Moral Imperative Read Online Free PDF

his, an old woman’s in the other. His people. Sharing in his grief.
    Father Paulos began. “I remember the first time I met Mikhail. He told me a Christian priest shouldn’t walk the streets…”
     
    Fifteen minutes later the service was over. Hasan cast the first handful of dirt onto each of the three graves. The others did the rest, expertly filling the holes with practiced skill. There had been too many deaths over the years, too many graves.
    Hasan watched as they worked. His tears were gone. His family in his heart. They were close by. He could feel their presence. Mikhail’s gnarled hands on his shoulder, Yazen smiling, holding a soccer ball under his arm. Sweet Dalir tugging his pants leg, trying to get his attention.
    Hasan closed his eyes and smiled, savoring the feeling, thanking God for the vision. The images floated away into the darkness and he opened his eyes.
    “What was that noise?” he whispered to Father Paulos.
    Everyone froze. In his past life, Hasan al-Mawsil was a thief, a gifted street urchin surviving off of his skills as a pickpocket and small time enforcer. His senses, honed from years of skirting the law, aided him now. The others knew to listen.
    “Quick, get the others and go, Father,” he said.
    Father Paulos looked at him and then nodded to his fellow priests. Each produced an American-made assault rifle from under their robes, hanging from tactical slings. Hasan had never seen them armed before. It seemed so out of place.
    “You take the others, Hasan. I will maintain the vigil,” said Father Paulos, handling his weapon as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
    “But, Father, they are dead and buried. Come with us. You are priests, not warriors. Let me stay,” pleaded Hasan, not wanting his friend to sacrifice himself for the sake of the gravesite. The others were moving, gently urged by the other priests.
    The fatherly head of the church smiled and placed his hand over Hasan’s heart. “There is much love in you, my son. Remember to look to God when you doubt, when all looks lost. He will guide your hand. Listen to Him.”
    “Father—”
    “Go. My brothers will be with you. There has been word from the Americans.”
    “The Americans?” Hasan asked, glancing over the priest’s shoulder. There was light in the distance. Muted shouts. The enemy was closing in.
    “Yes. Now go, Hasan.”
    There wasn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes, only the supreme confidence of a man who’d accepted his fate. Father Paulos turned, weapon in hand, and walked to meet the coming demons. Hasan said a prayer for the man who’d guided him to God. When others had said Hasan should be thrown out of the church, it was Father Paulos who’d defended him, taking him under his tutelage and showing him God’s word. Always patient. Always loving.
    Hasan took one last look at the priest’s fading form, then turned and followed the others.
     
    +++
     
    Father Paulos was an Iraqi by birth, but he’d seen much of the world in his youth. Raised in a wealthy family, he’d lived as a playboy might. He’d rebelled and taken his riches for granted. It wasn’t until his mother and father had been killed by a suicide bomber that he’d hit rock bottom. He sat for days in his London hotel room, drinking from an endless supply of room service liquor, his father’s pistol cradled in his lap. Suicide seemed like the only answer.
    On the third day of his binge there was a knock on the door. He’d answered it, surprised to find a young priest standing there with a piece of paper.
    “I’m sorry, is this the Granger suite?” asked the priest in English.
    “No,” he’d moved to close the door, but the priest stopped it with an outstretched hand.
    “I’m supposed to be performing the last rights for a gentlemen on this floor. You wouldn’t know where I might find him, would you?”
    “The Grangers live at the end of the hall,” Paulos had slurred, again trying to shut the door. Still the