by Ward, Steve
Wallace grimaced, turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. “You’re making a big mistake. You’ll see!”
She shivered again, turned her back to him and threw her arms around Michael.
* * *
There was a great deal of animation in the super-secret meeting room. Hezbolah, Hamas, Taliban and al-Qaida, all represented a roiling quagmire of terror. The four great Imams of Iran were also present. The odd man out was Vatamir Golastiv, leader of Russia. He sat there like a pimple on the derrière of Islam, the only man without a turban and beard. The Arabs always treated him with suspicion, mostly talking among themselves.
A hush came over the room when Muztata al-Bolani and his right hand man, Jawad al-Masri, entered. It was to be the greatest Jihad of all time, a direct nuclear assault on the enemies of Islam. Millions of Americans and Chinese would perish. Islam would reign supreme over the Judaism and Christianity of the West and the Buddhism and Pluralism of the East. The excitement was electric.
Al-Bolani stood at the front of the room, pulled back his shoulders and began to speak, “My friends the time is near. On this great day, Eid Al-Adha, when Solomon showed his faith by preparing to kill his own son, we shall show our faint in Allah with preparation to kill many sons and change the balance of power in the world. Our partnership with Russia will put us above all. In return for our efforts, Mr. Golastiv has agreed that once the dust settles, we will be free to spread Islam through his many areas of influence. We have already made great strides in Europe, Southeast Asia and Africa, and we stand at the precipice of world domination. Allah will be pleased and our place in paradise assured. There is only one small matter that has not gone our way.”
Al-Bolani walked all the way around the room in dramatic fashion as thirty sets of eyes tracked his every move. He stopped behind the al-Qaida leader, Almanar Bahadar. Bahadar sat with a big grin on his face as though he expected a great blessing from his friend. His eyes stopped then shifted nervously with the realization that al-Bolani was standing behind him. The eyes of everyone else in the room peered just above his head. He wouldn’t have long to wait.
“I have a very special gift for my good friend Almanar.” Al-Bolani reached under his wrap and pulled out a large, shiny Arabian weapon, a huge bowed knife, an enduring symbol for a great warrior. There was a collective gasp as he reached around grabbed Bahadar by the head and quickly slit his throat from one ear to the other. The sharp saber cut through his neck like warm butter. Bahadar’s body convulsed grotesquely as blood squirted out both sides like two competing water pistols all over the meeting table. There was a gurgling sound as Bahadar, still alive, looked at the group with wide eyes and tried to protest. His eyes rolled back and his head fell forward in a bloody clump, jerking in rapid succession. In just a few seconds he was quiet and still. Gallons of blood pooled on the table as those sitting nearby scrambled to get out of the way.
“Take your seats!”Al-Bolani commanded in a firm voice. “This is the fate of a traitor. You will take your seats!” He didn’t wait for any comments or questions. “We had that American whore Matthews in our grasp, and Bahadar’s men allowed her to slip away for money. Can you believe brothers of Islam, al-Qaida men, bribed with dirty American money. . .money which made its way into the fat pockets of my friend here? Even worse he allowed our spy in America, the young astronaut lad, to be compromised. This is bad news since we counted on Rhani Hussein to feed us intelligence right up to the time of attack. You can be assured that the young man is no longer in this world. He awaits Bahadar in the depths of hell.”
Al-Bolani looked over at Golastiv whose face was painted with horror and disgust. Those Russians think we’re Barbarians, he mused. Had he not desperately needed the man, he would have gladly cut his throat too. He walked over and stood behind him.
Golastiv fidgeted nervously, grimacing.
“Do you have any objections, Vatamir?” al-Bolani asked.
“No, no, none at all. Your business, not mine.”
“You are a great leader for Islam,” said al-Masri aloud, as usual, kissing his boss’s ass. All the other men in the room nodded in mutual admiration and conciliation. No one was prepared to challenge him. Al-Masri continued, “Praise be to Allah and his swift judgment.”
Al- Bolani calmly walked back to the front of the room and took control of the meeting. “Praise be to Allah. All preparations are coming to completion and in only ten days our great arrows will fly all the way to American and Chinese soil. We will catch the Infidels by complete surprise and mushroom clouds will rise over the worst dens of evil. Many sinners will find justice from the sweet sword of Islam. We believe the coward, Gleason, will buckle under the pressure of defeat and the weight of our great oil reserves. Presiding over devastation, he will have no choice but to agree to our terms. Islam will be taught in every American school and, in a matter of time, Allah will rule the world. Many new mosques will be built and our people will come to power. I want you all to go home and be in continuous prayer that our Jihad will be successful, in the name of Allah.”
“In the name of Allah,” the collective reply.
“Now you will all come here the day before the American holiday, Christmas. We will fly on my plane to Somalia. It will be a great celebration as we watch the news of CBN from our bunker there. Praise be to Allah.”
“Praise be to Allah!”
The men all rose up from their chairs. All but one, that is. Bahadar was going nowhere.
Chapter Fourteen
It was Wednesday evening, ten days before an un-numbered, Top Secret shuttle launch. The mission? Nuclear war!
All was quiet in their secret lair. Christina was feeling much better but quite bored. Starting Monday morning, she was scheduled for four days of intensive training on every aspect of the military DROID. She knew all the navigation systems but was unfamiliar with the weapons. Although she understood the physics, it was hard to believe. The very idea of an explosive sandbag taking out an ICBM was almost funny. She scratched her head and tried to wrap her brain around it, Space junk and re-entry, a deadly combination.
Michael and Billy were in the other room playing chess while Heather and Christina enjoyed a final glass of red wine before bedtime. Christina was fidgety and worried. She put down her book and looked her friend in the eyes.
“Heather?”
“Oh no, don’t look at me that way. Don’t you dare! Last time you looked at me that way we got into a heap of shit.”
“Heather, do you ever think about Jessica?”
“I don’t know. . .I guess. I try not to.”
“But don’t you remember the Three Amigos, all the great times we had? Remember the pact we made at your folk’s place in the Keys? God we were so young and carefree.”
“Of course I remember, but I don’t dwell on the past, too much bad Karma back there. Sure, we had some good times, but that day. . .the day Jessica was killed. . .it still haunts me. When that guy staked me out on the beach. . .I’ll never get that out of my nightmares. I’ll be in the nursing home one day screaming the strangest things. No, no, I try not to think about Jessica.”
“Well, I don’t want to sound maudlin, but I think we need to consider something quite sobering,” Christina lowered her voice. “A couple of weeks from now, the whole world could be a mess. If any of those missiles get through, we’ll be forced to retaliate. And if we launch MIRVs against Russia, they’ll let ‘em go too. It’s not a pretty thought, but there’s a decent chance. . . well, it could be the end.”
“So why think about it now, right before bedtime?” Heather looked at her like she was crazy.
“Listen, what would you do if money was no object, and you knew the world was about to end?”
“Don’t know. I don’t want to think about that either.”
“C’mon what would you do?”
“First thing? Let’s see, I’d get my nails done, yeah that’s it, hairdo, massage, pedicure, the works. I’d want to go out lookin�
� good. Then I’d go to Saks and run up my credit card.”
“But think about it, Heather, between the two of us we have more money than we could ever spend. Forty million is a lot of dough. Maybe it’s time to loosen up a bit and let the boys know.”
Heather nodded in agreement. “Well, I don’t see why not. Funny, I don’t think about the money much. I just take out a hundred thousand a year to pay my bills.”
“And how did we get that money?” Christina knew it was a stupid question, but she had a plan.
Heather looked puzzled. “We hit the treasure hunter’s lottery, the El Capitan.”
“And how did we find it?” Christina lead her on like a trial attorney.
“Map? Jessica’s map. For God’s sake, what the hell are you getting at?”
“I’ve got an idea. We should do something big in the next few days, something really big. One last hoorah, so to speak. I think we should tap our accounts and purchase the best three days money can buy. At the same time, I want to go down and pay our respects to the one responsible for the loot.”
“That island? Yikes! Are you nuts? I thought you never wanted to see that hell-hole again. Remember Jessica isn’t the only ghost hanging around there. Those pirates are there too.” Heather shuddered. “That place is haunted for sure.”
“I’ve got it!” Christina shouted. “Let’s get out our checkbooks and spend some real moolah. Tomorrow we get on the phone and make arrangements. Okay, you go to the spa and do some shopping while I get everything arranged.”
“But what about security? They aren’t going to let you leave here.”
“Yes they will. I’ll talk to Gleason and tell him I need enough security for three days of R&R. I think the CIA can manage.”
“But, what if. . .”
“He’ll go along because he owes me. . .yeah, he owes me big time. He knows what we’re up against, and he knows I need some mental healing if I’m going to perform. Get this, how about a flight to Andros Island on a private airliner? We’ll get one of those super-plush jets used by the rich and famous. How about Friday morning? There are some yachts there in the harbor at Congo Town, some really big ones rich people lease for vacation. I found it on the Internet. I think it’s around a hundred thousand a day, but they’re fully staffed, and you can live like a king.”
“You shittin’ me?”
“No, I’m serious. They even have helicopters onboard and plenty of bedrooms for security and everything. We could have them fly us over to the island. I still have the coordinates in my scrapbook. GPS will put us right on the spot. We could fly over there and show Michael what we went through, how we survived. We could do some exploring and some diving and then take a few moments to show our respects to Jessica.”
“But such short notice? Don’t you think those yachts are booked.”
“You know how it works, Heather. Moolah! Money talks, girl; money talks and bullshit walks.”
“Well, it’s kind of creepy going to that island, but the rest of it sounds good. Okay, if you really want to, I’m in. For God’s sake, girl, let’s do it up right. Make a list and I’ll go shopping tomorrow. You work the phones, spend as much as you want; I’m good for half.”
Christina squealed with excitement. She reached over and gave Heather a hug. “I knew you’d go for it.” She held her glass up like they had done on that sunlit porch in the Keys some eight years earlier. “All for one and one for all. Here’s to the Three Amigos, and here’s to Jessica.”
* * *
They were escorted to Houston International Airport by a mob of CIA agents. Their SUV made its way onto the tarmac right up to a 737 decked out in bright colors. Just below the tail number was the logo, LOVE FUN. The female copilot was busy doing a thorough preflight. Christina was a stickler for pre-flights, and the sight of the busy copilot gave her a warm fuzzy feeling. Wonder if they’d let me ride in the cockpit, she thought. No, settle down girl and try to be social. A Government plane was parked nearby for the security team, and both jets looked about ready to wind up the turbines.
It was a cold, windy day in Houston, but Andros Island promised tropical heat. As Michael, Billy, Heather and Christina climbed aboard they were greeted by a flight attendant, in her twenties. “Welcome aboard Love Fun.” She handed each of them a glass of champagne. “My name is Jill, and I’ll be serving you. Just let me know of anything you want, anything at all.”
Michael elbowed Christina and gave her a grin. “Anything?” She hadn’t told him exactly what was going on. He scanned the plush interior of the aircraft with a look of wonder. There were soft couches, recliners, tables, a large, flat screen TV and everything one would find in a lavish entertainment center. “What’s the deal?” he asked. “Don’t you think you should fill me in?”
“No biggie,” she answered. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ve arranged a little R&R with the full support of the Director and the President. Aren’t you tired of that stuffy old apartment? We’re headed to Andros Island for three days of pure tropical bliss. Should be nice and hot down there, don’t you think? Can’t wait to get out of this stinking cold weather and into a bikini.”
“Andros Island? Isn’t that in the Bahamas?” Michael swiveled his head around soaking in the swanky features of the custom built interior. He looked like a kid in the toy department of Wal-Mart. He was obviously impressed. “Wow! This is something!”
Heather jumped in, “Yeah, that’s right, we’re going to Congo Town on South Andros. Wait till you see our accommodations. It’ll make this little ole airplane look like a dump.”
“Weee-heee.” Billy commandeered a large, padded, swivel chair, plopped in it and spun it around. He spilled champagne all over his Hawaiian shirt. “Oops. . .three days huh?” He had a bewildered look as he turned toward Christina. “Hey wait a minute, Andros sounds familiar.”
“Please take a seat,” the flight attendant got their attention. “If you will find yourself a seat and buckle up, we’ll be on our way.” She refilled glasses and found her way forward. The engines ran up to a whirring roar, and they taxied for takeoff.
Christina reveled in the luxury. Her plan was coming together, and she felt great. It was strange sitting sideways on a plush recliner as the plane accelerated down the runway. Beats the hell out of that last flight I took. This is no cattle car.
It was a short trip, just two hours, but the party had already begun. Drinking at eleven in the morning wasn’t Christina’s cup of tea, but they stuck to champagne and Mimosas, typical morning fare for island tourists. They spent the whole time cutting up, laughing and joking oblivious to the beautiful scenery below. Touching down at Andros, they were ear to ear giddy. As they descended the roll-up stairs, CIA formed the welcome committee. A small convoy of SUVs carted them off, and they headed for the harbor.
The drive from the airstrip was typical of so many similar islands, a narrow two lane road winding through hills covered with lush flora. The only thing that was unmistakable along the way was the sheer poverty of Andros natives. Christina leaned against the window and wondered what life would be like out there. . .out there in those shacks. She saw one woman bathing in her front yard dipping water out of a fifty-gallon drum, no inhibitions and no modesty. Right next door to a dilapidated, old hut was a multimillion dollar mansion. The haves and the have-nots, she thought. There were some children playing with sticks and rusty old cans. All the kids jumped to attention to get a good look at her small parade. One little girl about eight years old, looked right at her with hollow, hungry eyes and held out her arms beckoning. Suddenly choked with a pang of emotion, she wanted to hug the little girl, then take her home and make her fat. Damn, she thought, we have so much, and they have nothing. How do they survive? Mental note: When this is over, I need to come back here and do something to help these people.
Almost a quickly as Christina had such charitable thoughts, she argued with herself. Hell, every island is the same; the entire chain is full of poverty, and it will never c
hange, no matter what anyone does. But they do need help. That poor little girl, I wonder if her momma died too?
A yacht awaited them in the bay, and they were taken to it in a reconstructed launch that could only be referred to as a “woody.” It looked like something from the 40s, but it was perfectly restored with brilliant teak. A larger boat followed with eight agents fully armed. Christina took one look at the yacht and thought, Holy Mother of. . .isn’t that something? My God, it’s huge! That little pestering voice in her conscious spoke again, Hey, if you felt guilty before, how do you feel now? For the three-hundred-thousand you spent to rent this tub, you could feed the entire island.
“Not that one.” Michael’s eyes bugged out. “You don’t mean we are staying on that, do you?” He pointed to a huge vessel with “Ocean Breeze” on the side.
