Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [109]
The tunnel seemed to go on forever into the darkness.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Tally asked.
“More than I imagined,” Haddad said, thinking that if this tunnel led where he believed it did, the final piece of Allah’s plan was indeed in place. “How far does it go?”
“It branches in different directions,” Tally told him. “Some of the old-timers say there are at least eighty-seven thousand square feet down here.” She gestured. “But if you follow this tunnel right here without deviating from the path, it’ll take you straight to the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Amazing,” Haddad said. “And it also leads to the place we spoke about?”
She nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
She took the lead, working her way through the tunnel with the confidence of a regular visitor. They walked through the dark tunnel for quite some time. As they turned to their right, moving into another tunnel, Haddad saw that it opened out into a space that could have been a bunkhouse or a storage supply. They continued past it, took another turn, and the floor began to rise, getting steeper with every step. They crested the rise and made another turn into a tunnel on their right, where it opened into a single rectangular room. There was another narrow shaft at the far side, a rebar ladder leading upward into darkness.
“This is it,” Tally said, stopping.
“You’re absolutely certain?”
“Oh, I’m sure. It’s right over your beautiful Egyptian head.”
Haddad’s lips parted in a smile and Tally came toward him with a seductive look on her face. “Happy?”
“Better than you will ever know,” Haddad told her as he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her into the cement wall, her eyes going wide as she slammed against it.
He ripped at her flannel shirt, breaking away the buttons, then gripped her exposed left breast and squeezed as hard as he could, enjoying the look of pain and terror in her eyes.
This was how all infidel whores should be treated, Haddad thought as the woman squirmed under his grip, her features contorted. They needed to be taught their place in the world.
When he was done here, there would be one less pig inhabiting the earth.
Thanks to her, countless others would soon follow.
31
Jack and Sara flew from London on a private charter, a Gulfstream G550 courtesy of Senator Harold Wickham.
Although Jack had been reluctant to get the senator involved before, he knew he had no choice now but to bring him into this mess.
Harold Wickham was a Texas oilman, a hard-line hawk who always put country first and politics last. Jack had met him several years before, when he and two fellow senators were visiting Iraq’s green zone while the search for WMDs was still ongoing. Jack had interviewed Wickham for GNT. Wickham had assured him that the weapons were out there somewhere and it was only a matter of time before they were found.
Off the record, however, Wickham confessed to Jack over a beer that he wasn’t all that confident that they ever would find the weapons. He had become convinced that the U.S. was either victim to sloppy intelligence or—more likely—that the WMDs had been quietly smuggled into Iran.
Neither scenario made the senator happy.
Over the years, Jack had interviewed Wickham many times, and during the days of Truth Tellers, the Texan became a regular panelist who always had insightful observations about the news and politics of the day. The senator leaned heavily right, but had an independent streak that sometimes rankled his fellow Republicans when he refused to vote the party line.
It was a trait that Jack had always admired. But what had sealed the deal was Wickham’s unwavering support after the public relations fiasco that had destroyed Jack’s career. Wickham had even made the rounds on the news show circuit, trying to rehabilitate Jack’s reputation, but the tone had already