The Mouth of Allah: Paul Decker assignments, #11

By Jeffry Weiss

When the Arab Spring revolutions began in Tunisia and Egypt in January of 2011, the Western media sang the praises of the coming of democracy, pluralism, and capitalism.  They, and the American government, ignored the clear signs that the winners in the overthrow of monarchies and dictatorships would be pro-sharia, Islamists, radical Jihadists.  Less than three years later, the Middle East and Africa was in flames.  Every change has brought bloody violence, ethnic cleansing, and the utter destruction of the infrastructure of the major cites as factions separated by military régimes were taken down.

 

In America, a new president was elected who promised to run an inclusive government.  The people ignored his Muslim name and assumed by inclusive he meant the poor, disposed, and marginalized.  However, U.S. President Sami Khory meant the integration of sharia law in America and an opening of the borders to his brethren who had been suppressed for centuries. 

 

Now, the two greatest threats to peace and health are Ebola and IS: the Islamic State.  The great countries of the world have joined forces in the war on IS, victory is seen as only a matter of time.  But the world has, at every turn, underestimated IS.  Their leadership consists of battle-hardened officers, trained by the U.S. and now equipped with the latest armaments.  Their fold includes scientists, doctors, and researchers from a dozen different countries: men renowned for their acumen. 

 

And while the world sits poised to hear word of the victories against IS and word of their final demise, IS has made plans for the final demise of the West.  Jihadists from those self-same countries, willing to die in the cause, are now being sent to Africa, not to help in the fight against the spread of Ebola, but to allow themselves to be infected with the virus.  Then, before their symptoms become apparent, they will return to their home countries and spread the contagion to as many people as possible before they themselves die.

 

All that stands between ultimate victory by ISIS and the Islamisizing of the West is Paul Decker and his small team of dedicated fighters and scientists.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffry Weiss
• Release date: Jan 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781522742739

Jeffry Weiss

BIOGRAPHY Mr. Weiss attended Central High School, at the time recognized as the top High School academically in the U.S.  He then attended Drexel University where he gained a BS in History, Temple University where he earned an MA in Economics and the University of Pennsylvania where he received an MA in International Affairs.  Those studies provided him with unique insights in the realm of foreign policy, military capabilities, détente, and trade. He has been a writer for forty plus years and has penned hundreds of articles on social, political, and economic issues.  He has written position papers for the Carter and Clinton Administrations and his work on social issues has received recognition directly from the office of the President of México.  He speaks regularly with Noam Chomsky on political, economic, cultural, and military issues. Mr. Weiss writes political, military, economic and scientific thrillers.  There are now twelve books in the Paul Decker series.  All his stories come right off the front pages of the major magazines and newspapers but none of his plots has ever found their way into novel before.  His characters are ones readers can relate to: flawed, not superheroes.  His stories do not require a leap of faith or use deus ex machina. Finally, he has written a stage play, “Einstein at the Guten Zeiten (good times) Beer Garden, and an urban horror novel: “The Art of Theft”, a modern day version of “The Picture of Dorian Grey” by Oscar Wilde.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Mosul, Iraq 

The long procession of Toyota Tacoma P/Us - with the black flags of ISIS held high and whipping in the wind - roared into the town, soldiers firing guns, voices calling out, Allahu Akbar. 

They circled the city square twice before stopping at a fountain.  The smell of melting copper from shell casings permeated the air, mixing with the exhaust fumes from revving engines and the smoke of squealing tires.

From the back of the second truck, three men were dragged out, stripped down to their underwear, cuffed behind their backs, blindfolded, feet hog-tied with rope.

The commander stepped out of the first truck, dress all in black, carrying a portable microphone.  Fellow jihadists, we have brought you a prize.  These men killed their brothers.  They say they are from your village.  What should we do with them?

Fearful of saying the wrong thing or anything, the people remained quiet.  They were simple folks: farmers, shop keepers, people who worked with their hands, earning just enough to feed themselves and their children, with little energy left at the end of the day to think of why they had been cursed.  Maybe Allah was real, but God never found his way to their village to hear their prayers.

Incensed, the ISIS soldier announced, The Qur’an says, ‘All those who worship any other God than Allah can be granted neither amnesty nor be ransomed off.’

When he did not see the level of commitment he wanted, he went on.  The Qur’an says, ‘Those not killed, will later return and pose a threat to Islam.’

The commander stretched out his hand holding the microphone, placing it in front of the mouths of the people, demanding a reply.

Afraid that remaining silent would lead to their deaths, the people cried, Kill them!

A Jihadist pulled off the blindfolds so the prisoners could see their executioners. 

First they must suffer, the jihadist ordered.  We invite you all to beat them.  Beat them as you would a rabid dog!

The people were stunned, aghast; they took a step back.

The ISIS commander yelled, Are you one with them...or one with us?

The crowd surged forward, screaming curses, feet and fists flailing.

Soon the prisoners were nothing more than pulp.

Three motorcycles pulled up; the ISIS soldiers got off their bikes, chained the arms of the dead men to the frames of their cycles and started dragging the mutilated corpses through the streets.

The jihadists raised their guns and fired, crying, Allahu Achbar! as the bikes made circles around the fountain.

When they grew tired of their game, the dead men, minus arms and legs, were unchained.

The terrorists picked three people out of the crowd: an old man, a young woman and a child.  Those of ISIS put machetes in the villagers’ hands and demanded they behead what was left of the bodies.

The townspeople looked on in horror but no one came forward to stop the butchery.

When the people did not show the proper enthusiasm, the ISIS commander quoted, The Qur’an says, ‘Therefore, when you meet the unbelievers, smite at their necks.’

Egged on by the threats of the jihadists and the cries of Death to the Infidels, from the gathered throng, the three chosen townspeople sawed at the necks of the dead men with the unsharpened blades.  The decapitations took many minutes and great effort.  Before long, so much blood had been spilled it was difficult to tell who was the victim and who the assailant.

When the work was done, the boy threw up, the woman fainted, and the old man dropped to his knees and cried.

A member of ISIS came forward, took the heads and climbed a statue that rose up from the fountain.  He placed the heads on top of the stone edifice for all to see and admire.

Today, Allah has been served, the ISIS commander announced.

CHAPTER TWO

Village of Meliandou.  Southern Guinea, Africa

The vegetation on either side of the mud road closed in on the Land Cruiser as it made its way deeper into the jungle.  Branches scraped against the exterior of the vehicle while divots the size of a Volkswagen caused the 4X4 to constantly bottom out.

The cries of macaque monkeys warned of danger ahead.  Vulture birds fled from their high perches as the vehicle nosily made its way still deeper into the forest.

As the trees grew denser and higher, the air became heavier and the sky darker.  The engine whined as traction became more difficult on an uphill section.  The tires spun, spewing mud fifteen feet behind the rear wheels.

A twelve-mile ride had already taken an hour and a half and still there was no sign of the village.

How much further? the healthcare worker asked the driver.

Maybe ten, fifteen minutes, miss, the man replied, a voice lacking confidence.

* * *

A few rays of sun came through the trees and the trail opened up.  Smoke from cooking fires filled the air along with the smell of grilled meat and fried vegetables.

The village of Meliandou in southern Guinea, close to the Sierra Leone and Swaziland borders, spread out before them. 

The report was that a toddler suffering fever, black stool and vomiting had died seven days before.  Six of the people who attended her funeral were now sick. 

The Land Cruiser stopped in the middle of a semi-circle of huts and two men and two women, wearing protective clothing, got out.

The sounds of children playing were absent...not a good sign.  The village was quiet, with just a few women milling about.  They stopped speaking with the arrival of outsiders.  The aid workers could see fear in their eyes of the villagers.

One of the women health care workers questioned a village elder.  No one knew how the child got sick or what illness the rest of the people were suffering from.

Has anyone handled chimpanzees, gorillas, fruit bats, monkeys or porcupines carcasses? she asked.

They did not know.  After the child's death, the mother suffered bleeding from her eyes, ears, nose, mouth and anus.  She defecated her internal organs and died hours later.  Then, the toddler's three-year-old sister took ill and died the next day, with symptoms including fever, vomiting and black diarrhea.  The illness subsequently affected the toddler's grandmother who died the day after.

Many of the ill had vanished into the forests, mistrustful of the medical system and afraid to go to hospitals.  The illness spread outside their village after several people attended the grandmother's funeral.  It spread to doctors and other family members who took care of infected patients.

That was when the health care workers knew they were standing at ground zero.

CHAPTER THREE

VA Medical Center.  Washington, D.C.

Every step down the long, white, antiseptic hallway cost him.  His breath was labored, arms searched for needed support, head pounding.  Objects seemed to levitate and spin around him.  He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or if he’d entered a different dimension.

His legs weighed tons, not pounds and his arms held ounces, not pounds.

Out of breath and nauseous, he would have turned around if the exit had been closer than the doctor’s office.  But now he was right outside the door and when he looked around for an avenue of escape, all he saw were pictures of brave men and women going as far back as the Civil War.  Once, he would have felt camaraderie with them, but now he felt like a betrayer, an imposter to the throne.

The plaque on the door read, Lt. Col. Diane Arquette, M.D., PhD.  He knocked once, lightly, hoping that no one would answer and he could lie and say he came but no one was there.

The door opened before he could get his hopes up.  A tall, elegant woman, with the figure and lithe movements of a fashion model - donning bookish glasses attempting to hide an exquisite face - smiled at him and said, Please come in, Paul.

Paul Decker moved cautiously, not trusting his ability to perceive distance.

Diane’s expression changed from kind to concerned.  Can you make it, Paul?  She reached out to assist him.  Here, let me help you.

Paul put out a refuting hand.  No!  I can do this.

Diane backed off and said, Yes, of course you can.

Thanks for a backhanded compliment: believing I can walk ten steps from your door to a chair.

I didn’t mean—, she began.

I know, I know, just trying to be supportive.

Yes, I—.

Paul waved off her apology.  He stood there for a moment, getting his bearings before attempting to move forward.

Diane smiled but it was strained.  She pressed her back against the door frame, giving Paul a wide berth.

His steps were tentative at first, then his confidence built and he made it to his chair.  Diane closed the door and took her seat.

How are you feeling, Paul? she asked.

A little worse than I look.

Hum, that bad, huh, she said, then added a laugh.

Paul tried to join in but it was too much for him to go from almost crying to laughing.

Do you have any recollection of the past few days? she asked.

Paul crossed one leg over the other and gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.  It did seem to help.  He didn’t blast off from his seat like a Nuke carrying a chimp into space.  Not really.

I got a call from a paramedic on Wednesday.  He said he had to drive you home to keep you from killing yourself or someone else with your car.

Again?

On Thursday, the suicide hotline called to tell me they talked you off the ledge of a sixty story building.

Again.

Then on Saturday, a call from the state department saying they bailed you out of jail in Ft. Worth Texas where the local police took you after they found you naked, riding the mechanical bull at Gilley’s bar.

Paul sighed and said, Ah-gen.

I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humor; it looks like that’s all you have left.

I’m having a bad day.

More like a bad year, Paul.

Yeah, well, time flies when you’re having fun.

Are you having fun, Paul?

Maybe.  I can’t remember.

Wallowing in self pity is pretty important to you, isn’t it?

Well, you have to put that into perspective.

Like there are some people even worse off than yourself?

I’ll bet it’s true.

Want to talk about it? she asked, trying to overcome Paul’s lethargy with her sympathy.

We’ve been over it before.  Nothing changed, he said dismissively.

Ever hear the term, ‘supplanting a habit?’  It’s a lot easier than breaking a habit,

Diane suggested.

Yeah, how does that apply to me?

You’ve talked about the men you left behind on missions.

That’s not exactly true.  They died because I was drunk; made wrong decisions.

How about the ones you saved by your bravery and quick thinking?

It’s not a zero sum game.

True, Diane admitted.

Too true, he countered.

What about another mission?

What...and kill young boys who haven’t learned to shave yet?

Those boys decide to go to war for their own, personal reasons.  They’re going to be led into battle by men far less capable than you.  I’d say they’d stand a better chance with Captain Paul Decker.

Good choice of words: chance.  As in ‘roll the dice’.

You’ve always been at your best during an assignment.  It’s in-between you have the problems.  For now, the best medicine I can recommend is for you to pull yourself together and accept a mission.

And if people die because of me...?

I’d prefer to focus on the people who’d be saved by having the best soldier in the U.S. Army leading them.

I’m not in the army anymore...I’m strictly Code 6.

Semantics.

I like to say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t, Paul said as he struggled to get up from his chair.  He reached out to steady himself, accidentally grabbed a lamp and knocked it on the floor.  He bent over to pick it up, got dizzy and fell back in his seat.  Sorry, he offered lamely, struggling to reach the broken pieces.

Leave it; it doesn’t matter.

Well, if there’s nothing else I can break, I guess we’re done here, Paul said, starting to get up again.

No, we’re not done here.  Diane waved Paul back in his seat.  This is for you, she said, handing him a telegram.  Some people have been trying to get a hold of you; seems your cell phone’s been turned off.

Just a bill dispute.  They said I hadn’t paid my bill for six months; I said it was more like four.

Funny guy, Diane said, then changed her facial expression from empathy to commanding officer.  Read it.

Paul took out a pair of glasses, which he started using after getting headaches.  He wasn’t sure if it was due to his weakening eyesight or to the booze, but they seemed to help.  He looked at the page but said nothing.

Out loud, please, she ordered.

Right.  ‘Islamic State fighters spotted in Guinea, Swaziland and Sierra Leone.  The head honcho, Abu Bakr in Iraq, is planning something.  You’re going into Mosul.  Get answers.  We need information, not body count.  You are Code 6, on your own.  Report to me in forty-eight hours for a full briefing.  The clock is ticking, Decker.  I don’t want to hear any lame, pitiful, self-serving excuses.’  It’s signed, ‘General Daniel Rafael, commander, AFRICOM’.

Paul finished reading and started to put the letter in his pocket.

Diane snatched it back.  Sorry, it’s classified and you’re still under a suicide watch.

Funny, Paul replied, sarcastic as was his style.

Who said I was kidding? Diane snapped.

I wasn’t laughing.

I’ve got orders to have you at the Pentagon in forty-eight hours or call the MPs who will escort you to the brig at Ft. Meade where you will sit until you dry out.  It’s your choice, Decker.

That’s not fair.  A choice is between one good thing and one bad thing.  You’re giving me two equally bad options.

You want fair, play roulette.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHO Regional Office for Africa.  Cite du Djoue,, Congo

The three story brick and glass building was just five years old.  It stood next to older, dilapidated structures built decades before using rudimentary tools and untrained local labor.  Those buildings threatened to cave in and take with anything standing nearby.

But on this day, those concerns were secondary.  Dr Afuna Umbuto of the Republic of Botswana began her tenure as the World Health Organization's Regional Director for Africa. 

She had been unanimously elected by the forty-seven countries that constituted the WHO African Region, succeeding Dr. Luis Sambo, whose mandate ended after having served as the Regional Director for the past ten years.

* * *

Dr. Umbuto stood outside the front entrance, surrounded by the other medical heads of their African Union states. respectively.

Her speech was interrupted often with applause.  Several times, the doctor stepped back from the microphone to bask in the adulation bestowed upon her.

She pledged to work for and with every member state to address the health challenges facing the African Region.  Dr. Umbuto noted that the Millennium Development goals propelled the region to a new level of well-being.  She also underscored the need for further work to enhance equity and human rights towards universal health care.

I commit myself and colleagues to build on what we have created so far and I am confident that we will ride on the positive things happening in the region.

Nearing the end of her speech, the ground shook violently.  People reached out to others in order to retain their balance.  Most thought it an earthquake, which, while dangerous, was normally taken in stride.

Then, an enormous explosion erupted from inside the building.  All the windows blew out and flames billowed from the entrance where the doors had been just seconds before.

Those in the ceremony were engulfed by fire, then buried under tons of bricks and rubble from the building torn asunder by the blast.

Screams rose up from the crowd but were drowned out by the roar of the flames.  People turned to run but the fire and debris hemmed them in.

In a matter of seconds, all of the files, programs, computers, hard drives and records were turned to ash and twisted metal.  The administrators from all forty-seven countries were gone with no one to easily and quickly replace them.

Should any medical emergency occur, there would be no one to manage the crisis and no one to pass on the administration of duties and responsibilities. 

An ill wind was blowing in from the east, threatening an even greater disaster than the loss of a building and a few dozen dedicated workers.

The Ebola outbreak, left to its own devises, was free to ravage a continent.

CHAPTER FIVE

Phone conversation: Mosul, Iraq to Barundiville, Swaziland, Africa

The impeccably-dressed, meticulously groomed, middle-aged man seated behind the large oak desk, took off his glasses and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

He looked up at the clock on the wall.  It read 9:30 p.m.

Mr. President, his secretary said.  A call from you on your personal line.

Who dares call me at such a late hour?  Tell them—.

Sir, it is the Caliph, Abu Bakr al-Baghadi, the secretary interrupted.

Ah.  Why didn’t you say so?  Put the call through immediately!

The secretary left the office and a moment later, the phone on President Good Wishes Jackson’s desk rang shrilly.

Good Wishes Jackson picked it up like it had the plague.

That was excellent work Mr. President, Abu Bakr said.

Thank you, sir.  I am happy to be of service.

You have done well.  You will be rewarded.

I hope this reward will come soon, Caliph.  Al-Qaeda has taken hold of the northern part of my country and is expanding its reach.

My men are committed to an attack on Baghdad, Mr. President.  I cannot spare any soldiers right now.  You will have to hold on.

If I must direct all my forces at Al-Qaeda, there will be no men to attack the U.N. relief centers or the hospitals.  Then the Ebola will quickly be brought under control.

How many men does it take to blow up a building or ambush a column of vehicles? Abu Bakr said with scorn.

The first were easy.  Now they are being protected by mercenaries.  These men have better weapons than my men and are better trained.  Something that was simple before is not so simple now.

Are you threatening me, Mr. President?

No sir.  I am only stating my case.

I can send some men to fight al-Qaeda, but first I will have them stop by your office and cut off your head.  And they will make a film of it and send it to your family.  How does that sound?

Now it is you threatening me...the president of one of the largest nations in Africa.

"Also one of the poorest nations in Africa.  And I do not threaten Mr. President.  I offer assurances. 

I suggest you find out the routes and the schedule of the doctors and aid workers coming into your country and have them all meet untimely deaths before they reach their destinations.

The Western nations are not run by fools.  They will discern a pattern to the killings and link them to me.  Then I will be arrested and turned over to The Hague.

That tribunal will take years, decades to come to a decision.  In the mean time I am making you a rich man...rich beyond your wildest dreams.

I will have to consider all this before I proceed, Good Wishes Jackson rebutted.

Choose wisely, Mr. President.  For if you disappoint me, I will send ten thousand crazy men all high on crack cocaine and Meth and PCP to level your entire country so that they only thing living will be termites fifty feet under ground.

I have made a deal with the devil, President Jackson decided.

No, no, Mr. President.  The devil can be tricked, disarmed, fooled.  If it were only the devil you were dealing with, you would be a lucky man.  Instead, you have me as your partner.  Truly a nightmare beyond imagination.

CHAPTER SIX

U.N. General Assembly.  New York City

A diminutive Black man stood at the podium, his head barely visible over the lectern. He smiled warmly, but the effort took a toll on him.  My name is Jabari; this means courageous.  I have come here to speak to you of what is happening in my country.  I have lost my entire family.  They were sick.  I called the hospital and told them we were desperate.  No one came for two weeks.  When they arrived, it was with a truck to take away the bodies.  They explained they were the body management team.  ‘Our job is to pick up dead bodies,’ they said.  ‘We are not responsible for taking the living to the hospital.’  No one comes when we are sick, only when we are dead.

Jabari wiped his tears away with a large red bandana.

We have met Ebola before and defeated it.  But now it burns through our villages like a fire through dry tinder.  We know how to stop Ebola but we need help...now.  Thank you.

Jabari stepped back from the podium. 

He got a hug from Marie LeGarde, President of Médecins Sans Frontières, Doctors Without Borders, who came from the side of the stage.  She then addressed the gathering.  "We face two serious problems.  Ebola has for the first time, touched major urban areas.  Second, the international response has been little and late.  We are falling further and further behind, with the number of cases increasing each week.  We are not even at the point where this is at its worst.

"You may think this is an Africa problem, but you would be wrong.  Ebola is coming to the West.  There is now way to stop it; we can only prepare.  If we put our heads in the sand and hope it passes us by, we will succumb to the ravages of the sickness.  The virus has already struck in Spain, America, France and other countries. 

"By the end of March, when the outbreak had just begun, the death toll was eighty-two.  Now, fifty people die each day.  Almost five thousand have been killed.  And this only counts those who admit to the illness, not those who hide from health workers and bury their dead in silence. 

"The U.N. projects that the cases of Ebola could double every twenty days, reaching one point four million by January.  And that is just in the three countries where the outbreak began.

"But the danger of Ebola is not just in the number deaths.  There is a growing threat to regional and global stability.  Economic growth has slowed dramatically.  It will stop, then retract.  Food will not be produced, millions may starve; the rise of Islamists and genocide are real risks.  Schools have closed; there will be millions of children uneducated to add to the pool of the unemployed.  The Industrialized nations will be paying for decades to feed, cloth, and care for millions of sick and displaced people if we do not stop this scourge now.

"We went to the WHO in April of 2014 and told them it was a huge epidemic.  They said it was under control.  This is beyond naiveté, it is criminal.  It took one thousand deaths and five months before this was declared a public health emergency.  Now a once manageable outbreak is running rampant.

"Aid is now pouring in, but it is in the form of money.  Yes, we need beds and sanitation facilities, but for every center, we need four highly trained staff per patient along with a rotating roster of doctors and disinfectant teams and janitors to dispose of contagious material.

"Ebola has taken the lives of over two hundred aid workers and has caused many others to abandon their posts.

"The few hospitals and clinics in the areas hard hit have closed for fear of infection.  As a result, once manageable illnesses such as diarrhea, hypertension, malaria, and dengue fever have become death sentences.  Ebola has sucked the air out of health care.

"We must prepare for the aftermath of this epidemic.  Ebola is here to stay.  We must move from a short-term intensive response to a long-term campaign to clean up in its wake.

"Ebola will continue to smolder in places where it cannot be tracked, ready to burst into flames the next time conditions are ripe.  We need to start thinking how we will never allow this to happen again.

Thank you, Ms. LeGarde said, then picked up her notes and exited the stage, leaving her audience to ponder the ramifications of what she had said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

West Wing.  The White House.  Washington, D.C.

Islam is peace, U.S. President Sami Khoury assured the gathering.  "The September 11 terrorist attacks violated the fundamental tenants of the Islamic faith.  The terrorists practiced a narrow form of Islamic extremism that has been rejected by Muslim scholars and the vast majority of Muslim clerics.  Those attacks were perpetrated by a fringe movement that has perverted the peaceful teaching of Islam.

"As of today, February 16, 2018, this administration has ordered the removal of any mention of Islam and Jihad from counterterrorism training manuals for the FBI, DHS, military forces and intelligence agencies.  Talk of Islam as an extremist religion, or Jihad as being violent will be interpreted as hate crimes.  Such actions will not be tolerated and will be prosecuted to the maximum degree by the courts, at the state and federal level.

"I have instructed the FBI that mosques are off limits to surveillance and undercover sting operations.  The best way to prevent violent extremism is to work with the Muslim American community which has consistently rejected terrorism.

"Muslims will not be regarded as second class citizen by this administration.  My bro...those men and women will be accorded the same rights and privileges of all American citizens and those who attempt to violate the constitutional rights of those people will find the full weight of the law pressed against them.

Members of the press raised their pens over their heads to garner the president’s attention.

Rather than address their concerns President Khoury raised a refuting hand and said, Peace be upon you.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Greenwood Apartments.  Washington, D.C.

Paul stuck a finger down his throat as far as it would go and spewed vomit into the toilet.  He did that until there was nothing in his stomach and all that remained was a burning sensation in his esophagus and hate for the alcohol that he allowed to drag him down to depths where no man should ever go.  How many lives had he destroyed?  Those left behind on the battlefields, friends he disowned because they tried to stop him from going back into the bottle, and his own family that he had forsaken in his quest for glory and recognition.

Yet after all that, there were those who still believed in him, still supported him and would go into battle with him.  But could he ask them to risk their lives on a drunk?  No, that was too much to ask of anyone.  If he couldn’t sober up on his own, then he’d have to turn himself in at Walter Reed for an indefinite stay.  And who would they get to replace him in Africa? 

The questions started hurting his head.  He put on a large pot of coffee and stood there thinking until the whistle almost deafened him.

* * *

Hours went by before he felt coherent enough to make his first phone call. 

Can you meet me? he asked.

Paul? Kelly Rogers asked.

Who else would have the guts to call you asking for help after disregarding your calls for two years and using every lame excuse to avoid contact with someone who cared for me?

Wrong tense, Paul.  Cares for you, not cared for you.

Thanks, but I don’t think I deserve that.

"Well, you didn’t call just