When I left the airport, I grabbed a cab to take me to the hotel. Once I checked in, I was back on the street, first to get a quick bite to eat and then to start my search. Right after I left the cafe, I opened my cell phone to call a friend of a friend whom I thought might know the whereabouts of the man I was looking for. I thought locating him would be easy — that my biggest problem would be gaining access to him — but my contact told me no one had seen or heard from him since before Solomon’s and Richards’ assassinations. I'd no sooner hung up the phone than I felt a pistol in my back. I was directed from the street into a waiting car. I was taken to a synagogue and, after being thoroughly patted down, guided into a small room. There I met him — the Prime Minister of Palestine. I guess Cliff was right, the outcome of our conversation might determine if the course of peace in the world could be sustained.
“Assalamu alaikum,” I said in greeting to the Palestinian Prime Minster.
“Wa alaikum assalam,” he replied in return and then he shocked the Hell out of me by adding, “at long last, you are here.”
Arching my eyebrows, I wondered just what it was he meant by that but I didn’t have to wait long as he elaborated without my having to ask.
“A long, long time ago, when I was just a boy of fourteen,” he began, “I experienced a vision in my sleep. A young Pakistani boy — a boy not much older than I was — told me that some day in the distant future, an American man with Mongoloid features — a police detective — would save my life.”
Astonished, I started to open my mouth but the gentleman put up his hand to silence me, and then he continued.
“It was a very tense time for us, you must understand. I was an Israeli Arab at a time when tensions between the Israelis and the Palestinians were at an all-time high.
“The year was 2008 by your calendar. We were in the midst of an Egyptian-brokered cease-fire between the Israelis and Hamas, the terrorist organization that had come to power in Gaza just two years before. The cease-fire never really took hold and, although there was a relative lull in the rocket attacks that had become a frequent occurrence, no one really felt safe.
“As Israeli citizens, we enjoyed all of the rights and privileges that citizenship offered in Israel. My parents and older brother had the right to vote. We enjoyed relative freedom and could travel anywhere we wanted — even to the occupied territories to visit with relatives. We could aspire to be anything or do anything the Jews did. Although we were not required to serve in the military, we had the right to serve if we desired and some of my people did. My brother was one of those who served, although my father fought with him over it. Yes we were Israelis, but my father saw it as sacrilege for an Arab to fight against his fellow Arabs, no matter how threatened we were by the acts of the ignorant.
“You see, my brother was an intellectual. He was barely a Muslim, frequently skipping prayer services when attendance did not suit him and making friendships with Jews as well as Arabs.
“His belief in Western ideals — the principles of democracy and the rule of law — took precedence over his loyalty to his own people. He truly believed that making peace with the Jews and finding a compromise to the issue of land ownership were the key to the future of the region. He even supported abandoning the right of Palestinians to return to their own land within Israel — a right nearly all Arabs felt was fundamental to any hope for peace in the Middle East.”
“But the Jews would never have accepted any settlement including a right of return,” I interrupted.
“Of course not,” the Prime Minister agreed, “but back then, we saw it as a matter of justice.
“There is a saying — there can be no peace without justice — it harkens to the Koran and is said to have been uttered by the Prophet himself.”
“Our own Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke the same words,” I pointed out.
“And he undoubtedly got them from Islam,” the Prime Minister replied. “After all, they appeared in the Koran more than a millennium before your country even came to exist.”
“I’ll grant you that,” I agreed.
“In any case,” he continued, “to the Palestinian people there was no room for compromise on this. They saw their land, which had been in their families for generations, being taken from them. It was stolen from them, hence any peace process had to include the return of their land to its rightful owners.”
“But didn’t they abandon their land?” I asked naïvely enough.
“One of many Israeli myths,” the Prime Minister countered. “To put it another way, let’s suppose there is a fire sweeping through the area where you live. The fire department tells you to leave, or you risk being killed. You do not want to leave — the house has been in your family for generations and you have many precious heirlooms that cannot be replaced — but you do not want to take a chance on harm coming to your family. It would be one thing for you to die in the flames, but you cannot fathom the thought of your wife, your daughters and your sons being consumed in the inferno.
“With reluctance, you gather up your family and drive off to a refugee center with a promise to return as soon as it is safe. The authorities assure you it will not take long for the fire to be brought under control. Naturally you wouldn’t question your decision to leave.
“But what if the fire bypassed your neighborhood and when you attempted to return to your home, you found it had been broken into and occupied by well-armed squatters. You’d go to the police expecting them to intervene on your behalf, but the police tell you they can do nothing unless you can provide proof of ownership. But the deed to your house is in a safe deposit box, and the key to that box is in your house where you can’t get to it.
“You continue to fight to regain your house, but the squatters claim you abandoned your house and they have every right to live there. You cannot get the police to intervene, so you take your case directly to the people by going to the news media. Unbelievably, the media side with the squatters — you did, after all, abandon your house.”
“Like Hell I did,” I interrupted.
“You shouldn’t swear,” the Prime Minister replied, “but the feeling is most appropriate, and it’s exactly how the Palestinian people felt when they were told they could not return. They were promised a speedy end to the 1948 war and were taken completely by surprise when Israel occupied their land and confiscated their property. They felt a great injustice had been done, which is why so many of us continue to live in refugee camps to this day. Those that do feel that to settle permanently anywhere else would be an admission that the land they lost will never be theirs again.”
“But they lost the war!” I exclaimed.
“A war they considered unjust!” the Prime Minister exclaimed in return.
Sitting thoughtfully for a moment, I went on to ask, “Didn’t the Jews already own most of the land within what became Israel?”
“They ‘held title’ to the majority of land allotted them by the ‘partition’ plan that granted them statehood,” the Prime Minister answered, “but you have to remember that the Jews took far more land than given them by the U.N. You also need to consider how they came by the land to which they held title in the first place. Palestine itself never was a legitimate country — it was a fabrication created by the British to fit the Arab people into a framework of their making.
“Before the British occupied the Middle East, what you now refer to as Palestine and Israel were part of the Ottoman Empire, but even that was an artificial construct. The ‘Land of Milk and Honey’, as the Jews refer to it, is a desert and its inhabitants — my ancestors — were nomadic. Like your American Indians, we did not consider the land as something to be owned. It was ours in trust, given to us by Allah to use as we saw fit.
“It was only in response to the pressures of the West and particularly the British occupation that we were forced to settle the land and take ownership. The Jews were foreign invaders but, unlike the British, they never left. The ‘title’ to their land was given to them by the British — not by my people.”
“Not to contradict you,” I countered, “but the Middle East has always been home to people of diverse backgrounds. Even before the British occupation, there were Christians and Jews living in what you call Palestine. You may have been a nomadic people but Jerusalem, Bethlehem and Jericho are among the world’s oldest cities. For that matter, the same can be said of Baghdad, Damascus and Mecca.”
Sighing, the Prime Minister agreed, “You are correct, my friend. As much as we would like to consider Palestine ours, it has long been home to different peoples and it is the birthplace of three great religions. And, as my brother would have pointed out, the Israelis have been much better stewards of the land than my people ever were, but if you mention that to anyone else, I will deny ever having said it.”
“I didn’t hear you say anything,” I replied and we both laughed together.
“You’ve mentioned your brother several times,” I noted. “Could I ask you what happened to him?”
With tears in his eyes, the Prime Minister answered, “He is with Allah now. It’s funny, but I don’t think he ever really believed in Allah. He was what you Westerners would call an agnostic but Islam recognizes no such category. As far as my people are concerned, you are either a believer or you are an infidel. It’s a rather insular view of the world, I know, and one which we are only very slowly coming to grips with — or at least we were.”
“What happened?” I asked, and then added, “or is it none of my business?”
“Hassam was caught between worlds,” the Prime Minister answered. “He was a man of peace who chose to fight for his country to protect that peace. He fought for the land of Israel, Eretz Yisrael, and not for the Palestinian people. His heart was in the right place but at the wrong time.
“2008 was a very tense time and the Palestinian people had lost their patience. After years of trusting in the Palestinian Authority, they saw they were getting nowhere. The promised peace with Israel was no closer than it had ever been. They continued to live in squalor. The Palestinian Authority itself was corrupt. Rather than building infrastructure, the leadership grew richer and richer while the people suffered.
“Worse still, they appeased the Israelis by helping them to apprehend supposed terrorists who’d done nothing more than attend the wrong mosque or be seen in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whole families were torn apart. There was no end in sight.
“It is no wonder the Palestinian people chose Hamas and Hezbollah to replace the old Palestine Liberation Organization. Hamas offered new hope. They paved the roads, built new schools and opened medical clinics. They did everything the Palestinian Authority had promised but failed to deliver.”
“But Hamas and Hezbollah were terrorist organizations,” I protested. “They had funding from Iran, Syria and Saudi Arabia. That’s how they were able to build infrastructure. That money could have just as easily been funneled to the old Palestinian Authority to do the same.
“And nothing could make up for their callus disregard for life. They fired missiles into Israel, taking innocent lives. They located their missile launchers among the population, forcing Israel to kill innocent civilians if they dared to fight back. They strapped explosives to children and sent them into crowded markets, promising martyrdom if they blew themselves up with everyone around them. How could the Palestinian people elect such evil men?”
“As you put it so well,” the Prime minister replied, “Hamas saw themselves and those they recruited as martyrs. They were serving the will of Allah. If a child with no future decides to become a martyr, that is an honorable thing. You and I recognize that killing oneself in an act of carnage is not an act of martyrdom, but kids are impressionable and when their religious leaders tell them how Allah will smile on them for such things, of course they want to believe.
“As I said, it was a time of desperation. There was no future were things to continue as they had. Electing Hamas and Hezbollah was an extreme measure, but one that was understandable.
“In any case, Egypt brokered a cease-fire with Hamas but, in spite of this, Hamas continued to intimidate Israel, restraining themselves just enough to keep Israel from firing back.
“Actually, they probably hoped Israel would retaliate, and massively, as they correctly perceived that the rest of the world was slowly coming to their side.
“The fourth of November, 2008, is a day I will never forget. On that date, Israeli forces initiated a ground assault into Gaza allegedly to destroy tunnels they claimed Hamas had built and used to kidnap Israeli soldiers. My brother was among those involved in the assault, but he was not in uniform. He was dressed as an ordinary Palestinian citizen and he went in advance of the troops, scouting in an attempt to find the tunnels everyone knew were there.
“In retrospect it was an ill-thought plan and of course my brother was captured, held hostage and ultimately executed as a traitor to the Palestinian people. Hamas never acknowledged having him, as executing an Israeli soldier could have undermined their public-affairs offensive. The Israeli Defense Force, for that matter, never acknowledged he’d been involved in the raid, which was in direct violation of the cease-fire.
“The whole incident was quickly forgotten less than two months later with the expiration of the cease-fire, when Israel launched a major offensive against Gaza — an offensive that was a military success but a public-relations disaster. My brother was listed as among the thirteen Israeli soldiers killed in the offensive.
“We knew the truth, however, as an agent of Hamas visited my family shortly after my brother was killed. He brought us…” the Prime Minister teared up and could not speak for a few minutes before he finally resumed, “He brought us Hassam’s head.
“To this day I cannot forget the sight of Hassam’s disembodied head. It was bluish grey in color, and very pale. It didn’t even look human. There was no doubt it was him, however.
“I should have hated Hamas for killing him but I ended up hating my brother. How could he have disgraced us so? In the days leading up to the Gaza war, I became vehemently pro-Hamas and anti-Israeli, but that didn’t change the fact that I was still an Israeli citizen. Israel was my home.
“I briefly contemplated becoming a suicide bomber myself but what would my supposed martyrdom have accomplished? It wouldn’t have ended the Israeli occupation. The Israelis don’t call themselves Sabras, or cactus, for nothing. Another suicide bombing, this time by one of their own citizens, would have only hardened their attitudes and more than likely made things worse for Israeli Arabs in general. Even as a boy of fourteen, I recognized this.
“Still, there was a part of me that wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. It was then that a young boy who looked to be Afghani or Pakistani, approached me in my sleep.
“His name was Fareed, he told me…”
When I arched my eyebrows in response to the name I knew so well, the gentleman asked, “You know of him?”
“His story was told me by Altaf El Tahari, our Secretary of State, who is a personal friend of mine,” I answered.
“At the time I did not think anything of it when he said he’d been killed because he’d been found with a friend,” the Prime Minister acknowledged. “The Taliban were crazy and everyone knew it. Boys have always fooled around, after all but, to the Taliban, even pleasuring oneself is a grave sin.
“Later on I realized that Fareed probably was gay. Had I known it when I was fourteen, I might have reacted differently but then it’s not every day one is visited by a spirit. I was in awe of him at the time and I’ve long since come to accept that Islam’s views on homosexuality are wrong. Had I realized it when I was younger, I would not have a wife and five children today.
“But getting back to the visit when I was fourteen, Fareed explained to me that it wasn’t my time to die and that martyrdom could only occur when others kill you for standing up for what’s right. Killing oneself is not an act of martyrdom, but an act of cowardice, he said.
“He went on to tell me I had a very important role to play in the future of the Palestinian people — that I would help to forge a compromise that would allow us to live side-by-side with the Israelis in peace. My job would be to change things from the inside. By living my life as an Israeli Arab and going into politics, I would change attitudes on both sides of the conflict.
“He told me my life would not be easy and my path would be a dangerous one but, in the end, I would prevail. He told me the end would be a particularly perilous time, however. He said there would be a serious attempt on my life, but I would survive it only to be threatened yet again.
“He told me that after surviving the first attempt, an American police detective with Mongoloid features would visit me and that he would save me from the second attack at his own expense. He said that there would be no guarantee that either of us would survive and that my only hope would be to listen to what you had to say.
“And now you are here,” the Prime Minister said in conclusion, and then he asked, “could I get you some coffee or tea?”
“If it’s no trouble, coffee would be nice,” I responded.
“Of course it’s no trouble,” the man replied, “but I must warn you, it’s Turkish coffee and very, very strong. Perhaps you’d prefer some Arab tea, which is made with mint,” he suggested.
“Perhaps later I’ll try the tea,” I replied, “but I like strong coffee. I love a straight espresso.”
“This is much stronger, but you should try it then,” he responded and then snapping his fingers to attract the attention of one of the men guarding him, he spoke to him in Arabic and the guard disappeared.
Turning back to me, the gentleman said, “So tell me, Lieutenant Manning, what is your story if I may ask?”
“My story is not nearly as dramatic as yours,” I began. “I grew up in the American Midwest. My parents were both professionals who met and married late in life and did not even try to have children until they were in their forties. They decided not to have amniocentesis in spite of my mother’s age, because they intended to keep me no matter what, but I still think they were very disappointed when I was born with Down’s Syndrome.
“For a Down’s kid, I did OK. I was a little slow and had to take special education classes, but I did a lot better than a lot of kids do. I don’t know if I’d ever have gone to college, however, if it hadn’t been for Sam Austin. Sam was and is my best friend.”
Just then, the guard returned with a tray containing two small cups of thick, brown liquid and an assortment of pastries. I took one of the pastries and placed it on my saucer and, after the gentleman had done the same, I took a bite of the pastry. It was delicious but almost sickeningly sweet. I then took the tiniest of sips of the coffee, which was not only stronger than anything I’d ever tasted, but bitter beyond belief. Once I got past the bitterness, it was actually very good, but what a contrast to the pastry!
Continuing with my story, I said, “Sam had a rough childhood. He was born to a drug-addicted prostitute and he spent much of his early years in and out of foster care and living on the streets. When he was twelve, he went to a church camp where he was abused and contracted HIV. The Austins learned of his plight and took him in, eventually adopting him as their son.
“That’s how Sam ended up living on my street and we soon became fast friends. Unlike me, however, Sam turned out to be a super-genius and with his tutoring and support, I graduated high school and went on to college. Sam started college when he was only fifteen — that’s how smart he is.”
“Wait a minute,” the Prime Minister interrupted. “Are you talking about Congressman Sammy Austin?”
“One and the same,” I answered with a grin.
“I met Congressman Austin once, when he visited with a delegation from the U.S. He spoke to me in flawless Arabic. He spoke to the Israelis in Hebrew. I was highly impressed.”
“Sam speaks more than a dozen languages and he’s continuing to learn more,” I noted. “Anyway, Sam helped me a lot but he never talked down to me, you know? He never made me feel stupid. He was the only friend I ever had in middle or high school who treated me like everyone else in spite of the Down’s Syndrome.
“Anyway, through Sam, I got to know and be friends with his brother, Trevor Austin…”
“The President’s National Security Advisor?” the man asked.
“Exactly and, thanks to Trevor, I became good friends with his husband, the President’s Chief of Staff, Kurt DeWitt, and of course with Jeremy Kimball and David Reynolds. Jeremy’s adopted brother, Cliff Daniels, was also abused at that church camp, only he came down with AIDS and died when he was just fourteen.”
Shifting in my seat as I shifted gears, I stated, “Now we’re getting to the weird part. You see, I’ve always had an ability to see certain things. For example, I can see if someone’s inherently good by the glow or aura that surrounds them. That’s how I know I can trust you.
“Also, I can often see things before they happen. I guess you could call it a premonition but it’s more than that. It’s as if I can literally see events as they will unfold in the future. That’s one of the things that makes me such a good detective. Sometimes I can even see a crime unfold as if through the eyes of the victim.”
“That’s amazing,” the man commented.
“After Cliff died,” I went on, “I started getting visions in my sleep where Cliff would come to me and warn me of things that were going to happen or things I needed to do. He’s saved my ass — or rather my life on multiple occasions.
“Anyway, a couple nights ago, he came to me and told me I needed to get here right away. He said that events had gone badly off-track and unless I could find a way to change that, we risked catastrophe. On the way over here, he told me I needed to seek you out, but he did not tell me how to find you.”
“You would never have found me if I hadn’t wanted you to find me,” the man interjected. “Ever since the recent attempt on my life, I’ve been on the lookout for you. Even as I went into hiding, I instructed my men to find you and bring you here to me.”
“And here I thought I’d been so clever to come across you,” I said, and then we both laughed.
“Seriously,” I continued, “when I arrived in Israel, I immediately set about trying to find you, but no one seemed to know where you were. I never expected it to be so difficult. After all, the elected leader of the Palestinian people — the Prime Minister of the Palestinian Parliament — should be easy enough to find. My only concern was in finding a way to convince you to see me.
“I didn’t realize that you’d closed the offices of the Palestinian ‘state in waiting’ in response to the terrorist attacks that followed President Reynolds’ assassination.”
“I had to,” the man interrupted. “Reynolds’ assassination was serious enough in itself but, when the terrorist attacks happened, I knew the two were connected.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“Because there was no reason for my people to resort to terrorism anymore. We were on the brink of peace. We’d finally come to terms with the Israelis and, thanks to President Reynolds, found a way to accept a compromise — one that was fair, honest and just and that demanded sacrifice equally from both sides. We had nothing to gain and everything to lose by resorting to terrorism.
“The only ones with something to gain were the enemies of peace…”
“So you think that it was the remnants of one of the Palestinian terrorist organizations that was responsible for President Reynolds’ assassination?” I asked in surprise — more in surprise that he was admitting as such than in surprise that it had occurred. After all, it was looking more and more likely that Muslim extremists had been responsible for David’s murder.
“Actually,” the Prime Minister responded, “I think it was more likely Israeli extremists — perhaps from an ultra-orthodox Jewish sect, that were responsible.”
“But we already know that Muslims were involved in the Reynolds assassination!” I protested.
“African American Muslims,” the Prime Minister pointed out, “not Palestinians.”
“But what about the terrorist incidents in Israel following the Reynolds assassination?” I asked.
“And what about the man who killed the Israeli Prime Minister and your Secretary of State?” the Prime Minister challenged. “Do you not recall that he was an Orthodox Jew?”
When I failed to respond, the man went on by saying, “Politics makes for strange bedfellows, as they say.”
“So you think it might have been both Jews and Muslims that were involved?” I asked in confirmation.
“Jewish and Muslim extremists,” he corrected me. “The mainstream Israelis welcomed peace as much as we did, and I can assure you that no one in the Palestinian mainstream was involved.”
“What about the attack on your life?” I asked. “For one thing, why hasn’t the rest of the world heard about it?”
“It would have been hard for me to go into hiding if everyone knew I’d been targeted. Those wishing to help would have only made me more of a target. I had to get out of harm’s way.
“As a friend of so many gay men, I think you’ll appreciate this,” he quipped, “but the way I managed to slip out of Palestinian territory was to pose as a Palestinian woman, complete with head scarf. In other words, I disguised myself by dressing in drag.”
“Why did you choose to hide out here?” I asked.
“Who would think to look for me in an Israeli synagogue?” the man replied. “The rabbi is an old friend. I know he would never betray my trust.”
“But what about those who surround you?” I asked. “They’re Palestinians and could easily have been infiltrated.”
“I’ve known most of them personally for years. None of them would betray my trust.”
“I’m sure that’s what Solomon believed, just before one of his own gunned him down,” I pointed out.
Smiling, he replied, “I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that what happened to the Israeli Prime Minster does not happen to me. Everyone here knows that if something happens to me, the families of those responsible will be made to suffer. It is a cruel tactic but a necessary one that should ensure it never has to be carried out.”
Personally, I couldn’t imagine such barbarism but I’d heard that similar tactics were common in the Arab world.
“Mr. Manning,” the Palestinian Prime Minister asked, “would you like to stay for dinner? It is time for the evening prayers but if you’d like, one of my men can show you to a place where you can freshen up and then you can join us afterwards.”
“It would be my honor, Mr. Prime Minister,” I answered as I bowed my head.”
A young man then led me to a small annex. Inside was what might be considered a guesthouse with a private bath. Making use of a disposable razor that had been left there, I washed up and shaved.
After I finished, I exited the annex and made my way back into the synagogue proper, where I assumed I’d be escorted to wherever it was that we’d eat dinner. It was as I entered the sanctuary that I saw him. There was a man dressed in the traditional clothing typically worn by the most devout Jews. He wore a black suit and polished black shoes. He had a long beard and wore a wide-brimmed black hat. He was wearing a large white tallit, or prayer shawl, and appeared to be lost in prayer.
Men dressed this way were common in Israel, but there was something about him that just seemed out of place. I hadn’t noticed anyone else dressed like him in this particular synagogue. This was a more liberal synagogue that even allowed men and women to pray together — something considered blasphemous by the devout Orthodox. The other men and women praying were dressed in business suits or casual clothes, but they didn’t seem to pay the man any heed, so why did I?
It was then that I noticed the shadow. There was a cloud of darkness that surrounded the man, fitting him almost like a second skin. It was the opposite of an aura. The man was evil and he was here with evil intentions on his mind. My instinct told me he was here to harm the Palestinian Prime Minister.
Before I could act, a side door opened revealing a chapel off the main sanctuary. I recognized the man opening the door as one of the Prime Minister’s guards. He smiled when he saw me and started toward me, but his steps were cut short by the deafening sound of a gunshot as a red stain spread across his chest and he fell to the ground.
Pandemonium erupted in the sanctuary as the bearded man took advantage of the chaos, making a beeline for the open door. Acting on instinct, I reached down and removed my glock from the secret compartment within my prosthetic leg — a place no one would have thought to look.
“STOP!” I shouted, but the bearded man only quickened his pace, leaving me no choice in my mind. Not even stopping to think of the consequences to myself, let alone to international relations, I fired my weapon, bringing down the man who would have assassinated the Palestinian Prime Minister.
Then I heard Cliff shouting to me, “It’s not over!” and a vision unfolded in my mind. It was as if I was inside the small chapel looking down on the whole scene. The Prime Minister was surrounded by his bodyguards, all of whom had their automatic weapons drawn and aimed at the door — all except one, whose weapon was aimed directly at the Prime Minister’s back. It was as the vision faded that I knew the man with the beard was nothing more than a decoy. Mine was a race against time.
Turning my full attention to the chapel, I raced to the door, intending to take out the traitor before he could assassinate the Prime Minister, never stopping to think how it would look. I headed like a madman toward the Prime Minister, a glock in my hand, and took aim in the direction of what, for all the world, looked like the Prime Minister. I realized too late that, if anything, I was providing cover for the Prime Minister’s would-be assassin.
With no choice left me, I adjusted my aim and fired my gun as I heard the sound of automatic weapons exploding inside the small chapel. I saw the Prime Minister’s men with their own weapons drawn and then heard more than felt the bullets from their guns as they whizzed towards me.
At that point everything grew hazy — the chapel and the men all seemed to fade away. I was surrounded by blackness and ahead of me was the most brilliant light I’d ever seen. I sensed that Cliff waited for me there and I headed toward the light.
The author gratefully acknowledges the invaluable assistance of David of Hope in editing, Low Flyer in proofreading and Ed in beta reading my stories, as well as Gay Authors, Awesome Dude and Nifty for hosting them. © Altimexis 2012