senator friend in Washington D.C. Perhaps he had heard some rumors.
“Also, if you get me out of this unscathed you will get a 250k bonus in your numbered account. I’m going to make some calls. Use up some of those favors. I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep before my round of golf with Zachariah. Call me as soon as you hear anything new,” Aman finished, and motioned for his employee to leave.
With Solomon gone he wheeled around his leather chair to face the early morning rays of sunshine that were filtering through the partially closed blinds. Unnerved, he turned around to face the opulent suite of offices. The cavernous room yawned back at him. “I did not come this far to have my destiny stolen from me,” he muttered to himself. His mind drifted back once more to those lonely days in 1945 when he began his first steps towards a seemingly impossible goal.
***
It had been a few weeks after his mother’s death. He was at her tiny apartment in the Bronx, cleaning it out as best he could when a middle-aged man who appeared to be an Egyptian appeared in the open doorway. He was tall and slim, and although there was no hair on his head, his face was covered with a coarse black beard that was just beginning to show a few specks of grey. The stranger introduced himself only as Hussan, and he said he had something important to discuss with him. Aman remembered acting like a petulant child and yelling at the man to get out. The man was insistent, and when he said it was in regards to Aman’s father, he reluctantly agreed to accompany Hussan to a small mosque.
While sipping hot tea and sitting on cushions on the floor of the basement, the news shared with Aman changed his life forever. He remembered sitting in rapture as Hussan first told his own biography. He described how he had escaped the German assaults in Egypt, and was granted asylum in the United States in exchange for providing the U.S. government with information regarding the Nazi stampede across North Africa. Hussan also described how he and Aman’s father became close friends and business partners throughout the 1930s, and worked to free Egypt from the tyranny of British rule. Aman’s father managed to escape before the war started. Hussan explained that he and his father eventually became members of a small cadre of men working to restore the Caliphate. For too long now their people and their religion had been hijacked and used by the Western governments.
Aman remembered Hussan venting about how their forefathers were betrayed at the peace conference after World War I. Their lands were carved up like pieces of pie and divvied out to the glutinous victors who did as they pleased. They were nothing but pawns to be moved so the West could conquer their lands, and keep their people enslaved. It must change.
The first step was to learn about their enemy up close. The European countries were the junior members of the peacemakers of World War I. He remembered Hussan’s voice choking with emotion as the man said, “In order to see the true face of our adversary, we sent your father to America.”
Aman would never forget the look of steely determination on Hussan’s face. It immediately endeared him to the cause before he even fully understood what he was getting himself into. A true Muslim Caliphate had not enjoyed real global power for hundreds of years. The Caliphate reached its pinnacle only years after the death of Mohammad, and its power was slowly drained until it no longer existed. The Caliphate’s fate followed the same downward spiral as the Muslims themselves.
Aman remembered the man’s cracking voice as he continued his pleas. “Your father did much for our cause and …” Hussan had hesitated as he struggled to find the words.
“What?” Aman remembered spitting out the word with a mixture of anger and disbelief. He could still remember Hussan’s hesitation, followed by the man’s body shaking violently.
“He was about to ask
“Also, if you get me out of this unscathed you will get a 250k bonus in your numbered account. I’m going to make some calls. Use up some of those favors. I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep before my round of golf with Zachariah. Call me as soon as you hear anything new,” Aman finished, and motioned for his employee to leave.
With Solomon gone he wheeled around his leather chair to face the early morning rays of sunshine that were filtering through the partially closed blinds. Unnerved, he turned around to face the opulent suite of offices. The cavernous room yawned back at him. “I did not come this far to have my destiny stolen from me,” he muttered to himself. His mind drifted back once more to those lonely days in 1945 when he began his first steps towards a seemingly impossible goal.
***
It had been a few weeks after his mother’s death. He was at her tiny apartment in the Bronx, cleaning it out as best he could when a middle-aged man who appeared to be an Egyptian appeared in the open doorway. He was tall and slim, and although there was no hair on his head, his face was covered with a coarse black beard that was just beginning to show a few specks of grey. The stranger introduced himself only as Hussan, and he said he had something important to discuss with him. Aman remembered acting like a petulant child and yelling at the man to get out. The man was insistent, and when he said it was in regards to Aman’s father, he reluctantly agreed to accompany Hussan to a small mosque.
While sipping hot tea and sitting on cushions on the floor of the basement, the news shared with Aman changed his life forever. He remembered sitting in rapture as Hussan first told his own biography. He described how he had escaped the German assaults in Egypt, and was granted asylum in the United States in exchange for providing the U.S. government with information regarding the Nazi stampede across North Africa. Hussan also described how he and Aman’s father became close friends and business partners throughout the 1930s, and worked to free Egypt from the tyranny of British rule. Aman’s father managed to escape before the war started. Hussan explained that he and his father eventually became members of a small cadre of men working to restore the Caliphate. For too long now their people and their religion had been hijacked and used by the Western governments.
Aman remembered Hussan venting about how their forefathers were betrayed at the peace conference after World War I. Their lands were carved up like pieces of pie and divvied out to the glutinous victors who did as they pleased. They were nothing but pawns to be moved so the West could conquer their lands, and keep their people enslaved. It must change.
The first step was to learn about their enemy up close. The European countries were the junior members of the peacemakers of World War I. He remembered Hussan’s voice choking with emotion as the man said, “In order to see the true face of our adversary, we sent your father to America.”
Aman would never forget the look of steely determination on Hussan’s face. It immediately endeared him to the cause before he even fully understood what he was getting himself into. A true Muslim Caliphate had not enjoyed real global power for hundreds of years. The Caliphate reached its pinnacle only years after the death of Mohammad, and its power was slowly drained until it no longer existed. The Caliphate’s fate followed the same downward spiral as the Muslims themselves.
Aman remembered the man’s cracking voice as he continued his pleas. “Your father did much for our cause and …” Hussan had hesitated as he struggled to find the words.
“What?” Aman remembered spitting out the word with a mixture of anger and disbelief. He could still remember Hussan’s hesitation, followed by the man’s body shaking violently.
“He was about to ask
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