by Don Brown
"Si, yo Norte Americano." Ahmed resisted the temptation to go for the Uzi.
"Why do you visit Mexico, senor?"
Because I'm an Arab terrorist, you fool. And I'm getting ready to blow your head off if you don't let me pass. "Just a tourist. Never been."
"A tourist?" The Mexican raised a suspicious eyebrow. "I don't see no bags."
"Not planning to stay long." Ahmed inched his hand toward the Uzi.
"You have identification?"
"By all means."
Ahmed reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a fake Virginia State driver's license identifying him as Samuel Shalome of 2822 Indian River Road in Chesapeake. He handed the guard the license, which was wrapped in a green photograph of Benjamin Franklin, courtesy of the United States Mint.
"Ahh." The guard's black eyes twinkled. "Mucho gracias, senor." The Mexican stuffed the hundred-dollar bill into his pocket and returned the license. "Welcome to Mexico." He stepped back and motioned the Aero-star to pass.
Wailing Wall
Old City of Jerusalem
The Temple Mount, with its despicable golden Islamic Dome, was visible for the last few blocks of their walk. But it wasn't until they reached the end of the street that they got a clear view of the Western Wall -- the last remaining vestige of Solomon's holy temple, still standing proudly after three thousand years.
Oh, how beautiful it was! The sight of priests bowing and praying. Of boys from America having their bar mitzvahs in the late afternoon sunlight. Pigeons clucked across the courtyard as a flock of white doves flew by.
Surely in this place, Jehovah God still dwelt.
"Stay here with the children." He looked into his wife's eyes. "I need to go there alone for a moment."
Yael nodded her head with that beautiful, angelic smile of hers. And then, on an uncontrollable impulse, he rushed like a child to the wall, barely noticing a host of other black-robed, black-yarmulked Jewish men standing and kneeling, wailing to the Lord God.
He put his hands on it. He caressed it as if it were the most precious stone God had ever created. And he wept.
"Oh my Lord and my God," he cried. "The Father of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. You have brought me and my family to this holiest of sites on the earth. All praises to your holy name for your unending mercy and your everlasting goodness.
"Never take us again from this place, oh Father. Never allow us, your chosen people, to ever again be dispersed from Israel."
Alexander dropped to his knees, his tears still flowing. "Oh Father, hasten the day when your temple shall be restored. If it be your will, oh Father, let that day be in my lifetime."
A cool breeze whipped through the courtyard, refreshing Alexander's face.
"Hasten the day, oh Father, when Messiah will come."
"But Messiah already has come, my friend." Alexander turned around and, through tear-blurred eyes, saw a Jewish-looking man in a white suit. "And he shall come again."
Alexander looked down, reached into his pocket for the prayer he had written back in Mogilev. He found it, pulled it out, and looked back over his shoulder. The man in white was gone.
No matter. He had a task to perform now. It was a task he had promised God, to deliver his written prayer into the crevices of the holy wall. Gently, tenderly, he kissed the folded paper, sliding it into a crack near the ground.
A whistling sound caught his attention. Almost like a kettle blowing steam, it got louder, louder. The whistling turned into a loud scream. The ground trembled.
Alexander covered his ears.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Screams filled the air. People scattered and dove. Debris rained as if from heaven. The ground shook. Alexander looked to the sky as two fighter jets, with the word NAVY painted in black, roared overhead.
"Alexander! Alexander!"
His wife's screams broke through the cacophony, piercing his heart even before he turned to see her cradling Anna's bleeding body in her arms.
Mohammed banked the F-18 to get a visual damage assessment. Black smoke billowed from the top of the Temple Mount into the deep blue late-afternoon Jerusalem sky. It appeared their mission was accomplished. He banked back to the right, looked up, and saw Hosni again on his wingtip, giving him a thumbs-up. Mohammed reciprocated, pointed the jet toward Syria, and hit the afterburners.
The Super Hornet shot like a rocket, screaming over the tops of Jerusalem houses and buildings, clearing the city, streaking over rocky, mountainous regions, and finally clearing Israeli airspace.
Within twenty minutes of crossing into Syrian airspace, Mohammed was over the designated drop zone. He set the automatic pilot on a course toward Baghdad, where the plane would most likely be easily shot down, at this low altitude, by Iraqi air defenses.
Mohammed punched the eject button. The emergency ejection rockets in the cockpit shot the seat into the air; then the chute deployed. He looked around. Another white parachute, maybe a half mile away, floated down toward the sandy, rocky surface.
In a few moments, he would be rescued by COI forces operating inside Syria. He would become a hero of the New Islamic Republic.
CHAPTER 28
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, D.C.
The president of the United States sat near the Oval Office fireplace, having tea with the British ambassador, when his chief of staff came barging in.
"Excuse me, Mr. President." Wally Walsh strode purposefully across the royal-blue rug with the presidential seal embroidered on it. "Pardon the interruption, Mr. Ambassador" -- he gave the Brit a quick glance, then looked back to the president -- "but this is an absolute emergency."
"My apologies, Mr. Ambassador." The commander in chief rose and followed Wally Walsh's very rapid footsteps out of the Oval Office.
"Wally, what's up?" The president's stomach knotted when he saw the ashen look on his chief of staff's face.
"Mr. President, there's been an attack on Israel."
Lord, please don't let this be nuclear, chemical, or biological. "Out with it, Wally. What kind of attack?"
"An attack on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, sir."
"What the . . ." Mack Williams stared at the ornate ceiling. The news numbed his brain. A wave of fire flashed through his chest. He would take decisive action. Immediately. He punched the wall. "We've gotta retaliate. We must show our support for Israel. Who did this, Wally?"
"Apparently we did, sir."
"Come again?"
"Israeli intelligence reports that two U.S. Navy F-18 Super Hornet swooped in at treetop level and launched a missile attack."
A foreboding knot twisted the president's stomach. "How can this be?"
"I don't know, Mr. President."
"Are they right?"
"Details are still sketchy, sir. But eyewitnesses are apparently corroborating this information."
Mack hesitated. "Convene the National Security Council, Wally. We may have just started World War III."
"Yes, Mr. President."
Syrian Desert
Approximately 200 miles east of Damascus
Near the Iraqi border
Over here!" Mohammed yelled to Hosni. Both had just floated to the earth like feathers, three hundred yards apart. Hosni waved back, extricated himself from his parachute, then started jogging toward Mohammed.
"Where are they?" he panted.
"They will be here, my brother. This is why they instructed us to bail out here. It will make it easier for them to find us. Here." Mohammed handed him his canteen.
Hosni took four gulps, then handed it back. "I hope you are right."
"Surely Allah would not have allowed us to come this far, to have all this success, to open the doors as he has, only to leave us stranded."
Hosni wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I hope you are right, Skipper." He swiped his hand across his brow again. "I surely do not wish to spend the night out here."
Mohammed shaded his eyes and glanced at the
sun, which was descending but still bright enough to give them full daylight.
"Maybe a couple of hours of daylight left," he said. "We've done everything on our checklist, Hosni. We've left our chutes out for increased visibility from the sky. The Council knew where we would be bailing out. They will search for us in private planes, then send a chopper to evacuate us. We were selected by al-Akhma for this mission. They will not let us fall into enemy hands. The information we possess is too valuable."
Mohammed's lecture failed to mitigate Hosni's fearful expression. "Yes. You're right. Focus on the game plan."
How ironic, thought Mohammed; Hosni's enthusiasm about this mission had known no bounds; now he was close to panic.
"Here. Drink some more water before you start getting delirious on me." Mohammed again thrust the canteen at his fellow Arab-American pilot.
"Do you hear something?" Hosni said after the first gulp.
A low roar came from the direction of the distant horizon. The roar crescendoed. "Sounds like jets."
They turned toward the sound, and then, like lightning bolts from out of nowhere, two delta-shaped fighter jets shot directly overhead from the west, maybe five hundred feet off the deck, streaking over the desert toward Iraq.
"Were those what I thought they were?" Hosni asked.
I hope not. "What did you think they were?"
"Sure looked like F-15s to me."
Bingo. "No way they could be F-15s. The Syrians don't have any. They're still using MiG-21s."
"That's probably what they are," Hosni said, as if trying to convince himself. "MiG-21s. Very similar in design to the Eagle anyway. Look, Commander. They're turning around."
Sure enough, the twin-turbofan jets were making a huge loop out over the desert.
"Maybe they saw our parachutes," Hosni said as the jets finished their loop.
"Maybe."
The jets came roaring in, this time dropping their altitude to maybe two hundred feet off the desert floor. The stranded pilots covered their ears as the jets roared directly overhead, so close this time that there was no mistaking them for anything other than F-15s.
A light blue Star of David was painted on their fuselages.
CHAPTER 29
Council of Ishmael headquarters
Rub al-Khali Desert
Leader, Leader!" Abdur Rahman barreled into Hussein al-Akhma's office so abruptly that the leader's two black-bereted bodyguards, each flanking the large desk, instinctively drew their weapons.
"Put your weapons away," al-Akhma ordered. "What is it, Abdur?"
"It is Islamic Glory, my leader! And it is a smashing success. You must turn on your television."
Hussein al-Akhma was not used to taking orders from anybody, not even his trusted number two. But under these circumstances, he overlooked his subordinate's well-intentioned insolence and complied by punching the remote control on his desk.
The image of CNN's Tom Miller materialized on the screen.
"This is Tom Miller at the White House. Shocking news is coming out of Israel at this very moment with profound national security implications. United States Navy warplanes have launched a missile attack against the third holiest site in all of Islam, the Dome of the Rock.
"According to witnesses and Israeli radar, two navy F-18 Super Hornet jets, based on the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman, while flying routine reconnaissance over Israel at the request of the Israeli government, swooped down low over Jerusalem and launched at least three precision-guided missiles at the Dome.
"The death count is uncertain. But dozens of Muslim pilgrims were in the Dome worshiping, and many are believed to be dead.
"There is no explanation for why this happened. But the White House has issued a terse statement calling the attack a 'grave mistake and one that was not in any way planned or condoned by the United States. We are still gathering the facts underlying this tragedy,' White House Chief of Staff Wally Walsh said in a written statement, 'and we will announce the results of our investigation and take strong action in the very near future.'
"That explanation, however, is not sitting well in Islamic capitals. In Cairo, Damascus, Riyadh, Tripoli, Amman, and Teheran, not only are official condemnations flowing from each of those governments, but pandemonium is erupting in the streets, with thousands expressing unrestrained anger at the United States . . ."
He hesitated, adjusting his earpiece. "What's that?
"I understand that we now have live footage, courtesy of an Israeli traffic helicopter, of the billowing, smoldering site atop the Temple Mount."
The screen switched to an aerial view of the Temple Mount, with black smoke rising into the Jerusalem sky. Miller spoke over the rotary sound of the chopper's blades.
"Okay, we have this live picture of the Temple Mount in Old Jerusalem. The smoke and flames you see rising from the site that up until about thirty minutes ago was the third holiest site in all of Islam, the golden dome, also known as the Dome of the Rock.
"According to Islamic legend, it's from here that Mohammed ascended to Allah, sometime around AD 600, which explains why it was held out as such a holy site by Muslims worldwide."
Miller paused, leaving only the sound of the chopper's rotor blades and the incredible scene of smoke and fire.
"Unbelievable."
The screen switched back, partially, to Miller, with the left side of the screen remaining on the Israeli helicopter's live feed.
"I understand our staff has found three distinguished guests to join us for some initial impressions of what we are seeing. From Capitol Hill, Senator Jarrett Lettow, Republican of California, is a member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee; from Georgetown University, Professor Fadl Allah Bandar, Professor of Islamic Studies and a native of Syria; and from SARD headquarters in Chicago, we are joined by the civil rights activist Reverend JamesOn Barbour."
Live pictures of Miller, Lettow, Bandar, and Barbour were stacked on top of one another, like a totem pole, on the right side of the screen as the smoldering Dome dominated the left.
"We'll start with you, Senator Lettow. What's your reaction to what you're seeing right now?"
Lettow hesitated.
"Tom, you best described this a moment ago. Shocking beyond belief. Having said that, however, I would like to remind the American people that we don't have all the facts here. In fact, we really don't know why this happened. While this was considered to be a holy site by Muslims, it is premature and irresponsible, in my judgment, for anyone, including the foreign governments that you mentioned, to condemn the United States. I can say with confidence that whatever happened here was not sanctioned by the U.S. government. That's not the way we do business, Tom."
"Professor Bandar," Miller asked, "as a native Middle Easterner, and as a person of Islamic faith, what does this tragic sight mean to you and to persons of your faith?"
"Tom," Bandar started slowly, deliberately, "I'm numb right now. When the shock subsides, there will be grieving and then anger."
Miller continued. "Professor, is there any way that you can help someone who is not Islamic to see and understand what we are seeing right now?"
"Tom, this is the most shocking thing I have seen since your Twin Towers were attacked on 9/11. And in many ways," he said somberly, "it is even more shocking. How do I help Americans to understand this? To Americans, this would be like watching the national capitol, or perhaps the White House, burn to the ground. That's how important the Dome of the Rock is to Islam."
"A most sobering analogy, Professor."
"Sobering, but accurate."
"Reverend JamesOn Barbour," Miller said, "you've been an outspoken critic of this administration's war on terror. Do you agree with Senator Lettow that we should withhold judgment?"
Barbour was dressed in his trademark khaki short-sleeve shirt, like a game hunter on an African safari. "Well, you know, Tom," he replied, "I've always said it is not might which maketh right. It is right which gives us the right to use m
ight." Barbour was animated, appearing to come close to spitting as he talked.
"Jesus saith, 'Peace be upon you.' And Mohammed saith, 'Let there be peace.' And so at times like this, all God's children from all religions should come together and strive for peace. May peace be upon our Muslim brothers who may have lost their lives in that Dome of the Rock today."
"But, Reverend," Miller persisted, "my question was, do you agree with Senator Lettow that we should withhold judgment?" On half of the split screen, Israeli helicopter cameras showed the Jerusalem fire department spraying water onto the Temple Mount.
"You know, Tom," Barbour spat, "Jesus saith, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' So it is not for me to judge this administration. God will judge this administration, Tom. God knows their motives. It does seem, however, that ever since 9/11, Republican presidents have sought excuses to retaliate against Islam. Has this happened today? I want to know."
"That's irresponsible, Reverend -- " Senator Lettow fumed.
"Hold on, Senator," Miller interrupted. "This question is for Reverend Barbour. Are you suggesting this attack was not accidental, that it was a deliberate, calculated, American response against Islam in retaliation for 9/11?"
"Tom. Tom!" Lettow broke in.
"Hold on, Senator," Miller said. "Let's let Reverend Barbour clarify."
"You know, Tom," Barbour spat again, "another great African American, Mr. Johnny Cochrane, once said, 'If the glove don't fit, you must acquit.' And right now, it looks to me like the glove fits."
"Tom," Lettow cut in, "I'd like to respond to that."
"Senator, I'll give you a chance to respond, but first we've got a live feed from our CNN cameras in Cairo with our Cairo correspondent, Anna Katrova. Are you there, Anna?"
The television switched to the image of a massive boulevard, teaming with thousands of angry Egyptians shouting in the streets, shaking their fists in the sky, burning effigies of President Williams, and burning the American flag.