thereisnospoon
Member
There seem to be quite a few of us here and generally folks on THR are very honest about their critique, so here goes...
I posted in this thread by Nightcrawler
http://www.thehighroad.org/showthread.php?t=184481
but didn't want to highjack the thread, so I started this one.
This book started almost four years ago, but has languished since. Help me decide to finish it or dump the whole idea...
Thanks!
Loopholes
Version 1.2
By L. Elliott Thomas
Loophole (l p h l ) noun
1. A way of escaping a difficulty, especially an omission or ambiguity in the wording of a contract or law that provides a means of evading compliance.
2. A small hole or slit in a wall, especially one through which small arms may be fired.
Prologue
Somewhere in Yemen
September 1992
Youssef had been waiting in the hot dessert sun for almost six hours. He did not mind the heat as much as the waiting. Waiting made him feel vulnerable and as a jihad warrior, one did not like feeling vulnerable. Never the less, he waited.
“Do you suppose they have been detained, or changed their mind?” he asked, when he could no longer withstand the silent vigil.
“They will be here, Youssef, you must have patience.”
“I have been waiting for this day for longer than you can imagine” he replied, with more anger than he intended.
“Don’t worry”, said his companion, a fat, balding man who had been chain-smoking foul smelling cigarettes since Youssef arrival, “you will have your chance.”
Youssef wanted to shout, but instead regained control of his straining emotions. Losing his entire family in the fight against the Western invaders during the Gulf War had made his anger hard to control, but a good soldier needed to be in total control to be effective. That is what he had learned in the training camps in Afghanistan and Iraq, so he fought back the emotion.
The camps had changed Youssef in many ways, not the least of which was his appearance. At five feet ten inches, he was tall for an Arab. The training had made his body hard in places that had previously been very soft and the sand and sun had weathered his once handsome face. Still, the features were there if you looked hard enough; strong jaw line, hawk nose, thick black shock of hair, now covered with flecks of gray. Jihad will gray a man’s hair.
Yet even though he retained some of his boyhood good looks, he was not remarkable enough to remember. That made Youssef forgettable, which was a fine commodity in his newfound profession: terrorism.
“There, you see, even now they come” the fat man said as he clapped Youssef on the shoulder. “I told you they would and now you will have your chance!”
Youssef raised a hand to block the sun’s glare as the old truck came into view on the horizon. He knew they were still over two kilometers away, but his stomach leapt and his mouth instantly dried at the thought of their arrival. It meant he was one step closer to avenging his family’s deaths at the hands of the infidel.
The truck was old, smelled of diesel and was covered in years of dust that Youssef assumed could never be cleaned away, no matter the diligence of the owner. The men inside dismounted, and went directly to the well and drew water, which they used to drink and to pour over their heads to relieve the heat of riding in the open vehicle.
“This is him?” the older man finally said toward the fat man. The older man looked at Youssef with his head cocked slightly to one side, as if measuring a camel or a used car before purchasing.
“This is him,” replied the fat man.
“My name is …” Youssef began as he
“Stop”, the older man shouted “I do not need to know your name and you will not need mine. We have a simple arrangement; I will take you to your next destination where you will receive all the information and everything you need to complete your move to Central America. For this service, I am well paid. However, it is not enough to risk knowing anything about you or you knowing about me.”
Youssef looked at the fat man who shrugged and clapped Youssef on the back again. “Allah be with you,” he said as he hugged the tall thinner younger man, then turned and walked back towards his shaded spot.
Youssef gathered his meager possessions; a few clothes, his rifle and a well-worn copy of the Qur’an, and hefted his lanky frame into the trucks cargo area. The men climbed back into the cab and cranked the engine, which caught just before Youssef thought the battery would die. Smoke poured from the exhaust pipe and rose to the cargo area causing Youssef to choke and his eyes to water. The truck turned around and began moving in the direction it had come.
The last sight Youssef had of his homeland was the fat, balding man sitting under his canopy surrounded by cigarette smoke, fanning himself.
As the truck disappeared over the horizon, a tall, well-dressed man stepped from inside the hut owned by the fat man. The man walked to the well, where just moments before the driver had refreshed himself. He did the same, helping himself to a large drink before removing his hat and dumping the remaining water over his head and neck. He lit a cigarette and walked back to the fat man, who was still sitting and smoking.
“Do you believe he will make it?” the fat, balding man asked.
“He will make it into the country. I can guarantee his passage into Mexico.”
“What about after?”
“I will take good care of him. We will watch him very closely and we have assets in place to help him through the transition,” the tall man answered.
“He is my sister’s only remaining son.”
“I know my friend,” replied the man, resting a hand on his shoulder, “and I will take care of him like he was my own.”
***
Birmingham, Alabama
September 1992
Jason waited impatiently for the light to turn green. His wife sat in the passenger seat of his new Ford Bronco breathing laboriously. The contractions were now only one minute apart and were becoming more intense. Jason looked both left and right and seeing no traffic stomped on the gas pedal, tires squealing as the big V-8 engine poured on the horsepower and roared through the light.
“It’s not a race Jason.” Rebecca moaned as another contraction hit.
“Sorry, honey, I just want to get you there.” Jason replied
“It’s probably more important that we get there safe than fast!” she said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry, Honey” was all Jason could think to say.
Jason Holcombe looked at his wife quickly then back to the road as he weaved the hulking vehicle nimbly in and around traffic. He was scared, not of his wife or the traffic, but of the event that was about to take place. Childbirth was as old as time, but Jason had never before experienced it this closely, and the thought terrified him. He could not decide if he was afraid for his wife and unborn child’s health or the thought of being a father. Probably both Jason thought as he glanced back at Rebecca as another contraction struck, strong enough that Rebecca let out a whimper.
“You ok?” Jason asked
“Maybe fast is as important as safe,” she said between breaths. Jason hit the horn and the gas pedal simultaneously as he switched lanes.
As they arrived at the hospital emergency room entrance, Jason barely had the truck in park before leaping from the cab and heading for the door. Once inside he found a nurse and explained his situation.
The action was intense thereafter as three nurses and an orderly helped Rebecca from the Bronco to a stretcher. They fired questions at Jason and Rebecca about the pregnancy, her doctor and her contractions. Rebecca answered with a painful groan and Jason stammered and stuttered, but eventually managed to give them the appropriate details. As they approached the delivery room, a robust, dower looking nurse held out her hand in the universal signal for Jason to stop.
“You’ll wait here until someone comes for you,” she stated. “Please have a seat and fill out this paperwork, initial here and sign here and here.”
Jason looked at the woman as if she spoke a different language. Having seen this look on the face of men many times in her long career, the nurse took Jason by the hand and began leading him to a chair to sit down. Jason did not make the entire trip.
***
When he awoke, Jason could first only hear muted and muffled sounds. He opened his eyes, startled by the bright, blinding light of a hospital examining room. It all came rushing back very quickly.
“Where’s Rebecca?” he asked.
“Well, hello there Mr. Holcombe,” the robust woman from the lobby came into his view. “Don’t worry, she’s fine. So is your beautiful baby.”
“You mean I missed it?”
“Sorry to say, yes. But cheer up love, you’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last. You feel like sitting up?”
“Are they okay?” Jason asked as he swung his feet to the floor. The room spun for just a minute more, and then he rose to his feet.
“They're fine, love. Come with me and I’ll take you to them.”
Jason followed the nurse out of the room, down the hall three doors and into a delivery suite, dark except for a small light just over the headboard of the bed where Rebecca laid, the baby tucked in her arm. The light from the lamp set Rebecca aglow and her hair, though jumbled and sweat soaked, was as beautiful as Jason had ever seen it. She looked up and smiled a smile that Jason had never seen before. It was the smile of a new mother and Jason believed it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
“Hey, cowboy” she said, her words slurred by exhaustion and painkillers. “Want to see your new baby?”
Jason slowly walked from the doorway to the bed, leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead. Then he peeled back the blanket that covered the baby and gently picked it up.
“It’s a girl’ Rebecca stated.
Jason could not find words as he looked at his child and her tiny, doll-like features. He simply ran his index finger along her cheek. Under her hat was a thick head of hair. Jason could not tell the color, but he knew it would be auburn, like her mother.
“She’s beautiful” was all he could manage.
“Yes, she is” Rebecca answered. “What do you think we should name her?
Jason and Rebecca had discussed many names for both boys and girls, but had not decided on a final name, deciding rather to wait and be sure the baby and its name fit.
“She sure looks a lot like you” Jason ventured, “but I don’t think Jasonia would be that bad of a name, do you?” he asked jokingly.
“Rachael” was all Rebecca said.
Jason looked the baby over, kissed her on the forehead and said, “Rachael it is”.
***
Later that night, as Rebecca rested peacefully in her room, Jason and his father, Jacob Holcombe, peered through a plate glass window at two rows of new infants born within the last forty-eight hours in Birmingham, Alabama. With one look, he could see both his new daughter in her slumber and her grandfather’s reflection just above her. The moment struck Jason.
“Dad, was it like this when I was born?”
“Well, uh, not exactly” Jacob confessed. “When you were born, I was, uh, well, I was drunk as a coot. It took almost two days for you to come. Your mom sent me home after the first night, probably so she didn’t have to worry about me and you.”
“Drunk, really” Jason asked, almost shocked. In his entire lifetime he had never known his father to drink.
“It was the first and last time I ever touched the stuff,” Jacob lamented, turning back to gaze at his granddaughter. “You’ve made me a old man today Jason, but since she’s so beautiful, I guess I’ll forgive you.”
***
Bakersfield, California
September 1992
“Yes,” Vivian Brubaker answered the phone on the third ring.
“Mother, how are you,” Linda Brubaker-Collins asked. Vivian could tell by her tone that she was nervous.
“I’m Fine. What it is, dear,“ Vivian asked. “Has something happened to Ashley?”
Straight to the point, right mother? Linda thought, but didn’t dare say aloud. “No, nothing like that, Mom. William got a call today from a firm that really wants him.”
“That’s great dear, which firm is it?” Vivian asked, her own tension rising to meet Linda’s.
“Stockton” was all Linda said. There was a pause as Vivian processed the information.
“Well, I’ve always wanted the see more of California,” Vivian offered. “It’s not as far as it seems, dear. William has been looking a very long time.” The iciness in Vivian Brubaker’s voice was not based so much on her only granddaughter moving 250 miles away as it was the length of time it had taken her son-in-law to find a job with a decent firm, making reasonable money.
“William is really excited,” Linda said warming now that she had gained her mother’s acceptance, “the firm is hiring him in their sports division. They handle lots of big names in both football and baseball.” The words flowed faster as if trying to convince her mother, Vivian, which in deed she was. Approval did not come easy from Vivian Brubaker.
“Well, we’re excited for him…and you dear” Vivian added quickly.
The conversation quickly moved on to schools in the Stockton area and real estate issues. After twenty minutes, Vivian broke the connection.
Chapter 1
Presidential Debate
October 13, 2004
BOB SCHIEFFER: Mr. President, new question, two minutes.
You said that if Congress would vote to extend the ban on assault weapons, that you'd sign the legislation, but you did nothing to encourage the Congress to extend it. Why not?
PRESIDENT BUSH: Actually, I made my intentions -- made my views clear. I did think we ought to extend the assault weapons ban, and was told the fact that the bill was never going to move, because Republicans and Democrats were against the assault weapon ban, people of both parties. I believe law-abiding citizens ought to be able to own a gun. I believe in background checks at gun shows or anywhere to make sure that guns don't get in the hands of people that shouldn't have them.
But the best way to protect our citizens from guns is to prosecute those who commit crimes with guns. And that's why early in my administration I called the attorney general and the U. S. attorneys and said: Put together a task force all around the country to prosecute those who commit crimes with guns. And the prosecutions are up by about 68 percent -- I believe -- is the number.
Neighborhoods are safer when we crack down on people who commit crimes with guns.
To me, that's the best way to secure America.
BOB SCHIEFFER: Senator?
SENATOR JOHN KERRY: I believe it was a failure of presidential leadership not to reauthorize the assault weapons ban.
I am a hunter. I'm a gun owner. I've been a hunter since I was a kid, 12, 13 years old. And I respect the Second Amendment and I will not tamper with the Second Amendment.
But I'll tell you this. I'm also a former law enforcement officer. I ran one of the largest district attorney's offices in America, one of the ten largest. I put people behind bars for the rest of their life. I've broken up organized crime. I know something about prosecuting.
And most of the law enforcement agencies in America wanted that assault weapons ban. They don't want to go into a drug bust and be facing an AK-47.
I was hunting in Iowa last year with a sheriff from one of the counties there, and he pointed to a house in back of us, and said, "See the house over? We just did a drug bust a week earlier, and the guy we arrested had an AK-47 lying on the bed right beside him. "
Because of the president's decision today, law enforcement officers will walk into a place that will be more dangerous. Terrorists can now come into America and go to a gun show and, without even a background check, buy an assault weapon today.
And that's what Osama bin Laden's handbook said, because we captured it in Afghanistan. It encouraged them to do it.
So I believe America's less safe.
If Tom DeLay or someone in the House said to me, "Sorry, we don't have the votes," I'd have said, "Then we're going to have a fight. "
And I'd have taken it out to the country and I'd have had every law enforcement officer in the country visit those congressmen. We'd have won what Bill Clinton won.
***
Mexico City, Mexico
Present Day
Youssef waited what he believed a sufficient amount of time and finally moved from his perch in the empty apartment across the street from the cantina. He had watched for any signs that his man had been followed, but he noticed nothing of import during the thirty minutes the man had been sitting, drinking Mexican beer and reading the local rag. The man was startled as Youssef seated himself directly across the table, his back to the wall. He had told his contact to pick this cantina and to pick a table against the wall, and as always, his “handler” had acted as ordered. It was the fourteenth time the two had met in the 13 years Youssef had been living in Mexico.
“How are you my friend?” the man began. “Your uncle sends his greetings and asks that you return to him soon. He is dying.”
Youssef processed that bit of information quickly. Probably the foul cigarettes the man incessantly smokes Youssef thought.
“I am sorry that my uncle is not well, but you will have to take him my greetings and my wishes that he meet Allah in glory.”
The man nodded his understanding. Youssef had proven himself to be a very effective and resourceful warrior. Thirteen times he had been sent into the belly of the Beast and thirteen times he had successfully completed his missions and returned across the border undetected. Little did Abu know those many years ago in the Yemen desert that Youssef would be his most successful recruit in Jihad.
The waiter approached the table and both men fell instantly silent. Both ordered coffee even though the temperature was well in excess of 90 degrees. The waiter offered his suggestion for lunch and both men nodded accepting the man’s recommendations. The food would go untouched anyway.
“Why have you asked me here?” Youssef resumed after they were alone again.
“We have another assignment for you” Abu replied as he lit a cigarette. Still not one for small talk, he thought as he continued, “You last assignment” he said without hesitation.
Youssef understood the meaning of his statement immediately, but did not allow his surprise to show. For years, Youssef begged his “handler”, Abu, to allow him to use his talents to the ultimate degree, but had always been told his “other talents” were too useful to the cause. The thought quickened his heart. To die in the cause of Allah is the ultimate for a Jihad warrior, and Youssef considered it a great honor to be chosen for such.
“So I’ll be seeing my Uncle soon?” he asked.
“You may even be able to prepare a place for him” Abu replied as he stubbed out his cigarette.
***
I posted in this thread by Nightcrawler
http://www.thehighroad.org/showthread.php?t=184481
but didn't want to highjack the thread, so I started this one.
This book started almost four years ago, but has languished since. Help me decide to finish it or dump the whole idea...
Thanks!
Loopholes
Version 1.2
By L. Elliott Thomas
Loophole (l p h l ) noun
1. A way of escaping a difficulty, especially an omission or ambiguity in the wording of a contract or law that provides a means of evading compliance.
2. A small hole or slit in a wall, especially one through which small arms may be fired.
Prologue
Somewhere in Yemen
September 1992
Youssef had been waiting in the hot dessert sun for almost six hours. He did not mind the heat as much as the waiting. Waiting made him feel vulnerable and as a jihad warrior, one did not like feeling vulnerable. Never the less, he waited.
“Do you suppose they have been detained, or changed their mind?” he asked, when he could no longer withstand the silent vigil.
“They will be here, Youssef, you must have patience.”
“I have been waiting for this day for longer than you can imagine” he replied, with more anger than he intended.
“Don’t worry”, said his companion, a fat, balding man who had been chain-smoking foul smelling cigarettes since Youssef arrival, “you will have your chance.”
Youssef wanted to shout, but instead regained control of his straining emotions. Losing his entire family in the fight against the Western invaders during the Gulf War had made his anger hard to control, but a good soldier needed to be in total control to be effective. That is what he had learned in the training camps in Afghanistan and Iraq, so he fought back the emotion.
The camps had changed Youssef in many ways, not the least of which was his appearance. At five feet ten inches, he was tall for an Arab. The training had made his body hard in places that had previously been very soft and the sand and sun had weathered his once handsome face. Still, the features were there if you looked hard enough; strong jaw line, hawk nose, thick black shock of hair, now covered with flecks of gray. Jihad will gray a man’s hair.
Yet even though he retained some of his boyhood good looks, he was not remarkable enough to remember. That made Youssef forgettable, which was a fine commodity in his newfound profession: terrorism.
“There, you see, even now they come” the fat man said as he clapped Youssef on the shoulder. “I told you they would and now you will have your chance!”
Youssef raised a hand to block the sun’s glare as the old truck came into view on the horizon. He knew they were still over two kilometers away, but his stomach leapt and his mouth instantly dried at the thought of their arrival. It meant he was one step closer to avenging his family’s deaths at the hands of the infidel.
The truck was old, smelled of diesel and was covered in years of dust that Youssef assumed could never be cleaned away, no matter the diligence of the owner. The men inside dismounted, and went directly to the well and drew water, which they used to drink and to pour over their heads to relieve the heat of riding in the open vehicle.
“This is him?” the older man finally said toward the fat man. The older man looked at Youssef with his head cocked slightly to one side, as if measuring a camel or a used car before purchasing.
“This is him,” replied the fat man.
“My name is …” Youssef began as he
“Stop”, the older man shouted “I do not need to know your name and you will not need mine. We have a simple arrangement; I will take you to your next destination where you will receive all the information and everything you need to complete your move to Central America. For this service, I am well paid. However, it is not enough to risk knowing anything about you or you knowing about me.”
Youssef looked at the fat man who shrugged and clapped Youssef on the back again. “Allah be with you,” he said as he hugged the tall thinner younger man, then turned and walked back towards his shaded spot.
Youssef gathered his meager possessions; a few clothes, his rifle and a well-worn copy of the Qur’an, and hefted his lanky frame into the trucks cargo area. The men climbed back into the cab and cranked the engine, which caught just before Youssef thought the battery would die. Smoke poured from the exhaust pipe and rose to the cargo area causing Youssef to choke and his eyes to water. The truck turned around and began moving in the direction it had come.
The last sight Youssef had of his homeland was the fat, balding man sitting under his canopy surrounded by cigarette smoke, fanning himself.
As the truck disappeared over the horizon, a tall, well-dressed man stepped from inside the hut owned by the fat man. The man walked to the well, where just moments before the driver had refreshed himself. He did the same, helping himself to a large drink before removing his hat and dumping the remaining water over his head and neck. He lit a cigarette and walked back to the fat man, who was still sitting and smoking.
“Do you believe he will make it?” the fat, balding man asked.
“He will make it into the country. I can guarantee his passage into Mexico.”
“What about after?”
“I will take good care of him. We will watch him very closely and we have assets in place to help him through the transition,” the tall man answered.
“He is my sister’s only remaining son.”
“I know my friend,” replied the man, resting a hand on his shoulder, “and I will take care of him like he was my own.”
***
Birmingham, Alabama
September 1992
Jason waited impatiently for the light to turn green. His wife sat in the passenger seat of his new Ford Bronco breathing laboriously. The contractions were now only one minute apart and were becoming more intense. Jason looked both left and right and seeing no traffic stomped on the gas pedal, tires squealing as the big V-8 engine poured on the horsepower and roared through the light.
“It’s not a race Jason.” Rebecca moaned as another contraction hit.
“Sorry, honey, I just want to get you there.” Jason replied
“It’s probably more important that we get there safe than fast!” she said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry, Honey” was all Jason could think to say.
Jason Holcombe looked at his wife quickly then back to the road as he weaved the hulking vehicle nimbly in and around traffic. He was scared, not of his wife or the traffic, but of the event that was about to take place. Childbirth was as old as time, but Jason had never before experienced it this closely, and the thought terrified him. He could not decide if he was afraid for his wife and unborn child’s health or the thought of being a father. Probably both Jason thought as he glanced back at Rebecca as another contraction struck, strong enough that Rebecca let out a whimper.
“You ok?” Jason asked
“Maybe fast is as important as safe,” she said between breaths. Jason hit the horn and the gas pedal simultaneously as he switched lanes.
As they arrived at the hospital emergency room entrance, Jason barely had the truck in park before leaping from the cab and heading for the door. Once inside he found a nurse and explained his situation.
The action was intense thereafter as three nurses and an orderly helped Rebecca from the Bronco to a stretcher. They fired questions at Jason and Rebecca about the pregnancy, her doctor and her contractions. Rebecca answered with a painful groan and Jason stammered and stuttered, but eventually managed to give them the appropriate details. As they approached the delivery room, a robust, dower looking nurse held out her hand in the universal signal for Jason to stop.
“You’ll wait here until someone comes for you,” she stated. “Please have a seat and fill out this paperwork, initial here and sign here and here.”
Jason looked at the woman as if she spoke a different language. Having seen this look on the face of men many times in her long career, the nurse took Jason by the hand and began leading him to a chair to sit down. Jason did not make the entire trip.
***
When he awoke, Jason could first only hear muted and muffled sounds. He opened his eyes, startled by the bright, blinding light of a hospital examining room. It all came rushing back very quickly.
“Where’s Rebecca?” he asked.
“Well, hello there Mr. Holcombe,” the robust woman from the lobby came into his view. “Don’t worry, she’s fine. So is your beautiful baby.”
“You mean I missed it?”
“Sorry to say, yes. But cheer up love, you’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last. You feel like sitting up?”
“Are they okay?” Jason asked as he swung his feet to the floor. The room spun for just a minute more, and then he rose to his feet.
“They're fine, love. Come with me and I’ll take you to them.”
Jason followed the nurse out of the room, down the hall three doors and into a delivery suite, dark except for a small light just over the headboard of the bed where Rebecca laid, the baby tucked in her arm. The light from the lamp set Rebecca aglow and her hair, though jumbled and sweat soaked, was as beautiful as Jason had ever seen it. She looked up and smiled a smile that Jason had never seen before. It was the smile of a new mother and Jason believed it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
“Hey, cowboy” she said, her words slurred by exhaustion and painkillers. “Want to see your new baby?”
Jason slowly walked from the doorway to the bed, leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead. Then he peeled back the blanket that covered the baby and gently picked it up.
“It’s a girl’ Rebecca stated.
Jason could not find words as he looked at his child and her tiny, doll-like features. He simply ran his index finger along her cheek. Under her hat was a thick head of hair. Jason could not tell the color, but he knew it would be auburn, like her mother.
“She’s beautiful” was all he could manage.
“Yes, she is” Rebecca answered. “What do you think we should name her?
Jason and Rebecca had discussed many names for both boys and girls, but had not decided on a final name, deciding rather to wait and be sure the baby and its name fit.
“She sure looks a lot like you” Jason ventured, “but I don’t think Jasonia would be that bad of a name, do you?” he asked jokingly.
“Rachael” was all Rebecca said.
Jason looked the baby over, kissed her on the forehead and said, “Rachael it is”.
***
Later that night, as Rebecca rested peacefully in her room, Jason and his father, Jacob Holcombe, peered through a plate glass window at two rows of new infants born within the last forty-eight hours in Birmingham, Alabama. With one look, he could see both his new daughter in her slumber and her grandfather’s reflection just above her. The moment struck Jason.
“Dad, was it like this when I was born?”
“Well, uh, not exactly” Jacob confessed. “When you were born, I was, uh, well, I was drunk as a coot. It took almost two days for you to come. Your mom sent me home after the first night, probably so she didn’t have to worry about me and you.”
“Drunk, really” Jason asked, almost shocked. In his entire lifetime he had never known his father to drink.
“It was the first and last time I ever touched the stuff,” Jacob lamented, turning back to gaze at his granddaughter. “You’ve made me a old man today Jason, but since she’s so beautiful, I guess I’ll forgive you.”
***
Bakersfield, California
September 1992
“Yes,” Vivian Brubaker answered the phone on the third ring.
“Mother, how are you,” Linda Brubaker-Collins asked. Vivian could tell by her tone that she was nervous.
“I’m Fine. What it is, dear,“ Vivian asked. “Has something happened to Ashley?”
Straight to the point, right mother? Linda thought, but didn’t dare say aloud. “No, nothing like that, Mom. William got a call today from a firm that really wants him.”
“That’s great dear, which firm is it?” Vivian asked, her own tension rising to meet Linda’s.
“Stockton” was all Linda said. There was a pause as Vivian processed the information.
“Well, I’ve always wanted the see more of California,” Vivian offered. “It’s not as far as it seems, dear. William has been looking a very long time.” The iciness in Vivian Brubaker’s voice was not based so much on her only granddaughter moving 250 miles away as it was the length of time it had taken her son-in-law to find a job with a decent firm, making reasonable money.
“William is really excited,” Linda said warming now that she had gained her mother’s acceptance, “the firm is hiring him in their sports division. They handle lots of big names in both football and baseball.” The words flowed faster as if trying to convince her mother, Vivian, which in deed she was. Approval did not come easy from Vivian Brubaker.
“Well, we’re excited for him…and you dear” Vivian added quickly.
The conversation quickly moved on to schools in the Stockton area and real estate issues. After twenty minutes, Vivian broke the connection.
Chapter 1
Presidential Debate
October 13, 2004
BOB SCHIEFFER: Mr. President, new question, two minutes.
You said that if Congress would vote to extend the ban on assault weapons, that you'd sign the legislation, but you did nothing to encourage the Congress to extend it. Why not?
PRESIDENT BUSH: Actually, I made my intentions -- made my views clear. I did think we ought to extend the assault weapons ban, and was told the fact that the bill was never going to move, because Republicans and Democrats were against the assault weapon ban, people of both parties. I believe law-abiding citizens ought to be able to own a gun. I believe in background checks at gun shows or anywhere to make sure that guns don't get in the hands of people that shouldn't have them.
But the best way to protect our citizens from guns is to prosecute those who commit crimes with guns. And that's why early in my administration I called the attorney general and the U. S. attorneys and said: Put together a task force all around the country to prosecute those who commit crimes with guns. And the prosecutions are up by about 68 percent -- I believe -- is the number.
Neighborhoods are safer when we crack down on people who commit crimes with guns.
To me, that's the best way to secure America.
BOB SCHIEFFER: Senator?
SENATOR JOHN KERRY: I believe it was a failure of presidential leadership not to reauthorize the assault weapons ban.
I am a hunter. I'm a gun owner. I've been a hunter since I was a kid, 12, 13 years old. And I respect the Second Amendment and I will not tamper with the Second Amendment.
But I'll tell you this. I'm also a former law enforcement officer. I ran one of the largest district attorney's offices in America, one of the ten largest. I put people behind bars for the rest of their life. I've broken up organized crime. I know something about prosecuting.
And most of the law enforcement agencies in America wanted that assault weapons ban. They don't want to go into a drug bust and be facing an AK-47.
I was hunting in Iowa last year with a sheriff from one of the counties there, and he pointed to a house in back of us, and said, "See the house over? We just did a drug bust a week earlier, and the guy we arrested had an AK-47 lying on the bed right beside him. "
Because of the president's decision today, law enforcement officers will walk into a place that will be more dangerous. Terrorists can now come into America and go to a gun show and, without even a background check, buy an assault weapon today.
And that's what Osama bin Laden's handbook said, because we captured it in Afghanistan. It encouraged them to do it.
So I believe America's less safe.
If Tom DeLay or someone in the House said to me, "Sorry, we don't have the votes," I'd have said, "Then we're going to have a fight. "
And I'd have taken it out to the country and I'd have had every law enforcement officer in the country visit those congressmen. We'd have won what Bill Clinton won.
***
Mexico City, Mexico
Present Day
Youssef waited what he believed a sufficient amount of time and finally moved from his perch in the empty apartment across the street from the cantina. He had watched for any signs that his man had been followed, but he noticed nothing of import during the thirty minutes the man had been sitting, drinking Mexican beer and reading the local rag. The man was startled as Youssef seated himself directly across the table, his back to the wall. He had told his contact to pick this cantina and to pick a table against the wall, and as always, his “handler” had acted as ordered. It was the fourteenth time the two had met in the 13 years Youssef had been living in Mexico.
“How are you my friend?” the man began. “Your uncle sends his greetings and asks that you return to him soon. He is dying.”
Youssef processed that bit of information quickly. Probably the foul cigarettes the man incessantly smokes Youssef thought.
“I am sorry that my uncle is not well, but you will have to take him my greetings and my wishes that he meet Allah in glory.”
The man nodded his understanding. Youssef had proven himself to be a very effective and resourceful warrior. Thirteen times he had been sent into the belly of the Beast and thirteen times he had successfully completed his missions and returned across the border undetected. Little did Abu know those many years ago in the Yemen desert that Youssef would be his most successful recruit in Jihad.
The waiter approached the table and both men fell instantly silent. Both ordered coffee even though the temperature was well in excess of 90 degrees. The waiter offered his suggestion for lunch and both men nodded accepting the man’s recommendations. The food would go untouched anyway.
“Why have you asked me here?” Youssef resumed after they were alone again.
“We have another assignment for you” Abu replied as he lit a cigarette. Still not one for small talk, he thought as he continued, “You last assignment” he said without hesitation.
Youssef understood the meaning of his statement immediately, but did not allow his surprise to show. For years, Youssef begged his “handler”, Abu, to allow him to use his talents to the ultimate degree, but had always been told his “other talents” were too useful to the cause. The thought quickened his heart. To die in the cause of Allah is the ultimate for a Jihad warrior, and Youssef considered it a great honor to be chosen for such.
“So I’ll be seeing my Uncle soon?” he asked.
“You may even be able to prepare a place for him” Abu replied as he stubbed out his cigarette.
***
I'm not sure I would ever make money either, but since I have an income , that's not the motivating factor...more of a desire to do it. I've wanted to for a long time...
