Read Online Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) by Marcus Richardson - Free Book Online
Authors: Marcus Richardson
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strong and imposing, made to look even more dangerous by his
tailored trendy-looking dark suit and glasses. Outside their meeting, on the
street, he was known as “Big Al”. He was Malcolm’s right-hand man. His
enforcer.
“Brother
Malcolm led us to join our Brothers in Islam from the Holy Land. While we may
not agree with all our little Brothers have to say, they feel the same way
about America that we do. The Whites in this country have been too long in
charge—they have forced us to become soft and corrupt. They lack discipline
and religion. With the help of Allah and our Middle Eastern Brothers, we will
return America to glory. We will ensure our People turn from the current path
leading back towards slavery of the mind, and head towards the light and
knowledge of freedom.”
Several
other men nodded and murmured thanks to Allah. Two of them stared at Malcolm
with tight lipped grimaces. They were from back east, and not so easily moved
by speeches and well-wishing.
“Brothers,
why do you look at me so?” asked Malcolm, beginning to pour water into glasses
for his guests.
One of the
dissenters adjusted his bow-tie before he spoke. “Malcolm, Samir and I agree
with you, about most everything.” His voice was strained with worry. The
others grew quiet in order to hear. They were very polite, despite differing
opinions on the matter at hand.
“And those
Brothers and Sisters I represent in New York are with Allah and with you .
Even now, I expect they have already mobilized, if the lights are out there as
well. However," he glanced at his partner for support. The other man
nodded. The speaker continued. "I cannot go forward without voicing my
sincere concerns.” He looked around the gathered faces, clearly hoping
someone else besides would back him up. No one showed the slightest bit of
sympathy. All the various dark skinned, sweaty streaked faces were set in
stone.
Raheeb
Turner looked around and his spirits fell. He took on the visage of someone
who wished he were anywhere else but there he was at the moment. Malcolm
considered this man from New York. He had explained to Malcolm that he had
never left New York before this trip. Malcolm knew. He had coordinated the
meeting earlier in the summer. Black Muslim men from every state had been sent
to Chicago, where they had gathered as a sort of Congress. A Black Congress.
Malcolm
smiled. After the struggle, when the White Man was overthrown, this group of
men in a Chicago row house would be the new Government. A Black Government.
Not for the people, but for his People. They would be the core that
would start over and bring racial justice , not equality, to America.
Malcolm would lead them to glorious freedom. The other man from New York
brought Malcolm back to the reality that the great struggle had literally just
begun.
Raheeb’s
friend from Brooklyn, Samir, chose to speak. “Malcolm, Elijah, everyone—“
began Samir, spreading his hands to include the group. “What Raheeb is trying
to explain is simple." He paused and adjusted the glasses on his sweaty
brow. "Quite simply, brothers, we are afraid . We have many
supporters who are not black and we do not wish to alienate them.
A few of
the others nodded. It was true, they were not a simple race based
organization, as their forefathers had organized in the 1960s. But to the
hardcore faithful, it was still a Blacks Only club. The way it should be.
Elijah
smiled, the way only old men can, in a gentle fashion meant to reassure youth.
“My Brothers, be not afraid, for we walk the path of the Prophet, in Allah’s
Grace. Allah is with us. We shall fear nothing. If your white friends truly
support us, they will not abandon us in our hour of triumph.”
Several men
whispered, “Allah is merciful, Allah is good…” in response.
“I know you
do not trust our new Arabic friends with your
tailored trendy-looking dark suit and glasses. Outside their meeting, on the
street, he was known as “Big Al”. He was Malcolm’s right-hand man. His
enforcer.
“Brother
Malcolm led us to join our Brothers in Islam from the Holy Land. While we may
not agree with all our little Brothers have to say, they feel the same way
about America that we do. The Whites in this country have been too long in
charge—they have forced us to become soft and corrupt. They lack discipline
and religion. With the help of Allah and our Middle Eastern Brothers, we will
return America to glory. We will ensure our People turn from the current path
leading back towards slavery of the mind, and head towards the light and
knowledge of freedom.”
Several
other men nodded and murmured thanks to Allah. Two of them stared at Malcolm
with tight lipped grimaces. They were from back east, and not so easily moved
by speeches and well-wishing.
“Brothers,
why do you look at me so?” asked Malcolm, beginning to pour water into glasses
for his guests.
One of the
dissenters adjusted his bow-tie before he spoke. “Malcolm, Samir and I agree
with you, about most everything.” His voice was strained with worry. The
others grew quiet in order to hear. They were very polite, despite differing
opinions on the matter at hand.
“And those
Brothers and Sisters I represent in New York are with Allah and with you .
Even now, I expect they have already mobilized, if the lights are out there as
well. However," he glanced at his partner for support. The other man
nodded. The speaker continued. "I cannot go forward without voicing my
sincere concerns.” He looked around the gathered faces, clearly hoping
someone else besides would back him up. No one showed the slightest bit of
sympathy. All the various dark skinned, sweaty streaked faces were set in
stone.
Raheeb
Turner looked around and his spirits fell. He took on the visage of someone
who wished he were anywhere else but there he was at the moment. Malcolm
considered this man from New York. He had explained to Malcolm that he had
never left New York before this trip. Malcolm knew. He had coordinated the
meeting earlier in the summer. Black Muslim men from every state had been sent
to Chicago, where they had gathered as a sort of Congress. A Black Congress.
Malcolm
smiled. After the struggle, when the White Man was overthrown, this group of
men in a Chicago row house would be the new Government. A Black Government.
Not for the people, but for his People. They would be the core that
would start over and bring racial justice , not equality, to America.
Malcolm would lead them to glorious freedom. The other man from New York
brought Malcolm back to the reality that the great struggle had literally just
begun.
Raheeb’s
friend from Brooklyn, Samir, chose to speak. “Malcolm, Elijah, everyone—“
began Samir, spreading his hands to include the group. “What Raheeb is trying
to explain is simple." He paused and adjusted the glasses on his sweaty
brow. "Quite simply, brothers, we are afraid . We have many
supporters who are not black and we do not wish to alienate them.
A few of
the others nodded. It was true, they were not a simple race based
organization, as their forefathers had organized in the 1960s. But to the
hardcore faithful, it was still a Blacks Only club. The way it should be.
Elijah
smiled, the way only old men can, in a gentle fashion meant to reassure youth.
“My Brothers, be not afraid, for we walk the path of the Prophet, in Allah’s
Grace. Allah is with us. We shall fear nothing. If your white friends truly
support us, they will not abandon us in our hour of triumph.”
Several men
whispered, “Allah is merciful, Allah is good…” in response.
“I know you
do not trust our new Arabic friends with your
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