The Hand of Christ (33 page)

With little effort, the strong Persian lifted the clerk and hung him by his tied wrists from the hook. The man was starting to scream through the cloth stuffed into his mouth and thrashed desperately as he tried to free himself. Standing before him and saying nothing to the clerk, the assassin rose up his foot and forcefully kicked the front of the clerk’s knee with his heel, instantly shattering it inward. He stood back and watched the young man’s eyes roll deep into his sockets, the clerk was beginning to gag and his body was convulsing uncontrollably.

The assassin was pleased at the young man’s pain.

The clerk was choking on his own vomit, some of which had expelled forcefully through his nostrils; the bronzed skin of the young man’s face was turning into a shade of blue. The assassin wouldn’t let him yet die. Grabbing the cloth from his mouth, the assassin took the man by his hair and twisted his head to the side allowing the bile to clear from his throat.

The clerk had tears streaming down his cheeks and felt a fear never before imagined. Weakly he tried to speak. His voice, feeble from the crushing effects on his throat and raw from the acidic bile, did not sound like his own. He stammered in raspy, accented English at the assassin, “What, what do you want?”

The answer from the assassin ripped through the clerk in no way imaginable, the terror he felt nearly stopped his heart as he heard the assassin say, “I want to watch you die painfully and slowly.” The assassin shoved the gag back into the man’s mouth as the clerk tried to scream.

It took more than four hours for the clerk to die. When he was finished, the young man’s face bore no resemblance to the handsome olive-skinned man that earlier had shown the assassin to his room. Satiated and physically spent, the assassin slept deeply and with the calm of a child, just as the clerk had promised. He slept while waiting for the call from the Messenger. The dead clerk hung from the nearby hook like a proud hunter’s trophy would on a wall.

At the front desk of Hotel Bramante, the phone rang incessantly. Signor Giancarlo was worried about his nephew and had been calling him for hours; it was not like him to be absent. He hung up the phone and said, “Where the devil is Benito?”

He put on his coat and kissed his wife telling her he was going to check on the boy; it would be the last time that his wife would see him alive.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Situation Room

The White House

For the second time in one day, the Situation Room was filled with the highest ranking political, military, and intelligence officers of the nation. It was chaos.

Half of the attendees were on their cell phones shouting orders and demanding answers. The President’s secretary, an iron-mouthed, efficient and rough woman, stood before the most powerful men and women on the planet and slammed her thick and heavy day planner onto the table. Instantly, she had the attention of every person in the room.

“
Gentlemen! Ladies! I need not remind you that the use of your cell phones is absolutely prohibited in the Situation Room! Turn them off now and place them into the secured box!”

The President of the United States is the most powerful man on the planet. One could argue that his secretary was the most powerful woman. A parade of humbled, high-ranking government officials quickly and obediently walked forward and reluctantly freed themselves of their devices. In the corner sat a young naval lieutenant, and aide to Vice Admiral Gonzales, who was still aboard the USS Arizona; the lieutenant seemed unwilling to remove his cell phone from his ear.

Eyeing the insolent and presumptuous young man, the President’s secretary stomped loudly to him and snatched it from his hands.

“
Hey! What the hell, lady?”

The secretary’s eyes turned to fire, “Don’t you
hey
me, young man, and don’t you ever disrespect me by using such abominable words! You are not excluded from an Executive Order, and my name is not “lady” it is Mrs. Childs, or ma’am. I suggest that you remember to use it properly the next time you address me!”

“
But that was the Vice Admiral; he needs to know what’s going on.”

Adjusting her antiquated horn-rimmed glasses, the secretary coolly informed the young aide, “I already have an open and secure channel to the carrier. The Vice Admiral will be on conference momentarily.”

Leaning lower so that only the aide and those next to him could hear her, she said, “Listen to me closely sailor, the next time you disobey and/or disrespect me I will make sure you are reassigned to the smallest frigate nearest the Arctic for a good portion of your career. I have served the office of the president since before you were born. Trust me, I will make it happen.”

Standing upright, Mrs. Childs walked to the secure box, and dropped in the shaken sailor’s phone. Locking it, she took her place near the President; most of the others in the room were doing their best to hide their smiles having learned an important lesson long ago: never cross the President’s secretary.

The President spoke, “Thank you, Mrs. Childs. Everyone, please find your seats. As we begin, I need not remind you that everything we speak of today is classified. You will not speak to the media or anyone else that is not in this room unless I have explicitly authorized it. If it comes to my attention that this order has been disobeyed, the guilty party will be immediately relieved of their position and duties. Do I make myself clear?”

A flurry of nods in the affirmative and “Yes, Mr. Presidents” could be seen and heard by those in attendance.

“
We are here for the second time today to discuss a matter of grave importance. As you all know, the attack by Hezbollah on peace talks at Umayyad led to the deaths of nearly all in attendance, including the US Ambassador to Syria. Almost two hours later, the Ayatollah of Iran was assassinated. Iran has placed the blame of both events on the United States.”

His response unprompted, Dr. Montag, the head of the National Security Council voiced loudly, “Utterly ridiculous!”

The President raised his hand acknowledging the man, but had no intention of responding to him directly, and said to all those in attendance, “All of you sat here when President Ahmad demanded that we hand over Dr. Sterling in forty-eight hours. I have no intention of doing so. Ladies and Gentlemen, because of Ahmad’s belief that the US was behind the attack and the assassination, war has been declared on our country.”

The anxiety of those present amplified.

“
Mr. President?” the Secretary of State stood up and asked, “Do you intend to respond with the same declaration? Are we going to declare war on Iran?”

“
No, Mr. Secretary, we are not. We will, however, respond by positioning some of our fleets within striking distance of Iran’s borders. Our message will not be that of a timid dog with his tail between his legs. We will not declare war, but we also will not sit idly.”

“
But, Mr. President,” the Secretary of State continued, “that will be an overt and aggressive action; it would be interpreted as a military action that may precede a strike. I suggest that we consult with the United Nations first, open diplomatic channels to Iran.”

The President had already thought of this and responded, “There isn’t time, Mr. Secretary. Your suggestions have already been considered. Diplomatic channels have failed; they want Sterling. It seems that the clock is ticking.”

“
Then why not just give them Sterling?” The suggestion by the DHS appalled a number of those in the room including the highest-ranking military officer in attendance, General Zachary Diedrick.

The enraged Chairman of the Joint Chiefs stood and shouted out, just short of a reprimand, “Are you serious, you would have us hand over one of our fellow Americans as if he is just a chip to barter with? Dr. Sterling is a solider, a patriot, and a legend; he is one of the finest Americans to walk our land! He has done more to keep this country safe from terrorists than most of us in this room combined! Further, the man is innocent. He had nothing to do with the assassination! How could you even mouth, much less, think of such an idiotic suggestion?”

The DHS rose to his feet and spat out to the Chairman, “General, we have no proof that Sterling wasn’t the killer other than a verbal report by the CIA that he was in Damascus. He works for the CIA; they would say anything to keep their name clear of this, to keep a black operation secret! The CIA never admits when they have failed!”

Director Fundamen could feel his own temper beginning to fume from the DHS’s declaration about his beloved CIA. The CIA always admits its failures just never its successes. He decided it was better to stay in his seat and let this argument play out
. Pick your battles
, he thought.

The DHS continued his rant, “Dr. Sterling is just one man; we have a nation to protect! War would lead to tens of thousands of American servicemen’s deaths, all of them soldiers and patriots. The potential deaths do not even take into consideration the number of civilian lives that would be lost. We could demand that he receive a fair trial, involve the UN as arbitrators. This is a better option than another war! We are already stretched thin with Iraq and Afghanistan!”

Tempers were flaring; others were readying themselves to jump into the argument.

“
Gentlemen!” The President was on his feet and boomed at the men, “Knock it off, both of you!” Pointing at the DHS he commanded, “Take your seat at once!”

The Director immediately sat down; the General was still on his feet.

The President continued, “This meeting will be handled in a civil fashion. All opinions are welcomed, but I will not tolerate belligerence or ignorance. As I had made clear a moment ago, we will not hand over Dr. Sterling. That is a more appalling option than war; we are not in the business of deciding which American life is more valuable.”

The President was staring, more like glaring, directly at the DHS, “Further, I believe Dr. Sterling to be innocent and trust the word of Director Fundamen.”

The Director couldn’t help but smile.

“
The man is not a criminal and will not be treated as one. I should not have to remind any of you that The United States does not negotiate with terrorists or with terrorist backing nations: not now, not ever.”

The DHS was growing red and slumped deep into his chair having been shamed by the President. General Diedrick silently gloated having always disliked the bantering ego of the sniveling and unnecessary Director of Homeland Security.
What a worthless position
, he thought.

Behind the President, the largest of the room’s six LCD screens lit up, on it was a map of Iran. At the direction of the President, General Diedrick walked to the screens; he picked up the wireless remote from the audio/visual podium at the front of the room and used it to control the images on the screen.

He pointed the remote at the screen, which now showed what appeared to be columns of military vehicles moving along a highway, and said, “These images are live satellite footage of Iran, right now it is late morning in the region. The Islamic Republic of Iran Army is moving west and en masse.”

The General walked to the LCD panel, and placed one of his long lean fingers over a number of vehicles, “These transport vehicles are carrying Shahab-2 and Shahab-3 missiles.”

“
Excuse me, General?”

General Diedrick turned toward the Secretary of State and replied, “Yes, sir?”

“
General, how do you know those are Shahab’s and not just a flat bed of supplies? They are under large tarps.”

“
Mr. Secretary,” the head of the NRO interrupted and stood to his feet to answer the question, “certain NRO satellite technologies are able to see thermal and infrared images beneath cover.”

General Diedrick, as if prompted by an unspoken cue, pointed the remote at the LCD screen, and the cover over the Iranian missiles faded and became nearly see-through.

The head of the NRO continued, “These images come from a satellite that is code named LACROSSE; as you all can clearly see, these are missiles.”

Those in the room seeing the technology for the first time were mesmerized by the images on the screen that were clearly missiles.

“
But, General,” the Secretary of State continued and re-directed his questions back to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, “in your briefings on Iran’s military capabilities, you have stated that Shahab’s have a limited range. If I remember correctly, you have said that their effectiveness is only between three-hundred and thirteen-hundred kilometers. What is the large concern? The Iranians couldn’t possibly get one to the US.”

“
Mr. Secretary, that is correct. Shahab’s are not the concern; I believe they are in the column for air defense,” replied General Diedrick.

General Diedrick clicked a button on the remote and a second LCD panel on the side of the room displayed the schematics of a Shahab, “Here, you can see that this missile uses a rocket-nozzle steering method which is retro-fitted onto the Shahab. Our intelligence has reports that the missile’s guidance system has been reconfigured to be used for long range missile defense.”

“
Like our Patriot missile system?”

“
That’s right;” returning to the satellite images, “under the Shahabs in the column are Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) platforms. These missiles are ready for use and can be fired from this platform for missile air defense right now.”