American Jihadi

By Brahma Thomas and Hani Al Hadidi

All over the world, young Muslims are watching closely at the developments that are happening around the area between Iraq and Syria, the activities of ISIS. Many are contemplating on the idea of joining the ISIS and become Jihadis.
All over the world, nations are worried about their quality young men and women leaving for ISIS.
All over the world, especially in the USA, UK, and India, people are discrediting and discriminating against Muslims and Islam, because of what the terrorists did or do or plan to do in the name of Islam, misusing a holy path that says how to realize humanity, how to live the right way to become eligible to enter heaven.
All over the world, forces working against governments and humanity, promise youngsters to become Jihadis to be welcomed at the heavens by 'pure virgins' and be provided with all the comforts.
All over the world, everyone is promised the heavens but all are having one hell of an issue - This.
The book, 'American Jihadi', is for all those promising youngsters, who are being promised by all and sundry.
This book is for all those who want to understand why and how terrorists are created and by whom.
This book is for all those governments who must be given the wakeup-call now or never.
And, all who love an action-oriented Hollywood movie in a Book form.
John Madison, Texan, oil refinery expert, a thoroughbred American, who doesn't have a high opinion of Muslims and Islam, but who does have exotic dreams of Arabian Nights and Belly Dancers, was asked to go relocated to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. It all starts well, what with a strange woman as his co-passenger next seat, a woman with a stunning frame no man or woman can resist, a woman who could very much be his femme-fatale.
His dreams of an exotic Arabian adventure vanish as his flight lands at Riyadh, and when he finds the atmosphere there hostile. Along with a general bad feeling towards Americans and America, there were rioters forcing the refinery under his care, almost nonfunctional. But being a diehard optimist, and an authority in persuading people to do what he thinks right, he plans on having an understanding with all his coworkers, to establish a harmonious situation that would facilitate a peaceful living and working condition in the desert kingdom, at least in his refinery.
He begins his efforts, to understand Muslims and Islam in general, and succeeds, along with the discovery of what is happening around the Middle East cauldron, and how his own country's espionage agency was involved in creating a volatile atmosphere around the world in which terrorists and dictators thrive.
He successfully reaches an accord with his coworkers, finally, and bonhomie prevails.
But the short-lived harmony gets shattered to pieces with incidents he would never understand.
And with his very life on the block, he soon finds out what, why, and how.
Along with the true meaning of the words, Muslim, Islam, Jihad and Jihadi.
And he becomes the AMERICAN JIHADI.
I am American.
I know I am the strongest.
But am I the greatest?
I need more oil for my country
And more gas for my car.
But to have Arab oil in my hands
Should I spill Arab blood in their sands?
I know I am the strongest.
But am I the greatest?
Only he who dares taking responsibility shall
Stand up and say I am American.
Why the USA government has to be spending more of its taxpayers’ billions on its war on terror instead of on its citizens’ Healthcare and Personal income improvement?
It was the USA government’s bullying attitude that sowed the seeds for the terrorists that exist in Afghanistan and other countries today. The war on terror is actually a war that it brought upon itself. According to the Annual US Treasury Report on Spending and Revenue for the years 1999-2012, closer to 3 percent of the total GDP was spent extra on defense, in addition to the allotted defense budget,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brahma Thomas
• Release date: Apr 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310617577

Brahma Thomas

Brahma Thomas is an author, writer, lyricist, scriptwriter, poet, and all that got to do with words, but just short of a Wordsmith for that title is already taken. He can write anything as long as the creative juice flows and the tank is always full, supplied by an infinite source. He can write for you, me, and anyone, producing and publishing a book just from your notes. A qualified engineer and paramedic, he freelances.

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AMERICAN JIHADI

By Hani Al Hadidi & Brahma Thomas

Text copyright © 2015 Hani Al Hadidi & Brahma Thomas

All Rights Reserved

Acknowledgements

All those bravehearts who dared to blow a whistle.

All those diehards who chose to stand up to, for, and against.

All those lionhearted who smile back at death.

I salute you, the true Jihadis.

Prologue

The man entered his apartment and found it immersed in pitch-black darkness. He reached for the light switch on the wall and flicked it on.

Nothing happened.

He closed his eyes and waited for them to get accustomed to the darkness.

When he opened them he could see the blinds on the windows drawn. That was not exactly how he left them.

With no lamps turned on, the room was shrouded in an air of obscurity, giving out a nocturnal feeling to the whole place. He tried to peer through the darkness, as intuition told him that someone had been rummaging through everything, searching for something.

He stepped into the living room and found that ‘possible someone’ was sitting on the couch, though he could make out nothing more than a dark shape, that too probably because of it being a shade lighter.

You think I’m afraid to die? But his voice was not too convincing and he could not believe it though he meant every word of it sincerely.

You’re such a dickwit than I thought you could be, really. The reply from the couch was kind but bordered more on mockery before turning reproachful. "But this is not about you, dammit, it’s about her! Give me the manuscript if you want to save her."

He whimpered against the dark figure sitting on the couch, laying deep in thought. No one could tell what was running through his troubled mind, but he finally gave up, shrugged, reached into the bag that he was carrying and took out a set of handwritten papers. He sled them towards the figure on the couch, across the glass-topped solid wood cocktail table.

Thank you! Umm… what’s this… looks like you have added something to the title… Vish…Vish… whatever!

A lengthy glimpse at those papers with eyes probably much accustomed to the very low light was taken before the announcement was made. I’m sorry it had to come to this, but it’s for the greater good. And of all people you should know that better.

The figure on the couch crossed legs. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.

A silenced gun came out.

The man stiffened, expecting the blow that was imminent, and they stared through the dark, at each other, a good full second. The figure on the couch pulled the trigger, letting out a muted bullet that went right between the man’s eyes. Blood and brain splattered on the wall behind.

As sudden as the first drop of rain on hitting the earth, the world ended for him.

Chapter 1

John Madison was handling the wheel of his Volvo XC70 4x4 Sport with all his patience, which was, actually, nil at that moment.

It was a pleasant August Monday morning, as much pleasant as all Monday mornings could be for those who love work, but the day started off with nothing much to offer in the 8 AM Houston traffic. He was somewhere between Reliant Stadium and the Texas Medical Center.

Halt and go… Halt and go… That’s the way… I don’t like it…

He turned on the radio for traffic news and just caught some breaking news.

…This is Kay Yoo Hecsh Ef… the voice was reassuringly his hometown buddy Gary Harper, the accent mistook as Scottish by others. …Thish jusht in…

Gary Harper went on, There has been yet another bombing in the Middle East… American forces based in Aden, Yemen, have been required to take action after several terrorist bombings in Aden City, this afternoon…several civilians were also killed in the crossfire… local hospitals sources report that there are many casualties with serious wounds. Initial reports suggest that the number of casualties might be relatively higher after the security forces, backed by American Apache helicopters, swung into action in the crowded…

Wow, thought Madison, We Americans are always ready and shooting at the drop of a hat! We kill or get killed. No matter what, just anything for world peace!

John Madison was in the right side of his forties, Texan, dark, tall, single and thereby an eligible bachelor but might be staying that way till eternity, oil refinery expert, product of MIT, employed with one of America’s top refinery equipment manufacturing and consultancy companies in Houston. The Cherokee have a old saying that roughly translated as, Study, research, have ambition, be a scientist; too much of all these, be a mad scientist. Madison would laugh if he were to hear this for he was an able candidate, no doubt, but never ever had lost his head, even under trying conditions.

He believed in a world that was peaceful, united, technologically advanced and with a culture to match.

Like, what we have right here, right now, in the United States of America.

What was wrong in that? After all, it was a reasonable expectation of any good citizen.

The USA was the country he loved, his dear own country that should well be the role model to the whole world.

Look at the rest of the world out there! Illiteracy, hunger, wars, diseases…what pathetic living conditions! Look at the USA. We have so much to offer to the world. Not just economic aid, but a whole way of educating them on how to live. How we live.

Our Culture. Our sophisticated living conditions. Our peaceful co-existence of 50 states. We, Americans are proud to be called as Americans.

Why, everyone loves to be called American! Look at the number of people from every country of the world, every corner of the world, coming or trying to come to the US, dreaming of becoming US citizens, dreaming of someday being called as Americans.

Speaking of immigrants, Madison was well aware of too many immigrants trying to get into the USA day after day, and the local population’s view about that kind of influx, conveniently forgetting the fact that most of them, if not almost all of them, were immigrants or descendants of immigrants, in the present or in the past.

But why should they, those people from all over the world, all come here when we can make their own countries just like our USA?

All those people are tired of wars and brawls in their countries, no doubt. They are tired of diseases and dictators. But if we could teach them on how to live, how to live in their own countries that is, on how we live, we could make their countries as good as ours.

The best way to do this is to take our culture to them.

Madison once saw a YouTube video about ownerless dogs making such a ruckus in the streets of some poor Asian country.

But how can we do that if they fight like those street dogs, fight among their own, bite and kill each other?

Before we take our culture to them, we must ensure peace in their midst.

They have knives and swords. They might have guns too. They might even have big guns. But we have the biggest guns, haven’t we? Who is more qualified than the USA to bring peace to them and act as Keeper of that peace?

We are the country that stands by liberty and freedom. Anywhere in the world, if liberty and freedom are threatened, we have a duty and thereby the right to go there and establish peace and stability.

He believed, was actually sold on the idea, that that kind of peace should essentially be bought over the barrel of a gun. Like the British, and the Romans before them, he believed that the rest of the world was full of barbarians, and it was his country’s duty to take to them real peace and culture.

Sure, they all have their myriad of cultures and customs, but were all outdated and obsolete when compared to the stand-now-stand-till-eternity culture of America.

Someone looking at him, what with all those MIT qualification, exposure and expertise, might be only surprised to find that kind of attitude towards the rest of the world, but Madison would insist that the cultures of the third world countries were a defunct lot and need much refurbishing if they all want to survive in this world where the US reigns supreme. It was the only superpower and the sole and whole guardian of world peace, freedom and liberty.

Not so long ago, when he read that some Chinese commie guy had told the world that peace flows from the barrel of a gun, he took it by heart. But what the commie said was just before the world’s economy was getting dictated by the availability of one single commodity - Oil. So, Madison came to the conclusion that both oil barrels and gun barrels play a vital role in keeping up the peace of the world these days.

He had one more theory. There are no internal fights in the place where gun barrels are made. But, all the fights are happening, or seemed to be happening, only in the place where they make those oil barrels, the exemption being America, for even the British and the Russians are having separatists’ fights on their turfs. One need not even think about the Arabs, as the worst fights happened and were happening only in there, in Middle East.

The Middle East was always the cauldron of issues. Fights, wars, dictators, and now, terrorists and terrorism.

Jesus, why should they have that kind of warmongering attitude? Must’ve got something to do with their culture, especially their religion.

Madison had another theory that the Arabians are nothing but warmongers, right from ancient times, and worse from the days of their religion’s inception.

On that fateful day, immediately after the attacks and on hearing the news about the names of those who piloted the aircrafts in the dying moments, enraged like most of his fellow Americans, Madison got a copy of the translation of the Koran and tried to read and understand what he guessed as the warmongering attitude of Muslims.

Though he could not find any support to his already-concluded theory - the book was all about Compassion of God and a whole lot of good habits required of a true follower - he did find certain phrases, like Jihad, and through the translation, the expected commitment from a Muslim to even die and become a martyr in upholding the ‘hiqq’, the Truth, as said in his religion, Islam.

Reading only what he wanted to read, it took him exactly 10 seconds to come out with the theory that all Muslims are terrorists. The next day when he went down to his office, he made a thorough search of the names of the personnel and prepared a list. Then he went straight to his boss’s cabin and showed the list only to hear that the firings had already been done - there was a call from a private line last night - thank you.

That evening when he was at his club, The Slurry, where all the refinery equipment engineers of Houston would come to unwind and get drunk and yet show up at their workplace the next mornings soberer than Saint Peter, he made a point to Jim Harrison.

Jim Harrison was actually from San Jose, an active member of an antiwar group when he was not on duty hours at the Valero. He was trying to explain to the well-educated but angry-as-hell crowd around him that war may not be the real solution and also the fact that majority of the people where the terrorists come from are peace-loving, law-abiding citizens. Madison told him pointblank that all Muslims are terrorists.

They were warmongers with a religion but without money, but after they found their oil, they are terrorists with a religion and with money… Madison punch-lined, …Money to kill.

A Muslim is not a terrorist, Harrison replied. Like a terrorist can’t be a Muslim. It’s totally absurd that you call them that and send our mighty army to burn the whole barn just because a shrew from there bit your toe.

Madison always tried to reason with those who are against war, but he never hesitated to make that reasoning thing the wolf’s logic if that was needed to home his point.

Middle East, the Arabians got it all underneath their sands, and they got more of it than his home state and all of America put together. The US might now be the largest producer what with the shale rocks mining augmenting the total oil production. But they, the Arabs, produce almost all of the oil needed for almost the entire world. Why, his own company’s major share of business was from the Middle East.

Without the Middle East oil, the wheels of the world would stop, and the USA, being the only superpower, would collapse like ninepins, since its superpower status was firmly based on its riding the wheels of the rest of the countries.

If there were no USA, there would be no peace anywhere in the world and the entire civilization of the world would perish. So, it all came back to the Middle East region.

And exactly this was the region that was full of fights. These Arabs, they always fight. When are they going to learn to live in peace? Luckily for them the USA is there, to go and establish peace.

We have done it in the past. We bled for them. We bled for world peace.

We will do it now too. Now they have one more issue and that was and already making the USA bleed more profusely than ever. Terrorism.

The flow of oil is important. Without oil there will not be an economy, and without an economy, whatever its level, there will not be a government, and without a government there will be only anarchy. This is true for any country, the mighty USA included.

Terrorism stems from the region that holds the oil. Those people fight among them and they had brought the fight to our doorsteps, inside the living room, and then right into our backyards. If we don’t want to fight them in our backyards, we must go there and fight them in their own streets. There really should be more attacks made by American forces for us and also on behalf of other countries than talks and negotiations by our diplomats.

Be it anywhere in the world, if there is a brawl, we step into it, fire a few shots, kill a few men, and establish a stunned peace. We should do this all the time. Those idiotic barbarians are ready to kill each other and we are the only ones with common sense and what if we kill a few of them, they already want to kill each other! I’d say, if the Martians have some petty brawls they should call us and we should send our Space Corps, if we have one that is!

Almost all of them were screaming for Muslims’ blood. Jim Harrison was silenced that evening. He might have thought it would have been better that way instead of arguing with those highly educated and highly drunk, but fellow Americans with more alcohol in their stream of patriotic blood.

It was true that Madison believed today in peace bought over the barrel of a gun, but it was also true that he had been taught early on by his father that war was wrong.

What we’re doing is not right, John, his father said a long time ago. He had been sent home, less an arm and a leg, from Nam. Anywhere, any fight, and we’re the first to get there, and start throwing the punches. Our allies might sit, watch, and take stock of the situation. But we always shoot first and watch later.

We’re a superpower and we must act like one. We must have responsibility with the might we got. Interfere in others’ fights, bully the weak, and ultimately this is what America will get in return. He would nod at his invisible arm and leg.

His buddies at the local bar would not agree, but Big Madison would not care either. They talked at his bulldozer back, called him chicken, of course when he was not around, and young John was in total confusion.

His father was the first one in the town to go get drafted when war broke out. He adored his Dad then, more so now with his heroics mentioned in the papers and his personal loss, but why is he talking peace now, when all he got to do is give his son a gun and let him go kill the ‘VeeCees’, like they all say?

Your Uncle Sam wanted me to lend a hand there, Lucy dolly! Too bad the commies wanted a leg as well! Dad would tell Mom, the angel sent from her heavenly abode to spend some time on earth as his wife, and now as the limbs that he had lost and the spirit that had needed tending. She would agree with him whenever he remarked that there would have been no greater disappointment for him as a parent than if John himself were to join the army, or for that matter, anything to do with the American military.

And to think of the irony of it all, it was actually his father who had encouraged the little boy in the great American ideas of guns, horses, cars and stuff. His uncles Thomas and Gerard, the boys called them Uncle Tom and Uncle Rudy, were once part of the trio, The Madison Brothers. The town people called them, The Three Big ‘uns, ‘uns’ being anything from guns to ones, no one knew for sure. But they all had in their possession, everything interesting, including a vast armory, and they taught their next generation everything they knew about the stuff they loved so much. Perhaps they all wanted to impart what they were imparted with from their previous generation.

Young John used to spend most of his playtime with his uncles and their toys, his father joining them more often till he himself went to serve his country.

But everything had changed since his return.

Suddenly, Madison screeched to a halt at a red. Since he had been absorbed so completely on the radio story and had drifted back to moments of his childhood, he had not been focusing enough on his driving.

The stuck and stranded truck seemed to be blocking the entire road, creating a thicker traffic jam at the intersection.

"Damn! This is going to take a while!" He murmured.

He had a big presentation to give at the office but had quite the wild evening out the night before. And, right now, he was running late. It was all because of what happened last night.

He let his mind wander on what happened last night.

What the hell has happened, really?

It was all supposed to be a plain as hell, Boys’ Night-out, which it would have been, and it was impossible for him to refuse, when the guys suggested it after a rain-checked, overworked, Saturday evening.

It had started off like any other casual Sunday night and they ended up at The Slurry, the Houston refinery equipment engineers’ nighttime pasture. There had been a few more drinks and he was enjoying the time with his friends. Somehow the sailing had ended in a brawl.

Actually, it had started with him becoming irritated by the way a finger was pointed at one of his friends, possibly accusingly, by one of the club’s senior members, Harold Robertson of QBN Consultants LLC. Madison walked up to the QBN group, had confronted the man, asking him why he was pointing a finger at his friend to which the man had just laughed.

Not too many people handle things well when they were getting laughed at, especially when a large quantity of larges had gone in. Madison was among the larger group on this. He did not handle it well and what had meant to be a friendly debate quickly turned into a heated argument.

It had started cruising with the usual yelling and pushing and had ended with punches, of the solid kind, being thrown on both sides. The club had erupted into a giant bowl of brawl when the fight broke out with multiple people joining in, throwing a myriad of punches, both liquid and solid kinds.

Madison had made it out without any problems because he got lucky. One of the newly appointed hostesses had taken a liking to him and had helped him to hide even as the police were called in. When the officers arrived, she already helped tugging him inside one of the storage closets. The officers arrested the others that were involved.

Of course the secretary of the club had hoped that law would not be alerted. He had his reputation to maintain but the local laws became tougher after 2001. Instead of respecting his wishes within his club, someone had called 911 almost immediately, it was learnt later.

When the hostess, Celina, came back, she looked at Madison and told him, You owe me a date. She then helped him escape by escorting him out the backdoor of the club. Madison responded by giving her a long tight hug and then a very passionate tighter kiss. Before she could recover, the man disappeared into the night without even taking her phone number.

After he left the club, he went straight to a small drink-house where he was able to quietly get some drinks and reflect on the night. He sat there thinking about how he was disappointed that he had broken his own promise not to fight.

In his twenties and thirties, Madison always loved to fight. Not in the ring or arena but in bars and streets. It was easier to provoke him than a hungry African lion. All with his well-built frame and handsome face, his friends loved to watch him fight, fight for them, fight for him.

Someone once told him that he was the very personification of the USA. Tall and strong, highly educated and qualified, expensively employed, always ready to rush anywhere and throw a fistful of dollars and a fist as well if a friend cried help. Madison brushed off that remark but inside he was so pleased that on his laptop he had a Photoshop file created with his face replacing Captain America.

What that someone added in a silent mode and that too inside the safety of that someone’s toilet were he was always ready to bully the weak into submission when he found one, spend money or fight for friends only if he found those friends useful to him in some way, ready to shift his stance anytime if it were beneficial to him and him alone, help a friend and also help his enemy a little on the side so that that friend would come to him for more help, and some more things which would be not so dissimilar to the foreign policies of USA.

Yes. John Madison was the very personification of the US of A.

The Houston refinery equipment engineers are a known group of people within a group, and all Madison wanted was to be a part of the inner circle in that group. He wanted nothing more than just be successful in his profession, in his career, in his life, and he knew that fighting with people was not going to win him any brownie points in any industry. His boss told him once for he himself was like that once.

After a couple of drinks and after deciding that he had beat himself up enough he ended up back home. Although he did not really know where he was going at the time, it always seemed to work out for him. He was sleeping safely and soundly in his own bed, his Volvo safely and silently in its own parking space, by dawn.

This morning, Madison was trying hard to put the events of yesterday evening well behind him, at least temporarily for the moment. He did not have time to think about Celina at 8 AM when his mind had to be focused on more serious issues. There were too many things on his plate and he knew he needed to keep himself in check so all the priority matters could be addressed.

Plus there were all of these events taking place in the world around him that were sure to make any man wonder what his and his country’s future were going to hold. The everyday news of terrorists and terror attacks.

He considered himself as the most patriotic person available, and in private, and without the knowledge of even the company that had him employed, he was onto the designing of an ultra smart bomb, something that can be likened to the one he had seen in one of the Bond movies in which there was a media-mogul bent on, what else, global domination. But Madison’s ‘Dril n’ Tel’, as he named it, was totally AI and also miniaturized for vast storage and usage.

He was worried that over time there was going to be a war waged on the United States, and as its loyal and able citizen, who was prevented from joining its military arm because of a mellowed out Nam Vet, he had lots to give for his country.

A smile lit up his face when he thought about his invention terrorizing the very enemies in their deep underground caves and beds.

But often and deep down, and more so because he once hero-worshipped his father and loved him so much with a sincerity that could only be found in classic stories, loved his stories of men like Jesus, Buddha and Gandhi, he had fleeting thoughts, moments of self-retrospection, a question in particular that seemed as much weird as those show-the-other-cheek guys.

The people of the countries we go and help get peace and prosperity, they show much hatred toward us, true, but are we the ones to blame? Are we the ones who sowed the seeds?

After his father was sent home, he could see both his parents becoming interested in Eastern philosophies, like, Karma, Yoga, Meditation, and all those Brown-Skins’ stuff - he called them Brown-Skins like he called those Presbyterians in and around the town, Blue-Skins. Till he was between hay and grass, and a couple of years well into it as well, he listened to everything his parents would suggest except sitting down and closing his eyes, try thinking nothing. Meditation, they said it was. A passage to the Inner Light but groped through the darkness of the mind, his father had it termed.

How the hell one does that?

To satisfy his parents he would sit and close his eyes, and sometimes go to sleep peacefully that way, but he had never seen them either forcing it down the throat or the smile they would share between them secretly when he tried to do the tough stuff.

Luckily for him, his parents never ran after swamis and gurus, or anywhere such congregations were held, a place they never liked to visit, no, not even mentally. He reminisced that and smiled again. He was glad about that, especially later on when he heard about many self-proclaimed godmen from those poor countries, utilizing and abusing the real quest of westerners only toward their own pervert and selfish means.

Sure, there might be a real and genuine godman out there, a prophet, a messenger, someone like Jesus Christ, who willingly took the sins on to him and suffered them out, but Madison, like his parents, thought of going after such a person as something not worth taking risks. The Madisons had a practical theory; God is Omniscient, Omnipotent, and Omnipresent, One who takes the form of an atom Anima - for a tiny existence, the form of a Vamana - for midget sizes, and also that of the Vishwaroop - for a universal magnitude, all for the benefit of the humankind, if size helps.

Well, if that’s so, they say God’s everywhere, so let’s enjoy the God within.

And, if God does everything he so wills, let that God, all by himself, make them go to such a prophet if he or she happens to exist!

After graduating from Hightower High in Missouri City like every student from his hometown Arcola, of Brazoria County, Madison went to University of Houston at Calhoun Road in the City to pursue a degree in Cullen College of Engineering. His uncle, an oil refinery worker himself, had advised his father to go for a Petroleum Engineering program for his son. Money was never an issue, his father could raise the funds, but the brilliant student he was, the son already got a scholarship all on his own.

He applied for Living on-campus and got a super in Moody Towers. There he began moving in a new environment that changed his views of the world and the ones taught by his parents. His physique and hormones were also at peak, and easily he could make himself one of the Houston Cougars. He also landed him a place in the University’s Taekwondo team, and everyone expected him to make it to the Olympics the next year.

He never neglected his studies, actually made use of the facilities and faculties to execute plenty of research that was never expected of young undergraduates, and excelled in whatever he did. Professors would love to have him, and it was rumored that two young lecturers got their fall deadline for submitting the defended Master's thesis and Ph.D. dissertation respectively, met, helped by him.

But he outgrew what his parents taught him, and used his physical and mental strengths to impress the ones around him, and was met with Lady Success all the way up. Unlike the geek he was at Hightower High in Missouri City, a movie-star kind of charisma lit up the way ahead of him wherever he went, and there was no dearth of fame and fortune. Guys loved to have him at parties, girls would kill to date him at least once, and there was no dearth of flow of funds either for Madison had started offering consultancy to several firms right from his sophomore year. Madison never hesitated to make a structure of a ladder out of the ever-appearing contacts he had.

No one knows how it happened, could be that he was bullied at his high school by a mysterious someone and now he wanted revenge, mysterious because no one would dare mess with Big Fifty owning Big Madison and Brothers - lost limbs or not, gone soft or not. Could be that he outgrew all his shackles and wanted some steam let out.

No one was sure, but Madison slowly began finding a weakness in anyone and used that weakness to bully that person till the poor one became something like a sidekick to him. It was a wee bit difficult at first but once tried and hit pay dirt, once the blood was tasted, he was all in. In time he became one big bully.

It did not last long though. No, not inside the UH campus, no way. After an incident where one of his victims decided to end her life, there was a scam exposed, but he had managed to escape by the skin of his teeth. In the aftermath, he not only lost the chance to represent the Cougars but also was on the verge of losing his scholarship.

Somehow he managed to complete his studies with University of Houston and got into MIT, an achievement only he could pull off despite the consequences of all his misdemeanors, earned an additional qualification in management studies too along with his professional studies there, came out in flying colors and a multitude of top firms lining up to take him in, and finally he made it to where he stood now.

He never felt remorse about his bullying activities for he always thought of his country indulging in such manner toward some of the third world countries, as levelheaded. Of course, any act of the mighty, whatever boundaries it overflows, must be respected by everyone including the ones on the receiving end, but that is for their own benefits, he remembered what Menander, the greatest of the Indo-Greek kings who conquered more tribes than Alexander the Great, reportedly said once.

Madison came back to his fleeting thoughts of self-retrospection. Different times of his past were creating different kinds of strokes on his thinking.

Who actually sowed the seeds of hatred towards USA?

Are we the ones to blame? The US must be respected but was that happening? Are we feared but only since so many of our choices were causing violent harm to others?

Madison remembered what Caligula said. Let them hate us as long as they fear us. But what if the fear had gone? Now, it looked exactly that.

Last month, Jim Harrison, the antiwar guy, had met with a terrible accident on the SH 225. Though he made it out with just a few broken ribs, Cindy, his wife and co-activist of 10 memorable years, could not. Incidentally, the Ford Expedition had been serviced just two days before that fateful day, and even Adam’s bill for overhauling the entire suspension and steering works was not paid yet, and surprisingly it was intact in the dashboard of the mangled remains.

Madison had been to the hospital and found the widower recuperating but with a big cast around that had a large mushroom opening on the front to allow for proper chest expansion. He was going through some papers; some letters obviously, from some friends, possibly his ‘secret informants’. Madison noted that all the covers had one peculiar address, a mailbox number, in common, and he noted it down mentally, just in case.

Jim was having difficulty in speaking even a few words. But the moment he saw Madison, he smiled and started to go on an antiwar rhetoric.

After a full gasping minute he ended it by criticizing Madison’s monetary help, which Madison did sometime back, to the War on Terror. I heard you’ve written a large check to the war efforts, John, it was more of a question. I hope you’re well aware of how many innocents people were killed there with the bullets you helped the army buy.

Bullshit, Jimmyman! Madison retorted, forgetting for a moment the poor guy’s loss. Surely you haven’t written away the souls of our innocents, our precious lives wasted by those f*****’ terrorists, or have you? Revenge, man, the right kind. Why, if it’s peace you want, you can have it but then there’s no better way than buying it over the barrel of a gun.

Jim Harrison nodded with a sorry smile. The innocents of USA were affected, yes, but the USA too was responsible for the deaths of the innocents when our army was bombing and attacking other countries, all in the name of establishing peace. We call it collateral damage, but soon someone might call it collateral murders.

We promise them peace and paradise. Jim Harrison went on with difficulty. Maybe we’re offering them that straightaway, the way to heaven up there, huh? What else would be coming through if peace were to be bought over the barrel of a gun?

Somehow the truck that blocked the intersection was removed and the clogging had cleared.

This morning, Madison was supposed to be giving a big presentation he had been assigned with. Incidentally, it was the company’s prestigious Saudi Arabian clients. This was one day when he could not be bothered with insane traffic and the chance of being late. He had been the one who was awarded the task and he needed to impress and not mess up something this big.

He did not want to disappoint anyone, and he hoped to have many more projects in his desired future. He had never been to Saudi Arabia or for that matter any of the Arab countries. Though his job provided him that opportunity, so far he had not, which he wanted to set right soon.

Though he was familiar with his company’s operation in Saudi, the team that he was supposed to meet today had new names, and he wanted to make sure that he impressed them all just like their predecessors. Strangely, Madison never thought of the team from Saudi Arabia as Muslims but only as valuable clients. His valuable clients.

Thinking of Saudi Arabia, Madison thoughts went to the American forces stationed there at the behest of the Saudi Arabian government, to help them out against terrorists from across the borders and maybe from within.

Years ago, Madison was dissuaded from getting enlisted by his parents, but Jake Collins, his neighbor and buddy from Playschool and Kindergarten times, had joined the Marines. He was the only guy who was comfortable with the change Madison brought on himself about the way he was in high school, prior to and later. Madison thought of him, who should be in Iraq or Afghanistan now, fighting for the peace loving citizens of those countries, fighting for his own country and citizens, and taking that fight right down the terrorists’ strongholds.

Jake had called a couple of times, he seemed to have joined the Navy instead of the Marines, but never told Madison on what exactly was happening over there. May be official secrecy and all those confidential stuff, Madison thought to himself. Moreover he could not understand why Jake had joined the Navy when all he ever talked about was US Marines, and a Commando thing being his only love of action.

Navy? But the guy wanted to see scary action, didn’t he? What could they possibly do sailing in a ship?

His friend, they both used to call each other ‘Dirty Sly Dog’, a childhood plaything of their own, might have not told him about anything, but reports of innocent civilians getting killed or wounded or arrested and tortured were on the television and over the Internet all the time with military sources denying or downplaying them every time.

The US military of course put out those same statements that they always did. It was impossible to know if a woman or child was going to be behind the next attack and therefore we took the precautions and certain actions necessary to defend our valiant soldiers, and of course, the freedom of the United States.

Freedom of the United States? Was there a country or a group that could possibly invade the USA and make its citizens slaves? Or was it the freedom of the USA to go anywhere anytime, invited or not, in its duty of protecting the innocents of the world and giving them peace and prosperity?

Madison reached his office at 9 AM, passed through the security gates but only after getting his eyes scanned, new regulations, went straight to the parking lot, parked the Volvo in the security bay instead of his own and name-painted allotted space that was a hundred feet away, threw the keys to Jeff, he’s a security guy not a damn valet but that dude always wanted to drive the 4X4, and ran towards the huge automatic glass doors, clutching his briefcase that contained his laptop and all the project materials.

Even Madison had never been able to agree with those statements from military spokesmen but for now he had to stop thinking about all of that and bring himself back to the current moment there in the deserted office lobby where he was standing, waiting for the elevator. Where’s everyone at the front office?

It was true that normally Madison would have taken the stairs, two at a time, in urgent situations like these, but with his project materials and all the hangover-coffee of this morning, it just did not seem like a good idea.

His Boss, Samuel Nathan had discussed the project with him at length. He had instructed Madison with very clear and exhaustive instructions that there were specific details that the client was interested in hearing in this presentation. The clients have specifically asked for those important details to be included. Failure was not a word in Madison’s vocabulary so he was always at the top of the game. Impossible was another word that Madison did not allow to hinder his lifestyle. Both of these words were for losers, and as far as Madison was concerned, he thought of himself as a clear winner. Every time. Anytime.

This morning he could not believe that he was running late. The traffic had really screwed him and now he was freaking out because he was worried about what was going to happen when he got there at the table, as the meeting was supposed to be in progress. He could only hope that something would happen so it would not be obvious to the clients that he came in late.

By the time Madison arrived at the boardroom, it was