the police would find them easily. When he finished he unbuttoned his coat. Carefully, the man pulled out the gun, which had been hidden in the inner lining of his coat. Resting the Uzi slightly on his hip, he started firing, moving the gun just a fraction from right to left and then right again. Bodies slammed forward, the force of the bullets ferociously propelled each person into the back of the seat in front of them. No shouts or screams. Braking sharply, the driver looked up at the mirror, panic and terror in her eyes. For a long moment, they watched each other in the mirror as the man walked slowly toward her. Unsure what to do next, she gripped the steering wheel tightly, her eyes brimming with tears as she begged the mirror desperately for her life. The man shot her three times, then climbed off the bus. At precisely the same time, in the same manner, executions in buses happened in New York, Los Angeles, Atlanta and Miami. The day of the Screaming Eagles had begun.
THE DESERT BUNKER
Cool breezes from the Persian Gulf quietly dusted the desert. The group of people sitting under an umbrella nursed their drinks watching spectacular red and orange colors deepen dramatically across the sky as the sun set. All turned when they heard a gate open which led downstairs into the desert bunker. A man approached them and bowed. “Excellencies, all reports have now come in. Our strike force performed their missions perfectly. Wire services and television stations opened their programs with pictures of the incidents on the busses. Praised be Allah. We suffered no casualties. Countdown for plan two in Chicago is now seventeen hours, Excellencies.”
CHAPTER TWO
“We will all be dead in two days. Why are you wasting time in this shop? You will not buy anything. We must return to our hotel now.” “Massood, Massood, just a few more minutes. I need to savor with passion and delight everything, one last time. Even in paradise, they do not have advanced hi-tech video recorders, stereo equipment, or miniature state of the art wristwatch color televisions. We die Wednesday, it is but a few hours away. Today, I enjoy what little life I have left on this miserable earth. All is brighter, clearer, and more beautiful.” “Hassan does not permit us to be late. The others arrived last night. They will be waiting. I go, I do not want to be part of your foolishness any longer.” “Insha Allah, it is the will of God.” Both men walked out of the store. Michael had been packing cartons into a storage area behind the door when inadvertently he heard men speaking Farsi. Amazed that he had understood perfectly what the men had said to each other for he hadn’t heard or spoken Farsi in nearly twenty years. It worried him to hear how they matter-of-factly spoke of dying though the cavalier acceptance of death was common in Iran. He sensed impending danger. Did the two men know that he stood only a matter of feet away, separated by a thin plywood door so their words directed not at each other, but purposefully said loud enough, would carry for him to hear? Talking about death or about life was a form of hyperbole speech common in Moslem countries. The language assumed a haunting beauty of being able to be spoken with undisguised flowery phrases and great passion. However, if it was spoken by people who’d made up their minds to die, death for them usually followed soon after; but when they died, countless numbers of other people would also die. He recalled his terror and sheer hopelessness as the country he’d lived in for eight years lost control and fell apart. Friendly people who prided their cultural history that spanned thousands of years transformed themselves overnight into crazed fanatics and vicious killers. An entire population suddenly became caught up in a fervor of flaming revolution, becoming sadistic executioners thirsting for blood and more blood. Were the men in his store by mistake? Had he overheard them by chance, or was
THE DESERT BUNKER
Cool breezes from the Persian Gulf quietly dusted the desert. The group of people sitting under an umbrella nursed their drinks watching spectacular red and orange colors deepen dramatically across the sky as the sun set. All turned when they heard a gate open which led downstairs into the desert bunker. A man approached them and bowed. “Excellencies, all reports have now come in. Our strike force performed their missions perfectly. Wire services and television stations opened their programs with pictures of the incidents on the busses. Praised be Allah. We suffered no casualties. Countdown for plan two in Chicago is now seventeen hours, Excellencies.”
CHAPTER TWO
“We will all be dead in two days. Why are you wasting time in this shop? You will not buy anything. We must return to our hotel now.” “Massood, Massood, just a few more minutes. I need to savor with passion and delight everything, one last time. Even in paradise, they do not have advanced hi-tech video recorders, stereo equipment, or miniature state of the art wristwatch color televisions. We die Wednesday, it is but a few hours away. Today, I enjoy what little life I have left on this miserable earth. All is brighter, clearer, and more beautiful.” “Hassan does not permit us to be late. The others arrived last night. They will be waiting. I go, I do not want to be part of your foolishness any longer.” “Insha Allah, it is the will of God.” Both men walked out of the store. Michael had been packing cartons into a storage area behind the door when inadvertently he heard men speaking Farsi. Amazed that he had understood perfectly what the men had said to each other for he hadn’t heard or spoken Farsi in nearly twenty years. It worried him to hear how they matter-of-factly spoke of dying though the cavalier acceptance of death was common in Iran. He sensed impending danger. Did the two men know that he stood only a matter of feet away, separated by a thin plywood door so their words directed not at each other, but purposefully said loud enough, would carry for him to hear? Talking about death or about life was a form of hyperbole speech common in Moslem countries. The language assumed a haunting beauty of being able to be spoken with undisguised flowery phrases and great passion. However, if it was spoken by people who’d made up their minds to die, death for them usually followed soon after; but when they died, countless numbers of other people would also die. He recalled his terror and sheer hopelessness as the country he’d lived in for eight years lost control and fell apart. Friendly people who prided their cultural history that spanned thousands of years transformed themselves overnight into crazed fanatics and vicious killers. An entire population suddenly became caught up in a fervor of flaming revolution, becoming sadistic executioners thirsting for blood and more blood. Were the men in his store by mistake? Had he overheard them by chance, or was
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