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Midway Island
14 February
1945 Local Time
“Sir, they have arrived,” Lieutenant Ming said as Fang ordered his men to drag away the body of the bloodied American aviator.
“Good,” Fang said. “Have the men begin making preparations. Let us go meet them.”
Lieutenant Ming nodded and followed Fang out of the room. He stopped at the door of the room where they were keeping the President as they walked down the hall. Fang opened the door slowly while Ming patiently waited. The President was blindfolded and gagged, bound to a pipe in the corner of the room.
“Madam President,” he said as he pulled down the gag.
“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was shaking, but her disdain for the man squatting over her was still evident.
“I apologize for the delay,” he said. “Your hour of justice on the world stage is nearing. I will enjoy every minute of it.”
“You will burn in hell, you sick son of a bitch. You and your buddies will all burn,” President Clifton said defiantly.
“You first,” Fang replied as he put the gag back in her mouth and laughed. The President of the United States feared him. He could hear it in her voice. The most powerful person in the world was at his mercy, and he was enjoying every minute of it. He was going to enjoy snatching the life from her.
After watching his men die at the hands of American Special Forces in the Philippines, Fang carried a special hate in his heart for Americans. While he admired the coldness and efficiency with which they killed, he hated them for their audaciousness. They were arrogant, loud, and evil. Killing the chief figurehead of American culture would be his greatest accomplishment.
Fang exited the small room as Ming followed. They walked past two more rooms with prisoners before exiting the warehouse. There was a light rain as the two exited the building and headed for their nearby Humvee.
The two sat in silence as Ming drove down the access road and onto the taxiway. The large transport aircraft was parked at the end of the runway with its cargo ramp down as men hurriedly unloaded weapons and Islamic fighters and Fang’s men prepared to load their equipment.
Ming pulled up to the edge of the runway where a man dressed just as they were was directing men off the transport. Fang recognized him immediately as Mahmud Aziz, the leader of The Islamic State of Uyghur Fighters. He was overseeing the deplaning of the two dozen men from Xinjiang, Kazakhstan, and Uzbekistan that had been chosen for the mission.
Fang exited the Humvee and approached the man. He was wearing a black turban and had a long black beard similar to those of Fang and his men. He turned to greet Fang as he saw Fang and Ming approaching.
“Assalamu alaykum,” Aziz said to Fang, giving the standard Muslim greeting.
“Wa alaykum assalam,” Fang replied as he shook Aziz’s hand. The two had wished peace upon each other, but Fang knew that Aziz’s peace would be coming much sooner in the afterlife.
“It is a glorious day, is it not?” Aziz asked. “For all Holy Warriors. Allah smiles on us tonight.”
“Indeed, it is,” Fang smiled, although he believed none of it. He only had to play the role for a few more hours. The entire routine seemed silly to Fang, but when it came to mission success, he would stop at nothing to ensure its precise execution.
“You have her?” Aziz asked. “The President of the United States?”
“We do,” Fang said.
Aziz smiled back as he looked over at the burning wreckage of Air Force One across the ramp. “You have done a great thing.”
“And you will do a great thing,” Fang replied. “You and your men must fight with great strength and courage. The Americans will send their cowards, but I have faith that you will triumph.”
“It is a shame you cannot stay and fight beside me, my friend,” Aziz replied. “As it is written, ‘The gates of Paradise are under the shadows of the swords.’”
“And I shall meet you there one day,” Fang said. “But it is not Allah’s will tonight. I must take these men and carry on the fight. I must wait for my glorious martyrdom in another battle.”
“My men will fight bravely beside me,” Aziz said confidently. “Of that I have no doubt.”
“You would not be here if that were not known to be true,” Fang replied. “Come, let’s show you the head of the Great Satan and her infidels. You will be very pleased.”
Aziz followed Fang to the Humvee. As Aziz opened the door to get in, Lieutenant Ming pulled Fang aside.
“Sir, I have just gotten word that the American plant has captured the pilot,” Ming said as he held up his radio. “He has delivered the pilot to us.”
“The pilot?” Fang asked. “The traitor Xiang brought him to me over an hour ago. I killed him with my own blade.”
“They are sure that it is the man you sent to spy on the Americans,” Ming replied. “And he says he has brought an American pilot with them.”
“Could it be the other aircraft? Was there a second pilot?” Fang asked.
“We have received no other communications, sir,” Ming said. “And we do not believe the other pilot ejected.”
“What are your orders, sir?” Ming asked. “Do you wish me to personally take care of this so that you might continue preparations?”
Fang considered the proposal for a moment. He liked Ming far more than Xiang. Xiang had been far too brazen. Ming appeared to be more disciplined and loyal.
“No,” Fang replied. “I wish to see this American pilot myself.”
“Very well, sir,” Ming responded sharply.
“Tell your men to hold their positions,” Fang ordered. “We will go directly there before I deal with the President and end this mission.”