Jihada: The Lost Scriptures Page 4

  ‘We both reached into the bay sir; many times; there definitely was no missile’, Lieutenant David Knowles smiled as he spoke, ‘honestly sir, you were not dreaming that the missile had disappeared; the bay was empty’.

  ‘It’s not quite that simple Sir’, the first mate continued, ‘I think that you had better come down and see for yourself, I really don’t know how to describe what has happened, and I most certainly cannot explain it. If you have already eaten breakfast Sir, you will probably be seeing it again shortly’.

  ---------

  Both the Captain and his First Officer entered the missile room and surveyed the scene. The walls were plastered with blood, mixed in with bits of skin, bone and intestines, almost all of which had run down to form an congealed sickening mess on the missile room floor. In the far corner of the room, two of the missile technicians sprang to attention, before one of them turned completely around to face the wall and proceeded to wretch; nothing left his mouth—there was nothing left to bring up, his breakfast and the previous night’s supper was already on the floor.

  The missile was home, in exactly the same place that it had been when the ship had left port over one month before, only this time it was covered in blood and bits of body parts. Drops of blood and a foul looking gelatinous substance were still slowly oozing from the base of the missile, congealing to clog the burners and the propulsion exhaust. There was a distinctive odor in the room, an odor usually reserved for surgeons, an odor that was quite unique to the human body. Nothing on earth smelled quite like the inside organs of the human body whilst still warm. Some surgeons never got used to the smell and the psychological impact that accompanied it.

  The first mate eventually broke the silence. ‘That is all that is left of Lieutenant Blackwell Sir; he had climbed into the bay to check out the telemetry circuits when the missile reappeared. I didn’t see it myself thankfully, I had just popped out for a couple of minutes to check on something; this is what I found when I returned. There is no more than an inch tolerance between the missile and the bay; he has been virtually liquidized Sir’.

  As the word liquidized resonated and bounced around his head, Captain Stevens could feel his stomach begin to churn; he did not want his crew to see him vomit, he had to remain strong, even though his legs barely had enough strength in them to hold him steady. He took firm command of the situation. ‘Petty Officer’, he said with as much authority as he could muster, a faint tremor permeating each word, ‘Get these two men to hose down this mess, lock down the entire missile room, and then place them both under ships arrest and in isolation. Make sure that the ship’s doctor stays with them. Not one word of this must get out. – David; come with me to the Bridge, I think that I will have to have a little word with the Admiral and I could certainly do with some moral support. One way or another, I feel that we may have to de-activate every weapons system on board; this ship could be World War Three waiting to happen, and it looks like the President’s finger is no longer the only one on the button. - Someone, or something, appears to have taken control of my bloody ship and I want it back’.

  ----------

  Lieutenant David Knowles was deep in thought as he sat with Captain Stevens at the bridge; he was an academic, a professor of civil engineering, and on the military fast track to Admiral. Captain Stevens knew that in the near future, it would be he that would be addressing David Knowles as SIR. He had no problem with the thought, even though Lieutenant Knowles was 10 years his junior; mentally and intellectually, he was up there with the finest brains in the Navy.

  Lieutenant Knowles broke the silence and in a questioning voice said, ‘Captain’?

  ‘Yes David’.

  ‘I’m worried sir; in fact I am scared – very scared’.

  ‘Me too David; like yourself, my background has always been on the scientific side of life, and every event that has ever occurred has sooner or later become explainable. The parting of the Red Sea, the total eclipse of the sun, even the Cardinals one day winning the Super bowl; well perhaps not that one – even so, there has always been an explanation, scientific I may add, not the “God moves in mysterious ways” rubbish. There is no scientific explanation for what has just happened David. Not in a million years will science be able to come up with one. The best that we have at the moment is the God theory, only this time, he really has excelled himself. Can you come up with anything better’?

  David Knowles smiled, and then broke into a chuckle, followed by almost uncontrollable nervous laughter as he spoke, his inner defense mechanism needing a release from what he had just witnessed in the missile room. ‘Can you imagine how crazy it sounds sir; two senior naval officers, both with scientific backgrounds, having to revert back to God in order to explain a physical event’?

  Captain Stevens joined in the laughter, ‘Are you calling me crazy David’?

  ‘Yes sir; you and me both; there is no science to explain what has just happened; it is either God or magic. Every once unexplainable phenomena such as, say, levitation or telepathic communication between identical twins has never stood the test of scientific scrutiny; you are quite correct sir, there is nothing in the universe that cannot be explained; that sir is why I am scared’.

  ‘Well David, one way or another, I have got to speak to the Admiral, and I can guarantee you that he will want an explanation; I can also guarantee that “God did it” will not be enough; any suggestions’?

  ‘The Navy doesn’t pay me enough for that one sir; it is most certainly a ships Captain’s job, and may I wish you the very best of luck’.

  ‘Thank you David, I always knew that I could count on you in a crisis, I may well endorse your end of year assessment with a few comments about your refusal to help your superior officer out of a deep pit of shit unless you receive God’s approval’.

  ‘One other thing David’, Captain Stevens went on, ‘how the hell do I write up the report on Blacky’s death? I rather think that this will have to come directly from the Admiralty and not me. This thing goes beyond “Top Secret”, and could easily spread panic among our allies if they think that we no longer have control over our nuclear weapons; it was bad enough trying to explain to them why our cruise missiles didn’t work. Like you David, I am very scared; there are thousands of these nuclear bastards positioned over most of the globe; there is hardly a country that isn’t targeted: what if all these countries are no longer in control of their weapons’?

  ‘The end of all life as we know it sir’.

  ‘Exactly David – exactly that. How many other countries has this happened to though; they are pretty unlikely to broadcast it to the world are they’?

  ‘No chance sir; not a cat in hell’s chance’.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Meeting 1

  The President of the United States of America, Michael Kenneth Steinberg, sat uncomfortably at the large oval shaped table in one of the many White House conference rooms surrounded by his military Chiefs of Staff, two representatives of the CIA, the Attorney General, and his personal secretary, Theodore Warburton. The White House departmental heads that usually attended such meetings had been purposely excluded by the President after taking advice from Theodore; the President relied on Theodore’s advice and his ability to read and assess a situation far more than anyone ever realized.

  President Steinberg was a middle aged, tall, slim and well muscled man, whose broad shoulders, thick arms and neck gave away his lifetime of hard physical work. Born in Tennessee, he had skipped college and gone to work on the family pig farm, where his hard work, enthusiasm and exceptional brain had resulted in the business becoming the second largest pork producer in the US. His great, great grandfather had managed to escape Germany after the Second World War, avoiding the almost certain death sentence that would have been handed out at the Nuremberg war trials. Few of the other senior officers that had run the extermination camps were so lucky. He now harbored a pathological hatred of all things Jewish.

  The President was the
first to speak, as protocol dictated. ‘Gentlemen’ he began, ‘I have no need to explain the importance of secrecy at this meeting; for that reason there will be no notes or recordings; however, as I am sure that you are aware, Theodore here has total recall, which means that I can relive this meeting anytime that I wish, word for word. If I wanted to know what Theodore ate for breakfast on this day 15 years ago, I am sure that he would tell me, isn’t that correct Theodore’?

  A red faced Theodore replied, ‘One boiled egg, two slices of toast, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee Mr. President’.

  The room burst into spontaneous laughter. An embarrassed Theodore, as always, failed to see what it was that had so amused everyone, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His stratospheric IQ and his eidetic memory may have secured him one of the most prestigious jobs in the country, but for someone so obviously shy, life itself was a constant source of embarrassment. He simply wasn’t like everyone else. Theodore Warburton was unlike any other man on planet Earth, with just the one exception. People were wary and uncomfortable in his presence; what they said had to be 100% truth full; they knew that were they to differ slightly from the truth, it would be logged in his formidable brain forever; there could never again be any deviation from the original version. His intense stare at the slightest hint of an untruth or a deception led many to believe that he could actually read their minds.

  ‘OK gentlemen,’ the President was still smiling as he spoke, ‘let’s get down to some serious business. Firstly, and I am not going to name names, things that I should have been made aware of have not been reaching my ears; indeed they have not even been reaching the ears’ of anyone in this rather large house where I am currently staying, and I might add, where I intend to stay for another term. As of now gentlemen, the gloves are off, and any lies or secrets from whoever it may be, will result in instant dismissal, and loss of all pension rights. Is that perfectly clear’?

  Everyone in the room nodded as one. The proverbial line in the sand had been drawn, and total control and authority established. This was a President that no one in the room had seen before. Whilst he could never have previously been taken as compliant, or as a push over, consensus was his usual modus operandi. He always got his way of course, but on reaching the White House, he had rapidly discovered that reasoned argument achieved far better results than the vicious kick that he had often delivered to his wayward and recalcitrant pigs back on his Tennessee pig farm. His style was also one of deceit and subterfuge. Barely a move made, or a word spoken by any of the defense chiefs and their advisors failed to reach the President’s ears, his own personal CIA contact made sure of that, and he was in the room.

  ‘Admiral Black’ the President looked puzzled as he spoke, ‘Why isn’t Captain Stevens of the Mississippi in the room? I specifically asked that he be present, after all, it was on board HIS fucking ship that the missile allegedly went missing’.

  President Steinberg was not adverse to swearing; it was never something that concerned him, and every pig farmer in America knew that pigs only respond to foul language and a good hefty kick. The habits of thirty years dealing with pigs could not be broken by a couple of short years in Washington.

  Admiral Black looked embarrassed and shifted his position slightly as he spoke, ‘I have relieved the Captain of his command Mr. President, and handed control of the ship over to Lieutenant Knowles’.

  ‘Have him flown over to Washington immediately Admiral, I want to speak to him personally, and return him to his previous position as Captain of his ship, regardless of whether he is in the bloody gulf or in Washington. We cannot afford to destroy morale over an incident that appears to be out of both his and our control. Didn’t lieutenant Knowles also confirm Steven’s story? Are you going to relieve him of command as well’?

  Admiral Black’s face turned from red to near purple, his anger impossible to disguise. He did not like the President, nor did he like his politics; he did not like the fact that before securing the Presidential throne, the would be President’s popularity had soared by courting the Black, Hispanic, and trailer trash vote. Anyone with half a brain could see through his strategy; Blacks, Hispanics and trailer trash did not have brains; they tasted, feasted on, and then swallowed the rhetoric – hook, line, and sinker.

  Theodore Warburton’s face registered quiet satisfaction. He did not like Admirable Black, nor did he like the way that he mockingly talked about the President, his President, whenever President Steinberg was out of earshot. He was also aware that he frequently lied to the President; misrepresented and manipulated information, and more often than not, failed to disclose information that the President should have been made aware of. Unknown to Admiral Black however, the President was aware of everything;- both Theodore Warburton and the President’s personal CIA mole made sure of that.

  The other defense chiefs were equally ill at ease; for them, it was inconceivable that the man in overall charge of the country’s defense should be so ruthlessly put down by a former farmer, a pig farmer from the backward hillbilly and redneck region of Tennessee at that, a farmer that was sitting in the chair in front of them courtesy of the Black, Hispanic and trailer trash vote. They all knew that sooner or later it was always going to happen of course; there were so bloody many of them; but a pig farmer of all people. The last farmer to sit in the chair had been a peanut farmer, and he had been a disaster for the military; he had trembled whenever the word Russia had been mentioned.

  ‘I take it everyone is up to speed with recent events’? The President asked.

  ‘I am not too sure Mr. President, things seem to be unfolding so quickly, would it be possible to fill me in as I have been over in Europe for this past month’? Mario Molinari, the speaker was only too aware of events - he was the President’s confidant in the CIA - the President’s own personal mole, recommended to him by his predecessor, the outgoing President. His main reason for speaking up and requesting a rundown of events was to observe the reaction of the other men in the room. His Masters degree in psychology equipped him well for this role. The whole sequence of events over these past few months had placed too many people under suspicion. His job was to evaluate who was on board, and who was operating in their own self interest.

  The President nodded and turned to Theodore, smiling as he spoke, ‘OK Theodore, it’s about time you did a bit of real work instead of disturbing my breakfast almost every morning, work through it chronologically, beginning with the rather fruitless and embarrassing debacle against Iran’.

  Theodore proceeded to tell the unlikeliest of stories and sequences of events ever told in the White House, beginning with the unsuccessful attack on Iran, through the saga of the disappearing airplanes, before finally ending with the missile on board the USS Mississippi, including times and dates correct to the minute. The words “almost” and “approximately” did not appear in Theodore Warburton’s vocabulary, his eidetic memory seemed capable of only precision with never any chance of mistakes or variations.

  The men in the room sat in silence; the defense staff in an embarrassed silence. They had no idea that the President was so well informed; much of the information that Theodore laid before them had purposely been kept well away from the White House. This pig farmer from Tennessee was much cleverer and far more devious than they had ever imagined; there were to be no further lies or misdirection- their pensions’ were on the line and Theodore Warburton was there to mentally record their every word.

  ‘Well gentlemen, there we have it; a sequence of events that we have no explanations for; can someone please enlighten me, has anyone got so much as a clue as to what the fuck is going on’? The President held out his hands in front of him, as if he was begging for a response.

  No one spoke. The defense chiefs looked distinctly uncomfortable, and to a man, adjusted their positions in their chairs, carefully avoiding eye contact with the President as he continued.

  ‘Come on then Theodore, switch your analytical brain on, an
d let’s look at every possible scenario and explanation for each of the three mysteries beginning with the defective cruise missiles’.

  Theodore began to speak, and every man in the room listened intently.

  ‘Well sir, the cruise missiles could not possibly have been defective. Together with the manufacturers, we have tested 9, with their warheads removed, since the Iranian deployment,- 4 of them fired from land, - and 5 from ships. Each one was accurate to within a few yards. Of the 15 that were launched from the gulf against Iran, 14 of them exploded at around 200 yards from the launch ship; they had barely started to level out. There are only 3 possible explanations for this.-

  Number 1 is of course sabotage. This possibility has been totally discounted, as they were fired from 3 different ships, and the security on board is as rigorous and as foolproof as we can make it’.

  ‘I can confirm that Mr. President’, Admiral Black interrupted, ‘I have been over the safety and security procedures myself, and they are completely foolproof and water tight.’

  The President nodded his head in approval, and Theodore continued.

  Number 2 is the existence of some form of electronic force field positioned roughly 200 yards around each ship. The Western world has been working on this technology for ever sir, it was part of President Reagan’s Star Wars program, and no one is even close to perfecting anything that can operate as a defensive shield other than an aimed projectile or explosive device, so it is safe to assume that neither has Iran who are simply light years behind the US technologically.

  Number 3 however does exist in our arsenal, and is the most likely answer. The Iranians appear to have perfected a system of over-riding and activating our electronic fail safe; WE can abort a strike once our missiles have been fired by detonating the control and guidance systems; it now seems that they have moved on, and may well have the technology to abort OUR weapons systems by detonating them’.