911
The
Towers of Janus
A Novel
By Stan Gasparovski
Copyright © Stan Gasparovski, 2011
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My special gratitude goes to my friends John and Srdja. Their contributions helped to make this book what it is...
IMAGE CREDITS
Front cover photo credit: Michael Foran
Cover Janus head illustration credit: American Christian
Ministries, Ben Williams Library, and Paul Bunch
“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” – Mark Twain
My decision to write this novel was predetermined by my exposure to the building blocks of this story… three quotes that I call the ABCs of 911:
A: “… I mean, you take a look at the buildings falling down. They didn’t fall down because airplanes hit them. They fell down because of explosives that went off inside. Demolition. Look at Building 7, for God’s sake. It didn’t fall down to its side. It didn’t fall in this direction or that direction; just like the two towers. When you look at the temperatures that you can create with fuel in a gas tank or a fuel tank of an airplane, and then you investigate the amount of heat that would be required to melt – to melt – the superstructure of the buildings that came tumbling down; when you put all of that together, the one thing that it shows: It does not match the facts. What is it they do not want the public to know?” [Major General Albert Stubblebine, U.S. Army (ret.), former Commanding General, U.S. Army Intelligence; see Preface Note A].
B: “The history of the 20th century should have taught us that it is important to shape circumstances before crises emerge, and to meet threats before they become dire... Further, the process of transformation, even if it brings revolutionary change, is likely to be a long one, absent some catastrophic and catalyzing event - like a new Pearl Harbor. [Rebuilding America’s Defenses: Strategies, Forces, and Resources for a New Century, The Project for the New American Century; see Preface Note B]
C: “… Bush agreed to come out publicly for a Palestinian state. A big rollout was planned for the week of September 10, 2001” [State of Denial, Bob Woodward, (2006) - Part III: Bush at war, p. 77; see Preface Note C]
These ABCs, added together, were simply too much for me to ignore. Woodward’s revelation, five years later, hit me as one coincidence too many. Reading it changed the meaning of everything I had heard, seen, or read about 911 and introduced a totally new element to the story. These small pieces of information, which were never publicised, started to form into a new framework growing of its own accord in my mind. After that, there was no way that I could leave this book unwritten. I waited some time, in the expectation that it might be written by someone else… but finally, the task fell to me, thereafter making me a subject rather than the protagonist in this process. I had no choice but to put pen to paper, lest the story unfold entirely spontaneously.
I have worked hard and long to frame this story within a believable scenario, steering far wide of the truly make-believe. If the reader finds this tale to be a revealing and captivating read, then I will have written out exactly what I felt obliged to transcribe...
The Author
New York City, Easter 2011
Preface Notes:
A: “Well, for one thing, if you look at the hole that was made in the Pentagon, the nose penetrated far enough so that there should have been wing marks on the walls of the Pentagon. I have been unable to find those wing marks. So where were they? Did this vessel -- vehicle, or whatever it was -- have wings? Apparently not, because if it had had wings, they would have made marks on the side of the Pentagon … I’ve never believed that it was an airplane since I’ve looked at the photographs. Up until the time I looked at the photographs, I accepted what was being said. After I looked at it -- NO WAY! …
We pride ourselves with the “free press.” I do not believe the “free press” is free any more. It’s very expensive. It’s very expensive. And the press is saying what they have been told to say about this.
Now, do I have proof of that? No. But I believe that what is being -- what certainly the -- the stories that were told -- all about 9/11 were false. I mean, you take a look at the buildings falling down. They didn’t fall down because airplanes hit them. They fell down because of explosives went off inside. Demolition. Look at Building 7, for God’s sake. It didn’t fall down to its side. It didn’t fall to this direction or that direction; just like the two Towers. …
When you look at the temperatures that you can create with fuel in a gas tank or a fuel tank of an airplane, and then you investigate the amount of heat that would be required to melt -- to melt -- the superstructure of the buildings that came tumbling down, when you put all of that together, the one thing that shows; It does not match the facts. What is it they do not want the public to know?”
[Gen. Stubblebine also commanded the U.S. Army Electronic Research and Development Command, its Intelligence School, and its Center for Imagery Interpretation for Scientific and Technical Intelligence over the course of a 32-year Army career. Gen. Stubblebine may be seen making his quoted comments on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=daNr_TrBw6E]
B: The Project for A New American Century was a think tank in Washington, D.C., operating from early 1997 to 2006 with the stated goal of promoting American global leadership. It had influence on high-level US government officials in the administration of U.S. President George W. Bush, affecting the development of military and foreign policies, especially with respect to national security and the Iraq War:
“As the 20th century draws to a close, the United States stands as the world’s most pre-eminent power. Having led the West to victory in the Cold War, America faces an opportunity and a challenge: Does the United States have the vision to build upon the achievement of past decades? Does the United States have the resolve to shape a new century favourable to American principles and interests?
“[What we require is] a military that is strong and ready to meet both present and future challenges; a foreign policy that boldly and purposefully promotes American principles abroad; and national leadership that accepts the United States’ global responsibilities.
“Of course, the United States must be prudent in how it exercises its power. But we cannot safely avoid the responsibilities of global leadership or the costs that are associated with its exercise. America has a vital role in maintaining peace and security in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. If we shirk our responsibilities, we invite challenges to our fundamental interests. The history of the 20th century should have taught us that it is important to shape circumstances before crises emerge, and to meet threats before they become dire. The history of the past century should have taught us to embrace the cause of American leadership.” [From the Statement of Principles]
“Further, the process of transformation, even if it brings revolutionary change, is likely to be a long one, absent some catastrophic and catalyzing event - like a new Pearl Harbor.” [Chapter V, page 51 – Creating Tomorrow’s Dominant Force]
C: In his book, Woodward further said that on September 6, the Crown Prince replied: “Mr. President, it was great relief to me to find in your letter a clear commitment confirming the principle in which the peace process was established. Prince than elaborated: I was particularly pleased with your commitment to the right of Palestinians to self determination as well as the right to peace without humiliation, within their independent state. ”According to Woodward the formal reply added, “First it is very essential that you declare your position publicly which was stated in your letter. Such a declaration at this level will eliminate the common impression prevailing in the region of the US bias to Israel.”
911 The Towers of Janus
CONTENTS
Israeli Telegraphic Agency report, 7 a.m., Sept. 11, 2011
New York City, 4:40 a.m., Mon., Sept.10, 2001
The Libyan Desert, southwest of Tripoli, Nov., 1990
Sandy Brook village, Maine, Wed., Sept. 5, 2001
Washington, D.C., early July, 2001
New York City, N.Y., early Aug, 2001
Sarajevo, Bosnia, Yugoslavia, Mar. 27, 1985
Sandy Brook, Maine, Thurs., Sept. 6, 2001
Aboard The Queen of Sheba off Jersey City, NJ, Mon. afternoon, Sept. 10, 2001
Jersey City, N.J., 8 a.m., Tues., Sept. 11, 2011
Aboard the Queen of Sheba, Jersey City, NJ, 8:46 a.m., Tues., Sept. 11, 2001
Jersey City, N.J., 9:15 a.m., Tues., Sept. 11, 2001
Tel Aviv, Israel, early June, 2001
Tel Aviv, Israel, early June, 2001
New Jersey, 09:20 a.m., Tues., Sept. 11, 2001
Tel Aviv, Israel, Tues., Aug. 28, 2001
Tel Aviv, Israel, mid-June, 2001
Washington, D.C., Thu., Aug. 30, 2001
Washington, D.C., 9 a.m., Fri., Aug. 31, 2001
Washington, D.C, , Fri. afternoon, Aug. 31, 2001
Washington D.C., Mon., Sept. 3, 2001
Tel Aviv, Tues., Sept. 4, 2001
Washington, D.C, Tues., Sept. 4, 2001
Chesapeake Bay, Maryland, Wed., Sept. 5, 2001
Washington, D.C., morning, Thurs., Sept. 6, 2001
Washington, D.C., afternoon, Thurs., Sept. 6, 2001
Tel Aviv, Israel, Thurs., Sept. 6, 2001
Sandy Brook, Maine, Fri., Sept 7, 2001
North of Kabul, Afghanistan, late spring 1991
Sandy Brook, Maine, Fri., Sept. 7, 2001
San Francisco, midday, Sat., Sept. 8, 2001
Chicago, Illinois, same day, afternoon
New York City, same day, evening
Sandy Brook, Maine, same day, late evening
North of Kabul, Afghanistan, Dec. 1991 – Apr. 1992
Sandy Brook, Maine, Sun., Sept. 9, 2011
New York City, Sun., Sept. 9, 2011
Sandy Brook, Maine, Sun., Sept. 9, 2001
Northwest of Sarajevo, Bosnia, May 1992
Sandy Brook, Maine, Sun., Sept 9, 2001
Northwest of Sarajevo, Bosnia, May 1992
Sandy Brook, Maine, Mon., Sept. 10, 2001
Sandy Brook, Maine, Tues., Sept. 11, 2001
Elementary School, Sarasota, Florida, Tues., Sept. 11, 2001
Union City, New Jersey, 09:35 a.m., Tues., Sept. 11, 2001
New Brunswick, N.J., evening of Sept. 11, 2001
New Brunswick, N.J., early morning, Sept., 12, 2001
East Side, New York City, afternoon Sept. 12, 2001
East Side, New York City, night of Sept. 12, 2001
New York City, East Side, 7 a.m., Sept. 13, 2001
Washington, D.C., Sept. 13, 2001
Washington, D.C., Sept. 14, 2001
Israeli Telegraphic Agency report, 7 a.m., Sept. 11, 2011
“After a six-hour session which ended at 11 p.m. on Saturday night, the Israeli cabinet has decided to make a full disclosure of the Top Secret files on the David Abramov Case. This material about the 911 terrorist attacks caused a sensation when it appeared this morning on WikiLeaks.org and has since been picked up by the mass media.
“The Israeli government’s dramatic decision followed the unexpected White House announcement on Friday that it could no longer support Israeli policy and that it is recognizing the sovereign Palestinian state proclaimed by the Palestinian Authority last month.
“The reasons being given for the U.S. policy reversal are Washington’s opposition to further Jewish settlement construction on Arab lands, Israel’s disproportionate use of force against Palestinian civilians during the Intifada, and Israel’s unwillingness to accept the latest U.S.-proposed framework for peace.
“Observers say that the U.S. Administration hopes its dramatic move will help it disentangle itself from a series of costly military operations in Central Asia and North Africa, while enhancing its standing in the Arab world in the aftermath of the dramatic changes since the start of the so-called Arab Spring earlier this year.”
New York City, 4:40 a.m., Mon., Sept.10, 2001
A man in white coveralls scrolls frantically through his mobile phone contacts as he waits for an elevator to take him back up from the B-3 basement. Standing with his back turned down the hallway he doesn’t notice two other men in identical white FiberTechCo. uniforms coming around the corner at the far end of the hall. But when they race toward him only to abruptly stop and draw pistols, he responds instantly, going for his own gun and firing off his first shot straight into the forehead of the attacker to his left. The second gunman dives behind a metal locker, squeezing off several shots as he takes cover. The opening elevator door provides an escape for the first man, who leaps inside despite having been hit. Once safely behind the closed elevator door, he leans against the cabin wall to check his upper chest near his collarbone, where spurting blood is turning his coveralls a vivid red. He slides toward the floor, head spinning and face pale, still pressing the elevator’s “G” button. He speed-dials his mobile, but gets a cell-network busy signal that automatically switches over to a voice mailbox. Cursing in Hebrew, he changes to English: “... stuck inside … shot … trying to get … ah, out … More cams, recorder…ahhh! Remember … To … r … ah … seven …” But the blood pouring from his mouth stops him from saying even a single word more, just as the elevator door pops open to reveal his attacker standing with his gun aimed right at him. Dropping his phone, the injured first man groans as he realises that the elevator hasn’t moved, firing up desperately from the cabin floor into an incoming stream of bullets as he blacks out and spins down into a bottomless chasm.
The Libyan Desert, southwest of Tripoli, Nov., 1990
The long, uninterrupted shadow of a distant dune races toward Mustafa as he sits atop a smaller, sandy rise, staring deep into the horizon. He is used to sitting there, unmoving, doing nothing but daydreaming. It reminds him of his childhood back in his home village of Ghardaia. As the dune’s shadow speeds over a shining sea of sand, it swallows up the light, leaving a featureless dark-brown emptiness. The growing plane of ochre quickly connects the two dune-tops as the heat radiates a mirage resembling a curtain of water wavering over the bare expanse. It is deep into the evening and the sun is sinking rapidly behind the razor’s edge of the horizon.
From the corner of his eye, Mustafa can still detect movement, spotting the sand shifting ever so slightly just a few feet away. A distinctive barb and tail emerge, and Mustafa focuses his gaze a couple of inches nearer, spotting two small dots rapidly scanning left and right within a tiny, translucent head. Detecting no motion from Mustafa, the scorpion climbs out of the sand in his direction. Scurrying on its eight legs, it moves toward Mustafa’s outstretched hand, which is half-covered by the sand. Ever so slowly, Mustafa pulls up the sleeve of his white djellaba, [1] exposing his bare arm to the poisonous arachnid. It hesitates for a split second, but then fully engages, crawling over his hand to scale his naked skin. Mustafa resists an urge to twitch at the tingling of the scorpion climbing his arm. He knows that any abrupt movement could bring the sting of death. The scorpion, now halfway up, is one of the deadliest, the Androctonus [2] ‘man-killer.’ Commonly found in the Middle East and North Africa, its barb claims more human lives than any other scorpion.
But without so much as a tremble, Mustafa recalls catching scorpions as a major pastime for everyone, youngest to oldest, in his desert tribe. Each boy had such a ‘pet,’ which he kept in a box, bottle, jar, or tin, feeding it and bringing it out to challenge the others’ champions. Territorial to a fault, two scorpions will fight to the death if enclosed within a restricted space. Watching such a fight had been a treat for everyone – one of the tribe’s oldest forms of entertainment. Sometimes, the boys would ring a scorpion with fire, setting gasoline alight in a shallow trench and watch the creature go into spasms. Most of the villagers even believed the old wives’ tale that ‘a scorpion would sting itself to death if ringed by flame …’
So, for Mustafa, the killer crawling up his arm was but a familiar pet and pleasant reminder of childhood. And just at the right instant, a deft flick of his other hand saw him grab the scorpion’s tail below the barb and simply toss it away in a move that came to him as second nature.
As the stunned scorpion burrowed for cover, a sense of still air and utter silence returned, amplifying the desert’s emptiness. It was an emptiness that Mustafa not only recognised, but for which he often yearned. Solitude and loneliness had boosted Mustafa’s dreams of freedom in which he had been able to become whomever and whatever he chose, traveling to places of desire, but also sometimes straying into memories too painful to ever forget …
This day, his mind still wandered to his return home six months earlier, in May 1990. He often re-lived the trip that he had made from Sarajevo to Algeria with his fiancée Fathima, a Yugoslav Muslim whom he had met while studying in Bosnia.
He remembered how much Fathima had enjoyed the voyage into the desert from Algiers, and how she had remarked that everything was so new and different. But when their bus stopped at the Gorge de Shiffa, she had noted how familiar that rare place seemed, as if she was back in the narrow mountain passes of her own homeland. He, in turn, remembered how the lush greenery and bubbling brooks of the rising mountains had given them a much-needed reprieve from the unrelenting heat they faced crossing the flatlands of Algeria. He also remembered how the other travelers on the bus, especially the younger boys, had admired her from several seats away, making Mustafa feel even more proud and blessed.
But then, using their agility and stealth, the monkeys at the gorge had crept up on Fathima and ruined it all. Jumping right onto her head to grab at a French pastry in her hand, they had left her screaming. She jumped, overturning their table and spilling drinks onto Mustafa’s white trousers and flower shirt that he had picked out especially for his return home. Fathima ran back to the bus in deep embarrassment as everybody, including Mustafa, laughed at her in a most condescending manner… one which no Western woman could ever imagine. Mustafa had rushed to comfort her, but it was too late, she was already cowering, alone, sobbing deeply. They endured the rest of that long journey physically side by side, but cultures apart, not exchanging so much as a single glance.
The divide that opened on that day never stopped growing. His mother’s henna-painted hands and wrinkled, toothless face, most of the time covered by a black chador – coupled with the fact that all five of them had to share a two-room mud hut – was just too much for Fathima. Mustafa’s parents and his older brother Mafud were using the front family room as a makeshift dormitory, giving Fathima and Mustafa a private room in the back – a kindness that Fathima never even recognised. It was as if by traversing the mountains into the Sahara, the planned start of their life together had somehow been transformed into the unforeseen beginning of a gradual end.
After that, nothing was ever good enough for Fathima. Even the food his mother prepared so lovingly for her would-be daughter-in-law was perceived as an offense. In the end, his Fathima was even repelled by the sand itself and by the heat that wore away at her, every day and every night in Ghardaia, leaving her in fear of one day becoming just as resigned and lifeless as all the other God-forsaken creatures she had encountered there.
Before leaving Yugoslavia for Algeria, Mustafa had spoken to Fathima of great expectations and had promised her a new and exciting life. He had rightfully expected, as an engineering graduate from a European university, to be returning to a position of prestige. He expected instant employment with the national oil company, Sonatrach, and maybe even an assistant professorship in Algiers.
Joining Sonatrach easily would have fulfilled his dreams … as a boy he used to run after Land Rovers driven by rich oilmen who never even stopped in places like Ghardaia, speeding through to the oil fields at Hassi Messaoud and leaving behind only the occasional discarded beer can on a road full of nothing but dust and youthful awe.
That image of his future was soon shattered – and not just by Fathima. The main reason that reality had struck Mustafa so quickly was conversations with his brother Mafud. So reminiscent of their childhood, these arguments were often brisk, sometimes even hostile:
“I told you to stay in Yugoslavia. You would have been much better off there. Algeria is destroyed, mafich – finished,” argued Mafud from the very first day after Mustafa’s return.
“To do what?” Mustafa countered.
“Anything would be better than what you will get here.”
“Come on, after all this investment in my education, I need to repay my country. It doesn’t make sense to let me just rot in Ghardaia.” Mustafa was incredulous.
“Yes. They will. They really don’t care. They didn’t care then and they certainly don’t care now. They are infidels.”
“So you think that I did all this for nothing? And why did the government even bother to send me away, then?”
“They simply didn’t know what to do with so many eager but unemployed youth. They wanted us to think that they were creating a future for us, the youth. In your case, they are now scared of who and what you might have become. No one wants you back; you could easily become a threat to the establishment.”
“Me a threat? Come on!” countered an incredulous Mustafa.
“Yes, you. You are not one of them and you never will be. You are not part of the privileged elite. They know it and they must have hoped you would stay away,” Mafud shouted.
“You’re just jealous… and bitter.”
“No Mustafa, I’m your brother. How could I be against you? When they selected you to go, it was one of the best days of my life. I believed that your good education would bring change for all of us,” Mafud explained, passionately.
“But what has changed?”
“The ruling class is not Allah’s representative. They are infidels, an affront to Allah – an exclusive criminal clique.”
Mustafa didn’t like Mafud’s religious fervour; his years in secular Socialist Yugoslavia had dulled his faith.
“A government doesn’t have to be religious to be good,” he replied.
“But, it has to fear Allah,” Mafud retorted.
All of their conversations ended a similar way, reflecting Mafud’s deep distrust of their rulers.
Just two short months after arriving, Fathima was gone. She took only her purse and a cardigan draped over her shoulders. Mustafa never heard from her again.
It was not that Mustafa wanted to forget her… he just couldn’t get another visa to go back to Yugoslavia to get her.
Abandoned and alone, ego crushed and socially isolated, Mustafa turned to a group of young men from the local mosque, the only people in Ghardaia who showed him any sympathy at all. His brother Mafud, at 30, was well past marrying age, and permanently unemployed. He was already spending most of his time at the mosque. With not even a dream of a job and no home of his own, Mafud had given up any hope of marriage. The mere thought of following his brother’s path sent shivers down Mustafa’s spine.
But it did not take long for Mustafa to realise that his elder brother was not going to the mosque just to pray, instead, he had become a radical Islamist, ready for Jihad – a holy war against the regime and all that it represented.
Building on the frustration of the poor, the local mullah was recruiting young men like Mafud to fight what he cursed from the minaret five times a day as “a criminal clique of godless infidels.”
The fateful night when the police burst into Mustafa’s family home would change the course of his life forever. Thankfully, Mafud was not at home when they came, but they demanded to know where he was. They said he was the leader of a GIA [Groupe Islamique Armé] [3] terror cell and was falsely presenting the group as the sole true protector of Islam, of justice and of the common man. The police said Mafud had ambushed a patrol. They pulled the house apart in what they called a search, smashing everything. It wasn’t as if there had been much to smash, but for Mustafa’s father it was all he had. He snapped. He tried to push them out the door. So they beat his father and Mustafa had to intervene, landing both of them in a jail at the army barracks. But the beatings continued through the night and in the morning they let Mustafa go, but kept the old man as a hostage to get Mafud.
Mafud was a true believer and as such, he had no fear of martyrdom. As soon as he heard of his father’s suffering, he walked right into the centre of the town, where they shot him down like a mad dog right in the street. That was how Mustafa lost his only brother. His father died just days later, as much from a broken heart as from the internal bleeding that had never stopped.
Clerics came from the mosque to take Mustafa with them, showing him true understanding and deep compassion. The mullah swore revenge for his martyred father and brother, befriending Mustafa and enticing him to live on for a higher cause of meaningful sacrifice for his faith. The mullah had seen something that even Mustafa had not seen in himself.
He promised to help him to travel to meet other brothers and to immerse himself in the One True Faith through the Holy Qur’ān. He taught Mustafa that only the Qur’ān and the Faith could ever reunite him with his father and his brother.
Even that hope of getting out of Ghardaia was overpowering for Mustafa. The chance of a future beyond the brutal murder that had robbed him of his family was irresistible. Traveling far away became his recurring dream. The remote possibility that he might even make it back to Sarajevo to find his fiancée Fathima became his deepest desire.
It wasn’t long before he consented to join three other chosen faithful in a journey southeast through the sands. They passed the towns of Ouargla and Hassi Messaoud, traveling east of In-Amenas and crossing borders into the Libyan Desert without even knowing when they had done so.
Sandy Brook village, Maine, Wed., Sept. 5, 2001
Just as Mustafa was remembering his first day of training in guerrilla warfare, Fathima’s voice broke into his thoughts. She was calling him for dinner. He looked around at the endless yellow fields of sunflowers and smiled, standing up and going inside, where she had just finished setting the table. Now in her early 30s, Fathima had acquired American mannerisms and a strong East Coast accent.
“A thousand dollars for your thoughts,” Fathima ventured.
Mustafa smiled wryly and took his place at the head of the table.
“I made your favourite: tagine au pigeon.” She placed the covered colourful plate in front of him. When he didn’t react, she said, “You don’t realise how difficult it is to get pigeons in this country. I had to fight a whole army of animal rights activists for you.”
He chuckled and said, “OK, thanks.”
“Now eat, and tell me if this is as good as your mother used to make it…” He twitched but said nothing and she realized that she had touched another of his raw nerves. Fathima tried to recover, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned your mother...”
As soon as he had finished eating, Mustafa moved from the dinner table to the chair in front of the TV. It was the first time Fathima could remember seeing him watch the evening news with any real interest. By the time the main news was ending, she had come out of the kitchen to join him, but Mustafa abruptly stood up and walked out the front door, announcing: “I am going for my run.”
He walked down the front steps as Fathima collapsed into his vacated chair, waiting for the door to slam shut to be sure it was safe to start crying.
Mustafa ran as fast as he could along the main road toward Sandy Brook. The sun had already set, but its aura was still radiant in the twilight.
His evening run had long been part of his daily routine. It took him about a half-hour. The main road was, as always at this hour, empty, except for the occasional car passing through at well above the 35-mph limit. By the time he reached the 7-Eleven convenience store, Mustafa was ready for his cola and he went inside to grab a 7-UP from the fridge. He nodded to the clerk at the counter, either a Pakistani or an Arab, passing him a one-dollar bill.
Neither man said anything more than their usual “Hi,” “Thanks,” and “Bye.”
Washington, D.C., early July, 2001
President Frank J. Ferguson arrived for the meeting of his National Security Council at precisely ten o’clock. Already seated around the big table were the Vice President, Secretary of State, Secretary of Defence, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, National Security Adviser, CIA Director, Secretary of the Treasury and the Counsel to the President, each accompanied by a personal assistant.
As President Ferguson took his seat, he signalled for Defence Secretary Walter Rolf to get down to business.
“Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, before I get into the news from the Middle East – the topic of today’s meeting – the President has asked me for a geopolitical and strategic update. I aim to keep it brief …
“The fall of the Berlin Wall has given us full access to the ex-Soviet satellites. The expansion of our influence is continuing hand-in-hand with our increased projection of economic and military power via NATO.” Behind Rolf, the wall suddenly glowed to life with an electronic map. “Those hundreds of blinking dots represent our military installations around the globe. The blue ones are those that we operate under the NATO flag, the orange ones are ours alone. Next to each is the respective number and type of troops, firepower, air defences and attack capabilities.
“As NATO approached its 50th birthday in 1999, the organization appeared to be on the verge of dissolution, something many people strongly advocated, without taking into consideration that doing so would have snuffed out every one of these blue lights marking our key NATO bases. Critics were demanding to know why we needed NATO after the fall of the Soviet Union. But those in the know have always been fully aware that the core of our linked economies continues to be a military-industrial nexus. There is virtually no appliance or advanced consumer product that is not a spin-off of military-centric research. So we recognized that we needed to maintain NATO or we could have faced an economic cave-in like that which took place in the Eastern Bloc, when the military simply stopped ordering product. Even these short two years have demonstrated that we were right to stay the course."
Rolf continued, "By refining our information war tactics, we cleared the road for NATO to move eastward. Humanitarian justifications will enable us to go anywhere, not as peacekeepers, but as peace enforcers. The Balkans mess has revived NATO, just on the eve of its expected demise."
Joe Soliman followed Rolf’s every word, not just because he had written some of the presentation himself, but because he enjoyed watching how easy it was to feed the more gullible people at the table a version of events that had so little to do with reality. He marvelled at how Rolf could skip over the central role played by German Foreign Minister and ex-Nazi Party member Hans-Dietrich Genscher in destroying Yugoslavia.
In fact, Defence Secretary Rolf was succeeding in making it look as if he had given NATO its new lease on life all by himself.
Soliman knew that Rolf sympathized with the old German territorial concept of Drang nach Osten – an imperial “drive to the east”. Hitler had slaughtered the Jews, including most of Joe’s own family, on his road east, but the Nazis been frustrated by resistance from the Serbs, just as Kaiser Wilhelm had been in World War I. Joe was a deep thinker, instinctively knowing that NATO was sent into Yugoslavia on “humanitarian grounds” mainly to embarrass leftists in the German parliament into ending the post-World War II ban on German troops joining in wars outside of German territory. ..
The dissection of Yugoslavia also made an example of a non-aligned founder-state, demonstrating that neutral holdouts had better enter NATO’s sphere of influence as Communism collapsed. The result? The stubborn Serbs had finally been brought to heel by a NATO-friendly U.S.-backed government.
Further, by ideologically re-tasking NATO from a defensive body into a knife positioned even closer to the throat of Russia, the U.S. economy was benefiting from the biggest-ever surge in arms production.
Everyone around that table was aware that the historic opportunity of the Soviet decline kept Russian President Yeltsin on a short leash, constrained by both his personal financial misappropriations and a dead economy.
Joe thought confidently, that if that drunkard ever had any ideas about causing trouble in the Balkans, there was little he could do after the alliance ringed Serbia with new NATO states. True, his successor, President Putin, wasn't going to be so easy to deal with, but he was a bridge that could be crossed later, expecting him to wilt like Yeltsin had once America raised the heat in local theatres all around Russia. Rolf could already see NATO marching beyond Afghanistan’s Khyber Pass soon.
Rolf projected Joe’s thoughts, “To get where we want to be, we need to control the entire Middle East. Despite complications with Israel, we have the Palestinians under control. Since the Gulf War, we’ve had absolute military dominance in the region. Saddam is pinned up in central Iraq, giving us the run of the Persian Gulf. And once we successfully pin the ‘Hitler’ tail on Saddam, our public will be not just ready but eager to send troops and hardware rolling into Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and our other allies. The no-fly zones over northern and southern Iraq, regardless of our legal counsel’s worries, give us the skies over all of the Middle East. In short, the eastward creep of NATO is well under way. We are now in striking range of the oil-rich Caspian, and, as you can see on the map, we already have bases on the southern flank of Russia. To the north and west, via our NATO partners, we have military cover over the territory of Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, and the ex-Warsaw Pact states of Poland, the Czech and Slovak Republics, and their neighbours. We are also undermining Russia-friendly regimes in Ukraine and Georgia, replacing them with new elites trained by us and our allies …”
“Thank you, Secretary Rolf,” Vice President Jim Belter curtly intervened. “But, before we get carried too far away from the Middle East, I would suggest that we need to further re-examine our position. I question your claim of full control. We’ve got daily threats from rogue regimes down there. Those people in Iraq, Iran, Syria, Palestine, Libya, Sudan and Somalia are each running terrorist fronts like al-Qaeda, [4] Hezbollah [5] and the Taliban.[6] Our intel people say these threats are real. We can’t let enemies operate behind our lines. Our duty is to protect the interests of the United States of America. Gentlemen, we need to deal with the rogues right now.”
Secretary of State Nancy Charles picked up the ball, “Mr. President, gentlemen … we agree with Secretary Rolf’s general assessment and of course on the predominant global role of the United States as well as the unique historic opportunities now available to protect and extend our way of life and values world-wide. But we also share the concerns about the Middle East as put forward by the Vice President.
Only then she placed her caveat, “No matter what freedom of action and what power projection we might enjoy today, I must once again slip in a word of caution. I guess I need not remind any of you gentlemen that it would be neither wise nor productive to act alone or in haste in the Middle East. Everyone remembers how both Britain and France met their match when they got into the Suez Crisis in 1956 and failed to bring President Eisenhower into their coalition with Israel. Learning from that lesson, we need as broad a coalition as possible. And America really needs a UN Security Council resolution this time. So far, from all the intelligence received, there simply is no sign of a credible threat directed against us by any rogue state, nor by any known terrorist group. We know that what we have as evidence is merely circumstantial, and if presented to the UN Security Council, would never lead to a Resolution.”
“Gentlemen, I think that what the lady is saying is that we need a ‘smoking gun’,” President Ferguson interjected.
“We do realise, Mr. President, that clear evidence is needed and we hope that it will surface soon. If such evidence does exist, it is only a question of time before we come across it,” CIA Director Richard Brooks said.
“Well, it would be much better if you did find it, instead of making a habit of stumbling across things, Dick,” Nancy Charles said, drawing some suppressed chuckles.
“If I had a chance to finish my report, I would have underlined the need and advantages of speedy intervention. The relative capabilities and comparative strengths of our military have never been greater, and, coupled with the complete disarray that we have achieved in Russia, the kind of opportunity we are seeing today is not going to last forever and most certainly will not reoccur in the near future. In one swift act, we would be able to secure full control of the Middle East and project power deep into Asia before anyone else could raise a finger,” the Defence Secretary said.
Joint Chiefs Chairman Gen. Jeffrey C. Marshall, weighed in: “Mister President, ladies and gentlemen, I am following everything being said here today… but since no one should deploy troops without a full understanding of all the risks, I must raise some concerns…
“True, I do have unlimited confidence in our military; our men are second to none. We have the best-trained soldiers and by far the best technology. That gives us huge superiority in both quality and reach. But we need to know what kind of enemy we are facing and assess their readiness to resist. Some lessons should be taken from the bombing of Yugoslavia, which was mentioned here, especially from the Kosovo campaign, where we totally underestimated the Serbs’ will to resist. Despite the way the media managed to spin Kosovo as our victory, we went in saying that an air campaign would only need to last up to 72 hours to bring results. We were told they would give up fast. Our overconfidence was so extreme that we didn’t have any contingency plans.
“The reality is that we bombed day and night for 78 days and we had to send Yeltsin’s aides to convince Milosevic that we would bomb Belgrade into the ground before he finally agreed to pull Serbian police and troops out of Kosovo. The fact is that the moment he signed on the dotted line, we sighed a big breath of relief. Ladies and gentlemen, if our bombing bluff had not worked, our only options would have been to give up or to walk straight into that hornets’ nest alone and under fire from all sides. I never want to see us get into a similar trap again. We can never begin any war without knowing exactly how it will end. Of course, I have no doubt that our air power could crush the planes of any rogue-state, also wiping out telecoms and whatever air defence they might have, and much of their general command. But our technological superiority is still of very little or no use in guerrilla warfare. I also think we have not adequately assessed the possible consequences of making what could be a Middle East attack against what could be up to seven Muslim countries. And what if we provoke general, global resistance? Many of these regions have experienced recent combat and have highly trained and even suicidal guerrilla forces. Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that we might get bogged down in something far worse than Vietnam. Even for us, this might turn out to be too big. Thank you, sirs.”
Defence Secretary Walter Rolf responded, “They told me that real generals don’t scare easy. So, speaking in jest, general, this piece of cake might be big, but we will just have to eat it, no matter how big it is…Then we can just join the millions of other Americans at Weight Watchers.” His simplistic belittling of the broad-shouldered soldier drew snickers from some of the younger, more hard-line Cabinet staffers who favoured bold military attack.
But a second man in uniform sitting next to Gen. Marshall whispered in his ear, drawing a smile from the general.
Angered by what he saw as a comeback from his own staff, Defence Secretary Rolf demanded: “Is there something you want to share with the rest of us, Colonel?”
The general then stood up for his aide, saying, “Well, John here was telling me it seemed a bit odd to hear you, of all people, calling a professional soldier a coward, sir.”
Secretary Rolf did not take the bait, keeping his mouth shut to avoid any discussion of his own 1960s draft-dodging. He shuffled his papers, giving President Ferguson a chance to call for order and move quickly to wrap up the discussion:
“As President, I see no alternative to proceeding swiftly to take advantage of this historic opportunity. I would go so far as to call this a God-given opportunity to fulfil the sacred mission of this nation: to extend and uphold freedom, democracy and the American way of life world-wide. However, I do want you all to know that I have been listening here today and I can tell you that we are not going to have to act alone. We are going to build what I call a ‘coalition of the willing’ to join us. What I mean is that we do need at least the appearance of international consensus. And, of course, the only way to get it is by presenting an open-and-shut case against these terrorists and the states behind them. What that also means is that we need the necessary intelligence to prove a direct link between the terrorists and the rogue states. Boys, look here, anybody can see that what we are dealing with is just a bunch of established terrorists working with a bunch of newcomers. And you don’t need to be a high school graduate to see it. So, we are going to find the ‘smoking gun’ we need, because it is out there. And then we’re going to be free to make a big move.”
“Understood, Mr. President, but doesn’t that mean, that we should be into operational implementation already?” the Defence Secretary asked.
“No, Walter, it doesn’t. We just need to be ready to act instantly, as soon as conditions are right. There’s a difference between the two approaches and the fact that I recognise the importance of that difference is why I was the man elected by the American people to chair this meeting. They will only support a war if it is clearly seen as defensive and pre-emptive.”
With those words, the President, smug with the way he had capped the debate, stood up to signal that the gathering was over.
On the way out of the room Walter Rolf turned to lead aide Joe Soliman, “What do you think he meant by saying: ‘There’s a difference between the two approaches.’?”
“Simple: do the complete planning setup, but not on any specific presidential order; be ready to go in without involving the president,” Joe Soliman answered, paraphrasing his standard ‘Hear no evil’ approach to briefing this particularly absent president.
“Well, you’re obviously right. The whole thing isn’t lost at all. Indeed, how could one get ready to act without planning a full implementation?” the Secretary of Defence agreed.
“As I see it, you just got your approval to start the real, boots-on-the-ground setup,” Joe Soliman whispered, reassuringly.
“Yeah, now we’ll get the troops ready. We have no choice but to prepare for whatever the President might order,” Walter agreed. “We’ve now got at least one man on base, and we’re still at bat with no outs. On with the game.”
Back in the Oval Office, President Ferguson was distressed by Secretary Rolf’s comments at the meeting.
“Sometimes, when I listen to Walter, I get the impression that he is already deep into World War Three.”
“Well …?” VP Jim Belter pondered.
“Well, what?”
“Well, maybe we never really finished World War Two…”
“What do you mean?”
“Of course we have, on paper, but practically speaking... For people like Walter, the Russkies will always be the enemy.”
“Are you sure he still thinks that way?” Nancy Charles asked, joining the discussion.
“Absolutely. You bet. Just put yourself in his shoes: he’s spent his whole life in intelligence. He has been playing cat and mouse with the Soviets, fighting the Cold War, chasing shadows and bogeymen for decades. And it now makes him want to seize every chance he gets … and no one can deny that this is about as good a chance as he’ll ever get.”
“You make him sound diabolical. As if he’s like some kind of ghost from the past trying to come back to life,” Nancy suggested.
VP Belter countered: “I see nothing ghostly about it, Nancy, this is more than real. It would be a life-long achievement to put the final touch on a an incomplete victory. Do you really think people are going to give up and stop just because somebody says it’s over? Consider this: Cold Warriors finally have a chance to move in for the kill. To them, it’s criminal negligence to waste such a huge opportunity.”
“Who are they? Are you implying that Walter is acting on behalf of those people when he meets with us in here?”
“There are whole armies of them, Mrs. Charles. Mind you, not all in uniform and not only Americans. And as you know, they already have the ideological support of both the neocon movement and the hard Christian right … yes, the core supporters of this presidency.”
President Ferguson, who clicked back in to the conversation on hearing the words ‘core supporters’, suddenly stood up and said: “My father told me Walter would make a great contribution to my team.” The President’s remarks left the others speechless, and as usual, he mistook their silence for consent as he left the room for lunch.
New York City, N.Y., early Aug, 2001
“So, we’ve finally agreed,” Walter Rolf said.
“I never doubted it,” oil tycoon Dick Bamberger answered.
“Have you expected Rockwell to change his mind so fast?”
“The only reason he was playing so hard to get was because his bankers didn’t see themselves in it, and if I hadn’t proposed that they handle all the payments, we wouldn’t have ever got their agreement,” Bamberger answered, paying himself a compliment.
“Money, money, money. That’s all it is about, isn’t it?”
“Of course, it makes the world go round...”
“Well, I’d rather say money is an engine, but you rule, Mr. Bamberger.”
“Thank you, Walter. You know my motto: ‘Share a bit, and then take a bit more.’ It pays not to be greedy all the time. Right?” They chuckled.
Secretary Rolf’s chat with Dick Bamberger trailed off as their elevator soared up toward the penthouse. Shooting up at two floors every ten seconds from the underground conference facility ten flights below the New York City subway, it was hard to avoid feeling a bit heady on the way out of the security meetings of the Council for a New World Order. The meetings had been moved underground for safety against any kind of attack. Also, being so far down, it was virtually impossible for anyone to externally eavesdrop on the meetings. Such meetings in the penthouse were just relics of the past, and the sumptuous offices up there were used purely for public relations. The Rockwell family’s tower at Fifth Avenue and East 41st Street was still privately owned, allowing them to make it available, quietly and at no charge, to the Council, which Rockwell co-founded and co-chaired.
A brass nameplate at the front entry made no mention of the Council, instead reading: “The Universal Philanthropy Society of North America.” Any member of the public who might walk into the building was offered a glossy brochure about the activities of “the world’s leading non-profit, non-governmental, benevolent society.”
Behind that façade however, the Trilateral Commission, which acted as a kind of executive body for the Council, was now in session, ironing out the details of a project that the Council had just adopted.
Dick Bamberger was not interested in the details. He was a man of big ideas and broad, universal scope. However, today, he was very pleased with his achievement: he had won the Council’s approval for ‘Phase 3’ of his plan for the take-over of Iraq’s full oil output of two million barrels a day. Phase 3 was based on something he had euphemistically described as regime change. Dick and company had just pushed through a deal worth no less than 100 million US dollars per day. He marvelled at how his years of work in the political wilderness had culminated in a world where corporate-owned media directed the public mind and erased even the concepts of ‘aggression’ and ‘invasion’ from American political dialogue. He smiled, thinking about how three decades of politically correct programming had robbed his 1960s antiwar contemporaries of even the words they would have needed to use in provoking any kind of resistance. The era of ‘bomb first, ask questions later’ had not only arrived – it had arrived completely unopposed.
Bamberger turned to Rolf: “You see, knowingly or not, they already committed themselves to all of this way back in 1990, when we enticed Hussein into coming out from under his rock to invade Kuwait, and later, during the Gulf War, when we managed to inject our troops into Saudi Arabia. Each step along this road has been profitable, but the real prize is now just around the corner. It is finally time to pluck the crown jewel. Everyone in that room knew that the only remaining question now is how to carve things up. You are doing a great job down there in D.C., Walter. You’ve truly convinced them that military action is needed and will be easy, quick and clean.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“Did you notice how willing the arms makers were to come up with “new designs to meet new challenges”? They’re just dying to help – aren’t they – out of the goodness of their hearts. Like bloodhounds on a scent … Or more realistically, like pigs lining up at the trough.”
Walter joined in the mutual hand rubbing: “Yeah, it was win-win all the way. You made a brilliant case to them today, sir. Although I am still a bit worried about what Nancy and her naysayers at State might tell the President…”
“You leave the President to me. After all, he’s like a son to me. As for Nancy and the State Department, in the end, they just do what they’re told. Believe me, I also worked in the White House and I know the original mantra: Ein Befehl ist ein Befehl!”
“Sir?” Rolf looked at him quizzically.
“Just an old joke, that’s German for ‘an order is an order’ … So, you just keep doing your job as well as you have been Mr. Secretary.”
“I will sir, I’m doing my best.”
“Good. Keep it up and concentrate on finding the ‘smoking gun’ that we’re going to be needing … and get the troops ready for action.”
As their elevator opened at the penthouse, Bamberger’s bodyguards took over his escort.
“Goodbye lad and keep up the good work,” the oilman said as he ducked on his way to his helicopter to fly on to his upcoming meeting to report to Frank D. Ferguson, Sr.
Walter Rolf saluted the departing oligarch and made a U-turn back to the elevator to get down to the Trilat meeting in the basement. There was sure to be a big debate on how to split up Iraq’s oil and give all the players their fair share.
Washington, D.C. Mon., Aug. 27, 2001
It was a fine, sunny Monday, and just as busy as any Monday could ever be. His Royal Highness Prince Muhammad bin Saladin bin Abdullah Al-Djillali, the Ambassador of Saudi Arabia, had an appointment with President Ferguson. The fact that the ambassador even requested an appointment before visiting the President was a mere formality, as his close ties to the Ferguson family meant that he could walk into the Oval Office just about whenever he pleased. As the ambassador since 1980, his assignment predated even the presidency of Frank Ferguson Sr., and he had been there to watch the current president grow into a leader. Muhamed’s flamboyant style, true generosity and easygoing manners made him a welcome guest and confidante to leaders around the world. His refined talent for diplomacy, his drive for power and influence, combined with his immense wealth and extraordinary web of contacts made him one of the most powerful influence-brokers on Capitol Hill. President Ferguson was fully aware of the Saudi prince’s techniques, as Muhamed’s enormous resources had long been at the disposal of the Ferguson clan.
Dressed in a dark Saville Row suit, the middle-aged prince was a strong man. The ease with which he walked into the Oval Office underlined his power. His confident smile radiated the fact that he knew exactly who and where he was...
“Muhammad, my friend, so good to see you,” President Ferguson exclaimed as he jumped up to greet his visitor with open arms.
“Mr. President … Frank. It is a pleasure and a delight. How are you?”
“I’m fine my friend, busy as always, but fine. And you?”
“We are fine, Mr. President, and how are your father and mother?”
“They are very well, thank you. Every time we talk, they ask about you and your family, and ask when they will next see you.” They both knew that Muhamed and the senior Ferguson had just seen each other a few days earlier, making the President’s comments a special compliment.
In a characteristically Muslim way, their exchange of greetings continued for a couple of minutes, ending only when Muhamed turned to the others in the room and acknowledged them in turn. Secretary of State Nancy Charles, Vice President Jim Belter and National Security Adviser John Robertson all responded in kind.
Muhammad was pleased that the President had brought in all of his key people for their meeting, given that what he was about to say was of extreme importance to him and to his uncle the King, as well as to his father the Crown Prince. He also knew that in the long run, it would be of great importance to the United States itself, if only they would heed his words.
“If you will excuse me, I regret to say that today, I have been sent here with an urgent message from his Majesty himself, to be conveyed only orally and only by myself, to you, in person.”
“You sit right down here, Muhammad, and tell me what’s up …”
But Muhammad chose to remain standing, bowing his head as if in deep thought, and finally saying, “It pains me, Mr. President, but it is my duty to inform you that the King and Crown Prince are extremely concerned about American unfairness toward our people…”
“Now, Muhammad.”
“Please, Mr. President,” the Ambassador continued, “Your policies are letting the Jews decide everything, and are giving them the freedom to commit all manner of crimes against the Palestinian people. They are killing innocents – woman and children. And America is closing its eyes, saying nothing and doing even less.”
“Muhammad, my friend, you know that isn’t true,” Ferguson exclaimed in surprise.