by Steve Gannon
“Sound familiar?” asked Jacob. “Of course it does. And we’re not alone. Nearly every nation on earth is suffering an Islamic infiltration. Worse, the Muslim Brotherhood openly states that their goal is to dissolve each nation’s sovereignty, replacing it with shariah law. To that end, an Islamic consolidation of power follows next, with Muslim immigrants and converts demanding special treatment in regard to social services, education, employment, and even how they’re treated in the courts,” Jacob continued. “During this phase there is a marked increase in jihadist cells, along with Muslim propaganda and a demand for the adoption of shariah law. The nations of France, where Muslim youths regularly set the countryside ablaze, and the Netherlands, where a filmmaker was murdered for insulting Islam, are currently in this second consolidation stage. And we are not far behind.
“During the third phase, we see open violence used to impose shariah law. Much of the Middle East is in this chaotic stage. Opposition is silenced by intimidation, barbarity, and executions, with the ethnic cleansing of even moderate Muslims who don’t support radical Islam. There is a widespread destruction of synagogues, churches, and other non-Muslim buildings, along with bombings, assassinations, and mass executions of non-Muslims. Consider recent events in London, France, Spain, Belgium, and the Netherlands, not to mention the attacks on our own Pentagon and the twin towers of New York’s World Trade Center.”
By now the congregation had fallen silent, every eye focused on Jacob. “The last stage of a Muslim takeover is the most chilling,” he concluded. “It ends with the establishment of a totalitarian Islamic theocracy, a government in which Islam becomes an all-encompassing religious, judicial, political, and cultural ideology. Shariah becomes the ‘law of the land,’ with all non-Islamic rights cancelled. Under shariah law, barbaric practices like female genital mutilation, amputation, stoning, execution of apostates and homosexuals, and military rape become commonplace. All other religions are outlawed, free speech and freedom of the press are rescinded, and non-Muslim populations are either enslaved or eliminated.”
Jacob raised his arms, his voice ringing with conviction. “This is happening right now in the Middle East, with states disintegrating and Islamists rushing in to fill the void. I believe that Iran, which is well on its way to possessing a nuclear weapon, is close to joining other nations already enslaved by militant Islam. When it does, it will become the newest member of the House of Islam, Dar al-Islam, whose citizens live under the yoke of shariah law.”
Jacob glanced at Caleb, who was sitting beside Zoe in the front row. “I believe that Armageddon is militant Islam’s endgame, with a worldwide caliphate rising from the ashes of nuclear holocaust,” he declared, bringing the sermon to a close. “The scale of this problem is global, but first we must confront it here at home. When our government fails us, as it is now doing, we have an obligation to take up the fight ourselves. Radical Islam is a cancer, and it is spreading. Before it is too late, we must remove this cancer from our midst. It will be too late when we have jihadi attacks in the hearts of our cities. It will be too late when we have suicide bombers targeting our citizens. It will be too late when we have militants with automatic weapons slaughtering our children. We must act now, and we must act decisively. Never forget, we have a God-given right to do whatever is necessary to preserve our Christian way of life.”
“Amen, Brother Jacob,” another follower shouted, his call quickly taken up by others.
“When someone tells us that we can either convert to Islam or they will cut off our heads, we should take them at their word,” Jacob concluded, holding Caleb in his gaze. “Some of you have already dedicated yourselves to this fight. I commend you, for you are doing God’s work.”
With a nod toward his brother, Jacob lifted his gaze and readdressed the congregation, his eyes burning with passion. “God has spoken to me. He has made this my cause. He has made this our cause. In the future, some of you may be asked to join in this battle. I am confident that with God’s help, you will be prepared to accept His call.”
Then, bowing his head, “Let us pray . . .”
Chapter 13
What’s for dinner?” I called into the house, somehow having managed to miss most of the evening traffic on my drive home from West L.A. Leaning down, I rubbed Callie’s head, smiling at the customarily enthusiastic welcome being extended to me by the four-legged member of our family.
“Hello to you, too, Dan,” Dorothy answered from the kitchen. “And yes, my day went well. Thank you for asking.”
“Hey, Pop,” Allison responded from the kitchen as well. “My day was great, too. And to answer your question, we’re having Grandma’s split pea soup. Trav and McKenzie are joining us.”
“Hi, Dad,” said Travis as I made my way into the kitchen, followed by Callie. “Good to see you again, Mr. Kane,” added McKenzie, who was standing at the counter helping Allison assemble a salad.
Following Catheryn’s death, all of us in the Kane family had been struggling to maintain a false sense of cheer, a strained equilibrium that had replaced our household’s typical give-and-take, rough-and-tumble exchanges. Thanksgiving, weeks after the funeral, had been a dismal affair, and Christmas had proved even worse. Allison’s recent wedding had provided a welcome respite, with everyone briefly caught up in the joy of the moment. With the letdown following Ali’s celebration, however, I sensed that polite conversation and cautious smiles were again the order of the day.
“Hey, kids,” I said, forcing a smile. Then, crossing to the stove where Dorothy was stirring a large pot of soup, “Smells great. When do we eat?”
“As soon as Ali finishes making the salad,” Dorothy answered. “If you want to speed things along, you can help Travis set the table.”
“I’ll help Trav,” McKenzie offered. “Are we eating outside or up here?”
“Up here,” said Dorothy. “Too cold outside. Besides, it’ll be dark before long.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said McKenzie. “Up here it is.”
Disappointed not to be eating at the picnic table outside, I walked to the window and gazed down at the beach. The tide was receding, and a littering of driftwood and kelp had marked the water’s retreat, piled in random piles and clumps to the water’s edge. To the west, past a small raft I had anchored offshore some years back, the sun was descending into a low-lying bank of fog. Creeping shoreward, the gray mist was slowly making its way onto the sand, tendrils of gray just beginning to envelop our lower deck. Illuminated in our deck lights, I could still see remnants of Ali’s reception, the lanterns, ribbons, and decorations of the previous evening now seeming misplaced, a universe away from the harsh reality I had encountered that afternoon.
“Trav, are you and McKenzie still flying back to New York tomorrow morning?” I asked, attempting to turn my mind from darker thoughts.
“Yep. Seven a.m.,” answered Travis.
“Need a ride? I can drop you off.”
Travis shook his head. “We have to return our rental car at LAX anyway, so we’re good. But thanks for the offer,” he added with a smile.
“Looking forward to getting back to school?”
Travis’s smile faltered. “I guess so.”
“You don’t sound too certain.”
“He isn’t,” McKenzie broke in. “Trav is considering accepting some of the concert performances he’s been offered. It’s a great opportunity, but he has to give them an answer soon.”
I thought a moment. “And that would mean dropping out of Juilliard?”
Travis nodded. “Probably. As soon as we get back, I’m meeting with my program advisor. Maybe we can make some adjustments to my course schedule. If that’s not possible, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”
“Big decisions, eh? Well, I’m behind you one hundred percent, Trav. Whatever you decide.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“We’re thinking of getting a place together when we get back,” McKenzie broke in again, watching me closely.
/> “Dorothy told me,” I said. “That’s great, Mac, although I’m not certain Kate would have approved. God knows, she had a fit when Ali moved in with Mike before they were married. But as we know, that situation turned out fine,” I added. “Proving Kate wasn’t right all the time.”
“New York apartments are a lot more affordable for two people than one,” McKenzie pointed out, moving to a cabinet and withdrawing a stack of plates. “Plus I’m working now, so I can help with expenses.”
“McKenzie has been hired as an agent at one of New York’s top literary agencies,” said Allison.
“I’m still learning the ropes,” Mac explained, beginning to set the table. “But I’ve already landed a big client,” she added, glancing at Allison. “I wish Ali would let me represent her new book, assuming she ever finishes it.”
“You working on something new, Ali?” I asked. My daughter had published a novel several years back—a fictionalized account of our family and the events preceding her brother Tom’s death. In it, I had been depicted as a less-than-sympathetic character, which, to be fair, I deserved. “I’m not in your new one, am I?” I asked suspiciously.
Allison placed the salad she had been making on the kitchen table. “Uh, maybe a little. It’s about the Sharon French case,” she explained, referring to the murder of a Hollywood starlet that I had investigated. Allison had been an intern at Channel 2 News at the time, and her position at the TV station had led to considerable strife in the Kane household, not to mention almost getting me fired. “You were the lead investigator, so you have to be in it,” she added.
“But it’s also about the influential role that the news media play in today’s world,” McKenzie jumped in. “It’s an inside account of how TV reporting really works, and it’s not pretty. It could blow the top off the news business.”
“It could also blow any chance I have of moving up at CBS,” Allison noted.
“It doesn’t have to,” said McKenzie. “All you would need to do is—”
“Let’s talk about this later, Mac.”
“Sure, Ali. I just think—”
“Later, Mac.”
“Fine,” McKenzie sighed. “As long as you promise to consider it.” Then, turning to Dorothy, “Are you planning to return to Santa Barbara soon, Mrs. Erickson?”
Dorothy looked up from the stove. “Mac, please call me Dorothy,” she said. “And yes, I thought I’d head home soon. But I’d like to stay a few more days, if it’s okay with Dan,” she added, glancing at me. “It’s not often that I get to spend time with my grandchildren.”
“Of course. Please stay as long as you want,” I said. “Actually, I started back to work today,” I added. “I’m probably going to be gone a lot over the next few weeks, and I was hoping you could stick around and help with Nate.”
“I’d be happy to. Speaking of Nate, dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you go find your wayward son and tell him it’s time to eat?”
“You started back to work?” Allison broke in. “I knew it! Are you going to be working on the Bel Air Beheadings?”
Irritated that the news media had already crafted a catchphrase for the investigation, I called to Nate’s bedroom, ignoring Allison’s question. “Hey, Nate! Chow time!”
When Nate didn’t answer, I started toward his room, with Allison following close behind. “Are you really going to be working the Bel Air case?” she persisted.
Again ignoring Ali’s question, I knocked on Nate’s door. When no one responded, I peered inside. Normally Nate kept his room neat and clean—clothes hung, toys put away, books and schoolwork organized on his desk, bed made. Now his room looked like it had been turned upside down and shaken.
“Wow, what a mess,” observed Allison, peering over my shoulder. “And I thought Nate was bordering on OCD. Looks like he finally got over his compulsive neatness.”
“That’s an understatement,” I agreed, puzzled. “Where is he?”
“I saw him heading out to the beach earlier. He’s not back yet, so let’s talk about the Bel Air story until he returns.”
“The Bel Air story?” I said, deciding I couldn’t dodge her questions any longer. “So now you’re calling murder a story? I take it that instead of going on your honeymoon, you’ll be reporting on this . . . story?”
Allison nodded.
“And Mike is okay with that?”
“Mike realizes that this is a big opportunity for me. He’s okay with postponing the honeymoon.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
“Mike is fine with it,” Allison insisted, folding her arms across her chest. “Besides, because of the honeymoon, he was going to be late for the film he’s shooting. Now he’s on location, right on time.”
“So this so-called story is that important to you?”
“It is, Dad. Lauren put me on it full-time. She said Channel 2 will be handling the story locally, with no Network honchos coming out to take over. Not yet, anyway.”
“Honchos like your pal Brent Preston?”
“Among others. And he’s not my pal. Anyway, the story is already going through the roof. I need to talk with you about it.”
“Ali, I told you earlier—”
“Before you say anything, just hear me out,” Allison pleaded. “Like I said, this is huge. Lauren hinted that if I handle things right, which includes maybe getting your cooperation a little, there might be a network spot opening up for me in New York. I know we’ve had problems in the past with your being a police detective and my being a news reporter, and—”
“Problems? That’s putting it mildly.”
“—and I regret some of the things I did,” Allison continued, ignoring my interruption. “It won’t happen again, I promise. Anything you might be able to pass on to me, without an ethical conflict, of course, will be held in strictest confidence. Nothing will come out until I have your permission to use it. And I won’t pry.”
“Ali, even if I wanted to help, which I don’t, I’m only going to be acting as a Bureau liaison. I won’t be involved in the actual investigation, so you’ll have to get your information like everyone else. Snead will communicate with the press for the LAPD, and I’m sure the Bureau will have its own spokesperson as well.”
“But you’ll be on the inside, Dad. That counts for a lot. I’m just asking you to stay open to the idea that maybe we can cooperate, as long as we don’t cross any lines. I think we might even be able to help each other, too. You never know.”
“Help each other, huh?”
“That’s right. And from talking with Lauren, I know that’s happened in the past.”
“What exactly did Lauren tell you?”
“Nothing much. Look, I’m simply saying it might come in handy for you to have a friendly ear in the media. Please, Dad. Just think about it.”
I hesitated. This was the second time Allison had mentioned having a friendly ear in the media, and I wondered how much Lauren had told her. If truth be told, I had used the press for my own reasons in the past, and more than once. Unfortunately, on one such occasion Lauren had paid the price, and it had almost cost me my career. “Fine, Ali,” I said. “I’ll think about it. No promises, but I’ll think about it. I’m warning you, though. No screw-ups. Now go help Mac set the table. I’m going to go find Nate.”
After locking my service weapon in the handgun safe in my bedroom, I pulled on a jacket and stepped out to the redwood deck. Callie, who was always ready for a walk on the beach no matter how lousy the weather, joined me. By then the fog had thickened, bringing in the dank, musky smells of the ocean. The sun had set minutes earlier, and in the failing light I could barely see a dozen yards. Peering into the mist, I cupped my hands to my mouth and called, “Nate!”
No answer.
Wondering where he’d gone, I sat on the seawall, removed my shoes and socks, and headed out onto the sand. As I did, I noticed a set of fresh footprints leading down toward the water. Turning up my collar against the cold night air, I followed th
e tracks to the ocean, where I lost them in the surge of the up-rushing waves. I hesitated, wondering whether to go right or left. Again, I called for Nate.
Again, nothing.
Deciding I had a fifty-fifty chance of being correct, I headed left, keeping to the firm sand near the water’s edge, Callie leading the way. Several minutes later, just as I had about decided to turn around and try the other direction, a shadowy figure appeared in the mist.
Nate.
My son was walking slowly toward me, hands thrust deep in his pockets. He was wearing a pair of oversized stereo headphones, and at first he didn’t notice me. I stopped and waited for him to arrive. Callie stayed back with me until she caught Nate’s scent, then bounded ahead to greet him.
“Hey, Nate,” I said when he reached me.
Nate looked up, seeming surprised. “Uh, hi, Dad,” he said, removing his headphones. “What are you doing out here?”
“I came looking for you. Dinner’s almost ready. Everyone’s waiting.”
“Sorry. I felt like getting some air,” Nate explained, again starting down the beach. “Anyway, I’m not hungry.”
I turned and walked beside Nate, heading back toward the house. “Not hungry? Are you sick?”
Nate shrugged.
“Something bothering you?”
“Not really. Why does everyone keep asking that?”
“Because you seem . . . different lately. And because everyone knows you’re hurting. Grandma Dorothy is worried. She thinks maybe you should see a shrink.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“That’s what I told her. But if you’re sad, sometimes it helps to talk with someone. Maybe a counselor?”
“I don’t think so. Can we drop this?”
“C’mon, Nate. Things have been tough for the entire Kane clan, and we’re all trying to get through each day. But you haven’t seemed yourself in quite a while. If something’s bugging you, I want to know.”
