Hiding in America

By Pierce Kelley

This is a sequel to the award-winning Massacre at Sirte. It is the third book in a five-book series, which involves the slaughter of Coptic Christians by ISIS in Sirte, Libya, in 2015. In this book, Mekhaeil Zacharias, a sixteen-year-old Copt who was spared by ISIS, travels to New York City, with assistance from Egyptian countrymen, to hide from them, since they now wish to find and kill him. Mekhaeil is dazzled by the bright lights of the city, as well as a beautiful nineteen-year-old Muslim girl, living a lie, and loses his moral compass. Is he still a Coptic Christian? Or has he become someone else? He questions his religious beliefs and his purpose in life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546220237

Pierce Kelley

Pierce Kelley is a retired lawyer, educator, professional athlete and now he is a full-time author. He has written over two dozen books, most of which are novels, but some are non-fiction, such as a text book on Civil Litigation which was used in a few colleges and universities for many years. He has recently been inducted into the USTA-Florida Hall of Fame. He now lives in Vero Beach, Florida.

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© 2018 Pierce Kelley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/20/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-2024-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-2022-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-2023-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017918669

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Preface

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1 Fleeing India

Chapter 2 The Armenian Quarters

Chapter 3 Mahatma Gandhi

Chapter 4 New York City

Chapter 5 Brooklyn

Chapter 6 General Board of Global Ministries

Chapter 7 A Job

Chapter 8 Sophia

Chapter 9 Manhattan

Chapter 10 Work

Chapter 11 Methodist Missionaries

Chapter 12 Coptic Churches in New York City

Chapter 13 The Garden of Eden

Chapter 14 The Syrian Orthodox Church

Chapter 15 The Statue of Liberty

Chapter 16 Love

Chapter 17 Discovered, Again

Chapter 18 Heartbreak

Chapter 19 Father Bishoy

Chapter 20 A Revelation

Chapter 21 A Confession

Chapter 22 Another Confession

Chapter 23 A Pilgrimage

Chapter 24 El Camino de Santiago

Other works by Pierce Kelley

Hunted (Xulon Press, 2017)

Massacre at Sirte (iUniverse, 2016)

To Valhalla (iUniverse, 2015)

A Deadly Legacy (iUniverse, 2013)

Roxy Blues (iUniverse, 2012)

Father, I Must Go (iUniverse, 2011)

Thousand Yard Stare (iUniverse, 2010)

Kennedy Homes: An American Tragedy (iUniverse, 2009)

A Foreseeable Risk (iUniverse, 2009)

Asleep at the Wheel (iUniverse, 2009)

A Tinker’s Damn! (iUniverse, 2008)

Bocas del Toro (iUniverse, 2007)

A Plenary Indulgence (iUniverse, 2007)

Pieces to the Puzzle (iUniverse, 2007)

Introducing Children to the Game of Tennis (iUniverse, 2007)

A Very Fine Line (iUniverse, 2006)

Fistfight at the L and M Saloon (iUniverse, 2006)

Civil Litigation: A Case Study (Pearson Publications, 2001)

The Parent’s Guide to Coaching Tennis (F&W Publications, 1995)

A Parent’s Guide to Coaching Tennis (Betterway Publications, 1991)

This book, as were Massacre at Sirte and Hunted, is dedicated to the twenty-one Coptic Christians who were beheaded in Sirte, Libya, in February 2015 by members of ISIS, and to all others who have been killed by terrorists in recent years because of their religious beliefs. It is because of them, and their stories, that I began this journey. The names of those twenty-one Copts are as follows:

Milad Makeen Zaky

Abanub Ayad Atiya

Maged Soliman Shehata

Youssef Shukry Younan

Kirollos Boshra Fawzy

Bishoy Astafanous Kamel

Samuel Astafanous Kamel

Malak Ibrahim Sinyout

Tawadros Youssef Tawadros

Gerges Milad Sinyout

Mina Fayez Aziz

Hany Abdel Mesih Salib

Samuel Alham Wilson

Ezzat Boshra Naseef

Luka Nagaty Anis

Gaber Mounir Adly

Essam Baddar Samir

Malak Farag Abrahim

Sameh Salah Farouk

Gerges Samir Megally

Mathew Ayairga

We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

—Joseph Campbell

PREFACE

T his is a work of fiction. It is, however, inspired by what happened in Sirte, Libya, in February 2015 to twenty-one Coptic Christians who were beheaded by Muslim extremists, later identified as being members of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, most commonly referred to as ISIS. There were no survivors, so no one knows what actually took place after the men were captured and before they were killed.

In Massacre at Sirte, I took the liberty of creating characters and dialogue in order to tell the story of what happened to those men so that the world could remember what took place there and, perhaps, gain a better understanding of why such things happen in the Middle East and that part of the world. I created Mekhaeil Zacharias, a sixteen-year-old boy, who was spared by ISIS and told to tell the world what he had seen.

In Hunted, I told of Mekhaeil’s journey to India to escape from ISIS assassins who changed their minds after Mekhaeil became a celebrity and sought to kill him. Mekhaeil learned of Mar-Thoma Christians and of life on a farm. He experienced the Maramon Convention and, slowly, began to see that the world was a much bigger place than al-Aour, Egypt, where he was born and raised.

In this book, I continue the narrative. Mekhaeil comes to America and discovers a life of freedom and all that it entails. Mekhaeil’s story now turns inward, as he, like all of us, tries to find himself amidst the clamor and turmoil that surrounds him, though few of us could imagine what must be going through his mind after all he has been through. He is a sixteen-year-old boy trying to become a man.

As I did in both of those other books, I have created new characters, all of whom are totally imagined. Any resemblance to people involved in the incident that occurred at Sirte, or their family members or friends, or what took place in Kuriannoor, India, is purely coincidental and completely unintentional. The names of the people in this book are fictitious. No disrespect is intended to anyone.

It is my present intention to write two more books on the topic of Mekhaeil’s odyssey through the early years of young adulthood. Though he doesn’t exist, nor does anyone like him, we are all like him in some respects. His transition, like ours, involves discovering his own identity, belief system, and purpose.

It remains my hope that, by telling more about Mekhaeil’s rite of passage, I am telling a story that helps readers gain a better understanding of the problems that exist not only in the Middle East but also in the world, which stem from the differing religious beliefs of Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, and all other religions. None of us truly knows the answers to the deeply rooted questions regarding the origin of life and its meaning, though many believe with fervor that their views are correct and will not tolerate anyone who disagrees with them.

The question that underlies the entire realm of religion is, of course, the true nature of what some call the Supreme Being, the Creator, Allah, Yahweh, or the Great Spirit, which most of us call God. Just as Mekhaeil must decide what he believes, so must we. Would we think differently if we were born in a different place or to different parents? Of course we would. The question then becomes: Is our belief system purely one of coincidence or chance, or is it firmly rooted in the depths of our minds and our souls? What is the truth?

I offer no answers to those questions, nor do I provide any solution for the problems that exist because of the varying religious beliefs we humans hold. However, we, as members of the human race, must find solutions to those problems or else incidents like that which took place in Sirte in 2015, and all other such incidents that have occurred since that time in Africa, the Middle East, Europe, and beyond, will continue to occur. The need to stop the insanity has become dire, and it is becoming even more urgent now, in 2018, with a dramatically different global political environment.

The problems created by the millions of refugees fleeing Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq are of catastrophic proportions. The civil war in Syria has not ended. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people are still being killed on a daily basis, even though the influence of ISIS has been drastically reduced, at last. The world must, collectively, do something to remedy the problems that remain.

I hope you will find this book engaging and informative. It is not intended to be a personal dissertation on religion, theology, politics, existential thought, philosophy, or anything else. I am not speaking from a pulpit. I am a fellow pilgrim.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank those who have supported and encouraged me on this and other projects. I wish to specifically thank Paul Christian Sullivan and Dennis Geagan, who have read drafts and offered their insights into this and other books. I am especially grateful to Vettereeth and Annamma Mathew, who provided me with much insight into what it is like to come to America from a foreign country, as Mekhaeil Zacharias does in this book.

Pierce Kelley

PROLOGUE

W hile Anita and I were standing in line, waiting our turn, a man in a black robe wearing a black turban on his head suddenly appeared out of the crowd that was passing us. He stopped, right in front of me, within a foot or two. He looked me straight in the eye and said, I know you. What is your name?

I was startled by the question and the tone of his voice. It wasn’t friendly. I could feel my head move back, away from his. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. He wasn’t smiling; his fierce, black eyes were staring into mine. He looked nothing like anyone else I had seen in the crowd the whole day, or the whole time I had been in Kuriannoor. A shiver ran up my spine.

And he spoke to me in Arabic. He was the first person to do that in weeks. I was caught off guard. I had to think before responding.

Vijay, I answered.

Where are you from?

Kuriannoor, I told him.

He studied my face for several seconds and said, No. That is not how I know you. I know you from someplace else.

I stammered, I must look like someone you know.

No, he said, I am sure I have seen your face somewhere else. I never forget a face. I will think of it. He walked on.

I was shaken by the confrontation, and Anita could tell. She looked at me, as if to ask, Who was that? I shook my head and raised my hands to tell her, I don’t know. I think she could tell that it bothered me. It did. It scared me.

Once Anita got her ice cream, we walked back to join the others. I was ready to go back to the campsite, but the children wanted to stay a while longer, so we did. I kept looking around, though, thinking I would see the man in the crowd again, but I didn’t. When the next person began to speak, the music stopped. Mrs. Mukerjea said it was time to go back.

I was walking a few meters behind Mrs. Mukerjea, holding Anita’s hand, when the man suddenly reappeared.

Mekhaeil Zacharias!

I told him he was mistaken, that I knew no one by that name, and I hurried by, dragging Anita with me. When I was several meters past him, I turned and saw him standing there, staring at me. He repeated, You are Mekhaeil Zacharias! I am sure of it!

CHAPTER 1

FLEEING INDIA

W e must hurry, Hiram told me, as we ran through the airport in Cochin. Our plane leaves in twenty minutes.

We were the last ones to board a plane leaving for New Delhi. I had no idea where he was taking me from there, and I didn’t ask. I knew better.

The flight back to New Delhi was much shorter because we didn’t make any stops. Still, it took nearly six hours to get there. Though I tried, I couldn’t sleep. The sudden turn of events had upset me too much. Hiram slept the whole way.

When we arrived, Hiram was the first to stand. He pulled our two suitcases from the overhead bin and said Get up! Our next plane leaves in less than an hour. Let’s go!

Once we were off the plane, we walked quickly, almost running at times, through the airport. When we arrived at an Air France counter marked Paris, we stopped.

Paris? I asked. Are we going to Paris? The thought of it excited me. I knew nothing about it, but I knew it was one of the great cities in the world, right up there with Rome, Athens, and London.

Hiram didn’t answer me. I followed him to the counter where he checked us in. Within minutes, we were boarding the plane.

That was close, he said, but we made it. If we hadn’t, we would have had to wait for over eight hours for the next flight.

Once we were in the air and things had quieted down on the plane, I asked again, So are we going to Paris?

He just looked at me with a blank stare and said nothing. I rephrased the question. What I mean is, are we going to be staying in Paris for longer than a few hours? He still didn’t respond. I know … you’ll tell me when it’s time for me to know. I shook my head. You treat me like I’m an infant. I pulled the book about Mahatma Gandhi from my suitcase and began reading.

Wherever we were going, I was hoping it wasn’t going to be to another farm. I wasn’t going to miss those long workdays. It seemed as if I was always exhausted. I could never read more than a page or two of anything before I fell asleep. I had learned many things while living with the Mukerjeas. One thing I had learned was that if I lived to be a thousand, I’d never be a farmer.

By the time the sun came peering through the windows, I was exhausted, bleary-eyed, and hungry. I hadn’t slept at all, and I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch the day before, except for the snacks on the plane. I wasn’t in a good mood.

How much longer before we get there? I asked. We should be there by now, shouldn’t we? We’ve got to stop for fuel, don’t we? I need to stand up and move around!

So get up and walk around, he told me. It’s over eight thousand kilometers; the flight takes about ten hours. It will make one stop in Turkey, but we won’t have to change planes. We’re almost there, I think. We should be landing soon.

In Turkey? Isn’t that where ISIS is fighting the Kurds? Won’t that be dangerous?

He gave me a strange look, pulled a magazine from the back of the seat in front of him, and opened it to a page with a map on it. Turkey is a big country. Look here, he said, pointing to a spot on the map. We’re here. We’ve flown over Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iran, and we’re almost in Ankara, the capital. We are high above the fighting. This plane will not be shot down, if that’s what you’re thinking. We don’t fly over Iraq or Syria; that is where the heaviest fighting is. But you’re right; there is fighting along the southern border of Turkey. Besides, after what you’ve been through, nothing should scare you, Mekhaeil, right?

That’s not true, Hiram.

The entire time I had known Hiram, he had always treated me like a child. It was as if I was just too stupid—or too immature—for him to actually talk to me. He never really paid much attention to anything I said, and he rarely answered any questions I asked him. He just told me what to do, and that was it. End of discussion. I was to keep my mouth shut and do whatever he said.

I remembered how scared I was when those ISIS men got us up that Saturday morning, hooked iron bars to the collars around everyone’s necks but mine, and dragged us out of the barn. I remembered how I cried like a baby and how my brothers and the others encouraged me to be brave. I wasn’t brave. I was scared to death. I wasn’t a tough guy. The thought of being caught by the terrorists again terrified me.

That’s not true at all, Hiram, I repeated. I don’t want to see those men, or anyone like them, ever again. You have no idea what it was like to watch my brothers and my friends have their heads cut off. Just saying those words almost made me cry. My lips quivered as I spoke. I raised my voice and repeated, You have no idea what that was like!

When I said that to him, he looked at me for the first time as if he had some real concern for me and my feelings. Before that moment, it was like I was a nuisance … as if he couldn’t wait to drop me off wherever he was going to drop me off this time and get back to his real job. It seemed as if he had no appreciation whatsoever of what it must have been like for me to experience what I did.

I’m sorry, Mekhaeil. I didn’t mean to offend you, he said. You’re right. I can’t imagine what it was like to be that close to death, though I have been in many battles. I have been shot at and wounded, and I have shot at and killed many people, but I have never been in a situation as you were. I apologize.

I could tell that he really meant it, but I said nothing. He went on, We should experience no trouble at all on this flight. We will be in Ankara for an hour or so while they refuel and pick up some passengers, I believe. We can get off the plane and get some breakfast then. We should be landing very soon, he said. I’m hungry. How about you?

It was as if a wall had come down. We’d had a breakthrough. He acknowledged me to be a fellow human being with feelings and emotions, not just some file with a name on it or an assignment he was given and ordered to complete. I told him that I was hungry too.

We landed half an hour later. As we ate breakfast, we talked about a number of things. He told me about his wife and children and about his life and all that he had done. He had been in the military with President el-Sisi, and, though he hadn’t been an officer, he had earned his trust. He told me about some of the battles he had been in, but it seemed as if most of the things he had done involved espionage and spy kinds of things. I enjoyed hearing those stories, but I could tell he was holding back, not telling me too many details about any of those things.

I asked him if he was a Christian, as he’d told me he was when we first met. He admitted that he wasn’t. I just told you that to gain your trust. It is a common practice in police and intelligence work. I am a Sunni Muslim, like our president.

I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. He had lied to me, and I still had trouble understanding how some Muslims—like ISIS or the Muslim Brotherhood—could be so hateful to Christians. How was I supposed to trust other Muslims who professed to be tolerant and sympathetic to us, especially given the history between the two religions I had learned about that night in Sirte and what we Copts had been experiencing in recent years, prior to the time el-Sisi became our president. Despite that, I trusted him. I felt safe when I was with him.

After we’d talked for a long time, he said, Well, I have some reading to do, Mekhaeil. I have to keep up with all that is going on in the world, so if you will excuse me, I’m going to do that now.

He walked over to a nearby bookstore, bought a couple of newspapers, a few magazines, and some other things, and returned. He handed me a book and said, Here … I thought you might like to read this. It’s about Israel and Egypt, spies, and espionage. That’s my kind of book.

It was called Code Blue and was written by a man named Zvika Amit. The cover said it was about politics and involved a takeover of the Israeli government by its military.

A military takeover? Like what happened in our country?

No, it’s not at all like what took place in our country when el-Sisi ousted the Muslim Brotherhood from power. It’s a novel, and it’s all about Israel, but there’s a lot of truth in it. I think you might like it. If you do, it might be one of those books you can’t put down. We have another long flight ahead of us, and I think I saw that you’re almost finished reading the book about Gandhi, yes?

You’re right, I haven’t finished it, yet, but I’m close. As I held the book he’d given me in my hands, flipping through pages, I asked, So this is kind of like the things you do, Hiram, in real life?

Kind of, but it’s not too realistic. I don’t think we’ll see a military takeover in Israel anytime soon, definitely not while Netanyahu is in power.

It says it’s a political thriller—suspense. Sounds good. I’ve never read anything like that before.

I hope you’ll like it. You seem to want to know about what is going on between Muslims, Christians, and Jews here in the Middle East and Egypt, so I thought you might like to read it. You Christians are being killed now, and that’s a very bad thing, but the real target is still Israel and the Jews, in my opinion. He paused, looked me in the eye, and said, That’s where the real problems lie, I think.

I don’t hear anything about them killing any Jews, I said. Only Christians.

The Jews and the Palestinians are still killing each other. That pot continues to boil, he lowered his voice and whispered, but I mean with other Arab countries in the area, not just Iran. They want the Jews out of the Middle East entirely. Some say that is where the last battle on earth will be fought. Who knows, right? he asked.

I hope not, I answered, but I have heard people say that’s in the Bible … what you just said.

That’s what I mean, he responded.

We were quiet for a few moments, and then I blurted out, I want to go to Jerusalem one day, to see for myself what it’s like.

Then you should enjoy this book. You will learn much about the Jews and the current political situation in Israel. Then he added, When you are finished, I’d like to read it. This author has been a reporter in Jerusalem for many years. Even though it’s fiction, you’ll learn a lot. I promise you. How is that book about Gandhi? Do you like it?

I do, I told him. It’s hard to believe what he was able to do, what he did for the people of India without ever firing a gun or fighting a battle.

I think he was one of the first people in the history of the world to use nonviolent tactics against such a powerful military force, he said.

Except for Jesus, I responded.

He laughed and said, Jesus didn’t defeat the Romans, Mekhaeil, but then again, in the long run maybe he did. Maybe you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it like that. You make a good point.

I wonder what Gandhi would have done if a monster like ISIS appeared when he was alive.

I guess he’d do what he did with the British, he responded, but I am not him … I’m not one to sit around and let them do whatever they want, hoping they will come to their senses and decide to act like rational human beings and be nice. That is not me, Mekhaeil. Fortunately for you, that is not President el-Sisi either, as you know. Otherwise, you’d be dead right now.

You really think so, don’t you? I asked. I just don’t understand why they care so much about me. I’m nobody.

I know so. Trust me on that. You’d be dead. I had to get you out of India when I did, or they would have killed you, and I have to put you someplace else where you’ll be safe, and they can’t find you. That’s my job, Mekhaeil. I am here to protect you from them.

I thought about that for a few moments and then asked, "But Hitler caused millions upon millions of people to die, and that was while Gandhi was alive. What did he do about all of that? What did Gandhi do