The Ghost of Flight 666

by Christopher Anderson

  Sliding into the captain’s chair, Abdullereda started to load the flight management computer, the “box,” entering the flight plan, aircraft weight and takeoff data. The printer started spitting out the information he requested over the ACARS, the aircraft’s datalink system: weather, takeoff data, aircraft loading and clearances amongst other things.

  As he did the preflight programing the first officer left the cockpit with his flashlight to do the walk around inspection. That left Abdullereda alone with Muhammad.

  “You seemed nervous when we got to the gate,” Muhammad said softly.

  Abdullereda snapped angrily, “How many times do you think I’ve done this before?”

  Muhammad reddened, admitting, “Never, of course; all right I get it. Just be yourself.”

  “Is there anything special I should be doing?” Hussein mentioned, turning back and punching data in the box.

  “No, keep everything normal,” he replied. “Everything should go just as it always does. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t normally do.”

  “What about Jaren? He’s not in on this is he?”

  “A Christian?” Muhammad exclaimed softly. “Are you kidding? Of course not!”

  “What are we going to do about him?”

  “That’s why I’m riding up here,” Muhammad said.

  “What are you going to do with him; he’s an innocent kid,” Abdullereda said with a hint of fear in his voice.

  “He’s not Muslim; he’s not innocent,” Muhammad replied roughly. “None of them are!”

  “By Allah!” Abdullereda felt his resolve weakening.

  “Calm down!” the terrorist warned, but he stopped short of saying more as someone was coming up from the galley.

  Suri came up to the cockpit with their coffee. She looked at them with a worried frown. “Is everything all right? You two look so serious. Captain are you feeling well?”

  “Just tired Suri, just tired, that’s all,” he said quickly, taking the proffered coffee.

  The deadheader thanked her as well, trying his best to seem like everything was fine.

  “You’re sure that’s all?” She didn’t look convinced.

  Abdullereda pointed to the instrument displays, and explained, “We had a momentary malfunction in a hydraulic pump. It would have delayed us. Last week the company docked a captain a month’s pay for too many late departures! Fortunately, I recycled the pump and it came back on. We’re fine now; we’re good to go!”

  “A month’s pay!” she started. “That would make me nervous too! Okay, as long as everything is all right. Let me know if you need anything else!”

  “Thank you Suri!”

  She left. The captain sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “Well handled captain,” Muhammad nodded. He seemed as relieved as the captain. “Remember, everything should go as normally as possible.”

  Abdullereda chuckled grimly to himself, “Yes, like you know what normal is up here!” The captain’s momentary sense of superiority swept over him and then disappeared as quickly as a surfer’s missed wave, leaving him frustrated and anxious. Whatever his technical superiority over the Al Qaeda thug it was the uneducated terrorist who controlled the situation and Abdullereda’s life.

  He finished programming the route. In the alternate routine, called “Route 2” in the Flight Management Computer, Abdullereda was able to program his mission. This gave him the ability to switch from one route to the other by executing a few keystrokes.

  He trembled. A few keystrokes and his life would be irrevocably different. No—he reminded himself—that wasn’t true. As soon as he contacted these people his life was set upon an inevitable course. He had no choice. His only solace was that his children would be taken care of, no, he couldn’t think of that now. The Al Qaeda agent was noticing his nervousness. Fortunately, before he spoke up Jaren entered the cockpit again.

  “I hate to break up your little plot but the jig is up,” he said seriously. His eyes narrowed and he pointed to Abdullereda. “I know all about it captain; I know everything.”

  CHAPTER 6: The Play

  In Tehran, Iran, as Slade caught some sleep, nestled beneath a bush with his Barret, and as Hussein slept prior to his flight to Beijing, the personal envoy of American President Oetari waited for his meeting with the President of Iran. Freddy Waters knew President Oetari’s mother back in the sixties, when they ran around with radicals and protested the war. Decades later Freddy became a sort of older brother and mentor to the young Oetari, showing up now and again to tell young Patra of the struggle, smoking joints and instructing him on the rules of the game for radicals. Now Freddy was in Iran on business for his protégé, the president.

  President Aliaabaadi of Iran walked into the well-appointed room. He was tall and gangly, striking many as a sort of comedic caricature of the American President Lincoln. He thought of himself in the same manner, a great man, ever since he stormed the US Embassy in Iran and kidnapped the Americans. That moment crystalized his future.

  Aliaabaadi had a taste for power. Unfortunately, he wasn’t educated in the right manner to go via the religious road, he got into the university only because his father worked for the Americans. He was thought of as a scrub by his fellow Iranians, an Arab, not a Persian. In 1979 he betrayed his only friends, taking them hostage, and that got him noticed. The betrayal was the perfect springboard for a political career. So politics it was.

  After the necessary pleasantries, Waters was blunt and crass. “Mr. President, the nuclear issue is a media generated problem. Frankly, we don’t really give a damn whether you have nuclear weapons or not.” His expression showed that he meant it. “You have your own reasons for having them—fine. The president’ opinion is that when Iran does acquire nuclear capability it will balance the power in the Middle East. However, we need political cover.”

  “Yes, I imagine that would make your Democratic contributors in New York angry,” Aliaabaadi replied, sipping his tea and sitting down, looking rather like a complicated folding chair while doing so. “He’s got his second term, but Oetari likes to raise money and these New York Jews will think twice before showering him with gold if I do attain these weapons—which of course is not my intention—although it is my right.”

  Aliaabaadi grinned and sipped noisily.

  “Half the Zionists in New York don’t give a damn about what happens in Israel,” Waters said brusquely, ignoring the shudder that ran through the president’s angular frame every time he cursed. He sipped his own tea, wishing he could somehow slip a bit of scotch into it to spice it up. “That’s not a concern. We’d like to come up with a deal that will push this down the road past the Mid-term elections.”

  “I want the sanctions off for a year,” Aliaabaadi said firmly.

  “That is consistent with the president’s wishes as well,” Freddy nodded. “We will continue to promote a deal, a deal which will move incrementally forward. However, we would like something more concrete; something that will shut the conservatives up.”

  “Such as?” Aliaabaadi said, his eyes almost disappearing beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  “One of the sticking points in the negotiations is the amount of enriched Uranium you possess; Uranium that is enriched but still not to the standards of being weapons grade.”

  Aliaabaadi nodded and picked up his phone. “Please send in Doctor Feruud.” Turning back to Freddy he sighed, “You touch on a very sensitive subject. The only manner in which we can proceed is with inspectors—correct?”

  “Unless we can come up with a better mechanism,” Freddy admitted. This was one subject where he was legitimate. Freddy hated nuclear weapons. He had no problems with the violence of the sixties, but nukes he hated. That made his present mission somewhat problematic, but he satisfied himself with the thought that the only way to disarm the Israelis was to disarm their adversaries. First, though, the adversaries had to be armed and that meant Iran had to have nukes.

  Dr. Feruud, a man
in his late fifties or early sixties entered. The President asked Freddy, “How much enriched Uranium do you think we have?”

  Waters came ready with his numbers. “We estimate that Iran has somewhere around six tons of Uranium enriched to three-point-five percent—that’s enough to make everyone nervous. That’s why the United Nations wants to keep tabs on it with inspections.”

  Aliaabaadi knit his bushy brows and countered, “What if, instead of inspections, we were to voluntarily place half of our enriched Uranium in a United Nations vault; as a token of our good will.”

  Waters started. This was good beyond his wildest dreams. “That would be perfect! If you were willing to do that it would open the door for the complete relief of sanctions!”

  “Would the remaining three tons be enough for our research Dr. Feruud?”

  The nuclear physicist sighed and said, “Three tons is enough for our research and possibly enough for a small prototype reactor.”

  “Very well Mr. Waters. We have already been working on the deal. The UAE has agreed to help both parties. We will transport the enriched Uranium to the United Arab Emirates for storage in a United Nations vault. Your inspectors may observe the loading of the containers and escort them to the ship. I expect and welcome a United Nations escort across the Straits of Hormuz to Abu Dhabi. Will that be acceptable?”

  “Absolutely!” Freddy exclaimed, too pleased with the victory to wonder how it came about. “That will give the president the cover he needs and give you the flexibility to move forward with your peaceful nuclear research. The president’s goal is to settle the international agenda down so that he can pursue his domestic agenda. If Iran can calm things down in the Middle East then we don’t need to spend any time or energy here.”

  “By that you mean Hamas,” President Aliaabaadi said carefully.

  “And ISIS,” Freddy inserted. “Hamas and their unrelenting rocket attacks on Israel, as justified as they might be, are eventually going to push the Israeli’s to retaliate. You’re one dead kid away from all-out war in Gaza.”

  “Hamas is Hamas,” Aliaabaadi shrugged. The Americans had no cards to play and he knew it. “They are hotheads. They are run by teenagers and young men with axes to grind. They think firing a few rockets and strapping on some suicide vests will change the world; let the Israeli’s kill them. It is propaganda for us, for you as well, as I know President Oetari looks for any excuse to distance himself from the Zionists. Let it play out Mr. Waters.”

  “Yes sir, but the ISIS situation is in some respects even worse. The Hawks are playing up the loss of American troops in securing Iraq after Sadam—something that gave you increased leverage here—without Sadam you’re the big dog on the block. This ISIS group isn’t following the “Arab Spring” playbook. It already looks like we’ve lost Egypt. We can’t lose Iraq as well.”

  “ISIS is Sunni, Mr. Waters; Iran is Shia,” he said simply.

  “The American people don’t look at it that way, Mr. President. The Islamic State’s brutality to Christians is largely ignored by the press; but their predation on other Muslims shocks even the media. The almost daily beheadings, now of women and children, it makes it impossible for the president to represent Islamists as reasonable partners in the peace process,” Freddy countered.

  “Then bomb them,” Aliaabaadi told him simply. “You have my blessing!”

  Now it was Freddy’s turn to put the screws to Aliaabaadi. With a twisted smile, he adjusted his small pig eye glasses, and said, “It might start that way, but bombing is just the opening move. Do you really want American boots on the ground in the Middle East again?”

  “No, I admit that is not in my best interests.”

  “Mr. President if ISIS is faced with muscle, real muscle like Iran and the threat of Iranian intervention, they’ll crawl right back into their foreskins.”

  Aliaabaadi grimaced at the analogy, but he pursed his lips and nodded. “I agree that they must be reined in. Such brutality in the Prophet’s name does no one any good.” He paused, sipping at his tea before saying, “Perhaps you do not know this; I am also concerned with ISIS, so much so that I have directed my own chief of security, Colonel Nikahd to speak with the ISIS field commanders. He is in the Islamic State as we speak, and at great personal risk, I might add.”

  “Do you think he will have any luck?” Freddy said with real frustration. “We are not opposed to the goals of an Islamic homeland to balance out Israel, but their brutality makes it impossible for Americans to buy the whole “Religion of Peace” line!”

  “That is only half the problem,” Aliaabaadi sighed. “They are forming a government in competition with the Muslim world instead of in concert with us. They have a revenue stream through their Syrian oil wells on the black market. This is no longer a phantom menace Mr. Waters. President Oetari’s refusal to deal with ISIS when they were vulnerable has put us all in a difficult position.”

  “We are not the world’s policeman,” Freddy Waters said firmly, as determined as Oetari that America should not flex its military muscle. “Those days are over.”

  “Someone must fill the void Mr. Waters,” Aliaabaadi said with equal candor, spreading his long fingered hands out wide. “That is the reason ISIS exists. You did not create it but you allowed it to grow and become strong. If the United States will not do it then we must secure our own interests. We cannot allow a group of autonomous thugs who enjoy rape, murder and mayhem to become a nation much less the Caliphate.”

  “You do not have any plans to engage them militarily?” Waters pressed.

  “We are attempting to instruct them on the bigger picture of things to come,” Aliaabaadi assured him. “We want them to see a future and not just the pleasures of the present.”

  “Pleasures?” Waters smirked unpleasantly.

  “Mr. Waters when you are angry at the world nothing is more pleasurable than taking out your anger on others. These ISIS scum claim to be establishing the Caliphate but in reality they are simply using that as an excuse to feed their lust and their thirst for blood and revenge—against anyone and everyone, Muslim, Christian or Jew—they don’t care.”

  “Whatever you can do to tone them down will help all of us,” Waters told Aliaabaadi. “Remember, we want you to succeed Mr. President. Your support will be vital for President Oetari’s political future.”

  “Really? I thought President Oetari already won his second term; that is, unless he wishes to really discard the Constitution as his adversary’s claim,” Aliaabaadi said, standing up and indicating that the interview was over.

  Waters stood as well, explaining, “He’d love to rewrite it himself, but that’s not in the cards. American’s love their mythological Constitution with its mythological Founding Fathers. Even Oetari can’t change that, so he’s not going to try.”

  “What is he running for then?”

  “Something far more meaningful to him and to you than his temporary post as President of the United States: the Secretary-General of the United Nations.”

  Freddy followed Aliaabaadi’s lead to the door, espousing his own dreams if not the president’s. “After Oetari finishes tearing down the imperialist power in the US, he’ll go on to his true tasking and his ultimate goal of establishing a much more global hierarchy through the UN; a hierarchy where the old colonial powers are simply member countries in a greater more equal world.”

  “Well that is ambitious,” Aliaabaadi smiled. “I must ask, however, why I should support such an ambitious man? What is in it for me?”

  “Well, you know the affinity the president has for the work you are doing,” Freddy told him. “Previous presidents were just staunch supporters of Israel; they viewed the Persian and Arab states as second class—afterthoughts.”

  “And this president has repeatedly told us that he understands our people; our struggle. That is good rhetoric Mr. Waters, but words are simply words,” Aliaabaadi stopped at the door, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “That is, unless Preside
nt Oetari allows us entry into the most exclusive club in the world?”

  “Of course,” Freddy assured him. “When your Caliphate is established it will bring stability to the Middle East. When that Caliphate is armed in such a way as to bring balance to all continents of the world then we can truly pursue our dream of world equality.”

  It took a man who wanted to rule the world to recognize another man who wanted to rule the world. “Very good. Assure President Oetari that he shall have our support.”

  “Thank you Mr. President,” Freddy said, shaking hands. The aides escorted him out.

  When the door closed Aliaabaadi shook his head and said, “Poor President Oetari; he dreams of his happy worldwide utopia! Let him plan on his New World Order. In time his election to the UN, though he thinks it inevitable, will not matter. It will be his undoing. We shall take the international structure he has fabricated and use it to quickly establish the eternal Caliphate throughout the world.”

  He turned to Feruud and asked sternly, “Will three tons of Uranium be enough?”

  Feruud smiled and nodded.

  Aliaabaadi grinned. “Excellent! ISIS will supply us with the diversion, Al Qaeda with the delivery vehicle and we will supply the means to destroy Zion. By the time the West figures this out Israel will be no more and the Mahdi will have established a new Caliphate. We will establish the New World Order; the final world order.”

  CHAPTER 7: The Disappearance of Malaysia 666

  Both Abdullereda and Muhammad looked at each other, sweat beading on their foreheads. The Al Qaeda terrorist reached inside his pocket.

  The captain swallowed and asked, “What is it you think you know Jaren?”

  The young man laughed and pointed his thumb back at Suri, who was bringing him coffee. “Suri told me all about your dinner plans in Beijing. I hate to be the one to ruin them but I found something on my walk around. We have what looks to be a bad tire,” he reported. He slid past the fuming Al Qaeda terrorist and slid into his seat, completely oblivious of the effect he had on the two terrorists.