Kane denied it, and his reputation was such that nobody believed the first charge, but three more women came out in rapid succession with their own charges, and even though his denials were just as adamant, people were now beginning to question him.
“I think it’s hypocritical that Kane is campaigning on such things as morality, and the sanctity of marriage, but has maintained a harem all these years,” one ‘woman on the street’ interviewee said.
Then Kane’s marriage got into difficulty and he withdrew from the race, to be replaced at the last minute by a weak candidate who was never able to gain traction with the Illinois voter. Axleman won the senate seat by an overwhelming margin.
Then the Twenty-eighth Amendment to the Constitution was passed. This repealed Section One, Article Two, making any naturalized citizen eligible to be president of the United States, clearing the path for Ohmshidi to run for President.
Helped by an overwhelmingly supportive media—their support bought by Warren Sorroto—Ohmshidi was elected president, and Axleman was rewarded for his efforts by being appointed Ohmshidi’s chief of staff.
It was Axleman who gave Ohmshidi his campaign theme of “fundamentally changing America.” He was also the one who designed the Ohmshidi campaign logo, a green letter O enclosing wavy blue lines which represented clean water, over which was imposed a stylized green plant. It was also Axleman who designed the new national flag, white, with a wide red bar running from the top of the banner to the bottom. In the middle of the red bar was a white circle and in that circle, the Ohmshidi O.
Then, when conditions in the country deteriorated, and nuclear bombs were detonated, Ohmshidi had to flee Washington. Axleman left as well, returning, not to Chicago, but to Dallas. Always one to take advantage of any condition that would better himself, Axleman became one of the first to very publicly convert to the “Holy Path” of Islam.
At first, Axleman, who was now calling himself Amar Shihad, converted only for the conveniences the conversion offered. As he got into it though, he realized that there was a huge power vacuum in American Islam. A smart man could do well, and within a year, utilizing his political skills and the lack of any principle other than self-advancement, Amar Shihad became the Grand Ayatollah of the Dallas and Fort Worth metroplex.
He quickly realized, though, that you couldn’t just be smart, you also had to be ruthless. And because Martin Axleman had always had a sadistic streak—as a boy he used to capture birds alive, then pull their beaks out—it wasn’t hard for Amar Shihad to become the man that others referred to as the “Devil of Dallas.”
Shihad developed a policy he called “Societal Adjustment and Realignment.” The SAR program stated in the slick brochures that it was designed to “improve society by eliminating those impediments to good order and harmony.”
Those impediments, as the brochure pointed out, were Christians who had not converted to Islam, and Jews who, by Moqaddas Sirata law, were prohibited from converting. The impediments were eliminated by being killed. There were no exact records kept, but estimates were that Shihad had already been responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths in the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex. He had recently authorized another SAR operation.
The Galleria Mall, Dallas
A huge, but temporary banner had been erected in the parking lot of the Galleria Mall.
Making Lives Better With
Societal Adjustment and Realignment
Obey Ohmshidi
There were ten buses parked in the parking lot of the Galleria, five in one line and five in another; the parallel lines of buses were separated by about one hundred yards.
“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials,” a loudspeaker said. “You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”
“What if we don’t want to board the bus?” someone asked one of the officials. All the officials were wearing black uniforms trimmed in silver. They wore the collar pins of a scimitar and severed head of the Janissaries, the elite corps of the SPS, or State Protective Service.
“If you do not board the bus, you will be shot,” one of the Janissaries replied.
“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials. You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”
There were five hundred “subjects” gathered in the parking lot, men and women. There were no children, they had already been taken from their parents and were now in the Youth Confinement and Enlightenment Centers. Gathered here were some of the few remaining Jews, Christians who would not convert, and unrepentant atheists.
They had been rounded up by the Special Operations Units. Not all Jews, Christians, and atheists had been rounded up, and there was neither rhyme nor reason to those who were. This was all a part of Amar Shihad’s plan of control.
“Let them always be looking over their shoulder,” Shihad said. “Will the Special Operations Unit come for them today? Tomorrow? Perhaps they will be spared.”
Shihad knew that the uncertainty would play a big role in allowing him to control the population.
“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials. You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”
The raid that gathered the subjects this time was conducted in the middle of the night. It had been six weeks since the last roundup operation. Nobody had ever heard another word from any of those who had been taken before.
“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials. You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”
“What do they want with us?” Leah Rosewell asked her husband. “We have nothing left. They took our store, our home. We have nothing more to give them.”
“I don’t know,” David said.
“I’m concerned,” Kaye Miller said. “My sister was taken three months ago and I’ve not heard another word from her. It isn’t like her not to write.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Mort said. “Mail service today is practically nonexistent. You know that.”
“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials. You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”
Leah put her hands over her ears. “I wish they would stop making that announcement over and over and over. It is driving me crazy!”
“That’s why they are doing it,” David said. “They want to irritate us. Maybe I can irritate them a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
David held up his finger, then called over to one of the Janissaries.
“Sir?”
“What do you want, Jew?”
“I was just wondering. Will we be allowed to board the bus if we don’t have our identity card?”
“You must have your identity card to board the bus,” the black-uniformed guard replied, totally unaware of the sarcasm of David’s question.
“Okay, thank you. I wasn’t sure whether we could or not.”
“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials. You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”
“All right!” one of the Janissaries called. “Form a single line here and board the buses!”
“There are only ten buses,” a man protested. “We are too many for ten buses.”
A nearby Janissary pulled his pistol and shot the protester. There were shouts and screams of fear and alarm as the protestor crumpled and fell.
“Now,” the shooter said with an evil smile. “There is one less. I’m sure the buses will accommodate the rest of you. Begin boarding.”
As Leah and David approached the front of the line they saw a “V” made of sawhorses. The V was splitting the line of people, some going left and some going right. A Janissary was standing just inside the V with his arms folded. He was not giving directions, but letting the borders choose for themselves.
“Which way, David?” Leah asked. “Which way should we go? Left o
r right?”
“You choose, Leah.”
Leah watched the Janissary’s face to see if she could discern any difference in his expression as the boarders were making their decision. She noticed nothing.
“Which way, Leah?” David asked again.
“To the right,” she said. She had no reason to justify her choice, it was just one she made at the last minute.
When they got on the bus it was easy to see how ten buses could accommodate five hundred people. There were no seats on the bus.
As the buses got underway, everyone was ordered to sit on the floor. It was so crowded that there was scarcely room to sit at all, and the positions were cramped and uncomfortable.
“Sit behind me, Leah,” David suggested. “We can put our backs together.”
“No,” a man behind David said. “Put your back against my back, your wife can put her back against my wife’s back. That way we will still be braced, but together. I don’t know how much longer we will have the opportunity to be together, we should take advantage of it.”
“Yes,” David said. “Yes, that is a good idea.”
Others on the bus, seeing the arrangement David, Leah, and the couple behind them had made, did the same thing. The conditions were still cramped and uncomfortable, but sitting in such a way at least made it bearable.
They had no idea how long the trip would be and as they discussed it among themselves, some suggested that it might be two or three days.
“But surely if it is to be so long, they will stop occasionally to allow us to walk around, won’t they?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past these monsters,” another said.
“Are the other buses with us?” someone asked.
“There’s no way to tell. The windows are all blacked out.”
The buses rolled on.
CHAPTER FOUR
After 36 hours on the bus, it finally came to a halt. They had not been given anything to eat or drink. They had not been allowed to leave the bus when the bus stopped for fuel, not even to go to the bathroom, and by now everyone on the bus had soiled their pants. The first thing to greet David, Leah, and the others on the buses when they stepped down was a large white sign inscribed with stark black letters.
Your SAR Program at Work
Ultimate Resolution Camp 35
Grand Ayatollah Amar Shihad
Obey Ohmshidi
The “camp,” as the sign called it, was completely surrounded by a high, chain-link fence. There were several rolls of razor wire on the ground at the base of the fence, which was constructed at a reverse angle of about thirty degrees so that, even without the razor wire, it would be hard to climb. On top of the fence was more razor wire, and there was razor wire on the ground on the other side. In addition, there were manned guard towers all around the perimeter.
Of the ten buses that had been in the parking lot of the Galleria, only five were here now. Where had the other five gone? Had they made the correct choice in choosing the buses on the right?
“Oh, David,” Leah said. “What have we gotten into? What is going to become of us?”
David reached over to take her hand in his.
“I don’t know, Leah. I don’t know,” he said, quietly.
The buses had come into the compound and the passengers, or, as David thought of them now, the prisoners, moved around gingerly, trying to get the circulation going again after the long, cramped trip. Other than the prisoners, all of whom had expressions on their faces that David knew must mirror his own, the only other people he saw were the Janissary guards, dressed in their black uniforms.
“David,” Leah said. “There is no one here except for those of us who just arrived. Where are the ones who were here? What happened to them?”
“Again, my sweet, you have asked me a question I cannot answer,” David said.
“Will they let us stay together, do you think?”
“We will live together, or we will die together,” David said. “I will not allow us to be parted.”
“Yes,” Leah said, resolutely. “We will live together or we will die together.”
On the front wall was the red, beige, and blue portrait of Ohmshidi.
To one side of it were the words:
Obey Ohmshidi!
A black-uniformed Janissary stepped in front of them.
“You are all filthy!” he said. “You have soiled your clothes. Don’t you know enough not to pee or shit in your pants?”
“When the bus stopped we were not allowed to leave,” one of the men said, but as soon as he spoke, one of the other guards came over to him and began beating him with a club.
“You will not speak unless you are given permission to speak,” the Janissary in front said. “Now, all of you, take off your clothes and go into the shower.”
One of the prisoners raised his hand.
“What do you want, Jew?”
“I am a Christian,” the man said.
“Christian, Jew, you are the same. You are all infidels. What do you want, Jew?” he repeated.
“Do you intend for us all to strip here, in the open? Men and women together?”
“I see no men or women here. I see only Jews. Strip, now.”
Half an hour later all the prisoners were showered, and in clean clothes. Then they were led to barracks, one hundred people to each building.
Moscow
Starlite Diner first appeared in Moscow in 1995 in the garden of the “Aquarium,” directly opposite the Theatre City Council. The red and silver interior of the Starlite Diner revived the atmosphere of 1950s America, with walls that are covered with pictures of iconic movie actors, such as James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, 1955 Fords and 1957 Chevrolets, as well covers of past Life magazines. The food is traditionally American, specializing in hamburgers, French fries, and milkshakes.
It is mostly a hangout for young Muscovites and Americans who live in Moscow wanting a taste of pre-O America, as well as older Russians who had a longtime enthrallment with America.
Aleksandr Mironov was one of the latter, which was very good for him, because his position as a member of the United Nations delegation enabled him to live in the country that had always fascinated him. The fact that he had also been a member of the KGB at the time did not diminish his appreciation for America.
In Moscow now, he had come to the Starlite Diner with his nephew, Colonel Vladimir Shaporin. He was surprised when Vladimir suggested that they meet here—but flattered thinking that perhaps his nephew was being nice to him.
“Get the French-fried onion rings with your cheeseburger,” Mironov suggested. He chuckled. “I’m sure they are a heart attack waiting to happen, but, oh, they are delicious. And a strawberry milkshake,” he added.
“I’ll defer to your expertise, Uncle Aleks, and let you order,” Vladimir said, once they were seated.
“Good, good, trust me, I’ll make your dinner an experience you won’t forget,” Mironov said. He placed his order, then seeing the pictures on the wall, started pointing them out, with explanation, to his nephew.
“That’s James Dean,” he said. “Rebel Without a Cause—if you want to know America in the fifties, you must see that movie. Oh, and Marilyn Monroe, the most beautiful American actress ever. That’s Johnny Cash, and that’s Johnny Unitas. That’s a 1957 Chevrolet, and that’s Elvis Presley. Oh, and listen, that’s him singing on the jukebox now.”
“Jukebox?”
Mironov pointed. “That gaudily lit thing over there, from which the music is coming.” Mironov sang along for a few lines. “If you can’t come around, then please, please telephone.”
“You like Americans, don’t you?” Vladimir said.
“Yes, I like them. That is, I did like them. I don’t know that I could like them now. I’m not sure I understand what has happened to America,” Mironov said. “I don’t mind admitting it. Though, of course, during this time,” he took in the photos with a wave of his hand, “the fifties and the sixties—it would
not have done for me to say this. We were in a cold war then, with the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over us all.”
Vladimir drummed his fingers on the table for a moment or two, then glanced around the restaurant to make certain he couldn’t be overheard.
“Uncle Aleks, what if I told you there is still a nuclear threat?” he asked.
“Well, of course, as long as there are nuclear weapons, I suppose there is always that chance,” Mironov said.
“More than just a chance.”
Mironov’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to tell me, Vladimir?”
“Uncle, as you know I am commanding officer of the Tenth Battalion of the Tamanskya Division. In a recent inventory, I discovered that five of the three-kiloton warheads were missing.”
“What? Did you report them?”
“I did.”
“And what action has been taken?”
“None.”
“None? But, that is impossible! How can there be no action taken?”
“After the end of the Cold War the Americans gave us software designed to allow us to keep track of our inventory. That computer says that there are no missing warheads, but I think someone has hacked into the files, making it appear as if all is well.”
“What makes you suspect that?”
“Because I have also kept a record of them on the property book. The property book shows five more weapons than we currently have in our inventory.”
“My dear boy, that has always been the nightmare of both the American and the Russian governments.”
“Not our government,” Vladimir said.
“What do you mean?”
“I went to Defense Minister Basov and told him that the warheads were missing. When he asked how I knew, I told him that according to the property book, we still have the warheads. But according to the computer, and according to a physical inventory, the warheads are gone.”
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