O Little Town of Bethlehem

The door at the other end of the hall closed. Abdel was gone ... and Fahar charged after him.

Abdel had, earlier that day, wrapped the wire from an electrical cord around the handle, after he had stripped the insulation. After closing the door, he had merely plugged it into a wall socket.

Which didn't help when Fahar kicked the door open, knocking it off of its hinges.

Abdel stood in the corner of the empty room, and blinked. Well, this is bad.

Fahar stepped into the room, and glared at Abdel. "Why? Why did you do this?"

"Because a Palestinian Authority that suffers from more economic problems is a breeding ground for suicide bombers. I'd rather leave terrorism to middle class, spoiled rich kids like you and Saddiqui."

Fahar growled. "Spoiled ... rich ... kids?"

"You're telling me that your muscles didn't come from an expensive gym membership and a regular round of steroid use? Please."

Fahar charged Abdel.

And then he fell through the weakened floorboards that Abdel had put between him and Fahar.

With Fahar's right leg trapped in the hole, his body trapped there by his own weight and wood shards, Abdel moved around him carefully. "I play a lot of chess, and I like to be prepared. And if I were you, I wouldn't move a lot, since I think the only thing keeping your femoral artery together is the pressure you're putting on it. Be well."

X

Omar Siddiqui awoke, his body wrapped tightly He thrashed a little, and gave up after a minute. He tried to control his breathing, and looked around. It looked like a men's locker room.

"What is going on here?" Omar screamed.

The door opened, and Abdel walked through the door. He was now dressed in a shirt and tie, and seemed rather relaxed. He moved straight for the sink nearest Omar, and gave the terrorist a passing glance. Abdel rolled up his sleeves, and pulled out a bottle from his backpack. Omar recognized it from the first day Abdel had arrived, one of the dyes from his suitcase.

"I never lied about much," Abdel said, his accent far less thick. He opened a bottle and poured it on one arm, then the other. He grabbed the soap, and started scrubbing. "I only lied about who I was an infiltration specialist for."

Omar blinked as Abdel's skin appeared to melt off ... and then realized that it was only coloring from his skin. Abdel's forearms turned white. Very white.

"You're one of the Jews?" Omar asked.

Abdel merely smiled. Satisfied that his hands were clean, he gave the same treatment to his face and hair. Abdel was very pale, and very unnoticeable. The eyes were still as dark as before, but the hair was a dark blonde, almost brown. Abdel reached into his pocket, and pulled out a meerschaum pipe, slipped it between his teeth, and turned back to Omar, not lighting it.

"You know, I think it's a little dark in here," he muttered. He reached down to Omar's feet, and grabbed the end of his restraints, and then plugged it into a wall socket.

Omar lit up, literally. He had been wrapped in Christmas lights from neck to toe. The bulbs were large and old fashioned, and certainly meant to be hung outside.

By the time Abdel had walked from the outlet to lean back against the wall, Omar's clothes were already starting to smolder. "Sorry about that," Abdel said. "They have to hurt like a bear. I noticed that one of them had a melted plastic pine cone stuck to it, so it's going to sting. But, this is your fault, really. If you had just let me into your little cell, trusted me with the explosives, we would have confiscated them, maybe have arrested all of you long enough to talk about where you got the money for all of the funding. But, you screwed up. And we had to do things the hard way."

"What now?" Omar spat, his facial twitches showed that he was obviously holding in the signs of pain. "Torture? Interrogation?"

Abdel shook his head and sighed. "Nah. We have your relative the hairdresser who supplied the chemicals. We have what's left of Farouq, and even Fahar. And most of the foot soldiers in the hotel were taken alive. I think we don't need you, friend." He walked over to Omar, smiled, and kicked him in the stomach, knocking all of the wind out of him. He didn't want to inflict pain, just get the man's mouth open without risking a bite.

Abdel swiftly pulled something out of his pocket, and jammed it in Omar's mouth, holding it and his nose closed until he swallowed. Abdel stood, and lit his pipe. He got a good head of smoke going and headed for the door.

Omar coughed and sputtered. "What was that about?"

"Bacon." Abdel stopped just inside the door, and popped out his contact lenses. He looked back at Omar with dark blue eyes. "I have every intention of sending you straight to Hell."

Omar gagged. "And how are you going to do that, infidel?"

"For the record, Omar, my name is Scott Murphy." He looked up at the pipe smoke curling around the ceiling, and he smiled. "And you, sir, are grounded."

At that point, the fire alarms went off, and the fire sprinklers went off, pouring gallons of water down on Omar Shiddiqui, and his cocoon of Christmas lights.

Scott Murphy didn't look back. "Merry Christmas, Omar."

Y

Imi Morgenstern looked into the cubicle where he had stored Scott Murphy. "Shouldn't you be with family?"

Scott looked over his shoulder at his boss. "Shouldn't you? You're the boss, you can go home early."

"Didn't you hear? It's all over the news? Someone blew up the Christmas tree in Manger Square. Since it fell on an member of the Palestinian security forces, obviously, Israel is to blame ... Somehow. The story is a little vague."

Scott sighed. "Sorry, boss. I couldn't get a message to you. These guys watched me so closely ... they even picked up stuff I littered on the street. If they got any closer to me, they would have needed a condom."

Imi shrugged. "It's all right. If it couldn't be helped, it couldn't be helped. I understand you placed the explosives at the tree to fall on one shooter. And I assume that you set off the bomb detectors at the Jacir Palace Hotel yourself? Possibly with some of the liquid explosive on a rag in your pocket? And you set it off on your approach."

Scott nodded. "Oh, by the way, exactly how did we get onto these morons, anyway?"

"They used a German arms dealer named Randell Schwerdt," the head of Mossad told him. "The man who extracted the information ... had a conversation with Schwerdt about another topic, and this came up. We now owe the interrogator a favor."

Scott frowned, furrowing his brow in thought. "I know Schwerdt's name. Wasn't he the one who jumped off of the Empire State Building?"

"The one attached by a bungee cord? Yes." Imi laughed. "Anyway, we have it covered for now. Go home, Scott."

"To what, sir?" Scott asked. "An empty apartment?"

Imi Morgenstern sighed. "At the very least, get drunk. Get laid, even."

Scott looked at his boss with an amused eye. "My main options are a Jewish secretary pool who know I'm Catholic, and then there's the rest of Israel ... where I have the same coloring as Mrs. Yassir Arafat." He shook his head. "Nah. I'm good for now. I have a plane in the morning to see the family back in the states."

Imi nodded. "Goodnight, Scott."

He waited for his boss to leave. When he was gone, Scott turned on his iPod. It was exactly where it was when he had left it. He slipped in the ear buds and hit play. It had been in the last bars of the song ...

"And I'll be home for Christmas. If only in my dreams."

~Fin~

Merry Christmas

From "A Pius Man."