“Dear God,” Lay whispered.
“The motorcade was attacked by militants using RPGs just after five o’clock local time, as Husayni was returning to Jerusalem. The attack seemed to be well-coordinated, a professional job by all accounts. Moments ago, we received confirmation from a source in the Israeli Defense Force that Husayni perished in the attack, becoming the first Grand Mufti in historical record to die by assassination. Traditionally, the office has been viewed as sacrosanct to all sides in the Middle East conflict, but Husayni had exposed himself as a lightning rod in years past and again more recently. A man willing to become involved in the politics of the region…”
Lay hit the mute button again. There was nothing more they could tell him that he didn’t already know. “They got him,” he announced quietly.
“He was a brave man, a credit to his faith,” the DCS added.
Lay snorted. “And he was killed by people of the same faith who believed him to be a heretic. Oh, well, the Middle East is one of the few places in this crazy world where it takes courage to be a moderate. Requiescat in pace.”
Rest in peace.
Kranemeyer nodded, rising from his chair. “Carter did want me to give these to you.”
He extracted a sheaf of papers from the folder under his arm and handed them to Lay. “What are these?” the DCIA asked.
“The phone logs Ron and Carol pulled off al-Farouk’s satellite phone. They’re working on tracing most of the numbers as we speak, but there was one thing Ron wanted me to run by you.”
“And that would be?”
“This last number—here, tagged with the header Israfil.”
“The burning one,” Lay observed, looking up. “The angel of the trumpet at the last day according to Islamic tradition.”
Kranemeyer nodded. “It was called three times in the twenty-four hours leading up to the attacks, the last time approximately thirty minutes before al-Farouk’s death. It’s a D.C. area code, and our attempts to access data on it have been blocked. High-class firewalls, even Ron is stumped. It looks like Zakiri may not have been their only man on the inside.”
Lay’s eyes traced down the paper to the number his DCS was indicating and the color drained from his face. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he spoke again.
“Tell Ron it will be taken care of,” he responded, forcing a smile to his face.
Kranemeyer looked at him strangely. “Are you feeling well?”
“Fatigue,” Lay replied, as glib as ever. “I’m thinking of taking a few days off next week. But assure Ron it will be taken care of.”
The director waited until Kranemeyer had left the room, then he reached into his desk, pulling out a prepaid cellular phone. The phone was clean, had never been used before. There was no way it could be traced to him.
The phone powered on with an annoying cheerful tone and Lay consulted the phone logs, tapping in the number with a trembling hand.
It was ringing. He took a deep breath to calm himself, drumming his fingers on the oak of the desktop as he waited. It rang once, then twice, then three times. He thought for a moment of hanging up, of putting it behind him, but that was no longer an option. The die had been cast.
Four rings and a recorded voice came on the line. So familiar. “You have reached the voicemail of the President of the United States…”
The End
Coming Soon…A New Novel From Stephen England
There are three things you must never do.
You must never betray your country.
You must never negotiate with terrorists.
And you must never underestimate
Harry Nichols.
Do any of these, and there will be a Day of Reckoning…
In 2004, Tarik Abdul Muhammad was captured fighting against American forces in Afghanistan, and sent to Quantanamo Bay. He was sixteen years of age.
In 2012, a military tribunal dismissed the charges against him and he was returned to his native Pakistan.
Now, he’s back…
Visit www.stephenwrites.com for further information.
Author’s Note
As I finish Pandora’s Grave, I find myself nearing the end of a very long journey, a journey that began for me, as it did for many of my characters, in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The character of Harry Nichols, in one form or another, has been in development ever since and my conception of him has changed over time, as I have continued to immerse myself in the world of special operations and counterterrorism.
A Christian spy thriller. Some might question whether there even is such a thing, or whether any true Christian can be involved in such a business.
That being said, the fact remains that these men put their lives on the line every day for the freedoms we take for granted in this country. Men—and women, for counterterrorism is an equal-opportunity employer.
Their world is a world of darkness and deceit—it’s a given that when you embark on a mission to root out evil, you may have to go into the shadows to find it. So, while I do not find myself in complete agreement with their methods, I have elected to portray the world as it is, not as we might wish it to be, neither lingering on nor glossing over the often-sordid side of counterterrorism.
It should be immediately clear that neither the methodology of covert operations, nor the mores of the Clandestine Service are the norm for behavior in society. Just as citizens are not permitted to go out and kill their neighbor over a boundary dispute, neither should the pattern of deceit that is utilized by our intelligence services be taken as an endorsement for its use in private life.
Our nation was founded upon the absolute truths found in the Word of God, the Bible, and those absolutes hold as true today as they did when those words were first given to man millennia ago. They have been the foundation for our legal system and for this country’s greatness. In short—truth is far from relative.
Yet, we live in a fallen world, and when those absolutes are violated, whether by terrorists or criminals, those whom God has granted authority must take direct, and at times violent, action.
This is the story of a man named Harry Nichols, an American by birth and a Christian by choice. The story of a man prepared to sacrifice everything to protect his country, and the physical and psychological toll which his job takes of him. For while deceit, as violence, may be justifiable in the national context, neither are without their attendant consequences.
This book, as with the books that will follow it, is the story of those consequences. Perhaps this journey is only beginning.
This novel would never have been written without the support of my friends and family. For their love and encouragement, I will be eternally grateful.
I am also indebted to those who helped see this project to its completion.
To my parents, for their patience in listening to countless conversations about imaginary people, day in and day out.
To my cover designer, Louis Vaney. Thanks for seeing this project through despite the snags, for your patience even when it took awhile to bring me around to your artistic vision. It turned out better than I could have imagined.
To the man whose skill pulled together the video trailer for this novel: Jānis Zunda Kalniņš. The product was beyond my expectations.
To my photographer, Rachel Cox. Best of luck, may your skill with the lens take you far.
To my friend, Floyd “Woody” Craig. Thanks for being the sounding board for almost 100% of the plot devices that made it into the book, and a lot that didn’t, much to everyone’s benefit.
To my proofreaders: Floyd Craig, Diane England, Martha Lair, and Jeff England. Thanks for all of your input. Your help was indispensable in refining the final draft.
To the many who cannot be named due to the nature of their work and the parts of the world in which they live, your research and insight was invaluable. You know who you are.
And last, but hardly least, to the readers of my first novel, Sword of Neamha, f
or all of the kind words you expressed. I trust you will enjoy this book even more.
May God bless you all.
If you enjoyed this story, I’d love to hear from you. Please drop me a line at [email protected] and let me know what you thought.
Pandora's Grave (Shadow Warriors) Page 51
