Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [101]
“That’s true, but this isn’t one sided, you know. How do you think it feels when Americans are all seen as infidels?”
“Those who say such things aren’t speaking for me,” Faisal told him. “All I really want is peace throughout the world. That’s all any true Muslim wants. We believe in the blessed words of all of the prophets, from Moses to Jesus. We respect others and their religions, and all we ask is that they do the same in return.”
Jack knew all of this, of course. But it didn’t hurt to have a face to attach to it. He had stereotyped Faisal, mistrusted him, the moment he’d walked in the door. And he regretted that.
“That’s good to hear,” Jack said. “And you’re right. I will be more careful.”
Faisal nodded, satisfied to have had his say. He rose from his chair and gestured to the laptop. “This will take some time and I need to sleep. I’ll check its progress in the morning.”
“Thank you, Faisal. I know you didn’t have to help us, and I appreciate what you’re doing.”
Faisal gestured to Sara stretched out on the sofa. “She looks comfortable there, but you can’t sleep in that chair. I have a spare bedroom for when my family arrives. There’s a bed. You are free to use it.”
Then he stepped into the hallway and disappeared.
29
Exhausted as he was, Jack couldn’t sleep.
It was nice to be on a mattress again, and have the warmth of a working radiator, but he spent the next two hours unable to stop thinking.
There were big thoughts. He was unable to put aside the pieces of the puzzle, the disaster waiting for so many people if he failed. His tired brain told him to drop the whole thing in the lap of the FBI or the CIA but he didn’t dare. For one thing, they probably wouldn’t believe that “wacko” alarmist Jack Hatfield. For another, by the time that machine got into motion and up to speed, the event could well be in their rearview mirror.
There were smaller thoughts. He wept inside for his watch, violated by Swain and necessarily discarded like so many other parts of his life. He kept telling himself that it was only a watch, that he’d always have his memories, the good and the bad. It was like death. Be happy for the time you were together, the memories you built, rather than mourn the future that was never guaranteed.
Yet that watch had brought him comfort so many times over the years. A sense of calm. There was nothing that could ever replace it, and he cursed Swain for using him, for knowing instinctively that Jack would never leave something so valuable behind and using that knowledge against him.
Against all of them.
He remembered the violence and death that had descended on that apartment house and was overwhelmed by survivor’s syndrome. He took no solace in his own relative comfort and security. Despite his admonitions that Sara not blame herself for what had happened, Jack couldn’t fight off his own guilt. People had died because of his failure to realize he’d been used. And it was quite possible that many more would die before they saw an end to this.
“Stop it,” Jack finally said through his teeth. “You’re going to save lives!”
It was a tragic corruption of his comment about preferring the death of a hundred million Muslims to a hundred million non-Muslims. The lives of dozens of people had to be surrendered in the hope of sparing millions more.
That was the math of modern-day antiterror activities. It was only a waste if he failed. That kept returning him to the biggest thought of all:
“The infidels will soon see destruction that will make 9/11 seem like child’s play.”
Operation Roadshow, coming to a city near you.
When? How? That question had yet to be answered.
Jack was finally starting to drift off when he heard the faint flush of a toilet down the hall. A moment later a silhouette appeared in the bedroom doorway—Sara, barely visible in the light from the window.
“You left me alone,” she said softly.
“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Probably happy to be rid of me for a while.”
“Never,” he told her.
She came into the room. “I said some