Ralph L. McNeal, Sr.'s Page

INTRODUCTION:

Jonathan Skyler notices a young man across the room dining with some people. The man looks vaguely familiar . Later, Jonathan says hello to Ben Ali. Ben was seven years old the last time he saw him in Baghdad. Jonathan doesn’t know, but Ben, now an attorney representing the oil industry is a “Sleeper Cell,” destined to carry out one of the most devastating events in the city of New York. A "Sleeper Cell" is agents or spies placed in a target country to be activated at a later point in time.
The story begins in 2000 and ends in 2024.

EXCERPT

I t was a clear night. The moon was full. Rawid Ali and his family, sons Washi and Ben, their sister Alba and mother Samina were on their way home from the local mosque in Baghdad. The double lane highway had normal traffic on each side, except for a convoy of six U. S. Army vehicles occupying the inside lane, delivering supplies to the green zone.
On the other side of the road coming in the opposite direction came a distinctive silver car with one driver. It drew Rawid’s attention because it only had one occupant. Most cars had two or were filled with families.
“Look at that car mother,” said Rawid. “The silver one over there,” nodding toward the other side of the road.
As the car approached, Rawid could see the dark, solemn expression of the passenger. He made a mental note; the driver was in his mid or a late 20s, medium complexion, curly hair that was connected with sideburns and a beard, dressed in a blue and red polo shirt. It looked as though the car was too low to the ground as if it was carrying extra weight for such a small vehicle.
Rawid turned to look at the road in front momentarily and then turned back to look at the silver car. As the car got closer, he could see the dark expression of the driver. The driver smiled, hollered something and sharply turned his car inward toward the Ali’s car and the U. S. Convoy.
In an instant, there was a crushing contact. A loud explosion, catapulting of bodies out of the Ali’s car and those vehicles in front, side and in the back.
Smoke and fire consumed a stretch of the highway. As the smoke cleared, you could see bodies and body parts strewn everywhere. Arms, legs, torsos, brains, entrails, blood, people moaning, walking dazed, screaming and crying out for help.
Vehicles burned while men attempted to squelch the fires with extinguishers and handfuls of roadside dirt to ward off any possible explosions.
Bodies were burning with people lying dead or wounded along the road and in the gutter.
Rawid with a blank stare, likewise his wife Samina. Alba and Washi looked as though they were sleeping peacefully. None were breathing, moving or making a sound. The Ali family, Washi age 10, Alba age 9 and Rawid and his wife Samina were dead. Their faces and clothing were splattered with blood. Ben age 6 lay beside his mother barely breathing, burned, broken right arm...but alive. An ambulance arrived. The driver, Abdul and emergency medical person, Husain, along with Doctor Sultan went through a quick triage and started moving the victims. “Another suicide bomber!” said Abdul. “Yes, tried to get the American Convoy, but instead got the civilians. Looks like real carnage. Women, men, children, families, mostly returning from evening prayers at the Mosque. It’s a shame, there is really not a point to prove, or an excuse to make, especially where there is what they call collateral damage. And lots of it.” They’ve taken everything these people have and everything they are ever going to have,” explained Dr. Sultan, shaking his head to accentuate the expression.
“Look, here is a small child still breathing. Bring over the oxygen and let’s get him in the ambulance.”
They rolled Ben onto a stretcher and loaded him into the red and white vehicle along with a couple of other victims.
With sirens blaring and emergency lights flashing they drove the ambulance to the El Haggani Hospital.
Little Ben Ali woke up the next morning in the children’s ward. His arm was throbbing with pain. His head ached and his face and shoulder bandaged. His right arm was in a sling and the smell of iodine, alcohol and ointment filled his nostrils. He heard crying, whimpering and calls for Mother. He was hungry and wanted his mother. He called out, but there was no answer. He looked around.
The ward was painted green with white trim. White beds with side gates were dispersed along the room. About ten in all, five on each side.
Each bed held a bandaged patient. Adults were scurrying around. Nurses dressed in white, some with "Berkas" others wore "Hijabs" administering to the small patients.
Nurse Khadija Mudhir, who wore a hijab, approached Ben. AHow are you little one?” she asked.
“I want my mother,” he replied.
AI know you are hungry, let me get you some food, I will be back in a few minutes.
Khadija left the room. He could see her talking to a male individual dressed in green hospital clothing outside the door who seemed to be in charge. He watched while the individual explained something to nurse Mudhir and saw her shake her head and cover her mouth in astonishment.
As a six year old, he did not know what to make of the nurse’s reaction, nor could he comprehend what they were discussing. He only knew that he wanted his family, his arm hurt, he was hungry and his neck and shoulders stung, and the other small children in the room with blood stained bandages were making him uncomfortable and afraid.
This was his first time in a hospital and he did not know what to expect. The man Ben saw outside talking to Nurse Mudhir came into the room and walked towards little Ben.
“Son, how are you, do you hurt?” said the Doctor, he Continued. “I am Dr. Zalmay al-Jabouri, I work here at the hospital and you are my patient. Which means the nurses in this room and I will take care of you. Nurse Mudhir will be bringing your food soon. After you eat I will come back. We have a lot to talk about, ok?” Little Ben whimpered and nodded his head. The Doctor left as Nurse Mudhir arrived with a tray.
The nurse put the tray on a portable stand and started to feed little Ben. The gruel and bread was the first little Ben had eaten in almost two days. The sweet juice tasted good washing down the gruel. The goat’s milk was refreshing along with a sweet flan-type pudding. It wasn’t like what his mother made, but he was hungry. He soon finished what was on his tray.
Nurse Mudhir complimented him on finishing the meal and got up and said; “little one, I will leave you now. Dr. Jabouri will be in soon to talk to you. With that, she left the room with the tray and remnants of little Ben’s meal.
Dr. Jabouri came into the room accompanied by a man, in his 50’s, salt and pepper beard, mustache, dressed in a white muslin tunic shirt, sandals and a white turban. He introduced him as Dr. Noor Omar, Head of the Baghdad Central Orphanages.
Jabouri started, “Ben, you are the last of your family. Your father, mother, brother and sister are gone. You will not see them anymore.”
Tears welled up in little Ben’s eyes.
“What do you mean Doctor?”
“You remember what happened to you yesterday?”
“Yes,” Ben said.
“Your family was killed yesterday in the explosion; you are the only one left. We have arranged for you to be placed at one of the City’s orphanages. There you will find children of your age and you can make a lot of new friends.
The next day a black van took Ben Ali and several other children and dropped them off at various orphanages in the City’s Central Orphanage System.
It was decided that Ben Ali would go to the city’s El Rashid Orphanage. It was one of many maintained by the City and administered by the local Mosques.
The headmaster at El Rashid was Imam Baseme al-Habit. The Imam was known to be a strong disciplinarian. The cracking of knuckles with a ruler, room confinement, lashings and supper less nights was some of, but not limited to the Imam’s discipline tactics. But these tactics turned out religious young men, devoted Muslims, spread throughout all continents of the world. Imam al-Habit had taught them well. Some became businessmen, Imams, barristers, engineers, scientists, professors, soldiers, mercenaries, civil servants, sheiks, warlords and terrorists.