Chapter 1

Asad was looking out the window, thinking of his duties, both his normal everyday job and if you can consider being a secret service agent a regular job. But his thoughts were more centered on his duties to Allah and, in turn, to The Organization; that’s how he thought of the terrorist group known as ريح مقدّسة, which is translated roughly as the Divine Wind, or Allah’s Divine Wind. He was sworn to secrecy; he could never reveal who his associates within the organization were, and to do so would mean death. They even went so far as to place a post-hypnotic suggestion that if he ever revealed the name of the organization, it would trigger him to commit suicide. If all went as planned tonight, it would trigger the end of the arrogant infidels, the United States would crumble and fall into the abyss of history. That would be the result, and if all went as planned, total anarchy was the ultimate desire. It would be over in an instant, but the effects would last forever. Everything was in place, everything checked and double-checked, and every contingency had been thought of, and a counter had been devised. Nothing would go wrong, for if it did more then his career or his life was in jeopardy, indeed his eternal soul would be forfeit. Alas not being rewarded for his efforts would be bad enough, but to be denied entry into Paradise would mean eternal death.

Asad Ahmad Massoud, born Joseph Anderson, had been planning for this day and working toward this goal for half a lifetime. He grew up in a middle-class family in a middle-class neighborhood. With a Protestant upbringing, learning about Jesus and heaven and Satan and hell in Sunday School. He played baseball in the summer and ice hockey in the winter. Just like all the other kids. Everything was fine until high school. It was there he learned about the Muslim faith of Islam, it was in sociology class. He became very interested in the subject, later he took philosophy and religious studies, a course that claimed to give an unbiased look at the major religions of the world. Islam spoke to his need for a physical outlet, and his nature of strength, versus weakness. He had always thought forgiveness was given to easily to be useful. He wanted more information and soon found a mosque nearby to his city; he invented a reason to be in the area one day and dropped in. He was 16 and a junior in high school, looking like many others his age, what would he do with his life what would he become. The questions did not have answers, at first.

It was while attending this mosque, that he converted to Islam, and changed his name. Because this decision finally got a negative reaction from his parents, he was even more determined to go through with it. This made him even more determined to do it. Asad was a good student and a gifted athlete; he was popular and respected by both his peers and instructors alike. He decided he needed more instruction in Islam, so he joined the student exchange program, and went to Saudi Arabia his senior year, this was arranged through his local mosque along with a threat of a lawsuit from the ACLU, which insured the cooperation of the local school district. This was a victory for the liberal educators and the NEA. That is how he met and joined a secret fundamentalist splinter group of The Organization. He immersed himself in the Muslim way of life and studied the Koran, the only approved reading outside of his schooling.

He was also taught in the arts of war, it started simple, such as the proper use and care of a weapon, but by the end of his training, he could mold and make shaped explosive bombs. His favorite charge was plastic or C-4 explosives. He also was schooled in biological terrorism and how make and distribute deadly bacteria, viruses, or nerve gases, to cripple an entire population. He accomplished all of this in only a year abroad. He wanted to join The Organization but was convinced by the leaders that he could be more useful to the cause by going back home and joining the military.

At each step of his career, his handlers had advised and approved of which path to take, always exhorting that this was the will of Allah or that this was the truest path to Paradise. Yosef believed utterly and without question and, in turn, was rewarded very well for holding to his new convictions. When he completed Annapolis Naval Academy, he was commissioned as a Lieutenant Junior Grade in the Navy. The Organization bought him a new Corvette, for this great milestone. He was able to explain this by simply attributing it as a gift from his family for his achievements. When he completed SEAL training, he received 150,000 in gold deposited in a Swiss bank account. When he left the Navy and was selected to join the Secret Service, they bought him a house. The gold was still there it was worth about a half-million dollars, and after this evening he would be a multi-millionaire if he lived. That is why nothing must go wrong. He kept saying it wasn’t for the money but the cause. Nevertheless, he liked the money. He liked it a lot.

Raymond Harrison had been up since 5 A.M. It was now 8:00 A.M., and he was going toward his office. It was not his; he kept reminding himself that it belonged to the people. “Like Hell, it does. I earned it. I slaved for it. It’s mine by proxy, at the very least!” Harrison thought aloud.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t quite catch that. What was it you wanted?” asked one of his many staffers.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud. On second thought, there is one thing you can do: get Jason on the line for me; I need to see about tonight’s State of the Union Address. I need to know if the final draft is ready.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir.”

Harrison entered the Oval Office and slumped into his chair behind the massive desk., He hated mornings and speeches, especially the State of the Union Address. I hated it because it was all political hogwash and just the beginning of the arguments and arm-twisting, to get any legislation through a congress controlled by the opposition party. He was elected to office by a clear majority. Unfortunately, the people decided they would turn Congress upside down. They elected 35 new senators and 204 new members of the house. Kicking out nearly 50 percent of the incumbents gave the Republicans control over both arms of Congress, something that hadn’t happened in nearly thirty years.

Jason Jefferys walked into the office and started to speak but was broad-sided by Harrison.

“So, is it done yet?” He boomed.

“We’re putting the finishing touches on as we speak, sir,” Jason answered casually.

“Good. I want the final draft on my desk by ten so we can have any last-minute changes completed by Noon. This is going to be one of my toughest speeches to date. It will be delivered to a hostile majority and an indifferent populace. This has to be a wake-up call to get my budget approved. If this doesn’t do it, I might as well forget about a second term, and you will have to find a job in the real world, Jason. So, let’s not strike out. Okay? Besides, you have been employed by me since you were a college student ten years ago; you wouldn’t be able to get a job using my name as a reference.”

“Don’t worry, Chief, we have a spectacular speech planned and a very enthusiastic rally cry for the people to get behind. Remember a chicken in every pot? Well, we have a satellite internet connection for every child, a wonderful phrase we can exploit for almost any reason, including education, reducing teen pregnancy, and even getting teens off the streets, reducing drug use and crime. It’s a good ploy, and the Republicans must follow it. They already want to expand the rights of the people to get information and create sources to get training for new jobs, which will also help adult illiteracy by giving adults a way to go online and join online reading classes.”

“Okay, but that’s only one point. What about the rest? And remember, the entire thing can not go more than 35 minutes long. The people get bored after that and change channels. I would rather have 35 minutes of attentive listeners than an hour without one tuning in.

“Yes, sir, we have taken that into account. But we still asked for a one-hour block of time from the networks, taking account of applause and such.”

“wishful thinking,” Harrison replied.

Harrison looked at the stacks of paperwork on his desk and then at the clock. It was already 9:00 A.M., he thought. You may leave Jason, but remember 10: 00 a.m. on my desk.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Jason walked out and closed the door behind him.

Harrison put his head on the desk and hands on his head and thought about nothing for 15 minutes. Officially, this was his busiest time of the day; from nine till noon, he was supposed to be getting valuable work done in the name of the people. But recently, more often than not, he accomplished very little; it seemed he lacked the energy to do the people’s work and wished the People did more of themselves. He secretly hoped he lost his re-election; after 3 years in office, he had gained 35 pounds and lost about a third of his hair, and the hair that remained was quickly going gray. He had liver spots on his hands, and he constantly was using blemish crème to make them less noticeable to the camera. Plus, he hadn’t slept well since before he started on the campaign trail. He hated being the President. But he loved the perks and the privileges of office. Just one more year, he could make it one more year, then maybe claim ill health as an excuse not to run. Only if he had to run would the problems that would result from one party in control of all three branches be catastrophic. He would be blamed. Somehow, they would find a way to blame him. That is why he had to win tonight. His budget would mean new jobs, better schools, and more programs to help the elderly and the poor. It would also solidify his bid for a second term, keeping them out for at least another four years, and maybe the people would come to their senses and sweep the democrats into at least a majority into one of the wings of Congress.

Johanna Lennon was in her office bright and early; it would be a short day on the Hill. After all, the State of the Union would be delivered by The Savior of the Democratic Party; she detested the man personally but admired him professionally. He embodied everything she aspired to be in politics, but he was weakening politically. He was already being called a Lame Duck by the more conservative members of Congress, so new to their regaining the reigns of power, they thought themselves unbeatable, and maybe they were, but she was still here. Yes, she remained a wild-eyed, left-winged feminist, an environmental wacko. That’s what they called her. Secretly, she agreed with them. She needed to be those things because so few remained. She was faithful to the cause of women’s rights issues, the cleaning of the environment, and the working poor in America. She stood up for those who could not stand up for themselves. She was one of a few Democrat incumbents still left on the hill. She wanted to think it was because she was so effective at bringing the pork back home to California or because she was Vice-Chairman (Chairperson) of the House Ways and Means Committee. But whatever the reason, she was still here, and work was to be done.

She got to her office and started to answer the messages left for her overnight, and then went over her acceptance speech for the award ceremony that was being given in her honor. She wanted to complete a full day of work in half a day. She and most of her staff had been coming down with the flu, which once again seemed to be making the rounds. Every year about this time, at least 3 or 4 representatives’ offices were affected, primarily due to the close quarters and lack of adequate office space. This forced staffers to suffer from the quickly spreading flu bug. This year, it was her office, even though she was experiencing the effects: nausea, elevated fever, and a slight loss of appetite. She wanted to get some work done so she could go home and rest until this evening. Then, she would come back for the speech. Everything was going smoothly until about 9 A.M. After that; an announcement went over the public address system, “All personnel within the sound of this warning, please evacuate the building. Please leave in an orderly fashion using the emergency exits. This is not a drill. Repeat this: this is not a drill; please evacuate the building.”

So, she got up, grabbed her cell phone and a stack of papers, put them into her briefcase, and headed out of the building. She followed the others from their offices and left the nearest emergency exit. Fortunately, it was merely down the hall from her office. When she got outside, she saw the capitol police officers instructing everyone to leave the area. And would not answer any questions concerning the reason for the evacuation. At that moment, the Bomb Squad and SWAT teams arrived on site. She knew it must be a bomb scare.

It was a toss-up as to who arrived on the scene: the press or the Bomb Disposal Team. Each was trying to do its job. The bomb squad won the day by enforcing a perimeter that ensured no pictures would be taken of the area. Thus regulating the press to mere conjecture. It was pitiful, watching all of the network anchors asking the same questions as many different ways as they could think of, hoping to get a glimmer of a solid fact. There was nothing to be seen except the procession of poor young journalists in front of the cameras with the Capitol Building as a backdrop. They could not shed any more light on the story and gave the same tired gossip that aides and low-level staffers parceled out. They were left to face the lions. Some important members of Congress, seeing this as an opportunity to stick it to the president on the morning of his State of the Union Address, were making their faces ready for the cameras until the announcement came that there was a genuine explosive device found. That changed many minds and prompted the closing of the Capitol Building. Then everything started going crazy.

Asad was on his way into the office. He was sitting in early morning traffic and was going to be late. He prided himself on punctuality, but an unforeseen flat tire had sidelined him. Luckily, he noticed it while still in the driveway. He changed the tire in about ten minutes but had to clean up and change shirts.

His cell phone rang, and the Caller ID told him it was his section chief. He thought about letting it go to voice mail, but only briefly, then he answered.

“This is Asad. What’s up, chief?”

“Asad, I need you to go to the Capitol Building. It looks like we have a bomb, and I need an expert to check it out before the local cops destroy any evidence by tampering with the site.”

“Yes, sir. I am almost there as we speak.”

Well, they found the dummy and are worried like good little secret service agents should be, he thought.

“Damn Sunday drivers!” Asad yelled as he plugged in his portable emergency flasher and started the siren. He was able to get to the site in 10 minutes that way.

When he got to the site, the Capitol Police Department and the Washington D.C Police were there as well as various other agencies including the F.B.I and the Secret Service. All this for a bomb scare, there were more cops than there were press agents in the media feeding frenzy that the incident created. Police and federal agencies were clamoring for jurisdiction, and the press was clamoring for answers to untold numbers of questions, “Is it real? Where was the bomb planted? Are there any suspects in the case?”

Asad walked by without looking or even pretending that an answer would be forthcoming.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked a local police sergeant who pointed to the highest-ranking official. Asad walked over and informed him that he had jurisdiction.

“These orders came from the top,” he said. Then he produced a piece of paper from his briefcase, backing him up with a signature from the Director of the Secret Service. It was a standard-issue form letter giving instructions that the holder was acting on behalf of the nation’s security and that whoever was reading it was to give all aid necessary to complete his task.

“Fine by me,” the Police Captain said, “but you may want to show that piece of paper to those FBI agents. They seem to think the same thing. Even produced a similar piece of paper, but I’m sure we can all collaborate on this one, right?”

“No, we can’t. You see, this is a threat against the President of the United States, and that is where everyone else’s jurisdiction ends and mine begins and it will remain so until I say otherwise. Now, where is this bomb located and has anyone touched it yet?”

“Oh no, sir. That is to say, it is in the men’s restroom on the gallery level. And no sir, the Bomb Squad hasn’t removed it yet but they have examined it where it sits, they have determined that it is real. That is why no one’s still inside.”

So he went up to the entrance, showed his badge, and entered the Capitol Building. Once inside, he called his superiors, reported in, and asked for an investigative team to be sent to the site. He was informed that they were already en route. So, he took command of the crew and told them to show him the bomb. They led him to the bathroom and once there he studied the bomb. It was a shaped charge, attached to the back of a commode. It was approximately six inches long and about 3 inches wide and about an inch thick. That was a lot of C-4. The trouble was that the primer and timing devise were crude. Two wires, one red, and the other one blue. They were attached to a battery and a digital clock counting down from 10 hours and 23 minutes. Simplistic but lethal. That much C-4 would take out half of the dome. He stood up and asked the Sargent in charge if they had touched or attempted to move it.

“No, sir. When we arrived at the scene it was in the same condition as it is now.”

“What did the timer read?” Asad asked.

The Sargent consulted his notebook and read-aloud from it. “The counter read 10 hours and 43 minutes sir, and no one has touched it since that time. We were told to wait for orders from higher up.”

“That’s understandable.” Asad silently muttered to himself. Then he asked, “Who found it?”

Again the officer consulted his note pad. “Name was listed as Jeremy Webber, says he works for Senator Hodges office, which is just down the corridor. Claims he was in here using the facilities when he happened to drop a pen, it seems he was working the daily crossword in The Post, anyway, he bends over to pick up the pen. That is when he sees the bomb.”

“Scared the shit out of him” Another officer joked.

Both Asad and the Sargent gave the offending officer a glaring look, and the Sargent continued.

“He claims he immediately got up and called 911 from his cell phone, then notified a capitol police officer. This occurred at 8:56 AM.”

“very good Sargent.”

“Thank you, sir”

“Well, we need to remove it now. Do you realize how much of this building would be destroyed if this were to blow right now?” asked the Sargent.

“Yes sir, most of the dome and a good portion of the building itself. Being where it is, if it would have remained undetected it could have killed a lot of people. That’s why it is so important not to talk to anyone about the specific location of the device,” remarked Asad, knowing that would be the catalyst to spring a leak directly to CNN. The bomb’s location would be common knowledge before the end of the hour. Every American would know where it was placed and its terrible implications. He would love to see the reports of television anchors talking to so-called experts speculating just how much damage a bomb that size in that location could do, and whether or not the State of the Union Address should continue as planned. However, he had other duties to attend to.