Broken Lands Read online

  All the while in Gaza, Inkasar was busy breaking up Hamas’ communications networks and destroying their government offices, other Inkasar operatives were doing the same to many of the venues run by Jihadist extremists in the West Bank. The warehouses with hidden munitions had been blown up one after another. Inkasar operatives were busy scattering fliers in all the neighborhoods warning the population ahead of time, before they carried out an assault. This was especially important in cases where schools were being used as weapons depots. The Palestinian public got tired of Hamas’ methods of using their children as human shields. Inkasar made sure to inform these parents to keep their children at home on days when they initiated a “cleanup mode.” This was the same manner of behavior that we had used when our Air Force intended to carry out airstrikes against the missile launchers that had been set up by Hamas in apartment buildings, hospitals and in schools within the neighborhoods of Gaza; we always dropped warnings leaflets, and directly communicated with the tenants in these buildings by phone.

  Back at the Organization Headquarters, while Udi was busy watching the follow-up report on the assault on the terrorists up in Acre, he was stunned by an urgent notice on his external-events-monitor; a live news feed that kept us updated on activities in the International community. He could not believe his eyes when he saw the message that had just been posted. It read:

  THERE HAS BEEN AN AGGRESSIVE TAKEOVER

  OF AN INTERCONTINENTAL BALLISTIC MISSILE BASE IN THE WESTERN USA.

  Feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline rushing through his body, Udi immediately contacted Erez. “Erez, come down to Quad IV as soon as possible.” Udi’s voice had an imperative tone; one that Erez had never before heard before.

  “10-4, Udi, just give me one minute to assess my last scramble.” Erez closed in on his target, terminated the selected subject, confirmed the event and signed out before he advanced towards the door. Udi a gut feeling that some major changes were about to happen on an international scope of events.

  At the same time, I received a call from our overseas operations quad. I was instructed to attend an emergency meeting about the current situation, which by all intents and purposes, posed a threat to the stability of every nation in the free world. The US State Department was furious with Israeli Intelligence and accused them of some type of collaboration. It was clear that some clarification was due, and in time, I was sure to get a more expansive breakdown of the situation at hand. In all my days with the Organization, I had never seen so much tension on so many faces. There were hundreds of calls being made and received from all the levels of our government, including the US State Department, the CIA and the FBI.

  Chapter Ten

  الفصلالعاشر

  Tom Jacobs, a peppy, 24-year-old freshman field-reporter, was sitting at his desk at the downtown Phoenix TV Station. His red curly hair was gleaming from the overhead lighting. With just a few months on the job under his belt, he was already being noticed for his exuberance when working on any given assignment. He was polishing up a report that had come close to its deadline when he suddenly heard a notification for a special bulletin that was about come on the air. He clumsily got up and joined a group of staffers who were already assembled in front of the TV. Being quite short in stature, he pushed ahead of his colleagues to get to the front to get a better view.

  “Good morning to you all. This is Mathew Viviano reporting with a very serious news alert. The latest information that has been released by the National Security Agency confirmed that the army has been called in to the state of Colorado. They are getting ready to secure the base that had been taken over by a group of Native American revolutionaries. There are still many questions to be answered, but one thing is for sure: This is a critical national security matter. There are three silos at this base being overseen by a large security staff, all of whom have confidential profiles and clearances. The group behind the takeover has identified itself as the Broken Arrow Movement, acronym BAM.

  “According to BAM’s written declarations to the media and the government, they have formed this movement in order to bring about justice and full nationhood for their members who are all indigenous people of the Americas. The leaders of this group have made it very clear that unless they get what they are asking for, there will be a disastrous end to the lifestyle that the citizens of the USA have been so used to enjoying for centuries. According to some police investigations, there have also been reports of missing persons who reside in different areas in the nation. The evidence behind their disappearance points at the possibility that they were abducted by this specific revolutionary group and are currently being held as hostages. Stay tuned for our continuing coverage. We will keep you posted around the clock on this and other news-breaking stories.”

  The reporters all stood in awe at hearing what was happening, turning their heads and registering the spectrum of amazement on everyone’s faces. This was a huge, shocking story that was surely unprecedented. The screen changed back to the original display which included a table of the upcoming assignments and a list of projects for the news staff. But now, there were new lists of instruction for a variety of divisions in the newsroom. Most of the staff began scrambling to their computer stations, each aligning his work with the new directives which had been posted on the screen. The busiest of all were those who worked in the research department.

  All the major stations in the USA and the world media were covering the story. The usual updates on the Middle Eastern crisis and other ongoing conflicts between Saudi Arabia and Iran, Pakistan and India, North and South Korea, took a backseat to this latest news item. This sudden and alarming news was unparalleled. No one had ever heard of BAM until today. The idea of such an event happening was unfathomable. The research department at the Phoenix TV station was busy, frantically digging into every possible bit of information they could find in their database as a lead to this movement called BAM. In the public records, there had been many previous demonstrations by Native Americans during the late 60’s and throughout the 70’s; yet none had ever hinted on such an aggressive response and a willingness to revolt against the government of the United States. The bulk of past activity was founded by the IAM, the Indian American Movement, whose confrontations with various government officials aimed at raising the many issues about the rights of Native Americans. The military spokespeople were at a loss for words, although there was speculation about the likelihood that the whole scenario originated on the inside with complicity on the part of some of the army personnel currently on duty at the missile base.

  The office at the TV station never looked so lively and dynamic. It was bustling with activity as reporters and crew members were frantically talking on their phones with various government offices, attempting to get some insight about this monumental news event. Their assistants, meanwhile, were running back and forth from their computers, fax machines and printers.

  The news coordinator’s voice suddenly sounded loudly over the telephone speaker on Tom’s desk. “Hello, Tom. Are you there?”

  “Yes, Mr. O’Connor. How can I help you?” Tom responded resolutely while overcoming the surrounding noise around him.

  “Tom. Please come to my office immediately. It’s important.”

  Tom left his quad and quickly walked to O’Conner’s office, almost tripping over his own feet because of the underlying urgency he sensed in his boss’ voice. When he arrived, he knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” called out Bill O’Conner, “come in!”

  “Good day, sir.” Tom greeted the coordinator anxiously as he sat on one of the large padded chairs facing the large antique desk covered with piles of files.

  “You got a solo on this one. I want you to get ready immediately.”

  “You mean this story?! You’re putting me on this BAM story? But I have no idea what is going on!” Tom responded; his eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “T
hat’s okay, Tom, neither does anyone else.” Bill said smiling, shifting in his chair while leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I like your work and I want you on this assignment right away. You’ll be briefed on any new details while in transit to the location. I want someone young and energetic on this story. Get your stuff ready. You’ll be the only one near the action on this. The military was very specific about enforcing the limitations they have set forth for any media personnel that will have been authorized in and around the area. I have already arranged your clearance passes. So just get off your ass and get going as soon as you can.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thanks for giving me this big story.”

  “Good luck! We’ll all need it.”

  Tom grabbed his camera and headed towards the reception counter where he received the press passes that O’Conner arranged for him. He then ran down the hall to quickly catch an elevator. When he stepped out into the underground parking garage, he noticed three tall, husky men with a dark complexion and long black hair standing about fifteen feet from his vehicle. They were dressed in white t-shirts and Levi Jeans. He didn’t know what they were doing there, but he was going to find out. When he got close to his car, he took his car key out of his pocket and placed it into the door lock; warily glancing repeatedly over his shoulder. But as soon as he opened the car door, two of the three men were upon him; holding him tightly.

  “Let go of me. What the hell do you want? Who are you?” he spewed, while struggling hopelessly to get free of their hold. One of the men quickly got into a Jeep Cherokee parked near Tom’s car; the other two kept their tight hold on him. When the Jeep pulled up next to them, one of the men forced Tom into the backseat and sat next to him, continuing to grip his wrist firmly. The third man got into Tom’s car and followed the Jeep as it headed towards the exit of the parking garage. Tom’s tongue sank into his throat as he felt the raging surges of panic affecting every muscle in his body. Just as he was about to scream for help, one of the men applied tape across his mouth.

  After a few minutes of driving through the local streets, they entered a supermarket parking lot and parked Tom’s car near the trucker’s ramp in the back of the building. Big John, who had just driven Tom’s car behind them, got into the Jeep and sat next to Tom on the driver’s side. After they pulled out onto the street, they headed towards the Expressway and drove up the ramp heading north. The moment the Jeep was moving at high speed, they removed the tape from his mouth.

  “Don’t panic, we don’t intend to hurt you. As long as you cooperate and do as we say, you will feel like you’re with family. You are now officially a BAM hostage,” said Solomon, one of the three men.

  “A BAM hostage? You gotta be kidding me! Why me of all people?” he said wearily. “Where are you taking me?” he continued anxiously.

  “We are taking you to a special meeting. We wanted someone from the media to be on the inside so that a full assessment of the activities would be recorded. Once we get there, you will be briefed on the facts that will surely answer every question that you might be contemplating. For now, just relax and act according to our directions.”

  They continued driving north and exited onto Route 17 on the Arizona State Thruway, just minutes away from Flagstaff. Tom gazed at the sunset and wondered if he would have the chance see anything like it again. The horizon was a majestic river of purples and maroons with streaks of light orange and gray cloudbursts sinking slowly into the rolling hillside. But at that moment, in his mind, the only landscape he was perceiving was a celestial black dome laced with uncertainty.

  “Why have you chosen me? I am just a simple guy doing his job as a journalist. I have no connection with any of your qualms. I love the Native American culture.” Tom sensed very well that being condescending had no function at that moment, but he was totally and uncontrollably bewildered by the situation he was in.

  “Okay, Tom, we know all about that,” interjected the stocky driver. “We want you to calm down and prepare for a potentially long stay with us. We might seem to be something new on the scene, but as soon as you absorb the meaning behind our movement, who we are, and what we stand for, you’ll feel much more at ease about your role in all of this.”

  Tom tried to imagine what was coming and what the future held for him.

  “I can’t believe this,” he erupted excitedly. “You guys are actually behind the breach at the missile base!” He wasn’t sure who these men were at first, but certainly being held hostage and once he comprehended the last statement they made, all that confusion was laid to rest. His body was shivering with anxiety. The abdominal pain he was feeling resembled the tension that one gets from the fear of flying, or a first attempt at jumping out of an airplane for a free-fall without a parachute. At the office, he always joked and had fun, sharing his rather wild imagination; but there was nothing humorous about this situation. There were wild, alarming scenarios flitting through his mind. His heart was fluttering quickly; as would the wings of a seagull that was jammed between the branches of a palm trees. ‘Some of the worst nightmares I have ever had would be just fine and tolerable compared with this,’ he thought. ‘Actually, anything would have been just fine, rather than be alone with these three over-sized bullies.’

  They had driven for five hours and just before they got off Route 40 onto Route 191, the man seated next to him took out a black bag and slipped it over Tom’s head. He became very uneasy at first but managed to gain some composure; remembering that the men stated that no harm was intended. He had some basic knowledge about Native American heritage but was sure that he was going to get a crash course about this new movement called BAM.

  By the time he had attended high school, most of the previously available references to the Native American Indians had been deleted from history books, and were submerged into the dark corners of the Library of Congress. The government did its best to keep as many facts about the plight of the Native American out of the general course of study. Instead, most history courses delved into the plight of the third-world populations, not the old-world ancestors of people who had been stripped of their heritage and lands. It was a curious action taken by the intellectual elite in order to mold and facilitate the exposure of their students to the history according to their liking. At best, it served to create a void in factual sequences, which founded ambiguity about the status quo and truth. Only a few major universities had courses in Native American History, and most of the students that signed up for these courses and those that taught them were usually of Native American ancestry. The general student body was not really concerned about the issues of colonialism and the plight of endemic populations. Global warming issues took over the podium with almost no emphasis on ‘global warring’. Theirs was a new world filled with ideological formulas whose results would uproot the economic stability of the world.

  Tom’s cell phone rang; his eyes lit up in the darkness of the hood that covered his head. By the sound of the ringtone, he knew who was calling him. It was Tony Zanetti; the assistant news director, back at the TV station.

  “It’s okay. Answer the call,” stated Solomon firmly, “but be discreet about what you say, with no hysterical outcries please,” Tom understood the nuance; he was to express nothing about his abduction, at least not for now.

  Tom took the call. “What’s up, Tony?”

  “Hey, Tom. We haven’t heard from you. Are you okay? Where are you right now?”

  “I am getting close to the scene. I’ll call in a report as soon as I get there. Let me go for now. I am driving and cannot talk on the phone,” he explained hastily.

  Comprehending Tom’s compliance, Big John nodded approvingly with a wide smile, watching him through the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Even though it was only a matter of hours, it seems like days have gone by,’ Tom thought. And surprisingly, he was becoming more relaxed about the whole affair. He had realized, right there and then,
that this could be the climax to his otherwise very redundant dull existence. Half an hour later, they arrived at a small farming community named Buffalo Springs, which was surrounded by hundreds of acres of corn and wheat fields in every direction. They continued down a narrow trail about two miles north of the town and turned into a large, fully fenced warehousing complex. Once inside the complex, Tom was relieved of his head covering. When the jeep came to a full stop, they all got out of the vehicle. Solomon led Tom to a large hanger near the front of the complex, while Big John parked the Jeep. They were greeted warmly by one of the armed guards at the entrance.

  Little Wing, a short, stocky man, wearing Indian garments with colorful beading, was waiting for them at the reception area. He introduced himself as did the other members of the reception party, also dressed in traditional Indian attire made mostly of suede, leather laced with ornamental bones and stones.

  “These men who brought you here are David, Solomon and Big John; three of our head guards. Please follow us now.”