TERRORISTS ARE HERE - NOW! A hundred have crossed the Mexican border to attack us where we live and work with bombs, explosives, and sniper attacks. Their trump cards are two nuclear weapons.

Push Back is ripped from tomorrow's headlines. To protect us from terrorist attacks, American foreign policy pushes democracy and, if necessary, regime changes in other countries. In order to protect themselves, foreign governments co-opt jihadists from many Islamic countries, train and equip them and then, turn them loose in the United States. The administration of newly-elected President Janet Sampson is totally unprepared to deal with America's worst nightmare, terrorists in our midst. Schools and businesses close. People flee large cities. The Stock Exchange closes. Chaos descends upon an America that is in the grip of the most contagious disease of all - fear.

Push Back

(The Act of Forcing an Enemy to Withdraw)By James E. Merriman

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 James E. Merriman
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-8142-9

Chapter One

2009

Banafrit Amisi's brown eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed as she skillfully guided the remotely controlled mini helicopter through the hot and humid air of Gulfport, Mississippi, toward the Ajax Chemical Plant. She had not mastered this skill during her studies atTulane University; it had come at a Wahhabi training camp in the desert of Saudi Arabia.

The tiny helicopter weighed eighteen pounds but was capable of carrying a twenty-five pound payload. Today it carried only four one-pound blocks of Iranian-manufactured C-4 plastic explosives.

From her vantage point on a low hill about a half mile from the plant, she could see the Ajax Chemical Plant's massive storage tanks of highly pressurized liquefied chlorine gas. Her hands were moist inside latex gloves, and sweat slid down her face. As the helicopter cleared the fence surrounding the plant, she stopped breathing.

This was the moment she had trained for. She detonated the C-4 just before the helicopter crashed into one of the massive storage tanks. This triggered a chemical reaction in which the C-4 decomposed and released a variety of gases which initially expanded at 26,400 feet per second. The explosion, which could be heard for miles, demolished the tank, releasing a cloud of toxic gas.

Gulfport is Mississippi's second largest metropolitan area with over seventy thousand residents, most of whom were located downwind from the explosion. During her training, Amisi had read the Homeland Security-published statistics that this type of incident could result in a toxic cloud extending as far as twenty-five miles, exposing 5 percent of the population to a lethal dose of gas, half of whom would die. An additional 15 percent would require hospitalization, with many others treated and released.

Amisi stood, mouth open, eyes wide, staring at what she had done. Planning was one thing, but seeing the result was unbelievable. Then her training kicked in. She smashed the control device into bits with a rock and flung the pieces around as she walked back to her rental car. There she stripped off her gloves, removed the size 10 men's tennis shoes she had been wearing, and replaced them with size 5 Adidas running shoes. The tennis shoes were destined for a nearby Goodwill drop-off bin. Amisi sported stylishly cut short dark hair, trendy sunglasses, jeans, and a T-shirt; she looked like any other college student.

She exhaled slowly, and self-satisfaction tugged at the corners of her mouth as she drove away, marveling at what one could purchase over the Internet. Not the C-4, of course, but the mini helicopter. She had another helicopter and two remote-controlled model planes hidden near a chemical plant outside New Orleans and two refineries near Houston, Texas.

* * *

Abdul Fahd was lying flat on the ground at the top of a grassy hill overlooking the parking lot for Memorial Hospital in Birmingham, Alabama. From his position behind two low bushes, he was invisible to those below who were streaming in and out of the main entrance.

His hands were dry; the heat didn't bother him, even in his khakis and blue button-down oxford shirt. This was nothing compared to the desert in Afghanistan, where he had spent hour after hour on a remote firing range, preparing himself for this moment and for those to come. For the first time in his life, he was in control. He would choose who would live and who would die. His only regret was that he could not target those who had bullied him during his teenage years in Washington DC.

Fahd's dark eyes smoldered as he picked up the Remington Model 7400 hunting rifle, purchased for cash at a Tucson, Arizona, gun show with his counterfeit driver's license. Later he visited ten different sporting goods stores, each time purchasing two boxes of shells, fifty shells to a box.

The rifle was solid in his hands; it belonged there. It had become an indispensable part of who he was. Fahd made his decision and carefully placed his eye to the scope. His heart rate was its usual sixty-five beats per minute. He sighted in on a woman in purple floral scrubs, probably a nurse hurrying to work; a perfect target. He slowly inhaled and then, exhaling, gently squeezed the trigger. The top of the nurse's head exploded in a spray of pink mist.

Without waiting to see the reaction below, Fahd slithered backward until he was off the crown of the hill, stood, and strolled back to his rental car. Hit and move. Hit and move. It had been drilled into him time and again during his months of training for this mission. He put the rifle in its case and laid it in the trunk. As he drove off on the way to his next stop, he whispered, "Allahu Akbar."

For the briefest of moments, a picture of the nurse's exploding skull flashed before his eyes-an innocent caregiver whose life he had taken.

He shook his head sharply. No. She was an infidel, no better than a cow. No infidel was innocent. This was his jihad; many would die, but that was Allah's will.

* * *

The two hundred thousand residents of San Bernardino were enjoying another sunny California morning as the regular freight train entered the city's outskirts and braked to a crawl. Mohamed Alrifi, a Sudanese dropout from Chino State, sat in his rental car and observed the slow-moving train with cheap binoculars. When he saw what he was looking for, he exited the car and eased down the incline to the train. The gravel crunched under his Nike running shoes as he nonchalantly walked alongside the train track, glancing from time to time at the passing tank cars. Only a trained observer would notice that the pockets of his cargo pants sagged and bumped against his legs as he walked. There was no one to observe him, however, for there was no security, and the half-mile-long train was manned by three employees who hadn't slept all night.

When the first of two silver tank cars with large black lettering boldly proclaiming HAZMAT pulled abreast of him, Alrifi, in one smooth, practiced motion, reached into his left side pocket and extracted a one-pound block of Iranian C-4 encased in synthetic webbing. With his right hand he ripped off a strip of tape, exposing an adhesive, and in the same motion stuck the packet to the side of the passing tanker. Next came the C-4 block from his other side pocket, and the process was repeated on the next car. The whole process had taken less than ten seconds.

Alrifi turned away from the train and jogged back to his rental car. When he was a mile away from the train, at about the time it should have been in the center of the urban area, he dialed a cell phone number. The signal detonated the C-4, exploding both tank cars and producing a massive chemical cloud.

Alrifi knew only that his mission was to blow up two tankers of some kind of hazardous material. An hour later, he heard a news report on the radio that he had hit the jackpot. The tank cars contained methyl bromide, a colorless gas with practically no odor. It was used as a fumigant to control insects and was poisonous at room temperature. The gas would soon be causing the good people of San Bernardino headaches, dizziness, and nausea. Many in the immediate vicinity might receive a fatal dose.

Transportation of this and other hazardous material through urban areas was perfectly legal and happened thousands of times a day all across the country. Alrifi had maps of the routes used by Hazmat carriers which he had found on the Internet and printed out. His plan was off to a better-than-expected beginning. He had charted a dozen stops on his way to Interstate 40 in Asheville, North Carolina, where unescorted trucks of Quad State Trucking regularly carried uranium hexafluoride bound for Global Nuclear Fuels-Americas in Wilmington, North Carolina.

* * *

Paeng Aquino drove his rental car up the narrow, winding Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park, Montana. Each time he rounded a sharp bend in the road and saw no oncoming traffic; he lit a Molotov cocktail and tossed it out the window. The bottle disappeared over the edge and plummeted several hundred feet before crashing into the dense undergrowth below. No one was witness to this desecration of one of the most magnificent places in America. As he topped the pass, smoke was billowing up from below.

Aquino pulled into a parking area at the top of the highway and visited the restroom. He returned to his car with a cup of tea and opened his map to check the highlighted route to Yellowstone National Park one more time. As he pulled out of the lot, he turned up the radio, which was playing Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now?" When the chorus came to "now that I'm on my way ...," he pumped his fist and prayed to himself, "Allahu akbar." He no longer served infidels on cruise ships. Paeng Aquino, small, bastard son of a US sailor and a Philippine woman, was now mujahidin. He was somebody to reckon with.

Chapter Two

2004

Ali Alwaleed, foreign policy adviser to the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, stood on the lushly landscaped balcony of the Buckingham Suite in London's Dorchester Hotel savoring the last of a Cohiba cigar. From his vantage point high above Mayfair, he looked across London to Westminster, the dome of St. Paul's, and beyond to Canary Wharf. Over the years, the four-room suite had been a refuge for many heads of state and celebrities. Today, still lavishly decorated in Queen Anne antiques, it would host a meeting that would change the course of history.

Alwaleed, trim and just over six feet tall, wore a Savile Row navy pinstriped suit and a Turnbull & Asser white shirt with a red paisley patterned silk tie. An eggshell pocket square and gleaming Guccis completed his attire. He looked every bit the Oxford-educated sophisticate that he was. Alwaleed had been working on this project since George W. Bush had promulgated his Bush Doctrine.

Democracy in Saudi Arabia ... American military forces permanently stationed in the Kingdom or anywhere in the Middle East ... the Crown Prince was apoplectic. When he calmed down, he tasked Alwaleed with developing a plan to prevent America's intervention in Saudi internal affairs and to get its forces out of the Middle East.

Formulating a plan was difficult enough, but the problem became much more complicated when the United States invaded Iraq and upset the balance of power throughout the Middle East. Iraq was no longer a buffer between Sunni and Shiite power; worse, the country and its oil were up for grabs. The mix of ancient, religiously fueled sectarian hatred, oil, money, politics, and people seeking personal power was more than enough to start another world war.

Today's meeting had one purpose: to finalize how to put the Americans in their place. They were going to get the Americans out of the Middle East and stop their attempts to dictate policy and morality to the rest of the world.

The two men waiting for Alwaleed had arrived separately. General Ri Chan-bok, the chief of staff to North Korea's Kim Jong Il, had arrived first, followed an hour later by Sher Tabrizi, head of the Quds Force of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard.

Alwaleed pushed up his French cuffed sleeve and checked his Rolex. He had kept them waiting just long enough to establish that he was in charge of the meeting. He left his cigar on the balcony and, crossing his bedroom, stopped at the full-length mirror and adjusted his tie. Satisfied with his appearance, he opened the tall polished mahogany double doors and entered the spacious living room. Both his guests stood as he crossed the plush carpet. He shook hands with Ri and nodded to Tabrizi, saying, "Assalaam alaikum," before settling in a comfortable wing chair, crossing his legs, and tugging at the sharp crease in his trousers. His servant handed him a Laphroaig single-malt scotch and left the room, quietly closing the door.

Tabrizi, a Harvard graduate, was a member of the Mensa organization which only accepted those whose IQ was in the top two percent of the population. He was short, with blazing black eyes separated by a large nose. A cowlick poked out of his dark hair, which needed cutting. When in London, he preferred the Brooks Brothers look: gray suit, white button-down shirt, and striped tie. As if preparing for battle, Tabrizi had removed his suit coat and loosened his tie. Perspiration beaded his forehead as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. As he sat forward on the sofa which, along with several chairs, was grouped around a large coffee table, his ample love handles caused his shirttail to pull loose.

Ri had a round head with a small button nose on a concave face that gave him the look of someone who was burdened with a birth defect; however, one look from his cold, penetrating black eyes evaporated that notion. He sat ramrod straight in the other wing chair, impassively sipping green tea. He was of average height, dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit, wash-and-wear white shirt, and plain black tie. Ri's polished black shoes were obviously part of his military uniform. His gray hair was short, cropped as short as any recruit's. While not a fashion plate, Ri was an accomplished military strategist with the job of formulating a plan to deal with the diplomatic and armed pressure being applied to North Korea by the United States.

"Gentlemen," began Alwaleed, "we come together today in a common cause: put an end to the Bush Doctrine and with it the American Empire. Our governments and our way of life are not secure so long as the Americans attempt to rule the world. It is perfectly clear that they intend to establish a permanent military presence in Iraq and, if necessary, Afghanistan from which to dominate the Middle East. Cheney and Rumsfeld made that clear as early as 2000. Removing Hussein was merely a pretext for their long-range military goals. As for their attitude toward North Korea, nothing further need be said."

Tabrizi interrupted. "You are right, of course, but the problem is more than military. Everything America stands for is an affront to Allah. Under Islam, our rulers derive their power from Allah, not the people. Western-style democracy turns this immutable principle on its head. It rejects any political theology based upon Allah and replaces it with a political philosophy based on man. This is blasphemy, pure and simple."

"You are both right," said Ri, "but let us be clear about something else: our governments have no intention of allowing the United States to interfere in how our countries are governed."

"Yes, of course," said Tabrizi with a nod, "but we must stop the invasion of Western culture. It is immoral, degenerate, and anathema to Muslims. Ayatollah Khomeini understood that Satan is not an invader, imperialist, or exploiter, but a tempter and seducer who whispers in the ears of men. The very idea of women ..."

Alwaleed let him drone on while he savored the smoky flavor of the scotch. It was a taste he had acquired during his years at Oxford that was denied him in his native Saudi Arabia. Like most Saudis who were able to get to London, he took advantage of the sensory and fleshly pleasures that were unavailable in the Kingdom. As Tabrizi pounded the table, spilling his untouched coffee from its cup, Alwaleed's mind wandered toward the evening, when he would again experience the delights of Cordelia Nightingale.

Alwaleed had already brought Ri onboard. They just had to reel in the Iranian to make it work.

After several more minutes of telling Alwaleed and Ri what they already knew, Tabrizi seemed to be winding down or at least running out of breath.

"I think we are all agreed," said Alwaleed, "that once we get rid of the Americans, we will create an Iraqi federation of three states, Shiite, Sunni, and Kurdish, with a central military government to keep peace and allocate oil proceeds."

Tabrizi interrupted Alwaleed once again. "I am here with authority to propose a four-step plan to deal with the Americans.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Push Backby James E. Merriman Copyright © 2009 by James E. Merriman. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.