Episode 14
The Brit

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Previously in "Saecula:” An elite Republican cabal conspires to steal the 
2008 presidential election. Confronted with devastating poll numbers
from the disasteroud Islamic War, it sets in motion the ultimate October
Surprise, a terrorist attack on the nation. 

When Tom Bishop’s ops director, Vincent, had instructed Willie to organize the attack by a small 
nondescript boat that could motor up the Chesapeake Bay without attracting the attention of the 
American Coast Guard, he was initially stymied. The boat could be no larger than 25 feet. As a coastal 
rather than an ocean-going vessel, it would not be as susceptible to Coast Guard inspection. The prospect 
of smuggling five men carrying botulinum into North America by plane or ship and having them work 
their way to Norfolk in order to rent such a boat was high risk with low probability of success. Even if 
he could get them into the Caribbean, an easier venue for access, they would require at least a 40-foot 
boat for the crossing, or chance a 25-footer and looking for the world to be Haitian boat people, in either 
case kicking themselves back under Coast Guard scrutiny. The Brit solved his dilemma.

Willie had been running the double agent for five years. He knew him by no other name. His father 
was a British diplomat and his mother was Lebanese. He spent most of his youth in public boarding 
schools in Scotland where he inherited the Scots’ distinct distaste of what for many, even after five 
centuries of chaffing under English domination and pretensions, was still considered foreign occupation. 
He was attracted first to Osama bin Laden’s Mujahedin in its fight for Afghan independence from Soviet hegemony in the 1980s. Later, he joined al-Qaida when bin Laden condemned the United States for 
establishing -- and its puppet, Saudi King Fahd, for allowing --  American military bases in the sacred 
homeland in preparation for the Gulf War.

Now, the Brit roamed Europe as a kind of traveling emissary of the Jihad, spouting all the correct radical 
dogma, but living high off the decadent western hog of hot women, designer drugs and fast cars. Willie had 
been tipped to his huge and growing gambling debts now that his trust fund was depleted and his father 
had disinherited him, and offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. Most of the Brits’ intelligence feed had
proven to be accurate; some even high quality. But he was still the worst kind of scum, willing to sell out 
his countrymen and his cause for greed. Willie had no problem imagining him in the Muslim burial 
position, lying on his right side, facing Mecca for all eternity.

The Brit knew al-Qaida secretly owned and operated several large container ships. They used them 
around the world for legitimate shipping under contract to various major freight lines. The latest and 
largest of the carriers contained cranes fore and aft for self loading. If he could convince al-Qaida this 
was a feasible plan to strike at the heart of the United States, he was sure they would release one to 
him in order to transship the men and a small boat to be offloaded off the American coastline. He 
persuaded his control in Beirut to arrange a meeting for himself with Abu Masab al-Zarqawi, 
formerly the Jordanian terrorist who lead the resistance in Iraq during the first American occupation,
and now chief of operations for al-Qaida. Within two weeks, he got word back that he could proceed 
with the plan, and that a ship would be made available to him. However, the group was not about to 
expose one of its premier vessels. Instead, the Brit would be put in contact with a Mumir Jassim, 
captain of the Hajj.


Mumir Jassim did not trust the Brit; but then again, he did not trust anyone. When the Brit had contacted 
him with the three word code that meant he was to finally see action in the Jihad against the Great Satan, 
he was thrilled to his bones and immediately knelt and gave thanks to Allah. Jassim was the captain of a 
freighter that plied the southern Mediterranean on a biweekly cargo run between Port Said at the northern entrance to the Suez Canal and Benghazi in the Gulf of Sidra off Libya. The tedium was bad enough, but 
sitting on the sidelines for nine years while the War raged and his fellow Jihadists died as heroes battling 
America was humiliating.

His crew, whom he had hand-picked for their courage and willingness to die for Allah, had become sullen 
and accusatory, as if Mumir could suddenly create orders. He reminded them often that they were soldiers 
in the cause and biding their time was also a duty of which to be proud. Yet he had his own doubts, especially 
after Ayman al-Zawahiri, second only to bin Laden himself, and who had recruited him and provided him 
the Hajj, had given his life in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan battling the Americans.

Maybe they had forgotten about him. Maybe no one even knew he existed. He had been told specifically 
under no circumstances was he to try to make contact with al-Qaida, or demonstrate in any way that he 
was part of the Jihad. Jassim and his crew assiduously avoided any association with radical fundamentalists 
when they were in port, nor did they visit social halls or masques that had reputations for anti-western 
views, so as to not bring suspicion upon themselves or their ship. But Jassim was tiring of obediently 
steaming back and forth carrying western doodads as assigned by his dispatcher.

When Mumir Jassim had been recruited, he was given six places to meet when he received the code; 
two in each port city, and, if for some reason his dispatcher had shifted his route, two in Beirut where 
he was to make his way by rail as quickly as possible. He was to arrive in the primary location precisely 
at 10:30am each day until he was contacted. If he was not met in the morning, he was to go to the 
alternate spot at 7:30 at night. In no case was he ever to linger more than three minutes.


The Brit greeted him the very first morning in the obscure park near the wharfs in Port Said, approaching 
him as would a long lost acquaintance; they embraced, kissed cheeks and then shook hands like good 
westernized Muslims should, and found an empty bench on which to sit. Mumir had never set eyes on 
the man in his life. As the two spoke animatedly, laughing, touching arms, and even, for a short moment,
as the Brit teared-up as any onlooker -- or watcher -- would expect of two dear friends, the Brit slipped 
a small envelope, containing the explicit details of the task he was outlining, into Mumir’s jacket pocket.

Following Jassim’s transit to Benghazi at the end of September, after he unloaded his cargo, he was to 
steam to Casablanca and take on one container and five men. As the Hajj was not expected to load and 
return to Port Said for yet another ten days, he would not be missed by his dispatcher. He could extend 
that time by three or four days radioing in engine trouble at sea. By the time he was missed and reported 
to authorities as was required for all container carriers, and the alert made its way up the bureaucracy, 
he would be off the coast of Virginia unloading his cargo. He must not allow American authorities to board 
the Hajj before his payload has been dropped. He was to rig the ship with explosives that would be 
provided him in Morocco and scuttle the craft should he be confronted by authorities; all hands to die 
for Allah rather than be captured.

The two men again embraced, shook hands and parted, loudly promising on the heads of their ancestors 
they would stay in touch. Jassim knew the Brit’s laughter and banter were a necessary part of the 
performance, but he felt the Brit laughed just a little too hard when he spoke of the necessity of 
swamping the Hajj.

Mumir Jassim had no trouble with the idea of dying for his cause. And he was confident his men would
feel similarly, so his wariness about the operation was not the danger to himself and his crew, but the 
sense that somehow he was being set up. He would learn more when he met this Adnan al-Zuhari fellow. 
Until then, he had a cargo to load.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The military has outsourced numerous technical and logistical functions for decades. 
Iraq and Afghanistan are different matters. The Defense Department and CIA currently use hundreds of mercenaries and freebooters, now referred to by the more respectable term, contract operators. They are 
active in all phases of both wars from providing security for senior Afghan and Iraqi officials to interrogating detainees  in Abu Ghraib prison. They are often employed for “special assignments” the U.S. wishes to 
keep at arms length.

Next in "Saecila:" Black Box Voting Fraud 

by  Martin Gresko

Interested in publishing this manuscript?
Or to make comments, CONTACT Martin Gresko at VGABONSUN@hotmail.com
See his biweekly political column http://www.StPetePost.com

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