Read DEAD BEEF (Our Cyber World Book 1) Online
Authors: Eduardo Suastegui
DEAD BEEF (Our Cyber World Book 1) (44 page)
As everyone set to leave, the president asked Martin to stay a few minutes, if he could. You don’t say no to the leader of the Free World, and Martin said, sure, why not. The president and Martin, escorted by Secret Service men, made their way to the Oval Office.
“I know you’re not the type of man that’s easily wowed,” the president said once they were alone in the room. “I brought you here because I want you to go away tonight and... imagine, dream as you’re wont to do. I want you to imagine what it would be like to serve in my administration.”
The president raised his hands and added, “You don’t have to give me an answer today. But I’m serious. I will be calling you soon. I need men like you, Martin. Men that can help me solve problems instead of clogging the works with questions and petty quarrels. I’ve seen how you work, and I know you would be a tremendous addition to my team. I’ve heard how twice you brought together people who didn’t trust or much care for one another, and you turned them into a team, working toward a single goal. I need that, Martin. Never mind me, our country needs that.”
“I’ll need some time—.”
“Understood. You’ve been through a lot and need time to recuperate. By the way, as you think about this, don’t think that I want to use you only in areas similar or closely related to your prior work. It could be anything from helping me reshape the military budget while retaining key and essential capability, or it could be leading a team to develop a national standard for math and science education that makes us competitive again. I’ll throw several options at you, and you can choose.”
“I’ll take that into account, Mr. President.”
The president sat down at a chair in front of his desk, and waived Martin to sit at a couch next to the chair. “This is where I meet with my staff when we discuss how to solve our country’s problems. And God, do we have problems. From that couch you could help me solve them. Imagine
that
.”
The president leaned forward and looked up at Martin. “I couldn’t help but overhear that Sasha is going to be spending some time in Israel.”
“Yes. She needs time to sort things out, figure out if now that she knows her real identity it changes anything about who she is or what she’s about.”
“I sense you don’t think it’s time well spent,” the president noted.
“Not so much that as I don’t think a different name and a different, recently revealed past really changes who you are as a person. But she needs to discover that for herself, and we have to respect that.”
“What about you?” the president asked. “I noticed you didn’t share whether you had any plans for travel or things you were doing.”
“By that you mean that neither Cynthia nor I shared.”
“See, you’re reading your president’s mind already. You belong on that couch.”
Martin smiled. “Cynthia and I are going to do that long cross-country drive I’ve been pestering her about for years. We’ll strap a dirt bike in the back of that truck she bought, allegedly for me, we’ll tuck a couple of small duffel bags behind the seats, maybe add some photo and camping gear, and we’ll see where things go from there. If we’re not at each other’s throats after a couple of months of greasy diners and stinky motels, we’ll take that as a good sign.”
“Sounds like as good a plan as any, certainly a fun one. I hope things work out well for you, Martin. For you and Cynthia. She’s a good woman.”
“I’ve somehow managed to have a lot of good, strong women in my life. Among them, Cynthia’s at the top.”
Instead of taking a cab back to his hotel, Martin walked to the Washington monument and took a moment to look around, at the White House from a distance, down the mall to Congress, and the opposite way past the reflecting pool to the Lincoln memorial. Through the trees he also stole a look in the direction of the Jefferson memorial. His favorite president, or so he'd argued back during his college days for Libertarian ideals he could scarcely recall or defend now.
He spent the next two hours walking around those sites, taking a picture or two along the way, imagining what life might hold for him, and growing more convinced with each step he’d be back here soon. Doing what he didn’t know or cared to nail down so long as it came with purpose and meaning.
I Saleh Fayez, on the 182nd day of my imprisonment as an enemy combatant against the Great Satan walked out onto the steps of the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Oklahoma. I stood surrounded by heavily armed Federal agents, all clad in body armor, all with faces concealed behind black masks.
My spiritual and legal team stood before microphones, and I looked on at the journalists and their surprised faces. I had won an unexpected legal victory that day. The judge, finding that “Mr. Fayez has been severely mistreated, without guarantee of safety for his health and well-being” had ordered me moved to house arrest at a secret location under guard by the very Federal agents that surrounded me now.
My spiritual counselor, Ayatollah Abdul Mohamed spoke first with fire in his eyes. “Today, even in the midst of this unfair and unholy injustice system, Allah's holy truth has prevailed and he has given his son, Saleh Fayez a great victory! We are not deceived, however. We know that our Jihad in this court will be difficult and heavily stacked against Saleh. We pray that both justice and truth continue to prevail in spite of the unrighteous and dirty efforts of Saleh's opponents.”
A barrage of questions from reporters arose from the courthouse steps. My lead council, a prominent and passionate Civil Rights attorney raised his hands, smiled and waited for the uproar to subside. When order returned he said, “Today is a great day for our system of justice, a day when the Constitution stood strong and justice has blown away the inhumane conditions—”
This is when the first blast happened. A boom followed by a cloud of smoke drifting in from across the street, almost in sync, someone might have noticed, with the word “blown.” More blasts came, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, seven blasts and seven expanding clouds of smoke. A commentator would later note how the wind conditions were perfectly suited to make the white smoke rise up the courthouse steps and blanket everyone and everything there.
My guards fanned out to protect me knocking down cameras and reporters as they went. In the smoke, yelling and confusion they did not immediately hear three gray dirt bikes climbing the steps. The first one took the high ground behind me, while the other two took positions below me to my right and to my left.
They opened fire. I stood firm and unafraid knowing Allah held my fate in his hands. My infidel guards fell one by one in matter of seconds. Later I would learn their body armor did not shield them against the armor piercing bullets my rescuers used. With all my guards dead or incapacitated, the top bike came to me. Its driver, clad in a gray burka said in Arabic, “Climb!”
With handcuffed hands I did my best to hang on as we sped down the steps and onto the street. To this day I implore Allah's forgiveness for touching a woman not my wife, and a virgin, as I would learn later. But I believe my touch was required in order to fulfill Allah's plan.
We turned into an alley, came out onto a small street, where we turned hard right into another alley, and there all three motor bikes rose up a ramp into the back of an empty Coca Cola truck.
With terrific precision, one of my three rescuers slid the ramp in, pulled down the back door, and we made our escape.
The three sisters honored me with their greeting. Behind their burkas they said in unison, “We're Allah's three virgins, here to administer his vengeance.”
“And today,” the tallest one said, “we've come to free you in his name so that you can fulfill his purpose.”
These holiest of virgins to whom I shall forever be indebted provided me with a disguise, passport and plane tickets to New York and Barcelona. Once in Barcelona, I purchased a ticket to Lebanon where I met my Hezbollah brothers in Jihad.
It pleases me as I hope it pleases Allah all the more to see how news of my escape and images of the bravery my rescuers showed has inspired more holy warriors to join our cause.
I now await Allah's vision through which he will unveil our next mission. Until then, I Saleh Fayez will labor with my brothers to prevail in this our House of Cyber War.
I stand now with my brothers and proclaim, “Allah is great!”
Chana Bauman and her CIA counterpart, recently promoted Deputy Director Robert Odehl, watched the video.
“Allah is great!” Fayez and his masked Hezbollah brothers in arms shouted.
“Pitch perfect,” Chana said, wondering whether she would see the fruit of this flip before her cancer killed her.
“Do you think the boy will hold?” Odehl asked.
“Your own psychological profile says so. The boy is built for fanaticism, and right now, it’s Jesus that drives him. As I said
,
perfect.”
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