Chapter 9

September, 1982

South East Iraq

Ahmed Shah lay in a pool of his own blood along with pieces of

what was once another human being.

The pain was intolerable. His mind exploded as the nerve endings

from the remains of his arms and legs shot liquid fire into his

cerebral cortex. His mind screamed in sheer agony while he

struggled to stay conscious. He wasn't sure why, but he had to

stay awake . . .can't pass out . . .sleep, blessed

sleep . . .release me from the pain . . .Allah! Oh take me

Allah . . .I shall be a martyr fighting for your holy

cause . . .in your name . . . for the love of Islam . . .for the

Ayatollah . . .take me into your arms and let me live for eter-

nity in your shadow . . .

The battle for Abadan, a disputed piece of territory that was a

hub for Persian Gulf oil distribution had lasted days. Both Iran

and Iraq threw waves of human fodder at each other in what was

referred to in the world press as " . . .auto-genocide . . ."

Neither side reacted to the monumental casualties that they

sustained. The lines of reinforcements were steady. The dead

bodies were thick on the battlefield; there was no time to col-

lect them and provide a proper burial. New troops had as much

difficulty wading through the obstacle courses made of human

corpses as staying alive.

Public estimates were that the war had already cost over

1,000,000 lives for the adversaries. Both governments disputed

the figures. The two agreed only 250,000 had died. The extrem-

ist leaders of both countries believed that the lower casualty

numbers would mollify world opinion. It accomplished the exact

opposite. Criticism was rampant, in the world courts and the

press. Children were going to battle. Or more appropriately,

children were marching in the front lines, often without weapons

or shoes, and used as cover for the advancing armed infantrymen

behind them. The children were disposable receptacles for enemy

bullets. The supreme sacrifice would permit the dead pre-adoles-

cents the honor of martyrdom and an eternal place with Allah.

Mothers wailed and beat their breasts in the streets of Teheran

as word arrived of loved ones and friends who died in Allah's war

against the Iraqi infidels. Many were professional mourners who

were hired by others to represent families to make them look

bigger and more Holy. Expert wailing and flagellation came at a

price. The bulk of the civilized world, even Brezhnev's evil

Soviet empire denounced the use of unarmed children for cannon

fodder.

The war between Iran and Iraq was to continue, despite pleas from

humanity, for another 6 years.

Ahmed Shah was a 19 year old engineering student at the exclu-

sive Teheran University when the War started. He was reared as a

dedicated Muslim by wealthy parents. Somehow his parents had

escaped the Ayatollah's scourge after the fall of the Shah. Ahmed

was never told the real reason, but a distribution of holy rials

certainly helped. They were permitted to keep their beautiful

home in the suburbs of Teheran and Ahmed's father kept his pro-

fessorship at Teheran University. Ahmed was taught by his family

that the Shah's downfall was the only acceptable response to the

loss of faith under his regime.

"The Shah is a puppet of the Americans. Ptooh!" His father

would spit. "The Yanqis come over here, tell us to change our

culture and our beliefs so we can make them money from our oil!"

For a professor he was outspoken, but viewed as mainstream by the

extremist camps. Ahmed learned well. For the most part of his

life all Ahmed knew was the Ayatollah Khomeini as his country's

spiritual leader. News and opinion from the West was virtually

nonexistent so Ahmed developed as a devout Muslim, dedicated to

his country and his religion.

When the War began he thought about enlisting immediately, but

the University counselors convinced him otherwise.

"Ahmed Shah, you are bright and can offer Iran great gifts after

you complete your studies. Why not wait, the War will not be

forever, and then you can serve Allah with your mind, not your

body."

Ahmed took the advice for his first year at the a university

student, but guilt overwhelmed him when he learned about how

many other young people were dying in the cause. From his par-

ents he would hear of childhood friends who had been killed.

Teheran University students and graduates were honored daily in

the Mosque on campus. The names were copied and distributed

throughout the schools. True martyrs. Ahmed's guilt compounded

as the months passed and so many died. He had been too young to

participate in the occupation of the American Embassy. How jeal-

ous he was.

Why should I wait to serve Allah? He mused. Today I can be of

service, where he needs me, but if I stay and study, I will not

be able to bid his Will for years. And what if Iraq wins? There

would be no more studies anyway. Ahmed anguished for weeks over

how he could best serve Iran, his Ayatollah and Allah.

After his freshman finals, on which he excelled, he joined the

Irani Army. Within 60 days he was sent to the front lines as a

communications officer.

They had been in the field 3 days, and Ahmed had only gotten to

know a few of the 60 men in his company when the mortars came in

right on top of them. The open desert offers little camouflage

so the soldiers built fox holes behind the larger sand dunes.

They innaccurately thought they were hidden from view. More than

half the company died instantly. Pieces of bodies were strewn

across the sandy tented bivouac.

Another 20 were dying within 50 yards of where Ahmed writhed in

agony. Ahmed regained consciousness. Was it 5 minutes or 5 hours

later. He had no way of knowing. The left lower arm where he

wore his wristwatch was gone. A pulpy stump. As were his legs.

Mutilated . . .the highest form of insult and degradation. Oh,

Allah, I have served you, let me die and come to you now. Let me

suffer no more.

Suddenly his attention was grabbed by the sound of a jeep cough-

ing its way to a stop. He heard voices.

"This one's still alive." Then a shot rang out. "So's this

one." Another shot. A few muted voices from the dying protested

and asked for mercy. "Ha! I give Mercy to a dog before you." A

scream and 2 shots. They were Iraqi! Killing off the wounded.

Pigs! Infidels! Mother Whores!

"You, foreskin of a camel! Your mother lies with dogs!" Ahmed

screamed at the soldiers. It brought two results. One, it kept

him a little more alert and less aware of his pain, and two, it

attracted the attention of the two soldiers from the jeep.

"Ola! Who insults the memory of my mother who sits with Allah?

Who?" One soldier spun around and tried to imagine which one of

the pieces of bodies that surrounded him still had enough life to

speak. He scanned the sand nearby. Open eyes were not a sure

sign of life nor was the presence of four limbs. There needed to

be a head.

"Over here camel dung. Hussein fucks animals who give birth to

the likes of you." Ahmed's viciousness was the only facial

feature that gave away he was alive. The soldiers saw their

tormentor.

"Prepare to meet with your Allah, now," as one soldier took aim

at Ahmed's head.

"Go ahead! Shoot, pig shit. I welcome death so I won't have to

see your filth . . ." Ahmed defied the soldier and the automatic

rifle aimed at him.

The other soldier intervened. "No, don't kill him. That's too

easy and we would be honoring his last earthly request. No, this

one doesn't beg for mercy. At least he's a man. Let's just make

him suffer." The second soldier raised his gun and pointed at

the junction of Ahmed's two stumps for legs. Two point blank

range shots shattered the three components of his genitals.

Ahmed let out a scream so primal, so anguished, so penetrating

that the soldiers bolted to escape the sounds of death. The

scream continued, briefly interrupted by a pair of shots that

caught the two soldiers square in the middle of the back as they

ran. They dropped onto the hot desert sand with matched thuds.

Ahmed didn't hear the shots over the sounds coming from his

larynx. He didn't hear anything after that for a very long time.

Unfortunately for Ahmed Shah, he survived.

He woke up, or more accurately, regained semi-consciousness more

than a week after he was picked up at the site of the mortar

attack. He was wired up to tubes and machines in an obviously

well equipped hospital. He thought, I must be back in Teher-

an . . .then fog . . .a blur . . .a needle . . .feel

nothing . . .stay awake . . .move lips . . .talk . . .

"Doctor, the patient was awake." The nurse spoke to the physician

who was writing on Ahmed's medical chart.

"He'll wish he wasn't. Let him go. Let him sleep. Hell hasn't

begun for him yet." The Doctor moved onto the chart on the next

bed in ward.

Over the next few days while grasping at consciousness, and with

the caring attention of the nurses, Ahmed pieced together the

strands of a story . . .what happened to him.

The Iraqis were killing the wounded, desperate in their attempts

to survive the onslaught of Irani children. All must die, take

no prisoners were their marching orders. In the Iraqi Army you

either did exactly as you were told, with absolute obedience, or

you were shot on sight as a traitor. Some choice. We lost at

Abadan, the Iraqi's thought, but there will be more battles to

win.

Ahmed was the only survivor from his company, and there was no

earthly reason that could explain why he lived. He was more dead

than alive. His blood coagulated well in the hot desert sun,

otherwise the blood loss alone would have killed him. The medics

found many of his missing pieces and packed them up for their

trip to the hospital, but the doctors were unable to re-attach

anything of significance.

He was a eunuch. With no legs and only one good arm.

Weeks of wishing himself dead proved to be the source of rest

that contributed to his recovery. Was he man? Was he woman? Was

he, God forbid, neither? Why had he not just died along with the

others, why was he spared! Spared, ha! If I had truly been

spared I would be living with Allah! This is not being spared.

This is living hell and someone will pay. He cried to his par-

ents about his torment and his mother wailed and beat her breast.

His father listened to the anger, the hate and the growing

strength within his son's being. Hate could be the answer that

would make his son, his only son, whole again. Whole in spirit

at least.

The debates within Ahmed's mind developed into long philosophical

arguments about right, wrong, revenge, avenge, purpose, cause

and reason. He would take both sides of an issue, and see if he

could beat himself with his alter rationales. The frustration at

knowing one's opponents' thoughts when developing your own coun-

ter argument made him angry, too. He finally started arguing

with other patients. He would take any position, on any issue

and debate all night. Argumentative, contrary, but recovering

completely described the patient.

Over the months his strength returned and he appeared to come to

grips with his infirmaries. As much as anyone can come to terms

with such physical mutilations. He covered his facial wounds

with a full black beard that melded into his full short cropped

kinky hair.

Ahmed graduated from Teheran University in 1984 with a cruel

hatred for anything Anti-Islam. One major target of his hatred

was President Reagan, the cowboy president, the Teflon president,

the evil Anti-Muslim Zionist loving American president. Of

course there was plenty of room to hate others, but Reagan was so

easy to hate, so easy to blame, and rarely was there any disa-

greement.

He thought of grand strategies to strike back at the America.

After all, didn't they support the Iraqis? And the Iraqis did

this to him. It wasn't the soldiers' fault. They were just

following orders: Do or Die. Any rational person would have done

the same thing. He understood that. So he blamed Reagan, not

Hussein. And he blamed the American people for their stupidity,

their isolationism, their indifference to the rest of the world.

They are all so smug and caught up in their own little petty

lives, and there are causes, people are dying for causes, and the

American fools don't even care. And Reagan personified them

all.

How does a lousy movie actor from the 1950's get to be President

of the United States? Ahmed laughed to himself at the obvious

answer. He was the most qualified for the job.

His commentaries and orations about the Imperialists, the United

States, England, even the Soviet Union and their overwhelming

influence in the Arab world made Ahmed Shah a popular man on the

campus of Teheran University. His highly visible infirmities

assisted with his credibility.

In his sixth semester of study, Ahmed's counselor called him for

a conference. Beside his counselor was another man, Beni Farja-

ni, from the government. Beni was garbed in Arab robes and tur-

bans that always look filthy. Still, he was the officious type,

formal and somber. His long white hair snuck through the turban,

and his face shoed ample wrinkles of wisdom.

He and the Counselor sat alone, on one side of a large wooden

conference table that could easily have seated 20. Ahmed

stopped his motorized wheel chair at the table, Farjani spoke,

and curiously, the Counselor rose from his chair and slipped out

of the room. Ahmed and the Government official were alone.

"My name is Beni Farjani, Associate Director to the Undersecre-

tary of Communications and Propaganda. I trust you are well."

Ahmed long since gave up commenting on his well being or lack

thereof. "It is good to meet you, sir." He waited for more.

"Ahmed Shah, you are important to the state and the people of

Iran." Farjani said it as though his comment was already common

knowledge. "What I am here to ask you, Ahmed Shah, is, are you

willing again to serve Allah?"

"Yes, of course . . .?" He bowed his head in reverence.

"Good, because we think that you might be able to assist on a

small project we have been contemplating. My son, you have the

gift of oration, speaking, moving crowds to purpose. I only

wish I had it!" Beni Farjani smiled solemnly at Ahmed.

"I thank Allah for His gift. I am only the humble conduit for

his Will."

"I understand, but you have now, and will have much to proud of.

I believe you graduate in 6 months. Is that correct?"

"Yes, and then I go to Graduate School . . ."

"I am afraid that won't be possible Ahmed Shah." Farjani shook a

kindly wrinkled finger at him. "As soon as you graduate, your

Government, at Allah's bidding, would like you to move to the

United States."

"America?" Ahmed gaped in surprise.

"We fear that America may invade Iran, that we may go to war with

the United States." The words stunned Ahmed. Could he be

serious? Sure, relations were in pretty bad shape, but was

Farjani saying that Iran was truly preparing for War? Jihad?

Holy War against the United States?

"We need to protect ourselves," Farjani spoke calmly, with au-

thority. "America has weapons of mass destruction that can reach

our land in minutes, while we have nothing to offer in retalia-

tion. Nothing, and that is a very frightening reality that the

people of Iran must live with every day. A truly helpless feel-

ing." Ahmed was listening carefully, and so far what he heard

was making a great deal of sense.

"Both the Soviets and the Americans can destroy each other and

the rest of the world with a button. Their armies will never

meet. A few missiles and it's all over. A 30 minute grand

finale to civilization. They don't have to, nor would we expect

either the Soviets or the Americans to ask the rest of the world

if they mind. They just go ahead and pull the trigger and every-

one else be damned.

"And yes, there have been better times when our nation has had

more friends, when all Arabs thought and acted as one; especially

against the Americans. They have the most to gain and the most

to lose from invading and crossing our borders. They would love

nothing more than to steal our land, our oil and even take over

OPEC. All in the name of world stability. They'll throw around

National Security smoke screens and do what they want." Farjani

was speaking quite excitedly.

Ahmed was fascinated. A man from the Government who was nearly

as vitriolic as he was about America. The only difference was

Ahmed wanted to attack, and Farjani wanted to defend. He didn't

think it opportune to interrupt. Farjani continued.

"The Russians want us as a warm water port. They have enough

oil, gas and resources, but they crave a port that isn't con-

trolled by the Americans such as in the Black Sea and through the

Hellespont. So they too, are a potential enemy. You see don't

you, Ahmed, that Allah has so graced our country everyone else

wants to take it away from us?" Ahmed nodded automatically.

"So we need to create a defense against outside aggressors. We

do not have weapons that can reach American shores, that is so.

But we have something that the Americans will never have, because

they will never understand. Do you know what that is?"

Before Ahmed could answer, Farjani continued.

"Honor and Faith to protect our heritage, our systems, our way

of life." Ahmed agreed.

"We want you, Ahmed Shah to build a network of supporters, just

like you, all across the United States that will come to our

service when we need them. To the death. Your skills will

capture the attention of those with kindred sentiments. You will

draw them out, from the schools, from the universities.

"Ahmed Shah, there are over 100,000 Irani and Arab students in

the United States today. Many, many of them are sympathetic to

our causes. Many of them are attending American Universities,

side by side with their future enemies, learning the American

way so we may better fight it. You will become one of them and

you will find others that can be trusted, counted on, depended

upon when we call.

"Your obvious dedication and personal tragedies," Farjani pointed

at the obvious affliction, "will be the glue to provide others

with strength. You will have no problems in recruiting. That

will be the easy part."

"If recruiting is so easy, then what will be the hard task?"

"Holding them back. You will find it most difficult to restrain

your private army from striking. Right under the American's

noses, you will have to keep them from bursting at the seams

until the day comes when they are needed. If could be weeks, it

could be years. We don't know. Maybe the day will never come.

But it is your job to build this Army. Grow it, feed it and

keep our national spirit alive until such time that it becomes

necessary to defend our nation, Allah and loyal Muslims every-

where. This time, though, we will fight America from within,

inside her borders.

"There hasn't been a foreign war on American soil since 1812.

Americans don't know what is like to have their country ruined,

ravaged, blown up before their eyes. We need a defense against

America, and when it is deeded by Allah, our army will strike

back at America where is hurts most. In the streets of their

cities. In their homes, parks and schools. But first we must

have that army. In place, and willing to act.

"You will find out all the details in good time, I assure you.

You will require some training, though, and that will begin

shortly. Everything you need to serve will be given you. Go with

Allah.

Ahmed trained for several months with the infamous terrorist

group Abu Nidal. He learned the basics that every modern terror-

ist needs to know to insure success against the Infidels.

Shah moved to New York City on December 25, 1986. Christmas was

a non issue. He registered at Columbia as a graduate researcher

in the engineering department to legitimize his student visa and

would commence classes on January 2.

Recruitment was easy, just as Farjani had said.

Ahmed built a team of 12 recruiters whom he could trust with his

life. Seven professional terrorists, unknown to the American

authorities, thoroughly sanitized, came with him to the United

States under assumed visas and the other 5, already in the

country were personally recommended by Farjani.

His disciples were located in strategic locations; New York was

host to Ahmed and another Arab fanatic trained in Libya. They

both used Columbia University as their cover. Washington D.C.

was honored with a Syrian terrorist who had organized mass anti-

US demonstrations in Damascus as the request of President Assad.

Los Angeles and San Francisco were homes to 4 more engineering

type desert terrorist school graduates who were allowed to move

freely and interact with the shakers and movers in high technolo-

gy disciplines. Miami, Atlanta, Chicago, Boston, and Dallas were

also used as recruitment centers for developing Ahmed's personal

army.

If the media had been aware of the group's activities they would

have made note that Ahmed's inner circle were very highly skilled

not only in the use of C4 and Cemex, the Czechoslovakian plastic

explosive that was responsible for countless deaths of innocent

bystanders, but that were all very well educated. Each spoke

English like a native, fluent in colloquialisms and idioms unique

to America.

Much of his army had skills which enabled them to acquire posi-

tions of importance within engineering departments of companies

such as IBM, Apple, Hughes Defense Systems, Chase Manhattan,

Prudential Life, Martin Marietta, Westinghouse, Compuserve, MCI

and hundreds of similar organizations. Every one of their em-

ployers would have attested to their skills, honor and loyalty to

their adapted country. Ahmed's group was well versed in decep-

tion. After all, they answered to a greater cause.

What even a seasoned reporter might not find out though, was that

all 12 of Ahmed's elite recruiters had to pass a supreme test

often required by international political terrorist organiza-

tions. To guarantee their loyalty to the cause, whatever that

cause might be, and to weed out potential external infiltrators,

each member had to have killed at least one member of their

immediate family.

It requires extraordinary hardening, to say the least, to kill

your mother or father. Or to blow up the school bus that carried

your pre-teen sister to school. Or engage your brother in a mock

fight and then sever his head from his body. The savagery that

permitted one access into this elite circle is beyond the compre-

hension of most Western minds. Yet such acts were expected to

demonstrate one's loyalty to a supreme purpose or belief.

The events surrounding Solman Rushdie and the Satanic Verses were

a case in point. Each of those who volunteered to assassinate

him at the bequest of the Ayatollah Khomeini had in fact already

killed not only innocent women and children in order to reach

their assigned terrorist targets, but had brought the head of

their family victim to the table of their superiors. A deed for

which they were honored and revered.

These were the men, all of them men, who pledged allegiance to

Ahmed Shah and the unknown, undefined assignments they would in

the future be asked to complete. To the death if necessary, and

without fear. These men were reminiscent of the infamous moles

that Stalin's Soviet Empire had placed throughout the United

Kingdom and the United States in the 1930's to be awakened at

some future date to carry out strikes against the enemy from

within. The only difference with Ahmed's men was that they were

trained to die, not to survive. And unlike their Mole counter-

parts, they were awake the entire time, focused on their mission.

Clearly it was only a matter of time before they would be asked

to follow orders with blind obedience. Their only reward was a

place in the Muslim heaven.

Meanwhile, while awaiting sainthood, their task was to find

others with similar inclinations, or those who could be corralled

into their system of beliefs. It was unrealistic, they knew, to

expect to find an entire army of sympathizers who would fight to

the death or perform suicide missions in the name of Allah. But

they found it was very easy to find many men, never women, who

would follow orders and perform the tasks of an underground

infantryman.

The mass influx of Arabs into the United States was another great

mistake of the Reagan '80's as it opened its doors to a future

enemy. The immigration policy of the U.S. was the most open in

the entire world. So, the Government allowed the entry of some

of the world's most dangerous people into the country, and then

gave them total freedom, with its associated anonymity. Such

things could never happen at home, Ahmed thought. We love our

land too much to permit our enemies on our soil. It is so much

easier to dispose of them before they can cause damage.

So the thinking went, and Ahmed and his cadre platooned them-

selves often, in any of the thousands of American resort complex-

es, unnoticed, to gauge the progress of their assignments.

By early 1988, Ahmed's army consisted of nearly 1000 fanatic

Muslims who would swallow a live grenade if the deed guaranteed

their place in martyrdom. And another several thousand who could

be led into battle under the right conditions. And more came and

joined as the ridiculous immigration policies continued un-

checked.

They were students, businessmen, flight attendants who were now

in the United States for prolonged periods of time. All walks of

life were included in his Army. Some were technicians or book-

keepers, delivery men, engineers, doctors; most disciplines were

represented. Since Ahmed had no idea when, if ever, he and his

army would be needed, nor for what purpose, recruiting a wide

range of talents would provide Allah with the best odds if they

were ever needed. They were all men. Not one woman in this man's

army, Ahmed thought.

The biggest problem, just as Farjani had predicted, was the

growing sense of unrest among the troops. The inner 12 had been

professionally trained to be patient. Wait for the right moment

to strike. Wait for orders. Do nothing. Do not disclose your

alliances or your allegiances to anyone. No one can be trusted.

Except your recruiter. Lead a normal life. Act like any Ameri-

can immigrant who flourishes in his new home. Do not, at all

costs, give yourself away. That much was crucial.

Periodically, the inner 12 would assign mundane, meaningless

tasks to various of their respective recruits. Americans called

it busy work. But, it kept interest alive, the belief in the

eventual victory of the Arab Nation against the American mon-

grels. It kept the life in their organization flowing, not

dulled by the prolonged waiting for the ultimate call: Jihad, a

holy war against America, waged from inside its own unprotected

borders. It was their raison d'<130>tre. The underlying gestalt

for their very existence.

* * * * *

February 6, 1988

New York City

"It is time." Ahmed could not believe the words - music to his

ears. It was not a long distance call; too clear. It had to be

local. The caller spoke in Ahmed's native tongue and conveyed an

excitement that immediately consumed him. He sat in his wheel-

chair at a computer terminal in an engineering lab at Columbia

University's Broadway campus. While he had hoped this day would

come, he also knew that politicians, even Iran's, promised a

glory that often was buried in diplomacy rather than action.

Praise be Allah.

"We are ready. Always for Allah." Ahmed was nearly breathless

with anticipation. His mind wandered. Were we at war? No, of

course not. The spineless United States would never have the

strength nor will to wage war against a United Arab State.

"That is good. For Allah." The caller agreed with Ahmed. "But

it is not the war you expect."

Ahmed was taken aback. He had not known what to expect, exactly,

but, over the months he had conjured many scenarios of how his

troops would be used to perform Allah's Will. His mind reeled.

"For whom do you speak?" Ahmed asked pointedly. There was a hint

of distrust in the question.

"Farjani said you would ask. He said, 'there hasn't been a war

on U.S. soil since 1812'. He said you would understand."

Ahmed understood. Only someone that was privy to their conversa-

tions would have known that. His heart quickened with anticipa-

tion. "Yes, I understand. With whom do I speak?" Ahmed asked

reverently.

"My name is of no consequence. I am only a humble servant of

Allah with a message. You are to follow instructions exactly,

without reservation."

"Of course. I, too, am but a servant of God. What are my in-

structions?" Ahmed felt like standing at parade attention if

only he had legs.

"This will not be our war. It will be another's. But our pur-

poses are the same. You will act as his army, and are to follow

his every request. As if Allah came to you and so ordered him-

self."

Ahmed beamed. He glowed with perspiration. Finally. The chance

to act. He would and his army would perform admirably. He lis-

tened carefully as the anonymous caller gave him his instruc-

tions. He noted the details as disbelief sank in. This is

Jihad? Yes, this is Jihad. You are expected to comply. I am

clear, but are you sure? Yes, I am sure. Then I will follow

orders. As ordered. Will we speak again? No, this is your task,

your destiny. The Arab Nation calls upon you now. Do you an-

swer? Yes, I answer. I will perform. We, our army will perform.

"Insha'allah."

"Yes, God willing."

Ahmed Shah put his teaching schedule on hold by asking for and

receiving an immediate sabbatical. He then booked and took a

flight to Tokyo three days later.

"I need an army, and I am told you can provide such services for

me. Is that so?" Homosoto asked Ahmed Shah though he already

knew the answer.

Ahmed Shah and Taki Homosoto were meeting in a private palace in

the outskirts of Tokyo. Ahmed wasn't quite sure to whom it

belonged, but he was following orders and in no way felt in

danger. The grounds were impeccable, a Japanese Versailles. The

weather was cool, but not uncomfortably so. Both men sat under

an arbor that would be graced with cherry blossoms in a few

months. Each carried an air of confidence, an assurity not meant

as arrogance, but rather as an assertion of control, power over

their respective empires.

"How large is you army?" Homosoto knew the answer, but asked

anyway.

"One thousand to the death. Three thousand to extreme pain,

another ten thousand functionaries." Ahmed Shah said with pride.

Homosoto laughed a convivial Japanese laugh, and lightly slapped

his knees. "Ah, comrade. To the death, so familiar, that is why

you are here, but, I hope that will not be necessary. You see,

this war will be one without bullets." Homosoto said waiting for

the volatile Arab's reaction.

This was exactly what Ahmed feared. A spineless war. How could

one afford to wage a war against America and not expect, indeed,

plan for, the death of some troops. There was no Arab transla-

tion for pussy-wimp, but the thought was there.

"How may I be of service?"

"The task is simple. I have need of information, much informa-

tion that will be of extreme embarrassment to the United States.

Their Government operates illegally, their companies control the

country with virtual impunity from law. It is time that they are

tried for their crimes." Homosoto tailored his words so that his

guest would acquire an enthusiasm similar to his.

"Yes," Ahmed agreed. "They need to learn a lesson. But, Mr.

Homosoto, how can that be done without weapons? I assume you

want to attack their planes, their businesses, Washington per-

haps?" Ahmed was hopeful for the opportunity to give his loyal

troops the action they desired.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, my friend. We shall strike where

they least expect it, and in a way in which they are totally

unprepared." Homosoto softened his speech to further his pitch

to gain Ahmed Shah's trust and unity. "I am well aware of the

types of training that you and your people have gone through.

However, you must be aware, that Japan is the most technically

advanced country in the world, and that we can accomplish things

is a less violent manner, yet still achieve the same goals. We

shall be much more subtle. I assume you have been informed of

that by your superiors." Homosoto waited for Ahmed's response.

"As you say, we have been trained to expect, even welcome death

in the struggle against our adversaries. Yet I recognize that a

joint effort may be more fruitful for all of us. It may be a

disappointment to some of my people that they will not be permit-

ted the honor of martyrdom, but they are expected to follow

orders. If they do not comply, they will die without the honor

they crave. They will perform as ordered."

"Excellent. That is as I hoped." Homosoto beamed at the de-

veloping understanding. "Let me explain. My people will provide

you with the weapons of this new war, a type of war never before

fought. These are technological weapons that do not kill the

enemy. Better, they expose him for what he is. It will be up to

your army to use these weapons and allow us to launch later

attacks against the Americans.

"There are to be no independent actions or activities. None

without my and your direction and approval. Can you abide by

these conditions?"

"At the request of my Government and Allah, I will be happy to

serve you in your war. Both our goals will be met." Ahmed

glowed at the opportunity to finally let his people do something

after so much waiting.

Homosoto arose and stood over Ahmed. "We will make a valuable

alliance. To the destruction of America." He held his water

glass to Ahmed.

Ahmed responded by raising his glass. "To Allah, and the cause!"

They both drank deeply from the Perrier. Homosoto had one more

question.

"If one or more off your men get caught, will they talk?"

"They will not talk."

"How can you be so sure?" Homosoto inquired naively.

"Because, if they are caught, they will be dead."

"An excellent solution."

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