Chapter 39
The American forces had just finished their destructive walk across Iran and were in the process of entering Iraq. The scorched earth policy had left behind very few survivors. Those who remained alive were on the brink of starvation and were more worried about feeding themselves than fighting the Americans. Rather than occupy territory, the American forces were advancing. They were rolling over any and all resistance. It was relentless and didn't look like it would end.
Mike was seated at the conference table in the White House briefing room with a dozen other analysts from Homeland Security. They had just finished reviewing what was happening in Pakistan and Iran behind the American troops. The death and destruction that had rained down upon those countries had left the survivors believing that Allah had abandoned them. That sentiment was slowly spreading across the entire Islamic world.
As the meeting was breaking up, the President said, "Mike, could you stay for a minute?"
"Sure," Mike answered returning to his seat. He nodded to the other analysts as they left the conference room.
Once the room had been cleared, President Archer said, "It is time for me to start running for another term in office and I would..."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mike said interrupting the President.
"Excuse me?"
Anticipating that the discussion that would follow was not going to be much fun, Mike said, "I wouldn't run for another term if I were you."
"Why?" President Archer asked confused by Mike's reaction to his news.
"You won't be fit to run this country," Mike answered being much more blunt than normal.
Sitting up, President Archer asked, "Why do you say that?"
"We just talked about having killed millions of people without getting sick to our stomachs. We discussed killing millions more as if we were planning what movie we were going to see this evening. Do you know what we call people like that?"
"What?"
"Monsters. We've become monsters," Mike answered.
Tony was about to object that they were killing people who wanted to kill them. Seeing the expression on Mike's face, he sat back and listened. Mike had always served as a voice of conscience. He gestured for Mike to continue.
Mike said, "Maybe what we are doing is a matter of necessity. You and I believe that we have to act to save this country. We might even be able to convince ourselves that the way we are going about it is a matter of necessity. I can't help but think that there must be an alternative. I don't know what that alternative is. I do wish we had found a better way to save this country. All that I do know is that by the time this war is over... Well, we're not going to be fit to lead this country into the future."
"Do you really believe that?"
Mike nodded his head and answered, "Yes, I do. We have lost our compassion. America is a compassionate country. You do not want to leave office with the legacy that we killed the compassion of this great nation."
Mike walked up the steps to the house with more than a little nervousness. Although the opportunity had come up once or twice, he had never met Cathy's parents. He thought it was weird that a man his age should be so nervous about meeting the parents of his girlfriend. He hadn't even reached the door when Cathy opened it and greeted him with a hug and a kiss. She said, "My parents can't wait to meet you."
"Is that a good thing?" Mike asked.
"Yes, that is a good thing," Cathy answered with a laugh. She took his arm and led him into the living room. When they reached it, she gestured to the man and woman seated there and said, "This is my dad, Chuck, and my mom, Susan. Mom and Dad, this is Mike."
Chuck rose from his seat and extended a hand. In a gravely voice, he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mike. Cathy's told us a lot about you."
"Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you," Mike said shaking hands with the man.
Susan rose and hugged him. In a very friendly voice, she said, "Welcome to the family."
"Thanks," Mike said feeling a little awkward. With a little encouragement from Cathy, everyone took a seat with Mike and Cathy seated together on a love seat.
After a moment of awkward silence, Chuck said, "So Cathy tells us that you were a Marine."
"That's right. I was a First Lieutenant," Mike answered chaffing a bit at Chuck's use of the past tense. He glanced down at his twisted left hand.
Chuck nodded his head and said, "I did my four years in the Air Force."
"Ah, what did you do?" Mike asked trying to keep the conversation alive.
"I drove a bus," Chuck answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He still drove a bus along a route in Washington DC.
Mike didn't know what to say after that declaration. Seeing that he was at a loss for words, Cathy said, "No swapping of war stories allowed."
Susan smiled weakly searching for a topic of conversation. After an awkward silence, she said, "We sure were surprised when Cathy told us that she had a job with Homeland Security."
"I bet," Mike said smiling over at Cathy. He had often wondered how she had explained her sudden career change from being a waitress at an Internet Café to being a support person in Homeland Security.
"To tell the truth, I'm still not sure that I understand what happened there," Chuck said scratching the side of his face.
"The Internet Café where she worked was a covert intelligence office. When the old CIA Headquarters was destroyed, we had to bring more of our people there and we kept her on," Mike said.
"Oh," Chuck said. He looked at Mike wondering why they would have a covert intelligence office.
"Yes," Mike said feeling like this was the most miserable and awkward conversation in which he had ever participated. They were all searching for some neutral topic and were having no luck.
Desperate for a topic of conversation, Cathy said, "Mike likes to fish."
Chuck looked up and said, "Oh, where do you go?"
"I go out to the Shenandoah River every other Saturday when the weather is good," Mike answered feeling a little relieved to have found a topic of conversation.
"I've been out there," Chuck said. He paused and said, "A couple of years ago, I caught a six pound bass there. It was a real beauty. We were on one of those little..."
Cathy sat back in her chair knowing that her father could talk about fishing for hours. Seeing that Mike was keeping up his end of the conversation, she relaxed and watched the two most important men in her life bond. Her mother winked and said, "Cathy, why don't we put dinner together while the men are talking fishing?"
The military had finally configured itself to handle its intelligence needs as it pertained to carrying forth the war effort. The Department of Homeland Security was cast back in its real role of gathering intelligence within the halls of foreign governments and other organizations that represented a threat to national security. For Mike's teams that meant they had little to do since the whole Asian area was dead in terms of activity.
Rather than sit idle, Mike's teams were requested to monitor the situations inside Saudi Arabia, Syria, and Jordan. With a complete absence of human intelligence inside those countries, they were left with pouring through intercepted emails, telephone calls, newspapers, and websites trying to piece together what was happening inside of those countries. It was obvious that the morale of the Arab world was taking a beating, but the call upon the faithful to resist was still strong.
Staring at the situation status board at the front of the room, Mike shook his head. To no one in particular, he said, "We're missing something in all of this mess. There is some group that has to behind it all."
Charlie looked up from his computer and asked, "Why do you say that?"
"Gut feeling," Mike answered. He turned to Shirley and asked, "Can you pull up the names of all of the major leaders, past and present, of the various terrorist organizations and states?"
"Sure," she answered. Attention in the room slowly turned to watch Mike. Everyone knew the when he turned his attention to some problem that it stopped being a problem.
Looking over the list, Mike said, "Let's take Osama bin Laden as a prototypical leader of a terrorist organization and..."
Charlie shook his head and said, "I think you're going in the wrong direction."
"Why?" Mike asked.
"You're trying to establish what the leaders have in common by looking at individuals. The fact is that they are each unique and got to where they are in different ways. Let's look at it from a different perspective. What characteristics of a person are required within that culture to attract and direct followers?" Charlie said.
"Like what?" Mike asked.
Charlie answered, "Well, look at all of the leaders of those organizations. They were all successful in other endeavors before they took a leadership position in a terrorist organization. Osama bin Laden owned a construction company and was worth three hundred million or so."
"You know, I never understood why someone worth that much money would go off to fight in very primitive conditions," Mike said.
"Good question," Jerry answered. He said, "Maybe he was bored with playing at rich playboy."
"Bored?" Mike asked.
The discussion degraded into wild speculation without leading to anything productive. Rather than hold them back, Mike let people vent their private pet theories as to what created a terrorist leader. Very little work actually got done that day, but Mike knew that there were some days like that. Still, he listened to their comments with care hoping that somewhere in the wild speculation was a chance that someone would mention something that would trigger an idea.
Mike stepped out of the grocery store carrying a half gallon of milk in a plastic bag. He paused when the hair on the back of his neck rose. Trusting his gut, he dived behind a concrete post. A shot rang out and a chunk of brick from the wall next to where Mike had been standing flew through the air. Sitting down with his back to the column, Mike took a deep breath knowing that the worst thing he could do was to panic.
Turning to look back at the door he had just passed through, he found a woman staring at him. Without even thinking about it, Mike's gun appeared in his hand. In a tight voice, Mike said, "Get back in the store and call the police."
The woman didn't need to be told twice. She fled into the store leaving her shopping cart filled with bagged groceries behind. Her quick action had the unintended consequence that Mike's way into the store was blocked by the shopping cart. Swearing to himself, Mike took stock of his situation. If he was lucky, the sniper had left. He didn't feel particularly lucky.
He glanced down at his left hand and considered using it to distract the sniper. He snorted and then said, "Not today."
Taking in his surroundings, Mike saw that he had very little in the way of cover. There was another cement column, but it was close to twenty feet away. The automatic door was ten feet away and would require a little time to open. He didn't think that he would have a chance of making it through the door without getting shot.
Deciding that it was necessary to find out if his attacker was still waiting for him, he shrugged out of his sports coat and then covered the half gallon jug of milk with it. Making sure that his hand was protected behind the cement column, he held the jug out. A bullet took out half of the plastic jug. All of a sudden, Mike was sitting in a half gallon of milk. Swearing, he said, "That wasn't too smart. I'm going to smell like rotten milk by the time I get home."
There was a sudden burst of gunfire and then Mike heard someone shout, "How do you like that, Arab motherfucker?"
There was a moment of silence. Mike called out, "Is he dead?"
"You bet your sweet ass he's dead," a man's voice called back.
"He's burning in hell by now," another man's voice said.
Mike held out the jug that was still covered with his jacket and when nothing happened, he stepped out from behind the post. Two men were standing over a body, but their attention was on Mike as he approached. He was still carrying the half gallon jug covered with his coat in his bad hand but the bottom had been blown off by the shot fired at it. His pants and shoes were soaked with milk. Despite his rather odd appearance, they never took their eyes off of his gun. Both men were still holding their guns. One of them said, "Drop your gun."
"I've got a permit for it," Mike said. He dropped the ruined milk carton while holding onto the jacket. After a little fumbling, he reached in the pocket of his milk soaked jacket with his bad hand. After fishing around for his ID in his pocket, he held up his ID once he had found it. He knew that he was too far away for them to read it, but they seemed satisfied.
"Okay, but I'd appreciate it if you'd put the gun away," one of the men said. They didn't take their eyes off the gun until Mike had put it in his holster.
Upon reaching the men, Mike looked down at the body. It looked a lot like the man who had tried to kill Officer Mike Bowman. If it wasn't then the man could have been the brother of the assassin. He heard sirens heading towards the store. Looking over at the pair of men, Mike said, "I fear that you gentlemen are in for a very long day."
The one man grinned and winked at the other. In an offhand manner, he said, "Don't worry about it. We're off duty cops."
He said, "I'm Homeland Security and he was trying to kill me."
"Oh shit. We're going to be here all night," one of the men said running a hand through his hair in frustration. They'd get grilled by the local cops and then the federal agents. They could handle the investigation by the local cops, but there was nothing worse than getting interviewed by the feds, particularly when Homeland Security was involved.
"I believe that the man shot a cop by the name of Mike Bowman about a month and a half ago."
The Iranian base in Mexico was nowhere near complete at the time the war had moved through Iran and into Iraq. There were about five thousand Iranian soldiers on the base and the fall of Tehran had sent shock waves through the troops. Morale was low, but the troops were angry and wanted to destroy the United States. The border was only two hundred miles north of the base.
The base commander sat in his office wondering what he could do to hurt the United States. The troops were there, but the weapons necessary to carry out a mission were not. The Mexican government had some old weapons, but he didn't have the money to purchase them. There wasn't even an Iranian government left to back him in negotiations with the Mexican government.
One of the ever present cockroaches skittered across his desk. Hating a country filled with so many of the disgusting insects, he grabbed a roll of paper and tried to kill it. The brown bug easily evaded his action. He spotted one of the rare silver cockroaches in the corner of the room. He threw the roll of paper at it, but it skittered out of the way. For every thousand brown roaches, there was a silver roach. No one had caught one of them, but the Mexicans assured him that was a new species. Shaking his head in disgust, he picked up the telephone.
Seated in the private office of his house in the country, the President of Mexico was in a desperate state. The nation was on the verge of bankruptcy and he didn't have any plans on how to prevent a collapse of the government. Prices on goods had doubled while the supply of money had dropped in half. Unemployment had reached sixty percent and was rising. No one was investing in the country. He looked to the north blaming the Americans for all of his problems.
When the call from the Iranian Base Commander arrived, the President of Mexico was in the mood to listen to any reasonable suggestion. In fact, he was in a mood to listen to unreasonable suggestions. After listening to the man for a few minutes, the President of Mexico said, "There are over two million unemployed young men in Mexico City. I can raise an army, but I can't pay for them long."
The base commander replied, "Don't worry. We will train them to be excellent fighters. After we attack, we will take money from the American Banks and use it to pay your troops."
"Let's do it," the President of Mexico said committing his country to war against the United States of America. He had no intention of declaring his intentions to the enemy. Surprise was his only chance of success in this extremely risky venture.
In a small Internet Café outside of Washington DC the entire conversation was typed up in a report and submitted to the State Department and the Pentagon. Within hours there was a modest reassignment of troops to bases in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. Military planners got to work coming up with ways to respond to the new situation.
Officer Mike Bowman was bored of sitting at home recovering from his injuries. He was able to get up and walk around, but any extended effort left him weak and exhausted. There wasn't much to do other than watch television and most of the daytime material was dull enough to put a three toed sloth to sleep. The knock on his door was appreciated as a distraction. Getting up he went over to the door and opened it. Staring at Mike Bowman, he said, "It's you."
"Yes, I fear it is me," Mike answered with a smile.
"Come in."
Mike entered the little house and looked around at the décor. Most of the furnishings had come from IKEA. It was simple, durable, and inexpensive. There were pictures of other men in police uniforms on the wall suggesting that the man came from a family of policemen. Nodding his head, he said, "Nice place."
"Thanks," Mike answered making his way to a chair. He sat down and gestured to another chair for his guest to use. Once they were both seated, he asked, "What can I do for you?"
"I stopped by to let you know that the guy who shot you was killed last night," Mike answered.
"Did you kill him?" the cop asked. He paused while recalling his past few conversations with the man. He said, "Don't answer that. Let me guess, officially you weren't even there."
Mike laughed at the comment and answered, "No, I didn't kill him and officially I was there. He was busy shooting at me when a couple of off duty cops nailed his ass."
"That's good to know," the cop answered. He stared at the top of the coffee table for a moment and then asked, "Am I safe now or will I have to worry about getting ambushed every time I leave the house?"
"I don't know. We've taken out one small sleeper cell, but there is no way of telling if there are any more in the area. Our investigation has shown that I'm on a terrorist hit list. They want me dead. I'll be moving out of the area soon and I imagine that will eliminate the chance of you being mistaken for me," Mike answered. Shrugging his shoulders, he added, "We both have dangerous professions. I doubt we'll ever be totally safe."
"You're right," Mike answered. He knew that his wife wouldn't like to hear that comment. His getting shot had really done a number on his wife's head. He sighed and said, "I guess I'm going to have to look for a new line of work."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mike said thinking that the war on terror had disrupted so many lives.
"I don't know what I'll do. This has really been hard on my wife."
Nodding his head, Mike said, "I understand how she feels. There's nothing worse than losing a loved one."
"Would you care for a beer?"
"Sure, that sounds real good," Mike answered.
Trying to verify some information gleaned from the internet, Charlie was watching the feed from a Predator Drone that was flying over a small town in Syria. Frowning, he leaned forward to examine the video that was being downloaded. Confused, he put the video on the situation board at the front of the room and said, "I need some help here."
Mike looked up and asked, "What's the matter?"
"The people in this town are doing something odd," Charlie answered.
Mike looked up and saw what Charlie meant. There was a line of men that started at the largest building in town and made its way to an open area outside of the town. They were moving things from inside the building to the open area. Mike said, "What are they moving?"
Charlie said, "It looks like ammo boxes, but I can't tell for sure."
"You're right. It does look like they are moving ammo boxes," Mike said. Sitting back in his chair, he watched as a box passed from hand to hand. After fifteen minutes, they stopped passing boxes down the line. The people moved back; hiding behind some of the buildings. With an expression of confusion, Mike asked, "What in the hell are they doing?"
"I don't know," Charlie answered.
Their confusion was replaced with comprehension when the mass exploded in a huge fireball. Mike said, "It looks to me like they are destroying their weapons."
Shirley said, "They are forming up in a line again."
They watched as more ammo boxes made their way to the open space. They were stacking them in the crater that had been formed by the previous explosion. Shaking his head, Mike asked, "Where in the hell did they get so much ammo?"
"I don't know," Charlie answered. It was a pretty small town to have so much ammo. He frowned when larger boxes started making their way down the line.
"It is obvious that everyone in the town is involved in clearing out the weapons," Mike said.
The group watched the action in the town for another hour as more munitions were destroyed. Shirley said, "It looks like something is happening over in the upper right hand corner of the feed."
Charlie repositioned the camera of the drone and said, "Shit, they're executing some people."
The whole room watched as six men were marched out of town and executed with shots to the back of their heads. Seeing the action, Mike commented, "I wonder how they think we're going to know about this."
Shirley said, "I'd put out a sign if I were them."
"See if anyone is doing that," Mike said.
"I found it."
Nodding his head, Mike watched as a group of women were laying out a message using cloth held down with rocks. The message read, 'WE SURENDAR.' Despite the spelling error, the meaning was obvious. Mike said, "Let's get some mini-drones over the area and drop some cockroaches. We need to see just how serious they are."
Charlie said, "I'm on it."
Two hours later, Shirley said, "There's another town that looks like they've done the same thing. There's a blast crater, some dead bodies outside of town, and a surrender message spelled out on the ground."
Harry said, "I've found another one. It looks to me like the small towns are surrendering."
"The front is only two days away from them. We're going to have to act fast if they are going to be saved," Shirley said.
Smiling, Mike said, "Let's map out the towns that have surrendered and forward the information to the appropriate folks."
Charlie looked over at Mike and asked, "What's with the big smile?"
"I'm glad to see them surrender. I was afraid that we were going to have to kill everyone in the Middle East. It is good to know that there are some people with a little sense," Mike answered.
The signal for a conference call rang through the office. Mike flipped the switch to activate the conferencing capabilities. George, one of the most laid back analysts Mike had ever met, was excited. As soon as the conference call was established, he shouted, "They're killing each other in Damascus."
"Put the feed up," Mike said.
The feed from a Predator Drone filled one of the screens. It was impossible to see the city through the heavy smoke that covered it. Charlie looked at it and said, "It looks like the city is burning."
"That's right. It started about twenty minutes ago. People were marching through the streets killing everyone they met. The President and his family was killed about ten minutes ago. I don't know who is doing what, but it is bloody," George said.
Mike tapped out a message and sent it to the Pentagon and the President. Looking up, he said, "I've just sent in a recommendation that we halt the advance at the border of Syria until we've had a chance to perform a full assessment."
Shirley stared at the destruction for a moment and then asked, "Should we check out what is happening in Lebanon?"
Nodding his head, Mike said, "Yes. Let's check out Jordan and what used to be Israel as well."
Cathy asked, "Does this mean what I think it means?"
Shirley looked over at Cathy and asked, "What do you think it means?"
Putting into words what everyone was thinking, Cathy answered, "That we've won the war?"
Before everyone got their hopes up too high, Mike answered, "It's too early to say that. Saudi Arabia is still a huge question mark."
The rising good mood in the room was damped down a little by his answer, but there was the glimmer of a hope that they were approaching the end. Mike stared at the video feed from Damascus wondering what was happening underneath the thick smoke. George asked, "Should I send in some mini-drones?"
Shaking his head, Mike said, "No. Let them fight it out. We'll go in
after things have quieted down and figure out who won once the bullets
have stopped flying."