Lethal Trajectories (8 page)

“Wonderful,” Mustafa replied. “What about our demonstration atomic bomb?”

“Our atomic bomb can be ready for explosion at the prescribed time, and the four smaller reserve nukes can be readied within ninety-six hours of notice. The demonstration bomb will have the strength of roughly forty kilotons of TNT—twice the size of the infidels’ A-bomb on Hiroshima. With our delivery systems, we can also threaten the infidels with an electromagnetic pulse attack.”

Bawarzi interrupted again. “Please refresh me, General, on the destructive range of our EMP weapon.”

Mustafa’s irritated frown was ill-disguised.
Has Bawarzi remembered anything that has been planned?

“Certainly, my brother,” Ali Jabar replied, obviously eager to show off his knowledge. “The electromagnetic pulse bomb is merely an atomic bomb that is exploded about a hundred kilometers
above
an enemy target. The massive release of electrons from the explosion at that altitude blankets the area with a power surge more powerful than a lightening bolt. It immediately destroys all electrical circuitry in cars, computers, electrical power systems, and so forth. It is truly our greatest weapon of mass destruction.”

With growing excitement, Ali Jabar said, “If you will recall, our brothers attempted a very crude EMP attack off the coast of New York back in 2015 and almost pulled it off. They launched a nuclear device atop a scud missile from a freighter about fifty kilometers off the New York coast, but it failed to reach altitude and detonate. Had it succeeded, it would have destroyed electrical systems across the entire eastern seaboard. When the attempt was uncovered, the American infidels lost all confidence in their security and changed their entire system.”

Mustafa knew Ali Jabar could talk for hours about his beloved EMP bomb and interrupted. “The reliability and potency of the atomic weapons and delivery systems developed secretly under the brilliant leadership of General Ali Jabar is to be commended. Our threefold threat of using our nuclear capabilities in conventional, EMP, or dirty-bomb configurations will be a deterrent to any infidel military actions against us.”

Mustafa could see Ali Jabar beaming and moved the meeting on to other pressing matters. Finally satisfied that all necessary preparations were in place, Mustafa called an end to the meeting.

Following a prayer session, they left the meeting one by one, exercising the elaborate security precautions that had enabled them to avoid detection over the past couple of years. They left with a clear sense of mission and glory, knowing their years of intensive planning and risk of exposure would soon be over.

P
astor Veronica headed toward her car, feeling irritated after a drawn-out church council meeting. She had received a call from an alcoholic woman requesting her help, and she was anxious to attend to her parishioner’s need and not squabbles over getting less expensive brands of toilet paper for the church. Out of habit—a bad one, she acknowledged—she tuned into the Wellington Crane show for the drive to her parishioner’s house.

“…. And if there are any buffoons out there on foreign policy, Wellington,” she heard the shrill voice of Senator Tom Collingsworth say, “it’s those rank amateurs in the Burkmeister administration. Here you have one of our greatest allies and truest friends, Japan, being mauled by the Chinese navy in a massive and disproportionate use of force over an innocent intrusion into their so-called territorial waters. Several Japanese oil platforms and naval vessels were sunk, and Japan has now rightfully called on the United States to honor mutual defense treaties in existence since the 1960s. What do we do? We tell them that we can’t do anything at this time; that we need to think it over and will get back to them later. It’s like, don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

Furious, the mercurial Collingsworth spewed out, “What kind of friends are we anyway? I say shame on China and double shame on the Burkmeister administration for not doing the right thing. This whole affair is shameful, Wellington, and I just don’t know how Burkmeister can look himself in the mirror. Do you?”

“Well, Senator,” Crane said, relishing the fireworks he knew would follow, “according to Burkmeister, your comments were premature, and he all but said you were a loose cannon and would be well advised to get your facts straight before shooting off your big mouth. His thoughts, not mine. He further …”

Collingsworth exploded before Crane could finish his statement. “The Burkmeister administration has sold America down the river and along with it our faithful ally, Japan.” Crane started to respond, but Collingsworth interrupted again.

“Please, Wellington let me finish. It is my intention to quickly convene the Senate Foreign Relations Committee I chair, and there will be a thorough investigation as to whether or not the White House is violating a long-standing treaty with Japan. Furthermore …”

Veronica turned off the radio to take a cell-phone call from her daughter. Mandy was in trouble again. They both agreed to talk about it when she got home. Perplexed, she drove by her favorite Gas-Go station and decided she’d better turn back and fill her empty gas tank.

She was horrified to see gas had increased from $6.14 per gallon this morning to $6.57 now. While the church gave her a car allowance, it was painful to see that a ten-gallon fill-up on her Ford hybrid would now cost close to seventy bucks. She could see why making ends meet was often the number-one topic in her Life Challenges group. Offerings were also down at the church, and she feared they might have to lay off a couple of office workers to make budget.

As she pulled out of the station, she flipped the Wellington Crane show back on. Senator Collingsworth was no longer speaking, but she listened to the self-proclaimed “great one” rail against the administration. “We are in great trouble, folks, and have been since the BM boys came into power. Burkmeister, who purports to be a Republican, is really a starry-eyed liberal, and his sidekick, Clayton McCarty, an Independent party member, has no allegiance to anyone but the left wing whackos and Marxists he represents. Together, they are ruining this great country of ours.

“Now I tell you all this because, as I reported earlier, my impeccable sources have told me that President Burkmeister checked into Walter Reed National Military Medical Center this afternoon for reasons unknown. Reporters at today’s Rose Garden press conference also mentioned how sickly the president looked, an observation that has been made after several recent presidential appearances. I can’t tell you for sure what all of this means, but I can say that while Burkmeister is grossly incompetent and out of touch with reality, Clayton “Lefty” McCarty could be downright dangerous if anything ever happened to Burkmeister. We’ll keep you posted on this one, my friends, but remember you heard it first on the Wellington Crane show.”

Veronica turned the radio off as she pulled into the driveway of Maureen O’Malley, a forty-seven-year-old widower suffering from chronic alcoholism. While talking to alcoholics was not new to Veronica, she had to remind herself that calls like this were best handled by sharing her own experiences in the hopes that the alcoholic would see parallels in their own story. She walked up to the house and waited a minute after ringing the doorbell.

Maureen, still dressed in her bathrobe, greeted Veronica with a smile greatly at odds with her bloodshot, teary eyes. Like most alcoholics, Maureen probably thought her circumstances were unique, and Veronica decided to let her vent before talking. She listened for awhile before taking her cue from Maureen’s tearful statement, “I don’t expect you to understand, Pastor.”

“As a matter of fact,” Veronica responded, “I do understand, because I was once in your shoes.” She could see Maureen was taken aback by her comment. “I started drinking when I was a teenager, and it became a larger part of my life as I got older. When my husband, Avery, a Marine Corps captain, was killed in Afghanistan in 2005, I went totally off the deep end. Thank goodness my parents were there to help raise my two kids, because I wasn’t much of a mom.”

Veronica could see Maureen’s interest pick up as she continued.

“At first, I would drink only in the evenings after the kids were in bed, but that quickly changed. I soon started to drink during the day, and before long I became an ‘item’ in town. I would drive my pickup into town and drive home in a blackout drunk, unable to remember anything. The blackouts were horrifying. Then one morning I woke up in a hospital with a broken arm and lacerations all over my face. It seems that I drove my truck through the window of Jeppson’s Hardware store in St. Peter, but I didn’t remember any of it.”

“What happened then?” Maureen asked. She seemed to relate completely to Veronica’s blackouts, a situation that worried the pastor.

“An old high-school friend of mine heard about my predicament and stopped by to visit me. She related her own dreadful experiences with booze, much as I’m doing here with you, and I was relieved to know I was not the only one with self-esteem problems and a basketful of fears. I no longer felt so alone. I told her, ‘whatever you’ve got, I want,’ and from that point on my life changed.”

“How did it change, Pastor? What did you do?”

“I joined Alcoholics Anonymous and began working with other alcoholics and addicts like myself. In helping them, I seemed to help myself even more. Over time, I began to develop my spiritual life and decided to become a pastor—an unbelievable development, I can assure you. I was ordained in 2014 and have been a pastor at Redeemer ever since. I love what I do, and I formed a self-help group I call Life Challenges to deal with the daily problems of life. It’s not a Twelve Step group, but it’s a place where people can help each other cope. There is hope and a good ending for you, Maureen, if you want it.”

After talking a while more, Veronica said her good-byes. She had planted the seeds and offered her hand, but the rest was up to Maureen. As always, she was in a grateful mood as she ended her visit, mindful of a saying in the program that “to keep it you need to give it away.”

Her glow turned to concern as she approached her driveway on Maple Lane. The conversation she would soon have with Mandy regarding her school suspension would be far more difficult.

C
layton McCarty felt an adrenaline rush on his ride to the studio as he contemplated the televised slugfest he would soon have with two of his administration’s sharpest critics: Wellington Crane and the mercurial Nelson Fitzwater. No novice to media interviews, he knew how to deflect questions and control the message, but still, these guys played hardball.

He had a message to deliver and knew Fitzwater’s
Financial Issues and Answers
show spoke to a target audience the administration most needed to reach: Wall Street and corporate America. His message was simple. America had a host of energy, economic, and environmental problems that could best be addressed in their entirety through the newly created Department of Energy, Transportation, and Climate-change, headed up by Peter Canton. His audience was hostile to the ETCC, and he had to make his case before them and their television viewers.

Arriving an hour before the on-air time, he sat patiently through the obligatory makeup application and lighting checks. He visited briefly with Nelson Fitzwater and his two regular talking-head panelists. The guest panelist, Wellington Crane, was preoccupied with issuing terse orders to the camera crew on angles they should use in covering him. Wellington was obviously miffed that he couldn’t sit in Fitzwater’s regular seat with the Capitol dome in the background. After smelling bourbon on Fitzwater’s breath and observing the thinly disguised hostility of the two talking heads, Clayton thought,
This little soap opera should be interesting.
Just then, the live-air light went on, and it was showtime.

“Good morning, and welcome to
Financial Issues and Answers,”
Fitzwater proclaimed in his most authoritative voice. After briefly introducing his two regular panelists, he effusively welcomed his guest panelist, Wellington Crane. As almost an afterthought, he added, “We are pleased to have Vice President Clayton McCarty joining us to defend the financial policies of the Burkmeister administration, which, frankly, many of us don’t understand. Welcome, Mr. Vice President.”

“Thanks for having me on your show, Nelson,” Clayton said, thinking,
It didn’t take Fitzwater long to get in his first cheap shot.

“Before we start, Mr. Vice President,” Fitzwater asked with what seemed to be contrived empathy, “can you comment on the health of President Burkmeister?”

“Thanks for asking, Nelson. I really don’t have much to add to the daily medical bulletins you’re receiving from Walter Reed. I talk to the president regularly—in fact, I talked to him earlier today and he sends his best. He hopes to get back to work sometime later this week. That’s about all I have for now.”

Theodore Bruce, the pompous editor of
Finance Today,
quickly changed the subject. “Mr. Vice President, the Chunxiao Incident has showcased the indecisiveness of the Burkmeister administration. I’d like to ask, when do you intend to take an official position on it?”

Nodding, McCarty responded, “Well, first of all, Theodore, the Chunxiao Incident occurred less than five days ago. The day after it happened, the president outlined a four-point plan regarding Chunxiao in his Rose Garden press conference. We see nothing ‘indecisive’ about sorting out the facts before taking our strategy to the next level. In the meantime, the president has talked to the leaders of Japan and China, as well as many other world leaders, and we remain at a high state of military alert, including the bolstering of our Seventh Fleet in the Pacific. We’ve also put belligerent nations and terrorists on notice that they best not use the Chunxiao Incident to instigate aggression elsewhere. What specifically is indecisive about that, Theodore?”