The House of War: Book One Of : THE OMEGA CRUSADE (25 page)

It is a weakness easily exploited. Pushing along lines specifically designed for just such a liberal, multi-culture-minded populace, Zahra and the Brotherhood won concession after concession from the Federal and local governments. The Muslim Brotherhood invented the word
Islamophobia
precisely for the waging of cultural warfare and it has paid off handsomely. In a society as litigious as America, it was only necessary to claim discrimination to get most opponents to back down. This simple strategy severely limited the attacks they had to counter. For the others, there was the always implicit threat of the violence Muslims could, when offended, be incited to commit that muted their critiques and curbed their resistance.

The mix of grievances, peddled through an enabling press and violent demonstrations could work wonders through a government as weak and divided as America’s. Through such a combination of pressures the US could even be made to turn on its own. In one that first convinced the Sheik that America was doomed, its’ government offered up three of its own soldiers to Afghanistan’s Taliban at the close of the war. The men were beheaded and their bodies dragged through the spitting crowds of Kabul for the burning of a Koran. Qassim had it on good authority that the men were set up and that their government even suspected as much, but gave them up anyway in the hope of ‘healing relations’ with the Muslim world.

Nowhere is Islam’s progress more visible than in his adopted home of, Dearborn Michigan. And the crowning achievement of his sharia-compliant city is the newly built mega-mosque looming into view ahead of him. It is the largest mosque in the western hemisphere. Its construction paid for by the United States government as part of the reparations settlement won from the Department of Peace for the mental and emotional anguish Bush’s wars inflicted on the Muslim-American community. The settlement, to the Sheik’s great amusement also endowed Muslims in America with a protected minority status that made them immune to many of the laws and policies that were closing down churches across the country.

“If anyone needed proof that Allah and time are on our side,” he told his audience after last Friday’s service. “One need only consider how our ancient adversary, Christendom is beaten back as Islam thrives on her former ground.”

Sheik Zahra initiated and led the landmark suit ten years ago. And while he had the support and resources of every Muslim interest group behind him, his
best allies were Westerners themselves. Self-loathing Americans, wanting desperately to make their government pay for ‘war crimes,’ bent over backwards to help them through the suit process. It was the same with the latest suit that promised to erase all traces of Christianity from the nation’s monuments. Their chief lawyer was an avowed atheist and socialist with the ACLU. Sheik Zahra asked her why she decided to work with the Brotherhood.

“I hate Christians,” she explained. “I understand you all are not too fond of them either. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, no?”

Qassim smiled in response to her question. Fool, he thought. She could not see that Islam would quickly fill the void left by vanquished Christendom. It was the same story in his native Egypt and the other North African nations that now made up the Ihkwan Caliphate. Socialists and other secularists worked with the Brotherhood to bring down Mubarak, Gaddafi and others. In exchange for their service they expected to share power with the Brotherhood and some even thought to win Western-style liberties for themselves when the fighting was done. They got none of it. In the end, most of them lost their heads for their troubles.

Lenin had rightly called their sort, useful idiots. America was full of them.

They arrive at the mega-mosque. The car drives through the empty parking lot and around the large domed structure. The Salafi Cultural Center building is behind it. His office is on the top floor of the twelve story building. The black Lincoln comes to a stop at the front door. His body guard gets out and walks around the back of the car.

“Go gather the others,” Zahra tells his driver. “Bring them here.”

Mahmoud nods, knowing what to do.

His body guard opens Sheik Qassim’s door. At the entrance, Zahra punches in his security code. The door slides open and lights come on in the crescent shaped atrium. He enters the building and hears his car drive off. The two men ride the elevator in silence to the top floor. Qassim’s office is just down a short hall. It consists of two rooms, an outer office where he handles public business and an inner, secure chamber where the plans for Jihad are advanced, safe from the prying, electronic eyes and ears of the government. He punches the code to his door and enters his outer office with his bodyguard.

“What’s shaking, Sheik?”

The two men spin around at the sound of the voice. They each find themselves looking down the barrel of gun.

Washington, DC

19:18:17

Felix Culpa
is popping the old bird from the coop.

The facebook post excites millions of users around the world, leading them to believe that satellites were back online & they would be allowed reentry into their digital worlds. Their hope is false & short-lived. All they can do with their gadgets is read Felix Culpa’s status update. At sixty-one seconds from the posting, all their PalmPals, cell phones, pads & readers go dead again. Everyone who noticed the update is left scratching their heads at the posting & wondering, who is Felix Culpa? Try as they might, they cannot place him in their immediate circle of friends or acquaintances. They cannot remember ever inviting or accepting his e-friendship. Not a one of them is able to fix a face to the name. The profile picture that accompanied the post, a sword, held hilt high in a gauntleted hand, is no help whatsoever.

At facebook headquarters, the post fires off another burst of excitement. It is the second posting by Felix Culpa, & like the first, it inexplicably goes out to everyone, to all the billion and a half people in the network. It is another unprecedented breach of all their firewalls & security systems. Programmers & technicians spring to attention & try once again to wrest back control of their network. However, the sixty seconds of online connection is not long enough to do anything.

“Nothing is working,” the chief of operations reports to the CEO. “We’re completely locked out.”

The CEO squeezes a rubber stress ball in each hand. “The timestamps on the postings are definitely pointing to a countdown.”

“Yes, to six o’clock tomorrow night.”

“Then what?” The CEO asks.

The chief of operations can only shrug in response.

“They may know already,” the CEO says after a short spell of silence. “But in case they don’t, we should advise the government.”

Twenty-five hundred miles away, Ralph Golden slips the Ghost Mobile into a reserved slot in the parking lot of DC’s Metro Central Detention Facility. The Ghost Mobile is a 1963 Chevy El Dorado. The old century car’s exterior is white but for the mirror-polished chrome grill, highlights, & the large, red, eight-pointed, Knights’ Templar cross on its hood. The seats are red with white
piping. A red & white Rosary hangs from the rearview mirror. The license plates read
REPENT
, red letters on white.

Ralph thumbs a small, glass disc in the center of the steering wheel. The sensor behind it reads his fingerprint & shuts the Ghost Mobile down. He gets out of the car & walks the long, ribbon of concrete curving between two snowfrosted lawns that lead to the prison’s entrance. The large, glass doors part silently when Golden approaches them. He steps through doorway & enters DC’s Metro Central Detention Facility. Two large, beefy guards, one white & the other black, on either side of two metal detecting arches look up and smile.

“Hello, Ralphy-boy,” says the black prison guard. “Merry Christmas to you.”

“Merry Christmas, Bill,” Ralph replies. “Merry Christmas, Stanley.”

“Merry Christmas, Ralph,” Stanley says.

The three men shake hands.

“How are the wives & kids?”

“They’re just fine, Ralph,” Bill says.

“Doing real good,” Stanley answers.

“Excellent!”

“Here comes the old bird now, Ralphy-boy,” Bill says, pointing to an opening door in the far end of the waiting room.

Ralph Golden looks over to see Cardinal Redding, in full regalia, step into the large, harshly-lit rectangular room. He is a big & broad shouldered man of seventy-seven years. The only hair on his round head is in his gray, bushy eyebrows. The Cardinal walks through the aisle between rows of plastic, purple chairs, blessing the few people scattered among them. One side is filled with a half dozen people waiting on the release of prisoners. Seated throughout the other rows of chairs are a score of new arrests, handcuffed to the seats, waiting to be processed into the system. Most of them are Maxists, Golden notes by the unwashed, unkempt state of them. A few of them spit curses at the Cardinal as he blesses them. When they do, Redding gives them a wider smile & an extra blessing.

“Never off the clock, that one,” observes Stanley.

“Married to his job,” Ralph agrees.

Cardinal Redding reaches them. “Gentlemen, a very merry Christmas to you all.”

The three men take turns kissing his ring. “Merry Christmas, your Eminence.”

“Pass my compliments on to the Mayor, officers,” Cardinal Redding says, addressing Stanley & Bill. “Tell him I regret not being able to avail myself of more of his hospitality.”

“He’ll understand,” Bill says. “You’re a busy man.”

“Yes, you are Eminence,” Ralph says. “So if you would, please come along. The clock is ticking. Keep the faith, boys.”

Bill & Stanley give Ralph casual salutes.

“Very well,” says the Cardinal & then pauses to bless the two prison guards before following Golden out.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Ralph.”

“My pleasure, Cardinal,” Ralph says. “I trust you got along fine on the inside.”

“The jumpsuit was the worst thing about the experience,” the Cardinal says.

“Orange just isn’t your color, Eminence.”

“I would say not.”

The walk to the car takes twice as long, as Ralph slows his pace to keep up with the slow moving, older man. On the walk, the Cardinal inquires after the preparation for the night’s Mass. Golden assures him that everything is going according to plan. They arrive at the Ghost Mobile & Ralph opens the passenger side door with exaggerated flourish. “Welcome aboard, Cardinal.”

“She’s a real beauty, Ralph,” Cardinal Redding says, pausing to admire the automobile. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

“They may yet again, your Eminence,” Ralph says, taking the Cardinal’s arm. “They may yet again.”

Cardinal Redding bends & gets in. Ralph shuts his door, walks around the front and takes his seat behind the wheel. He starts the car with the touch of his thumb & pulls it out of the parking spot. After a few short blocks on G Street, the Ghost Mobile merges into the heavier trafficked Pennsylvania Avenue. The old El Dorado stands out against the smaller, modern automobiles around it, drawing considerable attention from other drivers. The looks are mostly appreciative mixed with an occasional sour expression from those who do not approve of old, gas-guzzling giants on the road.

The speakers on the dashboard suddenly emit an electronic ping.

“What was that?” The Cardinal asks.

Ralph glances up at his rearview mirror briefly. “There is a cop car a little behind us in the right lane. It just scanned us. They’re making sure I have the Patriot Governor installed. You can’t drive in Washington without it, you know. They routinely check out old century beauties like my Ghost Mobile.”

“Your car knows when it’s being scanned?”

“Sure does,” Ralph says.

“And do you have the governor installed?”

“Yes & no, your Eminence,” Ralph says with a small smile under his handlebar moustache. “As far as the cop’s scanner is concerned I do. But no, I don’t really. I’ve got something which mimics its signal.”

“What happens if the officer decides to engage the governor?”

Ralph Golden laughs. “If Mr. Five-O tries it, the signal would be shot back at his car. It would shut him down.”

“Goodness,” says the Cardinal. “Can you shoot rockets out of the headlights too?”

“Not yet, Eminence, but we’re working on it,” says Golden. “Maybe it’ll be included in the next upgrade. Check out the heads up display, though. It’s custom.”

“Give me the heads-up display, Gracie,” Ralph says, speaking to his automobile through his PalmPal. “Set it on a bird’s-eye-view at an inch to a quarter mile scale, if you please.”

The windshield lights up with a ghostly outline of the city’s downtown. The Cardinal sees blue, green & black dots moving along the streets. There is one red dot moving northwest along Pennsylvania Avenue which he figures is Ralph’s car. A quarter inch behind it is a blue dot.

“The blue dots are police cars, I take it.”

“Yes Eminence,” Ralph answers. “The green dots are military vehicles. The blinking ones are ours. The black dots are unmarked cop cars. The rest of the traffic is represented by the brightness of the lines. The darker the line, the heavier the traffic is on the street.”

“Impressive.”

“That isn’t the half of it,” Ralph boasts. “The Ghost Mobile is also hacking into the signal system as we drive, making certain we’re not bothered by red lights.”

The Cardinal whistles appreciatively. “Did the Colonel fix up this car for you?”

“Nah, it was my uncle Tommy & I that done her up,” Ralph says. “My Uncle Tommy, he’s a genius mechanic with a love for sticking it to the man, if you know what I mean.”

“I suppose I might.”

They turn left onto Independence & then right onto First Street. The two men fall silent as they scan the crowds on their left. They drive past the Library of Congress & reach the encampment of Catholics in the park across the street from the Supreme Court building. Most of the faithful are knelt in prayer, reciting the Rosary in tight columns. The monitors, wearing full-length, cross-emblazoned scapulars, stand guard around them. They notice that many of them are looking warily up Maryland Avenue, several shaking their heads. Ralph & Cardinal turn to see what has drawn their attention. They see it immediately, a life-sized Crucifix burning in the street. It’s on the north side of the Supreme Court building, about a quarter of the way up Maryland Avenue. Some thirty or so Maxists dance in a ring around the cross. A dozen others sit in a ring around them, banging away at make-shift drums.