Author Steven Clark Bradley

Steven Clark Bradley, Author of the hard-hitting novels, Patriot Acts & Nimrod Rising, presents Part Two of his expose on the conflict in the State of Israel, which he witnessed firsthand. The current conflict and the ultimate events of this war between the Jews and the Palestinians is a major theme of Nimrod Rising. Read and learn about the experiences that led Mr. Bradley to write these very important novels. With America confronted with a severe economic crisis, surrounded by potential enemies with a White House sending America into territory that may well change her fundamentally forever, with Iran ready to set the world ablaze and ready to embark on a nuclear strategy, it behooves us to know what is happening in some of the most entrenched hot spots in the world. Israel and the Palestinian Authority certainly rank near the top of that list. Read Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism and ask yourself if peace is even possible.

Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

The morning was as sunny and hot as the evening was cool and breezy, but the day started and the other ended the same way, with death. I had risen at 7:30 AM and went to contribute to my caffeine addiction. Though I found no coffee, at around 8:15 AM, no less than 15 minutes later, I saw ambulances and police vehicles racing down King David Street towards Gilo, on the road to Bethlehem. I had planned to go to Bethlehem at 11:00Am. I ran into the King David Hotel and learned of the deadly bus bombing that had just killed seven children and 12 adults. So, I hailed down a taxi and headed towards bedlam.


The sight was so much more devastating to see in person than anything one might see on TV. There was a certain charred smell in the air, and I knew what it was. It was hard to think that the blasted out bus was the scene where nineteen innocent souls who were destroyed, amongst whom were seven children had had their young lives cut short. It made me feel guilty to take pictures, but their story had to be told. They had awaken that morning and died before the afternoon in this attack which would prove to be the worst attack in Jerusalem in 40 years. Though I was refused entry at first into the scene, I was finally able to enter in from the left side of the blocked off crime scene. Bits of personal effects and clothing items were strewn everywhere. It all brought crashing home to me that so many had suffered so terribly right there.


The day after the terrible carnage of the suicide blast had left an indelible image burned into my mind, I spent a lot of energy and time trying absorb and understand the thoughts and emotions that flooded my mind. I was in Israel to write objectively and to explain both sides, but my angry and saddened mind kept telling me how much I hated the other side. I have four children. I have a family. I want them to outlive me! Such thoughts coursed through me and I had to get them into some type of perverse perspective in order to accomplish my task. So my whole morning was a day of trying to take in what I had seen the day before. There was a report that two bombers were in the new city. One was gone and the last one was a reportedly still out there. The population seemed convinced there would be a second bombing, soon. They proved how well the people of Israel had refined their sense of danger.


I was seated in the Rosemary café on King David Street for a bite to eat when I heard it all over again. The wailing sirens gave evidence all around that the angels of death and war had stuck again in the city of David. We got to the scene on the Northeast side of Jerusalem, which was almost in the West Bank, and I managed to get up close to the bus stop where the bomber had taken out his hatred on those who had never given him a reason to hate them. I saw a black colored vinyl bag on the ground next to the bus stop, and I did not have to ask what it was. Seven victims were claimed there. Ultimately, seven died in this blast and over two dozen were injured. When I was finally ordered out of the area, I walked past a soldier who was dressed in full fatigues and heavily armed. It was seriously and powerfully moving to witness such a toughened up man with tears flowing from his eyes. It was sure that this attack would not go unpunished. Two times in two days was unusual.
Is This Really The World You Knew As A Child?


I find it impossible to fathom how someone could be so out of hope and so full of hate that they could deliver death to such small and completely blameless victims. One soldier pleaded with me, "How can the people ever trust anyone again. Once they have killed your children, who is to be trusted?" This soldier's worn and bitter shoes, I did not want to wear.
In fact, children from both sides have been brutally killed. Children from both sides are growing up to hate each other and to distrust everyone around them. The only difference is that the Israeli children still have a solid family structure intact and a government to give them slightly more than a semblance of normality. The same cannot be said for Palestinian kids who have had all their security torn away from them, partly by Israel but also by their own leaders who have taken their people down the road of terrorism and death. Both sides love their children; both sides want the best for their children and both sides must do more to save their children, both physically and emotionally.


A part of humanity's future dies with each one that perishes, Jewish or Arab and new seeds of hatred take root with each blast. There could be no greater reason to find peace than to save the children. Though I had already begun to understand the Palestinian situation better, seeing these blasts only brought more resolve to me that there is no justification for such a crime against humanity and that such attacks only hurt the Palestinians' hopes. I had to get inside the Palestinians' heads to understand what could motivate them to do such acts.


In talking to many Palestinians about the deadly phenomenon of suicide bombing, I think I found the deadly recipe. As one Palestinian man at the Old city of Jerusalem put it, "How can we be equal partners or even equitable as adversaries with Israel? We do not have tanks or planes. The peace Israel wants makes us conquered, not liberated. When a man or woman has had their mother and father, perhaps her husband and children were destroyed by an invading nation, what have they left? They cannot work, go to school nor feed themselves. One can subsist in America. You have the laws and the institutions to help the sick and the hungry. On a good day in the West Bank, we are at subsistence level. When you get to the point when survival is worse than death, all you have left is your God, your stones and your body." Take this scenario and combine it with hatred and revenge and you have just produced a suicide bomber. I knew I would have to go to the West bank.


Probably the best thing that happened in Jerusalem was meeting two freelance journalists, Gregory Harms and Vicram Sura. We decided to work together on a trip to the West Bank. We planned the short trip to Ramallah and argued the finer points of the Palestinian issue. During the day I met the General Secretary of the Federation of International Journalists, Aidan White. He had just returned from the Gaza and was going to Ramallah. He gave me his card. The same evening, I contacted Mr. White and found him to be very helpful. He gave us the number of the President of the Palestinian Journalist Syndicate, Mr. Naim Toubasi. Having had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Aidan White and Naim Toubasi made all the difference in the journey, which followed.


Are You Ready For Nimrod Rising?




There were normally many of the small cramped minivans or shurups heading to Ramallah, but not this morning. There was nothing except taxis. The border had just been closed, which was a tale-tale sign that something was in the works for the Israeli army. We knew we still had a small window of opportunity to get into Ramallah and we at least had to try, though there were no guarantees about getting back out. Though we had never met Mr. Toubasi, he had said he would meet us, and he was our only hope to get a true picture of what had been the fate of Ramallah. We all three piled into a taxi and headed to the former western border of Jordan, now called the West Bank.

The ride to the capital of the Palestinian authority caused me to pay attention to my surroundings. I had already been to Iraq twice and I knew what that feeling in the pit of your stomach was all about. It told you that you had temporarily left your sphere of normality and security and that you were not quite sure of what could ensue and that my need to know had overtaken my requirement of safety.


The valleys of the Holy Land are breathtaking. They were the hosts of many biblical wars. The valley of Megiddo still waits for the final bloodletting at Armageddon. As we past in the taxi toward the Qualandiya checkpoint, the valley to my left changed quickly. In the valleys of Israel, you can see growing affluence and a stubborn insistence on truly possessing what the Jews regard as their biblical birthright. This is the amazing thing, considering that the Jewish state has been virtually at war since before the founding of the nation. I could tell that when we had left Israel and were in the West Bank. The buildings began to look older and there began to be signs of destruction and desertedness everywhere. Suddenly, we were out of the urban area of Jerusalem and in front of us was a line of Palestinians, lined up to cross over the massive checkpoint to their jobs and hopefully back to their families in the evening.


Though the Palestinians wait at this massive checkpoint without violence, as they seek to carry on their daily lives by enduring what they regard as humiliation, the deep-seated hatred and anger of the men and women as they dealt with overheated and crying children was pervasive. There are no accommodations for women and children, an idea which seemed far too thoughtful and merciful according to the Jewish soldiers I talked to. After about one hour, I finally was able to pass. I immediately was confronted with the ravages of a war of incursion by the Israelis responding to attacks of Palestinian suicide bombers on the lives of the innocents in Israel. Buildings were demolished all around me with snipers having been spotted and heard from the hillside homes on my left and right. The sun was hot and shots were fired and we stood out in the midst of the war between Isaac and Ishmael.

Nimrod Rising In Depth





Excerpt From Nimrod Rising!

Domes and Demons

September 15, 2020

The fireplace was ablaze with swirling orange and yellow flames. The fire was accented with periodic pops and crackles from the cinders that were characteristic of the smoldering flames that had engulfed the world and had left it in ashes. One would have thought that Manassa Dormin had been worried about his hold on power, but confusion and mayhem was his forte! He was a master at consolidation and collision of forces. He had used and played his moves faultlessly and had now sent previous allies against each other. As he sat in his lavish office in his new capitol, in New Babylon, he was enjoying all that he had accomplished. He had learned that tearing down a world was in some ways more difficult than building one.


Dormin had to completely obliterate the people’s trust in men or women to protect them from terror. The coalition he had put together between
Islamic terrorist and militia crazies had been so effective in bringing the population of the world into a form of rage that made the breakdown of all their cultural and political traditions easy to destroy. Now, Dormin was on the verge of bringing the mayhem into the Middle East, in a manner that it had never been seen before. Dormin had already taken steps towards Israel, and it had torn apart his happy group of killers. The militia types had supported his moves, but his flimsy Muslim alliance with the American breed of terrorist had immediately shredded their former agreements and Hamid Assad’s faithful turned against the Supreme Consort.


Dormin had cajoled, pleaded, almost begged. After there was no putting humpty-dumpty back together again, he played the part of a grieved leader well. He went home and rejoiced in his new move towards the total desolation that would soon appear. He would let the house of cards completely fall. In fact tonight, the night was quiet, but it would not be for long. Dormin sat in his the huge office that was more than any man could need; especially in the days that now found death on the streets and close at hand in homes across the world. The mahogany mantelpiece, the Corinthian leather sofa and armchairs and the wine that the leader of the enslaved world was twirling in his glass mocked the destruction that he was shielded from. He sat looking deeply into the dancing flames in the fireplace and then peered longingly down into the wine that shimmered in its glass. It reminded him so much of the power he craved and had amassed for himself and for the master. He was not seated there to find a way of keeping his conscience at bay, for he possessed nothing even close to producing some kind of emotion for the dead or soon to be so. His desire for the dead was to rid his eyes of their presence and to see the living walk headlong into a voluntary abyss of death.


Dormin sat in his seat and recalled it all so delicately. He had even amazed himself, tonight, as he reflected on where he had been, where he was going and where he would be when the goal of divine knowledge and longevity would be his and his master’s. He looked and saw the flames begin to dance to his presence. The flames looked like nymphs dancing to his name and he
could hear their voices singing, “The forest bows to your wishes, the clouds release their voices and tears on your command and you are the darkness that closes the light to every seeing soul!”


He closed his eyes and took it all in and knew somehow that it would not last, but he refused to listen to the other voices that warned him that it was all simply but a moment in time that would not compare to an eternity in torment unless he could get Shepard, his son to cooperate. He would worry about that later. Tonight he would relish an act that would set the last days of the puny human tragedy into play! It had taken far too long. He knew that the history of man was so short in comparison to that of the world of his master’s realm that had endured before time had been conceived. So, Manassa Dormin would claim this moment. It had been such a great distance from there to here.


It had started so innocently. There had never been a brute or tyrant who had contemplated such a course the first time they had sucked on its mother’s breast. Nevertheless, life started with immediate all-consuming and demanding hunger! His had commenced no differently, and it had simply not subsided, as it should have. It had changed and the lust and appetites had deepened, evolved, or devolved, however one interprets the lust for power. Man is born with dependence on the host, but he becomes wise fast in the various ways of getting what he wants, when he wants it. The baby screams, kicks his legs into the air, craps in his pants and then demands it be changed. Men and women use guns and knives to get virtually the same things by much more brutal instinctive means, but comfort and the power to achieve it and maintain it was all that mattered anyway. He, like all others, grew up and preferred to do some things for himself. Dormin simply did not know how to give up. He was addicted to thinking about himself and taking whatever he wanted. And now he could do just that! He possessed it all and there was no disputing that such power was powerful stuff.


Dormin sat in his plush armchair and looked lovingly into his glass of the last of the best Bordeaux, the last that had been produced before the great fall, and that only he possessed. He took the remote and pressed a button that caused the wall in front of him to slide to the left, revealing a huge array of screens. He pressed another button and they all came to life. All the channels he had allowed to continue to broadcast were there before his eyes. There was no volume. He did not need it and did not want to hear the rubbish that was being spewed to those who still had the ability to have a signal to the blank tube that reposed quietly in most homes. He did not need to be told what was going to take place, because he knew already. He had willed it to be so, and it would light the fuse to the Middle Eastern powder keg!


A talking head mutely moved his lips on CNN. A beautiful woman on MSNBC accentuated her words with the luscious lips of a ripe fruit that said, forget the news, aren’t I gorgeous? The Fox
News channel had refused to play the game and had been closed years before since they had remained unafraid. He just sat and waited.

Power was a lot like wine, to Manassa Dormin. The color was red like blood and it glistened when it moved around in the light. Like the rich color, also power was similar to the taste of good, aged wine. It was a bitter and sweet taste that burned the tongue slightly, but went down and had an acquired taste all its own. The slight pain that the bite of the bittersweet grapes produced somehow demanded that one take more after having tried it just once, even though the first drink had not tasted so good. It was like flying and feeling queasy but eventually going so high that one would never come back down! Power was lustful like the deep rich texture of the liquid that he now was admiring and that, symbolically, said he had something that few, if any, had ever had before! Dormin was in love with power, the power to give life and to take it at will, depending on how he felt, at a given moment. Power was like wine, because it could be denied to the ones desiring it and it could be given in such great quantities that the indulger became inebriated with its allure, only to be liquidated freely because of being too enamored with oneself to realize that they were but pawns on the checkered board of war! Yet, tonight was Manassa Dormin’s, not that every single other day was not. Nonetheless, tonight would light up the world and kill so many more weak and unfaithful humans. The land belonged to his master. Tonight it would all be blown to Tenebre and he would find his ticket into the holy land. It took death to introduce death. What he had prescribed, ordered and would carry out tonight would culminate in meeting Elyon on the great field of battle.


Dormin picked up his secure phone. He pressed a special code and when the voice spoke at the other end. ‘Dome and rocks tumble together!’ He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair and relished the ability to do as he pleased. His self appreciation was interrupted by a voice behind him.

“Hello Father.”

“Not now boy, I don’t have time for your arguments and snide remarks! I’ve got a war to get started here!” “Who am I?” Shepard asked. “Who are you? Are you really my father? Whatever happened to you?”


Manassa Dormin looked up and took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He rose to his feet. In spite of himself he was filled with a dilemma. He really felt a twinge of something that he thought was dead forever. It was blood, kinship. He knew that. This time, it was not the blood of Nimrod but the blood that he and Shepard shared together. “Come on in Shepard. I apologize. I have been so disappointed in you, but you are indeed my son, and I cannot deny that and it pains me to feel things such as kinship when I have worked so hard to rid myself of human affection.”


Shepard walked into the office and looked around at the books, the symbols of power and the various symbols of the origin of his power. He looked at the large group of screens in front of Dormin. There were newscasts, but one of them was focused directly on a close-up shot of the
Dome of the Rock Mosque in Jerusalem. There were no voices, just the sounds of cars passing on the streets around the mosque and passersby.


“Shepard, there is a new world coming, and it will not be ruled by those who took our power from us. It is only a short time now.” Dormin’s phone rang. “Excuse me Shepard.”


Shepard watched the screens and could see what was happening. He saw ten men in suits and carrying briefcases walking up to the mosque. Shepard put all his attention on the screen now.
“No! You wouldn’t do that!” “Do what? Oh, that? As we speak my boy, as we speak!”


“Sorry…” Dormin said to the person on the other end of the line. “Yes, go to phase two.”
Dormin turned back towards Shepard. “Yes my man, it is time to set the powder keg ablaze, my boy! We will then come to Israel’s aide and build a temple fit for a Devil! Ha-Ha, yes, it will bring about the final battle that will defeat the world, break the will of Elyon’s promise and take us to the day when we will stand before the great Tree of Life and read the scroll and take our rightful place next to the master while he transforms this broken and battered world into his own liking, having full power, complete knowledge and ready to do battle against the Watchers right up to the gates of Mount Elyon!”


“Dear old Dad, ever the great dreamer. You are perfectly mad! How can you expect to defeat your own maker! It is madness, I tell you!” Dormin motioned toward the screen. “And this…is this madness? Of course it is and it is lovely to behold! Man killing man! The master has perfected the tradition and this is his grand crescendo!”


Shepard watched the screen and saw the men taking off two manholes in the back of the mosque and one behind the Wailing Wall. It was 11:47 PM.

The commander took his radio and hit the orange button on the side. It told all the other operatives that the show would go on. He and each of the select group of special ops quietly slid into a manhole, and then pulled the cover back in place. They had all spent a lot of time with their children before flying to Israel from the former French, Italian, Japanese and Russian states with visas as businessmen on a trip to, ‘The Support the Jewish State’ conference. The night before, they had made passionate love to their wives and had taken out the best insurance policies. They had kissed their kids many times, before the day of their trip arrived, and then they boarded their planes and never looked back. Tonight would be their last night alive.



The commander gave the green light to enable their packages and to go to their designated locations. Each operative programmed their devices and walked to their locations. With handheld GPS devices that guided their ways underground and around the Dome, each walked briskly to the proper place. It was 11:54 PM, once they got to where they were to stay and radio the commander. Two went to the underground area at the entrance of the mosque. Now 11:55 PM, two others were seated with programmed devices at the back of the mosque. At 11:57 PM, two more were planted on the left side. Two were attached on the right side of the sacred house at 11:58 PM. The last two were still in their suits and walking at the entrance above ground at 11:59.

Shepard looked so deeply at Dormin that he felt as if his own eyes would explode! “That’s better! Now it is time for a bit of…” Shepard held out his right arm with his hand shaped as though he was squeezing Dormin’s neck! He began closing his fingers together and Dormin could no longer talk!


“Wha wha ar yo doing? Dormin strained to get out the words and fell to his knees. Shepard walked over close to Dormin and looked down at him still holding him in his grip. “You evil bastard!” Shepard screamed. “I am nothing like you! I could kill you now…” Dormin was turning red and fell to the floor! “But I know I would simply be giving into the same evil voice you cannot refuse! I will never end up as heartless as you are! I have found a greater force than you or your master, and I will not be your key, your servant or your killer!”


Dormin thought he was going to die. Abaddon was writhing in pain as well. Finally, the demon leapt out of Dormin’s body. Dormin’s body fell limp and ceased to move. Abaddon ran over to Shepard to take him in his claws but Shepard turned his grip on the demonic beast and the huge demon fell to the floor and kicked its feet and screamed out curses against Elyon! He held the beast and directed it back to Dormin and the beast slithered back inside the dead body. Dormin started trying to breath again.


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