'Star-fire'-A Bo Jon Little-horse p.i. novel

by Danny E. Allen

And great things create great-opportunities. The availing attrition of what is voice and vice. And this being an engaging of personal terms... An implicit-division oracle by the division of apparentness. It was no invention of abject-deficiency, un-enveloped by time and test. What a 'good' Information-Specialist was taught never to assume. He’d remembered that while interpreting data the whole thing could, be a waste; or one-small portion could be a great-find. So the magnum-of a 'morsel' could be the ‘gravity’-of implication...

  He was discharged as a prime-soldier to be held in high-accord... A Pentagon-operative. Bo kept up on all the military-jargon. And he knew he was given, serious 'reigns' so he knew if anything, he had to fulfill his-role as much as possible. He had three-things to account-for in the ominous-terms to his-actions. One-the observation by a critical eyed-worker could be the spotlight on the situation; two-an across seas incident could be sited overwhelmingly, that those factors was over-reliable; and three-though most societies and cultures ascended the protocol... Africa and Afghanistan were lastly, in an depicting-solitude. Of ancient cultures and devoid human-contact, if his scheme-'hunch' was right the interior of Iraq needed to be investigated. Before this, he explained that to reanalyze protocol, profile and enlistment to the 'variables' in the construction of the vessel.

  And he wanted an Information Specialist-report ASAP and then check by DHS the specific itinerary of Middle-eastern workers, exact Iraqi provision and adaptation to their-employment. There needed to be more at stake then work and partition. Most Iraqis had remained good country-men yet former-plot was not totally, un-advocate. He even ventured to extend reference to the Iraqi-authorities. He didn’t want to venture not far enough; and with platitude re-assess population, political or professional-realities. He’d be in Iraqi air-space within three-hours. He was going to be aware of the ‘vortex’ at what stood between the plot of yesterday to tomorrow...

  Evidence, was being transferred over plane-satellite dish. He sent it onto the Pentagon as established by military-protocol. The system was 250-terrabyte, real-time transfer, made in minutes. Then, he began to see a pattern. There was 3-men out of country for the Caliph, these were outlander decoys, just in case anything happened. And with the coming-‘dawn’ an old friend appeared at his home. ...He was once a Iraqi General who retire after the invasion, so with distain for America, he brought warning. A friend had just watch a special-envoy of an American, on the base. Jeuai’s heart beat, he realized he was now being sought... He immediately, sent-out an alert to all his operatives. He’d leave as they came in. That was his 'back-up plan'... In all his-thinking, he’d never thought about being caught. It was the Bin Laden syndrome, and it was the reality of once dead-comrades.

  He looked for all sorts of signs and as he did the studied, profile slowly, emerging. It was as he thought... They landed at 4:20 am, he was introduced and assimilated all he hope to try to do. Yet that was one more thing he wanted to do. Which he thought might assist in closing the case... ...Jeuai’s former-name was Simi Adonela, a Shiite, son of a truck-driver. He had four-brothers long since separated. His mother was an orthodox Muslim, daughter of a teacher. He was a ‘shy’ child, but very intelligent. He ruptured an ear-drum with a terrorist-attack during a party. He’d learnt to get along with all people because they said it was ‘right’. But what was right was not the 'imperial'... America who’d probably been the reason for the killings. He’d become a politic, with his people as leaders. But he grew less understanding, as more died and were brought to defy-logic.

  ...He wanted to realize that the strict code meant something. He’d spent passive-summer days reading the Quran and pondering life. All came to his desiring to plan what Alla, would not; as the true-Imam's of his youth. He dared not question Alla and his-role, it was the ways of Mohammad and the presence of a God Almighty. As many whose position turns to violence one realize a fate of repugnance... A renewed-trivecta of one's innocence deemed in hate and faultier, an enigma of fault and blame to search for ‘solace’ only sustained by anointing severance. So now, the intense voiding-choice of ultimate-aversion to be annotate by remuneration, recall and repercussion. He felt alone as 20-men guarded, one of a few. He rode a Range Rover into an Iraqi City to decide his next-move. Perhaps, he'd become a martyr by fate, it was no insult to die in Alla's name. He'd now set the wheels in-motion. He'd not set the wheels-in motion. He had to cover-up, and run. Though, once a great-proletarian, he left that behavior, and now he was divorced from it. An astute amulet of High-Might, who kept its followers. So he prayed for guidance, to pursue his next-vision toward the infidels.

  The grey-box sit upon the cross-bridge of the so important craft. It contained 8 ounce of plastic-explosives, a wire and an electrical phone-device that would detonate and had the potential to blow a rig to smithereens. The core would suddenly, deteriorate into small-pieces and all the frame would be atomized. The fuel, tandem circuitry and tensile-frame would be blasted in tiny increments. The ships crew, would at contact be killed instantly, the many secure air devices would become an intense ball-of-fire and incinerate all-pliable forms. In a few seconds the entire grand-scheme would virtual be dissipated into total-destruction.

  At the President’s office, a regular-relay was made to keep him in the know. The many phalanxes of agents accessing the leaders, factors and focal-point of the urgency. An implication to avert extenuative disaster. What was to be an immortal act, was to be defined by chance-disaster... Everyone knew what was to occur yet, now man’s utter instance was a carrying-out of God, to finalize it... Was it to be an avenging-Angel or a Covenant. It lay in the hand of a few men, and the disaster as well. Now, it was promissory and incentive-allegiance. Now, was an intense time for all concern in 360-hours, 16-minutes, and 15 seconds the great-advance was to take-off without a hitch. P.L. was told while the last of their suits were being check-out by civilian-technician. He had reveled in his new position but like all good soldier, one's service to the country was in every essence a 'duty' beyond life. And he, in second-contention was to fulfill its mission. He was the working-arm to complete his duty. He had to resign to letting those outside his command carry-on, as they were taught.

  Beneath it all, was the civil-solace the enigma of human-achievement and the great-essence that mankind was capable. An anthropological incessant that would require a love and hope, to be an embracer-all its kind... P.L. now was still, in deepest resolution; was still the invocation of all mankind... It was still a decent-man as he; that he'd, or they'd-loved, and a discourse in a rhythm of mortal-mankind. ...And Jeuai the Caliph, was such a man. He couldn't decide to carry-forth the attack, he realized he could not divorce from himself the 'ploy', or Pliny of a now, diabolic-vision. He knew, like so many of his-comrades; he would face 'death', he wondered; but knew they'd evinced in deeper-deeding despondence. The many illuminaries, he'd both seen and experienced, had fallen-out with God; but in a certain-sense of enamored depiction and despicable he did so. That a deep-residing that man once thought it was 'stolen;, but now like a genuine, corporeal he ceased devoid in what was a 'hard-life' and mitigation...

  Both of their pride was hurt... Yet the precept's that all man-kind was worth of both men. What for both, were the self-resolve to accept and carry-on. And so other men were to carry-on in what was the greater-incentive to proceed and advocate in the plural and priority to cede on an advance of terms. Jeuai conveyed to his men to wait till he could leave for Dubai to be with his youngest son. He'd been living alone for sometime he'd withdrawn from the world. Now his-compatriots wanted him to defile the infidel. To emerge as a 'hero' to the simple people of his-land. But perhaps, in all his motions, those he understood were-in peremptory effectively, self-daunting. That his and theirs revenge was a hapless de-rigor, and even now they were the ears of plausible men. He admired them, and felt he was still of them. Yet he realized a 'leopard' could not change its 'spots'. He w
as super-imposing his view of others on them. That they would stay simple and proud men which was to be admired. But the destruction of others a world away was just as throwing-shoes at an idol.

  He would judge, his people, enemies and destroy those who'd once violate the hinder-land. But only after he was out of harms way. A good-Bedouin fighter should flee to fight-another day and emerge defiant. But he'd wait till the last possible minute and which came those who could be ornate in another man's world... It would take five-hours to get to Dubai. He'd get a hotel room in one of the best parts of town and leisurely, exact the great-damage too the fallacy of venturous-men. He knew, he might get caught and killed he thought: 'Alla be praised.' He'd understood battle, saga-cy and ex-spirit, of choices by sacrifice and doing; how the many terms-of war for Islam, went. Of the juxtaposition, oft-terrible, cause to act. Severance of the infidel was not allowed, he wanted to emerge triumphant in the eyes of Alla and