Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [44]
After attempting to decouple his emotions from the crisis with only limited success, he turned to his Commander-in-Chief and prayed reciting the Serenity Prayer he had learned somewhere so many years ago:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can, and the
Wisdom to know the difference.
Meditating on those wise words, he concluded that he couldn’t change his diagnosis and could only pray for the ability to accept the inevitable. He could, however, set the tone and tempo of the presidential succession that must soon take place. I’m going to do everything that is humanly possible to make this a smooth transition for Clayton, he vowed. His first postdiagnosis decision, therefore, was to remain in the hospital for another couple of days, as the doctor had suggested—time to recover and to think it all out.
He also knew the longest journey in the world was the one from the brain to the heart, the path that transformed an intellectual thought into a deep-in-the-gut belief. I’m going to die, and I might as well get used to the idea, he thought.
After a restless and agonizing night of reflecting on his mortality and its rippling effects, he was more at peace with his fate. His brooding thoughts focused now on the presidential succession. Clayton McCarty was a good man, but the challenges of transitioning during the Chunxiao crisis would be formidable.
15
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
21 September 2017
Prince Mustafa labored through an evening reception with delegates from the Gulf Cooperative Council. He struggled to maintain a friendly face as he contemplated the crucial meeting he would soon have with his conspiratorial brothers.
He excused himself early, under the pretense of not feeling well, and hastily left on a zig-zag route to his clandestine meeting. He had heard earlier today that security forces were picking up suspicious signals, and he was fearful of being followed. He was last to arrive and, following a short prayer, he started the meeting.
“My brothers,” he said, with tension in his voice all could sense, “the time for jihad is near. Our preparations are well under way. Unfortunately, this has necessitated stepped-up communications, military movements, and money transfers and this, of course, creates a serious risk of discovery. I have it on good authority that our government—and possibly even one or more foreign governments—is getting suspicious of increased electronic traffic and other activities they can’t fully explain. We cannot maintain this high state of readiness for long; it is simply too risky. We will have to move soon or go underground for a long time to come. I want to do a complete run-through of our plan tonight to make sure we are fully prepared to strike soon. If not, we will shut it down. Am I clear?”
“You are clear, Prince Mustafa,” said Prince Bawarzi. “Like you, I am concerned by the heightened risk of exposure from activities that have to be taken. I have been in constant communication with supportive brigade commanders, and they are conducting field maneuvers—even as we speak—that will better position them for our plan once launched.”
“Thank you, my brother,” Mustafa said, not wishing to set Bawarzi off on one of his tangents. “I will be calling on all of you shortly for a readiness report, but first I wish to say a few things.
“Permit me, if I may, to speak about our imminent revolution and jihad and why I believe it is precisely the right time in history for launching it.” He reached down for his bottle of water, never far from his side, and took a deep sip.
“It is our solemn duty to protect the teachings of Allah. The infidels from the West, Israel, Iran and, sadly, within our own government and society, have worked against this effort. It is not getting better; it is getting worse. At the same time,