“What's wrong?” asked Riley. “Is this place going to go up with mushroom cloud?”
“No,” replied Gary as they started back toward the elevator. “None of this can be used in a bomb. It is pure depleted uranium. There is no fissile content at all.”
“That's good then?” Gary mused: marines did not make the best nuclear scientists.
“No, it's bad. It's very bad.” Gary was tense. He wanted to have made a mistake and come to this conclusion by error but he replayed in his mind the words of Doctor Campbell. “We were allowed to find this stash. Doctor Campbell told me about the uranium we would find. It didn't register at the time but it means that there is uranium we won't find. We could search this country up and down and never find it. It probably isn't here. You see, Riley, this is pure uranium-238. There isn't even an atom of the kind you need for a nuke. It's that pure. But it isn't possible – even we don't know how to make it this pure – not on this scale. We are still left with two or three parts per thousand fissile uranium in the waste product. From thirty tons of depleted uranium you can still extract enough bomb-making uranium for twenty or thirty warheads. Twenty or thirty Hiroshimas and Nagasakis – actually worse.”
The cat appeared again meowing in a doorway – one they had not paid attention to on account of the uranium bullion. Now Riley cased the room. The door led into a poorly appointed office. There was no one inside.
“Wait!” yelled Riley. “Look at this.” Laid out untidily on a table were some clean fresh charts, some rolled up but one held flat by paper weights positioned in each corner. Gary looked at the chart. There was a coast line marked – possibly a river with docks. Gary looked askance at Riley.
“What is it?” asked Gary.
“Not what, but where?” asserted Riley. “I recognise this place. I used to fish these waters with my old man. It's the Hudson. And that's Manhattan. This berth is marked for some reason. It says Esperança Nova. Dunno?” Riley shrugged his shoulders. Gary passed Riley a photo he found after rummaging for no time at all.
“What's the name on that boat?”
“The Esperança Nova. Registered in Panama.”
Gary turned pale. Riley was right: finding the uranium was all too easy. It was meant to be found – along with the charts and photograph.
“We've got to warn them.”
It was as if the oxygen had been removed from the air – the desire to return to the surface became a life or death necessity.
Chapter 42
Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America
“The reason I asked you to come in,” the President said, “is because I can't make neither head nor tail of what my Chief of Staff is telling me.” The President's gaze rested steadily on Gary; Gary sensed the scrutiny intensely. “I trust you can explain the situation with greater clarity.”
It was several moments before Gary realised he was expected to answer which he did by nodding his head nervously.
“One thousand marines landed on a beach in Mozambique; met no resistance whatsoever and quickly located a large stockpile of uranium. From this point onward, I fail to comprehend how events transpired. Why, despite our blatant invasion of his country, did President de Sousa announce three hours ago that they were hosting a joint military exercise? Certain members of the Security Council are sceptical but it has headed off the torrent of international condemnation that was beginning to brew. But more importantly, why did you not secure the uranium? Those were your orders, were they not?”
Gary hesitated as he contemplated the enormity of what was coming next. Evidently, no one had informed the President.
“Take your time, Mister Sanders, but do not take too long.”
Gary rubbed his forehead before squaring to the President – there was no easy way to say it.
“There is a nuke on a container ship moored in New York harbour,” Gary stated bluntly.
The President's eyes widened dramatically. He turned to his Chief of Staff.
“Did you know about this?”
“It's a thread of the investigation that we are actively pursuing. But we cannot rashly leap to a conclusion like that without some kind of corroboration. Mister Sanders knows that … and so does Doctor Campbell for that matter. At this stage, we cannot determine the threat with certainty. We're not going to evacuate New York based on a wild and unsubstantiated rumour.”
“Nor would we sacrifice all those lives through spineless procrastination,” the President challenged morosely.
“The preliminary evaluation,” countered the Chief of Staff, “assuming the threat is real – a big assumption – failed to give any workable options. Our hands are tied. If we attack the ship, we assume the weapon would be detonated. Anything short of nuking the vessel ourselves would give them enough time to detonate a device. We assume it's armed and ready – probably on an automatic trigger. We could evacuate New York but, when we start announcing that, I'd guess the button would be pressed. We have to wait it out. We don't know who we are dealing with or what they want. Eventually, there will be demands. As a precaution we brought the mission in Mozambique to a premature conclusion.”
“There's really nothing we can do? Not even an air strike?”
“Prominently displayed on the fore and aft decks are certain shipping containers. We read the serial numbers, photographed each dent and scratch and matched them to the Raytheon shipment that went missing off Australia last year. We must assume that any attack would come up against four radar-guided Gatling guns primed to shoot down any bomb or missile we were stupid enough to throw at them. Each one can throw up nearly four thousand rounds a minute. The operational probability of any missile getting through the Raytheon system is not good. Not one to bet the farm on.”
The President breathed out as he listened to his Chief of Staff summarise the situation on the ground. The news was difficult to absorb.
“The good news is,” said Gary, “that Doctor Campbell wants to negotiate. He has gone to great lengths to assert the strength of his position but without forcing the issue. He's a chess player and that's how we should interpret his moves. He knows the constraints we are under – he's already worked out how we'll react. He's not a psychopath. He wants something quite logical.”
“Would you care to suggest what that might be?” The President's tone was somewhat condescending as if he were merely humouring Gary.
“I have no idea,” replied Gary flatly. “He runs an orphanage and claims only to want to protect the interests of his children.”
“His daughter is married to the President of Mozambique. Other children from the orphanage have been educated at the best scientific institutions in the country. There was one in my son's class at Yale. It's like they are from some kind of eugenics program. Like a master race. The Nephilim – is that what they call themselves?. It is quite a list. However, there's no reason to conclude they have attained a nuclear capability that would rank them ahead of Pakistan and India. They are just an orphanage. We need hard evidence – hard, irrefutable evidence.”
Gary placed the uranium bullion on the desk. The Chief of Staff immediately asked, “What's that, Sanders?”
“Uranium.” The President looked uncertain – slightly afraid. Gary noticed he slowly leaned back in his chair as if to distance himself.
“What crazy notion did you have bringing that in here!?” The Chief of Staff was outraged but Gary remained calm and spoke softly.
“It's only very slightly radioactive – no one is at risk here. It's depleted uranium. Actually, nothing like depleted uranium. Depleted uranium contains two parts per thousand fissile uranium. This does not. This has no fissile uranium whatsoever.” Gary paused. The President intervened and held the Chief of Staff at bay. Gary continued, “We believe Doctor Campbell has discovered a new way for enriching uranium using a cryogenic process. Our investigation has revealed cryogenic enrichment programs in Iran, North Korea and China. We think he is working with at least one of them.”
“So this is safe? It poses no threat?” Gary inclined his head, weighed up the complexity of the question and finally, against his nature gave the simple answer.
“It's safe – just don't eat it.”
“So what is the issue? You found a stockpile of perfectly safe uranium. If I understand you correctly, this can't be made into a bomb?”
“Correct.” Gary again waived aside the complexities. “This is the by-product. This is the chaff – so where is the wheat? Where is the fissile uranium used to make bombs that got separated out to leave just this? We estimate that Doctor Campbell could have extracted enough fissile uranium for fifty warheads – fifty Hiroshimas or Nagasakis – and we have no idea where it is. I've met Doctor Campbell and he seems more than capable of assembling an atomic bomb – it isn't that hard given enough fissile material.”
“That's not exactly proof, is it? Where is the evidence? We invaded Mozambique; we needed to find the smoking gun – not this dud. This is a very awkward political position to be caught in. It won't be long until Russia and China work out our predicament.”
“They could be in the same situation. We wouldn't tell them; they wouldn't tell us. Being held to ransom is … rather embarrassing.”
“It is possible,” concluded the President. “It just feels absurd.”
While the President and Chief of Staff ruminated on political appearances, frustration grew within Gary until he could not contain it.
“We do have proof. This brick of uranium is proof. It proves they have been enriching uranium.”
“But where is the enriched uranium? You didn't find any!” The President had also become frustrated and Gary sensed his patience was fragile. The President spoke quickly, “Now, I'd like to thank you for your time today. You clearly believe your concern is genuine. I don't fully understand the science but it seems a giant leap of the imagination to conclude that an orphanage director from Mozambique has masterminded a nuclear weapons program. What would the people say? Frankly, they'd think it was moonshine. There would be no end to the conspiracy theories.”
The President indicated for Gary to leave. As he was walking out, Gary heard the President instruct the Chief of Staff to have the uranium bullion analysed independently. He wanted to get a broader consensus of opinion. To some extent Gary was relieved. A scientific investigation would reach the same conclusion as he had. The President would be forced to face the danger for real. Gary had to be patient and wait – it was not easy when the world you lived in and cared for was threatened. What really bothered Gary was not the political inaction. If he really tried, he could just about conceive the limitations of the democratic process. No, what was really bothering Gary was that he had no idea what Doctor Campbell was trying to achieve. There was a stunning gap in the intelligence and it increasingly bothered Gary. No one knew Doctor Campbell's motives. It was like fighting blind.
Chapter 43
National Secure Archive Facility
Julia looked at Omar searching for any sign of deceit.
“Who were the Nephilim? What are they? Where did they come from?”
“You mean to ask: Who are we? Where did we come from?” Omar was making a point.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“You know that I humour you when you call us Nephilim. The Nephilim, some say, were the offspring of angels and beautiful woman and became giants. It is said that in the days of Noah, God flooded the whole Earth to wipe them out. We are not Nephilim. We are mere humans – and, as you can see, we are not giants. We are, however, the fulfilment of a prophesy. It was once spoken by a great teacher: Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the Earth. The Nephilim, as you call us, were gathered from all over the world. Uncle Armando was from Mozambique, Aunt Celia from China, my father, James, had Scottish parents. I have other uncles and aunts from Brazil, India, Siberia – even gypsies who had no country of their own. My grandfather, Doctor Campbell, gave them such a fabulous gift that even presidents and kings could not give. He gave them the whole world. Almost all were orphans, unwanted and outcasts from society. They were born in the slums and rubbish heaps of the world. Aunt Celia languished in an orphanage for eight years because she was born a girl and her parents abandoned her. Uncle Armando was recruited as a child soldier when he was nine years old; he should have been at school and out playing football, not immersed in bloodletting and rape. Such was the world before the Nakba.”
“You talk of yourselves as meek but you unleashed terrible devastation. You blighted the Earth.” Julia recoiled realising that she had almost spat out the word meek.
“Meekness does not mean weak or defenceless. It actually implies great strength and the capacity for violence. Meekness is strength and violence but patiently restrained. At one time, my grandfather had a private army of several thousand men but he always maintained that the threat of violence was more powerful than its use. He taught us that an enemy's fear is your strongest weapon.” Omar paused. “We did not blight the Earth. You, I mean the rest of humanity, did that. Look into the history. You will see that we did not cause the Nakba. We did not render the Earth uninhabitable. We simply survived because of my grandfather's gift and shouldered the blame as a result.”
“What is that gift? How is it given?” Omar looked like he was weighing up his answer – deciding whether to tell her the truth. Perhaps he was weighing her up – did she deserve to hear the answer? At last he passed Julia a glass of water.
“Here drink this and I shall tell you about it.”
Julia sipped the water. Omar was deeply introverted for a few moments. He seemed to be preparing his story – or was he formulating a lie?
“To be one of us means to forsake all others. There is no turning back. It is not possible. It is just like Homer's Iliad that we spoke of before when the Greek king, Menelaus, ordered that the boats be burned on the beach before Troy. There was no way home for him or his men except through victory. To a man, they wrestled with the walls of Troy. They fought a war of attrition until victory eventually presented itself. So it is with us: our boats are burned. We have no way back nor would we wish it. We have inherited the Earth.”
“That's quite a claim.”
“If you are not one of us, you will be against us.”
“That's a bit judgemental!” Julia could not contain her annoyance.
“It is. Nonetheless, it is true. Humanity has been judged – and found wanting. You will see things differently in time.” Omar remained unfazed by Julia's outburst. Julia sensed she would not provoke him and she was overly curious to discover Omar's secret.
“How? How does it work?”
“The secret of the Nephilim?” Omar tested.
“Yes, that!”
“It is simple. As simple as breathing, eating or drinking.”
“What do I need to do?”
“Nothing, it is a gift. Everything is within you.” Omar was as enigmatic as ever.
“Why can't everyone have it?”
“The gift is not freely given.” Julia had no reply; she looked questioningly at Omar. “Doctor Campbell gave the gift to the dispossessed, to the outcasts, to the most miserable and piteous specimens of humanity.”
“Am I an outcast?”
“Do you feel like one?” Julia avoided the question. The answer was clear in her own mind though she struggled to admit it.
“Surely, I need to know something! It can't be as easy...”
“The gift is given in innocence and ignorance. Yet the gift brings knowledge.”
“What do you know? Tell me! I wonder if you know anything at all?”
“I have lived eight times your meagre life – I can assure you, I have experienced a great many things.”
“An unnatural life.”
“My life is entirely natural yet, at the same time, supernatural. You see, the gift itself, some say, proves the existence of a divine creator. There is no other explanation for who we are.”
Julia felt her mind blurred by
riddles and mumbo jumbo. She understood every word Omar spoke but none of it made sense. He was playing games with her mind. He knew something but would not tell her. She felt frustrated. Why did he not speak plainly. Why was it all riddles? Julia realised that she would get nothing that she considered hard and factual out of Omar. He was stubbornly refusing to explain – or perhaps it defied explanation. Omar continued.
“Julia, it doesn't matter how it works – it just does. Do you trust me?”
“Yes. You know that I do. I love you. And I shall likely kill myself if you betray me.”
“Then drink the water that I will give you.” With that Omar topped up Julia's glass.
Chapter 44
Beirut, Lebanon
Gary got into the hire car, typed the hotel destination into the Sat Nav and started driving. Agent Vitti sat beside him. Gary felt it a mark of respect that Agent Vitti let him drive. He had even started introducing him as Agent Sanders – just not to anyone in the CIA, of course. To go from Gary the geek to Agent Sanders in a matter of weeks was giving Gary a head rush. He had even met the President. He wondered what his friends would think – when he had time to tell them – or should he brief them? He wondered what Mandy would think – in many of the tight situations he thought of her. Her opinion mattered. Mandy from Ohio, the zoo keeper – what did she think? Where was she? Would she still be waiting for him? He hoped so.
From Tahouitet El Ghadir Airport, Gary drove north on Al Imam El Khomayni and headed into the city centre to get to the Four Season Hotel by the marina. Agent Vitti reflected philosophically, “If you're going to suffer hardships – might as well be five-star hardship with a sea view.”
“I guess so. Uncle Sam is paying after all.”
The buildings in Beirut were mostly bleak, concrete apartment blocks. While most were relatively new and badly constructed, there were occasional ones that were bullet ridden from the civil war some years before. The sky in the west was turning shades of orange, red and purple as the sun set over the Mediterranean Sea.
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