The House of War: Book One Of : THE OMEGA CRUSADE (6 page)

“It was Pelosi’s administration that shut Gitmo down,” Burt Owens interjected.

Earl shifted the cane from his left hand to his right and stabbed its pointed end in the air inches from Owens’ left eye. “You’re right Burt, but the present administration hasn’t done squat about it. Has it, Burt?”

Owens shrank back from Forrester’s palpable hostility. “Cuba isn’t going to let us back in, Chief.”

Forrester lowered the cane and rested it across his lap. “We can isolate the jihadists without having to dump them on another country.”

“Actually, we can’t,” Senator Gordon said.

“Why the hell not?”

“New Mexico and Arizona tried it right after the Border War,” Gordon explained. “They separated the
Reconqistadores
in their custody from the general population and were hit with lawsuits from scores of groups. In the end, political segregation in the penal system was ruled unconstitutional by the ninth circuit court and the states were forced to re-integrate their prisoners.”

“So long as it’s just a ninth circuit ruling, an executive order can get around it, Mr. President.” Forrester offered.

“It will be immediately challenged,” Duke warned.

“Damn the challenges,” Earl barked. “We can tie them up in court for years.”

Gordon turned his attention to the President. “Raiding the Nation of Islam office and/or segregating the prison population would most likely, in my opinion, set off riots all over the map.”

“I agree,” Owens said.

“Doing both,” the Senator continued. “It will almost certainly lead to armed confrontation in the streets. Maybe the good Chief has forgotten that we’re entering an election year. Allowing that kind of mayhem under an administration’s watch is not good for its re-election campaign.”

The Chief of Homeland Security drew a long, pained breath. “I am not paid to keep this or any other president in office. My job is to keep the homeland secure. Maybe the good Senator hasn’t noticed, but it’s on my letterhead.”

“I take it you already have a plan and a facility in mind, Chief,” the President interrupted.

Forrester pulled another file from his attaché. “I do, Mr. President.”

O’Neill took it from him. “I’ll give it a read and have an answer for you when I return from Cincinnati.”

“A lot can happen in five days, Mr. President,” Earl said. “At least allow the raid on the Atlanta office.”

“Don’t do it, sir,” Gordon pleaded. “Nothing good will come of violating their constitutional rights on such flimsy evidence. They’re American citizens, after all.”

“American citizens have turned on their country before,” Forrester said. “They wouldn’t be the first to plot against the nation while hiding behind the Constitution.”

“And you wouldn’t be the first to suggest dismantling the constitution to save it.” Gordon quipped.

Forrester barked another humorless laugh. “Gee, where was this great concern of yours for the Constitution when you voted to shred the Second Amendment by ratifying the UN’s Small Arms Treaty?”

“Play nice, boys,” the President intervened again. “We’ll tag the Atlanta office.”

The President chose to compromise. He would allow the communications of the Nation of Islam office to be monitored and have their computers plumbed remotely, but he would not allow the physical raiding of their premises. If the ‘tagging’ of the office produced more compelling evidence, the subject would be revisited. This was good enough for the Senator from Tennessee. The Chief of Homeland Security accepted it grudgingly.

For freshman Congressman Lamar Reed, Gordon and Forrester represented, in microcosm, the two sides of a divide he expected to see seamlessly sealed twelve years ago. It all appeared possible in that long ago spring of 2007, the end of the war abroad and the one at home between blue and red states. A year later, he even allowed himself to believe that the American people would, at last, come together behind a historic Presidency, the nation’s first woman President, Nancy Pelosi.

Nothing changed though, except for the worse. And it all fell apart so quickly. The newly formed US
D
epartment
o
f
P
eace’ decision to separate Iraq along ethnic lines kept the blue/red divide wide open at home. In Mesopotamia, America’s decision was taken as an excuse for each side to wage war. Shia, Kurd and Sunni went at each other with genocidal abandon. The DOP’s refusal to meddle in Iranian affairs was used by Israel as an excuse to bomb Ahmadinejad’s nuclear facilities. In retaliation, Iranian troops then poured across the border into Iraq, bogging down the efforts to pacify Iraq and withdraw the troops. The war enlarged and the Middle East came apart at the seams as riot and revolution erupted in country after country. Despite the government’s every attempt at a peaceful resolution, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan ground on for another three years past the impeachments of Bush and Cheney.

Worse yet, it never really ended. Instead, the war came home. Jihadist cells began executing attacks within America’s borders with greater frequency and ferocity. It began with the Carnival Carnage of 2010 which killed nine hundred and nine people in a series of coordinated attacks across three southern states. Many jihadists joined forces with Mexican drug warlords and militant
Reconquistadores
in the Southwest. Homegrown militias like the Minutemen and others, dissatisfied with the government’s handling of the escalating violence, took matters into their own hands. Border state Governors defied the Federal government and marshaled National Guard troops to the ‘southern front.’ The Mexicans militarized their ‘northern front’ and skirmishes between the two
began. President Pelosi summoned a Pan American Peace Summit in Panama in the hopes of negotiating a cease-fire for the contested border. She never got the chance to offer her proposal. During the opening ceremonies of the summit, the great hope of peace went up in smoke, ash and flame, destroyed in a mushroom cloud over the great canal.

Pelosi, Mexico’s Calderon and other leaders were incinerated in the attack. Soon after, in the vacuum of leadership on both sides of the Mexican-American border, war broke out in earnest. Sadly, the tragedy in Panama did nothing to bring Americans together. Neither did the fighting on the border. In the country’s interior, all the while that bullets flew and blood spilled, fiscal conservatives, angry at the government’s expansion and spending, clashed in the streets with public workers’ unions over threats of budget cuts and austerity measures.

The years 2012-2015 were some of the darkest the nation suffered since the civil war. Things have since settled, but the peace is an uneasy one, both at the border and in the interior. The center, like the poet warned, is not holding. Extremism rules the age. Narrow ideologies continue to grow narrower and nastier by the day. Protests and rallies devolve into riots at the drop of a slur. Blocs of states are openly threatening secession. The population seems split between the helplessly polarized and the hopelessly demoralized.

The dream of that long-ago spring of endless promise was stillborn.

On the television screen, the pundits’ debate reaches an all too common conclusion. One of the talking heads rises from the table in a burst of anger. He rips the tiny microphone off his lapel, throws it down and storms off the set.

The Congressman decides he needs another drink.

23:36:54

Across town, Carlton Quinn is on his belly atop one of the hangars at Andrews Air Force Base. The sniper rifle is cradled in his arms. He adjusts the scope, focusing on a piece of tin foil that has blown on to the tarmac. Light gusts blow at random but otherwise the wind will be cooperating with him today. Not that it matters much to Quinn. He has taken out many a target from tighter spots and from greater distances. Three tours in Afghanistan had, long ago, helped Carlton perfect his deadly craft.

This will be the easiest shot he will ever make. It will also be the most important shot of his life. It will be heard around the world, Quinn thinks with a smile. He pulls his hand off the rifle’s grip and crosses himself.

“
In nomine Patris
,” Carlton whispers to himself. “
Et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
”

Carlton quietly recites the
Pater Noster,
The Our Father prayer that Jesus Christ first shared with his apostles.

Our Father, who art in Heaven…

He has been waiting six years for this day.

Hallowed be Thy Name…

Through six years and two presidencies Quinn waited for the word.

Thy Kingdom come…

The order was issued this morning.

Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven…

And now that the word was given, the world would change.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us…

The old order will fall!

And lead us not into temptation…

One shot is all that Carlton needs to alter the course of history. Just one shot. Once he takes it, his fellow Secret Service agents will know where it came from, and they will know almost immediately. Their helmets’ CommLink ears are hitched to one another in a network of acoustic sensors. They will pinpoint the source and trajectory of the shot in nanoseconds. The visors on the helmets will then draw soldiers’ eyes to the source with a soft, pulse of light. There will be no escape. Within minutes scores of M-16 toting MPs will descend on him, every one of them locked and loaded and itching for a reason to tear him to shreds in a hail of automatic gunfire.

But deliver us from evil…

The prospect doesn’t frighten Quinn. At his age and after all he has been through, the only fear Carlton knows is the fear of God. No other fear is possible before it. No earthly need, no concern of the flesh can frighten the man that lives in the fear of God. Truly, it is the beginning of wisdom! It has seen Carlton Quinn through worse circumstances than the one he is about to propel himself into tonight. It will see him through whatever else will follow.

…Amen.

23:22:21

Felix Culpa
is a Christmas extremist!

His facebook status post says so.

The bio on his profile page further informs the Cyberverse that Felix Culpa is a super hero, a sidekick & squire to The Holy Ghost, a Knight Templar, an Arch-Deacon of The New Inquisition & both president & founder of The Hair Shirt Club for Men. It goes on to say that Felix Culpa is also a highly skilled shifter of paradigms & a master manipulator of The Matrix. The profile lists two jobs for Felix Culpa: Crusader & Church Organist. The page claims that the latter is only a part-time job. Hard Knocks University is named his Alma Mater. The cyber sketch also states that Felix Culpa is Catholic, a Missal card carrying member of the One & Only True Religion. Politically, the site declares that Felix Culpa is a Theocrat!

Yes, with an exclamation point.

What part of ‘Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done on earth as it is in Heaven,’ don’t you understand?

The question is proffered as an explanation in the sub-slot box of text off of Felix Culpa’s disclosure of political identity. In the box for Favorite Activities one finds, God’s Will & fighting evil is named first among Felix Culpa’s interests. Scotch, cigars & dancing come in second, third and fourth.

This is all news to the people at facebook headquarters. It is, in fact, alarming news. The posting breaches every firewall they have. Felix Culpa is instantly friended by everyone in the network. This heretofore impossible feat sets off every alarm in the company. Scores of techs scramble to their consoles only to find they can do nothing about the breach.

Felix Culpa is Ralph Golden. Ralph Golden is Felix Culpa. Ralph Golden is the secret identity & Felix Culpa is the super hero’s
nom de sacre guerre
.

Ralph has just finished updating his alter ego’s facebook status with a quick posting from his room at the rectory of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Ralph stepped out of the shower, feeling as clean as Christmas, spoke the words and his PalmPal personal computer plucked them out of the air & uploaded them to Felix Culpa’s facebook status bar at Golden’s command to, “Post it, Gracie.”

The PalmPal is the latest in portable computing. It is small & sleek, the size of a playing card & even with its Mother of Pearl shell, the device is no thicker
than a quarter. The PalmPal’s state-of-the-art Nano circuitry delivers up every bell & whistle a cybernaut like Ralph Golden could want.

“Show me what’s going on, Gracie,” Golden says & the small device, on his bedside table, projects a three by two foot holographic screen in the air above itself. Accessing hundreds of cameras scattered throughout the city, the Palm-Pal creates a ghostly, slow-scrolling slideshow of video clips from sites Golden asked it to keep an eye on.

It begins with the high altar of the basilica. Servers are dutifully preparing it for the next Mass which will begin in a little over twenty minutes.

“Television on,” Ralph orders & the small flat screen mounted on the wall clicks to life. “Vatican.”

The television finds the channel broadcasting the Christmas Mass from the Holy City. The Bishop of Rome is at the pulpit finishing his sermon. Ralph keeps one eye on the flat screen & watches the holographic projection with the other in the full length mirror hung on the bathroom door.

“…So we take heart,” the Pope says, addressing the congregation & the world in Italian. “We proceed boldly into the future, trusting in our Lord’s promise that He will be with his beloved church unto the end of the world. Tyrants & heresies have come & gone & our Church has survived them all. Every malicious machination of every hostile regime has been powerless before the Holy Spirit that guides & guards us. We will thus fear for neither the stones of our churches or the bones of our bodies. Like the martyrs, who are the glory of Christendom, we know that they are both ephemeral, bound, in time, to be ground into dust. The Church, however, the mystic body of the bride of Christ will endure beyond the worst that this world can do. We, the Catholic Church, will always prevail because our God is The God of eternal life. Our God is He who knows the way back from the grave.