Reviews

“Mr. Spirko has written a riveting book with revelations about the Middle East that have all come true during the past decade. His astonishing predictions and ability to penetrate the mindset of the Arab and Jew alike makes his book one of the most intuitive, compelling, descriptive analyses of Middle East affairs of our time. He should have worked for the CIA.”
- A FORMER INTEL AGENT.

“One of the most provocative reads ever. I wish the manuscript had been available prior to the Persian Gulf and Iraqi wars. Remarkable in its scope and of his understanding of the Middle East.”
– A COVERT OPERATIVE OF THE U.S.

“A terrific read! One of the best spy-thrillers I’ve ever read. Mr. Spirko has a genuine ability to grip the reader and bring, action, suspense and drama to all sides in the Middle East. His peace proposals nearly won-out at the Camp David Peace Talks in 2000. Those ideals should be resumed for the benefit of both sides – the PLO and Israelis, equally. The BBC termed his ideas as “brilliant.”
– A NEW YORK CITY BOOK REVIEWER.

“An extraordinary, accurate analysis of the Middle East issues as they faced the world 15 years ago. Guess what? Those same issues haven’t changed and Mr. Spirko has done a remarkable job of bringing them into proper focus via a compelling book that not only tells a story, but offers ideas for peace, fair to all sides, so millions may see the wisdom of working for peace instead of war.”
- A BOOK STORE BUYER.

History

This book was first copyrighted and completed on October 20, 1987, before the events of the Persian Gulf War and the Iraq War. It is an analysis set to a novel format of the Middle East at the time prior to the beginning of major military action in the Persian Gulf by coalition forces, and the Palestinian Intifada. The book predicted all of the above several years before they happened. Mr. Spirko’s predictions have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the real need for both sides in the Middle East to come to the conclusion that this continuing course toward war is a futile cry for help as both sides attempt to destroy each other where wars have been the norm since the beginning of civilization.

Mr. Spirko developed a peace plan offered to the Camp David participants where both sides could have achieved compromise in a workable solution to a Palestinian State plus a compromise on Jerusalem which would have satisfied both sides with the City serving as a simultaneous capital for both States.

With his idea, coming close to agreement, both sides eventually capitulated to pressures from their various political factions and walked away from the Peace table in failure – Chairman Arafat embarking upon a worldwide tour to garner support for his position, and Ehud Barak, failing to resurrect the issue of the Palestinian “right of return and compensation for lost land and homes” in the West Bank.

Thus, new bloodshed and bloodletting have ensued, dragging America into the fray in the role of conqueror and peacemaker following the Sept. 11 cataclysm.

Mr. Spirko’s book discusses all the issues of the Middle East in a way that can be understood and appreciated by the reader worldwide, weaving these issues into a formidable spy-thriller that takes the world to the brink of nuclear Armageddon.

Excerpt

Beirut: May 2. 3 p.m.

Ahmed parked his bike alongside a half blown away brick wall and quickly glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed him. After casually smoking a cigarette and loitering for a minute or two, he flicked the cigarette to the pavement and crushed it beneath his foot. Then he briskly walked down the alleyway looking for the hidden doorway he knew existed somewhere in the shadows.

Getting darker and more difficult to see, he carefully made his way through the alley sidestepping the broken glass and boards. There . . . in the shadows . . . was the doorway. Ahmed pushed aside the two boards blocking it, and slowly squeezed through the opening, catching his breath as he came out the other side, then slowly crept up the stairs not wanting to make even the slightest sound. Halfway up, he heard noise coming from the second floor room where the bureau was located. He inched his way forward along the railing until he could just see over the landing and peered toward the office doorway. A man was sitting near the doorway reading an Arabic newspaper and drinking a bottle of Pepsi. His Kalashnikov rifle propped against the wall, the soldier appeared completely unaware of any intruder near him. Ahmed studied him carefully knowing he was an Arab who might kill another Arab simply because he was being paid to do it. Suddenly and without warning, Ahmed didn’t have any choice but to come out into the open as he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs below him. Others were returning, and he was caught in the middle. He had to move fast. Standing upright, Ahmed tried to assume an air of confidence by asking loudly.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Richard Waite, an American field reporter with United Press International. Is he here?”

Clearly startled, the guard bolted upright from his sitting position taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of Ahmed.

“Stop! Not another step further!” the guard commanded in Arabic grabbing for his rifle. Regaining his composure, he pointed the Kalashnikov at Ahmed’s chest and pushed him back a few steps with the tip of the bayonet.

“Who are you?” the sentry demanded loudly. “Where is your identification?”

“I arrive in peace. I am looking for a man named Richard Waite, an American field reporter. He is here, yes?”

“But who are you?”

Before Ahmed could answer, two large men rounded the top of the stairs on a dead run. One grabbed Ahmed, pinning him against the wall, while the other kicked his feet out from underneath him. Ahmed’s head hit the floor with a splat. He instinctively reached forward with his hands to protect his face expecting the full force of a combat boot. But, none came. Instead, he heard a familiar voice. Praise be to Allah. It was none other than Richard Waite’s reverberating in his ears. The sound was almost too good to be true.

“Ahmed. Dear God, is it really you?” Waite said as he pulled the other man off Ahmed and began apologizing profusely. He helped Ahmed to his feet and straightened him up.

“God, it really is you,” he said after getting a good look at him in the light. You are a sight to behold! I heard you were dead . . . killed in a PLO ambush a few days ago. What in God’s name happened to you?”

“It wasn’t me,” Ahmed said quavering, still frightened by the assault, eyeing the sentry uneasily. It was my brother. It was he who was killed. A terrible accident. It should have been an Israeli. Dear Allah, what am I going to do to atone for it? It may have been my own fault.”

“Calm down, Ahmed. Tell me what happened to bring you here. Start slowly. Why are you here? Why have you come looking for me?” Waite asked.

“I need your help. But, we must talk privately.”

“Of course. Quickly . . . into my office. I’m sorry about the attack on the stairs. Abdul, our sentry, is our only protection from factions we’re not certain of these days, including the PLO. We can’t even trust the Israelis anymore. They know we’re still operating somewhere in Beirut and they would rather have us out. They haven’t found us yet. But, when they do, we’re sure they’ll put an end to our operation here,” Waite said.

“But I am the PLO. And, I have come for you.”

Waite laughed. Ahmed hadn’t changed any.

“Now tell me, why did you risk your life by coming here today?”

They sipped coffee while Ahmed explained what had happened to his brother.
“He was carrying a message from Israeli intelligence. It read, ‘Intercept David and Goliath. July 24. God be praised.’”

He showed Waite the message.

“I must know what it means? Have you any idea?”

“Offhand, I don’t. The only thing I know about David and Goliath is from scripture, that David killed Goliath with a crude type of slingshot. That’s hardly what a coded message would mean, would it? As for the date, it could mean anything. Can I borrow it for a few days? I have a friend at the American embassy that might be able to analyze it further or put it through crypto graphics to see if it contains something else,” Waite asked, sensing he had found a story.

He realized he might be holding in his hand a piece of Israeli intelligence, which could be viewed as evidence if it contained anything of military importance. He had a hunch it did.
Ahmed didn’t know whether or not to trust Waite with it. It was his only copy. He offered to copy it for Waite instead. But, the wily, experienced reporter bluffed his way past the offer, flatly refusing, saying only that the embassy would think it was a phony.

“I cannot,” Ahmed said quickly testing Waite’s intentions. “My brother’s blood is on this paper and my conscience, along with it. He must have thought it necessary to die for. I cannot give it to you.”

“But . . . Ahmed,” Waite parried, “Who else can you trust beside me? Look, once before we trusted each other. We must trust each other again. I owe you a lot for the Fasi interview . . . and, I promise, I’ll do my best to find out what the message means.”

Ahmed was silent for a moment. He had no other choice. They both knew the reality of the situation. Ahmed had to trust someone sooner or later, a person with no particular political interests. Perhaps, an American field reporter with hopes for a big story could be trusted. He knew Waite’s reputation as a meticulous and honest reporter. He had worked with him before. That was reason enough why he sought him out in the first place. He also knew Waite was not a member of the American CIA who might double-cross him. Perhaps, he could be trusted. Ahmed finished drinking his coffee and extended his hand with the piece of paper.

“All right. I shall put my faith in two persons.”

“Two persons?” Waite replied.

“Yes. You . . . and Allah. This time only . . . you come first,” Ahmed said expressionless.

He instructed Waite, “Give me your word you will show no one but your contact at the American embassy.”

Ahmed knew if he was to trust Waite with such a secret, he had to appeal to his journalistic ethic. To a reporter, to disclose a source of information was unthinkable. It was a gamble, but a well calculated one with the odds on Ahmed’s side.

“Agreed. On my word as a journalist,” Waite spoke in an oath that would convince the Supreme Court, and shook Ahmed’s hand, and took the piece of intelligence.

“I must leave now,” Ahmed said. “The PLO will miss me. I’ve already been gone far too long. They may be suspicious of my whereabouts.”

Ahmed left Waite’s office and walked past the guard who had struck him. He felt like hitting him with his fist, but he stoked his pent-up rage because he had more important things to do. Besides, how could the guard have known who he was? Ahmed descended the stairs and went out into the alleyway being careful that no one had seen him leave. Back on his bicycle, he made his way through the streets back toward the PLO lines, making a mental note of the gunfire in the distance.

It was nearly 10 p.m. Curfew. Things were beginning to quiet down as they did every night, except on the rare occasions when the Israelis or PLO unleashed heavy barrages of artillery at each other to punctuate the passing of a ceasefire deadline or the start of a sudden attack.

When he finally arrived at his unit, no one had missed him. He had been lucky this time. Everyone was busy digging in for the night. There would probably be more fighting in the morning if the Israelis decided to strengthen their position inside the sector. If they did, it would mean a full-scale assault on the PLO positions, including artillery, air strikes and tank fire.

The PLO was not prepared to handle that kind of attack. They all knew they would be easily overrun.

Ahmed was tired, hungry and disheveled, but needed sleep too much to do anything about it. He dug in behind a makeshift cement bunker for protection and fell asleep thinking about the day’s events. His perspiration drenched khaki uniform stuck to him as the night cooled down.