The Final Cruise

By L. J. Kritz

The cruise ship, the Swedish Star Line’s Venus, sat in the sun, docked in Cyprus in the beautiful Mediterranean, waiting for the full complement of guests and crew to board and settle in for the next two weeks of comfort and enjoyment. Already on board was a full contingent of senior staff, many of whom had worked their way up from cabin boys and housekeepers to now directing the cruise. Forward thinking room stewards, cooks, newly-graduated engineers and service personnel were hoping to follow in their footsteps, and do the same.
On the dock, waiting to board, were honeymooners, senior citizens on the trip of a lifetime, parents looking for some relaxation before getting back to the grind of raising those kids, and maybe even some malcontents with less than pleasure on their minds.
In distant lands, politicians striving to cement their dominance of their countries were looking for a new opportunity to gain more control. Terrorist groups in the Middle East were looking for the next available target to disrupt the majors powers who were using the desert lands to do battle with each other. Major arms suppliers around globe were happily raking in wartime profits from all the mayhem.
Can all of these stories be connected? When terrorists get involved, the hopes and dreams are destroyed for those directly affected, but also for those that think they are distant observers. One can safely say that no one thought that this is The Final Cruise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. J. Kritz
• Release date: May 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781370928071

L. J. Kritz

Lou began writing in high school, chronicling events of interest and recording major events. He has contributed to business and medical journals but has always wanted to express his thoughts in fiction. Born into a close society in the mining and steel region of southwestern Pennsylvania his hardworking parents relied on deep religious conviction to get them through life's struggles.Lou witnessed his church's idiosyncrasies and embarked on a long-term quest to understand religion and how it affects beliefs and daily life. After spending 12 years in Lancaster County, PA, including four years in an Amish house and being immersed in that society, he felt equipped to write "Dark Angel Amish" and it's sequel, "Pay the Devil." Now, his newest effort, "The Final Cruise," draws on the religious influence in today's terrorist societies, and how this affects everybody from innocent ordinary people, to unscrupulos politicians, and major national efforts to overtake enemies.Lou and his wife, Loraine, live in Costa Rica, realizing a dream that they've had for many years.

Book preview

The Final Cruise

By

Lou Kritz

Published by L.J. Kritz

at Smashwords

The Final Cruise © Copyright 2020 Lou Kritz

Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan

American Copyright Conventions.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

About the Author

Other Books by Lou Kritz

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Back in about the third grade, many more years ago than I remember, my teacher, a nun, answered the Why question in the same way every time. She said, Everything happens for a reason. But then, she also had a cop-out phrase to explain it.

The mother of my friend George died well before her time, in her early thirties. When we asked the nun the Why question, the answer was, of course, Everything happens for a reason.

Well then, OK, but what was the reason?

It was the Lord's will, she answered, pulling out her cop-out answer, and hoping to bring some serenity to interrupt our restlessness. For third graders, that usually worked. However, our life and culture have dramatically changed over the many decades since grade school. It's not that easy anymore.

With the world getting alarmingly smaller, we have faster, even instant, live communications, diverse travel options, an exponentially growing world population, and increases in personal wealth and disposable income. All of this is coming at us at a rapidly increasing velocity, coupled with changing values, customs, and options.

Daily, we are experiencing an interesting phenomenon, the Butterfly Effect, in new and frightening ways. The definition of this was developed several centuries ago, but popularly promulgated in the field of weather forecasting in the 1960s. The Effect, simply stated, is, Does the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?

In today's world, we not only have to deal with all of the variables in any event taking place, but

but our once basic principles can change faster than we can consider the effects of that change. For example, a commuter train, carrying hundreds of wage earners home after work, derails in northern New Jersey, killing many. What happened? What factors affected the potential for an accident, who or what played a part in the cause? What are the consequences?

Investigators find that the initial cause was the poor quality of the steel rails, purchased from a company in Thailand because there are no U.S. companies manufacturing them anymore. The railroad construction company, in an effort to reduce costs and boost profits, reduced the size of their quality control lab from 46 technicians to four, and chose to outsource most of the actual testing to private labs. The CEO negotiated very low and competitive prices from these labs, because his salary was based on his company's profit margin. The steel testing lab ran faulty tests because their profits evaporated when they worked at industry standards and at the low-bid income that they received.

The CEO's wife had filed for divorce two weeks before the accident, hiring the metropolitan area's top divorce attorney, who was known for winning exorbitant judgements for the poor wives of rich corporate officers. The wife filed because of her husband's dalliance with their Puerto Rican maid, who was compliant because he paid her several thousand dollars to remain silent. She needed the money to pay for her twelve-year old's surgery for an injury that was caused by his wrecking his new bike. The CEO was under extreme financial pressure to increase his income and hide it from his wife and her attorney.

So, using the Butterfly Effect's principles, could we say that the maid caused the train wreck? Or was it her son, who was careless on the bike? Or maybe it was the bike store who didn't check that all of the wheel nuts were tight before selling the bike. I haven't even mentioned the train's engineer who stopped for a cool beer on his way to work. The analysis could almost go on forever.

The story herein begins with a single rifle shot in Hama, Syria. Given the violent society that Syria has become, that shot could have been a robber stealing a leg of lamb in the marketplace. Maybe it was a father celebrating his son's coming-of-age twelfth birthday. Squirrels are plentiful there now, but an opportunistic gunman may have thought this was his lucky day to have a roasted one. Could it have been an American sniper who thought that woman scurrying by with a closed basket was actually a disguised enemy soldier?

As the story develops, what does a single rifle shot in Syria mean to the forklift driver at a Texas Instruments plant in Alabama? The London cab driver, saving his tips and having just bought an electric scooter chair for his wheelchair-bound dear aunt, might be connected to the shot. So might the hearing impaired Filipino young woman, working as a dishwasher on a cruise ship near Aruba. And, what about the landlord in Evanston, Illinois, who just rented an apartment to the cute, newly married and newly graduated students of the local university?

The analysis could go on and on. It is complicated, but understandable in principle, if not in actual detail. The story of this one shot will have consequences that no one could see coming. Of course, if we then add in today's aggressive and nearly out of control media to the picture, we may be steered into the wrong labyrinth, either intentionally or by accidental misunderstanding.

Chaos theorists would define major causes and consequences of the Butterfly Effect as small changes in the initial conditions that lead to drastic changes in the results.

Therefore, to answer the first question, "Yes, the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil can and may set off a tornado in Texas.

Chapter One

Abbas Hashem awoke on the warm Hama morning to the sound of distant machine gun fire. At least it was distant. The fighting in Hama, Syria, seemed to have been going on endlessly since the siege in 2011 when the government decided to put an end to the anti-government protests. The Syrian Civil War had erupted, and the protests mounted, only to be met with greater government oppression.

Abbas was now alone in the city, living in a bombed-out hovel where his parents and siblings once resided. His father and two brothers were killed in the Ramadan Massacre of 31 July 2011. His mother fled with relatives in the midst of the shelling and has disappeared. She was clutching his three young sisters when the shell hit, killing two immediately and blinding Ranim, the four-year old who had fallen to the ground. Only her bending over to grab her daughter spared his mother's life as the shell fragments passed just over her.

To say Abbas was tired and defeated by the ongoing hostilities would be an unbelievably gross understatement. Moving about the city was incredibly difficult. There were snipers everywhere and they were supported by the various rebel factions and competed with the Syrian Army shooters who seemed to just fire at whoever moved. His day was spent running from building to building, hoping to move faster that the sighting ability of whatever sniper was trying to draw a bead on him at that moment.

Having not had any food yesterday made Abbas awake hungry. He dug in his pocket and found a few coins. Quickly counting, he found he had about 50 Syrian pounds, or roughly one U.S. dollar. He decided to try and make the market, where he hoped to be able to get enough houmous and pita to slake his hunger. Maybe if he was lucky that kind lady at the stand behind the stable would favor him with an egg or maybe a couple of olives. He arose, with no need to get dressed, as he had slept in his clothes. He had no others to change into.

Going downstairs to the outside, Abbas crouched along the buildings as he hustled down the street. In the split second before the bullet hit, he heard the whir. It crashed into the wall just in front of him, spraying him with cement dust. He dove for the sidewalk as the second shell exploded where his head had just been. He hadn't seen the shooter. It didn't matter, as the gunner was now moving away so he wouldn't be detected. He had not chosen Abbas as a special target, only as a civilian out walking. The goal was to sow fear and dread to the citizens of Hama. It seemed to make no sense

Fortunately, when Abbas hit the ground, he was down behind a cement barrier that momentarily protected him from further fire. Pressing flat to the sidewalk allowed him to look around for possible escape routes. He saw few, if any. He remained still for several moments, trying to figure out what his options were. There didn't seem to be many.

Ya rajul, huna. Hey, man, over here!

Looking up Abbas saw an arm extended into the nearest open doorway and a shadowy figure trying to stay hidden. Since he was basically stuck, he decided to respond to the call and drag himself over to the doorway. When he got there, the man behind the wall grabbed him and pulled him further into the room, and away from the doorway. Abbas' first instinct was to fight to get away, but he realized that he might have just been rescued.

The two frightened men just looked at each other when they had a chance to catch a breath. Abbas thought this guy looked familiar but didn't want to trust him, or anybody else, for that matter.

The man exclaimed, Abn 'akh. Nephew!

He continued, I am your uncle Merced. Merced Yosem, your father's brother. You are Abbas. I am overjoyed to see you alive. I am so sorry that almost everybody in your circle has perished or disappeared. I never thought that the fates would let me see you again.

It took Abbas a few moments to process what he had just heard. He looked up at Uncle Merced and recognized him, remembering him from the days when his extended family could get together and eat, sing, make jokes, and generally just enjoy being part of their clan. Now, there were so many emotions and thoughts in his aching head that he could just stare at his beloved uncle.

Where are you going, Abbas? Tell me, please, what you are up to. How can I help?

I'm only going to the market, Uncle. Just trying to get something to eat. I did not eat yesterday.

Aya, come here, please. And with that Merced's wife, Abbas' Aunt Aya, crept into the room.

Merced spoke, Aya, this is Abbas, my brother's son. His father passed in the revolt and his mother has escaped the city. He hasn't been eating and probably not sleeping. Can we fix him some food so that he can get strong again?

Aunt Aya approached Abbas and held his head between her hands. She kissed him warmly on each cheek as tears came to her eyes. Of course, give me just a few moments.

In about five minutes, Aya entered the room holding a pair of almost new pants, a loose shirt, and even a clean pair of a man's undergarments. She also had a cake of soap, towels and a washcloth.

You look like you could use all this. I have put some warm water in the tub in back. Please, please, enjoy it. These clothes are for you. They belonged to my son, your cousin, Zain. We lost him shortly after the Massacre. I'll prepare breakfast while you bathe.

Abbas didn't know what to say. So, he said nothing, and just did as he was told. The warm water over his dry, scratchy skin, felt almost like heaven. It had been weeks since he was able to truly bathe, and that was in the Orontes River, just moments before he and his compatriots were chased out by a sniper. He finished and dressed and went into the back room where they would be somewhat protected from the street violence. There, Aya had set a table with houmous, pita, several eggs, a dish of yogurt, and even a piece of cheese, and some fresh vegetables. He considered this a feast, something he had not seen for, well, years. The hot, very dark, rich coffee just topped it off.

I have several pairs of sandals for you to try after you eat. They belonged to Zain, and I would be so happy if you could use them. Then, her tears came again. Aya made sure that he had a plate with some of everything on it, and the moment he had all of one item cleaned up, she spooned another serving portion to his plate. Eating slowly to savor all of this because he didn't know when and if he would experience another meal like this, Abba was soon stuffed.

Uncle Merced, I don't know what to say. I haven't eaten this well for months and months. Aunt Aya, it was so delicious! Much better than the cold pita I've been getting by with. I don't know how to thank you.

You do not thank us, Abbas, replied Merced. We love you because you are a part of our family. We have already lost so many, and we cherish everyone who is still with us. We praise Allah for bringing you to our humble home. We only ask that we have many days with you.

"I feel so lost, Uncle. I don't know where my life is, where I am going, or what I am to do. I just don’t know what to think.

" For now, Abbas, you must rest and allow us to help you. Please, allow us to provide you with safety and strength. Our home is somewhat safe, at least as long as we stay back here.'

Abbas and his Uncle Merced talked for a while until Merced suggested that Abbas lie down for a nap, promising to speak at length when he was refreshed. Abbas followed his instructions and laid down in the bed in what had been Zain's bedroom. It was about 10:00 AM when he lay down, and he awoke about 7:00 in the evening to use the bathroom. He thought he would lie here for a few moments and get his wits about him. Of course, he dozed off. When he awoke, the sun was just rising. It was about 6:00 AM on the following morning when he finally awoke. He had slept almost twenty-four hours.

I'd say you needed rest, Nephew, chuckled Uncle Merced. Aya heard you rising and started breakfast. Coffee is ready, though, so enjoy something warm to start.

Today's breakfast was even better and more sumptuous than the one his aunt had fixed yesterday. Again, Abbas ate like a workman and was soon sated.

I must stop, Auntie, he said. If I continue to eat, I will fall asleep again. Your food is so good!

After a few more niceties, Merced poured more coffee as Aya began clearing the table of the leftovers from the meal. Merced began the conversation by asking Abbas what he had been doing, alone in this dangerous city, on his own.

I have just been trying to get along, Uncle. I was just getting ready to go to the university when the revolt came. Everything just evaporated. I couldn't go to school. With my father gone, I had no income. My mother had disappeared, and I knew that she was struggling, too. I tried working, but there were no jobs to be had. It seemed that there were hundreds and thousands of people my age in the same predicament.

Merced asked, Were you recruited by any of the rebel factions, or the government troops?

Oh, my, yes. Every day. When some group found out about me living on my own it seemed that they wouldn't stop harassing me to become one of them. I refused, because they seemed to be killing people just because they could. Nothing seemed to make sense. I spent my days hiding from the snipers or the rebels, Abbas replied. Now, I just don't know what to do.

When Merced asked how he was able to get by for almost eight years with no income, no job, and, apparently, no prospects, Abbas replied that it was difficult, sometimes nearly impossible.

I hung around the market and would do whatever small task I could find. I helped ladies carry their goods home, keeping them from getting shot. Sometimes a stallholder would have me unload a wagon or carry boxes into the building. I'd usually get paid in pita bread, or a vegetable or two, and on a good day, a few pounds that would allow me to buy a hot meal. Some days I don't eat.

Merced's heart just ached for this young man who had lost most of his family. He had no prospects and the civil war was just going on and on. No one could guess when it would be over. Abbas by now was getting into his mid-twenties, a time when a young man should be secure in a career, maybe thinking of his future with a beautiful young woman and wanting to be the pride of his family. Abbas had none of this.

Abbas, Aya and I will help you all we can, if you'll let us. Like you, we've lost so much. Zain, our son, your cousin, is gone. Lourdes and Pena, our two daughters fled with their boyfriends when the war erupted. We had lost track of them, and just recently found out that they have made it to Turkey. They are struggling because our refugees are not really welcome, but at least they are not engaged in warfare.

Merced continued, Fortunately, we have some income. I own a farm, and parts of two others in partnership with family members. We are able to get by through these rough times. We ask Allah every day to stop this madness in our land. But at least we can help a family member.

The discussions between the two men went on for several days. Merced continued to offer whatever help he could, and Abbas thanked him for his generosity, but expressed his reluctance to be a burden. If anything, the almost eight years of fighting for every scrap of existence had made Abbas stronger and more resilient.

Abbas felt he was getting stronger under the care of his Aunt Aya. She fed him like a champion and provided comfortable conditions so he could rest and recuperate. He wanted to recoup a positive attitude, but he couldn't see how one was possible. He thought of becoming a refugee, but those doors were closing as countries had grown weary of extending a hand to any victim of this unfathomable regime in his country. He simply didn't know what to do, how to do it, or even where to do it. He felt that if he hadn't fallen at Uncle Merced's doorstep when he did, that he would soon be dead.

Abbas remained at Merced's home for almost a month and began feeling like he was overstaying his welcome. He felt he had to make a move. He just didn't know what that move should be. He expressed this to his uncle, who understood his dilemma. He had an idea and decided to follow up on it. He began by sending a message to his old friend, Faisal Nassir.

In several days, Merced left the home, explaining that he was going to meet a business acquaintance and would tell Abbas about it when he returned. Abbas wondered about what was going on but respected his uncle's privacy and hoped to get a report eventually. He had no idea of the true purpose of his uncle's meeting.

Merced met Faisal at a coffee shop that was tucked behind a mosque in an area of the city that had not experienced the highest levels of fighting. After backslapping and boisterous pleasantries and a little bit of catching up on their long-term friendship, the men settled into a serious discussion.

Faisal, I have been caring for my nephew, Abbas Hashem, for over a month. He is my brother Tariq's son. You remember Tariq.

Yes, I do, Merced, answered Faisal. I know that Tariq was killed on the second day of the massacre. What about the rest of the family?

Two other sons were killed, and when the mother was fleeing with three young daughters, a shell exploded right over top of them. Two little girls were killed, and the third one was blinded. Both Abbas and I have lost track of the child and his mother.

Merced continued, Faisal, Abbas is so strong that he impresses me greatly. But he has no direction. He has little hope. Maybe, actually, no hope. I would like to help him, but all I can offer is work digging and sorting onions on one of my farms. I believe he can do more than that.

We are looking for strong young men who haven't been tainted by all of the idiot groups that have no meaning or direction, Faisal replied. I could offer him the chance to come to our enclave in Salamiyah. He would be safe and would get training. If he wants, and learns well, he could be assigned to a grand program. I'd like to meet him.

The discussion went on and Merced invited Faisal to come to his home two days hence. He could get to know Abbas somewhat and hopefully he would develop into a new recruit for the cause. Merced also purposed that he would spend the next two days preparing Abbas for his meeting with Faisal. The old friends then parted with hugs and blessings and a wish that they would work together for the glory of Allah.

Upon returning home, Merced talked to Abbas about the upcoming visit. The young man had many, many questions but his uncle deferred.

Abbas, I am not sure what Faisal will talk about, and I don't want to try and color what he will say. What I can assure you of is that his intentions are to get to know you, to tell you about his cause, but not to put you under any pressure at all to accept what he says, Merced related. I promise you that if you don't want to listen, all you must do is nod to me and I will stop any discussion.

The two days seemed to drag on for a long time, but just after breakfast on the appointed morning Faisal arrived. The first part of the visit was spent with Faisal offering condolences for the loss of Abbas' family, and the hard times he's had to go through for so long. Abbas was taken aback slightly because Faisal was so calm and almost reassuring. Finally, the talk turned to Faisal's real purpose.

Abbas, I am here on a special mission. I represent a group that may surprise you, and we would like to see if you would consider joining our cause. And, of course, to learn about you and if you would be the special person we may be looking for. Seeing Abbas' puzzled look, Faisal continued, I am a Mujahideen in the service of Abu-Bakr al-Baghdadi, our Supreme Leader. That means I am a holy warrior whose stated purpose is to establish and maintain our proto-state and follow the doctrine of our Sunni beliefs.

Abbas started to bristle. I do not have any desire to take up arms against anyone in service to a group.

May I explain, Abbas? All of the groups around us that carry weapons and do destruction in our land are wrong. There is faction after faction that battle with each other. Then there is the Syrian government that is murdering everybody. On top of all that, we are infected by the idiot vermin from the United States, Russia, Turkey, China just about anybody who wants to kill for profit.

Seeing Abbas' questioning look, he continued. You know that the U.S. has been supplying arms and planes and bombs to just about every side and faction. Of course, they publicly say they are on this side or that side, but really, they are on the side of huge conglomerates like General Electric, Boeing, Lockheed Martin, Northrup-Grumman, Raytheon. The conflict here keeps these factories running night and day and dumps money by the tons into the pockets of their shareholders. In fact, if you really research this whole issue, you'll see that all of these manufacturers have reached full capacity.

It's the same in all the big countries. They are getting rich on our deaths. They don't even tell the truth to their own people. They have their smart young men convinced that they are patriots, that they are making the world safe for their perverted form of democracy. They tell them it's for God and country, then send their finest off to be killed, or have their legs and arms blown off. In Russia, it's for the glory of the Motherland. In China, it's for the love of the Communist Party and love of country.

Faisal paused to let all of this sink in, and then asked, But why did they have to kill your father and brothers, and your two little sisters?

But what can I do? Abbas wailed. These are giant countries with money to do all this. I can't be a sniper here, killing my neighbors.

That is exactly the point, Abbas. Our rebel groups here are just killing each other. The good men of the Syrian Army are killing their own people. And we're all making the Dennisons and Putyatins, and Xi Hai Shans of the world rich men. After they have destroyed us, they'll just move on to the next war. It may be in Venezuela, or Africa, or maybe even Korea. But there will be one, and they'll get rich on it.

Abbas was distraught. He couldn't understand why his country was in such disarray over the last several years as he struggled just to exist. Now he had the sinking feeling that the reality was just too big to comprehend. What could he do about Putyatin, or Boeing, or that lying Dennison? Those people controlled everything, even to the point that they could come to Syria, kill as many as they wanted, and get rich doing it.

Faisal, I have no future. I cannot live here in my homeland. I cannot escape and go elsewhere. Some days I think it would just be better to let the sniper make me a target. What hope is there?

Faisal paused a little, then answered, Abbas, I have an alternative. I am a member of that group I mentioned. Our plan, our goal, is to take as long as necessary to get the infidels out of our land. It may take us fifty years, or even a century, but we will prevail and do it.

He continued, You see, those infidels have a very short attention span. They want to kill today, sell more bombs and planes, then move on quickly to the next place they can destroy. They don't understand that we've been here for centuries. Many, many centuries. We don't care what the country is called, nor who the current leader that thinks he is the king is. We care about our people, the mothers, the fathers, those little children, young men like you who have clear minds, and all that love and worship Allah. Allah is here with us, not for a century, but for eternity.

Abbas, 'eternity' is a word that is not even in the dictionary of the U.S., or Britain, or Russia, or China. It was there, at one time, until the idiot mongrels gained power and forgot what truth actually is.

As Abbas sat in utter despair, Aunt Aya called the men to the table. She had prepared cool, chilled tea, boiled eggs, fresh cheese, and her delicious pitas, stir warm from the stove. The delicious food went a long way to settling his nervous thoughts. He hadn't eaten this well for many years. Most days had been a struggle just to find a turnip or an onion. Today, Aya had ended the meal with chilled melon, a treat any day, but today it was a feast.

As the men retired to the sitting room, Faisal continued the conversation. Abbas, I have a proposition for you. Our group has a school and camp nearby. We teach more of what I have talked about, with more exact details. We don't believe in making extreme statements and expecting anyone to believe them. We try to use the records of history to show how Syria got here and why. We look for intelligent, forward-thinking men who will question everything we say. This is not a rebel group who wants to be snipers. It is the basis of our life devoted to Allah's plan.

Abbas was unsure. It sounded like a good plan to get out of his current miserable and unsettled life, but he had fears and questions. Faisal allowed him to think a while and ask his questions. He knew that Abbas needed more assurance and explained a little more.

Abbas, our center, or school, is located in Salamiyah, about 45 kilometers northeast of here. It's along the Orontes River in a very secluded and quiet spot. It is so calming that I go there often just to be able to meditate and think. We are not troubled by the gunfire like Hama is. It is a place of peace. You are welcome to come and learn with us. You can stay as long as you like and can leave whenever you want. If you decide to join our group, this would be a place to stay until you decide where you want to be, Faisal explained.

Abbas finally replied, Faisal, it sounds like something I may be interested in. But my life seems to be changing rapidly in the last few days. I was without hope, practically starving, and then Uncle Merced and Aunt Aya rescued me. Now you come with another option. May I have a day or two to think about all of this, and maybe discuss it with Uncle Merced?

Of course, my friend, Faisal immediately replied. I want you to take as long as you'd like. I must leave this evening, but I will be in Hama for several days. Then I am going to the school. If I am there, and you want to talk further, Merced can let me know, and I'll be back in Hama to see you.

The men sat and talked for a while until Faisal had to be getting home. He did not want his wife to become concerned. Abbas assured him that he would talk with Uncle Merced and would let him know what he was thinking.

With hugs and kisses all around, and a bag of warm pitas from Aya, Faisal was on his way.

Chapter Two

As the Boeing 777 rolled down the taxiway at Chicago's O'Hare Airport, Jerry Pelham leaned over to Madilyn, his new wife, and said, Well, Babe, we're off. Can you believe it?

Maddy just grinned at her love. She couldn't believe what they were about to experience. It seemed to her that they were living almost a fairy-tale existence that had come to them through incredibly good fortune. The next twenty-two days were a gift that neither she, nor Jerry, ever thought they would see, let alone experience.

Madilyn Culbertson was the daughter of Richard and Dorothy Culbertson of Wheaton, IL. Her father, Richard, was a partner in the architectural firm of Culbertson, Graves, and Whitney, one of Chicago's leading design firms, maintaining offices downtown in the Loop, or center-city area.

Jerry, formally Gerard, Pelham was the son of Martin and Fiona Pelham, also of Wheaton, just down the block from the Culbertsons. Dad, Martin, was a partner in the prestigious law firm of Hardwick-Martin Associates. The law firm was known for doing battle in the trenches