asked. 'To lie in wait and ambush them using every stratagem of war?' The four men around the table were all intimately familiar with the holy Koran. They nodded in agreement.
The emir stood up straight, stretching his back and trying to get some distance from the immediate crisis so that he might have time to think, to see a way through. He was young for one to whom such a momentous undertaking had been fated and as fit as any man under his command, but he felt tired and worried. The problem was that unlike the Prophet he was not a military commander and had no pretensions to being one. That was why he surrounded himself with men like Dujana, famed for taking the battle against the Indonesian military dictatorship right up to the gates of the presidential palace. The emir was not burdened with false modesty. He knew that inspiring men, and even women when necessary, was a special talent gifted to him by God. However, to lead men in battle, particularly in an environment such as New York, required a very different set of skills, which he did not possess.
Amin Bashir, like him a German but unlike him a man experienced in the extremes of urban warfare, pointed to an area of the map at the southern end of Manhattan. Bashir had brought all of his family with him. Three of his five sons were fighting alongside him, and the emir knew he was willing to sacrifice them all if need be.
'Such a somber mood does not well suit what we have achieved in this battle,' Bashir said. 'We do not serve God if we underestimate his enemies. Just like Mohammed and the first converts from Medina, we face a people given to war with a mighty prowess. But they are not invincible. Even before God laid them low they were not invincible. Right here, at this crucial juncture, their arrogance caused them to overreach, and many hundreds of their men were led into slaughter at the hands of mere janissaries. It might seem an evil thing that this Kipper still lives. But how can it be anything but the will of God?'
The emir and his advisers mumbled assent. What Bashir had said was true, or at least not to be argued with. The emir could not help doubting himself, though. The casualties among the janissaries were very high, and although his own men had suffered commensurately, they were far fewer in number. It could not be long before the leaders of the bandit gangs with whom he had struck an alliance began to question the arrangement. After all, what did it profit a man to have a whole city at his feet if he had no means by which to plunder it? The submarines and warships of many countries already cut into profit margins by boarding or sinking a percentage of treasure ships as they crossed the Atlantic Ocean. Some of them were little better than pirates themselves in his opinion.
'Amin is correct,' he conceded. 'It saddens me that Kipper survived our attack, but it is the will of Allah, and to wish it any other way is not just weakness, it is a sin.'
He stood back from the makeshift map table and smiled at his comrades, his friends. The office in which they were gathered was small and looked out on a much larger area in which stood nearly two dozen desks, at least half of them occupied by his officers as they worried away at the details of their particular responsibilities within the widening firestorm engulfing Manhattan. So hastily had they had to move after the Americans targeted the last command post that there had not even been time to properly clear away the remains of those who had died there when Allah's sword swept all life from this continent. The noxious remains had been piled up in a mountain of stiff, blackened clothing over in the far corner. A couple of janissaries had been employed for that work, a fatwa from the grand mufti having declared the remains of the so-called Disappeared to be unclean.
'I am afraid I have sinned,' the emir confessed, quickly raising his hands to forestall any disagreement. 'I am sorry, but in trying to strike down Kipper I could not help but see myself holding the spear that pierced the heart of Gordon at Khartoum. A failure of humility on my part and a grave insult to Allah, blessed be his name. It may even be why this pig still lives and why the fight goes so hard.'
The other men looked on somberly, none of them rushing to disagree but all of them looking very uncomfortable.
'Still, although we have not cut the head off the snake, we have stamped it beneath our boots and, I believe, injured it gravely. Kipper is much weaker now than he was this time last week. He is not a warrior. He does not rush to the fight as we do or even as his soldiers do. And yet he is drawn into this battle unwillingly, halfheartedly. We all know where that path leads.'
Abu Dujana folded his arms and took on a defiant air. 'Our onslaught will not be a weak faltering affair,' he said, quoting from the Prophet. 'We shall fight as long as we live. We will fight until they turn to Islam. We will fight not caring whom we meet. We will fight whether we destroy ancient holdings or achieve hard-won gains. We will mutilate every opponent. We will drive them violently before us at the command of Allah and Islam. We will fight until our religion is established. And we will plunder them, for they must suffer disgrace.'
The emir nodded approvingly, although he did not necessarily see the need to quote chapter and verse at the great length to which Dujana was often given. A simple 'Let's kick their fucking asses' would have sufficed. Dujana was a traditionalist, however.
'And that is how it shall be,' he said, smiling at the warrior from Indonesia. 'Kipper's survival does not make the Americans stronger; it makes them weaker. He is a weak man without the stomach for war or the strong-arm with which to make it.'
As he spoke, the emir became more confident that what he said was actually true and not merely an empty platitude mouthed for the benefit of his followers. It was true that one could not ask for a better opponent than this president. Such reluctance to fight in a so-called commander in chief was a rare gift to his opponent. It must surely be the will of Allah.
'The more we draw him in here, the more blood we let, the weaker he will become.' He waved away the map of Manhattan lying before them as though it were of no concern at all. 'Perhaps if he is weakened enough, this crazy man Blackstone will finally take his Texas Republic away from Seattle and tear this country asunder. That may well be our purpose here, my friends. If we are penitent, if we humble ourselves before God, he may well show us that his design did not end with us leading our armies to the gates of Seattle like Dujana led his men to the palace in Jakarta.'
His Indonesian comrade bowed humbly in acknowledgment of the compliment as the emir continued.
'Such arrogance is hardly befitting servants of God. But if the Americans turn on each other as the desert Arabs turned on each other in the day of our Prophet, then our work will be done and we will yet bring peace to this land that once dared threaten the House of Peace.'
Dujana and Bashir nodded enthusiastically as though they were students who had suddenly come to understand a difficult mathematical theorem. The fourth man in the room, a great barrel-chested Turk by the name of Ahmet Ozal, folded his massive arms and nodded slowly but had a deep scowl on his face. It looked as though he were examining a deal in which he was almost certain to come off poorly. He had not spoken at all in the meeting, and the emir waited on his reply with some trepidation. Ozal commanded the largest contingent of fedayeen in the city, and his men were by far the best trained, equipped, and led. He was also the man the emir relied on to manage their relationship with the pirate gangs. Although he had pledged his allegiance to the cause and his obedience to the emir, his agreement was not a given. Ahmet Ozal was very much his own man, and he would choose to serve Allah in his own way. After an excruciating half minute, he nodded gravely and finally spoke.
'You are very wise for one so young, Emir.'
A sly smile stole across his broad, brown face. 'It must be the Turkish blood winning out over your German heritage,' he said before clapping his hands loudly. 'I agree. We must draw the Americans in here and defeat them on their own land, fighting for their own home. If we do that, we will break them here. We will break them everywhere. Then this will become our new home, and it will be a House of Peace.'
The emir smiled, unafraid to show that he was relieved he still had everyone with him. He might not be an expert on urban warfare, but he was an expert on dealing with people, and he knew it was as much a mistake to demand loyalty as it was to expect it unconditionally. He needed these men. Allah needed these men.
'How goes it with the janissaries?' he asked the Turk. 'They have suffered fearful losses and few gains, and unlike us they have no higher cause.'
Ahmet Ozal waved his hand dismissively.
'For now they fight because the gains are enough. The leaders have been well rewarded with plunder from the other cities, and the fighters themselves are well supplied with strong drink and kif and of course the promise of loot, land, and slaves.'
The emir looked to Dujana, expecting him to protest the use of drink among the janissaries. It was a sticking point with the Indonesian, but for once he remained silent. Perhaps with the balance of the battle so delicately poised he was willing to contemplate a loosening of his rigid doctrinal standards for even a small tactical advantage. The bandits did fight with much greater ferocity and abandon when their minds were inflamed with drugs. The emir
