The Everpresent Threat

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Tempting the Priest

Sayyed Moghadeem-Maraheh and Ferial Roustayi were in charge of a group of Jihadi’s who were in charge of another group of Jihadi’s who were to kill whoever got in the way and then hole up there, establishing a communications link with the various cadres.

What they had not counted on was a certain Father James Doyle, a Vietnam vet, twice wounded and three times decorated.

When he encountered Cardinal McDermott, Bishops Watson and Dickinson, and several other priests in a bloody heap when he was saying the holy office on his morning walk, he realized something more than a break in was taking place.

Inside himself, his rage was quickly taking control of his rational thoughts. “What did I tell myself after the Tet Offensive? Why did I live when 90% of my unit was wiped out? Does this sight before me Lord, so much worse than anything I saw in Vietnam, give me the right to take a life again? How Lord, could you allow this to happen?” He looked over at the massive crucifix now shot through with bullet holes. And then it dawned on him. They must have...

He ran as fast as he could to the side alter. He was a big man who walked with an athletic grace honed over years and years of basketball, soccer, tennis, surfing, and whatever other athletic challenges came his way.

That athletic grace allowed him to cover the hundred feet from the dead priests to the place where the consecrated communion wafers were stored. As Father Doyle suspected, the two gold doors had been shot off and the communion wafers were gone.

That was the final attack. These were not neighborhood thugs or Satanists who would oftentimes break into Catholic and other churches in hopes of stealing communion wafers to use in their black masses. This was something entirely new.

Whatever it was, Father Doyle knew enough about ballistics and bullets and wounds to know that the Cardinal, his Press Secretary, and his three assistants had been murdered with rounds from AK-47’s. It was time to act.

“As I recall St. Agustin taught about a Just War. Well, seeing you like that Cardinal, makes me want to make Just War. What is it that allows the Just War? What are the conditions of a Just War? What is this, Lord? My final testing? Vietnam wasn’t enough? May I find the pikes and have the courage of Fr. Murphy in ’98.”

He walked over to the bodies of the fallen priests fully aware that this was neither the first nor the last time such men of God would fall for their faith. He said a quick Act of Contrition over them and ran for the protection of the rectory. He ran the steps until he found the false bookcase on top floor where he located a shotgun and pistol, concessions to the meanness of urban life these days and the long response time of the Capital police.

When Father Jim Walsh had been murdered in his sleep by a crack-enraged halfwit in the Germantown Parish of St. Elizabeth’s, a secret Archdiocesan memo went out stating that all priests could own a gun to protect his life if he believed that was necessary.

Father Doyle thought it was necessary. He loaded both of his faith in his Second Amendment rights and began to barricade himself into a good defensive position.

Sayyed and Ferial, convinced they had succeeded in taking over the Cathedral without being noticed, now radioed to his full unit, which had been hiding inside the Islamic Research Institute a block away, to join them. Under the guise of researching and studying common ground for greater understanding between Muslims and others, the Islamic Research Institute had fed thousands of hours of video tape of vulnerable American targets to jihadi cells worldwide.

The Institute was so successful it have even placed visiting “professors” at Catholic University who videotaped Washington from one of the highest spots in the area. These “professors” and “research associates” now gathered a small arsenal and headed to the Cathedral.

Like painful memories of Vietnam or doubts of his true vocation, doubts attacked Father Doyle as he went from window to window of the rectory putting thick oak furniture against the windows. When he saw the column or heavily armed Jihadi’s running down the back alley, all doubts about the rightness of his cause vanished. He leveled a bead on the Jihadi’s and opened fire. Four of those in the lead dropped.

In seminary school Father Doyle had studied the Boxer Rebellion. The story of the priest who filled beer bottles with gasoline for Molotov cocktails and helped them repel a force of thousands always stayed with him. The memory had sent Father Doyle into the basement to load the gasoline for the lawn mower into bottles that he put a rag in and which he was now dropping on the Jihadi’s.

Fully locked and loaded, his Vietnam fighting spirit returned. He peaked outside and saw that the Jihadi’s were massing to make an assault. Cradling his newly found AK-47 he let go a full clip into them.

Then he began to laugh at the irony that he had become a priest to get over the horror of battle and war and here he was so many years later pouring lead into his fellow humans. “Sweet, Jesus, forgive me!” he yelled, and squeezed the trigger at another small group.

Thirty years ago the Hunaffi Muslims, an earlier version of the American-born traitors and saboteurs currently killing Americans, had attacked B’nai B’rnth only a block away from St. Mathew’s Cathedral.

He had studied enough Church history to know that in every century since the 7th Century when the original Jihadi’s had poured out of the Arabian Peninsula to slaughter whoever would not convert, as a bulwark of Western Civilization, the Catholic Church was also attacked.

In 732 at Tours in modern day France to Vienna in 1642 to today, there was an unbroken believe among Muslims that they could forcibly convert the West to the beliefs of the warrior Mohammed.

Only the West, where history was used and discarded like a common suburban shopping mall, had forgotten this 1300 year-old goal of the Jihadi’s. The current Jihadi’s were correct when they argued from their mosques, in their literature, in their news media, and on their websites that they were merely continuing one of the longest-lasting world traditions. It was this Western ignorance they hoped to exploit to world domination.

As he was about to lay down another volley in the alley he heard a knock at the back door. He thought it might be the Jihadi’s trying a new strategy for getting in. Then he recognized it as the knock the little religious community share to prevent home invasion, a three-two knock sequence. Somehow, Father Russo had avoided the Jihadi’s and was knocking at the rear door of the rectory.

Father Doyle pulled back the refrigerator he had blocking that door, opened it and quickly ushered Father Russo inside. “Thanks John. You’re probably wondering what is going on. The President is hostage. Everyone is to remain indoors until it’s all over. I couldn’t help but think about the Cardinal. Is he upstairs?” Father Russo could see by the look on Father Doyle’s face under the sweat and dirt and pain, the answer.

“They got ’em, Paul. At 6:00 am mass. It’s a scene too gruesome to see even if we could get into the Cathedral which we can’t because it’s crawling with these guys. I’ve held them off the best I can but there are just too many of them. Are you handy with a gun?”

“Aim and shoot, right? Why, do you have an extra one around?”

“Two of them came in with AK-47’s, pistols, grenades and plenty of bullets. They thought they could kill me I guess. By the grace of God I was able to overpower them and get their weapons. I’ll give you half of what I have and maybe the both of us can stand them off.”

Father Russo had heard the confession of Father Doyle’s enough times to know his guilt about Vietnam. He sensed now that he needed to bolster his spirit if they were going to live.

“John...remember how Christ chased the money lenders out of the temple? He got pretty angry and violent. We need to do the same. I don’t like it any more than you do but we can both save quite a few lives today. We’ll both just have to make a quick peace with God if this is it for us. Still...

I know your record in Vietnam. Let’s put that to use so we live to see the Church defended and the Cathedral restored. The Cardinal would want no less. Guess we get to defend the faith like they said when we were slapped in the face during our Confirmation, eh?

How many can say they defended the One, True, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic faith against Mohammedians? Did the others who say Mass with the Cardinal also get it?”

Father Doyle nodded.

“Well, then let’s do our best.”

Father Doyle and Father Russo bounded up the steps of the cavernous rectory to the third floor. Father Doyle concentrated on shooting anything that moved and Father Russo lit the Molotov cocktails like they were at the Boxer Rebellion in China. As wave after wave of Jihadi’s struck at the rectory they were driven back and killed by the two priests.

They weren’t the only ones accomplishing that task that week. The American people are a heavily armed people. The Jihadi’s discovered this fact at a number of places.

In Colorado, when they attacked the Rocky Flats nuclear weapons manufacturing facility in an effort to capture the nuclear triggers that are manufactured there, they were met by stiff resistance from heavily armed guards who used their truck CB radios to ask for help.

They got it. Hundreds and then thousands of armed citizens appeared when word spread throughout the community that the Jihadi’s were there with plans to do great harm to the citizens in the area. In addition, all employees of the plant had been required to keep their telephone number and an alternate number on file at the plant in the event of an emergency. The attack.

The Jihadi’s had come upon the plant in unmarked cars and trucks. They knew from experience, especially in Peru, how to attack utilities and they translated that experience into a very detailed plan to attack Rocky Flats.

The plan they used included diversionary attacks in Boulder, Denver and Lakewood to draw out and occupy the local and state police. Then, they directed their main units at seven points around Rocky Flats with much of the attack massed at two points.

The five fake attack points would draw precious men and weapons from the plant’s security force while the main attack points would penetrate and proceed to the heart of the installation where the nuclear devices were assembled.

It was a good plan that almost worked but for three points. One, the Air Force had enough F-18’s at nearby bases and they were able to use them effectively against the Jihadi’s once they were notified. Two, the plant security worked better at defending itself than the Jihadi’s had expected. Three, there was Tim “Tooter” McGee.

“Tooter” was a name he earned when he was little and certain foods made him toot. He got so used to hearing it that when the 439 over whom he was responsible in the Rocky Flats that his real name would have sounded strange to him. He was a humble man who favored the plaid of the 1950’s. He was as bald as a football helmet and in perpetual battle to keep his weight under 280 on his six foot six frame. He was a first-class nerd.

Tooter was committed to his country and did not mind being the chief physicist on a project for a company that manufactured nuclear triggering devices. He was a firm believer in the Mormon faith, and believed strongly in one of its primary tenets -- survival.

So much so that when an emergency management consultant had shown up four years earlier Tooter, unlike many others in the plant, paid close attention to what the emergency management consultant said about minimizing risk and maximizing survival through use of the universal survival information system.

Where others had attended the course for perfunctory reasons, Tooter took it all very seriously. He memorized well who could be expected to try to take over a nuclear facility and especially international Jihadi’s groups and how they would do it.

In fact, as he looked out his window the group in funny garb with plenty of guns and bullets looked like just the type. Tooter grabbed his phone and dialed the number he had memorized four years earlier.

“189547364...this is ground zero. Institute Operation Winston Churchill. About fifty approach Gate 7. All armed at critical stage. Send info to all points. Send immediate help. Does anyone copy?”

From the other end of the line Tooter heard Duffy’s gruff voice say, “Tooter. Are you serious?”

“Number 189547364. This is a secure line so enough names. We have a Code 1! Code 1! Get us out of here before we’re all killed.”

Duffy was skeptical but he pushed the buttons on his screen that opened channels on all the backup cameras all over the plant grounds.

As well, satellite links clicked and whirled into place to monitor the entire plant from outer space. As he did, sirens blared. Floodlights came up out of the ground and began scanning. Sensor poles that detect hot metal and plastic explosives began to do their job.

Duffy looked at his computer screen and the hundreds of triangular blips indicated guns, unauthorized personnel, and weapons. “OH my God!” is all Duffy could say as he watched it unfold all over the screens before him.

All around Duffy security personnel came in and broke out the M-16s and M-60s that were kept in his vault for just such events. Pistols were packed on sides, grenades clipped to belts, knives were strapped on, and they then boarded all-terrain vehicles to take the battle to the enemy.

Tooter held out in his office relaying messages to Duffy about the exact location of the Jihadi’s relative to his position. Because he was so different, the management of Rocky Flats had relegated him to an office way at the end of the plant, south of the cafeteria.

With nothing but the raw courage of a man operating on instinct rather than thought, Tooter McGee ran around inside the plant making sure all the doors were secure. Then, he proceeded to the very inside of the acres of the plant to the vault where the plutonium for the nuclear triggers was stored. Tooter stood there heavily armed and staunch of purpose guarding the plants dearest possession.

Fortunately, the Jihadi’s never got near the plutonium because they were cut down all over the grounds around the plant and hunted down like rabid jackals. Unlike the cities, here people had guns to defend themselves, and lots of them. When their lives were threatened they took matters into their own hands. They shot back.

In the end, only three Jihadi’s were taken prisoner. Seven hundred and forty two were killed. And all because of the sharp eye of Tooter McGee.

Months after the fighting Tooter received a civilian Congressional Medal of Honor for serving his country so well, had a new town in Colorado named after him, had a candy bar named in his honor, and had a Tooter doll named in his honor.

Meanwhile, while the M-19, black Muslims, and July Fifth Strike Force were being eradicated in Colorado, Frank and his men had regrouped after the White House press room shoot out.

They headed down a hallway to the stairs to the lower bowels of the White House Complex, the place where Abdullah’s forces were likely to be holed up behind booby trapped nests.

What they were to discover was far beyond their wildest nightmares.

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