The Europa Conspiracy

by Tim LaHaye

  “Michael, you’ve always been good at breaking codes and solving mysteries. I need your help with the writing on the dollar bill.”

  “I’ll do my best. What do you see?”

  “As you look at the front of the bill, you see a picture of George Washington. To his right there’s a green seal. Inside of the seal is a shield. At the top of the shield is a set of scales, and at the bottom is a key. Someone has circled the key in pen. In the open space next to the seal, someone has drawn a crescent moon pointing downward. There are what look like three talons coming off the points of the crescent moon. And below the moon are two pyramids forming a six-pointed star. It is exactly the same as the tattoo on the Arab who fell into the alley.”

  “It sounds like Talon is again involved in this.”

  “That’s why I called you, Michael. Below the green seal are three letters—R D D,” Abrams continued.

  “Hmmm. That doesn’t ring any bells yet, Levi,” Murphy mused.

  “On the left side of Washington is a black seal with the letter ‘L’ in the center. Above the seal is the printed statement: THIS NOTE IS LEGAL TENDER FOR ALL DEBTS, PUBLIC AND PRIVATE. In between the printed statement and the black seal is someone’s name: Lenni Lenape, with Lenni spelled L-E-N-N-I.”

  “I must still be asleep, Levi. This isn’t making any sense.”

  “I’ve had this name run through all our sources and through Interpol. We’ve come up empty I called them just before calling you.”

  “Well, let’s start with the obvious, Levi. The key is circled. It probably means that this dollar bill is the key or carrier of a coded message. The name of the person is another clue.”

  “Of course, Michael. We’ve gotten that far. We’re stuck on this person Lenni Lenape. Who is he, and what’s his relationship to these Arabs in Texas?”

  Murphy ran his fingers through his hair. He got out of bed and began to pace. “That name sounds familiar, Levi. Lenni is a common name, but the spelling you gave isn’t, and Lenape is unusual.”

  “We can’t find any Lenni Lenape who has done anything wrong or has been associated with any terrorist groups.”

  “Levi!” Murphy exclaimed. “I just remembered my history lessons. Lenni Lenape is not a person, it’s a group of people.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Lenni Lenape is the name of a tribe of American Indians. They lived in the wooded areas around Delaware, New Jersey, and New York. They were one of the most civilized and advanced Indian tribes in the United States. The Algonquin Indians called the Lenni Lenape ‘Grandfathers’ because they had been in the area for such a long time.”

  “But what does that have to do with the dollar bill?”

  “I don’t know for sure, Levi, but I can only make a guess. The Lenni Lenape Indians had a large encampment on the top of the New Jersey Palisades. It overlooked the Hudson River.”

  “I’m sorry, Michael, but you’re not making any sense. The Lenni Lenape were Indians in New Jersey?”

  “Hold on, I’m coming to it. The site of the original Lenni Lenape encampment is now called Fort Lee. It is from Fort Lee on top of the Palisades that you begin to cross the George Washington Bridge. You travel on highway 1-95 from New Jersey to Washington Heights in Upper Manhattan.”

  “That’s it! That’s it, Michael. The George Washington Bridge! It must be their target!”

  “That would be a terrible target for us! It’s one of the busiest bridges in the world. Three hundred thousand vehicles cross the span a day. It’s the only fourteen-lane suspension bridge ever built, and it’s the thirteenth longest main suspension bridge in the world. It’s a National Historic Civil Engineering Landmark.”

  “I knew you could do it, Michael,” Abrams exclaimed. “I need to do some more checking and then we’ll pass the information on to all of the agencies involved with homeland security. Go back to bed and try and get some sleep.”

  “Thanks a lot, Levi. You didn’t exactly give me a sleeping pill.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  DAVID LOOKED at Abrams when he finished talking with Murphy. “I got part of the conversation. You think the terrorists may be planning to attack the George Washington Bridge. Do you have any idea how or when?”

  “That’s still a mystery. The four Arabs in Presidio were part of the plan. Only one of them has escaped. I don’t know how this will affect their operation.”

  “What did Murphy say the three letters under the green seal mean?”

  “Oh, David! We got so caught up in the bridge scenario that we didn’t pursue it. ‘R D D.’ I wonder if they’re a person’s initials?”

  “Well, Lenni Lenape wasn’t a person. Maybe the letters stand for something else?” David said thoughtfully.

  “Let’s try to put it together. We’ve got the George Washington Bridge starting at Fort Lee and moving toward Manhattan. The operation is being run by Talon and his Arab friends who have tattoos on their necks of a crescent and a star. Their goal is to do something to the bridge.”

  “Maybe the ‘R D D’ is the something that they’re going to do?”

  “It could be. Let’s start with the R. ‘R’ for rapid, or radio, or radical, or raid, or reconnaissance, or retribution, or rifle, or revenge, or—”

  “How about radiation?” David put in.

  “Now you’re talking about a really bad ‘R’ word.”

  “Do you think they might have a nuclear device?”

  “Well, we know they had a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. That starts with ‘R.’ Oh, no!”

  “What?”

  “I wonder if they might be going for a dirty bomb? They’re called radiological dispersion devices, you know,” Abrams said.

  “Levi, I’ve been with Mossad for years and I still don’t understand how a dirty bomb is different from a regular nuclear weapon.”

  “Well, David, dirty bombs aren’t nuclear weapons. Let me try to explain,” Abrams said. “A thermonuclear device, like an atom bomb, does tremendous damage. When it explodes it destroys buildings, equipment, and people with a massive fireball and shockwave of heat and pressure that levels everything for more than a mile in each direction. The blast creates radiation that can spread over the city. People in the vicinity of the bomb blast will be annihilated. Those who are a little farther away can be burned with the radiation; they will linger longer, depending on how close they were to the blast.”

  “You mean it will level an entire city like Hiroshima, Japan, in World War II?” David asked.

  “Precisely.” Abrams nodded. “The United States and Israel have been worrying about portable nuclear devices—suitcase nukes. They can be fit into a regular suitcase. They are filled with a single mass of plutonium or U-233. A single suitcase nuke could cause a significant explosion ranging from ten to twenty tons.

  “The next wonder of war is called the neutron bomb, or ERW, for enhanced radiation weapon. It’s a little different from the thermonuclear bomb. It is detonated above the battlefield or city being attacked. The central destructive blast is confined to a few hundred yards. However, a massive wave of radiation is sent out from the blast into a much larger area. It kills any living being inside of tanks or buildings without destroying buildings or equipment. The radiation from a thermonuclear bomb can last for a long, long time, but the radiation from the neutron bomb quickly dissipates. It kills the warriors but doesn’t damage a country’s infrastructure.”

  “It sounds like the weapon of choice to use in the future,” David said in a worried voice.

  “I’m afraid it might be. President Jimmy Carter halted the production of neutron devices in 1978. Production later resumed in 1981. It’s believed that the Chinese stole the bomb secrets from the United States and exploded their own neutron bomb as early as 1986.”

  “What does all this have to do with dirty bombs?” David asked.

  “Well, I have to lay a foundation so that you’ll understand. One more caveat before I jump to the dirty bomb. Have you hea
rd about ‘red mercury’?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Is it a bomb?”

  “Not exactly. It’s a material called antimony oxide. It’s a reddish, dark brown, or purple powder used in combination with heavy hydrogen as a fuel. Uranium or plutonium is used with conventional thermonuclear bombs. But red mercury is a more efficient and cheaper way to make a neutron bomb. It doubles the nuclear yield, with a great reduction in the weight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that it’s possible to make a neutron-type bomb as small as a golf ball. Of course, the initial blast will be smaller, but the radiation area will be pretty large. The Russians developed red mercury. According to Yevgeny Primakov, chief of Russia’s External Intelligence Service, red mercury sells for $350,000 a kilo on the open market. The sensors used today in the United States can’t detect this type of handheld nuclear weapon.”

  “So what is special about a dirty bomb?”

  “It’s different because it’s not triggered by a nuclear explosion, David,” Abrams explained. “It uses conventional explosives, like dynamite or fertilizer, combined with radioactive material. The explosion itself is not as big as a nuclear blast. In fact, it will only be as big as the amount of explosives used. However, it still spreads radiation all over the place, and this type of radiation doesn’t dissipate quickly. It lasts as long as several years and can extend to decades.”

  “And terrorists prefer this type of weapon?” David asked.

  “Yes, for several reasons. First, dirty bombs are easy to make. Second, the radioactive material for such bombs can be found in most hospitals, universities, even food processing plants! Third, these bombs strike terror in the heart of the general public. People are terrified by the thought of being exposed to radiation. And, last, the long-lasting radioactive material can attach to concrete, metal, what have you. If a city was contaminated by a dirty bomb, many buildings would have to be demolished.”

  “So dirty bombs are more like weapons of mass disruption than mass destruction,” David concluded.

  “Well, they’re both. The explosives destroy and the radiation disrupts. If you ask me, that’s what the terrorists are going to use—a dirty bomb!” Abrams said seriously.

  FORTY

  ALVENA SMIDT FINISHED shopping in her favorite local delicatessen after work. She collected her bundles from Carl, the owner, said good night, and strode outside. It was after nine, and not many people were out on the chilly streets. Smidt was enjoying the night air when she saw a man she recognized walking in her direction. As he got very close she spoke.

  “Excuse me. Aren’t you the man from Cape Town?” Smidt asked, excited.

  Talon looked up and pretended to be surprised. “Why, yes.”

  “Do you remember me? I’m Alvena Smidt, the librarian. We met today. You were looking for some of your friends. Did you find them? I certainly hope so. I talked with them and they seem like such a nice couple. What are you doing in this neighborhood?”

  “I was out visiting some friends. Do you live around here?”

  “Yes. Just two blocks in the direction you were coming from.”

  “A lovely woman like yourself shouldn’t be walking the streets alone at this time of night. It might be dangerous.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. I just got off work. I’ve lived here for several years, and it’s very safe.”

  “Nevertheless, would you allow me to carry your bag and escort you to your home?”

  “Why … I… I guess so. That would be very kind.”

  “I don’t mind that in the least. I always enjoy an evening stroll,” Talon said as he took the bag from Smidt’s arms.

  It only took them a few minutes to arrive at her apartment. “Well, here we are,” she said. “Thank you so very much. It was certainly a surprise to meet you a second time.” She was hoping it wouldn’t be the last time the two would meet.

  “It was my pleasure. Say, would you happen to know if there are any restaurants open now nearby? I’d like a cup of hot tea before going to bed.”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Alvena Smidt said, frowning. “But I’d be happy to make some tea for you. I live on the fifth floor. I also have some wonderful chocolate éclairs right here.” She pointed to the bag Talon held for her.

  “I wouldn’t want to impose on your kindness,” he said seriously.

  “Oh, it would be my pleasure,” Smidt exclaimed.

  Talon wandered around the living room looking at pictures while Smidt prepared the tea and éclairs. When she came out of the kitchen, Talon had removed his coat. They sat and chatted over the tea. She thought it was strange that he had left his gloves on. His hands must be cold.

  “I must be going now,” Talon said, rising and putting on his coat. “That was most kind of you.”

  “Well, I’m happy that you were in the area. I enjoyed your company. Sometimes it’s a little lonely in the evenings. Watching television is not quite like having a stimulating conversation … don’t you think?”

  “My thought precisely.”

  Smidt walked Talon to the door. “Thank you for coming up.”

  “Oh, it was my pleasure more than you know.” With that, Talon’s arms shot out and his hands clasped her throat, his thumbs slowly increasing their pressure on her larynx. He enjoyed looking at his victims as they died.

  “I wouldn’t want you to tell anyone that you had met me, Alvena. My description and where I come from must remain our little secret. I just can’t stand loose ends.”

  Alvena Smidt’s eyes were wide. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. He was a gentleman—a gentleman from her native land! She tried to squirm free but he was too strong. Her whole body was desperate for air. The pain in her throat was unbearable. She could feel herself drifting into unconsciousness. The last thing she saw was a sinister smile.

  Talon held on until he was confident she was dead. Then he allowed her body to slump to the floor. He strode over to her handbag, removed all the money and credit cards, and dumped the contents on the floor. Then he opened all of the cupboards, drawers, and closets, and tossed things around, trying to make it look like a robbery.

  Before he left he double-checked the apartment. He had forgotten one thing. Hurriedly he washed his teacup and the éclair plate and put them away. He wanted it to appear that she was alone.

  Just before he closed the door, he took one more look at Smidt. I never did like big polka dots.

  FORTY-ONE

  MURPHY’S CELL PHONE began to play a musical tune. He held on to the steering wheel with his left hand as he reached over, picked the phone up, and flipped it open. “Murphy here.”

  “Michael! Where are you right now?” Abrams exclaimed.

  “Right now I’m driving out of the parking lot at LaGuardia Airport. I just dropped Isis off. She had an early flight back to Washington. I decided to drive back to Raleigh. I need some alone time to think. Why?”

  “We’ve just gotten some news about the terrorists. We think they’re going to attempt to blow up the George Washington Bridge today.”

  “Today! I’m only about seven miles from the bridge.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Michael. I was hoping you were still in the area. I’m still in Presidio. Can you help us?”

  “Of course.”

  “Michael,” Abrams said seriously, “if something goes wrong… you could lose your life.”

  “I’ve made my peace with God, Levi. If He wants to take me, I’m ready. I’ve just turned north onto 1-278. The traffic is already terrible. Fill me in on the details. We need to do everything in our power to stop them.”

  “One of our operatives caught the terrorist that shot Jacob. He persuaded him to cooperate… if you know what I mean. Anyway, we believe some members of one of the sleeper cells are transporting two bombs to the bridge.”

  “Two bombs?”

  “Yes, we think they’re going to attempt to enter from the New Jersey side on both the top and the bott
om levels of the bridge. An explosion like that could rip the bridge apart in the center.”

  “Do you have any idea when it’s supposed to happen?”

  “We got the impression from the Arab that it was probably going to happen during the early-morning rush hour. You’re already in it.”

  “How can I help?”

  “We discovered that the terrorists have rented two Rapid U-Haul trucks. You know, the yellow trucks with the big blue arrow on the side pointing toward the cab, with the large red letters ‘Rapid U-Haul.’”

  “I know them.”

  “Well, if you see one entering or on the bridge, it could be one of them. Michael, try to get there as fast as you can. I’ll call back with an update. Good luck.”

  Murphy’s tension mounted as he attempted to weave in and out of traffic. Soon there was no way to get around the cars ahead. He was locked in.

  The cars reminded him of snails inching their way toward possible death. Murphy wanted to yell at the people to get out of his way He could feel his frustration and impatience level rising. His emotions were close to the explosion point.

  He began to pray.

  Norm Huffman and Jim Daniels both came from a long line of law enforcement officers and had become the best of friends. Both of their fathers had been on the New York Police Department, as had their grandfathers. Police work seemed to run in their families. Many of their relatives were on the force, and those who were not policemen became firemen.

  After 9/11, their families were concerned about their safety. They were close to retirement, and their wives were begging them to take a less dangerous job. They too felt that they needed a break after years of stress. It was a dangerous business arresting felons, dodging crazy drivers, and handling emergency situations. The events of 9/11 had been the worst disaster they’d ever been through. They had both lost friends and relatives. That deep hurt was almost unbearable. So when they heard about jobs providing security for the George Washington Bridge, they both applied.