by Allan Topol
Craig, Elizabeth, Carlos, and General Bernardo stood on the verandah of the farmhouse in the cool morning air. Craig was sipping coffee, looking at the beautiful Alhambra, hoping Elizabeth was right.
It would be tragic if the building were damaged or destroyed. Tragic if more men died in what was now a futile exercise of defending it.
Elizabeth said, “I expect Musa to make his move first thing this morning. That’s when the medieval Musa rode out.”
“My troops are in place,” the General said.
Half an hour later, Craig saw activity near the entrance to the Alhambra. Musa was running out of the building, shrieking in Arabic, an automatic weapon in each hand, firing as he ran. Behind him was Omar, firing as well.
With the element of surprise, they hit eight Spanish troops before the Spaniards unleashed a ferocious barrage, their bullets flying toward Musa and Omar. Craig watched them hit the two men repeatedly. In the head. Face. Body. Head. Face. Body.
Musa’s knees buckled. He fell, landing on his back. Omar on his face. Blood flowing on the ground. Neither moving.
General Bernardo called the commander on the scene. “Make sure they’re dead.”
The return call was, “Both dead.”
Once the firing stopped, Musa’s warriors straggled out of the Alhambra unarmed. Hands in the air, some with white flags. General Bernardo gave the order, “Hold your fire.”
“It’s over,” Elizabeth said to Craig. “It’s finally over.”
The two of them walked down the hill. Over to Musa’s still body.
69
PARIS
Two days later, Pierre Moreau led Craig and Elizabeth into the large conference room in the French Defense Ministry—the same one in which Craig had struck out trying to persuade the EU Defense Ministers to attack Musa in Morocco.
The defense ministers of England, Germany, and Italy were at the table, along with Carlos from Spain. Jacques and Giuseppe as well.
As soon as Craig and Elizabeth entered, the others all stood and clapped their hands with enthusiasm.
One by one, the Defense Ministers expressed their gratitude to Craig and Elizabeth for stopping the attack on the Vatican and for arranging the defeat of Musa’s Spanish Revenge in Southern Spain.
When they were finished, Moreau turned to Craig. “Would you like to respond?”
Craig stood and looked around. “First, Elizabeth and I are deeply touched and very appreciative of all your thanks.
“Jacques, Giuseppe, and Carlos,” he said, stopping to point, “played an enormously important role in this success. Without them, we would never have prevailed. This truly was a pan-European operation and victory. Precisely what the formation of the EU hoped to accomplish.
“Second, while we undoubtedly prevailed and avoided incalculable damage, we must not forget the terrible price that was paid. Eighty four innocent people were killed in the Spanish train bombing. Thousands of soldiers and civilians died in the south of Spain. Also, Professor Etienne. Four Franciscan monks. One Roman policeman. And Lila, a courageous young Muslim woman in Marseilles.
“We cannot ignore the fact that, while the leader of the Spanish Revenge is dead, the issue that inflamed Ahmed Sadi, namely the ongoing battle between Islam and the Christian West, is far from over. I am not a policy wonk and have no magic solutions. Elizabeth’s book will be published in a year and will illuminate the topic.
“From my limited perspective as a counterterrorism expert, I know that, as part of this battle, some Muslims will launch terrorist attacks on Europe and the United States. We must be vigilant to stop those.
“What seems clear to me is that the ongoing war between Christians and Muslims throughout the world … not merely in Europe and the United States … but in Egypt, Asia, and Africa, is only in its nascent stage. Like the Crusades, I fear it will continue for decades, if not centuries. One tragic difference is that both sides are now in possession of weapons of mass destruction.”
Craig stopped talking and sat down to stunned silence. As the meeting was breaking up, Pierre Moreau said to Craig. “You’re analysis was sobering. To say the least.”
“I wish I could be more optimistic.”
“And I wish I could disagree.”
It was a beautiful spring day in Paris. A day for lovers. A day when everything seemed possible. So at odds with Craig’s grim and dreary assessment.
He and Elizabeth left the Ministry of Defense and wandered down Boulevard St. Germain to the square next to the church, St. Germain Des Pres.
They sat down at a small outdoor café. Craig looked at the artists in front of the church selling their paintings. At tourists in short sleeves, wandering aimlessly. At elaborately coiffed women entering fashionable boutiques.
Once they each had a cappuccino, Elizabeth said, “I was surprised you didn’t talk about the Chinese involvement with Musa.”
“I didn’t want to get away from the main point. Besides, we have no evidence that General Zhou had help from the Chinese government.”
“I agree. It was all the venal General Zhou. I feel badly that, on my account, you had to surrender your chance to kill him and avenge Francesca’s death. So stupid to let them capture me.”
He placed his hand on hers. “C’mon. Don’t give yourself a beating. You were amazing in all of this. We’re good together. As for General Zhou, one day he’ll pay for all he’s done.”
“I hope you’re right,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “But if General Zhou gets back into power in China, there will be major problems for Europe and the United States.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Pam Ahearn, my superb agent, helped me shape and write this story with enormous wisdom and insight. My wife, Barbara, supplied ideas for revisions on numerous drafts, while always adding encouragement. Joseph Pittman, my editor, provided valuable notes which improved The Spanish Revenge.
