Disclaimer: Terry chemistry and American Politics inspired this story.
Quote: "Alice laughed: "There's no use trying," she said; "one can't believe impossible things."
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was younger, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland (1865)
Edison rolled out of bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands after doing his business.
He looked good. Not like he'd spent a sleepless night, considering his options.
His phone buzzed as he returned to the bedroom.
Security was letting him know they'd done a shift change. He'd hired a private firm because he didn't want to take any chances. Sally Langston was in a coma and Olivia was that much closer to the White House.
The guys on watch outside his apartment had been replaced by a fresh pair, ready for a run around Washington Memorial.
Edison hated running; it was not his exercise of choice but he had to start practising the Presidential routine – of running with an entourage in public, looking like he was fit to be the Leader of the Free World.
Edison's reflections were interrupted by the ringing of his phone.
"We're waiting in the car."
Edison sighed.
His morning run had been replaced by a morning drive.
Fitz stepped onto the balcony to find Olivia pacing between the pot plants, Gracie asleep against the crook of her shoulder.
He reached for the baby. "What's wrong?"
"Edison."
Fitz drew Olivia into an embrace with his free arm and kissed her temple. "We'll be fine."
"He's this close to getting what he wants." Olivia touched forefinger to thumb. "The only thing standing in his way is us."
"The United States of America?" Fitz teased.
"The Grants." Olivia gave him a stern look.
"Liv, you worry too much. We survived Sally. We'll survive Edison. We've got good people watching out for us. The best."
"We barely made it off that boat alive. Tom and Huck are still in Rehab."
"Zeke's sending more reinforcements. He doesn't trust Edison any more than you do."
Olivia lay her head on Fitz's shoulder.
"You're still tense," he murmured.
"I can't help it. If he'd had his way, Gracie and I wouldn't be here."
Fitz tightened his arms around Olivia and Gracie, frowning into the distance.
Edison stared at the two men seated across from him in the limousine.
"She's upped the ante," said one.
Edison gave a grim smile. "I've said this before and I'll say it again – you can't sleep on Olivia."
The two men exchanged a look, then turned their attention back to Edison.
"I don't want to discuss the semantics of Ghetto speech, what we have is a real crisis."
Edison forcibly relaxed his jaw and spoke in a tone he would use on a child. "I get that. It's what I've been saying. Olivia has her sights on the White House and she's that much closer to achieving her goal."
"We need a strategy," the man insisted.
The other one grimaced. "We had a strategy. It's gone up in flames. And we're a man down. Or more precisely, woman."
"I told the Coshes their grand plans were over the top. Getting Hollywood involved and the Russian. You can't throw that many elements into the pot when there are people who refuse to follow a script."
Edison listened to the two men talk among themselves, wishing he'd gone for his run.
"The woman must have a weak link."
"We thought she did – the Chinese angle. She turned it into an asset."
"She has another weak link," Edison said quietly.
The two men looked at Edison and waited for him to continue.
Sameera left the elevator in the underground car park, messaging her husband that she was on her way home.
A noise to the left made her glance up, just in time to see a black gloved hand holding a folded white cloth cover her face.
That was the last thing she remembered.
Forty-five minutes later, Obeid Hussein glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Even with heavy traffic, Sameera didn't usually take this long to get home, and she would usually message him to tell him she was running late. His calls to her phone went straight to voice mail.
He checked his messages again but there was nothing new. Just the last one telling him she was in the car park, on her way home. He gave her five more minutes then went and rounded his kids for bed.
"But Mom is not home yet. I want to show her my picture of Grandpa Bob's cat." The Husseins didn't have family in America, but a few of their neighbours had been willingly adopted by their son, Khalid, to be 'grandparents, aunts and uncles'.
"You can show her tomorrow, Kal."
"I promised Mom, I would wait up for her to give her a kiss goodnight." Daughter Zaynab pouted.
Obeid laughed. "I know you did not promise your mother that, and if you did, your mother would not want you to keep that promise if you miss your bedtime."
After his school-age kids were in bed, and checking again that the baby of the family, Nasser, was still asleep, Obeid went downstairs.
He turned on the news, wondering if there had been a major accident on the freeway.
After an hour of the usual run-of-the-mill politics, crime and a story about a cat befriending a duck, Obeid called Preethi. She was at a party and could barely hear him.
Not wanting to worry her, Obeid rang off and called the police.
Sameera woke to darkness.
She couldn't move.
It was like she was in a dream or nightmare.
Was she asleep?
She didn't know.
"Where's Mom?"
"She's not home yet."
"Is she visiting Aunt Olivia?"
Obeid paused. Not having slept all night, he hadn't thought about how to explain his wife's absence.
The police, who'd paid him a visit in the early hours of the morning, had told him to go about his normal routine as best he could.
"Yes," Obeid grabbed the lie with relief. "She's visiting Aunt Olivia." And he resumed his robotic moves in getting his kids ready for school and day care.
"Is it a secret mission?"
"What kind of secret mission?"
"What's a seek mishn?"
Obeid sighed. "Have you all finished brushing your teeth?"
Obeid had a meeting with a special investigator recommended by the police. They were to meet at the local mosque.
When Obeid expressed surprise at the location, he was told that due to his wife's high-powered connections, it was the place least likely to cause any suspicions among anyone who could be monitoring his movements.
The thought of spies about, watching his every move, made Obeid give the cars and people around him a lot more attention than he usually did. He did the same after parking his car at the mosque.
This place of worship was not the one he and his family attended regularly, but he had been here once or twice as part of his job as a youth worker.
Heading towards the main entrance, Obeid paused hearing his name. He turned to see a red-bearded man, wearing a shemag, jeans and embroidered tunic, approach.
"Obeid Hussein?" The man repeated.
"Yes. Are you the investigator?"
The other man glanced over both shoulders, and lowered his voice, even though there was no one else in the car park. There usually wasn't at this time, on a weekday.
"My name is Ahmed El Shabib. I work for the FBI but we don't want people to know that right now. Your wife has represented Olivia Grant in a legal dispute in North Carolina, and your family has attended the Grants' wedding at the White House. We are trying to see if your wife's disappearance has anything to do with Mrs Grant."
"You think there's a connection?"
"We can't rule that out, especially after Mrs Grant became the incumbent Presidential candidate for the Republican Party. A lot of people aren't happy about that. Have you spoken to the Grants about your wife's disappearance?"
Obeid shook his head. "I know the Grants through my wife. Not well enough to call them out of the blue and tell them something like this. But if the police hadn't acted this quickly, I would have called them. I would have no choice."
"What about the Indian woman who works with your wife? What does she know?"
"I called Preethi last night to see if she and my wife were working late again, but Preethi was at a family dinner. It was too noisy, she couldn't hear what I was saying."
"The fewer people who know about this investigation the better."
"But they may know something."
"Or they may be working against you."
"Preethi Chand?" Obeid managed a half smile.
"Ms Chand worked for the previous Democratic Presidential candidate, Samuel Reston. You sure you know who you're dealing with? It's all about winning in this game, and we don't know who's got that chick in their corner."
Obeid stared at the man, doubt creeping in.
Preethi walked into the office carrying a takeout tray of coffee, hearing phones ringing all over the place and paused.
Sameera wasn't in.
She could feel Sameera wasn't in and that was very unusual. She was always the first one to arrive and the last one to leave.
Any further thoughts along those lines were cut short by the arrival of their receptionist and law clerk, who arrived together complaining about traffic and train delays.
Obeid Hussein returned home as instructed by Ahmed, the FBI investigator.
"We'll call you if we hear anything."
He called work and said he wasn't feeling well. A mining engineer in his home country, Obeid was now a youth worker at the local outreach centre and his bosses were very understanding when it came to hours, leave and days of work.
His next call was incoming.
"Just calling to let Sameera know her morning appointment is here. Not looking happy at having to wait. Has she slept in?"
Obeid paused, feeling weighed down by all the lies. "Preethi, Sameera won't be able to make it to work today. She's…uh…not feeling well."
"Oh, what's wrong? Is there anything I can get her?"
"No, no. I will look after her. I have to go now. I will tell her you called."
His third call was from Ahmed.
"We may have a lead."
Obeid drove back to the mosque car park, not even questioning why that had become the rendezvous point for a FBI investigator. This time, though, Ahmed had four other men with him. Young men who looked like they were barely out of school. He recognised a couple and knew they should be in school.
"Ali? Bilal? What are you doing here?"
The two young men gave him shy grins, coming forward to shake his hand and give him a hug. "We came when we heard about your wife, that she's in trouble."
"My wife is in trouble?" Obeid repeated staring at them.
There was a pause, then the two other men, older than Ali and Bilal, stepped forward to greet Obeid in Arabic. From their dialects and accents, Obeid placed them to be from Iraq. Probably from the same region as the two boys in his youth group.
After the pleasantries were done, Obeid blurted, "What do you know about my wife? Do you know where she is?"
One of the newcomers, shifted his gaze. "We saw her."
"What did she look like, this woman, you saw?"
"She was wearing a head scarf. You know and a long skirt. I didn't want to stare too closely. It's haraam."
The second man quickly jumped in. "I know what your wife looks like. I saw her when she was defending Olivia Pope in North Carolina. I watched all the courtroom drama, it was better than Judge Judy. I'm a big fan of your wife, and Mrs Grant."
"You saw my wife." Obeid said, this time it wasn't a question and he sounded deflated. "Where did you see her?"
"She was getting into a car. It was night and the car windows were heavily tinted, so we couldn't see who was inside."
"The car had a sticker of Confederate flag on the boot, next to a Swastika."
"Sameera got into a car belonging to white supremacists?! She would never do that!"
"We're investigating that lead." Ahmed took charge of the conversation. "There's a gang we've been investigating the past couple of years. They meet once a week in the basement of a local church. There's a special memorial service there this evening, and we think the rednecks will do something during the service, to make a statement."
Obeid tried to get his head around what he'd been told. "You think they are holding my wife at the church?"
"It's a possibility we can't rule out."
"Where is this church?"
Ahmed took Obeid aside, laying a calming hand on his shoulder. "You can't go in there with guns blazing. This isn't the OK Corral. We need to do things by the book, or the Prosecution won't be happy."
"You are thinking about something way off into the future. I'm worried about now; about what could be happening to my wife right now, this minute!"
"Your wife should be safe."
Obeid stared at Ahmed. "Don't you understand? These men could be torturing my wife! Maybe they have already killed her!"
"Then we would have found her body." Ahmed squeezed his shoulder. "This particular group hasn't killed anyone yet, but we can't rule out future actions. Every terrorist organisation makes a statement with a human sacrifice." Feeling Obeid tense, Ahmed hastened to add, "We've got people watching the place. There's going to be a raid tonight. Our friends over here," he indicated the young men listening intently, "have volunteered to assist with the logistics. We need decoys, but there'll be trained police and FBI units on the scene to make sure nothing goes wrong."
"I want to be there too." Obeid was adamant.
"I know you do, but you have to leave it to the professionals, besides don't you have to collect your kids from school?"
Obeid had just put the kids to bed, when Preethi arrived.
"I've been calling Sameera's phone all day, and she's not responded to any of my messages. What's going on? What's wrong with her? Has she got the 'flu? Something worse?"
"You brought food?"
Preethi looked down at the brown paper bag in her arms. "Oh yes, I brought chicken soup. It's halal. My mother made it. Sameera can have soup after iftar. Or hasn't she been fasting because she's sick?"
"Fasting?" Obeid stared at her.
Preethi put the bag on the kitchen table and placed her hands on her hips. "Obeid, you're acting weird. Where's Sameera? Where are the kids?"
"The kids are upstairs. Asleep."
"I want to see Sameera."
"I want to see her too, but she's not here."
"Where is she? Is she in hospital?"
"The FBI thinks she might be held hostage in the basement of a church by white supremacists."
Preethi stared at him speechless. Then she pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Sit," she ordered. "Now start at the beginning and tell me what's been happening."
Obeid pulled out the chair facing her and told her everything that had happened since Sameera hadn't returned home.
"Are you sure you called the police?"
"Yes!"
"And the guy you met said he works for the FBI?"
Obeid nodded. "That's what he told me."
"We need to call Olivia." Preethi reached for her phone, but before she had taken it out of her jacket pocket, the Hussein's front door crashed open, and a stream of uniforms poured in.
Breaking News
"The FBI have tonight foiled a terror plot by a radical Islamic group intent on blowing up a neighbourhood church during a packed memorial service. We're going live to our reporter, Sally for more on this story…
Sally: "The FBI arrested four men this evening, for trying to blow up the church behind me. The alleged terrorists were caught entering the premises, wearing backpacks containing explosives."
Anchor: "What was the motive? Have the men said why they wanted to blow up the church?"
Sally: "One man did yell out to the waiting media, that he wanted to destroy every place that sheltered white supremacists."
Back at the studio, the anchor said grimly, "In related news, the FBI have made another arrest tonight. They believe the mastermind behind this terror plot is Obeid Hussein, husband of high-profile lawyer, Sameera Hussein, who is a close friend of Olivia Pope-Grant, the Republican candidate to be the next President of the United States. Mrs Hussein is reportedly missing and has been categorised as a person of interest…'
Sameera woke again, not realising she'd fallen asleep. This time the sharp smell of alcohol filled her nostrils and she nearly gagged.
Dazed she looked about her and realised she was in her car, and there were empty wine bottles on the seat beside her and on the floor. She was reaching for the door, to get a breath of fresh air before she passed out, when a flashlight shone in her face, through the car window, nearly blinding her.
"Ma'am, raise your hands in the air so we can see them, and slowly step out of the car…"
"It's game on," Fitz told Zeke, as Olivia got on the phone to Abby and Quinn. "I was expecting this guy to play dirty, but not this dirty."
"I shouldn't be surprised, but this sure as hell came from left field," Zeke muttered. "I'm sending the chopper over now."
Abby and Quinn walked up the stone-paved pathway of the Chand three-storey house and knocked on the white front door.
"Are you journalists?" A male voice crackled over the intercom.
"No, Olivia Pope sent us," Abby replied.
They heard the sound of bolts being shot back, and the front door opened. A middle-aged man with a young man next to him, quickly ushered them inside.
"We have been harassed by the media all night," said the older man, introducing himself as Preethi's dad, as he quickly shut and locked the front door behind them.
"Are Sameera's kids here?" Quinn asked.
"Yes, let me take you to them," said the lanky teen-aged boy, leading the way to the living room where three scared children were on the couch, sandwiched between Preethi's grandfather and grandmother, the latter looking fierce enough to scare away guard dogs.
The grandfather got to his feet. "Preethi and her mother our getting the guest bedrooms ready for the children. They should be down soon. Please take a seat. Would you like a cup of chai?"
In the background, Preethi's dad and younger brother went back to their task of drilling extra bolts onto the front door.
Gently refusing the offer of tea, Abby and Quinn sat down, smiling at the children.
"Are you all okay?"
Khaled nodded, then said, "What's happened to my dad? Is he okay?"
"Yes," Quinn said brightly, while Abby remained silent.
"The police arrested him."
Zaynab asked, "Why did the police arrest him?"
"We don't know," Abby said.
Fortunately, Preethi arrived and led them to a place they could talk about what happened that night, without scaring the kids any further.
"This is my brother's room. He's soundproofed it, so he can play computer games all night without my parents hearing," she said, as they each took a seat on an unmade bed, an ergonomic chair and the corner of a desk taken up by a lot of state-of-the-art computer equipment.
"What happened out there?" Quinn asked Preethi from her perch on the desk, as Abby studied the computer equipment.
"I don't know the whole story. All I know is that Sameera is missing."
"Not anymore," Abby turned her attention back to Preethi. "State troopers found her car crashed into a tree. Sameera has a gash on her head, and there were empty bottles of red wine on the passenger seat."
"Sameera doesn't drink."
"Because of her religion?" Quinn asked.
Abby cut in, "She wouldn't let the cops take a breathalyzer.""
"Sameera does NOT drink. Especially red wine!" Preethi insisted fiercely, then after taking a deep breath said more slowly, "She can't. She lost consciousness after having Sangria at a client's engagement party recently. She didn't know it had red wine in it. We had to rush her to hospital."
Abby and Quinn exchanged a look. "That explains why Sameera is refusing to talk to the police. She's demanding a lawyer."
Preethi smiled. "That's a relief. The knock on her head hasn't made her lose her faculties."
On their way to the hospital where Sameera had been admitted, Olivia turned to her father. The drive had been silent but now, as they approached the front of the hospital complex, Olivia reached out and gripped Rowan's arm.
"This is not your fault, Dad."
Rowan gusted a wry laughing sound. "I brought Sameera into our lives."
Olivia gave his arm a quick squeeze and drew back."I will make sure neither you, nor Sameera, regrets it."
She entered the main hospital entrance in full 'Fixer' mode, with her father beside her and Zeke's security surrounding her. The media who'd been loitering near the entrance and corridors, looking bored and chatting among themselves, suddenly went on high alert as Olivia headed straight for the front desk.
One of the harried-looking women at the desk, swiftly changed her look of annoyance to shock as she recognised Olivia. The other, disappeared into a room behind the desk and could be heard talking urgently to someone else.
In minutes, a team of high-level hospital administrators arrived.
"Mrs Olivia Grant, this is an honour. How can we help you?"
"I am here to see my client."
There was a moment's confusion. "Your client?"
"Mrs Sameera Hussein. She's asked for a lawyer. I'm her lawyer."
There was another frozen moment of silence, then a couple of people peeled themselves away from the group and started talking in hushed, urgent tones on their cell phones.
Those left in the group smiled awkwardly at Olivia, until another group of men with FBI emblazoned on their jackets arrived.
"Mrs Grant, you can't be here."
Olivia folded her arms across her chest. "I am here and I'm not leaving until I see my client."
There were whispers, a huddle, several more phone calls. Then after a long consultation with people who'd been dragged out of bed, Olivia was given the go-ahead to see her client.
When Olivia saw the number of Federal agents in Sameera's room, she demanded they all leave.
The officers didn't budge. "The patient is a witness, potentially an accomplice, to a terror investigation and is considered a flight risk."
Olivia crossed her arms and stared at the FBI senior. "You can lock the doors after us, that way no one can escape. But I will be consulting with my client in private."
Reluctantly, after another consultation, the agents trooped out.
The security detail that arrived with Olivia checked the room for bugs and after they gave the all-clear, Olivia and Rowan made to enter the room, but the FBI stopped Rowan.
"Only the lawyer can enter. No one else."
Olivia again reached out to give her father's hand a squeeze, then strode into the room, smiling at Sameera who was seated on the bed with a bandage on her head.
After the door had closed behind her, Olivia sat down on the bed and took Sameera's hand. "Are you okay?"
Sameera gripped her hand and gave a half sob, half laugh. "I didn't want to drag you into this."
"Sameera, you've been dragged into this because of me. Never doubt that."
Sameera dashed away tears. "I have been worried sick about my kids."
"Your kids are safe with Preethi's family."
Sameera let out a water sigh of relief. "I am scared for my husband."
"What did they tell you?"
"They said my husband has been arrested on terror charges. We've been threatened with deportation if we don't cooperate. I know it's intimidation, but I'm scared, Olivia. Deportation is the least of my worries. Obeid could face indefinite detention under the Patriot Act and Authorisation of Military Force. Indefinite detention without trial."
Barely had the words left her mouth, than the door opened and a swathe of FBI agents entered the room.
"Mrs Sameera Hussein, we are arresting you on the grounds of providing material support to a terror organisation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.'
Olivia got to her feet. "I am Sameera's lawyer. I will be accompanying my client."
A FBI agent blocked her. "Ma'am. We will let you know when we are ready to interrogate your client. Right now we're taking her in for processing."
"Where are you taking her?"
"We will let you know when we get there."
Fitz and Zeke stared across at the FBI Director.
"Obeid has been sent to Guantanamo Bay?"
The FBI director looked at Fitz. "Did you forget that your predecessor, George 'Dubya' Bush, signed the Patriot Act and the AUMF into law after 9/11? Anyone suspected of terrorism can be held without trial, indefinitely, by the armed forces at a military base, including Guantanamo Bay."
"At the direction of the President."
Zeke held up his hands. "I sure as hell didn't authorize this."
"Who did?"
The FBI Director looked shifty. "I need to look into this."
Fitz and Zeke exchanged a look, then stared back at the other man. "Are you saying this was a rogue operation?"
"I'll let you know when I have more details."
"In the meantime, Obeid's life could be in danger," Fitz looked at Zeke. "Dead man don't talk."
"Not unless we bring what's done in the dark, to the light."
White House Briefing
Zeke stared at the packed room, bit back the joke about a slow news day that leapt to his lips and got down to business.
"As you know an American was arrested this morning, allegedly for taking part in a terror plot to blow up a church. He is in military custody and currently at Guantanamo Bay. Questions?"
Everyone spoke at once, until Zeke managed to get them in some sort of order.
Media: "The American you mentioned has been identified by the FBI as Obeid Hussein, a Muslim immigrant and the husband of Mrs Grant's lawyer Sameera Hussein. Was Mrs Grant aware of Mr Hussein's links to a terror network?""
Zeke: "What I know is that Obeid Hussein has been arrested. He is in military custody, and he's being held at Guantanamo Bay. Yes, he is a naturalised citizen and a Muslim. Those are the facts. Anything else this early in the game, has yet to be established."
Media: "Are you saying there is some doubt that Mr Hussein has links to Islamic terrorists? That he didn't mastermind the plot to blow up a church?"
Zeke: "I gave my answer a minute ago. You'll hear it again when you rewind the tape. Next?"
Media: "Do you think Mrs Grant should suspend her Presidential campaign until the investigation against a possible Islamic terror suspect has been completed?"
Zeke: "I've always said I want Olivia Pope Grant to be the next President of the United States. Nothing that's happened in the past 24 hours has changed my mind."
In a television studio with a more cordial atmosphere, a less hostile media host was introducing the other guy who wanted to the Next President of the United States, Edison Davis, to the network's worldwide audience.
"Thank you for coming into the studio at such notice this morning, Mr Davis."
"Call me, Ed and thank you for having me. This is a very serious matter, and the voters of America need to know what's going down."
"What's going down, as you say, is an alleged terrorist being linked to the incumbent Republican candidate for President, Mrs Olivia Pope-Grant."
"Yes."
"What can you say about the optics of Mrs Grant rushing to the side of a woman whose husband is alleged to have masterminded a terror plot on home soil?"
"I don't believe she's done her campaign any favours. It's a rookie mistake, in my opinion."
"A rookie mistake? You don't feel that Olivia rushed to side of a friend as any friend would do?"
"She showed up at the hospital claiming to be Sameera Hussein's lawyer. Mrs Hussein was the lawyer who represented Olivia in the Alienation of Affection lawsuit brought against her in North Carolina by Fitzgerald Grant's first wife. Some would say as a qualified lawyer, Mrs Grant can represent whoever she wants. And apparently Sameera Hussein felt she was the best lawyer for the job. But it does call into question Mrs Pope-Grant's judgement. Rushing to support a friend who's been arrested as an accomplice in a terror plot, should raise questions in voters' minds about how much Mrs Grant and former President Fitzgerald knew about what their friends were doing."
Host: "What are you saying?"
Edison: "If they didn't know about the Hussein's terror plot, they should do a better investigation on the people they consider their friends."
"And if they know their friends well, what's the scenario?"
"I'm not saying the Grants are involved in this, but it's not the first time Olivia's connections have been brought into question. This connection is more concerning than the others because it threatens our national security. Lady Liberty welcomes the world's huddled masses; the tired, the poor yearning to breathe free. But since 9/11, we've been less welcoming, less tolerant of those who would curtail our freedoms; those who would endanger our loved ones. If we're determined to root out evil in the Middle East, Afghanistan and Africa, then we must not turn a blind eye to those who would harm us in our homeland, after we have offered shelter and protection to them. That's not on, in my book."
Jerry switched off the TV. "You'd think this guy had never tried to kill Mom and Gracie." He scratched the heads of the dogs who nudged him with their noses, concerned by his tone.
Peter sighed. "The United States of Amnesia."
"Yeah, that's about right. Clever, bro."
"That's someone else's quote, not mine."
Jerry did a web search on his phone. "Gore Vidal."
"It's like we're all expected to have short term memories when it comes to politics." Peter got to his feet.
"Where are you going?"
"It's my turn to order pizza. I'm going to check with the invalids about what they want."
"No jalapenos for Tom, all his jalapenos go on Huck's supersized pizza."
The two boys had been left behind in Virginia to watch over a still recuperating Huck and Tom, while Karen, Teddy and Gracie had accompanied Olivia on the mission to avenge the Husseins.
Ten minutes later, Peter returned. "A couple of the Security guys have offered to make dinner. Think those guys are sick of pizza."
"What did they have in mind – burger and fries?"
"Kebabs, salads, dips and giant saucer bread."
Jerry grinned. "That's what Karen calls Khubz."
"Is that a 'yes'?"
"I might go into shock eating something that healthy."
Peter chuckled. "You can go into shock later. I've volunteered us both to be helpers."
"Okay, this is the last time you get to order pizza. It doesn't involve this much work when I do it."
"What's wrong with people?" Cyrus asked James.
"Where would you like me to start?"
Cyrus smacked his paper. "Jerry posts some innocent pictures about the Middle Eastern feast he had with the Security detail, and the media goes nuts."
"A bowl of hummus is the key ingredient in every bomb making manual. Didn't you know that?"
Cyrus lowered the paper and peered at James over his reading glasses. "This isn't funny."
"I know! They are getting ready to burn Olivia as an Islamic-terrorist sponsoring witch and there's not a thing we can do about it. Ella asked me if Muslims were bad people!"
"You need to stop reading the Washington Post and New York Times as bedtime stories to our daughter."
"They are talking about this in primary school!" James glared at Cyrus. "What do you think I should tell her? Should I tell her Muslims are good people, when our governments have demonised them to justify the perpetual wars we've started all over the Middle East! Can I show Ella the rubble of what were once people's homes in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Libya, Yemen, Sudan, Somalia and tell her that's what we do to good people?"
Cyrus' gaze shifted from James, and turned to stare out of the window, blind to the butterflies enjoying the flowers in his carefully tended garden.
"What have people got against Muslims?" Abdul Hassan asked no one in particular.
"Nine-11," Joshua Jones grunted.
Abdul shook his head. "People have been hating on us since the Crusades. But I get what you're saying. I don't think it's right. Hell, most of those pilots were Saudi Arabian, and guess who got bombed Afghanistan and Iraq. Those fkkrs sure got their coordinates wrong."
Juan Garcia shook his head. "The fkkrs got it right. Afghanistan supplies nearly all the world's heroin. When the Taliban destroyed the opium crops in early 2001, they killed the market. There were a lot of dopeheads who couldn't get their fix. Some must have been real powerful because Afghanistan gets bombed and heroin sales skyrocket. Just like that." Juan snapped his fingers, right under Abdul's nose.
Abdul pushed Juan's hand away from his face. "I seen those photographs of marines standing in them poppy fields, holding guns like they are protecting the crops. I haven't seen any pictures of them destroying those flowers."
"It is well-known that the CIA imports drugs into the United States, so it can wage secret wars every place else." Hollis Doyle chewed on a straw as he studied the cards in his hand.
"They waged a secret war in the United States when they brought crack into LA and turned those neighbourhoods streets into a war zone full of drug addicts and armed gangs," Juan said.
"It's another well-known fact that crackheads who refuse to pay their taxes, will pay through the nose for their addictions," Hollis Doyle looked up from his cards. "That ain't the same reason they bombed Iraq."
Abdul shook his head. "Hell, even I know they bombed Iraq for the oil."
"Got the world's fifth largest reserves."
They all looked up from their cards, to stare at Joshua who blushed. "My uncle is a rig manager on one of them sites. Or he was when I got locked in here."
Abdul turned to Hollis. "The way things are going, you think this takedown of Olivia Grant is going to work?"
"Hell, I've got everything riding on the expectation that little lady is going to be the Next President of the good ole US of A. And as one of her first acts in office, she's going to grant me the Presidential pardon I surely deserve."
The other men stared at him for a moment, then cracked up laughing.
Olivia and Rowan had a video conference with Fitz, Zeke and Oscar in the Situation Room.
"They've arrested Sameera and shipped Obeid off to Guantanamo."
"They've taken the families of the young men with the backpacks, into custody."
"Every home has been cleaned out of everything except the furniture."
"They've cut off all access to information, except the official story." Olivia said slowly.
Breaking News
…'Photographs crucial to the FBI's terror plot investigation were leaked to the media today. The images clearly show Obeid Hussein meeting with the men caught with explosives in their backpacks, on the morning of the planned attack. It's also been revealed that at least two of the men were well-known to Mr Hussein through his work at an outreach centre helping troubled youth.
...' In related news, a copy of Mr Hussein's resume is circulating on social media. It shows that Mr Hussei worked as a mining engineer in his home country, where he had extensive knowledge of explosives. Official sources have confirmed this information to be factual, and not fake news...'
Pastor Nancy Drake faced the congregation gathered for evening prayers.
"In the past few hours, I have heard things from this congregation that have brought me to my knees to pray for your souls. You have hatred in your hearts. That must be rooted out.
"Why do I say that?
"I have faith in the Lord, I don't have the same faith in our justice system – we have wrongly convicted men and women in this country for crimes they did not commit. The guilty who were still alive when they were found innocent, have walked out of jail free in their old age with an apology and monetary compensation. Those killed in the name of justice, have only the cold comfort of their names being cleared, their cries of innocence being proven, after it is of no use to them.
"What is this man's story? We don't know because everyone is talking except for Obeid Hussein and his family. They have been silenced.
"Some have asked how the Good Lord can ask us to forgive a man caught with his hand in the cookie jar? Whose hands could have been tainted with the blood of innocents praying to our Lord, had it not been for the good work of the FBI and police. How can we forgive when we have photographs of the devil with the demons caught carrying bombs into a church?
"No one died this time, I say. What about next time? you ask. Are we to turn a blind eye when the people to whom we have opened our homes, show their gratitude by trying to destroy the House of our Lord? How can we find forgiveness for those who have lied before God about their allegiance to this nation; who have spoken with a forked tongue when they swore to defend this nation against all enemies, domestic and foreign? When they have become one of those enemies, how do we forgive?" Nancy took a deep breath and continued in a gentler tone.
"We forgive as Christians. We forgive others, as our Father forgave us our sins. We forgive as the nation of Sri Lanka forgave the Muslim men who walked into their churches on Easter Sunday and detonated bombs that killed hundreds of people celebrating Christ' resurrection. We forgive like the mothers who forgave the Christian man who shot their sons dead in a mosque in Christchurch, New Zealand. Unarmed Muslims who were praying in a house of worship. We forgive as they forgave. We forgive because hate will not solve our problems. We forgive because an eye for an eye will make the whole world go blind. We forgive because in His House, with Our Lord, that is what we must do."
On a major news network, Edison was speaking to a much wider audience.
"This is a day of reckoning for us as a nation. We have to realise that although we are part of the human race, we don't all share the same values. We have repressive regimes around the world, regimes that don't believe in freedom of movement, freedom of speech, freedom to prosper and freedom to achieve. We have fought and are still fighting those regimes to prevent them bringing their values to our shores. Yet, some of these guys get past security."
Anchor: "Do you think we need to block anyone from those repressive regimes entering the United States?"
Edison: "I'm not proposing to scrap our refugee programs. I'm saying we need to toughen some laws, get rid of loopholes, introduce better screening and monitoring."
Anchor: "You think people from repressive regimes should be under a formal surveillance program."
Edison: "We already have surveillance programs for persons of interest in this nation. I'm saying we need to expand that."
Anchor: "According to Edward Snowden, the NSA is already vacuuming information about us from our emails, medical records, social media, mobile phone locations, and that's not even half of it. His list was quite extensive. Do we need more of our privacy invaded?"
Edison: "You tell me. Nearly 300 people died on Easter Sunday 2019 when Muslim terrorists walked into churches and hotels in Sri Lanka. Could that have been prevented? Do we want that to happen in the United States of America?"
Anchor: "Fifty-one people died when an Australian Christian walked into a New Zealand mosque and shot people as they were praying."
Edison: "You're proving my point; the world is not safe as long as people with hate in their hearts are able to carry out acts of evil on the unsuspecting. It's our job, when we're in government, to make sure that doesn't happen."
Anchor: "You think you could do a better job of keeping America safe than Olivia Grant?"
Edison: "That's what the voters of America need to decide. Olivia's friends have been arrested as terror suspects. Can you really, I mean really, trust her to keep us all safe?"
A/N: I've been writing this story for so long, I've forgotten what year we're supposed to be in this story. But not to worry, like so many things in it, turning facts into barely believable fiction, I've decided to make Time Fluid.
I say this because I've juxtaposed realities like the 2019 Easter Sunday bombings in my country as having happened – while realities like the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2012 are on the horizon.
I started writing, A Presidential Divorce, with Fitz having the same progressive outlook as Barack Obama, but now that I realise Obama's progressiveness was a delusion, some of the laws that Obama signed into existence will be on Edison's To-Do list. And no, Olivia is not Trump. Her character portrays how I'd hope a matriarch would behave in a patriarchal society.
References:'
Indefinite Detention – American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU)
Indefinite Detention – Wikipedia
The USA Patriot Act, Preserving life and Liberty – Department of Justice website
How the USA Patriot Act redefines ''Domestic Terrorism' – ACLU
Criminal Lawyers: When your clients get arrested and make "the call" to you as their lawyer from jail, what advice do you usually give (is it mostly just common sense?) - Quora
World's Opium source destroyed – The Guardian
Taliban's Ban on Poppy a Success, US Aides say – The New York Times
Opium Production up by 87 per cent in Afghanistan – Military Times
Afghan Heroin & the CIA – Geopolitical Monitor
Opium, the CIA and the Karzai Administration – History News Network
The CIA, Contras, Gangs, and Crack – Institute for Policy Studies
Iraq invasion was about oil – The Guardian
Why war in Iraq was fought for Big Oil - CNN
Sri Lankan Christians forgive Easter suicide bombers, says Cardinal – Vatican News
Christchurch mosque shooter appears moved as victim's mother offers forgiveness - RNZ
NSA Files: Decoded; What the revelations mean for you – The Guardian
Revealed: how US and UK spy agencies defeat internet privacy and security, The Guardian This is everything Edward Snowden revealed in just one year of unprecedented top-secret leaks, The Business Insider