“But they want nuclear weapons! They’re less than a year away from becoming the most dangerous threat in the Middle East!”
“Too goddamn bad! They’re going to figure a way to get them regardless. At least this way, I will have a treaty with support from the rest of the world. If OASIS attacked their neighbors with a nuclear bomb, we would retaliate by blowing them off the face of the earth. And we would do it with the blessing of nearly every other country.”
“All of them except the one that OASIS would have destroyed with that first nuke. They would all be dead.”
“Collateral damage, darling. World peace would grow from the ashes.”
For once in her life, Katherine Karlson was speechless. It was over. There was no conceivable way to shift the blame for this one. She had been exposed, and she felt naked, humiliated, defeated. This was the end of her campaign and likely the end of her senate seat. There would be hearings, demand for her resignation, and then censure. The world would rip her apart for months to come. Finding sanctuary, a place to simply exist hidden from the public eye would be next to impossible. The life she once knew was over and would never return. A tear formed in her eye as she looked to her husband again with a look of innocent bewilderment. She had probably lost him, too. It couldn’t get any worse.
The auditorium of now indignant supporters glared coldly at the stage. Their former candidate now stood exposed in the full light of day for the first time. Nothing more than a flawed charlatan looking down from her high pedestal. More and more eyes turned away from the side monitors and focused center stage at the face of a living lie. The boos began, first one, then several in unison. Within moments the entire room was reverberating with that low, disparaging rumble.
Karlson scooped up her notes and began the shameful short walk off stage and out of this terrible place. “Just get to the car,” she told herself. “Just get to the car, and…no, not now. Please, not now!”
Two figures stood together in the shadows of the side curtains blocking her way. Their faces were illuminated in short bursts by the pulsating stage lights and camera strobes. Even from here, she could see the anger, the hurt, the disappointment.
Karlson stopped dead in her tracks, nearly tripping over her own feet. She could not move around them. This was a battleground that she was being forced to confront with no hope of victory. She stared back like a defeated general, wishing only for a hasty retreat. She struggled for words, but none came. She could not confront them now, maybe not ever, but no choice was being offered. She felt herself further deflating, stripped bare before the eyes of these two that were no longer fooled by the false image she created of herself. She had no viable excuse, no explanations for why she drifted so far from moral ground.
A strange thought crept through her mind. Her entire political career could be likened to an incredible carnival ride. It had brought years of heart-pounding swoops and exhilarating ascents. She’d been tossed and lofted skyward by that magnificent machine that propelled her tantalizingly closer to the goal of absolute power.
The ride was over now, and she could see it for what it was; an ancient contrivance, rusted and caked with congealed grease. A rickety old contraption that so many others still stood in line to ride. She imagined the behind-the-scenes manipulators of the political system as throngs of shadowy repairmen rushing about below to ensure its continued function or attempt to alter its purpose. It had all been the grandest of illusions.
Karlson felt small, defenseless, human. No longer protected by the belief that rules of mortals do not apply to gods and emperors. She stood unveiled for the first time in years. The last remaining bricks of her impenetrable fortress fell away, exposing the words and deeds of a defeated woman.
It was all too much. Far more than she could ever attempt to explain, to atone for, to live with. She looked up into the eyes of her husband and daughter as they stood together in the glittering light. There were far too many conversations she needed to have with herself before confronting them. She was suddenly aware that she had turned and started walking toward the opposite side of the stage. She glanced over her shoulder at the expressions of surprise and resentment while revealing no reaction of her own. She reached the back exit door and stood motionless, fingers wrapped around the door handlebar. She had no clue of what lay beyond, no idea where to go or what to do. All she knew was she could not remain here. She managed to stifle the taunts and boos in her mind. But now, the sounds returned as a single monolithic voice, repeating a chant over and over: LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!
It grew louder and more articulated, like a torturous one-worded song being sung by a demonic choir. She listened a moment longer until it propelled her into motion. Katherine Karlson closed her eyes, pushed the handle, and stepped out into the mottled sunset.
Epilogue
November 5
The melodic morning call to prayer echoed off the walls of the ancient city. Sirhan Abbas set his espresso down and turned to face the glowing new dawn. He silently sang along with the lyrics, feeling every note flowing within him. “Hasten to real success. Hasten to real success.” As always, it was the line of the call that stayed with him throughout the day.
He listened until it finished, then powered up his laptop and opened a news site. There was much to be done this morning, but he never began his workday without reviewing world events.
The United States celebrated the re-election of its incumbent president. Davis Tenor rode to an unexpected landslide victory following a shocking scandal that shook the pillars of American democracy. His rival, Katherine Karlson, had leaked confidential military documents to a reporter from Al Jazeera. Once the shocking revelation was made public, her campaign was destroyed.
The document in question detailed a covert mission utilizing a former Guantanamo detainee to locate and eliminate Abbas himself. That mission was scuttled in the process, but would likely have succeeded if not for the concerted efforts of Ms. Karlson and Miss Gohar. And although thankful for its failure, he was nonetheless troubled by the misguided ambitions of the two power-hungry women.
Abbas silently cursed the naive reporter. Deeba Gohar had predictably taken the bait and been played like a pawn, broadcasting the contents of the document. She should have known that even the most ignorant of fools would never allow military secrets to fall into enemy hands so easily. Unless, of course, it fulfilled an agenda. Common sense should have made her suspect something was amiss. Abbas contemplated a few strategically placed knife cuts across Gohar’s pretty face to ensure she would never again be so foolish. The cost of her folly was unacceptably high. He lost one of his most valued lieutenants, Abu Dahl, in the process. True enough, exposing the plan undoubtedly saved his life, but it was their underlying motivation that bothered him. They shared a lust for personal gain, power, and self-adulation. It was always the same with such narrow-minded, self-centered people. None of their actions were done in the name of the greater good.
Karlson, he could understand. She was American, after all, behaving as he would expect any other from that decadent country. Deeba Gohar, on the other hand, knew better. Despite being a Middle Eastern woman raised with proper traditional values, she rejected them in favor of the filthy western ways. Perhaps butchering her pretty face was a bit extreme, but she must be reminded who she served. He made a mental note to send a subtle warning.
His mind returned to Katherine Karlson and the military mission she helped to thwart. He would have been in her debt until she’d opened her big mouth and revealed her true intentions. A secretly recorded conversation between herself and her daughter was broadcast to a roomful of admiring supporters. So disturbing were her comments that they derailed her presidential campaign. She spoke of the battle that raged in the Middle East as though it were a trivial annoyance. Of blowing nations off the face of the earth if their interests belied her own.
His hands clenched into tight fists. Few could evoke his anger, and he chided himself for the momentary loss of control
. Karlson was an extremely dangerous woman and would have been a formidable opponent. Now that she had been scorned and pushed from the spotlight, she would be a much simpler problem to eliminate.
Abbas opened a secure portal on his laptop and typed an encoded message; ‘Crico, please report.’ He waited a short moment before receiving a reply.
‘Preparing for the Rapture, my general.’
Sirhan Abbas smiled. The use of the Christian term, ‘the rapture,’ still amused him. So many people in this world were so easily led. The Parousia, or second coming, was imminent. However, these sheep being led to the slaughter would never suspect that the gates of heaven they dreamt of were actually the portal to the kingdom of Allah. And they would be denied entry.
He typed another question.’ What is the status on the Sword of Salazan?’
‘Proceeding exactly as planned. Manufacturers awaiting to fulfill our requests. Original timeline still within range.’
‘What of the secondary activities?’
‘Awaiting your orders, my general.’
Multiple attacks on multiple fronts always had the effect of confounding an opponent. He would use that logic and strike at many targets at once, sending the message that more of the same would follow. The enemy would drop their flanks in preparation for the next wave. That is when he would swing the mighty blade of the most formidable weapon the earth had ever seen. The blood would flow like rivers. Mankind would tremble and drop to its knees—world domination in three easy steps.
‘Give the signal,’ he typed.
He remembered Katherine Karlson and decided her story needed a fitting end. His fingers danced spritely on the keyboard once again. ‘I have one more small detail that requires your attention. . .’
Acknowledgments
Penning the words to a novel is only the first step of a long journey. The input and support received along the way helps shape and redirect the story, and the end product would not be nearly as complete or polished without it. I thank everyone who was part of the reviewing process.
My wife, Johanne, is a constant sounding board, reading draft after draft. Forgive me for bombarding you with ideas before you’ve had your morning coffee.
The Grand Blanc writers group offered insightful and invaluable feedback all along the way.
My first readers, Margie, Tim, Cindy, Doug, Mark, and Scott, thank you for investing the time to ensure the final product was as glitch free as possible.
And thanks to all of you readers who were willing to sample the wares of an otherwise unknown author. You are why this process is so fulfilling. If I’ve managed to entertain you for a few hours then it was all worthwhile. Please feel free to use the provided links to contact me and share your thoughts. Until next time, I wish you all the best. . .
Richard
About the Author
RICHARD DRUMMER is an emerging author of action and suspense thrillers. He grew up in Rochester, Michigan and now resides in Bonita Springs, Florida with his wife and first reader, Johanne, as well as his assistant, Caticus Maximus.
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES is Richard’s second book to be published, and he is currently working on the next:
THE SECOND LIFE OF ARTHUR BLADE.
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