Chapter IV Banner meets The Voice of God

John Banner arrives in Apfaghanastn and meet The Voice of God.

Banner was greeted at the airport by a man in a long white twab. The white twab is the traditional men's robe in Afghanistan. Women wear black. He led them to a Mercedes Benz. They rode in silence. Banner asked where they were going, but there was no answer. Perhaps his guide didn't speak English.

It was about an hour across the desert. Nothing to see outside but sand. Mile after mile of snow white sand - it was blinding. Banner wondered if the Beach Doctor knew about this place.

Dr. Beach was a guy in Florida. Each year, he put out a list of the ten most beautiful beaches in the world. This place would not make the list, no ocean. A good beach has to have an ocean. This one just had endless white, hot sand. The ocean, that's what made the sand tolerable.

The Mercedes was weighted down by body armor. It must have been a b***h to drive in the sand, but the driver handled it like it was a sports car.

  Banner would like to see how he would do in a NASCAR race against Danica Patric. He would like to see how he would do in a wrestling match with Danica Patric.

Finally, they arrived at a white marble palace. The upper two feet were covered in a mosaic of marble tile. It was beautiful. Banner wished he had brought a camera. He had thought about it at first but then decided against it. His host would probably be camera shy.

His Holiness came out. He, too, wore a twab but his was of finest cloth. The years had not been kind to him, the years were not kind to anyone in Afghanistan, but he could boast of one thing few of his contemporaries could, he was still alive.

In his late sixties, he was the revered spiritual leader of a sect that called themselves The Followers. His appearance was only marred by the large Rolex watch he wore on his left wrist. 

He greeted Banner warmly. He bowed. Banner followed his lead and made sure to bow a little lower. He reached out to shake his hand but was met with a firm slap on the wrist by one of the guards.

“No one touches His Holiness!”

“Of course, forgive me.”

Banner was invited to sit down on the floor cross-legged. A huge platter of roast lamb was brought out. It was delicious. There was lots of lemon, plenty of garlic, cumin, and a spice that Banner didn't recognize. 

There was flatbread. They all sat around the platter and ate with their hands. There was no talking. There was yogurt drizzled with honey for dessert. All in all, one of the best Middle Eastern meals Banner had ever eaten.

After dinner, His Holiness spoke. First, he asked about his trip. He had never been on an airplane and was curious to know about it. Then, he talked about the coming election and wanted to know Banner's opinion. He had his own opinion about both candidates and couldn't decide who would be better for the Middle East.

It was so hard to figure out American politicians. No one seemed to be telling the truth. None of them understood the complexities of the Middle East. You didn't solve four thousand years of history with a conference. 

The one thing His Holiness knew, the current president was completely naive.

The previous President thought he could bomb Syria into submission. This only strengthened the country's resolve. Their hatred for America was intensified. Someday, America would be taught a lesson. 

America had a perverted interest in interfering in Middle Eastern affairs. Affairs they knew nothing about. It was an interest based on oil. Their own devil's bible told them that the love of money was the root of all evil. America embodied evil.

The next day was more of the same. His Holiness entered the room and greeted Banner again like he had never met him. This time, no attempted handshake. There was more lamb. Today, Banner detected cinnamon. After dinner, more small talk. The same questions as the day before. They talked through the afternoon about nothing.

Banner was beginning to wonder if His Holiness had sent for him out of boredom. Perhaps there was no one in the palace who could carry on a good conversation. 

On the third day, it all started again. Finally, His Holiness called for his son. He introduced him. Sheik Abdul. Plenty of bowing. No handshake. Banner wouldn't try that again unless invited. Even then, he would check with the guard first.

Abdul kept his arms folded, his hands tucked away inside his flowing sleeves. He was pleasant enough and seemed to be well educated. His English was flawless. He was conversant with all of the latest news and politics. Not just American, but European and Russian as well. He had been educated at Cambridge.

Like Banner, he had majored in journalism. He studied computer science at Stanford. He returned to Afghanistan to find the country in turmoil.This was nothing new. It had been in turmoil for thousands of years. It was just the weapons that improved. He had been an outspoken critic of Isis. He paid the price.

“Show him,” his father said.

He pulled back his sleeves to reveal stubs where his hands had been. He had written an article critical of Isis. It had been published and found its way into the hands of a minor caliph. The caliph decided that his hands should be chopped off. Abdul accepted this as his rightful punishment. He even thanked the caliph for teaching him the error of his ways and sparing his life. 

His father was not so forgiving. He captured the caliph. After he chopped his hands off, he gathered the caliph's wife and children.

He made him watch as one by one he chopped their heads off. He wielded the sword himself. Finally, he chopped off the caliph's head. There would be no burials, no entrance into Heaven.

His Holiness called for his daughter. She entered the room. She approached and bowed. This time, no name was offered. She didn't speak. Under Sharia law, it is forbidden for a woman to speak in public. She was covered head to foot in a black robe. Only her eyes were exposed, green almond shaped eyes. Banner had no way of knowing but guessed she was beautiful.

It was the perfect family, except for His Holiness.

The next day found the palace bustling with action.

“This is an important day,” Abdul told Banner. “My father is going to Mraj to give a teaching. We leave in an hour. You will come with us. You can see first hand the power of my father and the strength of his disciples.”

“That's perfect,” Banner said. “I'll make it the subject of my first story about my trip. I wish I had a camera.”

“There is no need. We have a crew that records everything. Someday the world will hear The Voice of God. “Praise Allah.”

They loaded everyone into Toyota SUVs and headed across the desert at breakneck speed. They traveled to Mraj. They drove across the desert for an hour. Finally, they came to a mountain.

“It's all on foot from here,” Abdul said. “I hope you're up for it.”

“Lead on,” Banner said.

They walked higher and higher up the steep mountain side. The climb was twice as long as the ride in the SUV. The path was narrow and steep. Banner looked over the edge several times and wondered why anyone would choose to live here.

All around they were surrounded by flat ground, yet these people chose to live like mountain goats. Location, location, location. They certainly held the high ground. No wonder it was so hard to find the rebels.

As they walked along a particularly narrow path, one of the guards turned to Banner. “Be careful”. The look in his eyes said there was nothing he would like better than to scrap this American off the canyon floor. Banner decided he would be very careful.

As they made their way along the mountain path, His Holiness' daughter lost her footing. She was falling. Banner reached out and grabbed her. He knew he could be put to death for touching her, but these were extreme circumstances. He pulled her to safety.

A guard grabbed Banner by the wrist and motioned for him to release the girl.

“You're welcome,” said Banner.

His Holiness rushed over and embraced Banner.

Abdul saw the way his father embraced Banner and for the first time, he hated the caliph who had cut his hands off.

The Voice thanked him for saving his daughter's life and promised him that he would be handsomely rewarded. Not only in this life but in the life to follow. It was good to know The Voice of God.

As they continued up the mountain, the guard who had grabbed Banner stepped up beside him.

“Good for you that His Holiness was here. Otherwise, you would be dead.”

“And the Princess would be too,” Banner said.

“If it was Allah's will, so be it.”

Banner was dumbfounded. I'll never understand these people.

They climbed on for what seemed like forever. When they got to the village, His Holiness delivered his teaching. It was a long rambling discourse with no understandable point. 

Banner couldn't figure out what it was about. It didn't make any sense. Just a bunch of rambling without rhyme or reason, but it was delivered with such intensity that his followers went mad with excitement.

When The Voice finished, the people tore their robes. They screamed and cried. They fired their weapons in the air. It was a sight unlike any Banner had ever seen. Even the guards were crying, overcome with emotion.

Surely, they had heard the same speech a hundred times before. I guess good theater never loses its appeal. How else do you account for the success of Hitler? On the way back to the palace, some of the guards wept quietly. Still overcome with emotion. Amazing.

That evening when he got back to his room, Banner opened his new computer. He began to take it apart. Inside, he found most of the parts needed to build a small gun. It was all plastic. Even the single bullet was a small cartridge with just enough gunpowder to hit a target at close range.

The load itself was a small round plastic sphere. It was designed to split apart on contact. Inside was just enough cyanide to kill a person. The missing parts were the trigger assembly and a firing pin. The firing pin was the only metal part needed. Banner found it disguised as a screw in the bottom case. Jerry Batista was a clever guy.

On the hard drive were the articles Jerry had told him about. There was also a file only identified by a series of numbers and letters. It was a binary file. Just zeros and ones. When sent to Banner's 3D printer, it would print out the trigger assembly.

Banner now knew what his mission was. He thought he had been sent to gather information on his target. He now understood he had been sent for an assassination. His mission was to kill The Voice of God. Banner would carry out his new mission, but he would never forget that Jerry hadn't trusted him with the knowledge before he got here. Jerry knew it was a suicide mission.

That night, Banner connected his printer to his computer. He began the hour-long process of printing out the trigger mechanism. When it was completed, he assembled his weapon. 

Now that he had made his mind up, he approached his job with robotic skill. It was the only way to be. The only way to keep himself sane while doing something totally insane.

He put the computer back together. This is how The Company was using his degree in computer science. To print out guns and assassinate religious leaders. Somehow he didn't feel like he was saving America. More likely it was some politician's idea of what was needed. No wonder the world hated America. Banner was beginning to feel unkind to her himself.

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The next morning, there was a celebration. John Banner was the hero. Even the guards seemed friendlier. Banner was sure this would pass.

More lamb. Dancing this time. Everyone was in a joyous mood. 

His Holiness' daughter had been spared. Allah had spared her, but Banner was the vessel he had chosen to work through. The celebration lasted on into the evening. It was good to be the hero. A little wine would have helped, but that wasn't going to happen.

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The next day, everyone was cheerful. This wasn't such a bad trip after all. For a moment, Banner even forgot he was going to kill His Holiness.

Banner didn't understand it. The man was old and feeble. Probably suffering from Alzheimer's. In a few years, he would just die from natural causes. 

What was so important that The Company wanted him dead now?

There would be no feasting today. It was a day of fasting and prayer. Banner liked the previous day better.

In the evening as Banner sat alone in his room, he heard a small knock on the door. He opened it. It was her. She stepped inside and removed her veil. Just as Banner had guessed, she was beautiful with large green eyes, and soft brown hair that flowed around her face with flawless skin. She was more beautiful than ever in the soft moonlight.

Without speaking, she let her robe drop to the ground. She surrendered herself to him. Banner knew that if they were discovered, the previous day's celebration would be forgotten. His head would be removed from his body and tossed into the sea. He didn't care. Tonight, this was all there was. If tomorrow never came, so what?

Banner quietly followed her from a distance to her room. As he stole along through the dark hallways, his fears were realized. In the shadows, Banner saw one of the palace guards lurking. I'm not the only one following the old man's daughter tonight. Banner debated with himself about what to do. The guard had not seen him, but he would know where the girl was coming from.

Banner could see himself being dragged before the old man at daybreak. He would be forced to kneel and confess his sins, Then he would be beheaded. Under Islamic law, the girl could be stoned as well. Stoning was a brutal way to die. The condemned person would be buried in an upright position up to their chest.

A pile of stones would be placed in front of them. Passersby would hurl a stone at the victim. It was a slow, painful death. Would the old man do this to his daughter? Banner didn't want to think about it, but he had to think about it. He had to do something.

He made his way silently to where he had seen the guard. He was still standing in the same place. To leave his post would have meant death. In the morning, he would be free to report to his superiors what he had seen.

His Holiness may not have stoned his daughter, but he would not take kindly to her sneaking off to have a midnight rendezvous with the American.

He went up behind the guard quietly. He already had his knife in his hand. The guard did not have time to call out before he was laying dead on the floor. Banner lowered him to the floor gently. Marble carries sound. He didn't want anyone to hear the sound of a falling body. There was no way to dispose of the body. He would have to let it lay where it had fallen.

In the morning the mood in the palace was different. A guard appeared at Banner's door, “You must remain in your room today.” Banner feigned ignorance.

“Why, what's going on?”

“Something terrible happened in the palace during the night. Blasphemy!”

Banner heard the door lock behind him. They had never locked the door before. Were they on to him? There was no midmorning meal. Banner was convinced that supper would not be served either. 

Was he to be dragged out into the courtyard and beheaded without seeing His Holiness again? Supper was the least of his worries. In fact, the only reason Banner thought of it was to try and judge the mood of the palace.

Banner had given up on the idea of supper when he heard the door unlock. The guard stepped into the room. “His Holiness is summoning you.” This is it, Banner thought. He was led to the banquet hall. There on the floor was the ever present lamb. Banner had not been found out.

Soon His Holiness appeared. For the first time since arriving in Afghanistan, Banner was glad to see him. “You must forgive me,” the old man said. “I am so filled with grief, I have forgotten my guest.”

“What's going on?”

“Something terrible has happened during the night. Blasphemy! Nothing like this has ever happened before. One of my palace guards has been murdered.”

“But how? Why?”

“His throat was slit. No man should die this way. This is the way a coward murders. To sneak up on someone and slit his throat. The murderer did not even have the decency to look him in the face. Blasphemy!”

That was the third time Banner had heard that word today. Blasphemy must be the word of the day. “But why would someone do such a thing?”

“It happened near your room. Perhaps one of my enemies does not want you to finish your story.”

“Are you saying I may have been the target?”

“Yes, there are many people in my country who are not as fond of your writings as I am.”

Banner did not want to seem too eager to jump on an easy solution. “Maybe the guard had discovered a sinister plot against His Holiness and he was killed to keep him quiet.”

“I have thought of this, but no one in my palace would ever move against me. My people love me, They would lay down their own life for mine.”

Banner thought. I bet this is what Qaddafi thought before they strapped him to the hood of a truck.

“We must put these things out of our mind. Allah's will be done. Tomorrow is an important day. Eat. I cannot eat. I must fast.”

The next day, they traveled to another nearby village. Another rambling speech was given. More raucous reactions. Banner listened intently. Maybe he had missed something In the first speech. No, the same rambling, the same incoherent nonsense. Why was everyone else hearing a different speech?

Banner had read The Voice's writings. Why were they so different? How could this be the same person? The written sermons were so much clearer. Filled with the same hate, hate for Americans, hate for Jews, hate for all nonbelievers, death to everyone but us.

Banner thought they may have been written years ago when The Voice was younger before Alzheimer's had taken hold. But that couldn't be it. They were too topical. 

There had to be an answer, but what was it? It nagged at Banner all the way back to the palace. Oh well, tomorrow was another day. No heroics this time out. At least there would still be lamb