Kingdom Come

by David Rollins

  “Maybe I can spare twenty minutes.” Why am I feeling so self-conscious? “So … This is a nice hotel. The NSA treats you well. The Air Force isn’t as generous.”

  “The NSA does not pay for this. I pay for it myself. This makes Washington a little less unbearable, and it can be unbearable.”

  “You don’t like DC?”

  “I like the city, parts of it – like the Smithsonian. It is some of the people that are unbearable.”

  “Like our friend Chalmers?”

  Kiraz Başak grinned. “Yes, like him. I think he is one of these people who is promoted only because it is easier to promote than to fire. And then one day this man, he wakes up and finds himself in a job he has no talent for, but now it’s too late for anyone to do anything about it because he has risen too high. I am sorry, sometimes my English gets tangled up.”

  “No, I think you nailed it,” said Schelly, grinning.

  The professor rose from the couch and glided to the fridge in the kitchenette. “I am having a glass of wine. Would you like one also?”

  Schelly assessed the remains of her day. No meetings, no briefings, but that doesn’t mean you get a guilt free pass. I really should go. “I’d better not. That Protestant work ethic …”

  “Please, I do not want to drink alone. Look, why don’t I just pour you a glass and put it in front of you and if you drink, you drink. It would make me feel better.”

  “I thought Muslims didn’t drink.”

  “Shows you how much you know about Muslims,” the professor called out from the kitchenette. “It’s the devout who don’t drink – like ISIS. The rest of us – let us say a healthy proportion of us – just don’t do it in public. Sometimes I think perhaps the fundamentalists need to discover vodka. Could you imagine the Scorpion ordering a martini? He would be more relaxed.” The professor giggled like a schoolgirl. “Don’t tell anyone I said this. I will deny it.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Professor.”

  “Kiraz, please. Professors have wild gray hair and thick glasses.”

  “True,” Schelly agreed, aware of her smile and the growing sense of comfort. She’s gorgeous and charming.

  Schelly’s phone chimed, a text. She leaned across and picked it up off the table. It read, Major Schelly, ADD Chalmers here. We need to talk. You’ve got my number. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Chalmers. His ears were burning. Wants me to call. Doesn't say what about.” She put the phone down. “I was tempted to turn on the television while you were in the shower; see what’s happened in the world while we’ve been locked up all morning.”

  The professor returned with two empty wine glasses and a bottle of chilled Riesling, placed the glasses on the low glass coffee table, filled them, and then took one. She curled up on the end of the couch with her bare feet tucked beneath her. “I was listening to the radio before I had the flat tire,” she said. “There have been more stabbings, more shootings, more hit and run attacks … And this is happening all over the world.” The professor shook her head slowly. “More riots in London, Paris, Brussels, Amman, Istanbul … Muslim countries have it worse, with all of the above plus car bombs and suicide bombers. I am sure the Scorpion will rejoice in the havoc he has caused. The train derailment – the fatalities will climb beyond 200. And the reports from Denver – the mothers and fathers who lost children – it’s terrible. And this is only the beginning.” The professor found it hard to continue and drank her wine instead – all of it. “It seems so, so personal,” she continued. “The world is being attacked where it will hurt the most.” She reached for the bottle, poured herself another glass. “You really are not going to drink?”

  Schelly took her glass in hand, had a sip. The least I can do.

  “What about this this Major Cooper? Do you really think he can find the Scorpion?” the professor wondered.

  “Honestly? I don't know. But it’s all we’ve got, unless the Russians locate him. Or a random air strike kills him. Or … there’s a lot that could go wrong.” And now there are no Reapers riding shotgun. “It’s a race. At least we have one horse in it.”

  “Then let us toast our horse’s success,” the professor said and held her glass to Schelly.

  “To success,” Schelly said. She clinked glasses and self-consciously drank a little.

  The professor leaned forward, topped her glass and Schelly’s. “What else shall we drink to?”

  “I shouldn’t …”

  “My house, my rules. First you will drink up your glass, and then one more toast.”

  Schelly looked at her.

  “I am not an enemy spy trying to get you drunk.”

  ”Well, that’s a relief,” she smiled and drank the rest of her wine.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Ah,” the professor said. “Lunch.” She went to the door via her bag to get a credit card, and returned a minute later with two boxes, which she opened and placed on the coffee table. “One is four seasons. And the other is pepperoni. We don't have to eat it all.”

  “How did you know? Pepperoni is my go to,” Schelly said, reaching for a slice. “I filled your glass, but I have to be honest with you, I can’t think of anything to toast to right now.”

  “Then how about – pizza, wine and good company,” the professor suggested.

  “Okay. I can drink to that.” Schelly raised her glass and drank, and as she placed her glass on the table the professor leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, her lips soft and fragrant, her tongue gentle, persuasive and chilled by the wine.

  ***

  Schelly lay naked on her stomach, her feet covered by the clean starched sheets, the professor stroking her shoulder and arm with long manicured nails.

  “In the meeting, that first one, I fantasized about you,” the professor confessed.

  “Really? My first impression of you: glamorous, smart, sexy.”

  “I like that. And now?”

  Schelly turned her head so that the professor could see the glow in her face. “I think I’ve made my opinion of you abundantly clear.”

  “Reid Hamilton. He was staring at you.”

  “I didn’t know. Well,” Schelly said dreamily, “clearly there was a lot going on in that meeting other than what was being discussed.”

  “The history of the world, great events – these have always turned on the lusts of men and women.”

  “Men and women turned on their backs,” said Schelly.

  “I read a thesis on this. Wonderful reading with a vibrator.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “This was not your first time,” the professor suggested.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t, but it is true, yes?”

  “I had – I guess you’d call it an encounter. At college, my sophomore year. Well, it was probably more than an encounter because we encountered each other quite a lot.”

  “Do you think you are gay?”

  “Hmm … I’ve thought about that. I prefer to think of myself as a healthy woman with no hang-ups, at least sexual ones. Honestly? When I’m with a man, I prefer men. When I’m with a woman, I miss men. At least what a man can bring to the table, if you know what I mean.”

  The professor pouted. “I am disappointed.”

  “Don’t be. What just happened – is happening – feels amazing. What about you? You’re a Muslim who doesn’t wear a headscarf, drinks wine, has sex outside of her marriage; sex some of your fellow Muslims would stone you for, or throw you off a rooftop for, or both. What would you call that kind of a woman?”

  “Courageous.”

  “Confused, I would call it.”

  “I think I like you. And you have skin like warm milk,” the professor said, brushing Schelly’s bare shoulder with her lips.

  “I like you too, and you have a magic tongue,” Schelly confessed. “Does your husband know?”

  “About my tongue?”

  “You know what I mea
n …”

  “Yes, of course he knows. This works for the both of us. My orientation is similar to yours.”

  “Then the CIA and the NSA also know. They worry about this kind of thing. They believe it makes you open to blackmail. They probably have the room bugged, especially if you come here all the time.”

  “I am an academic, so my sexuality is less than important. And I am not scared of being, how do you say … outed. If it happens, it happens. I am beyond blackmail. What about you?”

  “Times are changing and so is the Air Force. There’s a lot of blue on blue going on … Trust me. I am in no way unique. Now, you’re not going to ask me to divulge any secrets, are you?”

  “What does your heart tell you?” said the professor.

  “It says, ‘Don't be ridiculous.’”

  The professor traced the curve of Schelly’s spine to the cleft between her buttocks. Schelly opened her legs, an invitation, and the professor’s finger took it, circling her anus and then moving on to the warm wet lips of her vulva, enjoying the velvety feel of the wetness and the warmth.

  Oh god, you know where my sweet spot is. Schelly murmured something involuntarily and moved to increase the pressure where it counted. Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered, instantly drunk with the pleasure of it.

  ***

  Schelly and Professor Başak sat on the bed facing each other. The professor reclined against the bedhead, one forearm draped over her head.

  “I swear you look like you're about to purr.” Your dancing black hair, incredible gray-green eyes and olive skin. Those beautiful full breasts and dark, exotic nipples. Who needs a penis?

  “I am wet just looking at you.” The professor sipped a glass of ice water, her movements graceful, languid.

  Schelly shook her head and laughed. ”The end of the world is nigh. And I am with you and … this is frikkin’ nuts.”

  “Yes, that is a good word for it – nuts.”

  “Can we get serious for a minute?” Schelly asked her.

  “Do you mean can we stop having sex?”

  “Yes.”

  The professor grinned. “As long as it’s only for a minute or two.”

  “I’ve barely skimmed your briefing notes. Take me through them, the Islamic version of Armageddon, the End of Days.”

  The professor sighed deeply. “If you insist. Where to start? Okay, the hadiths say that the arch devil, whose name is Iblis –”

  “Yes, I remember. He’s chained on an island.”

  “You were paying attention.”

  “I think I was hanging on your every word.”

  “Iblis, he waits for the right conditions for the End of Days, the Yawm ad-Din, to make an appearance and cause havoc among men. The Yawm ad-Din will be heralded by signs. And you should know, this is a horror story written to frighten people in 600AD.”

  “It’s doing a pretty good job scaring us today.”

  “Yes. And then there will be the Day of Judgment – this is also called the Great Massacre, an indication of what is to come. Allah will place all life in the scales, annihilate it and then resurrect it, separating the good who will go to Paradise, and the bad who will go to hell. Leading up to this day, Jesus will appear and help the Mahdi become the ruler of the world. On ascending the throne, the Mahdi will banish all other religions except for Islam, bringing a great peace to the world. He will then do battle with Iblis. With the help of Jesus, the Mahdi will win this battle, but not before his army suffers terrible losses.”

  Schelly was mesmerized, and a little confused. “Wait … So the Mahdi wins the battle against the devil and Islam is the only religion on Earth, and it’s a time of peace and presumably prosperity. Then what’s Allah’s excuse for killing everything off in the Great Massacre?”

  The Professor wagged her finger. “Please do not look rationally at this.”

  “Yes, religion, I forgot.” Schelly’s mind spun. “You mention signs that the End of Days are coming. What are they?”

  “Yes, the signs written in the hadiths are plain. There are many of these signs – minor and major ones. The first sign is that Gog and Magog will be released.”

  “Who are Gog and Magog?”

  “Scholars disagree, but they could be the tribes walled off by the Gates of Alexander, that have long since been let loose on the world – Huns and Mongols. Two: Iblis, released from his chains, will walk the world. Islamic scholars believe he has indeed been released, but is invisible to us. The proof of his release is all the mischief, secularism and apostasy in the world.”

  “We can’t see him?” Schelly wondered. “That’s convenient.”

  “The signs from here on become more obvious, even to cynics. Three: The sun will rise in the west. This could be interpreted – is being interpreted – as the rise of the hegemony of western culture. Four: This is called, ‘The Beast of the Land’. It is taken to mean the beast, Israel, will rise to a position of great power. Few would argue that Israel doesn’t pull America’s strings.”

  “I might.”

  “Five: The Euphrates River will reveal a river of gold that all will fight and die over. This gold people believe is, in fact, oil. Six: Non-Muslims will feast on Muslim lands. This one is self-evident, with the invasion of Iraq and other lands by coalition forces. Seven: The construction of tall buildings.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, tall buildings. Look at every major city. That is one of the signs. Eight: A sinking of the Earth in the east.”

  “What does that mean?” Schelly was captivated.

  “There was the earthquake off the coast of Indonesia in 2004. This caused massive subsidence of the seabed, setting off a tsunami that killed hundreds of thousands across Asia.”

  “I can see how some people would believe these signs are playing out.”

  “In fact, many millions of Muslims believe that, yes, we are in the Age of Signs.”

  “I feel like having another drink.”

  “Nine: A second sinking of the Earth, this time in the west. Perhaps it could be New Orleans, which sank over twenty feet and was then smashed by Katrina. Ten: Jerusalem will flourish.”

  “Well that hasn’t happened,” Schelly observed.

  “Have you not heard there is a movement to make Jerusalem the capital of Israel?”

  Yeah, okay. “What about you, Kiraz? Do you believe in these signs?”

  “There are many reputable Islamic scholars who agree.”

  “You’re avoiding the question. What do you think? Are we in the prophesized End of Days?”

  “There are other signs – the arrival of the Mahdi and the end of the Hajj.”

  “The Scorpion. You believe he’s the Mahdi of the prophecies, don't you?”

  “He has styled himself as the one who will lead the armies of Islam to victory over the armies of Rome. Muslims are not going on the Hajj to Mecca, because they flock instead to Al-Aleaqarab and his black standard. His force will soon number in the hundreds of thousands. Perhaps they will eventually number more than a million.”

  “And Jesus will appear as the dead arise,” Schelly whispered, the unfolding nightmare playing out in the theatre of her mind.

  “I will be one of those who will be going to hell for all eternity,” said the professor. “I think I need another drink. The prevalence and acceptance of homosexual sex is another of the signs.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No.”

  “How did we get to this place? You’re a believer in this dark fantasy. It’s wholesale delusion.”

  “Is it a fantasy if people believe and will kill for it? I have no answer. The near demise of ISIS – that, also, is a sign.

  “Is there anything that isn’t a frikken’ sign?” Schelly had the overwhelming sense of being locked in a death spiral. Her non-encrypted cell started ringing. And then the professor’s vibrated within the pile of wet clothes on the floor. The two women looked at each other. Coincidence? Unlikely. A chill ran down Sc
helly’s spine as she reached for her cell. Shit always rolls downhill. The screen gave her the caller ID – Colonel Gladston. “Major Schelly speaking.”

  “Jillian. You near a computer?”

  “No, sir.”

  ”Use your phone. You need to see what’s trending on YouTube and Twitter. It ain’t cute kittens.”

  Thirty-six

  Ronald V. Small @realSmall

  All terrorists are losers. If you had a TV series, no one would watch it. Your ratings would be terrible.

  Jimmy and Alvin returned empty-handed, Taymullah and Farib tagging along behind. Jimmy motioned at the jihadist seated on the ground whose shoulders were hunched, his blackened, shiny head hanging low between his legs. “We got nothin’, boss. Looks like he’s the sole survivor.”

  There was something about this guy. “You look familiar,” I told him. “Why is that?”

  “We here long, Major?” Jimmy asked. “Alvin and I gonna keep a lookout.”

  “Five minutes,” I said. “No more.”

  The sergeants took a flank each and were swallowed by the night.

  I pulled the ka-bar and lifted the jihadist’s chin with the tip of the blade. “We met somewhere?”

  “Yeah,” Bo agreed, pondering it, “I reckon I seen him before too.” The sergeant got there faster than me, realization dawning on his face. “Boss, this asshole … I think he the one pulled them folks from the white Beemer back at the warehouse. You remember?”

  I took some water, splashed the jihadist’s face then wiped some of the soot off his beard with my forearm. Bo played the flashlight across him. Bo hardened up on it. “He the one all right.”

  The beard was dirty blond. Yeah, that guy. “Hey, buddy, you’re not exactly doing the homeland proud, you know that, right?”

  “Is he cryin’?” Bo asked. “What’s he cryin’ about? Cos you lost all your asshole friends?”

  Mazool ventured. “He cries not because he lost brothers, but because they reach Paradise before him. They are in Allah’s presence, while he has been captured by kafirs and martyrdom has left him behind.” He kicked the guy in the leg.