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That meeting altered my relationship with the media. It wasn’t just their willingness to exploit vulnerability in order to sell papers that disgusted me. It was also the way they were talking to Andrew, as if he weren’t a human being.
...op-ed for the Star Tribune: I am a 31-year-old Somali-Muslim woman, a mother of three and an unapologetic progressive. Some suggest that as a woman, I meddle in political affairs and need to be “put in my place.” Some say I deserved what I got because my opinions are contrary to those of a few male political leaders in our community. In addition, a small group has decided that one Somali elected official is enough and now the community should sit down and be quiet. I would never be quiet, even if threatened with violence. If a Somali candidate wants to run for office of his own free will, no permission from the political establishment is required. What I have found in organizing and my political career is that anyone who believes gatekeepers can assure victory is always proven wrong. It isn’t true just in the Somali community. No leader in a true democracy can promise that the election is in the bag. Although I still have nerve pain in my neck from that night, it is nothing compared to the strength I take from the fact that the people who attacked me made a huge mistake. I know they wish they hadn’t carried out their threats on me, because if they had done nothing, the system would have functioned as it had before. My standing up to their violence allowed me to make a much bigger statement than I ever could have on my own. Your success and the successes of others you inspire can heal your wounds. Of all the wounds I have suffered, this is the one that is most healed, because every day I see the system I fought against get dismantled by people who used to feel so small but know now they too can be big.
In a world of conspiracy theories and propaganda, which flourished with the rise of Donald Trump, no answer was ever going to be good enough. Indeed, in 2019, President Trump repeated the baseless conspiracy theory that I had committed immigration fraud, nearly three years after I thought I had answered it once and for all.
WHAT IS THERE TO SAY ABOUT THE ELECTION OF DONALD Trump as the forty-fifth president of the United States? It was tragic. This was a man who at a campaign rally held two days before the 2016 presidential election at the Minneapolis–St. Paul airport singled out Somali immigrants as radicals who shouldn’t have been let into the country. “A Trump administration will not admit any refugees without the support of the local communities where they are being placed,” he told thousands of supporters who showed up to the event. “It’s the least they could do for you. You’ve suffered enough in Minnesota.” For months we had knocked on doors and held massive rallies to get out the vote for his Democratic opponent, Hillary Clinton. I traveled across the state, sharing the message that we in Minnesota “don’t get mad.” Instead, I implored people to respond to Trump by voting—in record numbers. A lot more immigrants voted in that election cycle than ever before, but it wasn’t enough. Clinton won Minnesota—but by less than 50,000 votes, just 1.5 percentage points ahead of Trump, compared to Barack Obama’s nearly 8-point margin in 2012. This was a state a Republican presidential candidate hadn’t carried since Richard Nixon! Just as I was supposed to be celebrating my victory as the first Somali American lawmaker in the United States, I was grappling with how Trump’s hateful divisive message had resonated with our neighbors. In the car ride home on election night, after the results had come in, I admitted to my team it was “scary that his hateful rhetoric can find a partner in the hearts of so many in our communities. How different the world of tomorrow is going to be for many of us.” The fight-or-flight instinct that was already overdeveloped in my brain flared. The only antidote was deconstructing his success, which took some time. I still spend time analyzing it and have come to the conclusion that there is no one answer. There are many explanations that make sense. Clinton wasn’t the best candidate. Economics also played a part. Many farming and labor communities in Minnesota, desperate for solutions to the lack of opportunity in a rapidly changing world, handed their precincts to Trump. And then there was his signature style that contributed to his success. As Americans, we think of ourselves as bold and brave. The vulgarity of Trump’s character is appealing to people for whom it doesn’t feel very American to speak in politically correct terms or conform to the rigors of empathy or subtlety. You tell people what they should think. Not the other way around. In a game of political chess, some ultra-liberals also voted for Trump. There was a contingent that thought he was too stupid and corrupt to inflict as much of what they considered damage as the neoliberals who would have advanced with Clinton could. Antiwar, anti–status quo, these voters thought that by the time Trump figured out how to move the smallest piece of his absurd agenda, it would be too late. They were all in for a rude awakening. Trump, whose sole motivation is his own self-interest, was willing to hand over the reins to anyone as long as they gave him what he wanted. And it didn’t take him very long at all to do some very real damage.
~~~~~~
Finishing a book--a memoir--of the life of an individual who has already faced so many attacks of one form or another has left me ashamed... Ashamed that after thousands of years, we have gone no further in moving toward God's Love for our neighbors... Instead the desire to hurt others who are different remains as a stumbling block for countries across the world, as we watch, knowing that, right now, it is worse than it has been for hundreds of years.
As I read, I found myself finding common ground with Ilhan, especially as a woman who knew she needed to be strong and ready to speak out, yet had not seen her own potential within the political realm... The only difference I found was that because of her original country's environment, she was much more willing, than I, to fight back on behalf of those who are betrayed by the government--those who are supposed to be working to help, not hinder, our individual lives. Ilhan had been fighting all her life. I had only realized the need in 2015 right before the presidential election...
Ilhan had a father who showed no difference related to the sex of his children. He encouraged Ilhan to work toward whatever she found she wanted to do... But, as with millions of others, Ilhan was caught in an area where war and fighting was the predominant method by which the country was controlled. Readers will discover exactly what that type of environment leads to--the devastation that is lost through a few men who choose to attack somebody or a group of people, just for the power of being able to do that. And, surely, we have watched right now as there is no end in sight with a war that should never have started--in Iran--as it continues daily. Mainly because there is no real plan of action on the part of the country who started that war, to even really taken hold...
Indeed, during the first term of the president, he immediately tried to place a travel ban on Muslim and other immigrants. It was based upon inciting lies about various groups. All they had to be was "different..." In my opinion, we all know exactly what coming to America was all about. It was to escape discrimination... in those countries that people fled. Now, the United States acts as if we are just like those countries who have authoritarian leaders who work for power and control over their people. So, while I feel the shame on behalf of our country of what we have done during this decade. I also can be grateful that there are people, such as Ilhan, who already are in America and who have chosen to speak out to claim their rights as defined under a constitution that has existed for over 250 years. We watch daily as a person who has been judged, or groups who have been pinpointed are working within the only way possible, in the courts, to work to retain it. It cannot be said enough, because there are many who do not realize just what could happen to our country!!! Because freedom is being denied and fought in courts, right now, daily, to stop a few who want to claim our tax dollars as their rightly income! To create monumental birthday events, to build ballrooms or architectural memorials... to place one name wherever he can as if he were...a king...
Yes, it is extremely hard to not talk about the corruption of the government as we see how Ilhan Omar, just one woman who has taken the challenge, to fight--to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, to provide support to those in need, and do what was once a routine part of congressional action. I would very much like to ensure that this book was in the hands of anybody who wants to read and know a personal account of how she has worked to support both her people and her state. I recommend this book to all who seek documentation of exactly what happens when somebody chooses to speak up...
Because, Ilhan Omar is not the only one that has been attacked by an opposing party... Remember that Liz Cheney, a congressional leader, who, when confronted with what was happening, chose to speak truth instead of following the party line...
And, many of us watched during the last decade as more and more actions of the Supreme Court has led to unbelievably biased changes to our laws... including that the president was immune for any act while he is in office!!!! There is no way to convince many of us that the members of this Court has not become a politically motivated majority, while those who try to support the law are only able to write dissent statements... an impossible situation!
Finally, many of us have opposed Marjorie Taylor Green, mainly for her tactics, but it has always been clear that she supported MAGA. Whether or not you, too, have supported the republican party, I wanted to include her decision to leave Congress based upon actions by the present administration. Personally I have found it extremely difficult to watch the acts of one party to blame another over and over and over through lies. Lies that have been established at the highest level and required obedience by party leaders and citizens. As we now watch we see many republicans turning against acts that have no meaning other than to call attention or gain wealth. Will we ever be able to regain a semblance of true governmental dedicated people? We can only hope...
Finally, I want to close by sharing the work of Ilhan Omar as a congresswoman... She may appear aggressive--maybe even pushy to some. I find it very refreshing, though, because, to me, she is doing exactly what Congress is supposed to do. Without doing any research on what this discussion is about, it is clear that Omar is extremely well-versed in having prepared specific questions to be reviewed... While at the same time, the individuals who are testifying is NOT prepared to be responsive on a topic that apparently has been going on for quite some time... This, then, is why we must look for people to vote for to become members of our Congress. Those who will work to research and verify if those who are being paid as our representatives and are indeed doing their job! And not just working to ensure their party is in control!
We have, also, watched as members of Congress attempted over and over to do onsite inspections of actions performed by ICE and have, instead, been abused, accused, and sometimes jailed rather than be welcomed into these questionable facilities!
Clearly, we can see the destruction of our government piece by piece, without any type or ability to change things except by voting, which, as you know, is already being corrupted through gerrymandering and others attempts to lose control of our voting systems... We MUST work together in every way possible to speak out and ensure our voters are able to respond and fight for our democracy, now under attack...
When I was growing up, my grandfather used to preach about sins of commission and sins of omission. One was just as bad as the other, he thundered. To know it's wrong and do it anyway was sin. But knowing right and failing to do it was also sin.
Why not just lynch her? I thought. I had always noticed how much politicians resembled wolves, but I'd never seen them turn on one of their own quite this way before. But then Gloria wasn't really one of their own. She was a woman.
Even boxes of papers and news clips from previous jobs, normally stored in a hall closet, were strewn from the front door through the living room. I almost giggled at the thought of some burglar reading five-year-old news from towns a thousand miles away in search of whatever he was looking for. But most of my dismay was reserved for what the bastard did to my books. I owned somewhere near 2,000 books. Most of them weren't worth more than 50 cents at a second-hand store, but they were mine. When I moved to Texas, I had 17 boxes of books, three boxes of clothes, and two boxes of kitchen items. The burglar had pulled all the books off the shelves, of course. But they'd trashed a bunch of them, exactly how many I couldn't tell for sure. They'd stomped on some, torn others. I just stared in shock. I valued many things more than my books, but I had to admit destroying books ranks high on my list of despicable acts. As I wandered through my apartment, the police asked me questions for their report. I answered absently. It was hard to focus on when, where, who, and what, when your mind can only scream “why?” at you. But then, I was sure I knew why. Those damn papers of Anderson's. I hoped the person was convinced now that I did not have the things. I doubted it, however. There were too many other places I could have kept them. Including the newspaper office. I asked the officers to have a patrol swing by the office frequently during the nights to come, and they agreed to file a request for surveillance. I wasn't too worried; we had excellent security at the office. Newspapers tend to be paranoid. “You can't stay here,” Carolyn said gently, as I stopped to pick up the fragments of a clay figurine I'd bought the summer I'd worked in the fish camps in Alaska. “Come to the house; we can clean up tomorrow.” “Can you see anything missing, Katy?” the officer asked. I shook my head. “No, nothing obvious.” “Well, it isn't your typical B&E,” he observed. “That's too good of a VCR to be passed up. And you didn't surprise him.” “They were looking for something specific,” I said. “I don't think they found it.” The police took their reports away and Carolyn and I locked the apartment door and went around the corner to her place. She escorted me to a bedroom, gave me clean towels for the morning and turned back my bed. “Katy,” she said, and paused. I looked at her. “Tell me honestly, do you know where the papers are?” “No,” I said. I could tell she believed me and was relieved. “You know the ironic thing? I wouldn't have even known the papers existed if the murderer hadn't started looking for them.” She turned to leave, then looked back at me curiously. “Why assume it's the murderer who's looking for the papers? Couldn't it be someone else?” That question haunted me as I tossed and turned throughout the sleepless night. What made me so sure I was looking for one person?
~~~~~~
It's a known fact that newspapers and news agencies are under attack, even more so these days... We have learned through the last decade that owners of news companies have chosen whether they wish to report the news... Or, respond to political pressures... It's happening at every level of government, unfortunately.
Kate Williams had come from a very different type of news agency into Texas, where not only the state was so very different, but also the political environment was as well. In fact, a man had just been killed. He was a member of the City Council--now he'd been murdered... He had left a message for Kate that he wanted to speak with her regarding a possible story. By the time she got the message, it was too late.
The book takes you directly into the news business where readers can learn the process of putting a newspaper out each day. A time-controlled activity that puts pressure on each staff member to get their work done to the mandated and tight schedule. Kate carried most of that responsibility, while the Editor's time was his own... This diversion of the overall story is quite interesting and actually acted to pull the new editor more into his overall responsibilities. Kudos to the author who brought a sensitive topic into play amidst an overall larger scheme of political control...
Bob Anderson also worked at the local bank. Interestingly, his murder occurred around the same time that the Federal Deposit Insurance group had sent two men in for a routine review--seemingly. But with Anderson's death, many began to be concerned about what actually was going on... And a major owner of Texas banks was already sniffing around, working to learn whether the bank would be forced to close...
I winced. I don't care how cynical some think I am —
I never can accept man's brutality. Knocking him out would have made sense from the burglar's point of view. But kick in the ribs of an unconscious man? An unconscious 80-year-old man?
“If you don't mind, can you tell me what happened?” Thelma took a deep breath. “Do me good to talk about it, I think. “William plays cribbage at the VFW on Thursday afternoons. I went shopping with some friends in Dallas. When I got home, I let myself in the front door. The place was a disaster. Papers everywhere — I didn't know we owned that many papers. Cushions tossed out of the sofa and chairs. I started calling for William.” She paused and took another steadying breath. I said nothing, but just squeezed her hand again. “I found him on the floor in the kitchen. The back door was swinging open. I checked to see,” her voice broke, then firmed up again. “I checked to see if he were still breathing, and then I called the cops.” “Do you know what they might have been looking for?” “The cops think money; but there wasn't any. I don't know. We've been getting anonymous telephone calls at night asking us where the papers are. They didn't make any sense, but then neither does this.”
So what had happened at the bank that had caused such turmoil? Katy knew something was up since he'd called her to meet. Now she was hot on the trail as to what actually could be behind his death as well as with the bank. I enjoyed the character of Kate Williams. She seemed to me to be exactly what a news rep should be... When she learned about the bank auditors, she went to meet with them and successfully began to share information beneficial to both the town and the federal employees. And she started meeting with people--everybody was looking for papers that Bob Anderson supposedly had gathered--and they thought she had them...which put here in danger... But that didn't stop her from, since she didn't have them, working to either secure them or figure out what the issue was that he'd wanted to share with her.
Actually, it was a fairly simple issue--a project where many could make millions of dollars versus something to respond to the whole community... You see, a park for the town had been built in a location that was perfect for community use. But it would also be perfect for a major housing development which would bring both money and people into the area... Instead of looking at it as a list of priorities to be considered, some were working behind the scenes to ensure city council members were going to support major new development... And power and money was driving the decisions so much so that other deaths would be added before the whole sordid mess was discovered...
“Trust me, Johnny,” I said. “I'd have printed it if I had it. If I find those papers and there's proof to it, I will still print it. But I don't know where they are, and I haven't got them.” Johnny looked at me, his face white. “Then who does?” I shrugged again. “I don't know. All I know is that more than one person would like to have them.” Johnny snorted. “Honey, that's the understatement of the year. If those documents have what I think they do — and knowing Bob, I'm pretty sure I'm right — every developer in the state would want a copy. And behind them would be every politician in this neck of the woods, and some beyond.” “Not to mention the law?” It was half statement, half question. “Honey, there's enough evidence available, and I don't doubt Bob found most of it, to make some assistant attorney general a fancy career.” “And the banking authorities?” Johnny didn't touch that one. “Johnny, what is in that stuff?” He grimaced. “I may be an old man, but I'm not dumb enough to tell you that. It'd make fame and fortune for a reporter too. I've already said too much to you, thinkin' you already knew. Believe me, Katy, you're better off not knowing any more than you do.” “Damn it, Johnny,” I said forcefully. He jumped at my swearing; good girls don't say damn. “My neck is on the line, and I haven't the foggiest idea why. You could at least tell me that.” Johnny shook his head. “It goes back many years, Katy. A lot of ancient history. I wish Bob had left it at that.”
There is an understanding world-wide that news agencies are being attacked--or they are being forced to choose which "side" upon which they want to build their business... As with the title, Sins of Omission, has taken over... Lies and power grabs attempt to respond to what is often corruption, rather than a routine and steady investigative reporting that brings out the truth.
First Amendment:
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
Some have raised the question of whether the Free Speech Clause and the Free Press Clause are coextensive, with respect to protections for the media. Continue on - Overview of Freedom of the Press
Over the last decade, especially, we have watched as special interest groups have worked to change or decrease the power of the Press. It is my thought and recognition that books such as Sins of Omission is a fantastic, yet clear, way to learn more about what concerns all Americans--Assurance that Truth is to be spoken consistently without attempts to obfuscate and confuse readers rather than enlighten all readers, by providing solid documented information. Truth!
For me, and for many people this book will allow us to see what happens when lies or manipulation is used to change reality purely for personal reasons, including corruptive acts. Breedlove certainly puts readers right in the midst of an editor's work to provide prompt, timely, and yet, totally-documented stories that ensure we are prepared to live daily in a safe and secure manner, without fear of later discovering that we have been lied to... I highly recommend the book for these reasons...
Besides the fact that, it is a great book that keeps you reading, guessing, and working along with the characters to solve murder mysteries, it also provides examples of how those who are rich/powerful or corrupt may use violence to get what they want, no matter what.
Folks, if we don't work to ensure fiction is "only" fiction and not, mainly, reflective of the acts of evil men, or women in a few cases, we might never know the Truth that sets us Free to Be all that we can be...
I believe it is important to learn more and more about other people such as we learn about through poets and other creators of historical blessings. May you find a way to learn and you will quickly realize that in all the important ways, we are all the same - God's children...
Donations. ( Art and books) - The Elder- A Tribute / 12.00 / 4.00 shipping
At an odd inflection in Mark’s voice, Coop’s antennas went up. “You sound worried.” “I am. You know how you said in the car you had bad feelings about this assignment? Well, they must be catching. In my opinion, the faster we can make Monica Callahan disappear, the better off everyone will be.” An ominous chill settled over Coop. Never in the three years he’d been paired with Mark on missions could he remember a single occasion when both of them had been unnerved by a job. Bottom line, they needed to get Ms. Callahan out of sight.
Once upon a time, all of this had seemed exotic. But the years had taught him that exotic was often interchangeable with impoverished. That was true here. The merchandise was the only bright spot in the otherwise bleak, dingy setting. As he’d been instructed, David strolled down the street in an unhurried manner—and with surprising calmness. So much for his worry that when the moment arrived, fear would paralyze him. Instead, the opposite had happened. After all, there were far less meaningful ways to leave this world. At least his death, if that was his fate on this cold February day, would be for a noble cause. Both the hostages and Monica would be—
“... Disney World.” As the last two words of the sentence registered, he swung around. A young boy of seven or eight was regarding him with solemn, dark eyes. His face was dirty, his nondescript clothing a mismatch of drab, ill-fitting items—and he held a bamboo cage containing a pigeon. “Repeat.” David said the word in Pashto. The boy shifted from one foot to the other, darting a quick, nervous glance up and down the street, but he didn’t comply with the request. Instead, he pointed to the backpack. “Repeat.” David tried again, switching to Dari. He had to be sure this wasn’t some freak coincidence, simply a young boy who’d been attracted by his Mickey Mouse backpack and was looking for a handout. The boy spoke again in slow, deliberate English. “I would someday like to go to Disney World.” This was it. David’s heart began to pound as he eased the backpack off his shoulder and handed it to the youngster. The boy dropped the pigeon cage, grabbed the backpack with both hands, and wove his way down the street. In seconds he had disappeared. Slowly David backed away from the cage. There was little chance a bomb could be concealed in the delicate mesh of bamboo, but there were plenty of shadowy doorways and tiny lanes where a sniper could be hiding. Now that his package had been delivered, he was expendable—if the informer had used the lure of information as no more than a ruse to generate some easy cash...and eliminate the courier. Nevertheless, he followed the instructions and headed toward his waiting car, looking neither right nor left. It was the longest walk of his life. When he emerged from the market, the embassy car was parked fifty feet away. As he approached it, the driver started to get out, but he waved the man back into the vehicle and slid in, shutting the door behind him. “Let’s get out of here.” “Yes, sir.” The ride back to the embassy was tense and quiet. Not until they pulled into the compound and the gates swung shut behind them did he allow himself to believe his life had been spared. The informant had kept his bargain. So far. Now he could only hope the man would honor the rest of it and supply the information they desperately needed.
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen, communication isn’t brain surgery, although the tools of the trade can be dangerous. Words, like scalpels, can cut. But so can silence.” Monica waited, giving the audience in the Jefferson Hotel’s ornate ballroom a few seconds to digest that thought. “You know, I must admit I’m not much of a country music fan.” Her gaze swept the audience and she smiled. “But there was a song a few years back that captured my key message today. It was called ‘I Thought You Knew.’ It’s a song about the danger of assumptions, and wishing for a chance to say all the things you thought the other person knew. “‘I Thought You Knew’ happens to be a love song. But the principle is true in all parts of our life. If you remember only one thing from my talk this morning, let it be this: don’t make the mistake of assuming someone knows how you feel—in your professional life or your personal life. Talk the walk. Thank you.”
Thunderous applause filled the room, and three hundred people rose to their feet as one. From his position to the right of the velvet-draped stage, facing the audience, Coop had an excellent view of the enthusiastic response to Monica’s speech. And the ovation was well deserved. For the past forty-five minutes, she’d made everyone in the room think, charmed them into laughter, and touched their hearts. Including his. No question about it. The lady knew her stuff. He exchanged a glance with Mark, who stood at the front of the room on the other side of the stage. His partner gave a subtle thumbs-up. As Monica launched into the Q&A session, fielding questions with consummate skill and a warmth that endeared her to the audience, Coop altered his position slightly to better observe the people approaching the mike positioned in the center aisle, beneath the huge crystal chandelier. They all looked like typical business types. No one exhibited any behavior that tripped a red alert. Everything seemed under control. A visual and audio check with the agents positioned at the exits and in the red-draped alcoves along the sides of the room confirmed that nothing was amiss.
Still, it was a relief to be in the home stretch. Twenty minutes later, as the president of the organization joined Monica on the podium to end the Q&A, Coop and Mark slipped backstage to relieve the agents on duty there. “Wasn’t she great?” The man’s enthusiastic question was met with another round of applause as his voice boomed through the mike. “Talk the Walk will be available for sale in the expo area, so be sure to pick up a copy. Ms. Callahan, thank you again. I know we all learned a lot this morning. Ladies and gentlemen, lunch is now served in the Empire Room.”
As the man shook her hand and she exited into the wings, Coop took the lead escort position while Mark fell in behind her. Once in the food service area, two more agents joined them. They formed a tight circle around Monica while they wove among stainless steel counters and racks of dirty dishes. As they approached the outside fire door where they’d entered, its alarm disengaged for Monica’s appearance, Coop spoke into the mike at his wrist. Listened to the response. Everything was quiet out there. Excellent. “We’re clear. Let’s make this fast.” He pushed through the door. Maintaining their tight circle, they hustled Monica into the waiting SUV, which was book-ended by two nondescript vehicles. He climbed in beside her, and Mark took the front passenger seat.
Only after they were on the road and headed back to her house did he speak. “That was quite a performance.” A flush crept over her cheeks. “Thanks.” “I second that.” Mark angled toward her. “You had them eating out of your hand.” Her color deepened. “You two are good for my ego. You can come to my speaking engagements anytime. Except I hope you can sit in the audience and enjoy the next one.” “I enjoyed this one. Didn’t you, Coop?” “Yes.” “Learn anything?” Coop sent him a “knock it off” look. His partner ignored him. “In case you haven’t noticed, Monica, Coop’s not the most talkative guy. But I found him reading your book at two in the morning on Sunday, so maybe there’s hope for him yet.” “You were reading my book?” Monica’s eyebrows rose as she gave him her full attention. He shifted in his seat. “I was having a hard time staying awake that first night, and I like to read. I found it on your bookshelf. It sounded interesting.” She waited, as if she expected him to say more. When the silence lengthened, Mark rolled his eyes. “It might be nice to comment on the book.” Heat surged on Coop’s neck. “That’s okay.” Monica stepped in. “It’s not everybody’s cup of tea. What sort of books do you like to read?” “Biographies. But I was intrigued by your book. It kept me awake.” Mark snorted and turned back toward the front. “I give up.” The heat crept past his collar. If ever there was a backhanded compliment, that had been it. Before he could think of a way to mitigate his faux pas, Monica reached over and laid her slender fingers on his hand—as he’d done with her yesterday. “It’s okay. I’ll take intrigued. And trust me, considering that a lot of my students use my book to cure insomnia, the fact it kept you awake until the wee hours is a compliment.” He added graciousness to her growing list of attributes. “Don’t you get nervous in front of a big audience like that?” Mark tossed the query over his shoulder as he surveyed the area they were passing through. Monica removed her hand from his, leaving a chill on his skin where welcome warmth had been moments ago. “Not usually. You gain a comfort level with practice. I thought I might have a problem today, given all that’s going on, but I attribute my calmness to you guys. I trust you to keep me safe.” “No pressure there.” Mark’s tone was teasing. But as Coop well knew, he was more than half serious. Rightly so.
Trust was helpful. It induced cooperation. But there was a downside too. When someone trusted you, it added to your burden. Increased your sense of responsibility. Failure became less of an option. Not that he’d needed Monica’s profession of trust to solidify his resolve to keep her safe. That was his job. But in the past three days this mission had become more than that. Because he was coming to care about her far more than the duties of this assignment dictated.
~~~~~~
Still, convincing the White House and the intelligence community that the risk was worth taking had required every nuance of skill he’d developed in his forty years of diplomacy and negotiating. But in the end, he’d succeeded. Tomorrow he would drive into Kabul and follow the informant’s instructions to the letter. And if all went well…if he wasn’t walking into a trap…if the informant followed through on his promise to provide the information…if they could find the hostages before the terrorists grew impatient and killed them…the end of the crisis might be in sight. He paused outside his office door. Took a steadying breath. That was a lot of ifs. But it was the only hope they had of locating the hostages, and he was willing to put his life on the line to rescue them. And to keep his daughter safe.
Since politics has entered our lives in such a strange and sad way, I find myself interested in books related to our government--as it should be! I routinely tape the FBI TV series and watch as it is convenient for me. I enjoy the diversity of characters that comes with an ongoing program that has not been disrupted by what is happening now in the U.S. I was pleased that this book also followed the normalcy that we have been used to for decades prior to 2016...
Against All Odds certainly is a winner for me... It takes readers into the inner lives of both agents and those who are caught in some type of criminal activity that forces action to help those citizens pulled in, often unknowingly. Of course, the characters are created; however, I found Hannon a writer who is well able to bring life to "real people" even if they aren't... Know what I mean? In Against All Odds, there are main characters who are both successful in their lives, while hiding a side of their lives that has long affected their own reality. Isn't that how most of us are? Yet, it takes a special writer to bring these dual-lives of one character or another, and merge their personal stories into something new and exciting... Kudos to Hannon for this special awareness in the stories she provides to all of us!
I found it ironic that I am turning more and more to fictional books so that good over evil is found... In my earlier days of dreaming about heaven, I pictured that stories were developed there for we who are living... NOW, I know that God would never write such hateful tales of the evil desires of, frankly, mostly, men... For He is Indeed a God of Love... And it is We, humans, who have the choice of who we shall be...
We find a father in Against All Odds, who we see within our governments as well. They are the ones that decide in their own minds that they are needed to help a country's people be saved from this or that... Yes, unfortunately, there is such a need. But it is questionable as to how it is to be accomplished... David Callahan served in the government for more than 40 years known mostly for his great ability to negotiate with foreign leaders.
(You know, like Kerry did in negotiating a peace treaty with Iran under President Obama... Yet was torn up by the present president who started a war for no reason...)
Callahan's dedication to that life had resulted in an almost complete separation from his wife and daughter. He was needed he thought. Plus he enjoyed what he was doing so much! But now, right now, the enemy had honed in on that dedication...
“Sir? I think you need to hear this.” At his aide’s terse comment, David Callahan looked up from the security briefing in his hand. Flicked a gaze at the tape recorder and single sheet of paper Salam Farah held as he stood on the threshold of the small office deep inside the fortified U.S. Embassy compound in Kabul, Afghanistan. David lowered the briefing to his desk. “A new message from the terrorists?” “Yes. And another more personal threat.” “I’m not interested in threats directed at me.” David waved the comment aside. “Let our security people worry about them.” “This one is different, sir.” He studied Salam. After forty years in the diplomatic service, most of them spent dealing with volatile situations in the world’s hot spots, he’d learned to trust his instincts about people. And in the two months he’d been back in Afghanistan trying to help stabilize the local government, Salam had earned his respect. His aide wouldn’t raise a red flag unless there was a valid reason. “All right.” David resettled the thin frame of his wire-rimmed glasses and held out his hand. “Let’s see what they have to say.” In silence, Salam set the recorder on the desk, pressed the play button, and passed the sheet of paper to David. As the spoken message was relayed in the language favored by the Taliban, David tuned out the Pashto and scanned the English translation. The warning was similar to those that had come before—convince the country’s struggling fledgling government to release a dozen incarcerated terrorists and pay a twenty-million-dollar ransom, or the three U.S. hostages that had been kidnapped a week ago would die. But as he read the last line, Salam’s concern became clear. The nature of the personal threat had, indeed, changed. If you do not convince the government to meet our demands, your daughter will be our next target. David’s pulse stuttered. “When did this arrive?” “Half an hour ago. It’s been in translation.”
And only then did he realize just how much his daughter really meant to him... And knew that the government's stance was NOT to deal with terrorists who chose to kidnap and seek ransom as a means of gaining control over their perceived enemy, the United States.
But when the reputation of such a man as David Callahan is brought into a new, deadly situation, things can be looked at more logically and plans follow... Readers will watch as several different individuals or groups are involved with getting money out of the capture of American citizens... The complexity can be confusing, mainly because it is difficult to determine who is working for good. Perhaps that was intentional, in order to sustain a sense of suspense, but I confess the plot got away from me and was only able to be followed by keeping track of the two main FBI characters, the team that had been assigned to keep Callahan's daughter safe...
And because Monica Callahan was a fantastically independent woman who had gained her own reputation and stature and refused to immediately act to follow the rules being mandated for her safety. For instance, she made it quite clear that she would be staying in her own home and participating in her usual or already planned schedule of events... And the first one to come up was attending church that Sunday...
The organ swelled for the final song, and Monica reached for the hymnal in the rack on the pew in front of her. This service had been the one normal thing in her life since the FBI invasion yesterday morning. Except for the two tall men seated behind her in the last pew, on the aisle—who weren’t there to praise God, but to protect her. Nor were some of the unfamiliar faces in the congregation pious visitors seeking Sunday worship, either. They were on-duty federal agents. Carrying guns. In church. It was surreal. At a touch on her shoulder, Coop’s instruction as they’d entered the church echoed in her mind. Leave ahead of the crowd. It was time to go. Letting out a slow breath, she replaced the hymnal and angled toward him. He tipped his head toward the aisle as his partner exited the pew. After picking up her coat, she edged out and fell into step behind Mark, Coop close on her heels. As Mark pushed open the door to the vestibule, Coop’s lean fingers closed around her upper arm in a firm but gentle grip, stopping her progress. “Give him a chance to verify everything is secure.” His warm breath feathered across her cheek as he leaned close to speak, a mere whisper away as his body shielded hers from behind while his partner conferred with a couple of dark-suited men and a woman in a black skirt and royal-blue blazer. She started to shrug into her coat, but he took it from her and held it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. A few seconds later, Mark rejoined them. “We’re clear. The car’s in the portico. Let’s make it quick.” Flanked by the two men, she crossed the marble floor, her heels clicking in rhythm to the soaring notes of “Amazing Grace.” The three people Mark had been talking with spread out in the vestibule as a few members of the congregation wandered out. One of the agents pretended to read the bulletin board. Another checked his watch. The woman riffled through her handbag, as if searching for her keys. Yet it was clear they were all keenly attuned to their surroundings, watching for any indication of trouble. Protecting her. As they approached the exterior door, Mark stepped ahead, lifted his left arm, and spoke softly into the inconspicuous mike at his wrist, his voice feeding into the unobtrusive earpieces all of the agents on duty wore. Or so she’d learned when she’d asked for a briefing on what to expect before they’d left the house this morning. Without slowing his pace, Mark pushed through the door. As he exchanged a few succinct comments with the agent standing on the other side, Coop maintained his grip on her arm. When the agent leaned over to open the door of the SUV parked a few feet away, she found herself being hustled forward and eased into the back seat. Coop slid in beside her and Mark claimed the front passenger seat while the agent took the wheel. Their exit was accomplished with such speed and smoothness that they were pulling out of the parking lot before the organ finished the first verse. “Wow. That was impressive.” Monica drew a deep breath. “I take it you two have been through this drill a few times.” “A few.” Coop glanced over his shoulder as he responded. “Checking for a tail?” Her question was only half in jest. The level of security for this little outing had demonstrated how seriously the threat against her was being taken. Suggesting the danger might be more real than she’d been willing to concede. Shifting his attention to the road ahead, Coop watched as a car pulled out from the curb and took up a position in front of them. “Did he just cut in front of us?” Monica leaned forward, gripping the edge of her seat as her heart tripped into a staccato beat. “Yes.” Coop settled back, his posture relaxed. “But he’s on our side. So is the car behind us. Buckle up.” Monica twisted toward the back window. There was, indeed, a car sticking close. “Did we have an...escort...on the way to church too?” “Yes.” And their return route was just as circuitous as the one they’d taken to church. As Coop had explained when she’d teased them earlier about their navigational skills, it was safer to operate “out of pattern,” as he’d put it. In other words, they were concerned that someone had been watching her long enough to know her habits. That was more than a little disturbing. Trying to stifle a sudden wave of panic, she groped for her seat belt and pulled it out. But as she tried to slide the buckle in, it slipped from her shaky grasp, retracting with a thump that had Mark reaching toward his belt. “Sorry.” Heat surged across her cheeks. “Let me.” Coop released his own belt and leaned across her. His broad shoulder pressed against her as he grasped the buckle and pulled it out, and his fingers brushed her hip when he engaged it. Which played havoc with her respiration. Almost like she was attracted to the tall, dark HRT operator beside her who reeked of masculinity and whose very presence evoked strength and competence. And in other circumstances, she might have been. But as appealing as he was, her response in these circumstances was more likely due to the sudden realization that her situation was a whole lot more perilous than she wanted to admit. Though her knowledge of law enforcement protocols was limited, it was doubtful that elaborate security measures like the ones being taken on her behalf were employed without very good reason. She moistened her lips. Cleared her throat. “I, uh, had no idea a simple visit to church was going to take this much coordination. The security was quite involved, wasn’t it?” Instead of responding, he touched his earpiece. And while he listened to whatever a colleague was saying, she settled back in her seat for the ride home—and tried to untangle the knots in her stomach.
I really enjoyed this story. Kudos to the author for taking on a topic which is right out of history--and the present time period as well. Books for me have become more important as writers create stories that both reflect the reality of life, as well as, ensuring that God, indeed, is right in the middle of all events we all face... I especially enjoyed Coop, who has his own history that had affected his life, and, yet, when he had first seen Monica, he recognized that she was different than any other woman he'd ever met... Readers will enjoy watching their relationship develop and, yes, continue beyond the end of the book...
Highly recommended! I've ordered the next two books for this series...
Harold Michael Harvey, Publisher is pleased to announce
the latest book to be published
by Cascade Publishing Company:
Terry Bushell’s Where in The Hell is Heaven
The press announces its third major release of the
year, solidifying its reputation as a rising home
for
bold, boundary‑pushing new authors.
Cascade House is proud to announce that it has been selected to publish Where in the Hell Is Heaven: Faith Forged Through The Fire, the forthcoming work by author Terry Bushell. A fearless, unflinching exploration of faith, fracture, and the search for spiritual truth. Bushell’s manuscript brings a fresh, provocative voice to contemporary Christian literature.This marks Cascade Publishing House’s third major offering of the year, and the emergence as a go‑to destination for new, creative, and boundary‑pushing authors. With each project, Cascade continues to expand its editorial reach, championing writers whose work challenges assumptions, deepens public conversation, and refuses to settle for easy answers. Publisher Quote — Harold Michael Harvey, Cascade Publishing House
“Terry Bushell’s Where in the Hell Is Heaven is exactly the kind of courageous, truth‑seeking work Cascade was built to champion! It refuses easy answers and speaks directly to readers who are wrestling honestly with their faith and their lived experience. We are honored to bring this powerful voice into the world. With this being our third major release of the year, Cascade Publishing House is rapidly becoming a home for new authors who are unafraid to push boundaries and expand the conversation.”Where in the Hell Is Heaven invites readers into the raw interior of a believer wrestling honestly with God, self, and the contradictions of lived experience. It is a book that does not comfort so much as confront, and in doing so, opens a necessary space for readers who have long felt unseen in traditional faith narratives.
Publication details will be announced in the coming weeks.
Media Contact: Cascade Publishing House hmharvey@haroldmichaelharvey.com
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