Lethal Trajectories (20 page)

President Burkmeister was grateful there were no questions. Instead, there was a tremendous outpouring of sympathy, respect, support, and admiration, and after the long day of preparations, it was a comforting change of pace.

“One last thing,” the president said as the talk died down. “You will each receive a copy of my speech. As you’ll see, it’s short and to the point, and I don’t expect it will take even ten minutes. Thanks again for being here, and we’ll meet here after my speech. God bless you all, and thanks so much for just being who you are.”

As President Burkmeister left the room to prepare for his broadcast, his cabinet members jumped to their feet and applauded. He only wished he could express how much this one act of kindness meant to him in these minutes before the most difficult speech he would ever make.

At 8:00 p.m. sharp, the cameras panned in on President Lyman Burkmeister, sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office with American flags behind him on each side. Dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red power tie, he looked just like you would want your president to look—gray-haired and distinguished. The makeup applied by skilled technicians just minutes before the broadcast hid the strain on his face, including the giant bags under his eyes. In many ways, he looked like a million bucks, but the fatigue and stress of telling his most trusted associates, and now the American people, of his terminal illness had taken its toll.

“My fellow Americans,” he opened with grace and humility, “I come here tonight to share with you some personally distressing news and to tell you that I will be resigning my presidency effective at 12:01 p.m. on Saturday, October fourteenth of this year—or sooner, should conditions require it. Please allow me to explain.”

For the next eight minutes, he walked them through the medical events that led to his decision to resign his presidency. He praised the abilities of Vice President McCarty and his entire cabinet, and he called on the American people to stick together in these difficult times and to pray for him as he was praying for them.

He closed with an expression of gratitude for the privilege of serving as their president and promised that he would help their new president, Clayton McCarty, for as long as he could. After he announced the next morning’s press conference, he closed his address as he had so many others, saying “God bless all of you, and may God richly bless the United States of America.”

The handful of people in the Oval Office, including the camera crew, stared at him in shock. Not an eye remained dry in the crowd as the president shook each one of their hands and thanked them for coming. With that, he left the Oval Office and walked down the hall.

He was greeted with another standing ovation as he entered the Cabinet Room. Feeling fatigue, the president kept the meeting short. At nine o’clock, he said, “I think it’s time to call it a night, folks. I can’t tell you how much your support has meant to me on this memorable day and for as long as we have worked together. You are wonderful people, and I plan to personally call each and every one of you in the next couple of days to tell you that.”

Lyman Burkmeister left the Cabinet Room, exhausted but relieved that the burden of uncertainty had been lifted from his shoulders. He no longer had to pretend all was well. The deed was done, and he now hoped against hope that the worst was over.

Unfortunately, the worst was about to start.

P
rince Hahad ibn Saud could barely conceal his agitation as his driver wove through the unusually heavy Tuesday-morning traffic in Riyadh. As second-in-command of the elite Saudi Royal Guard Regiment, he usually cut through traffic with armed escorts and blaring sirens. Today’s unassuming unmarked car brought him to a hastily called rendezvous with his coconspirators.
This better be good,
he thought. It hadn’t been easy to manage an abrupt disengagement from the planned parade review of one of the regiment’s three light infantry battalions.

Although five minutes early for the scheduled 0900 meeting, he was surprised to find that he was the last to arrive. He greeted his fellow warriors with a nod and took his usual seat.

“My brothers,” opened Prince Mustafa in a voice choked with emotion, “The time for jihad is now here.”

His words coursed through the raw emotions of his brothers like a lightning bolt, instantly relieving years of pent-up fears and anxieties. The room exploded with applause and back-slapping, stirring the emotions even of the stoic Prince Mustafa.

“I believe, my brothers, that the time has come to launch our holy jihad
and
wipe the infidels off the face of the earth. We’ve watched the extraordinary chain of events unfold that has shifted the world’s attention to the Pacific; now the satanic powers of the West are about to lose their infidel leader. They will be floundering, leaderless, like a confused camel in a sandstorm. They will be ill-prepared to respond effectively to a cry for help from the Saudi government.”

Again, the room erupted in cheers, though the American president’s health situation was not new news—his announcement was all over the Riyadh news stations. Mustafa hated to break up the party, but there was much to do now and little time to do it.

“My brothers, please,” he implored, “we don’t have a minute to waste. Listen carefully: the launch will commence tomorrow morning, 27 September, at 0300 hours—approximately eighteen hours from now. Unless one of you has compelling reasons why our plan cannot be launched at this time, it will be our hour of destiny.”

Everyone in the room fell silent as the reality of the situation clouded their euphoria.

“Prince Mustafa,” asked a skeptical Prince Bawarzi, “we were hoping to have two days, not eighteen hours, to make the final preparations. Can we not use the original two-day framework?”

“Prince Bawarzi,” Mustafa responded, trying hard to disguise his irritation, “the element of surprise is worth the few hours’ time we sacrifice. We must strike now, before our government or the infidels have time to adjust to new leadership. We are at grave risk of being discovered and must either stand down or attack. I’ve opted for the latter: if we stand down now, it will be for a very long time.”

The room quieted as the men considered the change in schedule. Prince Hahad ibn Saud took the opportunity to begin his report. “I have some good news. The king and top members of the house of Saud are convening in Riyadh for a major strategic planning conference. I know where they will be staying, and in fact I just left one of the light-infantry battalions of the Royal Guards assigned to provide security for the entire gathering. We could not have asked for more favorable timing for a single devastating blow.”

“Wonderful news,” affirmed Prince Mustafa amidst the others’ loud cheers. “It is another sign that our timing must be right. Upon leaving this meeting,” Mustafa continued, “I will instruct the Unit 22 commando teams to move out immediately and take up positions for the attack. They’ll commence the process of eliminating key government and military leaders at 0300 hours sharp. As discussed, they have been equipped with weapons and ID linking them with the CIA and Zionist forces on which we will place the blame. Loyalist forces will be less likely to oppose us if we are seen as fighting a common enemy together. The threat of such infiltration will become our imperative for the cleansing measures we will take following the coup.”

“Now, why am I telling you something you already know?” asked Mustafa. “I say this because you must never forget: we must not—I repeat
not
—position our initial actions as a jihad
we initiated,
but rather as a jihad in response to the CIA/Zionist-led overthrow attempt. Our jihad will be declared
after
the royal Saudi government has been taken out. The overthrow of the regime must be seen as something we courageously
responded to
—not started. Am I absolutely clear on this?” Nods and murmured agreements answered his question, and Prince Mustafa continued.

“The Unit 22 teams responsible for implanting the dirty bombs in the oil fields will be wearing the uniforms of the elite 15th Armored Brigade and carry special orders from Prince Bawarzi to protect the oil fields. Any opposition they encounter will be eliminated on the spot. Timely deployment is critical; the Unit 22 air transport will be available, General Ali Jabar?” It was more of an order than a question.

Ali Jabar answered in the affirmative, and they spent the next half hour confirming force deployments and timetables. Prince Bawarzi declared his 15th Armored Brigade would begin securing airports, roads, and communication facilities at 1500 hours that very day under the guise of a military alert exercise conducted to assess the rapid deployment performance of his troops. Similar units in Jeddah and other cities and ports would be ready to move by midnight. Mullah al-Harazi said his people would disseminate information on the heroic fight against the CIA/Zionist-led coup to all schools and mosques no later than tomorrow evening, assuming the royal government had been taken out.

As the last few details of their new timeline fell into place, Mustafa rose to his feet. “My brothers,” he said with gratitude in his voice, “you have planned well. Speed and surprise are the two critical elements in our plan, and we must keep the loyalists off balance and unable to regroup for an effective counterattack. There are five pivotal timeframes that must be met. I’ll use X hour—the 0300 attack time—as a reference point.

“By X plus 12 hours—0300 to 1500 hours—the king, royal family, and key civilian and military commanders must be eliminated. Cut off the head, and we’ll only have to deal with the carcass of a floundering beast.

“By X plus 24 hours, the coup must be materially completed. We will then announce to the world the new regime in Saudi Arabia. We will warn the infidels that any retaliatory strikes will result in the detonation of dirty bombs that will turn Saudi oil fields into a radioactive wasteland for the next fifty years.

“By X plus 30 hours, we will release the first of three mandates to the world: the Five Demands we have so painstakingly crafted. The remaining mandates will be released shortly thereafter. We will also announce the cessation of oil exports and instruct Saudi tankers to return immediately to Saudi Arabia.

“By X plus 48 hours, we will detonate a fifty-kiloton atomic bomb to demonstrate our nuclear capability. We will warn the infidels that we have the delivery systems to make good on our threats.”

Mustafa was pleased to see they were taking notes. Though they knew the timetables by heart, he could never go over them too often as far as he was concerned.

“Failure to meet these timetables will negate the only two advantages we have: speed and surprise. I ask you—I implore you, my brothers—to carry out your assignments with ruthless efficiency. Our success depends on it, particularly in the first twenty-four hours of the plan, when we are most vulnerable. Now, are there any further questions?”

“As things now stand, what do you see as the greatest threat to our plans, Prince Mustafa?”
For once, Bawarzi asked a good question,
Mustafa mused.

He replied, “Our two greatest threats are the risk of discovery due to significant troop movements and the stepped-up airwave communications required to deploy our forces in short order, and failure to take out key leaders and facilities in the opening hours of our plan, thus enabling loyalist forces to regroup. If either occurs, our plan is doomed. The Zionists are also a wild card. We can’t say for sure how Israel will react, particularly after they realize that the Five Demands require an end to their existence.”

Mustafa quickly quashed any discussion of how to mitigate the challenges. They had to focus now, he knew, on only those things within their control, leaving all other, uncontrollable events to the will of Allah. There was precious little they could do about them, so why worry about it now?

At 1030 hours sharp they said their prayers and left their ramshackle headquarters for the last time. By this time tomorrow they would either be occupying the royal palace in Riyadh or dead. There could be no middle ground.