Allah, You now have less than a minute.
Before him the Arabs pleaded in earnest, either to show them mercy or to send them to Paradise.
After removing his goggles and helmet, he turned his face skyward to bask in a warm streamer of light that lit upon him and spotlighted his pale complexion that was in stark contrast to his raven hair and even darker eyes. On the base of his chin was a wedge-shaped scar, a vestige from a suicide bomber several years earlier in Ramallah. The damaged tissue served as a constant reminder of a constant struggle.
After putting his helmet back on and tucking the goggles beneath his shoulder strap, Team Leader leveled and balanced his weapon for the kill shot, inciting hysterical pleas from two Arabs who cried out for redemption, their will to enter Paradise having escaped them.
When the minute was up and Allah was nowhere in sight, and with the mouth of his MP5 shifting from one Arab to the next as if deciding who would be the first to enter Paradise, he spoke to them in a manner that was flat and desensitized.
“When you see Allah,” he said, the point of his weapon now leveled, “tell Him that Yahweh sent you.” With no hesitation or sense of remorse, Team Leader pulled the trigger.
When it was over, the gunshots echoed toward the far reaches of the valley, then dissipated into a distant and hollow cadence until nothing sounded but the soft soughing of the desert wind.
With the smell of cordite hanging cloyingly thick and metallic in the air, Team Leader closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, relishing the moment.
The moment, however, was hastily interrupted by the voice of one of his commandos.
“You want us to bury them?”
Team Leader opened his eyes, the moment gone. “I want you to pull two men and have them spread the bodies out,” he said with a clipped foreign accent. “And bury them deep. The last thing I need is for the coyotes to bring them to the surface.”
“Yes, sir.”
Team Leader took a step toward the bodies and measured the looks on their faces. Not one seemed to have the repose of gentle peace. Instead, each face exhibited what Team Leader interpreted as surprise at its own mortality. Or was it the sudden revelation of standing before the true face of Judgment? Considering this, he once again turned toward the sky as if seeking answers but got nothing in return except diminishing warmth, as the ribbon of light that had cast upon him was suddenly cut off by a passing cloud.
Turning his attention back to the Arabs, he could only wonder if they truly believed that their god-driven causes would be rewarded with a heaven full of virgins.
It was a mindset Team Leader never fully understood, believing when man stood erect and walked away from the primordial soup he took with him the concept of self-preservation. Yet these factional groups of people were driven by suicidal fascination that clearly eclipsed their need to survive. Fighting for a cause was one thing; dying for one was another.
With the tip of his weapon Team Leader prodded one of the Arabs, the action causing the man’s head to loll to one side.
“Now the battle begins,” he whispered to the dead man in Arabic. “So tell me, who will be the stronger god? Allah or Yahweh?” Expecting no answer, the man with the scar turned and headed to the rear of the cargo truck, where he would take his place in the cargo hold for the long journey back.
With his MP5 trained on his human cargo, and with al-Hashrie and al-Bashrah continuing their mantra with newfound urgency, Team Leader contemplated the fate of the two men before him, anticipating the impact they would have on the future of the civilized world.
Yes, Team Leader considered. These two have a much greater role in the eyes of Allah.
CHAPTER TWO
Shepherd One is the Vatican’s version of Air Force One, but without the luxurious trappings of the presidential office such as a wet-bar and expensive Corinthian leather chairs. In actuality, Shepherd One is a regular commercial jetliner owned by Alitalia Airlines, which is often set aside for papal excursions. The only true modifications to the aircraft were safety features that were built to stave off attacks from insurgent weaponry. The plane featured flares to attract heat seekers, interceptors to take out ground-to-air missiles, and a laser jammer designed to confuse any laser-governed sources, most notably laser-guided missiles. After the attempt on the life of Pope John Paul II, the Vatican decreed the necessary precautions, which Alitalia Airlines was more than happy to comply with.
Sitting in the fore section of the near-vacant 747 as it made its westbound trajectory to Dulles from Rome, Pope Pius XIII looked over the itinerary for his two-week visit on American soil. Often he looked up and gazed out the window, the ocean below him a glittering seascape of tinsel and glass, and thought about the challenging task before him.
He realized that religion was a business that provided faith as its commodity. And with politics and banking becoming the core and support of the Vatican, and him serving as the State’s head, it was his responsibility to create a demand for faith among the people. Pope Pius needed to close the ever-widening gap between the Church and its constituency, since, for years, congregates had been abandoning Mass due to a growing liberalism and the Church’s refusal to relent its conservative values, resulting in empty pews across the world.
What Pius wanted to do, what he needed to do, was follow in the footsteps of his predecessor and rekindle the spark of religious hope.
He did not want to commercialize the Word of God, but to let it be known that God has not abandoned His children, but loves them unconditionally. He was not given to preaching fire and brimstone, nor was he inclined to sermonize in terms of “God loves you. But He would love you more if you went to church and accepted the ways of old.”
He would not preach with admonishment.
After rubbing his eyes, the pope sighed as if suddenly realizing that this undertaking was too much for a man of his age. But despite his fatigue and his occasional discouragement, he held a deep-rooted determination to win back the Catholic citizenry and resurrect the waning faith. He was committed to this aim, no matter the demands levied upon him or the struggles that were sure to come.
His challenge was to show the relevance of the age-old precepts of Christendom in a world crying for evolution. Whereas the Church had survived insurrections in the past, the pope knew it would survive in the future. How to promote unity, however, was truly a conundrum. Pope Pius XIII returned to the itinerary and scripted speeches for further study, concluding that it would most likely come down to convincing verbiage to win back the masses. And to help him were five of his best orators, all bishops from the Holy See, the administrative arm of the Vatican. The bishops of the Holy See were groomed for such occasions. They would serve as advisors and hold mock forums, each man devising scenarios like a Hollywood director.
And then the implication of his thoughts struck him hard. Has religion finally come to this? Has it come to theater?
The pope refused to acknowledge this disheartening idea by returning to the schedule and re-reading the attached speeches proposed by his administration. Closing his eyes and seeing the print burned as an after-image behind the folds of his lids, Pope Pius XIII decided he would speak from his heart rather than to grandstand from the papal soapbox.
He would speak from the soul.
“Your Holiness?” The words were spoken too softly, as if the speaker was contrite at the prospect of disturbing the pontiff.
Pius opened his eyes to see Bishop Angelo take the seat opposite him. He was a man of cherubic appearance, with soft and doughy features that gave him a child-like quality, and when he smiled he did so with a set of teeth that was ruler-straight and designer-white.