Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning by Steve Ward

that’s astronaut Michael Jacobs.”
     
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You got it sister. I gotta go.”
     
    NASA astronauts were required to fly their jet trainers a minimum of ten hours a month to maintain proficiency, but they had a good deal of liberty where to go. They often flew to Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas to get the air time and have some fun. It was also a way Christina could get away from her bodyguards. She was supposed to plan ahead for security at her destination, but this time she would conveniently forget.
     
    Michael seemed more than happy to fly with her, and his jaw hit the floor when he learned he was going to meet the President.
     
    * * *
     
    Muztata al-Bolani climbed in the limo across from Jawad al-Masri, his second in command. They were on their way to Dulles International Airport where an Iranian jet awaited their arrival. In just a few hours they would be back in Tehran. The limo was of the luxury class, reserved by the State Department for heads of state. It had plush, leather seating, a fully stocked bar and a communications center. Al-Bolani took it as an insult. Most Muslims were God-fearing people. They didn’t drink any kind of alcohol and avoided appearances of luxury. Although many were rolling in cash, opulence was looked upon as a mortal sin.
     
    “Praise Allah.” Al-Bolani gave his usual greeting. It was important to keep God in every conversation and every transaction. God was more than a figurehead to fundamentalists; Allah was a constant companion. No gray areas when it came to religion, the end game was crystal clear. Every Jihadist knew by heart the lines of the Quran describing heaven for the martyr and Hades for the infidel. Martyrs for Allah would recline with virgins, and infidels would boil in their own blood.
     
    Sura 38:49 This is a monition and verily, the pious shall have a goodly retreat: Gardens of Eden, whose portals shall stand open to them: Therein reclining, they shall there call for many a fruit and drink: And with them shall be virgins of their own age, with modest retiring glances:
     
    “ This is what ye were promised at the Day of Reckoning:
     
    Even so. But for the evil doers is a wretched home--Hell--wherein they shall be burned.”
     
     
     
    “Allah is good,” answered al-Masri. “How did the meeting go?”
     
    “This Gleason is a fool!” al-Bolani snorted. “He thinks we don’t know about the attack on Jihad-1. He is willing to give concessions if we increase production. Think about that,” he laughed. “We take more money from them, and in return, they give us more money. Allah has treated us kindly in this oil business. They are so desperate for oil he will compromise all his values, that is, of course, if he had any in the first place. These infidel politicians are dirty pigs.”
     
    “But what about the sanctions?”
     
    “If we increase by one-million barrels a day, he will put a stop to all the UN sanctions. Then we can sell many Iranian goods in the U.S. and our economy will be even stronger. We will be able to buy all the arms we need from any country. Let’s see, at $200 a barrel that will put another $7 billion in our annual budget. I wonder if he would be willing to convert to Islam for one-million a day? Stupid me, I should have demanded it. Faith means so little to these people.”
     
    “And Jihad-1?”
     
    “Ah yes, even harder to believe, this one. He said if we need to launch another weather satellite, he would get the NASA to put it in orbit for us. . . hah! Only the supreme power of Allah could suppress my joy in the humor. It was almost impossible not to laugh in his face.” Al-Bolani chuckled while he twisted his beard and stared out the window into the unknown.
     
    Al-Masri sucked down a bottle of water through his great beard like a camel at an oasis. Then he threw the bottle on the floor, “Aaah, it will be a great victory my brother, a great victory for Islam.”
     
    “A great victory