Phoenix Rising: (3 page)

Martin Axleman grew up in North Dallas in an affluent neighborhood. His father was an avowed socialist, and a very successful syndicated columnist for socialist publications. Graduating from high school in 1974, Axleman attended the University of Chicago where he majored in political science. After graduating from college, Axleman remained in Chicago where, in 1987, he formed a political consultancy company, Axleman & Associates. He specialized in managing campaigns for minorities, and for candidates who held extreme left-wing philosophies.

Mehdi Ohmshidi was a naturalized American citizen who had born a Muslim in Islamabad, Pakistan, but had long ago renounced the faith of his birth. He rose to national prominence as the federal prosecutor who tried the case against Masud Izz Udeen. Izz Udeen was an Islamic terrorist who released Sarin gas into the ventilation system of Madison Square Garden, killing over seven hundred Americans.

As Izz Udeen received his sentence of death, he pronounced a fatwa against Ohmshidi whom he denounced for abandoning Islam, and implored Muslims of the world to martyr themselves if need be in order to kill Ohmshidi. The fatwa against him, along with his successful prosecution of Izz Udeen, propelled Ohmshidi into politics, and that's where Axleman came into the picture.

Axleman played a major role in Ohmshidi's initial run for the United States Senate. When Ohmshidi ran in the primary, he, as well as his opponent, had to submit a petition with 750 registered voters in order to have his name put on the ballot. His opponent, Ewell Lynch, submitted 2,315 names, or more than three times the total needed. But Axleman challenged the names before the Chicago Board of Elections, and had 1,875 of the names disallowed, thus removing Lynch from the ballot.

By the time Lynch was able to prove that the names were valid, it was too late, Ohmshidi had garnered the nomination. When Ohmshidi ran in the general election, his opponent was Charles “Bruiser” Kane, a very popular sports figure who had played on the 1985 Super Bowl Champion Bears. Well into the race, a woman appeared on a Chicago radio station with the claim that she had quit working for the Bears' front office because of sexual harassment from Bruiser Kane.

Kane denied it, and his reputation was such that nobody believed the first charge, but three more women came out in rapid succession with their own charges, and even though his denials were just as adamant, people were now beginning to question him.

“I think it's hypocritical that Kane is campaigning on such things as morality, and the sanctity of marriage, but has maintained a harem all these years,” one ‘woman on the street' interviewee said.

Then Kane's marriage got into difficulty and he withdrew from the race, to be replaced at the last minute by a weak candidate who was never able to gain traction with the Illinois voter. Axleman won the senate seat by an overwhelming margin.

Then the Twenty-eighth Amendment to the Constitution was passed. This repealed Section One, Article Two, making any naturalized citizen eligible to be president of the United States, clearing the path for Ohmshidi to run for President.

Helped by an overwhelmingly supportive media—their support bought by Warren Sorroto—Ohmshidi was elected president, and Axleman was rewarded for his efforts by being appointed Ohmshidi's chief of staff.

It was Axleman who gave Ohmshidi his campaign theme of “fundamentally changing America.” He was also the one who designed the Ohmshidi campaign logo, a green letter
O
enclosing wavy blue lines which represented clean water, over which was imposed a stylized green plant. It was also Axleman who designed the new national flag, white, with a wide red bar running from the top of the banner to the bottom. In the middle of the red bar was a white circle and in that circle, the Ohmshidi
O
.

Then, when conditions in the country deteriorated, and nuclear bombs were detonated, Ohmshidi had to flee Washington. Axleman left as well, returning, not to Chicago, but to Dallas. Always one to take advantage of any condition that would better himself, Axleman became one of the first to very publicly convert to the “Holy Path” of Islam.

At first, Axleman, who was now calling himself Amar Shihad, converted only for the conveniences the conversion offered. As he got into it though, he realized that there was a huge power vacuum in American Islam. A smart man could do well, and within a year, utilizing his political skills and the lack of any principle other than self-advancement, Amar Shihad became the Grand Ayatollah of the Dallas and Fort Worth metroplex.

He quickly realized, though, that you couldn't just be smart, you also had to be ruthless. And because Martin Axleman had always had a sadistic streak—as a boy he used to capture birds alive, then pull their beaks out—it wasn't hard for Amar Shihad to become the man that others referred to as the “Devil of Dallas.”

Shihad developed a policy he called “Societal Adjustment and Realignment.” The SAR program stated in the slick brochures that it was designed to “improve society by eliminating those impediments to good order and harmony.”

Those impediments, as the brochure pointed out, were Christians who had not converted to Islam, and Jews who, by Moqaddas Sirata law, were prohibited from converting. The impediments were eliminated by being killed. There were no exact records kept, but estimates were that Shihad had already been responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths in the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex. He had recently authorized another SAR operation.

A huge, but temporary banner had been erected in the parking lot of the Galleria Mall.

There were ten buses parked in the parking lot of the Galleria, five in one line and five in another; the parallel lines of buses were separated by about one hundred yards.

“Please have your identity cards ready to show the officials,”
a loudspeaker said.
“You will not be allowed to board the bus without your identity cards.”

“What if we don't want to board the bus?” someone asked one of the officials. All the officials were wearing black uniforms trimmed in silver. They wore the collar pins of a scimitar and severed head of the Janissaries, the elite corps of the SPS, or State Protective Service.

“If you do not board the bus, you will be shot,” one of the Janissaries replied.

There were five hundred “subjects” gathered in the parking lot, men and women. There were no children, they had already been taken from their parents and were now in the Youth Confinement and Enlightenment Centers. Gathered here were some of the few remaining Jews, Christians who would not convert, and unrepentant atheists.

They had been rounded up by the Special Operations Units. Not all Jews, Christians, and atheists had been rounded up, and there was neither rhyme nor reason to those who were. This was all a part of Amar Shihad's plan of control.

“Let them always be looking over their shoulder,” Shihad said. “Will the Special Operations Unit come for them today? Tomorrow? Perhaps they will be spared.”

Shihad knew that the uncertainty would play a big role in allowing him to control the population.

The raid that gathered the subjects this time was conducted in the middle of the night. It had been six weeks since the last roundup operation. Nobody had ever heard another word from any of those who had been taken before.

“What do they want with us?” Leah Rosewell asked her husband. “We have nothing left. They took our store, our home. We have nothing more to give them.”

“I don't know,” David said.

“I'm concerned,” Kaye Miller said. “My sister was taken three months ago and I've not heard another word from her. It isn't like her not to write.”

“I wouldn't worry too much about that,” Mort said. “Mail service today is practically nonexistent. You know that.”

Leah put her hands over her ears. “I wish they would stop making that announcement over and over and over. It is driving me crazy!”

“That's why they are doing it,” David said. “They want to irritate us. Maybe I can irritate them a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

David held up his finger, then called over to one of the Janissaries.

“Sir?”

“What do you want, Jew?”

“I was just wondering. Will we be allowed to board the bus if we don't have our identity card?”

“You must have your identity card to board the bus,” the black-uniformed guard replied, totally unaware of the sarcasm of David's question.

“Okay, thank you. I wasn't sure whether we could or not.”

“All right!” one of the Janissaries called. “Form a single line here and board the buses!”

“There are only ten buses,” a man protested. “We are too many for ten buses.”

A nearby Janissary pulled his pistol and shot the protester. There were shouts and screams of fear and alarm as the protestor crumpled and fell.

“Now,” the shooter said with an evil smile. “There is one less. I'm sure the buses will accommodate the rest of you. Begin boarding.”

As Leah and David approached the front of the line they saw a “V” made of sawhorses. The V was splitting the line of people, some going left and some going right. A Janissary was standing just inside the V with his arms folded. He was not giving directions, but letting the borders choose for themselves.

“Which way, David?” Leah asked. “Which way should we go? Left or right?”

“You choose, Leah.”

Leah watched the Janissary's face to see if she could discern any difference in his expression as the boarders were making their decision. She noticed nothing.

“Which way, Leah?” David asked again.

“To the right,” she said. She had no reason to justify her choice, it was just one she made at the last minute.

When they got on the bus it was easy to see how ten buses could accommodate five hundred people. There were no seats on the bus.

 

 

As the buses got underway, everyone was ordered to sit on the floor. It was so crowded that there was scarcely room to sit at all, and the positions were cramped and uncomfortable.

“Sit behind me, Leah,” David suggested. “We can put our backs together.”

“No,” a man behind David said. “Put your back against my back, your wife can put her back against my wife's back. That way we will still be braced, but together. I don't know how much longer we will have the opportunity to be together, we should take advantage of it.”

“Yes,” David said. “Yes, that is a good idea.”

Others on the bus, seeing the arrangement David, Leah, and the couple behind them had made, did the same thing. The conditions were still cramped and uncomfortable, but sitting in such a way at least made it bearable.

They had no idea how long the trip would be and as they discussed it among themselves, some suggested that it might be two or three days.

“But surely if it is to be so long, they will stop occasionally to allow us to walk around, won't they?”

“I wouldn't put anything past these monsters,” another said.

“Are the other buses with us?” someone asked.

“There's no way to tell. The windows are all blacked out.”

The buses rolled on.

Starlite Diner first appeared in Moscow in 1995 in the garden of the “Aquarium,” directly opposite the Theatre City Council. The red and silver interior of the Starlite Diner revived the atmosphere of 1950s America, with walls that are covered with pictures of iconic movie actors, such as James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, 1955 Fords and 1957 Chevrolets, as well covers of past Life magazines. The food is traditionally American, specializing in hamburgers, French fries, and milkshakes.

It is mostly a hangout for young Muscovites and Americans who live in Moscow wanting a taste of pre-O America, as well as older Russians who had a longtime enthrallment with America.

Aleksandr Mironov was one of the latter, which was very good for him, because his position as a member of the United Nations delegation enabled him to live in the country that had always fascinated him. The fact that he had also been a member of the KGB at the time did not diminish his appreciation for America.

In Moscow now, he had come to the Starlite Diner with his nephew, Colonel Vladimir Shaporin. He was surprised when Vladimir suggested that they meet here—but flattered thinking that perhaps his nephew was being nice to him.

“Get the French-fried onion rings with your cheeseburger,” Mironov suggested. He chuckled. “I'm sure they are a heart attack waiting to happen, but, oh, they are delicious. And a strawberry milkshake,” he added.

“I'll defer to your expertise, Uncle Aleks, and let you order,” Vladimir said, once they were seated.

“Good, good, trust me, I'll make your dinner an experience you won't forget,” Mironov said. He placed his order, then seeing the pictures on the wall, started pointing them out, with explanation, to his nephew.

“That's James Dean,” he said. “
Rebel Without a Cause
—if you want to know America in the fifties, you must see that movie. Oh, and Marilyn Monroe, the most beautiful American actress ever. That's Johnny Cash, and that's Johnny Unitas. That's a 1957 Chevrolet, and that's Elvis Presley. Oh, and listen, that's him singing on the jukebox now.”

“Jukebox?”

Mironov pointed. “That gaudily lit thing over there, from which the music is coming.” Mironov sang along for a few lines. “
If you can't come around, then please, please telephone
.”

“You like Americans, don't you?” Vladimir said.

“Yes, I like them. That is, I did like them. I don't know that I could like them now. I'm not sure I understand what has happened to America,” Mironov said. “I don't mind admitting it. Though, of course, during this time,” he took in the photos with a wave of his hand, “the fifties and the sixties—it would not have done for me to say this. We were in a cold war then, with the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over us all.”

Vladimir drummed his fingers on the table for a moment or two, then glanced around the restaurant to make certain he couldn't be overheard.

“Uncle Aleks, what if I told you there is still a nuclear threat?” he asked.

“Well, of course, as long as there are nuclear weapons, I suppose there is always that chance,” Mironov said.

“More than just a chance.”

Mironov's eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to tell me, Vladimir?”

“Uncle, as you know I am commanding officer of the Tenth Battalion of the Tamanskya Division. In a recent inventory, I discovered that five of the three-kiloton warheads were missing.”

“What? Did you report them?”

“I did.”

“And what action has been taken?”

“None.”

“None? But, that is impossible! How can there be no action taken?”

“After the end of the Cold War the Americans gave us software designed to allow us to keep track of our inventory. That computer says that there are no missing warheads, but I think someone has hacked into the files, making it appear as if all is well.”

“What makes you suspect that?”

“Because I have also kept a record of them on the property book. The property book shows five more weapons than we currently have in our inventory.”

“My dear boy, that has always been the nightmare of both the American and the Russian governments.”

“Not our government,” Vladimir said.

“What do you mean?”

“I went to Defense Minister Basov and told him that the warheads were missing. When he asked how I knew, I told him that according to the property book, we still have the warheads. But according to the computer, and according to a physical inventory, the warheads are gone.”

“You're sure it isn't simply an accounting mistake—that you didn't transfer them out and lose track of them?”

“Uncle Aleks, you lose track of your billfold, your fountain pen, your car keys—you do not lose track of nuclear warheads.”

“What did Basov say?”

“He demanded that I surrender the property book and all hard copy records to him. He also told me that I was dealing with something that was none of my business. When I told him that I was responsible for the nuclear weapons under my command, and that it definitely was my business, he told me that this involved something that was way above me, and that I should forget about it—including the conversation we had.”

“How big is a three kiloton weapon? I mean, how much damage could it do?”

“It's about one-fourth the size of the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima,” Vladimir said. “It would larger than any nonnuclear blast in history—with the heat and radiation of a nuclear weapon. Believe me, uncle, this is not something you would want to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Who else have you told about this?” Mironov asked.

“Only my deputy commander,” Vladimir replied.

The waiter brought the hamburgers, fried onion rings, and milkshakes to the table at that moment. Mironov thanked him, then, smiling, picked up the hamburger and took a big bite.

“Oh, my,” he said. “Try this, Vladimir. You will think you have died and gone to heaven.”

“Uncle, did you hear one word I said to you?” Vladimir asked.

“I heard,” Mironov said. “And I will look into it, nephew. I promise you, I will look into it.”

Two hundred and fifty had arrived at the camp, now there were only one hundred and eighty-seven left.

“Our experiment of keeping men and women together has not worked,” the camp commandant told them, when he assembled them for the daily announcements. “Tomorrow, you are to be separated, and the women will be taken to another camp.”

“No!” someone shouted. “No, please, don't do this!”

“Enjoy your last night together,” the commandant said with a sardonic smile.

Those nights in the barracks the women, and many of the men, were crying.

“David,” Leah said. “Do you remember what you said when we arrived at this place?”

“What?”

“You remember. You just don't want to say it, because you think I don't want to hear it again.”

“You say it,” David said.

“You said that we would either live together, or die together.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“Then let us die together.”

David took Leah's hand in his. “Is that really what you want?”

“Yes, my darling,” Leah said, holding David's eyes with a steady gaze. “If we are to be separated tomorrow, I want us to die together tonight.”

“Wait here,” David said. “I'll be right back.”

Leaving Leah on the single bed they had shared ever since arriving at the camp, David sought out one of the other prisoners that he knew was a doctor. The doctor, who was 75, was the oldest of all the prisoners. He was a widower, his wife having died even before they were all rounded up.

“Doctor Solomon,” David began, but Solomon held up his hand. “I know what you are going to ask, nearly everyone here has asked the same thing. If you'll return to your wife, I'll address the subject for all of you.”

David returned to the bunk.

“Did Doctor Solomon have a suggestion?”

“He's going to talk to us now,” David said.

“People, please, pay attention,” Doctor Solomon said. “I want to tell you a story, then, as a result of that story, offer a suggestion.

“The story I will tell you is the story of the Masada, as told by Josephus. For many years scholars believed it was fiction, but archeologists later proved the authenticity of the story.

“Jerusalem fell to the Romans in 70 A.D. but there were many Jewish zealots on Masada, a mountain top fortress, who refused to surrender, and Rome was unable to subdue them.

“But the Romans were determined to do this, so they surrounded the mountain with as many as 15,000 soldiers. They built siege camps and an earthen ramp so Roman battering rams could ascend to one of the gates. The siege lasted seven months, then the walls were breached. But when the Romans entered there was no resistance. There was no resistance because all but two women and five children were dead.

“The women told the story of how ten men were chosen by lot to kill all of the others, then one was selected to kill the remaining nine, then kill himself. In that way, only one person had to take upon himself the sin of suicide.

“According to Josephus, the Jewish leader said something that might apply here. He said, let us die un-enslaved by our enemies and leave this world as free men in company with our wives and children.

“I know that many of you have chosen to die tonight, rather than be separated from your wives. Those of you who have made such a choice, stand by your bed. Those of you who do not wish to participate, go to the back of the room. I will take the sin upon myself to kill you, so that you not leave this world as a suicide.”

“How will you do it?” someone asked.

“By ligature strangulation,” Dr. Solomon said. “I will use an article of clothing as a garrote. It isn't exceptionally painful, and at any rate, it generally brings on unconsciousness within five to ten seconds, so you will be unaware of what is happening to you.”

“What will happen to you, Doc?”

“I'll hang myself. Now, those who want to participate, stand by your bed. Those who don't, move to the back of the room.”

Not one person moved.

“All right,” Solomon said. “I'll get started.”

David and Leah stood in an embrace as Doctor Solomon began his terrible task. There was no sound, neither from the victims, nor from the witnesses who were waiting for their own fate. After about five minutes, Dr. Solomon approached them. Solomon was sweating profusely, and there was an expression on his face that was unlike anything David had ever seen before.

“It isn't too late for you two to back out,” Doctor Solomon said.

“We will live together, or die together,” Leah said.

“Which of you shall go first?”

“I will,” Leah said.

“Wait,” David said. He embraced and kissed his wife. “Principle eleven of Maimonides tells us that our great reward will be life in the world to come. I will see you, my beloved, in the world to come.”