Soul on Fire
John E. Forster
Copyright John E. Forster 2012
Published by Black Rose Writing, Publishing at Smashwords
Black Rose Writing
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© 2012 by John E. Forster
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-078-4
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
Print edition produced in the United States of America
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Dedicated to my heroes,
Robert Thomas Forster
&
Megan Renee Hartley
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PROLOGUE
2003
Somewhere Off the Coast of Africa
Pastor Neil Daniels drifted off to sleep around midnight in the guest quarters one level below the weather deck. Today was the end of day two at sea. By all accounts the Zion was making good time in calm seas. The steady motion of the ship calmed his jitters about the business at hand and his decision to make the journey across the Atlantic. Tomorrow, the ship would dock at Karachi, Pakistan and he would say good bye to his longtime friend and captain of the Zion, Jerry Powers. He was grateful for the ride and the last thing he wanted was to put more people at risk because of his vendetta.
Around 0400 the shrill squeal of an alarm blasted its way into his quarters. Neil had been in a deep sleep but rose with a burst of energy. The squeal was deafening and a brilliant white flashing LED light agitated every nerve ending in his body. In the rush to get out of bed he smacked his head on the grey metal overhead storage unit which got his head pounding. A warm trickle of blood began to crawl down his cheek. “Great,” he thought, “What’s next?”
Jerry must be playing a prank on his old land loving friend. On the other hand, if the ship was foundering, he did not want to be stuck below deck to drown like those poor souls on the Titanic. Neil laced up his boots and decided to get up on deck. Prank or no prank, he was awake now, and he needed medical attention to stop the bleeding.
The alarm stopped and Jerry's voice thundered through the intercom, “All hands on deck, this is not a drill. I say again this is not a drill.”
A second message piped through the intercom. It was calm but direct. “Preacher, bring your rifle.”
Neil thought, “this is going to be a long night.”
CHAPTER 1
9.11.2001
Granville, Ohio
“Wake up, wake up!” Savannah chanted. The Daniel’s rambunctious eleven year old daughter was overwhelmed with anticipation of today’s trip to New York City. “It’s time to go mommy and daddy.” Savannah was jumping up and down in place beside the couple’s bed. The constant pat-pat-pat of her feet bouncing on the hard wood floor echoed in the room. The mirror on Cindy’s dresser began wobbling to the rhythm of her feet pounding the floor.
Pastor Neil Daniels glanced at the Timex clock on the oak veneer night stand. The glowing red numbers displayed 4:32am. He turned to Cindy, his attractive wife of twenty four years, and mumbled “she’s right, time to wake up.”
Cindy pushed the covers back and ran a hand thru her shoulder length brunette hair and smiled, “a kiss first.” Neil happily obliged. She could still take his breath away with a single glance. He still remembered the first time they kissed. Her long hair rested on his shoulder as they embraced. They were both smiling like kids with a special secret. He brought her in close and she tightened her arm around him as if to say, I will never let you go. The kiss was perfect in every way and to this day he still remembered how she tasted of peppermint and her hair smelled of lilac. She was of average build and had soft chestnut brown eyes. She had a bright smile that could charm the socks off of anyone. Some folks said it was her zest for life that energized anyone near her. Cindy was a confident woman but not to the point of arrogance. She knew her strength was a gift from God and that kept her humble.
It was Cindy’s poise and compassion in tough situations that made his love for her all the stronger. She had a stroke a few years back. The doctor’s doubted she would pull through the ordeal without being paralyzed. After six months of physical therapy and hours of prayer the only remaining scar of the trauma was the development of a slight lisp when she spoke. She plowed through life like every day would be her last and not for one minute did she let the stroke or the lisp slow her down. The lisp made her words sound as if she had a southern accent. People that didn’t know about the stroke just thought she was from the south, maybe Georgia or South Carolina. She would just smile and gracefully accept the compliment.
Neil met Cindy in the fall of 1975 at a veterans outreach center in Columbus, Ohio. She was completing a bachelor degree at The Ohio State University and volunteered part time as a counselor to help returning Vietnam Veterans find employment. Her job consisted of matching the soldiers’ skills to jobs that were available within the area. She would help the men create resumes and prepare for the all-important job interview. She worked in the local outreach center near the campus. Cindy would also keep in touch with the human resource personnel at each company where the soldiers worked to monitor their progress.
Neil had completed two brutal tours in Viet Nam. He enlisted in the Marines at seventeen so he could leave the state of Ohio. He didn’t need a reason why. He didn’t care about stopping Communism and he sure didn’t care about being a patriot. He bragged to his friends, “I’m gonna shoot some guns, kill some bad guys, and see the world. Maybe go to sniper school if they let me.”
Most kids graduating high school in the disco, marijuana fueled seventies were doing their best to avoid the draft. Some went to Canada and some joined the Coast Guard. Vietnam was not a war that many regular folk in the United States understood. Most people didn’t know why we there other than to stop the spread of Communism. Nam was the first war to be televised in living color into our homes. David Brinkley and David Huntley co-chaired a thirty minute segment following the nightly local news for NBC. Their reports of the destruction and loss of life were horrific. Both sides suffered thousands of casualties before it was over.
Neil just didn’t care. He was angry and the battlefield was the right place for him to vent. He had something to prove. Maybe he just wanted payback for the drunk driver who killed his parents. The man crossed the center line of a two lane road and hit mom and dad head on killing them in the time it takes to blink. The drunk walked away from the wreck unscathed. Back then, before Mothers Against Drunk Driving was formed, the penalties were minimal. The driver received thirty days in jail for what amounted to double homicide. Neil was six when the accident happened. His memories of his mom and dad were limited and faded with each passing year.
With no extended family he found himself bounced from one foster home to another, no one wanted to adopt him because of his age. Most families wanted new born babies. People thought him shy and introverted. Neil was neither. He felt safe keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself so he internalized everything and rarely spoke. Neil’s grades in school were average. His teachers would say, “Open the book, read the material, and study. You could be getting B’s and A’s.” Neil just wasn’t interested.
The problem was he ran the streets at night and found himself in detention centers more than once. At his most recent appearance in court Neil told the Judge he was, “just out doing stupid kid stuff like smoking dope, stealing, and drinking.” Judge Miller, a large thick man with beefy hands looked Neil over with a stern gaze of annoyance and thanked him for admitting guilt. Judge Miller didn’t agree that this was just “stupid kid stuff but stupid…yes.”
Neil was brought up on larceny charges for a second time within the same month and as fate would have it, he appeared before Judge Miller again.
This time Judge Miller rendered a firm decision. “Neil, if I see you in this court room on a third offense I will make sure you do hard time behind bars. I will sentence you to five years behind bars locked in an eight by ten cell without any chance of parole.”
The Marine Corp was looking like a very good option. He liked boats and loved to swim. He hoped they would teach him how to handle a rifle. Jobs in the area weren’t paying much and work was hard to find. Maybe the change in scenery would do him some good to help him through this rough patch. So off to war he went.
Neil returned from Vietnam a very different person. He joined the Marines an angry teenager and returned home a spiritual young man. Neil had served four years in Vietnam. He never rotated home between tours. When asked, why not? He said, “I have no one to go too.”
Soon his anger was replaced with guilt and depression. He saw what angry men could do to other men, women, and children. In fact he was a part of that destruction. Neil was fortunate to return home in one piece. The two tours had taken a heavy toll mentally and physically. His 22 year old body felt run down and his joints ached something fierce.
He was happy when the plane touched down at The Columbus International Airport. Columbus, Ohio was his home town and he was ready to start a new life. There were protestors at the airport with peace signs and tattered American flags. He was surprised by the amount of anti-war sentiment. Returning soldiers were portrayed as monsters or lepers and spit on.
He got off the plane a gangly young man with arms the size of french fries and a face full of pimples. His hair was cut razor thin which made his head look more oval shaped. Like a large egg. He still had trouble fitting into society. He felt strangely disconnected to life stateside.
Neil was determined to make some positive changes in his life. He wanted to help others learn about Jesus Christ. Neil was ready to do something good that he could feel proud of. His spiritual self was awakened through prayer to God. He began to read and study The Bible. Neil wasn’t a zealot nor did he have anything left to prove. He was just a regular guy trying to make a positive difference in his world with the help of his personal savior Jesus Christ. Not the whole world either. Just the people he came in contact with. He had a humble goal of helping one person at a time. Could he help others fight their demons and believe in to the Lord? Neil did not have visions of angels visiting him, pushing him into the clergy. It was just a small voice deep inside his soul pushing him forward to take a stand for God. He had a fire burning from within driving him to be a servant to others first and second to study the Scripture so in time he could help others learn from The Bibles’ many messages as he had. In one respect The Bible was the bread and butter of life.
Neil made a personal commitment to God to never kill another human being ever again. To that end, as penance, Neil Daniels became a minister. He preached to whoever would listen about God’s love and why He sent His only son, Jesus Christ, into the world to die for our sins. Neil finally found the inner peace and satisfaction for which he was searching. It took almost five years for him to understand why forgiveness was important. His soul was thirsty to be cleansed of the blackness that only he could feel. Forgiveness is never easy, but first, one must forgive oneself.
Neil volunteered thirty hours a week while in Seminary School at the veterans outreach center in Columbus, Ohio. He helped returning veterans overcome their feelings of guilt. This became an important part of his ministry. It was easy to bond with the men since he had walked in their boots.
Cindy was working there as a guidance counselor while she finished her Finance Degree at The Ohio State University. Neil noticed Cindy right away. She cared about the vet’s like they were her brothers. He knew deep inside, they were destined to be together. This was the girl for him and it was love at first sight. Neil thought, “How can I get her to notice me?”
Cindy wasn’t thrilled with his antics to woo her. He would bring her cards or a bouquet of spring flowers or chocolate to the outreach center which more often than not, embarrassed her. She didn’t like the extra attention. One day he brought bags of Hershey chocolate kisses and filled up her desk drawer with the sweet confection. Neil persisted until she said, “I will go out with you one time but you must promise to stop pestering me.”
Cindy said in later years with a smile, “God must have wanted us to be together because I sure didn’t feel that way at first. You were annoying.”
The couple would often collaborate to help a returning soldier. Cindy helped find the work and Neil helped the man find salvation. Both were passionate about their work at the Veterans Center. They loved movies, books, gardening, and the love of Jesus Christ. They soon became inseparable and after college the couple married and settled in Cindy’s home town of Granville, Ohio.
“Are you packed Savannah?” Cindy asked while her daughter was still jumping up and down in anticipation without missing a beat.
“Oh yes, and my purple suitcase with the big happy face name tag is by the front door. I packed two dresses, socks, underwear, three tops, my retainer, and my Bible.” Savannah was gasping for air as she talked and continued bouncing.
Cindy looked over at her after wiping the sleep out of her eye. “I think you are ready to go, please change out of your night clothes and slip on the blue denim dress I ironed last night. Brush your teeth too.” Savannah bounded out of the room without answering and raced down the hall to her room. She was a petite girl, barely five feet tall, with auburn hair, and bright blue eyes. If one could catch her in a still moment she smelled of vanilla. Savannah was in the sixth grade and ready for the seventh. She had her future plans all mapped out which were written out on a sheet of lavender paper pinned to the bulletin board in her room.
Savannah boldly predicted, “I am going to Ohio State just like mom, graduate, become a teacher, get married, and have one boy and one girl and teach Sunday school classes at daddy’s Church.” Savannah loved school and plowed through her assignments with a determined zeal. She liked being recognized by her teachers for getting good marks in school and seemed to have her mothers’ drive and brains.
Today Cindy and Savannah were flying US Air from The Columbus International Airport to New York’s La Guardia Airport. Flight 34 was scheduled to depart Columbus at 6:05am and arrive in New York at 7:10am. Mother and daughter were due to return in two days.
Cindy worked as a financial planner for Morgan Stanley in the local Granville office. She was in her fifteenth year with the company and due to some excellent sales growth the company awarded her with an all-expense paid trip to the home office located in the North Tower of The World Trade Center in Manhattan. Cindy had worked hard over the years balancing a career with motherhood. Her energy was contagious. People trusted her with their finances and she worked diligently to find just the right financial product for each person. Her clients were more like extended family.
This would be Savannah’s first time to fly. The mother-daughter trip would be a fun break for both of them. The couple did not plan on having more children so Cindy enjoyed spoiling Savannah.
Justin, the couples’ first child is ten years older than Savannah and had already moved out of the family home. He enlisted in the Marines at the age of eighteen and was dedicated toward making the military a career. Pastor Neil wasn’t pleased about the decision but he respected Justin’s desire to serve his country.
Justin’s pitch to his dad was, “Military training and pay is much better now than back in the old days.” Neil could only pray and hope that was the case. Still, there was discomfort knowing Justin may be put in harm’s way. That now his son would be taking lives. Neil tried to get Justin to serve as a Chaplain. Justin’s response to that suggestion was, “No, not now, not ever.”
Cindy was up and brushing her teeth. In between swishes she said, “I really wish you could come too, I miss you already.”
“That’s sweet but duty calls. I’ve got to finish the message for Sunday and I need to make hospital visits today. Tomorrow I am going to visit the veterans outreach center.” Neil made it a priority to continue volunteering and over the years developed many deep friendships.
“Are you guys coming?” Savannah called out impatiently from the downstairs foyer. Savannah seemed to be eleven going on twenty at times.
“Yes princess, how about a little patience please, Neil said. Could you toast some cinnamon bagels while you’re waiting, we can take them with us.”
“I guess, if I have too,” Savannah grumbled.
Neil bounded down the stairs ducking just enough to clear the wall header. He ran a hand thru his short brown hair to mash down a section that was sticking up. Neil would turn fifty two on September twenty third and his hair had turned to a mix of grey and brown almost overnight. Cindy didn’t seem to mind. She would say, “The grey makes you look distinguished,” and smile and give him a kiss on the cheek. Neil was taller than Cindy by two inches. He was five feet nine and had hazel eyes. When he was happy his eyes were a deep green and if he was under stress or in danger the eyes were more of a smoky grey. He had somehow managed to put on a solid twenty five pounds over the years. The family physician said he was not at risk for high blood pressure yet, but he did suggest cutting back on some of the potluck dinners and start to get more exercise.
Neil grabbed Cindy’s and Savannahs’ suitcases and made his way out the front door. He hustled off the covered porch of their turn of the century Victorian style home and walked along the short red brick path to the detached garage. The moon was full and bright with no cloud cover. The stars twinkled across the dark horizon to help light up the night. It will be a beautiful day to fly, he thought. Neil caught the scent of a burning wood in the air. It was fall after all, so he made a mental note to gather some wood for their fireplace.
Neil looked back to admire their homes’ simple elegance. The exterior was painted sunshine yellow and the gingerbread style trim was a gloss white. Spotlights were set six feet apart at foundation level to illuminate the home at night and on dreary days. This morning the moonlight danced off the grey slate roof giving it a rippled texture.
A black four foot high decorative wrought iron fence glistened as the moons’ rays bounced off it. The fence ran along the sidewalk of the property at the front of the home giving the exterior a distinct European feel. Each home in the neighborhood was built around the turn of the century and each was as charming as the next.
The Daniels family loved to spend time working on renovations to the home. A new bathroom one year, new granite kitchen counters another year; and upgraded light fixtures this year. Doing the work together saved money and gave the family a sense of accomplishment.
The crisp fall air filled his lungs and Neil could see his breath as he exhaled. Last night was the first frost of the season which put a glaze of white frosting on each blade of grass. Neil paused for a moment. He noticed an eerie stillness in the air. He turned his head as a defensive precaution toward the street. There was no wind, no dogs barking, no banging of trash cans being pulled to the curb, no car doors slamming. There was just a dead calm. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. The sensation startled him sending a hand behind his neck to investigate. It must just be the cold morning air and he shook off the sensation. He dressed appropriately for the cooler temps by wearing a thick tan sweater with dark brown corduroy trousers and brown shoes. He even stuffed on an extra pair of socks to keep his feet warm.
Cindy and Savannah broke the quiet as they scrambled off the front porch. They carried cinnamon bagels, cream cheese, napkins, and plastic knives. A trail of cinnamon scent followed them into the family’s late model faded navy blue Chevrolet Impala. “Everybody buckle up, Neil said, next stop Columbus International Airport.” Once everyone was situated with warm bagels in hand, the car backed out onto the quiet street.
The twenty five minute ride went by quickly. They had just passed The Bob Lynd Family apple orchard on the right. The farm covered many acres and there were rows and rows of perfectly pruned apple trees ready to be picked. The moon light sparkled off the plump apples giving them a silvery glow in the darkness. The apples in the distance looked more like Christmas ornaments than fruit ready to be picked for consumption. The farm was a fun family destination in the fall with hayrides and bonfires and warm cider. The church youth group made it an annual destination. The kids loved the hayrides and feeding the horses apples.
Savannah stayed busy during the ride to the airport. Her breath fogged the window as she counted stars in the heavens. Cindy was un-crumpling the itinerary. She accidentally used it as a napkin. “Oops,” she said smiling sheepishly while un-crinkling it. She made the paper flat enough to read. “The itinerary says a chauffeur will take us to the World Trade Center North Tower. We have been invited to a catered breakfast in the Morgan Stanley conference room located on the one hundredth floor. I hear on a clear day one can see for miles and miles. I do hope you packed your camera little one. The weather is supposed to be clear and you should be able to get some amazing pictures from the conference room.”
“I did mommy, what else does it say?” Savannah had pulled herself up to the front seat so she could see the paper and hear her mom a little easier. She had a little trouble reading things due to a lazy eye. The optometrist was trying to correct it by having her wear a patch over the good eye so in theory the lazy eye would get stronger. It was something she was born with but between the patch and surgery the prognosis was good to strengthen the eye. If the patch did not work a basic out-patient procedure to correct the lazy eye with surgery would be scheduled. Savannah’s optometrist was optimistic in that if she needed surgery the damage could be repaired and she would have no ill effect from the surgery.
“After the breakfast we can take a tour of the Morgan Stanley offices on the fortieth floor and then we have the day to explore the city. The itinerary also says once we land we are to go to ground transportation near the baggage claim area and find our chauffeur.”
“Chauffeur, that could mean a limo ride too?” Savannah asked. “I can’t wait!” She stayed on the edge of her seat for the remainder of the trip.
The Columbus International Airport was in sight. The roar of jet engines filled the morning air. Bright runway lights in white, blue, and red gave the airport a magical glow. The tarmac was a beehive of activity. Baggage handlers were winding their carts from plane to plane unloading and loading as they went. Gasoline pumper trucks were scrambling to keep the planes moving with a replenishment of jet fuel. The trucks had large five inch diameter hoses that locked in place into the docked aircraft. Savannah watched in awe as this circus of activity unfolded. Airplanes were landing and taking off at regular intervals as if by telepathy.
“The planes are spaced so close when they land and takeoff. One lands and another lands right behind it? Why don’t they run into each other daddy?”
“That is a good question. It’s because of the men and women who work in the tall tower over there on the right.” He pointed to the tall building with tinted glass near the main terminal. “That’s called the Control Tower and the people working there are responsible for keeping the planes moving in the right direction. They are specially trained and are called air traffic controllers. They work for a government agency called the Federal Aviation Administration. They use sophisticated radar equipment to help keep track of the planes at all times. The pilots file flight plans that are fed into the controller’s radar system and main computer. Airplane travel is very safe because of the job those people do. It’s a big responsibility and a very important job.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” she said while staring out the window in awe.
Neil navigated the car to terminal level, found the US Air boarding area, stopped at the curb, shifted into park, hit the flashers, and jumped out to get the suitcases. He handed Savannah her purple bag and carried Cindy’s. Savannah’s wheels squeaked as the bag was half drug and half pulled across the floor. He made a mental note to oil that squeaky wheel when they returned.
Cindy was wearing her favorite lilac body spray and Neil caught a whiff of it as they walked side by side to the ticket counter. “You ladies look wonderful,” he said. Cindy was wearing a black pants suit with a magenta blouse that featured a small white ruffle going down the front. She wore black shoes which would be comfortable to walk in and complimented the outfit. Savannah was wearing a blue denim dress with a pink sweater and white sneakers. Cindy wore her sterling silver wedding band and a small silver cross around her neck. She was frugal when it came to clothes. Owning expensive name brand clothing and gaudy jewelry just did not interest her. Cindy’s passion was helping the local food bank. She willingly donated her money and time to help keep it stocked and deliver food to needy families. Cindy would always say, “The Lord has given our family more than enough.”
The stop at the ticket counter went smoothly. Both girls were going to carry on their bags. It was time for good byes. Neil, the spiritual leader of the family said, “Let’s come together in prayer.” He gathered them close with his arm around each and began to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father, please watch over Cindy and Savannah as they travel today. May your Spirit guide them to spread Your Word on this perfect day that You have created. Amen.”
“Amen,” Cindy and Savannah said in unison.
Neil gave them each a big hug and a kiss. “I love you guys, have fun.”
“We will. See you soon daddy,” Savannah said. Her pony tail was wagging happily from side to side and the squeak of the wheel was drowned out by the chatter of the crowd.
Neil watched Cindy and Savannah walk toward their departure gate until they were swallowed up by the crowd and out of sight. He decided to go back home and grab a little more sleep before starting his day.
Chapter 2
9.11.2001
Brooklyn, New York
Hakim Mustafavi barely slept. He tossed and turned all night in anticipation of the days’ events. Today he would shape history for future generations of Muslims’ all over the world. This project would have been an insurmountable goal for most. He, however, was well prepared. His mu’allimna or teacher made sure of that, if only the great one had lived to see this day. He grabbed the tan Egyptian cotton robe off the edge of the king size bed and slipped into thick warm lambs’ wool slippers and padded across the room. He quietly closed the bedroom door behind him.
Mustafavi had just turned twenty nine, he stood over six feet tall, and was graced with thick jet black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His thin dark eyebrows, dark complexion, and deep brown piercing eyes gave him a mysterious look that women loved. He was both, charismatic and charming. He spoke perfect English, French, Farsi, and Arabic. Once Mustafavi turned seventeen the teacher sent him to Paris, France to continue his studies. His teacher would say, “To win the war and conquer the infidel, you must learn their ways. This will not dishonor you in the eyes of Allah. There will be times when you must be close to the great Satan to defeat him. Satan works through non-believers in the western world to spread darkness and death in the Middle East. It is so very sad that these infidels are the greatest threat to all humankind. If left unchecked the United States of America will devour the remaining goodness left in the world. We will cease to exist as a people. They must be stopped.”
Mustafavi started each day with a ritual of push-ups, sit-ups, and lunges. The large open floor plan of the town-home made this easy. Discipline and patience were the corner stones to his methodical approach to life. His work out ended exactly thirty minutes after it started.
He finished with morning prayers by reverently facing east crouched on his prayer rug. His hands were palm down on the floor and his forehead was one quarter inch off the floor as he prayed. He was a devout Muslim who prayed five times a day to cleanse his soul and ask for Allah’s blessings. He would always respectively face the east toward Mecca when he prayed.
Mecca was the home of Muhammad, Allah’s Prophet. He was the last Prophet recognized to hear God’s word by Shiite Muslims. Muhammad was a mortal man who heard Allah’s words and then spoke His message to Muslims throughout the Middle East. Muhammad was a forty one year old merchant in the year 610 CE. That was the year Muhammad walked down from a cave where he had been fasting and meditating and began preaching the word of Allah. Muhammad was a respected businessman and was not by all accounts a good public speaker. It took some time for the people of Mecca to listen to the words coming out of his mouth. Muhammad was a flesh and blood mortal man who did not want the responsibility that Allah had thrust upon him. His physical body was under duress until he yielded to Allah’s wishes. Scribes feverishly wrote Muhammad’s words on parchment and in later years his teachings would be included in the Muslim holy book, the Koran. Muslims are expected to visit Mecca at least once in their lifetime. Mecca is located in the Makkah Province of Saudi Arabia. The trip is called a hajj or pilgrimage.
Mustafavi thought of his own mother and father while waiting to make the final call. They died in a Scud Missile attack during the bloody Iran-Iraq war when he was eight years old. He was just outside their village tracking down a lost goat when the sky went dark. Three massive projectiles blocked out the sun and within seconds destroyed his home and village. The blast lifted his small boyish frame in the air and slammed his body into a grey boulder knocking him unconscious. Hakim had no idea how long he was out for. Once alert enough to stand he made his way thru the rubble to try and locate his mother, father, and two younger brothers.
He dug around what was the home site and called their names for hours. The only thing left were a few bloodied body parts. Hakim dug a small grave and did his best to locate what was left of his family. He finished and curled up in a fetal position near the burial site to sleep close to his family. He had nowhere to go, all he knew was he couldn’t stay here.
The next day he wandered the desolate countryside until collapsing from exhaustion. Hakim was fortunate that a young cleric, Ruhollah Mustafavi, saw him by the side of the road. Hakim was near death himself due to severe dehydration. The poor boy was unconscious and his face pock marked and bruised. The cleric carried him home and had his wife feed and clean the boy and put him in a suitable bed. She worked day and night to nurse him back to health. When Ruhollah Mustafavi pieced together what happened he invited Hakim to stay with his family. The young man accepted his offer and became an obedient pupil.
The home was modest. It was built with hardened mud bricks stacked one atop the other with a thatched roof to hold out the suns’ burning rays. The home was located near the largest mosque in Tehran, Iran. The only thing his benefactor asked in return was absolute loyalty to the Koran and to his country, Iran. As the years marched on his benefactor became much more in young Hakim’s eyes than father or teacher.
Hakim only wished he were still alive today to see his best student execute the plan that had been in the works for years, waiting patiently, for just the right time. The circumstances had to be perfect. The deck was staked in their favor and they had the element of surprise. Ruhollah Mustafavi later became known as The Ayatollah Khomeini. The title, Ayatollah, can only be bestowed on a male who has direct bloodlines to the Prophet Muhammad. Secondly, to become Ayatollah, a man had to have the blessing of the highest ranking clerics in the land.
The Ayatollah could settle matters that even a King could not settle. Khomeini was revered as a King even though there was no election. The Ayatollah is a leader of leaders among the Shiite sect of Muslims. His words’ and the decisions he makes are final. The title Ayatollah is not an elected position either. Even if a male had the correct bloodline he still must be able to impress the clerics’ and the people that he is worthy of the position. It was more of a popular vote to put it in western terms, although, no ballets are cast. The title is bestowed on an individual. This gave Khomeini a powerful religious base to work from as the Shiite’s number eighty percent of Iran’s total population.
It is tradition for the Ayatollah to change his last name to the city of his birth, hence Khomeini. The Iranian people believed that Allah spoke to Khomeini and the mortal man would carry out his commands. People would come from the four corners of Iran to hear the Ayatollah speak or for him to make a ruling over a disagreement. He preached that every man is an equal in the eyes of Allah. The Koran was his constitution and the people believed the Ayatollah Khomeini to be fair and just. Iran became a Theocracy in 1979 under Khomeini. Religion is the foundation of a Theocracy which means Iran’s political and economic decisions were based on his interpretation of the Koran. The scope of those decisions covered Iran’s economic policies, political, and religious interpretations. The long term result of his leadership still kept the people oppressed. The poor and middle working class did not fare well under Khomeini. There were public beatings if one ran afoul of the Koran. Strict compliance to Islamic tradition was mandated. All things western were yanked down and thrown away.
Studying under the Ayatollah the young Hakim had a strong religious foundation before he left Iran to study in Paris. The Ayatollah officially adopted young Hakim when he turned thirteen. This would ensure that Hakim had a tie to the Prophet Muhammad’s blood line even if only in spirit and word.
Once the elder Mustafavi reached the status of Ayatollah he and his family still lived a simple life as it is written in the Koran. Khomeini disliked the splendor of the ornate Persian palace. The kings who ruled the country before him flaunted their power and spent lavishly on themselves while the people of Iran remained poor. So, the Ayatollah, his family, and Hakim lived near the Palace in a small guarded compound in a basic home built with mud and stone. This was the family’s home until The Ayatollah Khomeini died in 1986. Khomeini had one other son through marriage but it was Hakim who grasped the leadership reins. Hakim was the hungry one.
Khomeini also believed that while the palace may be a piece of history from the Persian Empire. It would not be a suitable dwelling for a just leader in accordance with the Koran. The palace represented a decadence that the people of Iran became less and less tolerant of. The ways of the western world and Europe were not condoned in the Ayatollah’s interpretation of the Koran. One of the key points Khomeini stood for was a return to family values and the people of Iran loved him for leading the way.
“The infidel’s or any non-Muslim are interested only in the oil and natural gas reserves below Iran’s vast desert plain and deep beneath the crystal blue Persian Gulf. The occupiers come from Russia, Great Britain, and America to exploit the Iranian people and to steal her resources and her identity. The west sees the people of Iran as camel jockeys and goat herders,” Khomeini said.
The people of the once strong and proud Persia were slowly, piece by piece, losing their roots and their identity as a nation. The years wore on and the occupiers tried to impose their own form of government and values on the people of Iran without trying to understand her mores which are a way that people of the same social group behave, think, and feel.
Now, the young Hakim was ready to take the reins with his strong hands and lead his people, the Muslim Shiites’ of the Middle East, to become a world power. To that end Iran had forged a secret relationship with Osama Bin Laden. Bin Laden was the supreme leader of a splinter extremist group called Al Qaeda who was trying to reshape the Middle East by first launching a holy war against the United States and her allies.
Hakim, now, after many years of planning was ready to strike a mighty blow to the infidels within their borders. He became a clandestine senior operative of Al Qaeda within the United States. It was easy for him to get a visa and come to the United States to attend graduate school. After graduation Mustafavi started a lucrative import and export company dealing in art work and antiquities from the Achaemenian Dynasty.
It took millions of dollars to lead, organize, recruit, and train fellow martyrs. Bribes were expensive too. The United States had frozen all Iranian assets including their bank accounts and imposed a trade embargo which limited certain materials and products from entering the country.
Bin Laden was a man with a financial infrastructure in place. His organization could launder Iran’s cash and funnel it through legitimate channels to the United States where sleeper cells were in place working on plans to destroy the United States from within. Hakim Mustafavi became Al Qaeda’s operations man on US soil who orchestrated the attacks. It was Bin Laden who funded Mustafavi with business capital. Bin Laden had to stay detached to lead jihadists in the Middle East and Europe and he could ill afford the setback of capture.
Bin Laden took a special liking to Hakim and was proud of Khomeini’s son and protégé. Bin Laden sent Hakim a personal note delivered by his most trusted courier. Bin Laden had to be careful of being out among the masses for fear of being recognized. He couldn’t risk the use electronic devices for fear of being tracked. The note read, “You have some big shoes to fill and so far you are exceeding my expectations. Your father would be proud of you. May Allah bless you and grant you robust health. Stay the course, my son. I am your brother in religion and belief” The note inspired and energized him.
He punched the number in the disposable cell phone as he walked across the colorful Persian rug. The conference call was ready to begin. “These are your final instructions, he said, your mission is now in the final stage.” There were nineteen hijackers total with the majority, fifteen, coming from Saudi Arabia. “You have all trained and mastered the skills necessary to complete this assignment. May Allah bless each of you with a peaceful and prosperous after-life. Thanks be to Allah. La Ilah Illa Allah, There is no God but Allah.”
Each hijacker knew his role and was steadfast in their belief that Satan controlled America. The evil-doers must die. Ultimate victory to a Shiite Muslim meant killing the arrogant infidels and all those prospering from the western ways of life.
“Your families are proud of your sacrifice. They will be rewarded with land and money from the Martyr Fund. You will each live on to infamy. This is the beginning of a war of a thousand razor cuts. We will slice and cut the infidels until they bleed out and die.”
“Death to America, the hijackers chanted in unison. God is great, death to Satan!” Each man gave a final salutation and the call was terminated. Hakim crushed the disposable phone on the wood floor and destroyed its internal SIM card. He gazed out the living room window and fogged the glass with his breath as he watched the morning commuters travel below on Empire Boulevard. The commuters rolled along oblivious to the problems of the rest of the world while sipping their Starbucks Lattes and listening to their rock n roll.
“Honey, what was that?” asked Hakims’ girlfriend. He met Susan Justice at the local HSBC branch fourteen months ago. She was a perky, five foot two, blue eyed, blonde haired, bank manager. It was the long blonde hair that caught his initial attention. It was silky smooth and ran down her back to her waist. He inspected closer and saw no rings on her baby soft fingers. She would be perfect.
Hakim followed Susan for a few days learning her routine, who she spoke to and the places she frequented. He checked for evidence of a boyfriend, ex-husband, or children, she had neither. Susan rarely had visitors and never any overnight guests. She was friends with an elderly woman next door and at various times helped her with grocery shopping. Fridays were dry cleaning drop off day and Monday, the pick-up day.
He followed her to work and found she took the same route every day. Susan was punctual and never varied from her routine. She lived in a two story brownstone that overlooked Empire Avenue in Brooklyn. The neighborhood was charming with row after row of neat brownstones squashed side by side. There were white finials over the ground floor double pane windows. Each had a black wrought iron hand rail so one could walk up the set of three concrete steps leading in to the home.
Cedar flower boxes stuffed with pansies adorned the window ledges which gave each home a tranquil feel. This was a perfect nest for him to hatch the plan. No one will see it coming until it’s too late.
He sat in a dingy Irish Pub across the street, watching and waiting. By now, he was a regular. He nursed a cold Heineken served in a tall frosted glass savoring each sip. Today, he splurged and ordered French fries piled high with chili and cheese. A buxom barmaid named Sabrina tried to chat him up but he paid her no attention and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He was focused on the mark. Mustafavi nursed his beer for hours, sipping and watching. Once satisfied, he smiled at his reflection in the glass. It was time to make his move.
Mustafavi opened a business bank account and started a conversation with Susan which led to dinner and much more. They became friends and within a month they were together every night and weekends. She was now his to manipulate as he saw fit. She insisted he move in and he had been living with her for the last fourteen months. She would do anything for him without question. For example, he had her buy large blocks of United and American Airline stocks through her bank connections. Over the last four days she put through a short sell order to her personal stock broker.
The object of the short sell is a gamble that the stocks selected will plummet in value at a prescribed time. Once the stocks fall in value they are returned to their owner and the profit is kept by the short seller. He knew they would fall, guaranteed. Susan would say, “You seem pretty sure of yourself mister. I hope you know what you’re doing because if you’re wrong and the stock doesn’t drop you’ll owe an obscene amount of money.” Susan had his off shore account number and she relayed it to the broker. The account was set up off shore to keep the Security and Exchange Commission from asking too many questions. The SEC does not have jurisdiction on accounts outside the United States. The profits of the short sell would flow automatically into that account.
He answered, “The money was needed to help refugees in Iran. I do not make much but I still want to help. A good Muslim spends a percentage of his income to help the poor. In Tehran there are donation boxes every few blocks to make donating money easy. The boxes only accept cash or checks and only small amounts.” She was satisfied with his direct answer and didn’t feel the need to dig deeper. She set the account up exactly as Mustafavi specified. “It is shameful that Muslims are scrutinized so closely when trying to help their fellow countrymen,” he would say.
“The phone broke, I accidently dropped it,” he said. “I am so sorry Miss Susan.”
Susan was busy sliding her curvy hips into a pair of designer jeans and a white Ann Taylor sweater to cover her ample bosom. “Oh, okay, I will pick up another for you after work today. Would you like some wheat toast and coffee?” She asked while brushing her beautiful blonde hair. Susan was blessed with flawless milky white skin, natural blonde hair, and blue eyes.
“No thanks, I’m fasting.” He was busy quietly, methodically, closing the burgundy drapes in the living room. He securely tied the gold sashes so the drapes would not accidently pop open. “I think the sun is too bright today,” he said with a playful grin.
“Suit yourself handsome.” Susan was head over heels in love with Hakim. She adored his emerald green eyes, brilliant smile, thick black hair, and taunt body. He was dedicated to being a good Muslim and Susan respected him for his devotion. She secretly hoped he would propose soon, maybe by Christmas. At thirty two her biological clock was ticking and she was thinking of starting a family. Her career was going well and it was a blessing meeting Hakim. She loved and admired him and thanked God every day that he was in her life. He was more of a man than she could have ever hoped for. She knew he would be a good father and husband.
Susan was curled up in the corner of the dark brown Corinthian leather sofa and turned on the news. “Sweetheart, you’ve seem a little distant lately. Is everything going okay for you at work? I know you’ve been working on that big project. When will it be done?” Susan knew he could become focused on work and she often had to reel him back in. A gentle back rub followed by a home cooked meal would do the trick. Susan tried not to pry into his work. She knew he was an honest, hardworking man that could be trusted.
Susan had been working up the courage to tell Hakim about the visit to the doctor two days ago. She wanted it to be a perfect moment, to tell Hakim she was pregnant with his child. Maybe tonight at dinner she thought. He made her so very happy.
Hakim walked up quietly behind her as she sat relaxing on the plush deep brown leather sofa. Susan was on the right hand side munching happily on toast and sipping a bitter middle-eastern blend of espresso. It was thick and took some getting use too. It was, after all, Hakims’ favorite. He said it “reminded him of his mothers and fathers home.” She wanted him to open up to her about his feelings surrounding the loss of his parents at such a young age. Susan kept the communication door open, “whenever you want to talk, I am here for you.”
The sweet scent of toast and coffee wafted through the air reminding him, that yes, he was hungry. He was four steps from her when his stomach started to growl. He continued creeping closer. Susan was preoccupied with the news on CNN and the sound of the TV drowned out the noise of his stomach doing flip flops.
“Are you staying home toda….” Susan felt his strong hands grabbing her head from behind. “Hey, you’re hurting me,” she said.
“I know,” was his calm answer. Her coffee spilt down the front of her sweater. The Ann Taylor sweater soaked up coffee like a sponge. Susan’s body protested against his strength. She struggled, clinging to life valiantly. Near the end, she was no match for his strength. He had the advantage of leverage as he stood behind her while she was still seated. Susan tried to wiggle away but her body was unable to escape his grip. Susan’s neck snapped like a twig, a sharp crack echoed across the room. The infidel that was Susan Justice had lived out her usefulness. He grabbed an uneaten piece of toast off her plate and munched it down. Susan’s eyes were locked, wide open, staring at nothing, gripped in the fear and pain of her last moments alive.
He finished the morning with a long hot shower. Near the end of the shower he switched off the hot water and blasted himself with ice cold water. The sensation jarred his senses into a heightened state of alertness. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw a King of Kings.
He turned to the right and caught a glimpse of the ragged scars on his back. The deep crusty scars were caused by the ritual of Zanjeers. They ran deep and he could still feel the barbs digging into his raw flesh. The ritual was willingly performed by devout Muslim men and boys. They would wear crisp white robes which signified their willingness to die as a martyr for Islam. The martyrs would march in a straight line and in a steady rhythm would deliver a hard blow to their own backs. The device used to inflict the wounds was a small board held in one hand with twelve inches of chain attached to the end of the board. Sharp barbs were then tied to the end of the chain so with a snap of a wrist each man would puncture his own skin. Tears streamed down their faces as they marched. He still remembered grinding his teeth to not scream out in pain. His first time was another story.
He howled in pain when the barbs dug thru his skin and cut to the core of his nerve endings. Each man would snap their wrists at the same time making the ritual looked sadistic and perverted like some sort of secret initiation. Blood trickled to the ground. Their white robes would be soaked with blood that would crust in the hot sun. They would march on top of leaves or rugs that had been carefully lined up to cover the dirt roads and they would fill the street with blood. Hundreds lined the street to watch. The crowd would be whipped into frenzy when the men were marching. Blood flew in the air when the barbs dug into the skin. The men marched in step down the street in a single file line. Spectators standing close would be splattered with blood giving them a sense of what battle feels like. A mist of crimson blood hung in the air. The smell was overwhelming when the blood mixed with sweat and the dust from the gravel road. This annual ritual is known as a celebration of martyrdom. Hakim kept the cruel device and had used it during interrogations more than once. Its beauty was its simplicity.
The celebration became a rite of passing in the Shiite sect of Islam. A man named Hussein in the year 680 CE took seventy two men, women, children, and elders onto the battlefield near a town named Karbala. Hussein was the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad. He refused to be assimilated by a sect known as the Umayyad’s. He and his family were not going to give in and denounce Allah. So the Umayyad’s brought a battle hardened army to the outskirts of Karbala. Hussein’s followers fought with pitch forks and rocks. They were no match for the army and were slaughtered in the opening moments of the battle. Men on fast camels armed with sharp swords slaughtered each and every one. Their bodies were decapitated and their heads mounted on sticks to be paraded around the countryside. Hussein and his followers chose martyrdom over renouncing their faith. Hussein was determined to his last breath to not give up the teachings of his grandfather the Prophet Muhammad. They did not die in vain. This story lives on today in the Muslim world. It is an important part of their DNA.
Shiism is a faith filled with suffering and passion in the name of Allah. The Battle of Karbala is etched into the very fiber of being a devout Shia Muslim. The Shia Muslim will fight to the death on principle and they will stay in the fight no matter the odds to protect their religion, family, and land.
Hakim participated in the yearly ritual from the time he turned thirteen. It is taught that sacrificing oneself for a larger goal was something devout Muslims’ aspired to. Human sacrifice, a willingness to die for a cause, for what you believe in, is an honor, a privilege, and a duty. These intense beliefs have stood the test of time beginning when Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, who chose to die before a superior army for his beliefs. Muslims’ have long been an oppressed people. They struggle to carve out an identity of their own even now in the twenty first century. The people of Iran long to be taken seriously by other world powers and not meddled with. Today’s demonstration would just be the beginning.
There was much left to do. Mustafavi grabbed a thick Egyptian cotton towel and dried every drop of water from his skin. Then he slipped on a pair of fresh white boxer shorts and grabbed his diamond studded Rolex. The watch was a birthday gift from Susan. He marveled at his ability to manipulate and deceive the infidel. He hoped his next mark would be just as easy.
Mustafavi rummaged thru the couples closet until he found his hunter green Armani suit, a starched white shirt, and a dark green tie. He added monogramed cuff links and a stylish tie bar. He slipped his size eleven feet into the polished black Brooks Brothers wing tips and became just another international businessman leaving home for work.
He walked past Susan’s dead body without breaking stride, closed and locked the front door behind him, and strolled to the curb to flag a yellow cab.
The morning was cool, crisp, and clear. He took in a deep cleansing breath while he patiently waited. In due time a cab stopped and picked up his fare.
“Where to mister,” the chubby cab driver asked.
“Take me to JFK, the Air France gate.” A smile crept across his face. The plan was coming together.