style="font-size:15px;"> The president stepped back as the Bookseller walked to the podium and closed the service in prayer.
Nothing but Ashes
“He has lost it! There’s no one at home — it’s lights out at the White House,” former President Cox yelled at the television as the memorial service ended. “The man is a terminal fool, a religious nut! How will we ever survive the next twenty-two months?” he declared loudly to no one other than himself.
Located high above everyone in the Presidential Suite of the Westin Kierland Resort, Leonard Cox had been watching the service less than a hundred feet from Demas Assad and Phygelus Aldar’s suite, four floors below, as they opened the envelope delivered by Baqir Dawood. The message read simply, “MD March 11–execution teams cease all current activities and become part of MD.” The message was in English, and not encoded. No signature or indication of where it originated was included or necessary. They knew.
“Good,” said Assad shaking his head up and down in approval. “Now we know when and we can tell our people. There is enough time to prepare and to escape.”
“Yes,” Aldar agreed, “and the addition of the execution teams on MD will further confuse and strike terror into the hearts of the Americans.”
“I am glad for another reason,” Assad continued. “It was clear we needed to do something. The Williams experiment failed miserably. We lost everyone, and the enemy only got better organized. They are looking for us everywhere, and it is obvious from the Harkins lawsuit that they are close. We have to get the word out tonight after the opening session and appoint new leadership. We won’t last until MD. My flight leaves from here tomorrow morning. I will travel under a new name with new identification. I suggest you do likewise. I’m not even going back to pack.”
“Agreed,” Aldar added. “I hadn’t planned on leaving this early, but it makes sense. I have several remaining alternative identities and papers. We can work from the Mexican side until March 11th, and then we move to Europe to prepare for life after the United States.”
“Did you get the room list from conference management?” Assad asked.
“I did,” Aldar responded.
“Good. We can move quickly room to room tonight and go through the new instructions.”
“Who will be your replacement?”
“I will use Walid Ghazi, and I suggest you use Tariq Qusay. They are both based in California, which is a long way from Cambridge. We have had little contact with them over the years, and they are not Harkins graduates. The Americans will have difficulty tracing them from us. They work well together, and remember, they were with us that summer when we did the initial planning.”
“Good choice; they can be trusted,” Aldar replied. “Qusay had to dispose of one of his operatives earlier. He didn’t flinch. They will do whatever it takes to succeed.”
Lighting a match, Assad set the note on fire, dropping it in an empty trashcan as the flame rose. Smiling he said, “That is how America will end; in fire, nothing but ashes on the trash pit of history.”
Chapter 4
In the Aftermath of Truth
Thursday, February 14–MD minus 25 days
The Secret Service had quite a time trying to hustle the president out of Williams before the large crowd left the memorial service. He was not in the mood to be hustled.
The president walked with Janet to the pews where the families of the victims lost in the terrorist shooting had been sitting. He wanted to spend some more time with them, seeking to comfort and encourage them one by one. He changed the return plans when a spokesman for the family group asked if they would stay and join the families on site for lunch. Janet smiled, for that was what she had wanted to do all along. The Secret Service was beside themselves, but understood that this president had a different agenda — and unfortunately, his personal safety was not part of it.
As they began to move through the tunnel to the educational facility where they had initially gathered, David Barnes was on his cell phone talking to Darrell Reed. Suddenly, it was as if a light switched on and Tom Campy remembered something. He turned abruptly to Sally Johnson, who was pushing his wheelchair, and asked, “Sally, did you remember my cell phone? Did you get Farsi’s cell number off it?”
“We checked out all the cell phone companies in the Williams and Chicago area, and no one had an account in Farsi’s name,” she replied.
“He had a cell phone,” Tom insisted. “I spoke with him on it. He must have had it in another name. Where is my cell phone?”
“It must still be at the hospital,” Sally answered. “We’ll look when I take you back.”
The president had avoided the press completely, with the exception of George Murphy, the writer for the Times Daily who had been invited to join the presidential party for the trip back to Washington. “Mr. President,” Tom Knight said, taking the president off to the side for a private conversation. “You cannot offend the Washington Press and ignore the national press and not pay a steep price. They are the ones who have the eyes and ears of the people. They’re going to paint you as a dangerous religious nut. You cannot lead if the people will not follow, and they must follow, or you cannot confront MD successfully.”
“Tom, I understand your concern, but these are not normal times, and ‘the normal rules’ don’t apply. What is important is not to worry about who the people follow. It is who I follow. Success against MD is dependent on God’s protection only, and I sincerely believe that if I follow Him, the people will be led by Him to follow me.
“The media does not concern me. Have you noticed the rise of ITN as a broadcast alternative? The people want more facts, and they want it presented in such a way that they can make a choice. ITN has filled that void and profited greatly by their different approach. And then there is this prayer website, seen all over the world. We have an audience now that we have never been able to communicate with before. Even George Murphy is giving us a fair hearing, and he will have the opportunity to watch for himself and report what he sees. The Creator of the universe even controls the media. The White House press corps need to understand that their position is a privilege, not a right. A good dose of humility might help them even if it is forced.”
“I hope you know what you are doing,” Knight replied.
“Don’t worry, Tom. I am not hiding from the press. I simply want to be careful how and when information gets out. I have offered Diane Conway an interview before we leave for the plane. She writes for the local paper. The Washington crowd can follow her lead. It is refreshing to converse with someone outside the Washington bubble. She listens without an ideological agenda.
“Enough business for now,” the president said firmly, but kindly. “I want to spend this time with the families.” Taking Janet’s hand, they walked to the group of waiting relatives and friends and joined them at a table for lunch.
An Unanticipated Result
The call between David Barnes and Darrell Reed was a report on Dr. Bristol’s bad day that had just gotten worse. The hearing with Judge Hightower had not gone as Professor Trice expected.
