Transfer of Power

AZIZ WAS STILL staring at the message when the phone started to ring. He was furious, outraged that such a thing could happen, and now of all times. His eyes burned a hole in the screen as his mind raced to calculate the potential damage this catastrophe could inflict on his mission. All the while Aziz tried to keep emotion out of it. Fara Harut was his mentor, the man who had wooed him from the classroom to the battlefield, the man who had shown him the evil of the Zionists.

Harut was the reason he was where he was today, and now, he was gone.

The phone continued its irritating noise, and Aziz had to catch himself from answering it-not now, not until he calmed down and put himself in the proper mind-set. There was the plan, and he had to stick with it.

After he had more time to think, he could deal with this calamity.

Laying his hands flat on the table, he forced all of the tension from his body and immersed himself in his role. Finally, after the phone had rung at least a dozen times, he reached out and slowly brought the receiver to his mouth.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Aziz,” stated a calm and confident female voice, “this is Attorney General Margaret Tutwiler. We are having some problems getting together all of the money. “There was a pause on the line and then, “So far we have managed to transfer-“

“One point three billion dollars.” Aziz gave her the sum as he stood abruptly. Anger coursing through every inch of his body. This was too much. He had done his research on the Americans.

He knew who all of the players would be. He knew that with Hayes out of commission the transfer of power would take place, and with Vice President Baxter came an increased role for the already important attorney general. But to insult him in such a way was inconceivable. It was such a blatant affront that there was no way it could be anything other than intentional.

A slightly surprised Tutwiler said, “Yes, one point three billion.”

She stammered for a second.

“It’s going to take some time to gather all of the money… It would be a big help, as far as expediting the transfer of the remainder of the money, if you could show us a sign of your good faith.”

Aziz closed his eyelids tightly, commanding himself to continue forward with the plan. In a pained voice, he asked, “What would you propose?”

“The release of several hostages would go a long way in showing us you are sincere.”

This was beyond belief. In a voice that was near breaking, Aziz asked, “How many would you like me to release-ten, twenty… maybe thirty of them?”

Tutwiler, unsure of how genuine the offer was, tentatively replied, “Um… thirty would be great… and after they are released, we can work on getting more of the money transferred.”

Aziz stood looking down the length of the table, staring at everything and nothing at the same time, his instincts sharp, his anger funneling into a direct beam of energy. Plan or no plan, this had moved into the realm of the personal. They were trying to insult him by sending this woman to talk with him. They were testing him to see how far he would go. Was it a trap? He thought not. It was too early for an attack, it was broad daylight, and the media was right across the street. If they wanted to test his resolve, he would show them just how strong and determined it was.

It was all too much. First the news that Fara Harut had been taken, and now this stupid woman insulting him. Finally, unable to hold it in anymore, he yelled, “What did I tell you yesterday? I said all of the money by nine! I didn’t say part of it; I said all of it! Don’t insult me by talking to me of the difficulty of transferring the money! Your Treasury Department could transfer ten times the money I asked for in one hour if they wanted to! I think it is time to teach you stupid Americans a lesson! Look out your windows, and I will show you what happens when you play your idiotic games with me!”