Persona Non Grata: Journey of Redemption

By Stephen J. Stirling

Having turned the world upside-down yet again, Paladin Smith and Victoria Grant leave Iran with a new hope of freedom spreading in the Middle East. However, their fight is far from over. Having sustained serious injury in Iran, Paladin fights for his life as he and Victoria board a train for Pakistan, discover unlikely friends in India, and br

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen J. Stirling
• Release date: Mar 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578387956

Book preview

Chapter Thirty-eight

Monday Morning

Dear Rachel,

I love you.

By now you are well aware that the world we live in has changed again, overnight. There is a new hope of freedom in the Middle East, and I have been blessed to play a small part in it. The Lord has preserved me and magnified me in miraculous ways, and has brought about a marvelous work among the people of Persia. I bear witness that God moves forward here in his majesty and power.

It’s hard to believe I’ve been gone almost a month. So much has happened! Not merely to the nations of Eastern Europe and the Fertile Crescent, but to me. I once thought I knew a few things about life and the world, the past, and the future. I now realize I never knew much at all. However, my unique education over several weeks and several thousand miles has left me with a powerful impression regarding the events which appear to shape the history of this planet.

Because in spite of all I’ve seen and accomplished – the bubbles of history which shake the earth and fill the encyclopedias are, in reality, so fleeting and variable. Men and women who lead nations come and go. Governments rise and fall. And the borders of countries shift like the waves of the sea. In the midst of all the rubble of time I have found only one constant, one unchangeable which will endure in my heart for eternity. That one reality is my love for you. May that one enduring point on the compass continue to guide me home.

Your Eternal Friend,

Paladin

p.s.

My personal regards to President Arlen Phelps, to the boys at the Pentagon, and to my special friends at the Central Intelligence Agency, who tried to kill me last week. Better luck next time.

Your Moving Target,

Persona Non Grata

p.p.s.

Dear Rachel,

I will do everything in my power to bring Paladin home to you as quickly as possible. I love you and thank you for the sacrifice you’ve made for me – and for your Heavenly Father. Neither of us will let you down.

Love,

Victoria Grant

Oh, and please say hello to Harold and Sparky.

-----

Seldom in the short history of cyber-communications had a single private e-mail been received by so wide a variety of readers with so many mixed emotions.

Rachel wept with joy that Paladin was alive, safe, and was perhaps actually coming home to her at last. Harold Smith quietly slipped to his room and poured his heart out in a prayer of gratitude. And one can only guess at the confidential elation which Sparky held in check.

But there were others. President Arlen Phelps was furious that he had not only been caught reading other people’s mail, but that he had been ridiculed in the act. The Joint Chiefs of Staff read the letter with grudging admiration and secret delight that they could only share among themselves in snickers and raised eyebrows. And the intelligence community at Langley, Virginia analyzed every word of the communiqué with a consternation that knew no relief – knowing full well that Paladin Smith’s accusations were absolutely true. They would all be fodder for public ridicule should the press get hold of the cursed e-mail, personal though it may be. And after all, if they had pilfered Rachel Smith’s mail box, why couldn’t someone else?

Their concerns were justified. The resourceful Jack Briggs secured a copy of the e-mail within hours of its theft by the CIA – from the CIA. Of Paladin’s remarks, Jack only posted a few selected statements relating to the news-breaking events in Iran. (Of course, he also published Paladin’s irresistible greeting to the administration in Washington DC along with his allegations of attempted murder.) Beyond that, Jack considered printing the contents of a truly private e-mail to be journalistically unprincipled. Love letters weren’t Jack’s line anyway.

It remained for Bert Hammarskold to share the entire letter with America at noon on Monday, and Rachel gave him permission to do so. Bert needed the lift, and so did the nation. Never in his life had he spent so miserable and anxious a few days as he had lately. Even his public castigation and lay off the week before had not been so torturous as had been the confirmation that Paladin Smith had been captured by Iranian forces at the raid on Evin Prison and was awaiting execution. That had been last Wednesday. Since then, Iran had quieted down and it seemed the revolution was over. Very little news came out of the dark Persian nation for the next several days. America held its breath.

Then dawned Monday morning.

To be sure, Good Morning America and the other AM news programs got the jump on Bert Hammarskold with the scoop on the overthrow of the extremist regime in Iran. But no one could deny that the day belonged to ‘The Real Voice of America.’ At noon, practically every radio in the nation, and every media outlet for that matter, was tuned in to listen to ‘the Hammar’ and hear his take on the most earthshaking event of the decade. Bert was, after all, not only the conscience of America, but the nation’s window to Persona Non Grata.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, inhabitants of the big blue marble, and lovers of liberty everywhere. I send my special greetings this day to members of the liberal media who are tuned in and listening behind closed doors. And since I know you’re listening, I mention this reminder – ‘Any reproduction, rebroadcast, description or transcription of this program without the express permission of your host, Bert Hammarskold, and the Norwich Broadcasting Network, is prohibited.’ Bert knew his audience – even the reluctant members of his audience.

Turning his head from the mic, he cleared his throat and began afresh. Now for the news of the year. Unless you’ve been dead, you are already aware that the terrorist totalitarian regime of Islamic Iran is no more. A new day has dawned in the Middle East, and freedom – yes, freedom ladies and gentlemen – blossoms in the sands of Persia.

Of course, that’s not the news that rocked us to sleep with restless dreams last night. No…despite the predictions of Iran’s collapse from this program, we had been assured from the powers that be, that the government of that nation had again asserted a firm hand on the ship of state – interpreted as a healthy sign of stability in the uncertain Middle East. Indeed, the seeming-stabilization of that government, with the arrest of Paladin Smith last week, actually came as a relief to the Arlen Phelps Administration and the left. Since then, the White House has remained appropriately uninvolved while the American media dutifully prepared their obituaries for both the revolution in Persia and the mysterious agent of change who they have yet to figure out – Persona Non Grata.

Well, Bert chuckled out loud, what a difference a day makes. News of the rebirth of modern Iran has splashed across the globe like a tidal wave. Last week’s raid on the notorious Evin Prison and the liberation of hundreds of political prisoners was expected to be the end of Paladin Smith, but it was only the beginning of events which led to the demise of the most evil regime in the Middle East.

"We are not certain of the order of events. Last night, insurgent forces under the leadership of a Major Sa’ad Zolfogari, freed ‘Rebel’ Revolutionary Guard General Ali Reza Rashani. At the same time, an overwhelming mob force stormed the Presidential Residence of Mohammed al-Rahman, where Paladin Smith was about to be executed. Within the next few hours, a number of events occurred – all the explosive results of grassroots democracy erupting from the streets of Iran. First, the Republican Guards yielded to the overwhelming force of the people and the command of Rashani. He is said to be highly respected among the army. Secondly, al-Rahman stepped down from power. Third, the Ayatollah Zawahiri, we are told, succumbed to a massive heart attack in the midst of the mobbing and finally – thank goodness – died of unnatural causes. May he rest in peace. (Good riddance!) And Fourth, the palatial home of the President was burned to the ground – the only real casualty of the Iranian Revolution, but a reminder to the world that the people of Persia have a voice. The ayatollahs are meeting today to organize a provisional government and begin the drafting of a new democratic constitution." Bert took a breath as he gathered up his carefully prepared notes and set them aside.

And the key to all this, according to the Iranians themselves, is Persona Non Grata. Hammarskold was speaking more extemporaneously now. "The man has an ability to strike a cord with the lifeblood of humanity – the men and women who work and breathe and live and die in these nations. This natural ability seems to stem from a true love of freedom, a genuine respect for the dignity and the divinity of people of all races, and a real reverence for Almighty God wherever he finds Him. Those are qualities that the American media and the American left cannot perceive and can never understand – which is why they will never understand him."

Now…most of you are only acquainted with Paladin Smith by his passport photo – which is why, today, we have something extra special to look forward to. If you want a real portrait of bravery and manhood and patriotism, take a look at the video circulating on the internet this morning. It was intended to be one of Iran’s celebrated televised beheadings – a promo piece designed to terrorize their own people and intimidate the West. Persona Non Grata transformed that broadcast of hypocrisy into a battle cry for freedom that turned the course of a nation – a call to mankind that resonates this morning throughout the world.

Bert’s voice took on a lighter tone. I have it on good authority that the national networks have no intention of broadcasting that video to their viewers. ‘Too violent for the American audience,’ they say. He chuckled out loud again. "This from a media who have always been concerned about the people’s right to see and right to know, without censorship. No, you can bet that they’re not really concerned about your tender sensibilities. What they are scared to death of is showcasing Paladin Smith as the champion of liberty that he truly is. But it doesn’t matter. The ratings and the public clamor – and the fact that, by now, you can all see it on You-tube – will liberalize their scruples. The video clip will be on the news by dinner time. And when it airs, I wish you’d watch for two things. I want you to see and hear a man, facing almost certain death, make an impassioned plea for the cause of freedom and the need for all free men and women to fight for it. May his words never be forgotten."

"And then, witness, if you will, the life and death struggle of a true American against genuine evil. And this time, notice there’s no arbitrator, no treaty negotiator, no peace activist, no United Nations bureaucrat there to tell him he can’t win – so against all odds, he does."

There are many questions that linger from the ashes of the relatively peaceful revolution of Iran. What kind of participation will the people have in its formation? Can they successfully navigate the waters of the violent extremists that still surround them? And how moderate will the final product be? Each of those questions offers encouraging answers at this point. The Persian people seem to have seized back their destiny.

"But one question, for us, looms large and conspicuous. Where is Persona Non Grata now? Since last evening’s televised battle he seems to have disappeared again; vanished into the mass of the Iranian populace without a trace, together with the young lady he committed to rescue and bring home. And the new Iranian leadership seems anxious to help him accomplish just that.

Of course, there is the possibility – in all the cataclysm that accompanied last night’s three-hour revolution – that Paladin Smith was killed. Bert paused for effect. But I doubt it. More after this.

-----

By any account, it was perhaps the best show of Bert’s career. After his monologue he took calls from a broad variety of Iranian specialists, foreign policy experts, and citizen-callers who largely agreed with his analysis, that the immediate future looked promising for Persia. There was, as of Sunday evening, a new dynamic at play in the Middle East.

At 3 PM Bert left the studio to the congratulations of the technicians and staff. It had been a great day. Turning the corner of the hallway the smile on his face faded only slightly as he made his way to his office. But before he arrived at his door, a voice interrupted him.

I’m missing the skip I expected to see in the step of a man who’s just presented the program of his life. Bert turned to see Madelyn at the end of the corridor behind him.

I’m just a little tired, Madelyn, Bert explained weakly. It’s been a long week and a long weekend. As a matter of fact…could you just make sure that I’m not disturbed for a couple of hours? I’m going to collapse in my favorite chair and sleep for a while.

I think there’s more bothering you than that, said Madelyn frankly as she approached him. Which is why I hate to tell you you’ve got a visitor. He didn’t have an appointment. But when he came in during your show and presented his credentials, I decided he’s someone you ought to see.

---

Bert was not at all pleased when Madelyn opened the door to his own office and presented him to the small man who sat, waiting in front of his desk.

Bert, said Madelyn without apology, this is Dr. Parvis Vahidi. He is a former Iranian national, now an American citizen, who insisted on seeing you. I thought it was important enough that we comply.

Did it have to be today? Bert asked impatiently. I told you I’m tired, and not just physically. I’m emotionally exhausted. He turned to the little man. Whatever it is you want does it have to be today?

The visitor stood up from his chair. I assure you Mr. Hammarskold, what I have to tell you can not wait.

Bert practically ignored the doctor as he walked around to the chair behind his desk. Then why didn’t you phone in? The lines were open. I’m sure Madelyn would have moved your call to the front of the board. Bert eyed his assistant with careless contempt as he sat down.

The little Iranian did not react to the sarcasm. I did not feel the information I had was appropriate for public consumption. It has to do with your friend, Paladin Smith.

Bert stopped and glanced at Madelyn, then back to the doctor. What can you possibly know about Mr. Smith that we don’t know already?

Dr. Vahidi sat politely back in his chair again. Mr. Hammarskold, I have a certain knowledge of the regime with which your Persona Non Grata has recently been a personal guest. As a physician I have treated many recipients of that government’s hospitality. After viewing and reviewing last night’s video, I am convinced that Mr. Smith is in grave danger.

Bert leaned forward. What do you mean?

The torturers of Evin Prison have standard practices by which they inflict maximum, long-term suffering. I recognize them in Mr. Smith. He has been beaten severely.

That was obvious, said Bert.

Yes, answered the doctor, but his pain and restrictions of movement indicate his condition is serious: abdominal bleeding, kidney failure, even peritonitis. I’ve seen the regime dispense this torment before. If he does not get emergency treatment immediately, he will die.

Bert stared ahead and slowly raised his hand to rub his eyes and his broad forehead. He suddenly looked so tired. Madelyn said nothing, but sat in the chair by the door. There was a dull quiet in the room. Such a short victory, murmured Bert, with his head still in his hand.

But, I thought, stammered Vahidi, I mean…I always assumed you had some way to contact him.

No, doctor, sighed Bert. Paladin Smith doesn’t know we exist. He drops us a line and we peek at his mail on occasion, when it’s safe for him…and that isn’t very often. But we have no way to contact him. We don’t even know where he is.

Or where he’s headed, added Madelyn from across the room.

Heaven knows he’s done enough, sighed Bert. I pray to God he’s coming home.

Pray then that he comes home quickly, said Vahidi. Without proper treatment, I don’t believe he has much time.

-----

Most of the country by now felt the same as Bert Hammarskold for a variety of reasons. In less than a month, Paladin had risen from anonymity to become a national hero, the likes of which America had not embraced since Charles Lindberg or the Apollo 11 astronauts.

No one had ever seen anything like the historic video that was now flooding the earth, recreating the literal life and death struggle of Paladin Smith as a revolution erupted around him. The images captured in those moments – images of a man locked in battle with one of the most dangerous international criminals on the face of the earth – was riveting in itself. But it was Paladin’s victorious virtue over terrorist hatred that was so endearing to so many Americans…Americans who desperately yearned for a champion against the malevolence of a dark world.

Of course, not everyone in America shared that sentiment. There were those, like Arlen Phelps, who only wished Paladin Smith home in order to immediately arrest him for acting contrary to American policy on foreign soil. And then there were a few, like Congressmen Philip Chase, who hoped neither Paladin nor Toria would ever return. They were the last two people he ever wanted to see back in America.

Those thoughts were far from Chase’s mind as he was admitted to the White House Monday afternoon. Today he had been invited to meet with the President and enjoy a personal audience with him. After being personally escorted through a maze of hallways to a large reception room, he was asked to wait. Seating himself on the plush furniture, he considered what an honor it was to be waiting to shake the hand of the President.

Chase looked around the room and thought of his colleagues just a few miles away in the chambers of the Capitol. He knew what the business of the day would be. At this very instant, they were deliberating some resolution regarding the anticipated regime change in Iran.

Naturally, the Iranian Revolution was the news of the day. Still, it was not the only event on the calendar. He was a member of the United States Congress, after all, and there was other business to attend to. One of these was an International Judicial Treaty the President was pushing for solidarity support in both Houses. The vote in Congress was going to be close, and Phelps was gathering all his wagons around him for a pitched battle. Chase felt pleased that the President would call him in to discuss his vote and ensure his support. Obviously, his stock in Congress was increasing. An interview (and photo op) with the President could only improve his image as he made his bid for the Senate next year.

As he contemplated his comfortable present and his grand future, the door to the room swung open and the President unceremoniously entered. He was followed by White House Chief of Staff, Lance Anderson. Anderson carried a small bound volume under his arm, but was otherwise unburdened. The staffer turned and closed the door quietly shut behind them as President Phelps continued to the center of the room where Chase sat. The Congressman stood as a point of official etiquette and held out his hand.

Mr. President, Chase spoke first with his smoothest, hot-off-the-assembly line, manufactured smile. The President did not change a single muscle in his face to indicate that meeting Chase was a pleasant experience. He reached out and reluctantly offered Chase a perfunctory handshake – an obligation of his elected position.

The Congressman felt the chill in the room and immediately sought to ingratiate himself to the Commander-in-Chief. Mr. President, I want you to know you have my complete support with regards to the passage of the International Judiciary Treaty in Congress. And I’d be happy to discuss any strategy that I might assist with to enlist my colleagues to our point of view on this issue.

Stopping, he smiled again, but the grin withered in cold glare in the President’s eyes. Shut up, Congressman, he said harshly, and sit down.

Chase’s jaw dropped and his mouth hung open in a very uncharacteristic fashion, but he did have the vague presence of mind to do as he was told. Lance Anderson watched in amusement from his corner of the room as the Congressman sat down in a state of crestfallen bewilderment. The Chief of Staff was always entertained by the casual ease and lack of feeling with which the President could strip away the self-importance of an unsuspecting victim. And he’d been able to witness it many times. Arlen Phelps had no real respect for anyone, especially for members of Congress. It was the all-consuming reward he paid to his ego for having risen to the top – and Lance enjoyed it through osmosis as his right hand.

It was all part of a handy game of hypocrisy played by the power brokers who controlled Washington. Ostensibly, the President represented the party that reached out to the downtrodden, the poor, and the socially outcast. But in reality, Phelps and his political class were cultural elitists who considered themselves born to rule, privileged to ridicule any who opposed them, and entitled to look down upon those who elected them.

Phelps had not yet taken a seat. He glowered upon the Congressman from an elevated position of seniority from which he derived a satisfying, artificial pleasure. Chase hardly dared look up, not knowing what to expect. After a painful silence, the President spoke.

What does the name Paladin Smith mean to you?

Chase instantly felt the blood rush to his head. His eyes darted around the room. Well, he started apprehensively, that name means a lot to a lot of people these days.

Oh, yes, agreed the President coldly, "but I think it