Michael Savage - Abuse of Power

“Those who say such things aren’t speaking for me,” Faisal told him. “All I really want is peace throughout the world. That’s all any true Muslim wants. We believe in the blessed words of all of the prophets, from Moses to Jesus. We respect others and their religions, and all we ask is that they do the same in return.”

Jack knew all of this, of course. But it didn’t hurt to have a face to attach to it. He had stereotyped Faisal, mistrusted him, the moment he’d walked in the door. And he regretted that.

“That’s good to hear,” Jack said. “And you’re right. I will be more careful.”

Faisal nodded, satisfied to have had his say. He rose from his chair and gestured to the laptop. “This will take some time and I need to sleep. I’ll check its progress in the morning.”

“Thank you, Faisal. I know you didn’t have to help us, and I appreciate what you’re doing.”

Faisal gestured to Sara stretched out on the sofa. “She looks comfortable there, but you can’t sleep in that chair. I have a spare bedroom for when my family arrives. There’s a bed. You are free to use it.”

Then he stepped into the hallway and disappeared.

Exhausted as he was, Jack couldn’t sleep.

It was nice to be on a mattress again, and have the warmth of a working radiator, but he spent the next two hours unable to stop thinking.

There were big thoughts. He was unable to put aside the pieces of the puzzle, the disaster waiting for so many people if he failed. His tired brain told him to drop the whole thing in the lap of the FBI or the CIA but he didn’t dare. For one thing, they probably wouldn’t believe that “wacko” alarmist Jack Hatfield. For another, by the time that machine got into motion and up to speed, the event could well be in their rearview mirror.

There were smaller thoughts. He wept inside for his watch, violated by Swain and necessarily discarded like so many other parts of his life. He kept telling himself that it was only a watch, that he’d always have his memories, the good and the bad. It was like death. Be happy for the time you were together, the memories you built, rather than mourn the future that was never guaranteed.

Yet that watch had brought him comfort so many times over the years. A sense of calm. There was nothing that could ever replace it, and he cursed Swain for using him, for knowing instinctively that Jack would never leave something so valuable behind and using that knowledge against him.

Against all of them.

He remembered the violence and death that had descended on that apartment house and was overwhelmed by survivor’s syndrome. He took no solace in his own relative comfort and security. Despite his admonitions that Sara not blame herself for what had happened, Jack couldn’t fight off his own guilt. People had died because of his failure to realize he’d been used. And it was quite possible that many more would die before they saw an end to this.

“Stop it,” Jack finally said through his teeth. “You’re going to save lives!”

It was a tragic corruption of his comment about preferring the death of a hundred million Muslims to a hundred million non-Muslims. The lives of dozens of people had to be surrendered in the hope of sparing millions more.

That was the math of modern-day antiterror activities. It was only a waste if he failed. That kept returning him to the biggest thought of all:

“The infidels will soon see destruction that will make 9/11 seem like child’s play.”

Operation Roadshow, coming to a city near you.

When? How? That question had yet to be answered.

Jack was finally starting to drift off when he heard the faint flush of a toilet down the hall. A moment later a silhouette appeared in the bedroom doorway-Sara, barely visible in the light from the window.

“You left me alone,” she said softly.

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Probably happy to be rid of me for a while.”

“Never,” he told her.

She came into the room. “I said some terrible things to you last night. Sometimes I speak without thinking.”

“You’ve already apologized for that, even though you didn’t need to. You had a right to be upset. We both did. Nobody should ever have to see what we saw.”

She closed the door behind her now, then moved to a small television in the corner and turned it on, tuning it to an Arab station, which was playing only Arabic music at the moment. Jack wasn’t sure what she was up to but he didn’t protest when she came over to the bed and lit the scented candle that was sitting on the nightstand. Her long brown hair was highlighted against the window and he saw a light snow falling outside.

He didn’t know if he should trust this, or her motives. It didn’t matter. He instantly felt himself stirring.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” she said, then reached a hand under the back of her T-shirt and unfastened her bra, dropping it to the floor. Her breasts shifted, reacting instantly to the brush of the fabric.

He didn’t look away this time. “Neither do I.”

“I want to forget for a while, Jack. Can you help me do that?”

“You have no idea how much I’d like to try.”

He hadn’t bothered to take off his clothes before lying on top of the bed, and she came to him, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it. She unfastened his pants and pulled them away, freeing him, then took him in her hand, gently kneading him as she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

Then she pulled away, whispering softly against his cheek. “Make me forget, Jack. Please make me forget.”

As he drew her nearer and removed her T-shirt and panties, she began to moan deeply and loudly. Loudly and deeply. In the midst of their heat, such a state of abandon was reached that the normally voyeuristic Jack, who liked to watch himself make love, actually fell from the bed onto the hot radiator. But, like the Indian fakirs who can be on a bed of nails without later showing puncture marks, Jack did not scorch or burn, nothing visible remaining except a small soreness days later.

Once he was inside her, she began to cry and shudder in a series of small convulsions. He had never been with a woman who reacted like this and was both surprised and excited by her abandon.

Her cries became veritable screams as she moaned, and her eyes became glassy with passion. As Jack continued to bring Sara to an increasingly greater state of tension and release, tension-a violent begging for release and then the convulsive wave-her screaming became threatening.

He tried to quiet her by putting his hand over her mouth while continuing to stroke with his loins and lips.

“Quiet, quiet,” he tried to command hoarsely. “Faisal will hear you.”

He reached for her T-shirt and couldn’t believe himself as he pressed it over her mouth, holding it down hard against her lips by pressing it against the sheets, one hand on each side of her face.

Their hips were in perfect synchrony and she continued her cries and screams, now muffled beneath the shirt, as Jack made love to her as he had never made love before. Sara bucked and arched and was in a world he could never see.

Then it was over and they collapsed onto the bed, sweating, chests heaving. Sara rolled toward him and snaked a hand across his chest as she nuzzled his neck.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

She smiled, kissed his neck. “It couldn’t have been that long. We barely know each other.”

“This’ll sound crazy,” he said. “But I think I’ve wanted you most of my life. Even before I knew who you were.”

“Well, I’m here now,” she said, then moved atop him, reaching a hand down to take hold of him again. He put his arms around her, running his own hand along her spine, brushing his fingertips across her flawless skin — until he felt something there and suddenly stopped: the long thin puckered flesh of a scar, just above her right hip. He hadn’t seen or felt it before, had somehow missed it in the darkness and the heat of the moment.