Land of Promise Read online

  Nearly everyone living in the Caliphate countries had the WIS App on their phones. That was the App of the World Islamic State, creation of the Thirdists, and it was available in 14 languages. If one of the Thirdist police found that you didn’t have it on your phone, then you would get seven lashes, right on the spot, and a flag would be added to your name in the database: “No WIS App installed.”

  In some ways, A’isha thought now, the First IS -- the one that had been instituted by the wild-eyed jihadists of ISIL, the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant -- had been easier to live under. They didn’t make appointments. They didn’t distribute Apps. They were not well organized. Rather, their modus operandi had been driving around almost randomly, shooting “Infidels” and cutting off heads. They were the ones who had killed her parents, back in 2017. A’isha was just ten years old when that happened. But now she was middle-aged, married, with children of her own. The second iteration of IS -- WIS -- was worse, in many ways. It was cold, calculated, bureaucratic, and neatly organized. Their databases cataloged everything they could find about everyone: school records, medical records, and even genealogies. Instituting their totalitarian state emphasized focusing on family groups and using threats against selected family members to coerce behavior on parents, children, and siblings. They had taken association networking and mapping to the next level. The WIS enforcers were also punctual, always arriving on time. And although their vehicles were an odd assortment of cars and trucks, they always wore the same neat black uniforms, black keffayahs, and highly-polished black boots. They each carried a regulation whip (braided in strict accordance with Caliph Dictate 87/B), a tablet computer, a Taser, and a short-barreled Krinkov folding-stock AK. All of their clothing, weapons, belts, and assorted gear were color-coordinated in black. Those bastards had style. And the Salafist cops always came smiling, with their smarmy little bureaucrat smiles. Their greetings almost always began with, “It is The Will of Allah that…”

  She recited the Lord’s Prayer aloud, and then added, “Help us, Lord Jesus. Please, I pray, deliver us from these evildoers.” She looked at the phone’s screen again: Five minutes left. She could hear her daughters sobbing and wailing in their bedroom. Ghahda was 14 years old, and Hadiyah was 16. They were the real reason that the Sharia cops were coming. This WIS system wanted them as al-sabi -- female slaves. They’d bring a tidy profit at their Abd Auctions. A’isha was not as pretty as her daughters, and her many years of hard work as a washerwoman showed, making her less attractive to the slave brokers. But she could still be sold as a useful slave. In contrast, her daughters would surely end up as rape toys by their new owner, to be passed around to his friends -- probably for years.

  A’isha wept bitterly. Her phone now showed that she had just three remaining minutes of freedom. She decided to spend those few minutes hugging her daughters and praying with them.

  Chapter 1: Conspirators

  “This new Caliphate is crucial to ISIS. Here’s why: Islam purports to be a universal religion. In other words, its teachings encompass all aspects of life and its ultimate goal is the establishment of a global Islamic state.” -- Jay Sekulow, in Rise of ISIS: A Threat We Can’t Ignore. Howard Books, 2014

  Edinburgh, Scotland -- March, Three Years After Declaration of the Caliphate

  It all came together over cups of coffee in the back room of The Elephant House, a tea and coffee shop in Edinburgh. They had been meeting once a week for nearly a month to discuss global politics, the relentless advance of the new Thirdist branch of Islam, and the persecution of Christians. Their meeting room in The Elephant House overlooked Edinburgh Castle. The teahouse was a famous hangout for Edinburgh’s cognoscenti, writers, and assorted eccentric expatriates. Before Scotland’s independence a decade earlier, The Elephant House had been a hotbed of secessionist sentiment.

  Arriving 25 minutes ahead of their scheduled 10 a.m. meeting, Rick assumed that he’d be the first one there. But he was surprised to see that Meital Landstuth was already seated and was tapping at the screen of her GingerXL tablet, with a cup of Brazilian Santos Arabica coffee close at hand. As was her habit, she added so much cream to her café au lait that it looked more like of a cup of cream than a cup of coffee.

  Kathe usually went by her middle name Meital. But her close friends often called her by her Israeli diminutive/possessive nickname, Meitali. Rick gave her a sidelong glance. She was a 33-year-old fine art and antiques appraiser and broker with an olive Middle Eastern complexion, a slender figure, shoulder-length dark brown hair, heavy eyebrows, and facial symmetry that made for exotic good looks, even without any makeup.

  Rick had known her less than a month. Meital entranced him, but he didn’t want to show it, since it was obvious that one of her main occupations was rebuffing would-be suitors. She was a no-nonsense career woman, and this was reflected in the way she dressed. Every time Rick had seen her, she wore a “Baghdad Bag” -- the popular high-necked and loose-fitting full-length dark dress with long sleeves that, along with “functional” black low-heel shoes, had become ubiquitous in the European business world in recent years. Simply removing a necklace and adding a dark headscarf would have made her blend in anywhere from Damascus, to Tehran, to London, to Paris.

  Rick Akins considered this young Israeli an enigma. She was obviously a very intelligent and capable businesswoman. But she also had stunning beauty that even a loose-fitting dress couldn’t hide. She was the quintessential sabra, the Hebrew slang term for Jews born in Israel. Literally, sabra means cactus, which is a reference to the bristly demeanor of many Israelis when meeting strangers. The saying was that sabras were “Prickly on the outside, but sweet on the inside.”

  After a few pleasantries, Rick said, “Meital, I have something I need to discuss with you. Can you please put your mobile phone and tablet in this Faraday pouch?”

  He handed her a Mylar-lined black nylon zippered pouch; she complied, with a quizzical look on her face. Once he was confident that they wouldn’t be overheard, Rick said, “I’d like to talk about something that has become a key part of my prayer life in the past few weeks.”

  Their waitress arrived and served Meital a croissant on a small plate. She also took Rick’s order for a latte. After the waitress left, Rick looked at the pastry and said, “That is propitious timing. It ties in with what I wanted to talk with you about.”

  “Well, I doubt you’d talk about the flavor of the pastry, or the chocolate drizzle on top. So I assume that it’s the crescent moon shape of the pastry.”

  “Precisely,” Rick said with a nod. “In Austria, the folklore is that the croissant was first created by a Viennese baker, to celebrate the defeat of the Islamic army, in 1683.”

  “I know. My great grandfather was born in Vienna, so I grew up hearing that story. But it is probably apocryphal. So what is it that you’ve been praying about?”

  By 10:20, Rick and Meital were deep in an intense half-whispered conversation. Rick was pleased that they had already been thinking along the same lines. Then his co-worker Alan Pilcher arrived -- late as usual. He gave a small wave, and asked, “Are you two plotting a revolt, or just comparing notes on last night’s Britain’s Got Talent?’

  Rick replied with a sly grin, “Yes on one, and no on two.”

  His English co-worker plopped onto a chair next to Meital. Alan’s ample belly nearly touched the edge of the table. Rick was older, but with a trim physique and a full head of dark hair, while Alan was balding and overweight. Alan cocked his head at Rick and said with a snort, “Well, I’m always up for a bit of the old Guy Fawkes. What’s cooking?”

  Rick answered in a much quieter and more serious voice, “First, put your mobile in this stealth pouch.”

  After Pilcher complied, Rick went on, “We’re talking about resistance to the Caliphate and forming an entirely new nation.”

  Alan raised his eyebrows, and urged, “Oh, really? Fill me in on that.”

  Rick looked Alan in the eye and said, “Let me summar
ize: After discussing the Thirdist’s global wave of persecution against Christians -- much like you and I have done in our chats together -- and comparing that to what happened to the Jews in Europe in the last century and their establishment of the state of Israel in the late 1940s, we’ve come to two conclusions: First, there needs to be a better-organized resistance movement, globally. Second, there needs to be a homeland nation formed, like Israel, but one for Protestant Christians -- and there’s some urgency in this.”

  Alan’s face took on a serious countenance, and Rick continued. “We’ve decided that convincing an existing nation to become a large-scale refuge nation for Protestant Christians and Messianic Jews would be insufficient, and essentially too much of a compromise: Any current nation would be too burdened by existing laws and customs, too beholden to the Caliphate one way or the other, or at least unwilling to take risks that would roll them in the mud, in the eyes of the ‘World Community.’”

  Meital chimed in, “Argentina, Ecuador, Peru, and the Philippines have already declared themselves sanctuary nations for Catholics, Poland is a refuge nation for Eastern Orthodox and Serbian Pravoslávac believers, and Kenya has done the same for the Coptic Orthodox. And Rick mentioned that the United States has established special immigration quotas for Jehovah’s Witnesses, Scientologists, Seventh Day Adventists, and Mormons. But the U.S. hasn’t set any quota for mainstream Protestants, Messianics, and Protestant Evangelicals. So where can persecuted Protestants and Messianics go? Many countries are already feeling as if they are losing -- or have already lost -- their national identities, due to immigration.”

  After a pause, she said emphatically, “So we see the need to start with a blank slate somewhere. It would be both a physical homeland, and a virtual homeland, where dispossessed Christians can obtain passports and then settle in third countries.”

  Rick jumped in. “Our role in this would be as behind-the-scenes facilitators, and once sovereignty has been established, we could assist at the diplomatic level. It could be done on a modest budget, and all of the requisite funds could come from selling citizenship to the wealthy, so they could claim this new country as their home country and, depending on where they lived and worked or derived their income, many of them could live tax free. We anticipate that the vast majority of the citizens won’t ever actually live in the new refuge nation. The cost of getting their passports will subsidize the operations of a minimalist government for those who do live there. This method will give the Christian diaspora a means to renounce U.S. citizenship and remove the IRS tentacles.”

  Alan nodded, and then Rick continued, “The new nation will be much more than just a tax haven. It would be a proper Christian Libertarian Republic with a truly minimalist government bound to miniscule size by a firmly-worded Constitution that will make it exceedingly difficult to grow -- I’m talking lower-case ‘g’ government. The only legitimate functions of a minarchist government are the protection of Citizens, both born and not yet born, from initiated aggression, where the key forms of aggression in the civil context are theft, coercion, fraud, and breach of contract. Most of the necessities like roads and public utilities would be handled by subscription and paid for by landowners. There would be direct democracy with referendums via the Net, but the Constitution would have inherently strong chains on the government, making it very difficult to ever add to the size and authority of the government. As I envision it, it will take a simple majority of 51% of votes to decrease the size of government, but an 81% majority to expand the government or to in any other way further limit personal liberty, and a 91% majority to alter the core passages of the Constitution.”

  Alan gave a thin smile and said, “Clever.”

  Meital resumed. “There would be a compulsory militia service -- sort of like the Israeli Defense Force, but the militia would also serve as border patrol guards. The only other visible government would be a patent office and a foreign affairs office. Otherwise, there is really no need for any government in a nation comprised of all Christians. They’d be entirely self-policing.”

  Alan Pilcher laughed and asked, “What about prisons?”

  Rick answered, “There’d be none. No prisons. I think that if he were still alive, this would get Michel Foucault’s seal of approval. Granted, there would have to be voluntarily staffed private Christian courts to settle disputes, and perhaps some monetary recompense for a few serious crimes. But informal shunning would be the main penalty for people who infringe on the rights of others, or who offend Christian sensibilities. Prisons are cruel institutions, and let’s face it: A small country on a shoestring budget simply can’t afford to operate prisons. Beyond shunning, there would only be two penalties: permanent exile or death. And those would be reserved for only the most heinous crimes like rape, murder, or arson that causes loss of life. The goal is having just a tiny government, and only when and where it is absolutely needed. There would be zero taxes, zero import duties, and zero license fees. In fact, there wouldn’t be licenses for most anything at all. Activities like driving cars or flying airplanes would be handled by private associations that would oversee training of novices. But ultimately each individual would be responsible for their own actions, in every aspect of their lives.”

  After letting that sink in, Rick added, “You might have heard the libertarian catchphrase: “We want to take over the government, and then leave people alone.”

  They all laughed. Rick looked back at Alan and continued, “We are thinking perhaps somewhere desolate, where nobody has much of an interest in living, and that is forgotten or abandoned territory -- but where? Do you have any ideas? Perhaps an uninhabited island? Or some unclaimed spot that is inhospitable?”

  Alan answered, “I’m afraid there are now no ‘unclaimed’ territories on the planet. The legal term is Terra Nullius -- land that belongs to no one. Even Antarctica, which formerly had some unclaimed slices of pie, is now entirely under UN control. Some people have recently tried seasteading, by positioning spar platforms anchored to seamounts out in international waters, but the cost per square meter for habitation and the attendant logistics costs of those ventures are enormous That is a game just for a few dreamers, and the only ones who have even made an attempt at it have been millionaires.”

  Meital and Rick nodded. Then Alan went on. “As you both know, before I fell into working in M&A, I grew up in a diplomatic family. When I was a teenager and in college, my father was posted as the British High Commissioner to Tanzania. So I learned a lot about the politics of East Africa, and a bit about North Africa.”

  Rick took a sip of his coffee and nodded.

  Pilcher gestured left and right with his forefinger and asked, “Have either of you heard of the Ilemi Triangle?” Rick and Meital shook their heads.

  Alan unfolded a paper napkin and traced the outline of eastern Africa, using his usual blue razor-point felt pen. Rick recognized what he was drawing as soon as Alan sketched the Horn of Africa. Alan then roughed in outlines for most of the region’s country borders.

  As he penned the lines, Pilcher said, “Pardon my sorrowful lack of artistic ability, but here we roughly have the boundaries of Sudan, South Sudan, Ethiopia, and Kenya. Sudan and Ethiopia are both under Caliphate control, but South Sudan and Kenya are firmly not. They’ve made it clear that they won’t budge and, unlike so many other nations, they won’t be bribed or bullied into Thirdist rule or any of the Sharia stupidity. In fact, they’ve both been actively deporting Muslims for several years. And, to their credit, both nations have growing economies and are developing middle classes.”

  Alan looked down at the napkin again and added a small triangular dark blotch. “Now right here, where the borders of South Sudan, Ethiopia, and Kenya all come together, there’s a patch of land, perhaps 14 or 15 thousand square kilometers, about the size of Montenegro, that is contested. This is just some unpopulated marginal cattle-grazing country that is a hot soggy sponge in the rainy season and a scorching hot griddle in the dry season. T
here are only a few villages, and most of those are just seasonally occupied. This whole dispute dates back to disagreements on border surveys that were conducted in the late 19th Century. The ownership of this Ilemi Triangle has never been firmly established. It is essentially a polite ongoing tiff between South Sudan and Kenya. The South Sudanese have the strongest claim to the land, but the Kenyans have primarily administered it for more than a hundred years. Meanwhile, Ethiopia is mostly out of the picture, since they have the weakest territorial claim. This triangle is no man’s land, but two countries still claim it as their own.”

  Meital cocked her ear and asked, “So if this land already has two claimants, what makes you think that a new sovereign entity as a third claimant could just step in and take it?”

  Alan turned his palms upward and said, “This is where it gets interesting. They’ve never resolved their border dispute because it would surely mean a proverbial loss of face for either South Sudan or Kenya if they concede any or all of the Ilemi Triangle to the other country. And in the world of diplomacy, loss of face must always be avoided. So they continually delay even starting to negotiate about it. But I believe that both countries could be persuaded to drop their claims of sovereignty and grant the Triangle to a third party, on humanitarian grounds.”

  Rick gave a doubtful chuckle, and then asked, “Could it work? Is it doable?”

  Alan responded, “I do believe so. It’s the pretty way out, for both countries. You see, neither of them would suffer a loss of face, and both national leaders would surely be seen as great magnanimous humanitarians. And the current presidents of both South Sudan and Kenya are Christians, so I think that they’d be predisposed to be persuaded. And there would be no political blowback at home for either of them, because the Ilemi Triangle has virtually no significant resources and hardly any permanent residents -- just a few nomadic herdsmen who infrequently pass through. So there won’t be any whining ‘dispossessed’ villagers. It’s a big fat ‘win-win’ for both countries.”