The Wormwood Trumpet

By Fred Allison

The third millennium has just begun. A terrorist warlord more vicious than Usama bin Ladin has risen to power in the mountainous Hindu Kush region of South Asia. His dark dream is to unify Muslims worldwide in a long-running Jihad that will destroy the West.

In Europe, a young Portuguese professor of astronomy and his beautiful girlfriend are contracted by NASA to help track a comet known as Wormwood...a comet hurtling toward earth in what may be a doomsday scenario.

Back in the states, an American colonel serving with Army Intelligence is charged with preparing for the comets pending impact. But the colonel must also stop the terrorists planned explosion of a nuclear bomb in California.

The Great Tribulation has come with a vengeance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 25, 2003
• ISBN: 9781410703934

Fred Allison

Fred Allison is a lifelong scholar of technology, world politics, and theology. The synthesis of his knowledge provides a unique perspective in a time when terrorists from the Middle East plan global attacks on the West in obedience to the tenets of their religion. Allison’s education and insight provide a powerful vision of what the future may hold for our fragile civilization as we fight for our survival. In addition to writing, Allison consults on environmental and human health issues for various commercial and industrial clients.

Book preview

THE WORMWOOD

TRUMPET

By

Fred Allison

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations

in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual

persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

© 2003 by Fred Allison. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system, or transmitted by any means, electronic,

mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without

written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-4107-0393-2 (e-book)

ISBN: 1-4107-0394-0 (Paperback)

ISBN: 1-4107-4256-3 (Dust Jacket)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4107-0393-4(ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2002096491

First Edition

All Biblical quotes in this book are adaptations of the King

James Version.

Contents

PART I

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

PART II

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

PART III

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

PART IV

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

PART V

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

CHAPTER 72

CHAPTER 73

CHAPTER 74

PART I

A King of Fierce Countenance

"Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of

prophecy…"

Revelation 1:3

"And in the latter time, when the transgressors have become

completely wicked, a king of fierce countenance, a master of

intrigue, shall arise.

And his power shall be mighty, but it will not be his own power.

He will cause astounding devastation and succeed in whatever he

does. He will destroy the mighty and holy people.

And through his policy, deceit will prosper, and he will

consider himself superior. When they feel secure, he will destroy

many and take his stand against the Prince of princes."

Daniel 8: 23-25

CHAPTER 1

A cold rain was slashing at the dirty face of Abdul Mohammad as he made his way through one of Islamabad’s squalid back alleys. His clothing had been soaked by the ten-minute walk through the hard rain. Most men would have been miserable but Abdul barely noticed. When an attack was in the offing, he was totally absorbed.

Some of his brothers killed the infidels as a matter of duty. As a veteran of the fight and a founding member of New Islamic Jihad, Abdul had often stressed the duty aspect to his men. But Abdul also enjoyed the killing. Whether it was infidels or Muslim friends of infidels, he didn’t care. They all had to be killed and he relished the work.

Abdul’s laser-like focus had kicked in the minute he left the safe house. Two other trusted fighters followed close behind him as they made their way to the planned rendezvous point near the center of the city. Even as their commander, he only knew them as Kareem and Ahmad. It was better that way, especially if they were captured.

The Mac 10 machine pistol weighed heavy in his coat as he weaved his way through the heavy throngs of people that lived along the way. This will probably be my last mission, he thought. The Pakistani Intelligence Service or ISI had been hunting for him for more than a year now. From deep within the rugged Hindu Kush, he had launched a series of successful bombings and assassinations all over the Middle East. ISI didn’t know all the details but they did know that Abdul Mohammad was a rising figure. They also knew that much of the responsibility for the string of attacks rested at his doorstep. Since the death of several other leaders, most members of ISI had picked Abdul Mohammad as New Islamic Jihad’s heir apparent. His name was whispered with a certain reverence by many of the fighters that they had captured and tortured. The U.S. had been pressuring Pakistan to turn up the heat on all of the Muslim fighters and they had responded. But the more members of New Islamic Jihad that ISI killed and captured, the more they came. More and more, it seemed that most of the young men of the Middle East were eager to join the worldwide Jihad.

Much of the desire could be attributed to Abdul Mohammad’s growing notoriety. Young Muslim men were proud of his militant defiance. They reveled in his victories and dreamed of his conquests yet to come. Since the 17th Century, Islam had been marginalized by the expanding power and vitality of the West. Most of these young men felt that it was a time for change. Imams all over the Middle East reinforced that belief.

After another ten minutes of walking, Abdul and his men reached their destination. The Interior Ministry was a three-story greystone building. The front entrance was gated and heavily guarded by six soldiers. Other operatives within New Islamic Jihad had cased the building for months. They knew all of the schedules and all of the security measures. The other men had all said that the attack would be easy. Abdul Mohammad was not convinced. He had the scars of experience to know better.

At a small park across the street, each of the men waited at a different location. The rain had now slackened and the streets were full of people. Kareem purchased coffee from a street vendor and was sipping the hot contents in the midst of a crowd near a small kiosk. Ahmad sat on a nearby bench watching the street. Abdul Mohammad leaned against a tree staring at the Interior Ministry across a tree-lined boulevard.

In a matter of minutes, the rain was coming down hard again. Abdul glanced at his watch. It was exactly eight a.m. and time to go. With a glance and nod, Abdul Mohammad motioned to his men to proceed toward the street and the Interior Building. The three men were now walking side-by-side. The street and the building on the other side were still more than a hundred yards distant.

Where is our bomber? whispered Kareem as they approached the nearest stoplight and waited to cross. Neither Abdul nor Ahmad answered his question. Each of the men continued looking at the front gate as they waited to cross the busy street. As the light changed, an ambulance pulled up to the checkpoint in front of the Interior Ministry.

Our man just arrived and it shouldn’t be…

KABOOOOM!!!! Before Abdul Mohammad could finish his sentence, the peace of the normal early morning city scene was shattered by a huge explosion at the front gate.

Let’s go! urged Abdul as the men dodged the remaining traffic to cross the street. While they were running toward the site of explosion, the rest of the crowd was running away. As the men ran, each pulled out his assault weapon.

The scene at the gate was gruesome. Body parts were scattered over a wide area. All that was left of the ambulance was scattered burning chunks of indistinguishable debris. The gate was completely destroyed by the blast. The massive double doors to the ministry lay in shambles. One of the guards was still alive but he appeared quite disoriented as he stumbled from the front portico of the building. He had lost his weapon. As the three men ran past the guard and bounded up what was left of the stairs, Abdul fired a quick burst of his machine pistol into the dazed man’s head.

Bullets were ricocheting all around the doorway as the three men entered the building. Two military guards were standing less than 20 feet away and one had opened up with an M-16. The other was furiously fighting a jammed rifle. Ahmad was immediately struck in the chest and killed by the semi-automatic fire.

Abdul and Kareem quickly returned fire with a withering barrage from their Mac 10’s. The two remaining guards were hit with the lethal spray of bullets and quickly silenced. There was no more resistance. Abdul and Kareem pressed forward into the heart of the building, killing as they proceeded.

CHAPTER 2

It was a beautiful June day in Lisbon as Professor Jorge Barrosso walked quickly down the narrow cobblestone street to class. In his 30 years of life, he could not recall a spring quite as nice as this one. If he could have skipped the appointment he had with the head of the department, he probably would have. It would be a great day to go fishing, he thought.

What the old man wanted with him today he couldn’t begin to guess but he had an idea it wouldn’t be good. He probably wanted him to substitute teach yet again. With only four professors of astronomy, he was constantly sitting in for one of the others. Problem was, Jorge was looking for more time off, not more time at work.

As he entered the grounds of the university and headed for the physics building he glanced at his watch. To his dismay, he was already five minutes late. As he rounded the building he ran into one of his grad students, Jessica Alvarez.

What’s the big hurry, Prof? asked Jessica. Let’s go have a latte.

Love to but I’m late to a nine o’clock meeting with the old man, Jessica, he said as his slender, muscular body bounded up the steps of the colonnaded sciences building.

Normally he would have loved an informal opportunity to stop and chat with Jessica. She was a 28-year old doctoral candidate in astronomy and he had the fortune to serve as her advisor. More than that, she was gorgeous and he sensed that she was as interested in him as he was in her. Her tall slender physique and long brown curly hair really turned him on. He would like to ask her out but couldn’t until their academic relationship had ended. That shouldn’t be too long either, since she had just successfully defended her dissertation and was only waiting for the ceremony where she would be awarded her degree.

No problem doc but it’s only eight forty-five, she shouted as Jorge entered the large oaken doorway of the sciences building.

Jorge stopped and flipped the hair out of his eyes as he glanced again at his watch. Probably running fast…I’ve gotta get a new watch, he thought as he walked down the marbled hallway. He knew that his department head, Professor Henri Vazquez, would still be teaching his eight o’clock class so he slipped into the back of the large lecture hall to hear the last few minutes of the old man’s lecture.

Comets are small objects composed of ice, water and smaller amounts of rock and dirt. The old man wheezed heavily as he spoke. His students often wondered if he would live to utter his next sentence. He rocked back and forth on his small frame as he lectured and usually steadied himself by holding onto the chalkboard or lectern with one hand. Jorge had often thought that the old man smoked too many cigarettes. Nobody dared suggest that he lighten up. He probably wouldn’t anyhow unless it was his own idea. He was simply too stubborn to take advice from anyone, including his doctor.

But when I say comets are small I mean no more than 10-15 kilometers in diameter. And they are typically much less. Comets originate in the Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud. These areas are rings of icy objects that encircle the solar system far out into space beyond the planet Pluto. As best we understand it, the gravitational force of passing stars and planets pull these objects out their orbits and send them hurling through the solar system toward the sun. And when that happens, anything in the way is fair game.

The old professor stopped for a coughing break. It was a nasty hacking sound. He continued, As a comet approaches the sun, it begins to vent gas and dust, forming a coma around its nucleus.

As the professor stopped to catch his breath, Jorge wondered how much longer Vazquez would be around. Would Jorge Barrosso have a chance of taking over as chairman of the department? Wait a minute, what am I thinking? Jorge thought as he pulled his mind out of a daydream. I want more time off, not more commitment!

The old man droned on after the momentary pause. For reasons we scientists still don’t fully understand, comet nuclei are quite dark, reflecting almost no light into space. The coma, however, reflects light that we see from Earth as comet ‘tails.’ Comets may orbit the sun for many thousands of years, reappearing regularly to fascinate a new generation of earth observers. After some time, comets run out of gas and ice and turn into the objects we know as asteroids. Sometimes, however, comets will strike another object that happens to be in the way and disintegrate with a spectacular explosion. When that happens, our solar system can resemble a billiard table.

Again there was a long pause as the old man stared out at his students. When he was sure that the anticipation had risen to a sufficient level, he continued with his lecture just long enough to provide an anti-climatic conclusion.

And that’s about it for this course. Don’t forget that final exams are next week.

As the students pulled their books together and began to leave the hall, Jorge was lost in thought again. He was recalling the photographs of previously undiscovered comet X-1489 he had snapped at the 5 meter Columbus telescope in the Azores a few summers ago. He had had a lot of fun following the fiery track of that comet over a two-week period. He wondered if the remains of X-1489 were now part of the asteroid belt or if some astronomer 200 years in the future would be snapping more photos of the long distance traveler. Or perhaps, just perhaps, X-1849 had disintegrated in the far reaches of Professor Vazquez’ cosmic billiard table.

Hope you enjoyed my lecture, let’s go, the old man chortled as he climbed the lecture hall stairs and passed the seat where Jorge had been deep in thought. Jorge jumped up and followed Vazquez down the hall and towards his office. As they entered Vazquez’ office, Jorge scanned the reams of books that Vazquez had collected over the years. He looked at the solar system models and universe maps that seemed to occupy every wall and exhibit space in the large office.

Jorge, you’re a good professor. You have a true love for astronomy and I really appreciate the zeal with which you approach your position. Vazquez stopped to cough.

Where is all of this going? Jorge wondered as he waited for Vazquez to resume. The old man had never given him this type of praise.

I might as well cut to the chase, he continued. The university has decided to discontinue our small astronomy department. They want to use the funds to bolster the computer science faculty. As of the end of this semester, we are both out of a job.

Jorge was stunned. He had never dreamed that this would be the subject of the meeting Vazquez had called him to attend. As he stared out of the office’s large window to the beautiful campus commons area, he felt as if he were in a trance. Vazquez droned on but Jorge wasn’t listening. The whole thing seemed surreal. How could he be so suddenly thrust into a life-changing event…on such a magnificent spring day?

Of course the university will provide you with a very generous exit package, Jorge. Our union contract provides for one year of severance pay for situations such as this. The citizens pay us well to talk an hour each day. Or at least they used to. Are you listening to me Barrosso?

Yes, I’m listening. Jorge responded somewhat absent-mindedly as he rose to leave. He had heard enough.

If can be of any help, I will be there for you. Also, your trip to Los Angeles this summer for the conference is already paid for so you might as well take advantage of it. Do you have any idea what you will do afterwards?

Not really Henri. I’ll probably do a little fishing. Then I think I’ll play some billiards for a year or so.

Billiards? What are you talking about? wheezed the old man as Jorge left the office.

CHAPTER 3

Colonel Brad Harrison had propped his feet on the corner of his new desk and was staring out the window of his office. It was a rainy, late spring morning in Virginia and he was reflecting on his recent promotion and assignment. His promotion had rattled some of the competition since he was only thirty five. He had scored very high throughout his career including his time at West Point where he was fifth in his class. A friend had told him that Major General Kent Barnes, in charge of the Army’s Defense Intelligence Agency, had personally selected him to head up his new position: Intelligence Officer in Charge of Asia-Middle East Affairs.

He was only two days into the assignment and still had not received any work. Suddenly there was a light knock and the door to his office opened.

His new secretary, Susan Bowles, strode in and tossed a FedEx box to him. Here’s your first assignment, Sir. The general’s out of town but he sent this for you to read before his return. Hope you enjoyed your vacation, she said with a wry smile as she stared down at him.

Susan was a tall slender blonde a few years older than Brad. He had only known her for a few days but knew already that she would be a smart, no nonsense, diligent staffer that would be a great asset to the new position. He knew early on that he would have a great rapport with her.

Thanks Susan.

As she closed the door and left the room, he pulled the string and opened the box. It was full. With some difficulty, he coaxed out a stack of clipped documents and one single sheet letter.

The letter was from General Barnes and it was brief. He would later learn that Barnes was a man of few words but that he was very focused and very intense. He picked staff like Brad Harrison that could work independently with little oversight. He demanded dedication and rewarded those who delivered.

The letter indicated that intelligence sources were concerned about the emergence of a radical Islamic alliance known as the New Islamic Jihad. The general specifically noted that the group didn’t regard or recognize national boundaries. New Islamic Jihad was working to negate the hindrances that such boundaries caused for terrorist organizations. The group was committed to the creation of a worldwide army of Muslims dedicated to defeat the Great Satan America and her allies. There had been similar attempts in the past led by the likes of Usama bin Ladin in Afghanistan and Abbul Abbas in Lebanon.

Nasser had tried it within the rubric of legitimate political processes much earlier in Egypt. Other groups such as Hamas had exhibited limited success. Apparently, however, this new alliance was having much greater impact and was growing rapidly.

Harrison began to read the other documents. A white paper that caught his eye talked about the perspective new leader of the alliance, one Abdul Mohammad. His base of operations ranged from western China to Kashmir but he had operatives all over the Middle East and the Islamic states of the former Soviet Union. There were indications that he also had active cells in Pakistan, Chechnya, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Yemen, Egypt and Lebanon. The paper also stated that Mohammad had been somewhat successful at negotiating with established political entities throughout moderate states of the Islamic world. Supposedly, his persuasive, diplomatic manner had convinced many Islamic leaders to allow his soldiers free movement. Evidence was building, however, that Mohammad was a brutal killer. While getting specific information was very difficult, reports had indicated that Mohammad had a very effective, widespread assassination network that was spreading fear amongst most Islamic political leaders. It was suggested that that might be the real reason his diplomatic gestures had been so persuasive.

It was almost six o’clock before Brad finishing reading the documents delivered that day. He had begun to understand why General Barnes had established the new position that he had been selected to fill. If Mohammad’s successes continued, he would pose a threat to the stability of the entire Middle East and possibly more than that. Eventually, he would have to be stopped.

As he was getting up to leave for the day, his wife Pam called.

When are you leaving, dear?

I’m just closing my briefcase. See you in thirty minutes. Love you.

You too.

CHAPTER 4

Zaffar Lahore looked out a dilapidated third floor window on the dreary Islamabad streets. From his office he could see a small group of men sipping coffee and smoking water pipes at the kiosk in the park across the street. As he daydreamed, he looked with disinterest at several pigeons that had huddled on the window sill vainly attempting to escape the wind and rain.

As he watched the men through clouds of tobacco smoke he thought about how long it had been since he had been able to enjoy a moment in a park without his body guards urging him to hurry along. As interior minister, he had seen nothing but danger in the past three years. Two other cabinet ministers and numerous lesser officials had been assassinated in the Jihad.

Since accepting the post from his old college friend, Marwat Mustafa, his life had been nothing but dreadful. He was virtually powerless to affect the changes that the country needed to shake off its endemic poverty. Economic conditions were even worse now. The militants and the clergy did not want the close relations with the West that would be needed to help the poor masses. To make matters worse, his health was now declining. He put his hand over his heart as if he could evaluate his heart condition in such a fashion. His blood pressure had increased to the point that his physician had placed him on medication and yet he was only 35. He was now considering resignation. What else could he do? This position was certainly not worth his life.

Zaffar swiveled back around to his desk and looked at the large picture of President Mustafa on the opposite wall. He knew his resignation would not matter because Mustafa and the moderates could not win this fight. The country was on the verge of civil war and he wanted no part of it. It would be brutal and he felt certain the moderates would lose. The Madrassahs had trained too many fanatical fighters. And they knew no masters but the imams and the charismatic radicals.

Maybe I can escape to France, he thought, as he stood up to stretch and look out the window again. He had several relatives living in Paris that had promised assistance. He would have to leave most of his family behind, however, and they would be imprisoned, or worse, for his actions. That’s strange to see an ambulance at the front gate, he thought as he turned back to his desk. As he flipped on his computer to write a letter of resignation, he was startled by a massive explosion. The force of the blast knocked him unconscious and he collapsed to the floor.

A minute later he came to and had just struggled to his feet when the door to his office swung open and violently slammed against the wall. The picture of President Mustafa fell hard to the floor smashing the glass and breaking the frame. Two rough-looking men burst into the room. Each of the men leveled a machine pistol at him.

It was one of those rare moments in time when nothing is said but everything is understood. The men simply stared at each other in the midst of the deafening silence. Five seconds seemed like five years. As his life flashed before his eyes, Zaffar immediately knew that he had waited too long to leave the country.

Who are you? he asked in a quiet, resigned voice. The question was the only response his mind could dredge up. Zaffar didn’t really need to ask. Their names didn’t matter. The reason for their presence in his office was all that mattered and Zaffar already knew what that was.

I am Abdul Mohammad and this is my Muslim brother Kareem. And as if Zaffar had been reading his mind, he added, "But who we are is really not important. It is what we are that is important. We are your judge and jury. And we bring you justice from New Islamic Jihad. Zaffar Lahore, your traitorous days of working with the enemies of Islam are finished. Allah, bless his holy name, has decreed your death."

ALLAHU AKBAR! Kareem shouted as both men began to fire their automatic weapons with abandon. Zaffar was slammed up against the wall behind his desk. As the blood flowed from his chest, he blacked out and his lifeless body slumped to the floor once again.

CHAPTER 5

Laid off! Jorge Barrosso couldn’t get the words off his mind as he walked down the hallway and out of the Physics Building where he had worked for the past four years. He was too young to be laid off, he thought as he kicked at a rock on the sidewalk.

Jorge knew that this would be a tough time in his life. Instinctively, he also knew that he would have to avoid the temptation to feel sorry for himself, suck it up and get on with his life. What was that expression? Turn lemons into lemonade. In some ways, he thought, this could be an opportunity. For most of his life he had pursued either his education or