The wind was blowing the radioactive cloud out to sea rather than north into the heart of Manhattan.
FIFTY-FIVE
In Tehran, the crowds spilled onto the streets. The news had spread that Bushehr had been decimated in some kind of nuclear explosion, but the government had promptly cut all of the Internet service for its citizens to try to contain the news of its embarrassing defeat. Rumors spread wildly. Iranians were hearing some theories that Bushehr had been incinerated during a nuclear mishap caused by the Iranian scientists. Was it another Chernobyl? They didn’t know. Most of the rioters in the streets didn’t care. They were now even doubting the reports of a supposed Israeli attack against Natanz. They had missed their opportunity to topple their own tyrant during the Middle East upheavals of 2011 when the citizens of other nations in the region were overthrowing dictators. This was finally their chance. They had grown weary listening to the eccentric lies of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad for more than two decades while the people starved or were arrested by the secret police or worse.
They had had enough.
The crowds in the streets numbered nearly thirty thousand. The Iranian army was ordered to quell the protest, but half of the enlisted men refused to respond to the order. They quietly decided that they would no longer serve in a military headed up by a lunatic.
In the middle of the protest were ninety members of the CDCI, the Committee for Democratic Change in Iran. Yoseff Abbas was striding next to his friend whose apartment had been serving as his safe house.
“Over there,” Yoseff announced and pointed to a forlorn-looking two-story warehouse. “That is where they are keeping the political prisoners.”
His friend touched something under his belt, covered by his shirt, making sure his revolver was still there. He turned to Yoseff. “You are sure this is the special prison?”
Yoseff nodded. His contact in the Israeli Mossad had told him they had irrefutable intelligence about the prison. Yoseff had been promised safe passage to Israel. He didn’t want that. All he cared about was the release of his brother and sister, and to get that done, he would have to do this one last thing: encourage the CDCI to stage a raid on the prison that housed political dissidents. It also happened to house the real target of the rescue: Joshua Jordan. None of the Iranians realized that this was the same strategy used by Colonel “Bull” Simmons back in 1979 when he rescued Ross Perot’s EDS employees from a Tehran jail. It was Rocky Bridger who had borrowed that page from Simmons’s playbook when he laid out the rescue plan for the Israelis.
In the street, Yoseff’s friend signaled to his group leaders. Then he said to Yoseff, “You realize the Iranian MOIS will now put you on the list … because you are part of the CDCI … no turning back.”
There was a funny look on Yoseff’s face as he nodded. His friend could not possibly have known that Yoseff was already an enemy of the state, beyond anything the CDCI could imagine.
Over sixty of the CDCI were armed as they stormed the warehouse prison. They broke down the front door and fired shots in the air. There was no resistance — at least, at first. Some of the dozen jailers for the ten prisoners had already left their posts and escaped. Most of those who had remained walked down the hallways with their hands held over their heads. They quickly filed out of the facility and slipped into the night, leaving the keys to the cells behind in their offices.
Three of the jailers, however, were bent on toughing it out. One of them, the head of the torture crew, knew that there would be no escape for him. The citizens of Tehran would track him down when the news spread, and what they would do to him would be worse than death.
As the CDCI rebels climbed up the stairway, they were met by a hail of automatic gunfire. Fourteen protestors dropped to the ground in a bloody heap.
That is when the four bearded American special-ops veterans shouted out their presence in the middle of CDCI mob. Cannon announced, “We’re Americans — we’ve come here to help your cause. Pull back. Go back down the stairs, and we’ll get you back upstairs again to save all of your friends in the jail …”
Jack and Cannon pushed their way through the retreating crowd until they were on the street level. Cannon pulled out two projectile guns with two anchor hooks attached to zip lines. He fired two up to the second-story windows. The hooks held. Cannon, the ex-Ranger, tied the end of the zip lines around a street pole. Then he turned to Jack, his SEAL buddy. “I know you Navy guys like flopping around in the water, but you think you can handle a rope climb on land?”
Jack grabbed one rope while Cannon wrapped his hands around the other. Jack gave a challenge. “On three, big guy. First one up to the window gets a free steak dinner — courtesy of the loser.”
Cannon nodded and smiled. One of their team members gave the count. One. Two. Three. The two warriors scampered up the ropes like monkeys. But Cannon got there first. They swung through the busted windows on the floor that housed the jail cells. They had landed in an empty file room. They quietly slipped to the doorway with their weapons ready. They could see the three armed jailers peeking over the railing at the top of the stairs, ready to shoot the next intruder.
Jack gave the signal. Cannon would take the guy to the right. Jack would fire on the two on the left. Jack held up a finger on his left hand. Then two fingers. Then a third.
They both fired a furious volley through the doorway and into the three jailers. One fell over the railing and down the stairwell. The other two crumpled where they stood.
“All clear!” Cannon shouted out. “Come on up.” Then he searched the desks until he found the keys for all of the cells.
On the first floor, as they ascended, the rebels saw the torture rooms splattered in blood. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and found Cannon and Jack waiting with the keys in their hands. Cannon handed them over to the CDIC rebels with a grin. They began to open the cells one by one. When they got to the second-to-last cell, they released Dr. Hermoz Abdu, who cried out, then hugged them and pronounced a blessing over them. Then they yanked open Joshua Jordan’s cell. Joshua struggled to his feet.
Just then someone spoke in a voice that Joshua recognized as American. “Sir, I’m a former Navy SEAL, and I’ve got a message for you,” Jack said, helping Joshua out of his cell. “General Rocky Bridger says hello and to tell you that it turns out your wife is an even better leader of the group than you ever were.”
Joshua belly laughed and kept on laughing, despite the pain walking.
Then another American stepped forward and said, “Colonel Jordan, I’m Tom Cannonberry, but they call me Cannon. Former Army Ranger. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Joshua turned and gestured toward Dr. Hermoz Abdu. “Men, this is Dr. Abdu, my friend. He’s a marked man here in Iran. We need to take him with us.”
But Dr. Abdu waved his hands and said, “No, Joshua, you are very kind, but I am staying here. The people of Iran need to hear about the love of Christ … how can I leave such a great mission as that?”
Then Dr. Abdu turned and put his arm around another prisoner standing next to him, who was grinning through missing teeth. The man said in halting English, “I follow Jesus now.”
Joshua recognized the voice. He was the man who had said the same prayer as Joshua. Joshua smiled and gave him a nod. Then Joshua grabbed Dr. Abdu by the shoulders. There was so much he wanted to say but couldn’t. Not now. No time. He could only blurt out, “God bless you, my friend …”
Dr. Hermoz Abdu returned the benediction, “And may God bless you mightily, my brother …”
Then the four American special-forces veterans surrounded Joshua like a group of linemen protecting a running back, and they started down the stairs. As they did, Cannon turned to Jack, with a sly grin on his face. “I take my steak medium rare …”
New York City
Curtis Belltether, the shadowy web journalist and founder of Leak-o-paedia, had been trying to track down Rev. Peter Campbell for weeks. He was aware that before
the New Jersey blast, Campbell’s widely publicized pronouncements of God’s coming apocalypse had caused the media to sarcastically label him “the Deacon of Doom.” But now that a mini-apocalypse had actually occurred right across the bay from the media center of the universe in New York, Belltether noticed that the high potentates of the mainstream press weren’t giving him the time of day — except for AmeriNews, which had quoted Campbell a few times. Belltether loved this kind of intrigue. He had the notion that Campbell might have something interesting to say about a whole lot of things.
But there was something else. The web reporter had been working a story about the United Nations climate convention and the newly formed global coalition of religions that had become its public relations arm, trying to force new international environmental standards on every nation. Many of his fellow reporters had been tracking the climate revolution, but all from a sympathetic angle, about the need for global preparedness. But when the horrendous New Jersey nuke blast happened, that eclipsed everything in the news business. At least at first. The news coverage that had focused on the crumbling U.S. economy, the gas riots at the pump, the depression-like failure of the American agricultural heartland, the mall bombing, and then the shocking news of President Corland’s coma, now gave way to something even more stunning.
The media launched into nonstop coverage of the nuclear devastation to the small town of Union Beach and the damage to its neighboring boroughs. Questions were asked about how it could have happened. Within hours after the tragedy, the innuendos started about a group of private vigilantes — had they tried to interfere with the terrorists and recklessly caused the bomb to be detonated? Perhaps the federal authorities might have stopped the bomb before it arrived in New York, had it not been for this lawless band of private mercenaries?
But now, a week and a half later, some of the global-warming spokespersons were speaking out about the effects of the nuclear detonations on the earth’s climate. They predicted that the radiation from the blasts in New Jersey and those in Iran would create a superheating of the atmosphere, beyond even that caused by the recent, unexplained acceleration of average temperatures.
But the more that Curtis Belltether dug, the more he sensed that the real story lay down at the murky, muddy bottom. During his interview with Dr. Robert Hamilton at the University of Hawaii, Hamilton had shown him his hard data on the climate effects of volcanic eruptions. The uptick in the number and the severity of global volcanic events, which had spewed millions of tons of dust particles into the atmosphere, actually explained why suddenly global temperatures seemed to have spiked exponentially. Belltether was particularly interested in Hamilton’s complaint that the federal climate agencies had blacklisted him and refused to consider his findings. If Hamilton’s theory was right, the increase in temperatures was not a global-warming crisis, but a short-lived trend caused by Mother Nature that would soon even out.
As Belltether kept digging, he saw a fascinating phenomena unfolding before his eyes: an international movement was capitalizing on the climate “crisis” in ways that might change life on earth in radical ways. Belltether was now a dog on a bone, and he would not be sidetracked.
When the Union Beach nuclear disaster occurred, Belltether figured that it would take a miracle to get Pastor Campbell to sit down for an interview. The pastor was working around the clock in the neighborhoods near his Manhattan-based Eternity Church to help those who had been impacted by the blast. Setting up soup kitchens. Locating missing persons. Establishing a homeless shelter in his church. The radiation findings so far for New York City were fairly good news. The strong easterly wind blew most of the radiation out to sea. But Wall Street and the stock market had been shut down and was still frozen in trading status since the blast. The real fear that nobody wanted to talk about because of the grotesque loss of life in the New Jersey attack — eight thousand dead not counting those injured, perhaps critically — was the impending collapse of the American economy.
The United States government had cordoned off most of the New Jersey shoreline surrounding the pitiful, ashen ruins of what had formally been Union Beach. The FBI was performing an “all-out” investigation to trace the groups behind the attack. Secretly, however, they had discovered Jim Yaniky’s connection to the disaster and took him into custody. The U.S. attorney general’s office was personally conducting the interrogation. The government was quickly starting to mount a criminal case against the Roundtable, and Abigail Jordan in particular, for acts of “vigilantism”; acts, according to the Department of Justice, that had actually provoked the nuclear detonation during their botched citizens’ attempt to stop it.
Jessica Tulrude, meanwhile, had finally been sworn in as president of the United States as Virgil Corland continued to languish in a coma. Her strategy had been to keep delaying the formal swearing in until the optimal political timing; her instincts proved to be spot-on once again. It just so happened that now she could officially assume executive power after the New Jersey attack. That way Corland would be blamed, and she could avoid political responsibility for that horrible assault on American shores. She immediately ordered the attorney general to forcefully prosecute any “renegade citizens” who might have taken the law into their own hands. By that, of course, she meant the Roundtable, Abigail Jordan, and especially, Joshua.
On a hunch, Belltether painstakingly worked his way through the crush of traffic, police checkpoints, and emergency radiation huts around New York City. Finally he showed up at Eternity Church. He figured that would be a good place to start. Hundreds of people — church staff, the homeless, and volunteers — were milling around. No one seemed to know where Pastor Campbell was.
One elderly black woman heard Belltether inquiring about Campbell and piped up, “You leave him alone,” she said. “He’s taking a nap down in the church kitchen. Let the man catch some sleep …”
And with that Belltether immediately charged down the stairs to the busy church basement, where meals were being handed out to several hundred people. He nosed around until he came to a storage room. He cracked open the door. There, curled up on the floor and snoring, was Pastor Campbell.
“Sorry to bother you,” the reporter announced, even though he really wasn’t sorry and kept nudging the minister until his eyes opened. “Pastor Campbell, I’m Curtis Belltether, the web commentator. I’m doing an exposé on the Global Coalition of Religions and the international climate movement …”
“Belltether?” he replied bleary-eyed. “Oh, yes. I remember …” Campbell slowly rose to his feet and dusted off his wrinkled pants and open shirt. “You’re going to have to follow me while we talk … I can’t sit around for an interview … too much to do …”
“Okay with me. So, first question … the New Jersey bombing. Eight thousand massacred. The missile strike on Israel and the nuclear detonations in Iran … isn’t this starting to look a lot like Armageddon to you?”
“Armageddon?” Campbell said, as he patted a few volunteers on the back as he walked past. “Hardly. What you’re seeing right now are simply shadows of things to come.”
“How can you tell?”
“Israel will be attacked …”
“Already happened. Come on, I’m sure you’ve read the news …”
“No, you don’t understand, Mr. Belltether. The Bible has already told us precisely what is about to occur. Iran’s missile attack against Israel was not it … no … the Bible tells us explicitly about a coming war against Israel. The real thing hasn’t started yet. But I do read the news, Mr. Belltether, and I believe we will be seeing the beginning of the end unfolding very soon.”
Campbell was a fast walker, so much so that Belltether was having a hard time keeping up as they made their way across the church basement, up the stairs, and through the sanctuary. A young Asian man interrupted them to give Campbell a quick report on the church’s project to help the New Jersey families impacted by the blast. When he left, Campbell smiled as he pointed to him. ??
?See the young guy there? He stopped by one day to listen to a press conference I was holding here at the church. He never left.”
Then Campbell turned to Belltether and put his hands on both of his shoulders.
“Listen to me carefully … the Bible tells us that the war against Israel will be a defining moment that marks the end of the age — the beginning of the last chapter of life on earth as we have known it. Then it also tells us who it is who will be waging war against Israel … and even something beyond that …” Campbell’s index finger was pointing straight up in the air. His face was illuminated by some interior flame. “Mr. Belltether, the Bible tells us exactly how God is going to miraculously intervene. It explains very plainly how He is going to do it. And when God intervenes, when that happens, I guarantee you, my friend, it is going to be a wonder to behold …”
Belltether wasn’t going to let it rest there. Sure, he considered Campbell and his fundamentalist prophecy cronies to be crackpots. But he did believe that the real-life formation of a United Nations – backed world religious coalition, one that in lightning speed had gained the support of the most powerful nations on earth, well, that was something surprising, even to him. And in the background, as Belltether was beginning to realize, a few interesting personalities were pulling the strings. He knew that to get Campbell’s take on all that, he would have to endure the pastor’s ramblings about the end of the world.
So he asked the question that even a cub reporter would ask … the billion-dollar question: “Tell me, Rev. Campbell, who’s going to invade Israel? And exactly what is God planning to do about it? I’d like to hear.”