Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning

by Ward, Steve

  She laughed and raised her glass. “God, Michael, this is damn good Scotch.” She stared at him with a big grin, held up her drink and toasted, “Cheers.”

  * * *

  Muztata al-Bolani was never comfortable with the godless Russians, but he knew an alliance would be necessary once the U.S. was immobilized. After a direct nuclear strike in five major cities, the U.S. economy would be shattered, and world oil markets would suffer. Once the speculation bubble burst, he estimated demand for oil in America would drop some 20%, and oil prices would tumble to $150. An expensive venture but nonetheless worthwhile, a small price to pay for Islam.

  Vatamir Golastiv, the ruling head of the Communist Party, had invited al-Bolani to Moscow to complete a secret pact which had been negotiated over two years. Within the realm of insiders it was touted as the “Oil for Nukes Pact.” Russia saw an opportunity to regain its position of parity with the US while putting a spike in the heart of China. A preemptive nuclear strike on Hong Kong and Beijing would set back previously unbridled growth by some twenty years. With China making moves as a new world leader, Russia was desperate to take action. If Iran was willing to attack the great monster of capitalism in the West, Russia could defeat, once and for all, its own, internal movement toward capitalism and revert to Communist rule.

  In return for the Iranian thrust, Golastiv had agreed to commit for the direct purchase of half of all Iranian production at $150 a barrel. It seemed a bargain for the Russians, but offered a floor for Iran, should prices collapse. With the U.S. and China on their knees, Communist Russia would once again thrive, and Iran would rise to prominence over Iraq. Ancient Mesopotami, land between the rivers, along with the jewel of Jerusalem would soon belong to Iran. Without the U.S. for defense, all the former USSR satellite countries would be easy pickings. Both parties were highly motivated and enthusiastic about the partnership.

  It was a cold afternoon in Moscow, and a light snow was falling in Red Square as the two leaders strolled through the park. Flanked by security, the two men were anxious to seal the new agreement, a pact that would change the world.

  “Vatamir, we must get together more often to talk of our future business relations. We rely on your missile technology for our military, and we have paid you billions for that. We can provide you with much expertise in oil and gas. Our ability is fast approaching the Saudis’.”

  “We rely on your oil,” Golastiv laughed. “And we pay dearly also. How can we be sure your strike will be successful?”

  “The same way we can be sure your attack in the East will bring down the Chinese heathens. With the collapse of America and China, so called freedom and capitalism will die a final death, and our two countries will dominate the world. There will be no resistance to the final extermination of Jews and Chechnyans. We will spread Islam, and you will spread Communism. It’s really just a matter of who controls the resources.”

  “Oh, but it all sounds too good my friend,” Golastiv sighed. “But never forget, there are many potential flies in the ointment. I worry about the likelihood of a Cino-American bond to counter our plan. If those countries ever agree to work together, they would be formidable. You should be worried also. History carries many horrors. Remember what happened to the Japanese after Pearl Harbor.”

  “That will never happen again, and the two cultures are incapable of forming an alliance. Too many ‘flies in the ointment’ as you say. It is clear the gutless Americans are doomed by their own infirmities, pleasure and greed. Like ancient Rome, they will fall from the sheer weight of their iniquity.”

  “It is critical that we coordinate the attack, my friend. Since you rely on your Jihad 1 for precision targeting, we will operate from your control center in Sari. Our people will be there in two weeks time, and we will make ready for the December strike.” He laughed shaking his head. “As you wish the Americans a Merry Christmas, we will celebrate China’s Year of the Duck.”

  Golastiv turned to the Iranian leader and offered his hand.

  Al-Bolani took it with a warm and enthusiastic handshake. “Then we agree.”

  * * *

  Christina awoke confused. Where the hell am I? She had never before slept so hard or so long. It was a huge bed in the master bedroom, and the cabin was toasty warm. “Michael, where’s Michael?” she gasped. There was dead silence as the events of the prior 48 hours began to recollect in her brain. One wall of the room was mostly glass, and all she could see was water and forest. It was a spectacular scene, and there were two deer, a buck and a doe, at the water’s edge getting their morning drink. Damn, I’ve died and gone to heaven, she thought. Where is Michael? She looked for a note and found a yellow pad on the nightstand. It wasn’t a note from Michael but a poem, hand written. It seemed strange indeed, a dark, maudlin read, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  The Point

  Walking into soggy woods across The Point

  In a hurried, heated, fat-burning sweat,

  Stopped cold by a morbid phantom.

  Large patches of fog hang on an odd tapestry,

  Dead still waters speak in sullen tones

  As the noon sky grows darker.

  Sinister currents swirl about The Point

  With ebbs and flows of life and death.

  The very same spot passed every day,

  But it seems it was never seen before.

  Black waters framed by even blacker forests,

  An eerie, misty calm like no other.

  A morose grandeur new to the setting.

  The dark beauty of tombstones and funeral pyres,

  The shadowy specter of The Point.

  A gray heron stands guard on The Point

  Balancing on one leg, deathly still

  Dreaming of better days long gone.

  An awful groan, then a shriek rings out in the blur.

  Panic paints the image of a drowning soul.

  Another scream, somewhere out from The Point!

  A loon comes to focus looking fearful and lost.

  Its sorrowful moan breaks my heart.

  Alone, so alone, where is everyone?

  Not a single person left on earth.

  The loon speaks again and again

  Asking impossible questions.

  Parents pass and children go their way.

  Left alone, so alone, to what purpose?

  The Point? The Point.

  What is The Point?

  She shivered as she peered across the water. She heard a car pull up to the cabin and started to panic. She jumped up, pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around her naked body. A twinge of soreness reminded her of the night before. What was I thinking? she mulled. The digital clock showed 9:13. I can’t believe I slept for sixteen hours. Must’ve been drugged. Her head throbbed and reminded her of the drug of choice, Glen Levit. She needed to run to the bathroom but heard a bang at the front door, and it scared the hell out of her. She peered around the corner, and Michael came walking in. He had two arm loads of groceries.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, sleepy head.”

  “Thanksgiving?”

  “Yep, I went out to get us some grub and discovered today is Thanksgiving. Can you believe that?”

  “No I can’t. Thanksgiving? Damn, we have been busy.”

  “How are your cooking skills, girl?”

  “They suck. I burn toast.”

  “Well this is your lucky day, because I am one hell of a cook. Got turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, yams, yeast rolls, the works. Do you like pecan pie?”

  “My God, I can’t believe it. How about chocolate?” she teased.

  “Yup, got some chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Yummy. Did you bring me anything to wear?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Super Wal-Mart is a wonderful store. Has just about everything two fugitives might need, and it’s open 24/7. Just give me a minute and let me unload the car.”

  “Yeah, right. I gotta get a shower.”

  C
hristina ran for the master bath, and when she finally emerged from the steamy hot shower, she found a stack of casual clothes, dark jeans, undershirt and a big fluffy sweatshirt. It was a horrid, pale green. Never let a man do your shopping, she giggled. Wow, he even thought of socks and tennies. What a guy!

  She did the best she could with her hair and looked in the full-length mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. Trying to ignore their predicament, her headache vanished, and suddenly she felt like a million dollars. Strolling out of the bathroom, once again, she noticed the view from the master bedroom. It was mesmerizing. The deer were gone, but a patchy, morning fog had rolled in over the water in a scene which would make a great painting. Growing up a desert rat, she loved the water and took in all the splendor of Lake Lanier. My God, it’s beautiful.

  Michael walked in with two piping hot cups of coffee. “Hope you like French Vanilla. I added a little cinnamon.”

  “God. You’re just about the most thoughtful guy I’ve ever met. Looks great. Smells even better. Look out there, Michael. Can you believe that view? Your uncle must be loaded to afford an entire peninsula for himself. This property is worth a fortune.”

  “He’s a hedge fund trader. This is only one of his vacation homes.”

  “Shit, what are we doing in the astronaut business? What the hell is a hedge fund anyway?”

  “Beats the shit out of me; I don’t have a clue.”

  “Well it sure pays more than flying spaceships. By the way, remember how we got here? Don’t you think we need to do some serious stuff, like figure out how to save the world?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving, Christina. I think we should spend the whole day cooking, eating and watching football. Dallas plays the Eagles at one, and my money’s on the Cowboys.”

  “You’re serious aren’t you? The whole world is going to hell in a handbag, and you want to watch football. You men are all the same.” Actually his proposal sounded wonderful.

  “Well, my other option was to go bass fishing, but it’s a little nippy out there. Do you like to fish?”

  “Yeah, I love the outdoors as long as I’m not freezing my ass off. Okay, you win, football it is. I’ll take Eagles and seven. . .ten bucks?”

  “Easy money,” he replied. “Easy money.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Christina found a computer with an active Internet link and tried to learn more about Islam and the Quran. She searched for any kind of clue that might shed some light on the impending attack. Like a good reporter she looked for where, what, why and most of all when. Michael seemed hypnotized by the TV. He was on his third ballgame in a world of his own, like she didn’t exist. Every now and again he shouted, “Yeah!”

  She tried to get his attention, “Michael did you know the Muslims don’t follow our calendar, the solar calendar that is?”

  “What?” He didn’t even turn around.

  She shouted, “Did you know the Muslims have their own calendar?”

  Finally, he sat up and turned her way. “No, so what?”

  “They go by the lunar calendar. Listen, this is from Wikipedia.”

  Islam has two main holidays, Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adah. The way that holidays are recognized can vary across cultures, as well as across sects of Islam, Sunni and Shia. Muslim holidays generally follow the lunar calendar, and thus move each year relative to the solar calendar. The Islamic calendar has 12 months or 354-355 days. Sunni and Shia lunar calendars do not always coincide: sometimes a Shia holiday and the same Sunni holiday occur on two different days, typically two successive ones.

  “What’s it all about?” Michael stood up looking puzzled.

  “So, don’t you think it might be important to know exactly when the Iranians plan to launch?”

  “I thought we were going to relax. We still don’t know if all that is hogwash or not,” he replied. He walked over and turned off the TV.

  “I’m not sure we have time to relax, Michael. When we were in Rhani’s apartment, I jotted down a note from something he had written inside the front cover of the Quran. It was Eid Al-Adha and a reference to Sura 9:29. Turns out Eid Al-Adha is the Muslim holiday which celebrates Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his own son. Rhani must’ve thought that was important. He listed it right next to the reference in the Quran.”

  “Okay, I give up, what does the Quran say?” Michael smirked as he walked her way.

  “Listen. It’s about the Last Day. I wonder if it means the last Jihad?”

  Make war upon such of those to whom the Scriptures have been given as believe not in God, or in the Last Day, and who forbid not that which God and his Apostle have forbidden, and who profess not the profession of the truth, until they pay tribute out of hand, and they be humbled.

  “Sounds like Muhammad was speaking about the pagans.”

  “No, no,” she answered. “He was speaking of Jews and Christians. Listen to the rest of it.”

  The Jews say, “Ezra (Ozair) is the son of God,” and the Christians say, “The Messiah is the son of God.” Such the sayings in their mouths! They resemble the sayings of the infidels of old! God do battle with them! How they are misguided!

  They take their teachers, and their monks, and their Messiah, son of Mary, for lords beside God, though bidden to worship one God only. There is no God but He! Far be from His glory be what they associate with Him!

  Fain would they put out God’s light with their mouths: but God only desireth to perfect His light, albeit the infidels abhor it.

  He it is who that sent his Apostle with the guidance and religion of the truth, that He may make it victorious over every other religion.

  On that day, their treasures shall be heated in Hell-fire, and their foreheads, and their sides, and their backs shall be branded with them.

  “Holy nuclear holocaust!” said Michael. Guess they don’t much like the concept of the Blessed Trinity. You know, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost?”

  “I think not. And remember, Rhani had this reference jotted down next to the holiday.”

  “So, when is it, Ed Hadad, or whatever it was?”

  “Eid Al-Adha, Michael. Apparently this year it comes on December 17th.”

  “Shit! That’s just three weeks.”

  Christina picked up the remote and switched on the TV to CBN. She wanted to listen to the news of the day in the background while she worked. The female anchor went on and on about President Gleason’s two dogs, as if anyone gives a rat’s ass. She stopped what she was doing and turned toward the TV. She began to wonder about what was not reported. “Hey Michael, have you been watching the news?”

  “Not really. Just the same old stuff.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Yeah, well, that’s just the point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Michael, you’re pretty smart. Figure it out.”

  He looked at her dumbfounded and spread his hands in a gesture of, What the hell are you blabbering about, woman? She was getting a little irritated.

  “Where’s the story about two stupid astronauts who managed to disappear into thin air? Should be big news, don’t you think? Or maybe they lose astronauts every day. Remember when that female astronaut drove across the country in diapers to confront her lover’s girlfriend? That was all over the press for weeks.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, I don’t expect the Director is anxious to admit his security detail blew it, that the infamous Christina Matthews can’t be found. Besides, you’ve slipped security so many times, he’s probably not even worried. Probably figures you’ll show up after Thanksgiving.”

  “But don’t you think Wallace would call him in a panic? At least my bodyguards must be hitting the ‘Oh Shit’ button. Surely, they would pass the report to someone. Why would CBN go a full cycle and not even mention it?”

  He stood behind her. She felt his hands on her neck trying to massage the tension away. She closed her eyes and sighed. The stress was building with her research, and the massage felt oh so wonderful
. On the other hand, it brought back memories of the thousands of times Lazer had done the same. Suddenly, out of nowhere, thoughts of Lazer overwhelmed her. She ached for him. Never should’ve closed my eyes.