Jihada: The Lost Scriptures Read online

  Oxford University was where his fledgling career as a magician began. He delighted in disproving to his fellow Physics undergraduates Newton’s physical laws of motion. By nothing more than power of thought, he could alter the direction of a moving object. He could roll a snooker ball across the table, alter its course, and deposit the ball into a pocket way beyond its’ perceived line of trajectory. His fellow students knew that it was only a trick; they were physics students and Newton’s laws of motion were absolute and unchallengeable.

  McNaught also knew that it was only a trick, perhaps an unknown magnetic power, or a force field that he somehow exerted. His mind refused to challenge Newton – there was no magic.

  On leaving university, he found that performing magic was infinitely more enjoyable than spending his daylight hours working in a laboratory. Initially he worked as an outright hypnotist, operating in a small but quite busy club in the East End of London playing to packed audiences 7 nights a week.

  After a few months and many rave reviews, he began to realize that audiences would prefer to see magic; hypnosis they could understand and identify with; it was there, right in their faces; its’ only purpose being to make some poor audience member make a complete fool of themselves. Now magic - that was something completely different; that was something that they could not explain: McNaught’s brand of magic no one could explain – not even McNaught himself.

  Fame and great wealth rapidly followed, culminating in a knighthood in his early 40’s.

  He travelled the world, playing for Prime Ministers, Dictators, Kings, Queens and Presidents, at the same time distributing much of his wealth to people in need. Mary, his wife of 20 years, often chastised him for giving so much of his money away; she much preferred to spend it on 5 star hotels in the world’s more expensive and desirable locations, or to simply spend it on an ever expanding wardrobe of clothes, shoes and handbags. Sir James and Mary were no longer close, and at the moment she was on one of her many expensive foreign holidays. What little time they did spend together were cold and loveless because of her ever increasing financial demands; Mary was in love with money and the relative fame and status that being the wife of a famous man brought to her social life.

  Sir James McNaught may have been the world’s greatest magician, but he was not the world’s greatest husband; for him, the needs of the poor always took precedence over the needs of his wife.

  CHAPTER 15

  My Son

  The American Embassy car was spacious; easily big enough for the 7 men to fit into owing to its double row of facing seats in the rear. Achmed, Michael’s driver, had decided to stay in England despite dire warnings from the rest of the party; there was no reason for him to go to America; he had done his job, proved his loyalty to his country, and now it was time to spend a few weeks with his family. His undercover contribution to the CIA had been invaluable, as was that of Abdul, who was still fighting serious blood poisoning in a London hospital.

  After his well earned holiday, he would again meet up with Abdul, and they would resume their undercover operations at the London Mosques they attended for prayer many times each day. Their task was to recognize and observe the more dangerous Muslim radicals, and to report on any potential terrorist operations that were likely to affect the United States; their own country.

  Since word of the JIHADA had reached Britain, terrorism had grown at a barely believable rate. No one and nowhere were safe from Islamist, whose sole purpose in life was to destroy the Infidel; as many Infidels as possible in the name of Allah. Parked airplanes at airports were guarded by troops; as were flight paths surrounding all airports.

  Hand held missiles were now circulating throughout Europe and the more prosperous countries of the Far East, and almost weekly, one or more planes would be shot down in both the Muslim and the non Muslim world. The world blamed not just Islam, but France; she alone had created the perfect hand held guided missile. Laser technology would lock on to the plane, and all that the operative needed to do was to aim, pull the trigger, and then disappear; leaving the light weight ceramic tube and sighting mechanism behind; an almost infallible guidance system did the rest. France had sold these weapons to anyone who had paid the money; usually to the rich Islamic Middle Eastern countries; inevitably, many of these weapons had fallen into the hands of the terrorists.

  Neither Abdul nor Achmed were Muslim, nor were these their correct names: at all times, whilst working under cover for the CIA in England, no other names had ever been used. It would only take one slip up, and to be compromised was a certain guarantee of death. Both men were born and bred Americans and extremely proud to be so. Their parents had fled Syria during the many Sunni/Shia civil wars fought since the execution of the entire Assad family by Muslim extremist and revolutionaries, and America had given them a home.

  They had both been friends since their Kansas childhood, and having worked their way up the “trust” ladder of the CIA, were delighted to be assigned undercover work together in London. Their command of Arabic was good, but not good enough to convince Arabic Nationals that they had originated from the Middle East. Their new and well prepared UK identity was created for them by the CIA, and their past closely guarded from even the British intelligence agencies; they now had the documents and the knowledge to convince anyone who may have been suspicious of their origins and intentions that they were British Muslims who were truly committed to the Islamic cause.

  Their cover and militant Islamic connections were so convincing that they were under constant surveillance by the British anti terrorist agencies.

  Together they mixed with the more dangerous radicals, often assisting in arranging bombings and suicide bombing missions. Their sense of guilt often caused much soul searching and many sleepless nights, but to break cover or to show any sign of weakness would have exposed the British Monarchy and political establishment to imminent danger. It would also have exposed America to International plots created outside of the homeland; these were what America feared the most, and she now had CIA agents working alongside known terrorists throughout the world.

  The 9/11 atrocities, all those years before, had been America’s wakeup call; her initial response had been to strike back in the only way that she knew how to by invading both Iraq and Afghanistan. This inevitably had the opposite effect than was originally intended, and had only served to harden world Islamic hatred of “The Great Satan”. America now realized that when dealing with people who were not afraid of dying, an effective worldwide Intelligence network was considerably more effective than any form of military action.

  As the Limo drove away from the cottage, Achmed set out on foot for the quaint little Cotswold village a couple of miles in the distance; from there he would take a taxi to the train station, and then home, his new and much loved London home. Michael had advised him not to take the Mercedes that they had arrived in as the entire Muslim world would be on the lookout for it.

  He was excited at the thought of seeing his son again: he would be almost 5 weeks old now, and had seen his father for no more than 30 minutes in the hospital during and after his birth. Mario Molinari had almost had to physically drag him away from his new born son, - his creation, - his new found reason for living. The 3 miscarriages suffered by his wife were now forgotten: They were the will of God. Not Allah but the true God – the Christian God.

  A big smile crossed his face as he thought about Abdul and his son. Abdul owed him a pint of the wonderful warm English beer. He had won the bet; he had also cheated; he always knew that it would be a boy; the doctors at the hospital had told him so. It was however a bet that he would not be able to collect for a considerable time because of his undercover work; he had to be a Muslim, and good Muslims were forbidden to drink alcohol. It would also have to be far away from London; men with beards were not allowed into London pubs; there had been too many suicide bombings.

  It was a beautiful summer’s day, and Achmed loved the English countryside; there was just s
o much to admire about such a small Island with so many contrasting landscapes. It reminded him of his childhood back home, only in England everything was so much closer to hand. Within a few hundred yards he could see more different species of birds and wild flowers than he would hope to see in a whole day back in Kansas. Kansas was just too big; the fields went on as far as the eye could see; even beyond that. There were no longer any hedgerows where song birds nested and brought up their young. Birds and animals that tried to rear their offspring at ground level were eaten up by the rapacious mechanical monsters that destroyed all life as they slashed and harvested the genetically modified crops, grown to satisfy the ever expanding human and cattle populations on which the humans grew fatter with each successive generation.

  Yes, England was both beautiful and perfectly sized. Achmed also loved London; to tire of London was to tire of life, he often repeated to himself, never knowing where the phrase originated. There was just so much to see, and soon, he would be able to take his son to the capital’s parks and feed the ducks. Perhaps when his work with the CIA was completed, he would live here in England and raise his family in the beautiful English countryside. Surely the Islamic threat would eventually go away and life would return to some form of normality.

  As he passed an open gate leading into a field, two very fit looking young men, stripped to the waist, were chopping down a tree with axes; both men were working in unison and were sweating profusely, the taller of the two men obviously being left handed, enabling them to keep up such an hectic strike rate. The tree was already dead and was probably in the way of some infernal destructive mechanical monster. He paused for a couple of minutes to watch them, wondering why they were not employing the services of a chainsaw; a whole days chopping by two men would take no more than a few minutes work with one.

  Both men stopped what they were doing, and looked across the field at Achmed before walking towards him.

  Achmed smiled at them, why wouldn’t he, God had been good to him, he had been blessed?

  ‘Are you one of them fucking Muslims’? the taller of the two men said, ‘what’s yer name, fucking Mohamed or something like that’?

  Achmed sensed imminent danger; his CIA training kicked in; he realized that he was almost in a fight or flight situation, and somehow, he had to try and diffuse the obvious aggression, but his bearded face was now working against him. He hated having to sport a “face full of fungus” as his English born wife called it, but it was necessary to fit in with the radicals that he was spying and reporting on. ‘No way’ he replied in an exaggerated Kansas drawl, ‘my name is James, and I am on holiday from America’.

  ‘You’re a fucking liar Mohamed, yer a fuckin Muslim and yer want to take over my country you black bastard’.

  Achmed now knew that he was way passed the point of no return; he had to move, and move quickly before he was attacked. He swiveled round, almost stumbling as he did so throwing himself off balance, and as he was about to run, the axe held by the smaller of the two men, crashed into his head from behind, almost splitting it in two.

  ‘That’s what we think of your fucking shit-rea law Mohamed’, the larger man said, as he kicked Achmed’s bleeding and very dead head. ‘This is England, and no fucking Wog or Arab is going to tell ME what to do’.

  The two men, carrying their axes, walked calmly back into the field and returned to felling the tree as if nothing had happened, leaving Achmed lying in an ever expanding pool of blood, and his fatherless son to grow up never knowing his father or what had happened to him.

  -------

  The vote in Parliament had taken place the previous evening. There had been an amendment. Full Sharia law was now the law in Britain;- the Law of the Land;------ British and European law was no more. The Parliamentary closet Muslims were no longer in the closet, and would soon be openly sporting beards.

  The British Parliament now belonged to Islam – to the JIHADA – to Allah.

  Phase one had been completed. It was now time to move on.

  THE LOST SCRIPTURES would show the way.

  The JIHADA would lead the way.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Meeting 3

  The President sat confidently among his defense chiefs and their military advisers: his confidence however was a front, no more than an effective piece of acting; deep down he was worried. The future had not looked so dangerous since the years before the Second World War; even then, only Churchill had seen Armageddon brewing: talk was now all over the Western world of the new prophet of Islam.

  The military men no longer dismissed the likely hood of his physical existence, however there was zero acceptance of any magical powers beyond mortal man, nor was there any form of answer to the problems that he was stirring throughout the world other than military might. Military men were always dismissive of the peace makers, the appeasers; peace without the use of, or at the very least the threat of military force meant compromise; why should the world’s greatest military power compromise? They had earned the right to dictate terms to the rest of the world.

  President Steinberg knew that he had to keep his top men on his side; there were just too many dissenting Senators and Congressmen who were waiting for him to slip up; votes were being cast more and more for ideological reasons rather than for what was quite obviously the good of the country.

  He could not help but notice that the survival of the State of Israel was of less and less importance to the more powerful individuals; their alignment seemed to be not just with the Palestinians, but with every Arab cause that raised its’ head. President Steinberg was delighted with the rise in anti Semitic feeling in the corridors of power, he hated those damned controlling Jews with a passion, and had placed men with a similar hatred in every powerful governmental position that he was able to without being compromised.

  Israel was aware of this even if the American public were not. Their American double agent was on top of the situation.

  ‘It had to be the fucking Israelis Mr. President’, Admiral Black boomed in direct contradiction to the President’s stated yet not very convincing opinion, ‘no one else has anything to gain by blowing up the Muslim Mosque in Mecca; anyone with even half a brain can see that; they would have known the effect it would have on the whole of the Islamic world. They want to start a war, and then they want us to come in, as we always do, and finish off the fucking Arabs for them; it all seems pretty obvious to me even if you can’t see it’.

  The other defense chiefs and their advisors looked on in disbelief at the Admirals tirade. Not only did protocol demand that swearing was not acceptable when addressing the President of the United States, his reference to “half a brain” seemed not to be directed at just the Israelis, or anyone else who disagreed with his opinion; it was a directed at the President himself.

  President Steinberg was secretly delighted with the Admiral’s outburst, but had to establish and re-enforce his elected dominance, at the same time appearing to be even handed. The President chose his words carefully as he responded to the Admiral, at the same time fixing him with a piercing stare. ‘Admiral, you are no doubt familiar with the old cold war phrase, Mutually Assured Destruction - , MAD for short,’ the Admiral nodded and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at the menacing tone in the President’s voice, ‘well, in the case of Israel, MAD does not apply as she is surrounded by 4 Islamic countries all of whom have both nuclear weapons and the means to deliver them. These countries as you well know have their weapons and missiles trained on Israel, and can deliver any number of them long before Israel could respond. In short, there would be no mutual destruction, as all life in Israel would cease to exist without her firing one single missile in retaliation; she simply would not have the time to respond, as many of the missiles will have exploded within a few seconds of deployment’.

  The Admiral reluctantly and with a considerable degree of embarrassment nodded his head.

  The President however continued to rub salt into the Admirals by now op
en wounds. He had to establish Presidential authority, ‘I would also like to go a little further and say that the only thing that has prevented these Arab countries from totally obliterating Israel for these past few decades, has been the knowledge that we in turn would obliterate them. Sadly Admiral, recent events have proved that we no longer seem to have that capability. Your cruise missiles don’t work, your nuclear missiles go missing, and your ships blow up for no apparent reason; - and you WILL fucking well show the office of the President of the United States a little more respect. You are not speaking to the man, you are speaking to the man that holds that office and that title’.

  Admiral Black stood up, sprang to attention and spoke directly to the President. ‘Mr. President, Sir, I respectfully apologize without reservation for my comments which were completely out of line, and tender my immediate resignation’.

  ‘ Your apology is accepted but your resignation is not Admiral, now kindly sit down so that we can continue the meeting’.

  The men in the room looked on in admiration; President Michael Kenneth Steinberg, the pig farmer from Tennessee, was indeed a worthy incumbent of the office that he held. Their votes would certainly be heading his way at the next election. Their respect would also be pointing in the same direction; the President was suddenly seen in a different light; he was not only a man IN power, he was a man OF power; a man worthy of holding the highest office in the world.

  A Presidential aide knocked on the door, entered the room, and handed a note to the President, at the same time apologizing for the intrusion.