The Presidential Palace was quiet. Somber. Saddam Hussein was pacing the floor of his dining room. Seated at the table was Sayyid Kassim, his closest friend and trusted advisor. The President looked at the sad man and felt his pain. America's infidels had murdered Sayyid Kassim's only son when they invaded their land.

He turned to the window and looked out at his Iraq. The hulks of planes and tanks decorated the landscape. Oil refineries, factories, and power stations were in ruins. Dozens of bombed bridges had fallen into the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. And tens of thousands of Iraqi sons, and countless civilians, were dead. Slaughtered in the streets of his once-beautiful country. Reports were that gasoline lines were hundreds of cars long; there was little electricity or fresh water; sewage was overflowing into the streets; and food prices had soared out of control. Saddam took a deep breath. Thankfully, he and his Baath Party had eliminated all of his internal rivals. A coup was not likely. He turned back to Sayyid. "Are you sure your numbers are accurate?"

"Yes," Sayyid answered. "More than twenty percent of our aircraft and forty percent of our tanks have been destroyed, along with almost sixty percent of our artillery." Whereas, before this war, Iraq had the world's fourth largest army, now it was minuscule in comparison. As was the economy. Sayyid continued: "But, even with all we have lost, we still outnumber our neighbors. Saudi Arabia has only 550 tanks, Iran about 500, and Jordan 1,100."

"And we?" the President asked as he paced, worried about the answer.

"We still have more than 2,500."

Saddam stopped by the window again and looked out at the devastation. He twirled his thick, black mustache between his thumb and forefinger and thought about the Al-Quiyamah, his covert plot to right this terrible wrong. "And what is our air capability?"

Sayyid Kassim told him. "Saudi Arabia and Iran have about 190 combat aircraft each. We have that many hidden in Iran alone, and more than 250 hidden in bunkers, ready for any attack, along with our long-range nuclear capability. Much of our artillery, almost 1,500 short range missiles and chemical shells, are intact."

"And your conclusions?"

"We have the power to strike strongly and deeply against any of our neighbors, but not against the United States."

Saddam thought about it and drank his mistaki. It burned his throat as it slid down, comforting him. He let the draperies fall closed. "As long as the West believes man can shape his destiny, and we in Islam believe it is God who controls our destinies, we are destined to win."

"Allah akbar!" Sayyid Kassim answered.

"Allah akbar!" God is Good.

Saddam sat down at the head of the table, with Sayyid to his left. The staff served their dinner. The President took a last mouthful of the potent drink and began eating his muscouf. He noticed Sayyid was nibbling at the fish. His son's death had made him give up hope. It was time to tell him what he had planned. It would give his friend a reason to live again. "Al-Qiyamah!"

"Pardon?" the grieving father asked.

"We must honor your son and the martyred sons of all Iraqi fathers."

The President looked into Sayyid Kassim's eyes and smiled. "Al-Qiyamah!" The Rising of the Dead!