by Ken Hansen
Beyond my fortress on my left you see
What shall befall the many unlike he,
A priest who never lived before just me.
Sonatina had pointed out that priests and cardinals are “Fathers.” She had been right so many times that he could not avoid trying the suggestion. So if he said, “A father who never lived before just me,” what would that mean? A father to whom? Not to Jefferson, because his father could not have first lived after the son. What did it really mean that the father “never lived before just me?” It was an odd construction obviously employed to shroud its real meaning.
So what else did these words mean? How about the word “lived?” When you live, you exist as a being, but that is just the typical meaning. When you live, you choose to act in a certain way regarding your life. You can live off of some type of food or subsistence, so it is like surviving. Nah. What else?
There was the Christian view of life after death. According to John, what did Jesus say? Something like, “whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Could that be it? It would make sense if the words in the poem were reordered, because then someone could live both before and after another person forever. Is that what the writer meant? But where does that point? Such a construction could refer to almost any Christian.
What else could the word “lived” mean? Where do you live? In a home. That is a location. Hmm, that has possibilities. A father who never lived in a home before just me. What home is before just Jefferson? That’s it: “before” indicates not time but place—“in front of.” So what home lies just before Jefferson’s statue? Crap, it’s the White House. OK, it is a mile away, so what? Jefferson looks right at it, almost longingly.
Well, then who never lived in the White House? Many people, but only one U.S. President—George Washington. He resided in an executive residence in Philadelphia before the first White House was finished. And many consider him the father of our country. It all fits: Death shall befall the many in Washington, because this father of our country never lived in the city named after him, unlike its many current inhabitants. That confirms it: Pardus wanted him to think the danger lied in Washington, just as Anwari had predicted.
He needed more, though. The President would not order the UNGARD moved without additional proof, and that would leave New York City open for Pardus’s real attack. He glanced over at Anwari, who seemed to be contemplating the upcoming call. There was one thing Huxley still didn’t get. “Hey, Abdul.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you try to kill me?” Huxley asked.
“Kill you? I never—oh, you mean the bomb in Florence.”
“Yeah that little bomb in Florence. I was in the hospital for a couple weeks, remember?”
Anwari shook his head and laughed. “I screwed up.”
“You wanted me dead?” Huxley asked.
“No, you were not supposed to get hurt—not badly anyway. I actually reduced the C4 from the recommended quantity. I think the wall was older and weaker than I had estimated.”
“Why would you bomb me if you didn’t want to kill me?”
Anwari tilted his head. “Why did you think?”
Huxley looked at Anwari. “I figured I was getting too close and Pardus wanted me dead.”
“Then the C4 served its purpose.”
“Pardus enjoys the art of deception.”
Anwari nodded. “Yes, he is the Deceiver. ‘The Deceiver tricked you about God.’”
“The Deceiver?” Huxley asked.
“Words from the Qur’an. Let me see if I can recall—”
“You’ve memorized the Qur’an?”
“Only parts. There are many who have memorized every word. I am worthless.” Anwari closed his eyes, breathed heavily and translated from his memory:
On the same Day, the hypocrites, both men and women, will say to the believers, ‘Wait for us! Let us have some of your light!’ They will be told, ‘Go back and look for a light.’ A wall with a door will be erected between them: inside it lies mercy, outside lies torment. The hypocrites will call out to the believers, ‘Were we not with you?’ They will reply, ‘Yes. But you allowed yourselves to be tempted, you were hesitant, doubtful, deceived by false hopes until God’s command came—the Deceiver tricked you about God. Today no ransom will be accepted from you or from the disbelievers: your home is the Fire—that is where you belong…’
Huxley swallowed hard. The Fire. “Yes, I have been deceived.”
Anwari turned his head toward Huxley, bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “No, it is I who have been deceived. Now I must find my way back to the light before it is too late.”
Huxley recalled the counsel from his own mother. “Jesus said, ‘See that no one deceives you.’” When Anwari’s eyes narrowed, Huxley smiled and added, “It is not the end, my friend. You and I can stop this Deceiver, this beast, and undo his deceptions before it is too late.”
“I thank you for that,” said Anwari. “I pray to Allah that you are right and that we may both return to the light.”
Huxley tilted his head toward Anwari for a few seconds but said nothing, then returned his view to the dusty road ahead.
They were in Anwari’s apartment, surrounded by a mess of extra electronic equipment. Anwari held his phone with the scrambler chip. A wire ran from the phone to a black box that would digitally record the conversation and simultaneously search for the location of the call. Another wire led from the black box to a set of headphones over Huxley’s ears.
Anwari shook his head. “The locator is useless. Pardus has technical resources and likes to use them.”
“We have to try,” responded Huxley. “You ready?”
Anwari nodded slowly, and Huxley returned the gesture. Anwari hit the button to place a call to Pardus. A strange metallic sounding voice answered, “Yes?”
“Who is this?” asked Anwari.
“Be not alarmed, Abdul. It is I, your imam, the Leopard.”
“Your voice is different.”
“Yes. I am continuing to improve my security and am trying out this new voice scrambler. I am using it on all of my calls now.”
“Were you trying to reach me earlier?” asked Anwari.
“Yes. Why did you fail to answer?” Pardus demanded.
Huxley gave Anwari a smirk. Because the guy had been rotting in a CIA detention cell, of course. But they had anticipated this query.
Slowly and lowly, Anwari said, “I am sorry, Imam, it is unforgivable, I know, but I dropped my phone into the toilet and destroyed its electronics. Fortunately, I did not have the security chip in it at the time. I was unable to procure a new phone until today since the shops remained closed for the holidays. But now we are ‘back in business’ as the Americans like to say.”
“I see,” replied Pardus. After a slight pause, he added, “Do not be ashamed, for I have suffered that misfortune myself. But remember, we are nearing the end of this play, and we must not make any mistakes—not even little ones. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Imam.”
“Good. I think it is time for you to come to DC. Huxley is not here, but I think he may need a few more breadcrumbs to find his way home. I think he will return soon. Be here in the next few days and I’ll contact you with more.”
“But how can I help him? You haven’t told me the answer to the latest clue.”
“Ah, but I have.”
“You have?” Anwari asked.
“I told you he must focus on the District.”
“So the clue tells him that?”
“And more. I’ll give you more details after you arrive.”
Anwari looked at Huxley and back at the equipment. “What is the real target?”
“You need not concern yourself with that, my friend.”
“I would not care, but I would rather not be too close if the thing goes off.”
“Well then, just be sure to avoid taking a tourist trip a few
hours north, and you should be fine. Hopefully, we’ll have you out of the country before anything happens anyway.”
“Thank you, Imam.”
“Thank you, Abdul. Allahu Akbar.”
“Allahu Akbar.”
After the phone disconnected, Huxley smiled at Anwari. “You have done well.”
“Should I have pressed him on the location?”
“If you pushed any harder, he might have suspected something and then changed his plans. No, that confirmed things nicely. Thank you.”
“Did you get any location info on his phone?”
“Nothing that this little machine can determine—too many reroutes and sidetracks. He must use multiple telephonic control devices interlinked to avoid location analysis. But it captured all of the data. I’ll ship it to the shop and see if our analysts can make anything of it.”
Huxley stared at the equipment, the hair bristling on the back of his neck. A synthesized voice. Why pick this call to begin using a new security device with Anwari? Just a coincidence? Or did Pardus suspect Huxley had turned Anwari? If Pardus were really either Mayer or Najwa, Huxley would have been able to recognize the voice, but not now. Then again, maybe there was another way. “Tell me, what is Pardus’s voice normally like?”
“Deep. Rich. Very authoritative. Arabic accent.”
“Similar to anyone you know?” asked Huxley.
Anwari shook his head. “Not really. Only voice I recall that deep was Half -Moon Mole, but he had no Arabic accent. More of an American drawl.”
Huxley’s eyes narrowed. “Half-Moon Mole?”
“Yeah, the OGA operator who killed my brother in Jalalabad. Never knew his name.”
Huxley’s mouth opened but he said nothing. Mayer. He has a deep voice. And that mole on his face—hell if it wasn’t shaped like a half moon. “Why you call him ‘Half-Moon Mole?’”
“Asshole wouldn’t tell me his name. I guess that’s standard OGA crap. Anyway, he had this mole on his cheek in the shape of a half moon.”
Huxley stared intently at Anwari. “Half Moon. Ever hear any of his real name?”
“No.”
“What’s he look like, other than the mole?” Huxley asked.
“Big dude. Rippling arm muscles. Likes to roll up his sleeves and show them off just for intimidation.”
“That’s him,” Huxley said, without thinking.
“Who?”
“Sorry, can’t say.”
Anwari shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, though. I think I would know if he were Pardus. Not the same cadence or inflection. Definitely the same pitch, though. I don’t know. I suppose if he were careful and tried to change his inflection with his accent, but…no, I just don’t know. Anyway, it’s been awhile since I’ve heard Half-Moon Mole speak and then it was only a few times. I could be remembering it wrong. He capable of that?”
Huxley sat back in his chair, hands below his chin. Mayer. A long shot, but it could explain a few things. Huxley grabbed Anwari’s phone and disconnected the wire. He plugged in his own phone and handed Anwari the headphones. “I’m going to make another call. You listen and tell me if the voice sounds familiar.” He hit the entry for Mayer. Nobody answered until the voice mail picked up. That would have his voice. Nope. Mayer used an automatic machine greeting that repeated the telephone number. Standard CIA protocol. Huxley looked at his phone to see if he had any old messages from Mayer. “Damn. Never mind. We’ll have to try it later.”
Huxley studied Abdul for a few seconds. There was one other possibility. “Hey, Abdul,” he said, “how can I be sure you aren’t still working with Pardus and setting me up here?”
Anwari looked him in the eye for a few moments, shrugged and replied, “I have trusted you. Now you must trust me.”
Huxley pulled his lips in. Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.
Chapter 85
When Tomadus had planned a short procession into Jerusalem to excite the crowd before Isa’s sermon, he had never imagined the march would grow like this. Thousands from Jerusalem and small cities around Palestine greeted Isa and the Ten before they arrived in the city. The buzz about Adin’s miraculous revival had changed everything. That excitement played out in front of the visi-scan cameras all along the parade route as the visi-scan news brought the spectacle live to the world. The impact of the broadcast would be greater than Tomadus had ever dreamed.
As the procession reached the old city gates, the crowd began chanting, “Isa, Isa, Isa,” “Savior, Savior, Savior,” and “Mahdi, Mahdi, Mahdi!” Isa stopped for a moment, looked around at the crowd with his arms wide open and his palms toward the sky as if to welcome them all. The crowd responded with even louder cheers.
The procession made its way to Muhammad Square, where thousands already had taken the best viewing positions. Isa approached the makeshift stage followed by the Ten, Maryam, Jochi, Tomadus and Peregrine. The Dome of the Rock towered above and behind. Isa stood silently near the microphone for a few minutes, waiting for latecomers from the parade to make their way into the crowded square.
Tomadus stared in awe at the size and intensity of the crowd, which now began chanting Isa’s name again. Would a similar reaction follow around the globe? Tomadus beamed with pride, and the creature stirred within, but he misinterpreted it. What must he be forgetting? Would Isa be careful? He took a few steps over to Isa and whispered, “Remember to stay away from criticizing the emperors or the religious establishment. You need to show them your beliefs are real but not threatening to them.” Just smiling back, Isa acknowledged nothing.
After the crowd settled down, Isa delivered a short sermon. His message differed little from the many lessons he had taught over the past year, but then again, most of the world had never heard him speak. He spoke of forgiveness and welcomed all into the Father’s forgiving arms: “If you forgive others their transgressions, your Heavenly Father will forgive you,” he said. “But if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive you. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Only those who are merciful will be shown mercy by the most Merciful.” He spoke of love and hate, chastising those who choose to hate “others,” decrying it a pathetic and sad substitute for greater understanding and compassion. “You must love even your enemies,” he reiterated. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Good and evil cannot be equal. Repel evil with what is better and your enemy will become as close as an old and valued friend.” When he had finished these remarks, he raised his hands and said, “Now, please, what is in your hearts?”
The visi-scan broadcasters had hired microphone runners throughout the crowd for this very purpose. Not more than twenty feet from the stage, a bearded man with a white turban approached the microphone. “Teacher, you instruct us about what God wants for us, but how are we to accomplish it? You have said nothing about our wonderful emperors and the generous First Consul. What should they do to ensure that we all do what you tell us God commands?”
Tomadus held his breath. Watch out. He’s baiting you to proclaim the government must abide by your words. Such a claim would be very dangerous indeed.
Isa took a different tack. All he said was, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” the man replied. “How can you say this? If God commands it, should not our leaders enforce his commands upon our people?”
“Before I answer your question, let me ask you this: do you believe God is all powerful?”
“Of course he is,” said the man. “The Great Book says that it ‘is to Allah that you will all return, and He has power over everything.’”
“Good. But if God is all powerful, as we both agree, then why would He need emperors to exert His will upon His people?”
The man’s voice faltered a bit as he said, “I don’t know.”
“Then neither do I,” said Isa. “Our Father has given us all a great gift—free will. Do you think He gave us that free will just to take it away? Do you think He would like to or need to use the powe
r and instruments of the state to enforce His will upon ours? Why would He do that?”
“Because He wants people to act justly.”
Isa nodded. “He does, but you miss His intentions completely. He loves us and wants each of us to choose for himself or herself to find the path of righteousness. But if the state compels you through force of arms to believe in God or perform one of God’s commandments, have you chosen to do so?”
“No, but at least I will have done so.”
“True, but the Father cares about what is written in your heart as well. If you are forced to do something, does it come from your heart?”
“No.”
“Then neither should the power of the state be used to enforce His will upon our own.”
“But shouldn’t we punish the wrongdoers?” the man said.
“I am quite certain the Father can take care of that Himself on the judgment day.”
“But we cannot allow killers or robbers to go free, can we?”
Isa shook his head. “Of course not, for society must keep the peace, but you would have emperors govern by imposing their interpretation of God’s will upon their people and even possibly upon the people of other nations who do not even share your beliefs. Emperors are not the agents or enforcers of God on Earth.”
Tomadus winced. The Emperors themselves claim to be appointed by Allah.
Isa gestured to the crowd with his palms forward at his sides. “So why should the Emperors act as God’s enforcers with the force of the state machinery behind them?”
Tomadus began sweating profusely. Is Isa crazy? Does he want the Three Emperors to silence him? These were officially Muslim empires—everyone knew that. The empires permitted a few other religions like Judaism to continue to practice their beliefs, but only in limited regions and in a very limited way. Isa must see that! Why does he challenge them so? Tomadus began walking over to Isa to bring him back from the political abyss, but Isa glanced in his direction, and Tomadus knew at once he would fail.