Battle Storm (The Battle Series Book 2)

  Battle Storm

  By Mark Romang

  Copyright © Mark Romang 2014

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig, Inc.

  Author’s Note

  A human cannot physically fight a demon. The only way to defend against a demonic attack is to put on the full armor of God as described in Ephesians 6:10-18, and to pray. Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. James 4:7. But for the sake of writing an action-packed suspense novel, I temporarily altered the rules of engagement. Although Battle Storm is filled with spiritual metaphors and biblical truths, Battle Storm is not intended to be a guide book to the Earth’s last days. I wrote Battle Storm for entertainment purposes only.

  Chapter 1

  Knesset building, Jerusalem

  Soussan Golzar felt multiple eyes watching her every move. Yet she didn’t flinch, didn’t allow her fear to bleed through to the surface. Too much hung in the balance for her to exhibit alarm. Too many oppressed people had placed their dying hopes on her thin shoulders. She couldn’t fail them. She had to go through with the plan.

  She was inside the most secure building in the world: the Knesset building. A place where Arab and Jewish politicians bicker over Israeli legislation, where Mossad agents and the prime minister roam the building’s corridors, and a tourist destination that attracts nearly 20,000 visitors a month. This volatile human mix creates security nightmares and requires 200 armed Knesset guards to keep the peace.

  Soussan Golzar knew for certain security cameras filmed her movements. 400 cameras film the premises continuously. The real-time images are scrutinized on plasma screen televisions around the clock by Knesset guards in the operation center.

  But she took courage in the fact she was only a humble cleaning lady performing her assigned tasks. No one would be expecting a Jew to plant IEDs in the Knesset chambers, certainly not a trusted worker.

  Yet she only pretended to be a Jew. She was actually an Iranian with terroristic urges. She worked for Hamas, and was carrying out an operation five years in the making. Five years ago she seduced a Mossad agent and eventually became his wife.

  The identification papers given to her by Hamas operative Ibrahim Najjar were nothing less than topnotch. When she applied for work at the Knesset building she’d undergone a rigorous interviewing process that included vetting by Mossad. And no one seemed to doubt that she wasn’t a Jew, not even her doltish husband.

  Inside the empty Knesset chamber, Golzar pushed a vacuum cleaner behind the speaker podium. She glanced at her watch. She wanted to plant the explosive devices at precisely the same moment the Knesset guard performed its shift change up in the operations center. A new batch of guards took over at 11 pm.

  She only needed a few seconds to perform her nefarious deed, and counted on the confusion of drowsy guards handing control over to even sleepier guards to aid her cause.

  Tomorrow was zero hour for Operation Jezebel. Tomorrow morning Israel’s new government will be sworn in along with its newly elected prime minister. It will be an explosive moment for Israel, Golzar thought, grinning inwardly.

  She looked at her watch again. Two minutes until eleven pm; time to plant the bombs under the speaker podium. Golzar calmly wheeled the vacuum up to the podium and turned it so its back faced the security cameras. Golzar popped the front cover off the vacuum cleaner and discreetly retrieved two stainless steel canisters. Keeping the canisters out of sight, she dropped the bombs onto the floor underneath the podium. She then pulled the crevice hose from the vacuum and sank to her knees, pretending to clean under the speaker’s podium.

  Golzar pointed her shapely derriere upward to distract any Knesset guards possibly watching what her hands were doing on one of the plasma TV screens, and then pulled a cordless screwdriver from her cleaning smock. The stainless steel canisters had pre-drilled mounting straps soldered to them. Golzar had practiced the mounting procedure many times. And now, her heart pounding, she screwed both canisters to the podium’s wooden underside in an unobtrusive location.

  It took her twenty-five seconds to tighten eight screws and mount the bombs. Each 40 ounce canister had twenty ounces of C-4 and eighteen ounces of ball-bearings and nails, as well as a two ounce timer already armed and counting down. Golzar wiggled her way out from under the podium and stood up. She rewound the crevice tool hose and hung it up on the vacuum cleaner. She then continued to vacuum the narrow strip of carpet on the stage, working her way nonchalantly to the end of the stage.

  Golzar vacuumed the stairs and then joined the other cleaning ladies on the chamber floor. The adrenaline surging through her athletic body started to diminish. She felt jittery and could feel her face flushing. She took a deep breath, and then another. Stay calm, Soussan. You did it. Your grandmother would be so proud of you if she were alive, a voice in her head whispered.

  Golzar’s late grandmother was legendary in Iran. She had been the university student who cut the chains locking the U.S. embassy in Tehran, leading to the hostage crisis in 1979. The same revolutionary spirit that once filled her grandmother’s body now lived in Soussan, and she felt so much pride, so much joy that she carried on the family heritage.

  With any luck, the ball bearings and nails would tear into the prime minister, defense minister and the Knesset speaker, killing them all. All three men would be sitting close to each other behind the podium, naïve politicians oblivious to the hidden bombs ticking down to detonation.

  She joined the other cleaning ladies and helped finish up. Their shift ended in just a few minutes at 11:30. Golzar planned to leave the Knesset building and drive her Kia directly to Gaza City. She would then enter the smuggling tunnels under the city and make her way into Egypt. A short boat ride across the Gulf of Aqaba would deposit her in Saudi Arabia, where she would find refuge and eventually work her way back into Iran.

  Her journey through the tunnels might very well be the most dangerous part of her escape. The tunnels were small, humid, and dark as petroleum. There was a good chance she might succumb to heat stroke if she pushed herself to hard. But the tunnels offered her the best chance at evasion, her best chance at freedom.

  Golzar followed the cleaning crew out of the Knesset chamber and back toward their supply room, each step taking her closer to a historical moment: Palestinian statehood.

  She couldn’t turn back now. Operation Jezebel was under way. The world—especially the Middle East—was about to change forever.

  She couldn’t be happier.

  Chapter 2

  White House—the next morning

  Inside the Situation Room located in the West Wing, Watch Team duty officers scrambled to gather information to present the president his Morning Book—a daily brief containing the State Department’s Morning Summary, diplomatic cables and intelligence reports, as well as a copy of the National Intelligence Daily.

  Urgency driven by shock and outrage filled the 5,525-square-foot conference room. Situation reports from Jerusalem streamed in without letup. And the information continued to darken by the minute. The Knesset chamber was heavily damaged by multiple bombs detonating simultaneously during the swearing in of the new government. Worse, the defense minister, Knesset speaker, state comptroller and four senior Knesset ministers were declared dead on the scene. The new Prime Minister, missing an arm and a leg, fought for his life in an ICU emergency room. And nearly two-dozen other Knesset members sus
tained serious injuries.

  President Nathaniel Dixon, flanked by National Security advisor William Beckett and Chief of Staff Evan Caldwell, burst into the room. At six AM, eyes still heavy from interrupted sleep, President Dixon didn’t feel the need to look presidential. He wore blue jeans and jogging shoes and a buttoned-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves. No tie.

  Dixon took his customary spot at the head of the long mahogany table. An aide hurriedly brought the president his morning cup of coffee and the Morning Book. In a matter of seconds the conference room filled up to capacity. Whispered conjecture, gasps, and even a few curses floated around the room.

  Dixon sipped from his coffee mug and looked around the room. A scowl creased his brow. Only the vice president was missing. But he usually arrived late. The VP had to be driven to the White House from his private residence on the grounds of the U.S. Naval Observatory.

  Dixon flipped through the Morning Book out of habit, but only scanned the high points. The Knesset bombing would be the only topic discussed this morning. And he wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d taken quite a bit of heat from the media and his own staff for distancing America from Israel, even downplaying the ally status of the two nations. That decision and what America’s role with Israel going forth would certainly be reexamined.

  Vice President Jack Foley and his chief of staff entered the room. The VP sat down to Dixon’s right. And the meeting began with CIA Director Jon Schaeffer taking the floor.

  Schaeffer read somberly from a just received fax, detailing the latest developments from Jerusalem. “At approximately 11:27 AM, two IEDs detonated near or under the speaker’s podium in the Knesset building. Seven people have died, including Israel’s defense minister. Prime Minister Levi Dudevich is listed in critical condition and is undergoing emergency surgery at this moment. Power to head the Israeli government has been temporarily transferred to Acting Prime Minister Jonas Ginsberg until further notice. Shin Bet has announced that a person of interest is currently being questioned in connection with the attack…”

  President Dixon raised a hand and waved it. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Jon, but do we have any intelligence on this person of interest?”

  Schaeffer looked at the president and nodded. “The person being questioned is a Mossad agent.”

  National Security Advisor William Beckett whistled softly. “They think it was an inside job?” he asked.

  Schaeffer shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s too early to have a clear picture. But Knesset guards have a cleaning lady on videotape cleaning under the podium last night. This cleaning lady is married to the Mossad agent being questioned.”

  Vice President Jack Foley sat up straighter in his chair. “It would be a blessing if it turned out to be an inside job by one of Israel’s own. A bloodbath will ensue if it turns out the bomber is a Palestinian or a Syrian.”

  “What happened to the cleaning lady? Is she in custody?” Beckett asked.

  Schaeffer shook his head. His long face took on a ghostly pallor. “Not yet. And preliminary reports have it that she’s not really a Jew. It is quite possible she’s an Iranian posing as a Jew.” The CIA director’s last statement elicited groans and slumped shoulders all the way around the table.

  “That’s bad news, Jon,” Foley mumbled. “An Iranian spy working in Israel and married to a Mossad agent means the stakes have been raised to unseen levels.”

  Schaeffer pulled at his necktie. “I’m afraid there is no good news today, Mr. Vice-President. And at the sake of sounding like a doomsayer, I expect the news to get worse before the day is over.”

  “Another Knesset member has just died. That makes eight lives lost,” a Watch Duty officer called out from the second row of chairs surrounding the conference table.

  “So what is America’s role to be in the aftermath?” National Security Advisor William Beckett asked the others. It was Beckett’s task to steer the conversation to its logical ending, to a place with a majority consensus. “And how active will she be in this role?”

  “Other than condemning the terrorist act and expressing sympathy to Israel, we do nothing else,” President Dixon said matter-of-factly.

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, we have to do more than release a token statement of condolence. This is an unprecedented act of terror. What happened earlier today is akin to bombing the Capital Building while Congress is in session,” Schaeffer said.

  “It’s their problem, Jon, not ours,” the president shot back. “They brought this attack on by insisting on expanding their settlements.”

  “If we do nothing to help them in this great time of need, we essentially kiss Israel goodbye as an ally, sir.”

  “I concur,” Secretary of State Trina Davis said. “But for a different reason. There is a danger in taking the leash off Israel and letting them seek justice however they see fit. We need to stay involved in order to keep them from overreacting. On their own, Israel will only stir up a hornet’s nest in the Middle East.”

  President Dixon shook his head adamantly. “Since I distanced America from Israel in my acceptance speech two years ago, no terror acts have occurred on U.S. soil. Islamic radicals see us in a different light now. We’re not the great enemy anymore. And I intend to keep it that way.”

  “Mr. President, I respectfully disagree. Between the CIA and Homeland Security, we have stopped over a dozen terror acts from coming to fruition in the past twelve months alone. The respite from violence we’ve enjoyed lately is because of vigilance, not because our enemy hates us less,” the CIA director contended.

  Dixon stood up and began to pace around the long conference table, a habit he often performed when working out a solution to a vexing problem. At all hours of the day he could be seen strolling the White House corridors, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed in deep thought. “I’m not putting any more boots on foreign soil. And I will veto any attempts to do otherwise. Once the troops go in they never come out. We still can’t get out of Iraq and Afghanistan. And we’ve been in South Korea since 1950. We’re spread too thin as it is.” Dixon stopped pacing and looked at the CIA director. “We’re riding this one out, Jon. I’ll phone the president of Israel and express my heartfelt condolences. But that will be our only response. Understood?”

  An unblemished hand, exquisitely soft and beautiful, and invisible to the human eye, stroked the side of President Dixon’s head. The hand belonged to Lucifer, who had been watching and listening intently to the meeting since it first began. For the past 150 years the enemy of God and man spent the bulk of his time in Washington D.C., influencing legislators, undermining America’s freedoms, and whittling away the nation’s Christian beliefs and stubborn adherence to the U.S. Constitution. It had been tough going at first, but now the tide was turning more and more in his favor. Of all the presidents he’d influenced over the years, Dixon was the easiest to sway. His moral compass always pointed south. “Don’t let them bully you, my pet. You are the smartest person in this room by far. The others have no choice but to bow to your superior intellect and authority,” Lucifer whispered into Dixon’s ear as he continued to stroke the president’s head.

  Lucifer turned his regal head when he noticed a new arrival to the Situation Room. Drakon, his top general, drifted through the anti-eavesdropping wall and sidled up to him. Lucifer appraised his second in command with suspicion. At a height of nine-feet, Drakon stood nearly as tall as Lucifer. Dark eyes as black as onyx stones peered out from underneath a reddish-blonde mane that dipped low on his forehead. Symmetrically perfect muscles rippled on Drakon’s frame whenever he moved, and tucked away behind his v-shaped back were wings that stretched to twenty feet when fully unfurled. Only the countless battle scars inflicted by Michael and his vast heavenly army marred his great beauty. “Why are you here, Drakon? Why have you left the battle lines?”

  “I have learned of developments, events I knew you would find interesting, Master,” Drakon said, his voice melodic and powerful, yet undete
ctable to the humans sitting close by. “I wanted to report them to you face to face.”

  “You have my attention, Drakon.”

  Drakon nodded. “A few weeks ago I sent out scouts to observe the Maddix child. The scouts returned today with their assessment.”

  Lucifer felt excitement stir within him. “And what did the scouts have to say?”

  “They believe the child has reached the age of accountability.”

  “Are they sure?”

  “Yes, they have no doubts. The boy feels guilt whenever he disobeys his parents.”

  Lucifer grinned slyly. “Then it’s time. Go and kill the child at once.”

  “Consider it done, Master. How would you like me to do it?”

  “It doesn’t really matter how you kill him. All that matters is that the child dies. He cannot be allowed to confess his sins to God. If he does the Rapture will take place immediately. And we don’t want that, do we, Drakon?”

  “No, Master. I will take the child’s life within the next few days or less,” Drakon promised.

  “It would behoove you to commit the crime while the child’s father is not around. Andrew Maddix is a formidable adversary not to be taken lightly. Just ask the demon you replaced how resilient he can be,” Lucifer said, remembering how Maddix neutralized an entire demon platoon, including his top general.

  “I will keep your warning in mind, Master,” Drakon said just before departing through the wall as if it didn’t exist.

  Chapter 3

  Santa Fe, New Mexico—two hours later

  The old man walked purposefully, weaving his way among the dirty tents and battered shopping carts making up the homeless camp. Though bent over, he walked fast and strong, unaffected by the high altitude or the chilly mountain air. His scuffed boots crunched the red dirt and scattered pebbles lying on the hilltop, but did not slip.