The Caliphate

by André Le Gallo

  “I can well understand how a laser beam could easily pierce the thin metal skin of a missile. But directing it at land targets is of a totally different magnitude, Doctor.”

  “Obviously. A beam still can’t destroy a tank or a building, not yet anyway. However, anyone without protection is vulnerable. So the weapon has the potential to destroy armies out in the open and to keep the enemy’s physical infrastructure fairly intact. We moved to deuterium fluoride, which has a longer wavelength and therefore allows easier transmission through the atmosphere. But it also requires larger mirrors.”

  Habib was extremely conscious of the time pressure. He wanted short answers, not lectures.

  “Yes, and where did all this take you? Where are you now? Is the beam operational or still in the research phase?”

  “Well, eventually, in 1989 actually, after Reagan left the White House, the Cold War was officially over. Someone invented the term ‘peace dividend,’ and money was no longer available for such martial enterprises. SDI research dried up. But we were very interested in continuing this research here in Israel. So that’s what we’re doing.”

  “I don’t believe this is all research. Why, then, the maps on the wall? I can bring Shoshanna back in here if you want.”

  “Shoshanna herself played a big role in thinking of nuclear power in new ways, in ways that the scientific world will one day recognize as historic watersheds. In the mid-nineties, our leadership, Rafael Industries, convinced Jerusalem to make a huge jump. We would power the lasers with nuclear energy. This would allow us to keep the laser gun here, on the ground, and only have to put the mirrors in space. With a lot of expensive and secret work.”

  Habib nodded and said, “Did you say nuclear? That’s impossible. Well, not impossible, but no one has harnessed lasers to nuclear power.”

  A smug grin crept onto Amitai’s face.

  “Our Weizmann Institute has always been in the vanguard; not across the board, we’re not a superpower. However, on certain technologies that touch on our survival, we’ve been on the cutting edge. We haven’t publicized our advances, and for good reasons.”

  Although still extremely aware of the need for quick, actionable information, the scientist in Habib couldn’t help asking, “So tell me, as a fellow scientist, how you overcame the obstacles that no one else was able to conquer.”

  Habib read a mixture of despair and pride in Amitai’s eyes, as if he knew viscerally that he was not likely to survive, but that this was his only chance to get his story out. Was Amitai hoping for immortality? Was he dreaming of being mentioned in the annals of science that future generations would study?

  “Have you ever heard of LAKAM, the scientific intelligence bureau of the IDF?” Amitai asked. “Have you ever heard of Rafi Eban? He’s a living legend in Israel. In 1960 he captured Adolph Eichmann, the Nazi, in Argentina. He’s now an elected member of the Knesset, the Israeli Parliament. Eban headed LAKAM when it recruited Pollard, the American spy who is still in a federal prison. LAKAM didn’t go away when Eban went into politics. LAKAM was able to collect intelligence from the Russian, American, French, and Japanese consortium committed to a nuclear-fusion reactor project in Cadarache, France, and from the Livermore Laboratory in California. Being small has disadvantages—resources for example—but advantages as well. We can quickly focus on important projects. We set up a small experimental project. At first we used the deuterium-deuterium process to create helium 3. However, we found that the intense heat and pressure necessary were containable only by using the tritium-deuterium method creating helium 4.”

  Despite the feeling that he was on the cusp of scientific discovery, Habib forced himself to move on.

  “That’s impressive, Doctor. But even if you use nuclear energy, you’re still left with the distance from the space gun to the land target. So, I see two problems that you must have solved: one, the fact that the beam’s energy dissipates with distance, and, two, that the beam tends to be scattered by dust and particles in the atmosphere. Brute force can’t be the only answer.”

  “You first test the scatter effect with a test beam, a smaller beam. Then you use the big laser to send a very specifically distorted beam that will be refocused by the dust and water in the air. But the key is the mirror. We needed bigger mirrors than had ever been used. The bigger the mirrors, the more complex they were. In order to distort the beam, we needed not hundreds but thousands of small actuators positioned behind the mirrors to alter the surface of the mirror to compensate, to pre-distort if you will.”

  “Yes, adaptive optics has been an essential part of the laser magic. But thousands of actuators? How big is the mirror?”

  “I designed and built the biggest space-based mirror in the world. It’s one-hundred-eighty feet in diameter.”

  Habib paused before asking his most important question. “Then explain the control room. And how do you trigger the weapon? How do you target it? Is it now targeted against the red-light locations on the board?”

  “The map, as you can see, is only of the Middle East, our ‘near enemy.’ We can target a city within a fraction of a second. Would the entire city be destroyed? No. Very little of the city proper would be affected, unless the beam’s heat starts fires. The beam would have to spread out to the size of the city. And the bigger the strike zone of the beam, the more the energy is dissipated. Further, destroying a brick and mortar building is different from piercing the thin metal skin of a missile that is built as lightly as possible. But anyone who was outside and unprotected within a small radius would probably be killed by the heat.”

  “That’s a fantastic achievement!” Habib said. “I guess none of this is in the professional journals? Otherwise I would recognize your name.”

  “Aaron Amitai, Doctor Aaron Amitai; it will appear eventually, I’m sure.”

  “Have you actually field tested it?” Habib asked. “Has the laser gun been activated?”

  “We built an entire system one-tenth the size of our current system, and the experiments were successful. We’ve never fired the actual laser gun, of course. It’s our last defense. The United Nations and others can make their ‘tut-tut’ speeches. But we’re the ones who will live or die. Anyway, we have to be ready, and we are. We should have fired it to show the world we had it. As a warning. Shoshanna made that recommendation. But she was ignored.”

  Habib still hadn’t gotten the answer he sought.

  “I want to know how to target and fire the laser. Show me!” As a reminder of who was in control, Habib motioned the guard closer.

  “My expertise was the space mirror. My wife Shoshanna is more knowledgeable on those details.”

  Habib suspected that Amitai had manipulated him, to deflect his attention away from Shoshanna, the one with the real answers. He felt vindictive but knew he had no choice. He told the guard, “Bring his wife in here. And get him out. Don’t let them see each other.”

  When she came in, Habib behaved as a more serious interrogator.

  “Doctor Amitai,” he began. He wasn’t sure that she had a Ph. D., but it wouldn’t hurt to start with a show of respect for whatever academic credentials she had. It had worked with her husband. “Your achievements here are extremely impressive. Once this comes to the attention of scientific community, you will take your place besides Newton and Einstein in science’s hall of fame.”

  He paused a second to judge her reaction, which by the widening of her eyes, he assumed was surprise that one of the terrorists could speak with at least a veneer of education. Then a terse smile replaced her guarded demeanor, accompanied by silence.

  Habib continued, “We are actually going to help make that happen. You’re going to show the world your achievement by firing your creation. We’re going to pick an uninhabited spot, in the Sinai, say. This will better show the world that Israel can and will defend itself. The current policy of keeping this weapon secret until after you’re attacked makes no sense. Don’t you agree that its main use is as a deterrent to wa
r?”

  “Why would you want to do something that would help Israel?” she asked in a tight voice.

  “Because it will also help me. Think about it. We are against some of these Arab regimes, and against the Shiite resurgence flowing out of Iran, just as much as you are. I would like you to show me how your creation works. Your husband told me a great deal about the laser, and he said you would give me the rest, which are the operational directions.”

  She didn’t respond, apparently mulling over and answer.

  “The use of the weapon will strengthen Israel,” he said. “And your name will become a household word in all of academia.”

  The guard came in holding something in his fingers. He showed it to the Israeli and she gasped. Habib drew closer and saw that it was a finger, freshly cut and still bleeding.

  “I knew it. You are butchers!” she cried.

  “Be that as it may, that finger is simply a small example of the alternative to your becoming famous. Do we have a deal?”

  She nodded solemnly. Her jaw muscles bulged out.

  09:30

  His arm still throbbing from being shot, Marshall had floated with the current, which had brought him to the jetty. He held on and, hiding behind a pylon, he witnessed Hussein’s men unload the cache at the foot of the Tower of the Hospitallers. One man, apparently on a random basis, would open one of the boxes and take out a rifle or a Rocket Propelled Grenade round and examine it briefly before replacing it and allowing the wooden crate to be carried away.

  After the men left, Marshall pulled himself painfully toward the beach. His feet touched bottom and he stumbled out of the water. He followed the beach rather than returning through the parking lot, aware that some of the men might still be there. Eventually he reached his hotel room, took off his clothes to let them dry during the night. He bound his wound—the bullet had passed through a muscle—and tried to get some sleep. The next day, after putting his arm in a sling, he rented another car and drove to Tel Aviv, to the American Embassy.

  ***

  Following his conversation with al Khalil, Ambassador Hastings immediately called his wife Alexandra to convey the news about Kella. He then asked his secretary to tell Jack Horton to meet him in the acoustic conference room.

  Hastings had relatively little experience in the care and feeding of CIA station chiefs. His previous two postings had been as deputy chief of mission and he therefore had not been in the loop; station chiefs normally reported directly to the ambassador. He had heard horror stories of promising diplomatic careers broken by CIA “flaps,” operations gone awry. There was a time, he knew, when, starting under President Kennedy, “treaties” were periodically negotiated between the State Department and the CIA. Nevertheless, most ambassadors felt vulnerable to the presence of a U.S. government agency in his domain whose role, by and large, was to carry out activities considered illegal by the host country.

  Hastings and his COS, Jack Horton, had a good professional relationship, however. Horton briefed the ambassador once a week in the acoustic conference room, known informally as the ACR, the clear-plastic room-within-a-room, where all classified discussions were supposed to be held—country team meetings in particular.

  Within the limits of “need-to-know,” Ambassador Hastings was well informed of the CIA station’s activities. Horton had told Hastings he would keep him informed at least to the extent of avoiding unpleasant surprises and to give the ambassador a heads-up prior to particularly risky activities with a high potential of political blowback.

  Tall, with brown hair and rimless glasses, Jack Horton reached the ACR when Hastings’ secretary was opening the door to the vault that enclosed it. He walked in and opened the lever that held the plastic door closed. A minute later, Hastings joined him.

  “Do you have an officer missing?” Hastings asked. “Steve Church? Is there something I should know?”

  “I have heard of Marshall Church. He was a senior clandestine service officer and one of my predecessors here. But, as far as I know, he’s retired. I don’t know a Steve Church.”

  “Steve is his son,” Hastings replied. “You don’t know anything about his visit to Israel? My daughter knows him. She told me he was here, or was coming. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Hastings proceeded to tell the Horton about the phone call.

  “Do you want me to talk to Shin Beth?” Horton asked. “Or are you going to have the regional security officer handle this?”

  “You better handle it. If I thought it was simply a criminal issue, somebody trying to extort money, I’d give it to the security officer. But I’m sure Kella’s kidnapping is politically motivated. Kella would not have been kidnapped if she were not my daughter. She has become the shield against an Israeli takedown. But inform your Shin Beth contact quickly. The caller said there was an attack under way. The Israelis have to know immediately that my daughter is in the hands of the terrorists.”

  At that moment, Hastings’ secretary peered in and said, “Mr. Ambassador, there’s a man named Marshall Church here to see you. He said it was important.”

  “Jack, you better get in touch with Shin Beth immediately. And then come back and join us in my office.”

  Marshall walked in just as Hastings was hanging up the phone after briefing the Israeli prime minister. Against all probability in this time of crisis, he had been able to get through.

  Hastings offered his hand and said, “I have met your son. In fact your name just came up. Is Steve missing?”

  He grimaced and said, “Yes he is. We were in Ashqelon yesterday. We split up, and he disappeared. He didn’t come to our meeting point, and he didn’t return to the rental car. Steve was expecting Kella to attend a ceremony in Jerusalem the day before yesterday, but she didn’t come and Steve couldn’t reach her on the phone. Do you have any information?”

  Hastings briefed Marshall on the phone call he had just received.

  “That’s Tariq al Khalil,” Marshall explained. “Steve thought he recognized him in Jerusalem but wasn’t sure. That’s why we were in Ashqelon, hoping to spot him. Obviously, he has your daughter, too.”

  Frowning, Hastings said, “You think that was a good idea, looking for al Khalil yourself?”

  Marshall’s lips compressed.

  “You seriously think anyone, including you, would have taken us seriously? All we had at the time was a suspicion. I don’t see the Israelis doing much based on what would have been unverified information.”

  “Why would al Khalil say your son is a CIA officer?” Hastings snapped back. “Is he?”

  “No, but he was mistaken for one in Morocco.”

  Hastings sighed and noticed Marshall’s condition.

  “I suggest you stay here until the COS comes back. He’s informing Shin Beth about the phone call. In the meantime, can I offer you some coffee? How about if the embassy nurse looks at that wound?”

  10:30

  “I want covering fire directed at all windows and other possible firing points, now,” Avidan ordered. Then he told his intelligence team, “Go!”

  Three men ran to the building. One deployed what turned out to be a light ladder that he set up against the wall. The other two threw up grappling hook rope ladders. After two tries, the hooks caught and the two men climbed up to the roof.

  The ladder man first drilled several holes in the wall and then inserted listening devices equipped with micro transmitters. The two men on the roof set up heat-seeking sensors that could “see” into the building.

  Avidan thought the takedown would be simple. The TIBEAM plans revealed a one-floor interior with offices defined by drywall and cubicle separators, nothing that would provide safe harbor from the firepower of the Shaldag.

  ***

  The Amitais had given Habib a quick tutorial on how to target the laser. The weapon had several preset targeting options that included all of the Arab capitals of the Middle East, plus Tehran. In the presence of the two Israeli scientists, H
abib aimed the weapon to a deserted spot south of Cairo, “to show everyone that Israel really has the capability to annihilate any of its enemies without using a nuclear weapon which, depending on the prevailing winds, could also wipe out part of the Israeli population.”

  After getting the Amitais out of the room, he reset the laser to target the government centers of Tehran and of Algiers, per Tariq’s orders. Tariq walked in to check up on progress.

  “Why not Cairo?” Habib asked.

  “I will capture Egypt through the threat of destruction, not by actual destruction,” al Khalil said. “Cairo is the most important center of influence for the Ikhwan Brotherhood. The brothers will know what to do.”

  He gave only fleeting thought to his wife and daughter, Malika and Jamila, who were now living in Cairo. He wanted his daughter to grow up in a Muslim environment. In a sea of apostates, they were living in an island of Salafist purity with distant cousins. He had decided that their deaths, if necessary, would be a small price compared with his goals. However, for the moment, sparing Cairo made more sense from a political point of view.

  ***

  Steve couldn’t stop his mind from spinning.

  “Do you think Izem is really on board? That he’s trying to rally his guys to change sides? I don’t know how long we should wait. Maybe he’s not coming back. Maybe he’s already been shot. But we need weapons.”

  Kella sat on the floor, her back against the wall, her features drawn and tired. She looked up at Steve.

  “I think so. But that’s easier said than done. What choice do we have?”

  He pointed to the rear door.

  “Well, we have another door if only we could open it. It’s a long shot but I wonder if we could pick the lock.”

  He walked back to the door and examined it. The pin-and-tumbler lock was about a foot higher than the lever handle, which itself had no lock. This was not a high-security area. The builders had placed their security focus on perimeter devices.