Invasion of the Most Sacred

By Robert Lovelle Rooks

Invasion of the Most Sacred is a war-and-espionage, love, and betrayal story about consequentialism, set in the year 2017.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514412510

Robert Lovelle Rooks

Robert Lovelle Rooks is an American writer, aviation professional and veteran hailing from Texas. Father of six, he has made it his life goal to write books, travel to every country on earth, be a good son, man and father.

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Copyright © 2016 by Robert Lovelle Rooks.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2015915966

ISBN:       Hardcover       978-1-5144-1249-7

       Softcover       978-1-5144-1250-3

       eBook       978-1-5144-1251-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Photography: Robert Lovelle Rooks

Cover Design: Renelyn F. Mallo

Cover Model: Ashlynn R.

Editing: Rob Bignell, Renelyn F. Mallo, Noelle T. Marrinan

Rev. date: 02/18/2016

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Afghanistan

Iran

Pakistan

India

PART I

Invasion

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

PART II

The Most Sacred

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

A Denouement

Glossary of Translations and Abbreviations

Dedicated to: Reyhaneh Jabbari, Soraya Manutchehri, Sakineh Mohammadie Ashtiani and the countless other women who have endured the same fate with no recourse, no help, no hope, other than their undying faith that Allah had a plan.

AFGHANISTAN

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IRAN

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PAKISTAN

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INDIA

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"The moment of the encounter approaches.

Again I am crazy, drunk.

Again there is a trembling in my heart, my hand.

Again you would say that I am in another land."

-Mehdi Akhavan-Sala

PREFACE

Consequentialism selects rules solely in terms of the goodness of their consequences and then claims that these rules determine which kinds of acts are morally wrong… - Brad Hooker, SEP 2003

We were all tired of it. Since before many of us can remember, the news reported on it. Explosions. Uprisings. Honor killings. Mercy killings. Kidnapping, rape, mass executions. Broadcast on first radio, then TV and now 24 hours a day via the Internet and social media. There are apps that deliver the terror straight to your phones now. It seems there’s an audience for it. Some place deep inside, people like hearing about these things. These unspeakable atrocities.

Somewhere along the course of history, to some people, values, for human life in particular have dwindled to nothing. How did it start? Was it human nature? Or is it because someone, somewhere, at some point decided that for the greater good, their judgment ruled over ethics and morality? Their judgment ruled over life. Their decision, no matter how much pain it caused others, was somehow working for good. In their eyes.

That’s all it takes for one person to blow themselves up in order to make a statement. That’s all it takes for thousands of men and women to be shipped off to take lives, and ultimately lose their own. And perpetuate a vicious and sick cycle of hatred, finger-pointing, and revenge. Ultimately, it’s those who simply want to be happy, and live life, believe in who or what they want to believe in and not bother anyone who end up being caught up – and chalked up – as collateral damage.

Chester Rothschild, Drew Mason, Azita Avoosi, Yasmeen Gülce and John Baker are real people. They exist all over the world. They just don’t know it yet. They’re all connected, as are the rest of us and are responsible for the invasion of the most sacred.

PART I

Invasion

CHAPTER 1

U.S. White House, District of Columbia

April 2, 2017

I can’t believe you’re actually considering this.

"Mr. President, you know my position. You gave me the Joint Chief’s, you gave me the entire cabinet, the FBI, Homeland, the CIA and NSA and…you know who. Chester paused to throw a baked potato chip in his mouth from the half full bag he held in his hand. You’ve got to let me do my job." Continuing very calm and dismissive.

Do you know what you’re proposing? Donald stood from behind his desk, trying to appear like a man who had a backbone. For someone in Donald’s position, The Commander in Chief, being completely subordinate to one person was a hard task. He barely even knew this guy.

But for some reason he had an all-access pass to, well, anywhere. The White House, Langley, any military installation, and had a beat on him in every turn. This guy knew about everything before he did, and he hated it. He also hated the fact the this man acted as if giving him control over all these government entities was a choice. He already had them! Let you do your job? I don’t even know what your job is! I don’t even know who you are!

Donald! President Donald Astor froze. Chester’s voice effortlessly filling the Oval Office. I’m not proposing anything. Calm again, another chip. It’s already done. When those Muslim hijackers from Saudi came over here and killed thousands of innocent Americans. Women, and children. Chester cleared his throat and took a breath. Or when our ISIS bastards got out of control a few years ago. It was done. I know you weren’t in office. I know you had no part in the underhanded activities that came from this very room, which played a part in that–

Right. President Astor looked away.

And I’m also sorry that I can’t fucking share it with you, Don. The fact is, this is the solution. Chester Rothschild walked over to the President and put his hand on his shoulder. "Don. We’re not trying to play GOD. We don’t even want to control their lives. But we do need to get control of this problem though, or these guys are going to just continue to run around any country they want blowing people up to prove a point that they don’t even understand!"

Do we dislike Islamic culture? Do we think all Muslim’s are terrorist? Of course not! That’s the dumbest thing anyone could ever think at this point. Do I think all Middle Eastern countries hate Americans? No! I know for a fact they don’t! We want them to be able to live and be free without being bullied or pressured into any style of life. They’ll now be free to be whoever they wish to be. Chester threw the bag of chips in the trash and swiped his hands together a few times before pointing at the president. As long as it’s not a terrorist. In order to know that, and enforce that…we must do this.

God. President Astor released a long sigh, while rubbing his forehead.

It’s going to be a long and ugly road, Don. But we have to take it. Now make the order. We’ll be boots-on-ground; Bagram moving forward on Monday after I leave Kabul on Sunday giving the details in-person. The next time you’ll hear from me is the following Monday. I will be off the grid until then.

I’m looking over these papers. Donald picked up a folder from his desk. The black budget has been bled dry with this plan of yours.

"Don’t worry about the black budget, Donald. That will be taken care of. It’s the least of your worries.

Don’t worry about the black budget? I’m the president of a nation who has been in some sort of military operation for more than 21 years straight now! How can I not worry about the black budget?

Don’t worry about the black budget, Don, Chester repeated.

Alright, Sir. Donald replied after a long pause and stare. I hope you know what you’re doing." President Astor returned, pretending as if he was giving Chester his permission.

Don’t worry, sir. I do. It’s why I’m here.

I trust you. Donald sighed.

I should hope so, I wouldn’t have put you here if you didn’t. And there it was. Along with a condescending pat to the shoulder. See you later, Mr. President. Chester turned and walked off leaving the President looking down at the American flag on his desk. Give Marie and the kids my best.

CHAPTER 2

Mashaad, Iran

I can not believe I will be seeing you tomorrow, ‘Zita!

"Insh’Allah."

Of course, Insh’Allah.

I am so bored here. I hate leaving the house alone. Azita said anxiously, rushing back down the stairs on her cordless phone. Celebrating Nowruz has been more tiring than anything this year. By the 13th day, I was actually hoping for a war! Azita joked while using her spare hand to pick up some things around the living room, which was nearly void of any furniture. Just remnants of a messy dinner.

"You are so funny. New Years always was crazy there. And like a good little girl, you would usually just stay at home…khouneh tekouni!" Yasmeen laughed.

Yes, very funny. Make jokes on me because I like to keep our home clean. I did not have to spend half as much time on it as others because I make sure to clean regularly unlike you. Yasmeen laughed. "And this is better than sitting around and eating aush all day, Yazzy."

Oh, Yasmeen sighed. "How I miss your mothers aush. I can not wait to get there! Yasmeen sounded like a little girl instead of a fully-grown college graduate. When I get to Mashhad we will have fun like we always did. Nothing will bother us. Not even your crazy brother!" Yasmeen laughed now twirling the telephone receiver chord with her pointer finger. Her Hijab draped over her shoulder.

"Ahmad, avizoon! Azita paused while Yasmeen laughed again. If your father will give you the money, please have him hire a hotel room for your entire stay here!"

Do you think we are rich, Azita?

Yasmeen…everyone knows you are rich. Their phone conversation continued, mostly in English as always. For practice. They tried to never speak Farsi unless necessary or the English word just didn’t seem right.

Yes of course. How could I forget? Both girls laughed. You know, I make my own money. I do not like–

Yes, yes…I know you do not like taking money from Baba so just take it and give it to me. I have no problems with this!

Okay, okay. No problem. Hotel it is. This will be the best time.

Yes, it will be. I have missed you so much, Yazzy. Azita sighed.

I have missed you, too.

I hate it here.

I know you do, Azita.

Is there no wonder why your entire family moved to Adana? Azita returned.

Hmm, let me think…because no one in this country has ever heard of bio-energy before we arrived? Yasmeen joked.

Do not be a jerk, Yasmeen! You all moved because they did not want their only daughter to grow up with the attitude of a servant! Be treated like a dog in public and worse at home!

I know, I know.

To be mistreated and utilized only for procreation and religious protocol!

Not all Persian men are like this, ‘Zita.

Is true. But, enough are that it is accepted. And that is unacceptable. Azita stood in the kitchen speaking so sternly into the phone she held it with an intense grip.

You sound just like my mother, Yasmeen said softly, looking out of the window now.

I take this as a compliment. Azita paused, and settled down some. Why have you never invited me to come to Adana? To live with you in that side-house, big enough for my entire family?

Are you serious? Zita I would have you here anytime if I knew your entire family would not fall to pieces without you! You are always welcome! Yasmeen’s voice suddenly desperate. You believe me, right?

Of course. So, it is settled. I will be coming back to Turkiye with you at the end of summer.

"What about Ahmad and habibti?" Yasmeen asked.

Ahmad does not need me around. He is about to take on a wife soon and Anaheed is seventeen. She is a woman now.

According to your parents she has been a woman for about eight years. Yasmeen laughed.

Ha. Very funny. There was a pause. Azita, now sitting on the floor flicking at a few pieces of rice her mother had dropped at dinner. What do you think?

About you coming here, to Adana? To live?

No, what do you think about the American Yankee’s baseball team? Of course! What are we talking about, Yazzy!

Of course! You can come home with me! I do not care, you never have to ask! I love you, ‘Zita!

I love you too. Thank you.

Do not thank me. I am sorry I never noticed you wanted to leave so badly. I have been gone for so long…I did not know home was that bad.

Yes Yasmeen. Home is very, very bad.

We must get to work on your passport right away.

I have the paperwork filled out.

So you have been planning this? Yasmeen smiled.

Well, I was praying it would be with you. But some way, I was going to leave Iran. This I have had planned, yes, Azita replied seriously then smiled. I must go now. I must prepare for your arrival. And I have something important to tell you when you get here. Azita stood to walk back to the phone receiver.

Just tell me now!

"No, tomorrow. Safar be kheir."

"Always so suspenseful. khoda hafez."

CHAPTER 3

Bagram, Afghanistan

I swear to Christ, I don’t frikkin’ get it! Sergeant John Baker looked away from a cracked fiberglass hood of a Mine Resistant-Ambush Poof vehicle and faced his troops who tried to remain busy, avoiding eye contact. The next time I have to bring another one of these M-ATVs to GlobalTech because you guys decided to run into something on the FOB, I’m goin’ to lose my shit! Sergeant Baker didn’t form up his soldiers when he was chewing ass. He did it while working, while eating, or whenever the ass-chewing came to mind or was necessary. Do you guys need bumpers on these things?

No Sergeant. They corralled now. Picking their feet up high when they walked to avoid some of the damp areas of muddy sand.

How about fucking training wheels? Sergeant Baker continued while walking to the rear of a neighboring Maxxpro.

No Sergeant! They all stood looking at him now. A little pissed at themselves.

Use your fucking ground-guides! That’s why they’re there! Sergeant Baker threw two boxes of food and gear in the back.

Got it Sergeant, Specialist Wilkins replied while donning her Kevlar.

Roger that, Private