Jerusalem…Ground Zero in an unprecedented countdown to global jihad.
A peaceful summer morning is shattered in Victoria, British Columbia by an assassin’s bullet. A mysterious stranger, Ian Paice, flees in the aftermath, seconds before a bomb rips through the Empress Hotel across the street along Victoria’s Inner Harbor.
Deadly incidents force Bryson McGann to Jerusalem and only precious moments remain to untangle the complex web of clues as the world holds its breath.
CROSSCURRENTS
Whispered rumors of a lost treasure have existed since the gruesome death of Templar leader, Jacques de Molay, in March of1314. Deep beneath the soil of Nova Scotia’s Oak Island, a perplexing riddle awaits discovery as to what has been hidden from the eyes of the world for centuries. Can the lost treasure be tied to a secret order of monks, and the founding of the United States in its struggle for independence?
A perfect summer day greets patrons of the Black Opal restaurant, in Victoria, British Columbia. Overlooking the Inner Harbor, Bryson McGann, and Tori Haroldson are scouring the menu, waiting to meet Jake Vonner, for a late morning breakfast. Ian Paice is not the tourist he appears to be when he takes a seat at an occupied table. Paice’s clandestine meet with Graham Martin is unexpectedly interrupted. Before Martin can relay the entire content of his message, an assassin’s bullet takes his life and comes close to killing Paice. Bryson McGann, Tori Haroldson, and Jake Vonner are nearly killed in the ensuing mayhem. After the shooting ends, McGann catches a glimpse of a mysterious man fleeing the Empress Hotel across the street from the eatery, just before an explosion rips through the building.
Through a set of unanticipated circumstances, McGann and Haroldson find themselves arriving in Israel, where McGann briefly spies Ian Paice leaving Ben Gurion airport. McGann wonders if Paice’s claims of being a donate for an ancient monastic order have any validity.
Ali Azir Bou-Zhamed is leader of the Algerian terror network, GIA. Bou-Zhamed is set to unleash a maniacal plan of incredible dimension meant to shake the world’s foundations. His religious jihad will bring about the destruction of the epicenter of western religion, Jerusalem itself. Then the stage will be set for igniting the final global conflict, Armageddon. Soon, McGann and fellow NESSA employee, Joe Canton, uncover frightening clues from a reluctant Mossad agent in the midst of a hellish inferno while the old city of Jerusalem burns. Bou-Zhamed’s scheme is unfolding and this nightmare is only the opening act on the GIA leader’s drawing board.
McGann, Haroldson, and Canton unexpectedly run across Canton’s fiancé, NSA operative, Ashlyn Sanders and Navy commander, Andrea Buckler in the ensuing chaos. Both the NSA and Naval intelligence are tracking rumors that have unfortunately proven true. Together, the unlikely group is swept up in a life and death struggle beneath the streets of Jerusalem battling GIA terrorists. Ali Azir Bou-Zhamed will stop at nothing to ensure his twisted plot comes to fruition.
For Bryson McGann and the others, minutes are ticking away on a doomsday clock, and there are precious few seconds left before the world is thrown across the threshold of ultimate destruction.
Excerpt
Chapter 4
Bechar - Algeria
Thirty-six miles south of the Moroccan border, Bechar baked under the assault of the brutal midday heat. The town lay on the northern rim of the vast Sahara, where reddish colored sands shimmered under a brilliant sun, cascading from a cloudless, blue sky. Only a few minutes before noon, and already the temperature inched above the hundred mark. Mennad Bahari’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror where clouds of choking dust followed the well-worn Land Cruiser across the arid landscape. Inside the vehicle, the air conditioning’s feeble attempts struggled against the searing temperature, irritating its driver. He was traveling northwest, heading for a small oasis in the hotly contested area near the Moroccan border. The encampment was of little significance to most of the world. Actually, few knew of its existence. But there were those in the intelligence circles that kept a close eye on the remote spot, courtesy of remarkable imagery sent by multi-million dollar satellites. However, their eye in the sky proved to offer little in value since the fly over times were known to those on the ground, courtesy of monies provided through foreign accounts.
Bahari had left the dirt road sometime ago, driving over the rugged trails he knew so well. He was now wheeling over rocky terrain close to the border separating Algeria and Morocco. It was a no man’s land, where a continued dispute over who owned the rights to this largely inhospitable land lingered. It was also a training ground for Islamic extremists, specifically the Armed Islamic Group. This faction was known to the western world by its French acronym as the GIA. Their seeds had been planted nearly two decades prior, amidst political turmoil, and their brutal actions had been responsible for the deaths of countless Algerians in the country’s civil war. The group had also been linked to bombings throughout Europe, and even a foiled plot to crash an airliner into the Eiffel Tower.
Bahari jumped, startled by the sound of his satellite phone. His hand fished through the worn canvas bag sitting on the passenger seat. Finally, on the fourth ring he answered. “Yes.”
The voice of Ali Azir Bou-Zhamed filled his ear. “You’ve taken precautions?”
The well-tanned features of Mennad Bahari tightened at the question. His brow narrowed above a set of dark, reptilian eyes. He had been working with the Algerian for many years, and still felt a slight distrust in the man’s voice. The vehicle hit a rut and Bahari bounced painfully in the driver’s seat. “I told you I would call, Azir.”
“My impatience grows by the minute. Nothing must stand in the way.”
“I understand, my friend. Remember, I too wish this to happen.” Pulling a cigarette from the pack on the console next to him, he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear. His left hand thumbed the lighter and he sucked in a lung full of smoke. “I’m almost there,” he offered cryptically. “I was going to call upon my arrival.”
“What have you learned?”
“It’s true.”
A protracted silence followed from the other end. Bahari knew the caller was mulling over the concerns and tumbling the possibilities of the outcomes. “Is he able to take care of the problem?”
“Azir, the road here is very treacherous. I’ll call you soon.” He knew the Algerian would be mad he cut the connection, but the next couple of miles demanded his full attention. Once he arrived at the encampment, he would place the call to Annaba.
In the nearing distance, an oasis appeared on the sandy, rock-strewn floor of the small valley below. Several acres of date palms rose skyward, while goats scoured the ground around them. The men standing in the shade of a grove of trees, posing as shepherds, were intimately familiar to Mennad Bahari. Their AK-47’s slung over their backs were for more than keeping predatory animals at bay.
A small number of run down buildings served as headquarters and billets for the trainees. Bahari stopped just in front of one of them, the vehicle’s brakes squealing in protest. Grabbing his bag, he hurried into the mud-brick building, waving at a comrade. The Algerian walked through a classroom - where a handful of inductees were learning the ins and outs of demolition - then out another door. Bright sunlight stabbed at his eyes while moving between the two structures. Stepping into a mirror image of the first building, a small fan attempted to circulate the hot air in front of the rickety table he used for a desk. Bahari sat in a worn wooden chair and opened the laptop. Pushing the button, he turned on the computer. Next he keyed the familiar phone number. “I’m here.” He did not have to wait long for the response.
“Tell me,” the voice of Bou-Zhamed demanded from the other end of the phone.
“Feda has been in place for two days. Waiting for them to meet. Things are as we suspected.”
“Khara,” the Algerian profaned.
“Azir. Feda is one of our best. He’s sacrificed everything, even his family. The man will not fail us. He’s driven by the cause.”
“How did he find out about the meeting?”
“Through a very well paid informant.” Bahari paused long enough to light another cigarette. “She’s no longer of consequence.”
“The woman was disposed of?”
“Yes. Her foot washed up on the British Columbia coast, adding to the mystery of why this bizarre event continues to occur. The RCMP has no idea who’s responsible, and this act only adds to the mystery.”
“What about the money?”
“It’s been retrieved.”
A thin smile of satisfaction limped across Bou-Zhamed’s face. “Good. When will this be resolved?”
“A meeting is to take place tomorrow, sometime late morning. The site is a restaurant in Victoria.” Mennad Bahari felt the pleasing heat as he inhaled the burning tobacco. Thin trails of wispy smoke drifted from his nose and mouth as he continued the conversation. “Feda assures me that his assignment will be easy. It’s less than two hundred yards from the roof top.”
“I’m aware of his talents for using a rifle at much greater distances,” Azir returned. “Although, my friend, chance is a game that cares little about the loser. He must not fail.”
Mennad Bahari pushed back against the wooden frame of the chair and crushed out the cigarette. “Allah’s commands will not be stopped by anyone or anything. It is impossible.”
“I share your sentiments, Mennad. But never assume anything. It will earn you a bullet.”
Bahari considered the Algerian’s words carefully. Bou-Zhamed’s attention to detail and planning had risen to a fanatical level. The bullet he recently put into the head of one of their own for not following through on a minor detail had proven that fact. The others who witnessed the execution said nothing, but resolved not to join their compatriot in bringing about their own undoing.
“You’ve been an invaluable ally. I look forward to our moment of glory for Allah, and all of Islam.”
Bahari lingered over Azir’s statement regarding assumptions and their consequences, wondering if it was pointed at him. He didn’t hear Bou-Zhamed’s question until the third time around.
“There must be a bad connection, Azir,” he lied, not wishing him to know he had been caught up in other thoughts. “I’m leaving from Bechar and flying to Tunisia. From there I’ll catch a flight to Damascus.”
“You should have no trouble gaining access into Jordan. I’ll meet you at the prescribed place.”
“Until then, Azir. May Allah protect you.”
The line went dead with Bahari’s last words. His eyes darted to the map spread across the table before him. Tracing a finger along the paper, his mind rambled across each detail committed to memory sometime ago. The operation would move along flawlessly, avoiding any possible detection. It was the perfect scheme. Ali- Azir Bou-Zhamed meant to shock the world. Bahari clearly realized thousands of the faithful would die. But their sacrificial deaths would not be in vain. Dying for a righteous cause earned those who believed a spot in heaven. The ultimate reward for believing.
Once they accomplished Bou-Zhamed’s audacious plan, Muslim followers would rally, blaming and cursing the infidels for their treachery. The very foundations of Christianity and Judaism threatened to crumble. Bou-Zhamed’s jihad spelled an end for all unbelievers. Mennad Bahari smiled inwardly, allowing himself a brief moment of satisfaction at being an integral part of the grand scheme.
Bou-Zhamed’s second-in-command had much to accomplish in the short time remaining before departing on his journey. The GIA needed someone trustworthy, committed to furthering the cause. And more importantly, take the reins for what was required in the aftermath. Kalid Rahal sat at the top of the list. Azir had given his approval to the candidate, confident in the man’s abilities. Rahal’s reaction would dictate whether he lived or died. If the man fostered even the slightest doubts, the interview ended immediately, and another chosen in his place. And the body of Khalid Rahal would be buried deep beneath the unforgiving sands of the Sahara.
