President, Katrina has her work cut out for her.”
“I’m not using her for this. This proposal was a personal plea…beg…whatever you want to call it, from me and only me. Hell, I’ll even provide each nation’s leader with their own plane to come here. It’s the best, no, last shot we got before we go all out. I’m certain of that.” He slapped the papers on his knee. “Damn, if only they’d stayed out of Mecca. That’s the monkey wrench in the whole thing. As bad as it is, I’m confident we could work something out rather quickly if this had just been an ordinary conflict where territory was being taken. Once you bring in the religion, bullheadedness ensues. I fear the Muslims will not negotiate anything unless they give Mecca back. And Grozner is not going to do that. That’s why they’ll probably try to kill each other if they come here. But it’s a risk we gotta take.”
“I could order combat operations to cease in the Persian Gulf as a first gesture, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, James. We’ll start with that. Give the order that we are not to conduct any kind of offensive operations until further notice.”
Mitchell pulled out his phone and begin dialing the number to the chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff.
The phone rang on the executive desk. “Yes?” Anderson said.
“Sir, it’s the Israeli ambassador. He’s just outside the entry gate. He’s insisting he needs to see you.”
“Very well.”
“What do you think he wants now?” Mitchell said.
“Don’t know.” Anderson shrugged. “But I don’t like the timing.” He looked at his watch. “Going to be getting dark soon in Mecca. I suspect the shit’s really going to get heavy.” He rose and said, “I have to meet with oil company reps after this. Well, by phone conference to be exact. I’m going to beg them to get their damn speculators under control. No more price hikes. If they do, I’ll order the Strategic Reserve to empty some more to keep everything in check. The prices are high, but not as high as I figured they would go. This will keep them that way, hopefully.”
Mecca
8:00 P.M. Jerusalem Time
As the sun continued its downward arc and its lower edge started to dip below the horizon, the anxiety rose in Foxmann. The hair on the back of his neck tingled with the thought of what was coming. Just at that moment, another report came in. More missile teams again setting up beyond their weapons’ effective range. Not unexpected. Covering fire for the assault. How big would it be? They had come nowhere near throwing everything they could at them. They were waiting for the right opportunity. And as the shadows grew long, the opportunity grew as well. Everyone knew it.
Al-Bashir felt the warmth of the sun on his back as he continued plotting. One hour, he concluded. He would launch the attack at exactly 10 p.m. The armor just as before supported by the infantry would close from all directions. This was not the main force. The main force would come behind fire engines coming down different streets to avoid being blocked in by destroyed vehicles. Once close enough, they would raise their ladders to the mosque’s roof and a combined assault with men entering on the ground level would overwhelm the Israelis. He knew a lot were going to die. But like so many others, the thought of Islam’s most sacred site in the hands of nonbelievers and above all, Jews, kept the fire in his belly fed with the hate of generations. Mohammed was looking down from heaven upon them, especially those in charge. He knew the reward would be great if he succeeded. If he failed, he knew an extra judgment awaited him after his mortal judgment on earth, a thought that kept him uneasy.
He looked over at the imam, he threw a glance back as if he knew he was being watched. Al-Bashir walked over to him. “I want to thank you for your presence today. It is a reassuring comfort to the men.”
The man nodded and smiled. “Your work can gain everlasting glory after tonight…Fill the hearts of believers.”
“Let us hope.”
The Oval office
“I have to say I admire the man’s suggestion.” Anderson spoke of Grozner. “Meet in a neutral country, declare a unilateral cease-fire while the meeting is in place. Quite ballsy if I may say so. But does he really think OPEC and Iran would go for it?”
“That’s where the U.N. comes in,” the ambassador retorted. “He knows it will be rejected outright if it’s the Israelis proposing it. He spoke to Rasmuth who agreed to take it on his own and will present it as we are speaking, sir.”
Anderson almost had to sit down. He’d never expected the Israelis to come up with something so bold as the taking of Mecca. Now this? It sure came damn close, too. Fire only when fired upon. Cease all operations in Lebanon. What was not to like? He knew the bullheadedness of OPEC and the Iranians would have to be surmounted, but it just might work. He was willing to give it that.
“Shall I tell them that you agree?”
“I want to speak to him right now.” He picked up the tablet, pressed one of the icons, and waited for a few seconds. Grozner responded, not in his office, it was clear by the background, but at home.
“I take it the ambassador has shown you my plan,” he said, a half smile starting on his face. “The Secretary-General believes it might be plausible if pushed hard enough.”
“I’ll get right alongside them and see what I can do myself.”
He paused for a moment then asked, “May I ask why you’re unilaterally willing to put an end to your operations?”
“Because this war is growing. The reason I did this is because the Russians are putting forces into Syria. They’re flying combat air patrol missions over Iranian forces that are dispersing in the country. We didn’t attack because of that. I feel the Russians are trying to take advantage of the situation and can make things much worse.”
“I’ll contact their president and ask if he would like to be in any talks to bring the war to a clos
e. Say what you will, everybody wants to have good things said about them. Him saying no and turning his back on a comprehensive peace initiative won’t make the Russians look good in any light. Anyhow, that’s the next step I will take on your behalf. I’m proud of you, Grozner. That may sound like a father talking to his son, but don’t take it that way. You genuinely want peace by this action, no one can take that away from you.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. We will of course continue to defend ourselves if we are attacked. The onus is on them now.”
Anderson typed a few words into the laptop and the icon featuring the Russian Commonwealth of Independent states in the corner flashed as his cursor touched it. Today’s technology was that fast when it came to reaching world leaders. Or so he thought. “The president is not in right now.” The secretary said. “However, I will give him the message and he will get back to you as soon as possible.”
“James, give me a rundown on Russian military strengths in Syria and the Mediterranean.”
“Yes, sir. Last I heard, they had about four thousand people in Syria. Many of them Special Forces. Also, a lot of advisors.” Mitchell pulled out his phone.
Anderson rang the U.N. A secretary told him that Rasmuth was in a meeting about the Israeli proposal. He closed the laptop and thought of the Suez. The Egyptian president. He did not know much about him ever since the Muslim brotherhood had been overthrown. Now he had to deal with them due to conflict. He didn’t expect him to be in a receptive mood. “Give me the Egyptian president,” he said on the phone.
Mecca
Foxmann didn’t think much of the Israeli’s offer after Grozner told him on his last transmission. He knew where they were the killing would pick back up fairly soon no matter what the warring parties said to each other. He downed the last of the rice from the MRE. He’d been asleep for about 20 minutes before then and felt remarkably rested for the short pittance that time had allowed him. He looked over at the other two men. One eating and the other scanning out the minaret. The last top edge of the sun was barely visible over the horizon. The shadows were long, but not soothing. A coiled spring of men and vehicles was out there waiting to strike. What would they try next? Something radical, he imagined. How much time did he really have here? The thought never hit him so hard before. He figured a liberal estimate would be maybe another 24 hours. The level of violence he might face he couldn’t contemplate, yet.