The Chosen One

45

6:25 P.M., OCTOBER 25

PAN-ARAB HEADQUARTERS

BENEATH THE SHADOW OF THE GREAT PYRAMID

ON THE GIZA PLATEAU

The brightly colored nomad tent sat in the middle of the pyramid complex. A blustery wind tore at its sides. The silken structure flapped with each strong breeze, pulling at its moorings and making significant noise. Those inside its sheltering form paid no attention to its distracting efforts.

For the past week, Muhammad Mourad had called the once-sacred hilltop home. From here he commanded his massive army. Upon the mesa, the Mahdi was surrounded by Egypt’s most recognizable landmarks.

To the north sat the magnificent Great Pyramid of Khufu. East and west of the Great Pyramid were large fields of rectangular, aboveground tombs containing the remains of the pharaohs’ families and the royal courts.

To the east, reaching to the broad plateau’s edges, rested the jumbled peasant houses of the encroaching Giza suburbs. The modest homes stretched unending to the Nile.

To the southeast, a quarter-mile walk from the billowing tent, the enigmatic Sphinx reclined.

To the west were the pyramid of Khafre and the smaller pyramid of Menkaure. Beyond the western edge of the plateau, after a mile or so of additional homes, waited nothing but the inhospitable desert.

The historic elevation buzzed with activity. Soldiers assigned to the command element moved in every direction. Near the huge tent, the landscape bristled with the antennas, trucks, and vans of the Pan-Arabs’ primary communication complex. On the perimeter, air defense weapons protected the sanctified ground. In every direction the eye surveyed, Mourad’s mujahideen, his two hundred fiercely loyal bodyguards, stood at the ready. Each had vowed to give his life to defend the Chosen One. Farther out, around the hilltop’s edges, Mourad’s handpicked armored division waited with their tanks and personnel carriers. They were prepared to repel an attack of any sort. The fifteen thousand soldiers of the division were the best trained and most dedicated of the Mahdi’s combat troops.

Inside the tent, he sat cross-legged on a stretching rug of indeterminate origin. The vivid hues and intricate designs of the woven fabric had lost none of their vitality throughout the long years of use. The spreading carpet reached from corner to corner in the spacious shelter. Two dozen of Mourad’s religious, political, and military advisers sat with their leader in the center of the space. Each understood that in this setting they could speak their minds without fear of recrimination. While the decisions were ultimately his, Muhammad Mourad had learned long ago to carefully consider the advice of those who served him.

“Chosen One, if you don’t act soon, all will be lost,” General Khalil el-Saeed, commander of the army, said. “This morning the last of our units was expelled from Cairo by the French tanks and the British and American soldiers. Our warriors were ill-prepared for the enemy’s assault. They didn’t fare well when faced with the French armor. In the city’s northern section, small pockets of Allah’s warriors were cut off by the forcible advance. Those in this desperate predicament are battling the intruders with every ounce of courage they can muster. They’ve sworn to fight to the death. Much of our force is gathering in Giza, waiting for your order to launch a counterattack. They’re eager to renew the battle to cast out the unbelievers and continue with Allah’s conquest.”

“General, as we discovered this morning, it’ll do no good to cross the river if we can’t hold the territory we gain.” Mourad turned to General Jehan Akhtar, el-Saeed’s second-in-command. “Like General el-Saeed, I am anxious to renew the attack. Have you devised a plan that will place enough of our tanks on the eastern banks to expel our adversary from this land?”

“No, Chosen One, we have not,” General Akhtar said. “We’re continuing to look at all options. At best it will take two or three days to develop a viable approach and an equal amount of time to prepare our soldiers.”

“Such is probably acceptable, General Akhtar,” Mourad said. “It’ll allow our warriors time to rest and gather their strength for the final assault. But we can afford no further delays. With the infidels mounting their forces in the north, time is of the essence. We must take the city before they end our chances of prevailing. Do our commanders understand the urgency of their efforts?”

“They understand full well,” General Akhtar said. “They’re quite aware of the enemy’s progress. They recognize the situation’s growing more difficult by the day.”

“What’s the latest word from the north, General el-Saeed?”

“This afternoon our forces in northern Egypt were attacked by two divisions of British Challenger tanks. The American Marines are with them. At the moment, we’re putting our efforts into placing strings of great minefields in their path. We’re building tank traps and fortifying our positions as rapidly as possible. Even so, we’ve lost significant ground. And the minefields will eventually be breached, even if they delay our foe’s actions for a few additional days. We’ve had to divert more divisions from the battle for Cairo and send them north to face this new threat. Our forces are numerous and powerful. We greatly outnumber those we face. But the Challengers are far superior to our armored vehicles. And the British crews are extremely proficient. With the American domination of the skies, we cannot expect to succeed without severe losses of men and equipment. We’ve lost many brave souls this day. Even so, our defenses stretch from the front lines to just a few miles north of here. So there’s little chance of the British breaking through and routing our army. We’ll make this a time-consuming battle of attrition for our adversary. We’ll force him to pay in blood for each meter of ground gained.”

“I expect no less, General el-Saeed.”

“Chosen One, it’s my duty to give you an honest assessment of our military capabilities. As things stand, I don’t believe we can defeat our opponent. He’s growing stronger by the day and we’re growing progressively weaker. After a month of fighting, many of our soldiers have lost their enthusiasm for battle. I’m ashamed to report that there have been incidences of retreating, deserting, and surrendering on the battlefront in the north and in our struggle for Cairo.”

Mourad turned to Kadar Jethwa, the high cleric of Algiers, and his handful of religious advisers. There was indignation in the Mahdi’s voice. “Such cowardice won’t be tolerated! This is your responsibility. You’re the ones charged with watching over our political officers. You must ensure they’ve properly instructed our legions. They must instill the desire to emerge victorious or die a martyr’s death. It’s you who must answer to Allah for such blasphemy. It’s your immortal souls that are at risk if our soldiers aren’t prepared. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Chosen One,” the bearded mullahs muttered.

“Contact those within your charge. Have them relight the flame in the heart of every soldier. They’re to ensure no one draws away from their rapturous duty. Their swords are to bring swift retribution to anyone attempting such acts. We may not emerge triumphant from this, the first chapter of our holy struggle, but in defeat our every action will be to honor Allah. I promise you in my lifetime Islam will rule the world. Yet, as I’ve always professed, so great a victory, so momentous

a venture, will involve extreme sacrifice from all true believers.”

“Yes, Chosen One,” Jethwa answered. “It will be done.”

The Mahdi turned to General el-Saeed. “Even if our political officers do everything possible to bolster our warriors’ resolve, how long before our army’s overwhelmed?”

“If things stay as they are, two weeks at the very most.”

“We’ve two million soldiers still involved in the battle,” Mourad said. “There must be something we can do.”

“Of that, you’re correct, Chosen One. All’s not lost. Satan’s disciples have left a fatal opening that will lead to their demise. If we move quickly, success is within our grasp. If you’ll change our plan of battle, Islam will prevail.”

“What do you propose, General?”

“Bypass Cairo and attack Israel. There’s never been a better time. While we’re struggling within the great city and the far north, such is not the case everywhere. The enemy’s wide open to a flanking movement. Right now the only things north and south of Cairo are demoralized Egyptian units whose lines are perilously thin. Behind them there’s nothing. If we move immediately, we can begin an overwhelming assault under the cover of tonight’s darkness. When we undertake this operation, we will stretch the American air forces beyond their breaking point. They won’t be numerous enough to stop the bridge building taking place in countless locations. In a few hours, much of our armored force will cross the Nile and smash the insignificant defenses we’ll face. Once we do, our tanks will race across the Sinai and reach Israel in less than a day. When the Israelites respond, Syria and Lebanon will seize the opportunity and strike from the north while the Palestinians do battle from within.”

“Do you believe the plan you propose will achieve such results?”

“Our emissaries assure me all of Islam is awaiting a sign to begin the final battle to conquer the heretics. And this time, when we attack Israel, things will be quite different than in the past. It won’t be like the fruitless battles in previous wars. We’re too strong, and too determined. We’ll place a death grip upon the interlopers. From every direction, we’ll squeeze the life out of those who for more than seventy years have shamed us and denied the Arab world’s rightful place in Palestine. In three days, you’ll ride triumphantly into Jerusalem. It will be a grand sight, forever uniting two billion believers under your banner. We won’t be denied by the Jews this time. Victory will be ours. With your own hands, you’ll tear the first stone from the Wailing Wall and forever remove the Hebrew scar from the sacred mosque at the Dome of the Rock.”