Thy Kingdom Fall: The Genesis of World War III (Book #1)

      At the opening ceremony for the building, Kanien stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his invited attendees as he gave his remarks. These special guests were descendants of the victims of the original 9/11 event. Kanien had some thirty-thousand present. He revealed in his speech that he too was a descendant of a victim—though Homeland Security personal background files still refute his claim to this day. It was reported that Kanien’s list of the “Children of the Three Towers,” as he had named his special guests, had over a million names; after all, nearly sixty countries aside from America lost people in the attack, Old Britain, the Dominican Republic, and Japan being the countries with the next-highest losses in human lives. No one would touch these buildings; they were the new international symbol of 22nd-century New York.

      All a moot point now; the Three Towers have been standing for fifty-three years.

      “Maybe Kanien wasn’t so crazy after all,” he whispers to himself as he stares off into the sky. From his vantage point inside the restaurant, 170 stories up, he can see almost eye-level into the clouds, the very curvature of the planet, and at night it seems to him as if one could literally step out into space itself. The view of the Atlantic Ocean is breathtaking; seeming so close that he could stretch out his arm and touch its blue surface.

      He smiles. To think that the man-made-global-warming “Flat-Earthers” over a century ago said that massive flood barriers would need to be built all along the East Coast, including New York, because of flooding from melting polar ice caps and rising global sea levels. Now the experts are back to “we’re heading for the next Ice Age” again.

      As far as New Yorkers and most Americans are concerned, the Three Towers are the tallest buildings in the world. The actual distinction goes to towers within Caliphate and CHIN countries, but they only built taller buildings to spite America.

      The opinion of the American security and intelligence community, however, is that the buildings are a security nightmare. More money is expended to protect these three buildings than even the White House, and every year on this date, New York Homeland personnel wake up in a cold sweat wondering if this is the year the Muslims will “try for it”—some attack reminiscent of 9/11. Or maybe even the CHINs.

      The police commissioner’s predecessor had actually resigned his post because he couldn’t handle the stress anymore. The commissioner has already had one stomach transplant, from one of the best body farms, because he developed chronic ulcers. He pops a pill in his mouth—his daily medicine for life to ensure he doesn’t develop any problems with his new stomach.

      Nine-Eleven Holiday ceremonies will take up most of his day, and despite the elevated threat level, everyone will pretend to have a good time.

      “Commissioner, Kanien’s limo caravan is here. Fifth Avenue.” The voice of his chief of staff sounds in both his ears through his flesh-colored ear-set device.

      He touches the reply button on his wrist-band. “Keep him back until I get there.”

      “Yes, Commissioner.” The line disconnects.

      This is truly intolerable. Kanien is an ex-president of the United States of America who still draws a federal retirement stipend and has a Secret Service detail, but has been designated as a potential terrorist by the current president. Technically, Kanien should not even be allowed to enter New York City Metro, but everyone from the local beat cop to the New York Homeland Defense and Intelligence Agency regional director ignores the terrorist threat directive on him. Kanien is an insane old man, not a terrorist, and, more significantly, he’s one of the biggest private donors to the New York sports culture community—the Yankees, the Giants, the Nicks. What one sports writer called the “real three towers” in New York. It’s the kind of charity that buys a lot of good will, loyalty, and friends in this town.

      The commissioner shakes his head. Most likely he’ll have to fly to the Capitol again to talk about it. But then, the president is an old man too. If this were even twenty years ago, no one, himself included, would ever have ignored a presidential directive. However, the president strangely isn’t pushing the issue at all. It’s as if he is allowing Kanien to be protected for some reason. Everyone expects the president to be gone after the next election; his life-long reason for political existence and the focus of political hatred—the Jew-Christians—are gone. Nothing in the world has been the same.

      “Commissioner! The east side!” The voice yells so loud in his ears that the commissioner leaps straight up in the air. He bolts from his spot and runs to the east-side observation-window-wall of the restaurant, pushing tables, chairs, and people out of his way. The room is in a panic as police officers follow him.

      For an American elite society that so hates religion, it is curious how many of the words and phrases are just that—religious. He is at the east side: “My God!”

      This is not possible! Nothing can breach our Atlantic Seaboard Defense!

      Over the Atlantic Ocean, they can see them in the distance. The sky is filled with approaching sky-ships, an air armada of what seem to be ancient 767s.

      People yell out in shock, run for the elevators, or faint and fall to the floor. The commissioner grabs his chest at his heart as his face contorts from a sharp pain.

      Thirty-seven years earlier…        

From Thy Kingdom Fall (After Eden Series, Book #1)