by Greg Isle
"That's why I wanted you. I need to go there."
Rachel looked at me in astonishment. I could almost read her mind. What could I possibly want from the Mossad, Israel's ruthless intelligence service?
"You got money?" asked the driver.
"How does a hundred dollars American sound?"
"I see better than I hear."
Rachel got out the money.
The driver nodded. "Get in."
I hadn't even got the back door closed when he threw the car into gear and roared away from the curb.
White Sands
Geli knew she was watching the old man die. She desperately needed a cigarette. Despite the antiseptic bite of the air, there was an odor of death in the room. She couldn't define it, but she knew it well. She'd smelled it in field hospitals and other, darker places. Perhaps evolution had sensitized the human olfactory system to the scent of approaching death. In a world of communicable diseases, it would certainly be a survival advantage. Geli had once smelled her own face burning, so she had no illusions about mortality. But witnessing Godin's final struggle was getting to her in a way she had not expected.
There were periods when he couldn't swallow, though he still spoke fairly well. He'd been talking wistfully about his dead wife, as he might to a daughter. Geli wasn't sure how to handle this kind of intimacy. From her third birthday onward, her father had treated her like a military draftee. Horst Bauer's idea of a heart-to-heart talk was sitting down together to make a daily timetable. She put up with this until adolescence. Then open warfare broke out in the Bauer house. When Geli began to display a sexual adventurousness similar to her father's, the general lost all control. She knew that at some primal level, he wanted her sexually, and that gave her power over him. She paraded in front of him half-dressed, flirted shamelessly with his fellow officers—men twice her age—and seduced her psychiatrists. The resulting beatings only reinforced her will to fight.
Geli was sixteen when she discovered her father had a mistress—several, in fact—and finally solved the mystery of her mother. Eighteen years of infidelity and violence had turned a loving woman into a pathetic shell of her former self, a lost soul who lived only for her next drink. When Geli confronted the general about this, he looked her in the eye and told her she'd discovered the weakness of strong men. Men of great capacities required more than one woman to keep their passions at bay, and the sooner she accepted that truth, the better off she would be. That argument ended as so many had, with a beating.
Yet when Geli arrived at university, she found that her father's words seemed to hold true for strong women as well. No man could satisfy her lust for intense experience for long. The day she graduated—with double majors in Arabic and economics—she went to a shopping mall recruiting station and enlisted in the army as a private.
Nothing could have enraged her father more. With that single act Geli had rejected all his power and influence, embarrassed him before his fellow West Pointers, and followed in his footsteps. The general began to drink heavily and entered a period of instability that quickly culminated with his wife's suicide. Geli had never known what finally broke her mother's spirit. One more mistress? One too many full-fisted blows? But she never forgave her father for it.
By contrast, Peter Godin had lived faithfully with his wife for forty-seven years, even though the union had produced no children. As the old man rambled on about a trip he had taken to Japan, Geli thought of Skow and his plan to blame Godin for Andrew Fielding's death.
"Sir?" she said, interrupting the old man's reverie.
Godin looked up, his blue eyes apologetic. "I've been running on, haven't I? I'm sorry, Geli. It keeps my mind off the pain."
"It's not that. I want to tell you something."
"Yes?"
"Don't trust John Skow. He's the one who put Nara up to killing you. Skow thinks Trinity is going to fail, and he's been planning to blame it on you."
Godin smiled distantly. "I know that. I'm sure your father is part of the same plan."
"Then why don't you do something about it?"
"When the computer reaches Trinity state, they'll be powerless. Until then, I have you to protect me."
"But if you don't trust them, why did you use them?"
"Because they're predictable. Even in their betrayals. Their greed makes them so. That's the reality of the human animal."
"What about me? Why do you trust me to protect you? Because you pay me well?"
"No. I've watched you for two years now. I know you hate your father, and I know why. I know what you did in Iraq. You don't shrink from difficult jobs, and you've never betrayed your uniform—unlike your father. I also know that you admire me. We're kindred spirits, you and I. I have no daughter, and in a way, you have no father. And my gut tells me that if General Bauer walked in here to kill me, you'd stop him with a bullet."
Geli wondered if this was true. "But why hire both of us?"
"When Horst told me about you, I had a feeling he was trying to patch things up with you. I was wrong."
Her hand flew to her pistol. The Bubble's hatch had popped open with a hiss of escaping air. John Skow walked in wearing an immaculate suit, every hair in place. He didn't look like a man worried about his future.
"Hello, Geli," he said.
Godin's blue eyes tracked the NSA man across the room. "Search him."
Geli threw Skow against the Plexiglas wall and searched him from head to toe. He was clean.
"Well, that was fun," Skow said. "Can I do you now?"
She wondered what kind of game Skow was playing. He would not be here if the cards were not stacked in his favor.
"Hello, Peter," he said. "We have something of a situation on our hands. Tennant has gone public."
Godin's face went into spasm. It was difficult to watch, but when the pain subsided, the drooping cheek had regained its tone. He fixed Skow with a gaze of electrifying intensity.
"What did Tennant do?"
"He escaped from Hadassah, went to a public computer, and sent a letter to the top computer facilities in the world. He told them all about Trinity. Fielding's death, the attempts on his life, everything."
Godin closed his eyes. "The technology?"
"He revealed enough to convince the world that he's telling the truth. Enough to put countries like Japan within three years of their own Trinity computer. He told them about this facility. I have no idea how he found out about White Sands. Probably from Fielding."
Godin sighed deeply. "I handled Tennant wrong. I should have talked to him . . . reasoned with him."
Skow edged closer to the bed. Geli kept her hand on her pistol. She could put two slugs in Skow's back before the NSA man closed the distance to Godin.
"We're in a difficult spot, Peter. Here's what I suggest—"
"To hell with what you suggest," Godin muttered, struggling upright in the bed. "You've treated me like a fool from the beginning, but you're about to find out how wrong you are."
Godin picked up the phone beside his bed and pressed a single button.
"Who are you calling?" Skow asked, his face still confident.
"You'll see. Hello? This is Peter Godin. I need to speak to the president. It's a matter of national security. . . . What's that? . . . The code is seven three four nine four zero two. Yes, I'll wait."
Skow paled. "Peter—"
"Shut up." Godin glanced at Geli, then spoke in a powerful voice. "Mr. President, this is Peter Godin speaking."
Geli had never heard such authority before. Her father's fabled command presence was as nothing compared to it. Godin had announced his identity to the commander in chief as if saying, Mr. President, this is Albert Einstein speaking.
Godin listened for a few moments, then began a detailed explanation of why he had built the White Sands facility. Over a year ago, he said, he had become aware of serious security concerns in North Carolina. Someone inside Trinity was sabotaging computer code and possibly selling secrets to a foreign po
wer. Rather than bring in "insecure agencies" such as the FBI and CIA—which would slow the project and further compromise its security—Godin had used his own money and connections to set up a secure research site. He had initially trusted John Skow to investigate the threat, but he now believed that Skow had been part of the problem from the beginning.
The president asked more questions, and Godin answered with absolute confidence. To his knowledge, Andrew Fielding had died of natural causes, but foul play could not be ruled out. David Tennant had become unhinged after Fielding's death and was suffering from psychosis possibly induced by the Trinity MRI machine. Everything humanly possible would be done to help Tennant regain his health. Before more questions could be raised, Godin informed the president that Trinity was less than twelve hours from completion, and that all data indicated the computer would not only meet but surpass all expectations as to weapons and intelligence applications. This altered the conversation completely.
Fielding, Tennant, and the existence of White Sands receded into the background as Godin promised undreamed-of power to the man who'd had the wisdom and courage to fund such a strategically important project. Godin appeared quite relaxed until the end of the conversation, when he went rigid and concluded with a curt, "Yes, sir, of course. I understand. I'll do that immediately."
He handed the phone to Geli, his eyes on Skow. "Are you surprised I could do that? I've been dealing with presidents on a first-name basis since LBJ."
"What did Matthews say at the end?" Skow whispered.
"He asked that in the interest of allaying the concerns of the American public, I temporarily shut down all operations."
"He's worried about the media."
"Ewan McCaskell is on his way here now. They're setting up an emergency oversight group. The Senate Select Committee on Intelligence."
"What are you going to do?" Skow asked.
Godin flicked his hand as if to swat a fly, then looked at the NSA man with unalloyed hatred. "Geli, if this parasite moves without my permission, kill him."
The blood left Skow's face.
"This is what you're going to do," Godin said, "Go to the airstrip. General Bauer should be arriving at any moment."
A chill raced up Geli's back.
"Surely you've figured that out," Godin said. "Horst would have panicked the moment Tennant went public. He probably called the White House five minutes later and told them I'd duped him into providing this facility. His next move will be to come here and secure the computer. The president may even have ordered him to do it."
"What do you want me to tell him?" Skow asked.
"That any attempt to interfere with the Trinity prototype will result in retaliation on an unimaginable scale."
Skow's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Peter?"
"Just remind the general of something he should know very well by now."
"What's that?"
"I never bluff."
Skow cut his eyes at Geli, then at her pistol.
"Get out," Godin rasped.
Skow turned and left the Bubble.
"Why are you letting him go?" Geli asked. "At least let me lock him in an office."
"There's nothing he can do now."
"Maybe not alone. But with my father?"
Godin shook his head as though the time for trivial concerns had passed. "Get me Levin in Containment."
Geli made the call, then held the phone up to the old man's face.
"Levin?" said Godin. "Listen to me. In nomini patri, et filii, et spiritus sancti."
Geli could faintly hear the other end of the conversation.
"Are you sure, sir?" asked Levin. "Fielding's model is only at eighty-one percent."
"My model will have to solve the final algorithms," Godin said.
There was a pause. "Is this the end?"
Godin's gray lips hardly moved. "Not yet. But we may not speak in this way again. You should prepare for visitors."
"We have. I heard some soldiers talking outside Containment. They said the general is inbound."
Geli's insides went cold.
Godin coughed into the phone. "Remember . . . there's no end for me now. The end is the beginning."
"It's been a privilege, sir. And I'll be there for you when Trinity state is reached."
Godin closed his eyes. "Good-bye, my friend."
Geli hung up the phone. How close was her father? Fort Huachuca was only three hundred miles away.
Godin's hand touched her wrist, startling her. "Do you understand what's about to happen, Geli?"
"Yes, sir. Levin's going to dump Dr. Fielding's model from the computer and load yours. Sometime in the next hour, your model will reach the Trinity state. You will become the Trinity computer. Or vice versa, whichever it is."
Godin nodded wearily. The events of the past few minutes had drained him. His breathing had grown labored.
"How does that help you?" she asked. "Even if Trinity works, all they'll have to do is shut it off, right? Or cut power to it?"
"Skow is probably trying to figure out how to do that right now. But he'll fail."
"My father will bring troops and equipment with him."
Godin's eyes closed. "Let me worry about that. With luck, you won't have to shoot anyone. Least of all, American soldiers."
Geli wanted to scream. The old man didn't realize what forces would soon be arrayed against him. The Containment building looked solid, but Horst Bauer had made short work of much harder targets in his career.
"I must live to see this," Godin murmured. "Keep your weapon ready to fire."
Geli sat on the floor with her back against the wall and pointed her Walther at the door.
Chapter 36
Jerusalem
When I gave my name at the door of the Mossad building, we were immediately pulled inside and searched. Our money and papers were confiscated. Then we were locked inside a white room containing only a wooden table and three chairs.
A plainclothes officer appeared and asked why we had come. I told him I wanted to speak to the most senior officer of the Mossad. He pressed me for information, but I refused to say more. The officer left the room and locked the door behind him.
Forty minutes passed.
Rachel didn't speak. She understood that anything we said would be recorded by hidden microphones. Despite my urgency to reach New Mexico, a preternatural calm settled over me. Rachel seemed to sense this, because she reached out and took my hand as though to draw strength from me.
At last the door opened, and a short man with the leathery skin of a desert warrior walked in and sat behind the table. In his middle fifties, he wore dusty khaki clothes and scarred boots. He had a shock of white hair and the most alert eyes I had ever seen.
"David Tennant," he said, looking at a file in his hand. "Physician, author, would-be presidential assassin. You're the most hunted man in America this week. To what do we owe this honor?"
"Are you the chief of the Mossad?"
"I am. Major General Avner Kinski."
"I thought you would be in Tel Aviv."
"I was in Bethlehem. There was a bombing early this morning."
"I'm sorry."
"Of course." Kinski gave me a quick, emotionless smile. "So. Why are you here?"
"I need your help."
"To do what?"
"I need to get to the U.S. secretly, and as fast as possible."
My answer surprised him, and I could tell he was a man not often surprised. "Why do you want to go back to the United States? You're very unpopular there."
"That's my business."
The Mossad chief leaned back in his chair, a bemused look on his face. "Where exactly do you wish to go?"
"White Sands, New Mexico."
"Interesting. Are you aware that my government has been asked to take you into custody?"
"I assumed so."
"My government tries to cooperate with yours whenever possible."
"But not always. Especia
lly where arms and technology are concerned."
The spymaster sniffed and leaned forward, his eyes challenging me. "You run from Shin Beth at Hadassah Hospital, yet you run straight into my arms. Why?"
"I knew you would help me."
Kinski shook his head. "Maybe you didn't run so straight. Where did you go between Hadassah and here?"
"You'll know soon enough."
"I'd like to know now."
"Sorry."
"Tell me something, Doctor. Is it your intention to kill the U.S. president?"
"Do I look like an assassin to you?"
Kinski shrugged. "Assassins come in many shapes and sizes. Women. Little boys. Smiling teenagers. You do have the look of a fanatic."
"I'm not a killer."
"Yet you have killed. I see that in your eyes."
"In self-defense."
The Mossad chief lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it. "We've strayed from our main business. What makes you think I would fly you secretly to America?"
"I have something you want."
The dark eyes flickered. "You're a businessman now?"
"I know how the world works." I leaned forward. "There's a secret defense project in America known as Trinity. It's been going on for two years, and in a matter of hours it will produce the most powerful weapon on the face of the earth. I know more about that weapon than any man you're likely to have in your hands for the foreseeable future."
The Israeli's mouth was hanging slack.
"I see this is not a total surprise to you," I said. "I'm one of six people who've had access to every detail of Trinity since its inception. I was appointed to the project by the president. So, you've got two choices. One, you can hold me prisoner and torture me for what I know. But a lot of people know I'm in Israel—including the president—so that could get messy for you. Two, you can fly me to White Sands. If you do that, you can put whatever scientists you want aboard the plane, and I'll tell them all I know about Trinity." I settled back in my chair. "That's my offer."
Gray tendrils of cigarette smoke drifted out of Kinski's mouth. He looked calm, but I knew my words had almost knocked him off his chair.
"Tell me the nature of this weapon, Doctor."
"Artificial intelligence. Trinity will make the computers in your most advanced weapons labs as obsolete as canvas biplanes. It will break your most complex codes in seconds. And that's only the beginning. I'm in a hurry, General."