FATAL eMPULSE

by Mark Young

  Despite their regional differences, the two men had been able to work closely together in several joint efforts against the Israelis, none of which had been overly successful but resulted in Israeli casualties. This operation would change everything.

  “Listen,” Atash thrust out his finger for emphasis, “Iran will stand behind her friends in Syria against the Jews, against the Americans, against those who would destroy your country.”

  “We are afraid that Syria will stand alone against the Israeli attacks if this goes through.”

  “If we are successful,” Atash said, “they will have no time to attack. They’ll draw back to protect their own people. The Golan Heights will once again be under your control, and the United Nations will be forced to draw back like the weaklings they really are. The world community—and their big brother, the Great Satan, the United States—will restrain the Jews from nuclear retaliation—if Israel is still functioning.”

  “And your country, my friend, what will your government do?”

  Atash smiled. “We will be your silent partner. Civil unrest that continues in your country will be finally under your control, with our help, and you can take a position of prominence among with our Muslim brothers. Subhan’Allah. Glorious is Allah!”

  Raed’s hand continued to rhythmically stroke the fabric. “Some of those speaking against this plan think Iran is trying to distract Israel and the United States from coming after your own nuclear sites—like they did ours in 2008. Only this time, they may use nuclear force.”

  Hassan leaned back and laughed. “Do not worry, brother, they will not come after you or us. They will be too busy trying to figure out how to contain this crisis, too busy trying to recover.” Hassan saw the man’s strokes across the fabric increase. Coward.

  “I need to know one thing.” Raed’s hands stopped moving as he focused on his guest. “This technology that you are giving us—it will override the Jew’s Arrow and Iron Dome systems they have in place? Those who have remained in power are fearful that you will not stand by your word. Your answer is critical, my friend. I may not be able to get any support if you have any doubts. I may not live long enough to survive this operation if you are wrong.”

  Hassan leaned forward. “I promise you, this gift will create havoc to our enemy’s systems. Leave them blind and defenseless.” The Syrians had been watching the development and implementation of Israel’s antiballistic missile-defense system, identified as Arrow or Hetz, and the mobile Iron Dome short-range air-defense system created to intercept and wipe out short-range rockets and artillery up to seventy kilometers away.

  He did not want to tell Raed the full extent of this technology until just before the attack. Never give away the entire plan. Iranian and Syrian intelligence closely watched the internal politics underway in Israel as the prime minister pleaded for more money to purchase at least a dozen more Iron Dome batteries to defend against more than two hundred thousand rockets already targeting their country. Orders have been placed with Rafael Advanced Defense Systems Ltd., manufacturer of the system, and the United States approved $205 million for the initial procurements on behalf of Israel. But the Jews needed more money, and Iran hoped this operation with Syria would further muddy the waters and break the prime minister’s support.

  Particularly if the prime minister no longer existed.

  They must get Syria to take the initiative. “I promise you that all the faithful followers of Allah will stand with you in this fight against the Jews and the West. Together, we will be invincible.”

  Reluctance hovered in Raed’s eyes. “I will pass on your information to those who will make the final decision.”

  Inwardly Atash gnashed his teeth in his frustration. Outwardly he remained calm and confident. “I am grateful, my friend. I must stress, however, that timing is critical. We must know soon in order to move forward. We must launch our plan before Israel has a chance to attack. As we’ve advised, if Israel strikes against Iran, they will also hit your country for the same reasons.”

  Raed nodded somberly. “I know—our nuclear capabilities. We will be in touch.”

  Atash stiffly climbed up the steps leading to a small jet at the Damascus International Airport. From the top of the ramp, he could almost see the walls of Raed al-Azmah’s compound in Al Ghuzlaniyah. He imagined that Raed might be watching him from the top floor of the main house. If this coward finally had the guts to convey Iran’s message to the right people, Atash would be standing practically on ground zero where the attack would be launched.

  He climbed inside as a crewmember closed the hatch. While jet engines revved up to taxi to the runway, Atash sat in a comfortable leather captain’s chair and opened up his laptop, equipped with a heavily encrypted communications link.

  He entered a series of passwords and began to write: My Syrian friend will pass on our information. Expect reply soon. We can proceed as planned unless they choose to back out. Begin operation!

  He filed the message into an e-mail account as a draft. Ivan Yegorov and Stuart Martin would check the message very soon and leave their own comments. He looked at the file he had on Martin, a man of mystery. Atash tasked his people with finding out more about him. He knew Stuart Martin was not the man’s real name. He must find out before the attack took place. Too much was at stake. He hit the power-off button and closed the laptop.

  Only twenty-three more days. He looked out over the darkened city as they climbed into the sky. Time could be as elusive as the grains of wheat during harvest, slipping through one’s fingers, and never reaching market. He did not intend to waste one precious second.

  In Damascus, Max Salk stood in line to board a plane bound for Rome. Once there, he’d try to shake any tail he might have picked up before purchasing a flight to Tel Aviv. Part spy, part soldier, it was a difficult road to travel in these hard times. As Hassan’s plane climbed into the Syrian sky, Max hit a speed-dial number on his cell phone. A woman’s voiced answered.

  He quickly looked around before answering. “Our package just took off after the meeting with Raed al-Azmah.”

  “Were you able to get ears on their conversation?”

  “Yes. It is a priority message. My family will be the target. Soon. Will send details from secure link. We know the players. Specific target location—unknown.”

  He closed the cell phone as he prepared to board and handed his boarding pass to the airline attendant.

  She smiled. “Ah, Rome is your destination. A very beautiful city—almost as ancient as our own Damascus. Enjoy your flight, sir.”

  He smiled back before finding his seat. He would not stay long in Rome. Hated the city. Hated the people. Time enough to catch another flight to Tel Aviv. Just enough time to shake any tail that might be trying to follow.

  He thought of the last time he was in Rome. More than ten years ago. He had a partner then, tracking down a terrorist cell plotting to attack Israeli citizens in Italy. It had been a while since he thought of her. They first met during another overseas assignment, she from Mossad, and he from Sayeret Mat’kal, a Special Forces unit, answerable only to IDF’s Aman intelligence directorate.

  He smiled as her beautiful face surfaced in his thoughts.

  Alena Shapiro.

  He regretted not getting to know her better. He had been stupid thinking love, laid out in front of him like a smorgasbord, was there for the taking when he got around to it. And then she was gone. She had just disappeared.

  Ah, what a life they might have had between missions. He’d lost track of her over the years. Last he heard she might be working for the Americans. He must track her down someday. There he went again, putting life off until later.

  He settled back in the chair and closed his eyes, making a promise to himself. This time, he would take action. Right after he and other intelligence agents stopped this next attack against his country.

  This had been his life within the Sayeret Mat’kal, called The Unit, Israel’s armed, on-the-ground answer
to terrorism. He had dealt with one crisis after another until he blinked and life had slipped right on past. It seemed these threats never ceased. As long as the public never found out, he and his people had been successful, putting off the day when the world would sit up and watch in horror as a major attack unfolded. That would be the day he’d failed Israel. He prayed that day never came.

  But these operations came at a cost. A life with Alena became one of the sacrifices. That was about to change.

  Chapter 25

  February 24

  U.S. Naval Air Station, Key West, Florida

  Frank Collord flicked off the screen. “Tough to keep a moral high ground when killers of those you love are standing right in front of you.” He glanced at Gerrit before continuing. “We have to pay for our decisions, one way or the other. I just pray we make the right choice.”

  Gerrit clenched his fists but did not say a word. Another holy roller.

  “Right now,” Frank said, “let’s focus on finding out what Brandimir has hatched with Yegorov and Hassan. We don’t have a lot to work with because their conversation only alluded to an operation planned for the coming weeks. My guess”—he looked from one person to the other—”this operation is huge. And it will be aimed directly at the U.S. or its allies.

  “We don’t have enough to sanction any action on Brandimir until we know more.” Frank glanced at Beck. “We must try to identify all the players and come up with a game plan to stop them—before we approach Brandimir.”

  He leaned on the lectern again. “We don’t know how widespread his organization might reach. If we chop off the head, the body might be able to fight on as another leader emerges. I can’t even tell you if Brandimir is at the top or whether he is acting on behalf of others. Until we know, we can’t act.”

  “We are not the U.S Marines, a yes sir, no sir, kind of outfit.” He glanced at Jack Thompson for a moment, a smile on his face. “We need to operate outside existing organizations.”

  Jack stood. “Frank, I’m proud to work for the U.S. Marine Corps and I follow the chain of command. How do you like those apples.” The man’s face seemed flushed as he glared back at Frank. “You pull some strings to get my people to order me down here, and then you tell me none of them know what we’re up to about a matter of national security? Talk about the right hand not knowing what the left hand is up to. That’s how people get killed.”

  Frank smiled. “I am well aware of your MO, Colonel Thompson. If anyone knows how to operate in the gray, it’s you. Tell me you took your ops plan and ran it up the old Marine Corps flagpole before you attacked that lab in Albuquerque. I know for a fact your bosses are still trying to figure out that one. Meanwhile, you hit another lab in Washington state with your friends from the FBI. You obtained weapons and a prototype aircraft for your friend Gerrit…shall I go on?”

  Jack sat back down, glanced over at Gerrit, and shrugged. “Okay, maybe I did cut some corners here and there—”

  “Cut some corners?” Frank snorted. “Your operations are so far out on thin ice that you must keep moving forward or you will fall through the crust. By the time the Pentagon got wind of your latest op, you were off on another one. Personally, I don’t know how you pulled them off, but I certainly want you on our team. I need that kind of outside-of-the-box thinking.”

  Frank eyed the colonel for a moment, then shook his head.

  “And how are you going to get approval for us to work together—Jack and me?” Beck asked. “Gerrit and the others are already operating off the grid for survival, but Jack and I are still part of the system.”

  Frank stepped off the podium and came closer to the group. “Until we can assess and control this latest threat, both of you gentlemen will be assigned to me until this over. No questions asked. You guys have a problem with that?”

  Beck looked over at Jack. Both men shrugged. “I guess that means we’re a team.”

  Frank started to head back to the lectern.

  Gerrit stood. “Frank, exactly who do you work for? We’d like to know since we’ll be risking our necks on this operation.”

  “Ask your uncle about me. Right now, forget about Devon McAllister. You’ve got bigger fish to fry. You’ll be flying out of here in thirty minutes.” He stepped up on the podium.

  “Where are we headed?” Gerrit watched the man turn back once again and smile.

  “Bring some suntan lotion—you’ll need it. Based on our latest intelligence, Hassan’s focusing his attention on the Syrians. My guess is, Syria will take the lead in an attack against Israel with support from Iran and Russia. We need to get people close to them and ready to move if we can find out specific targets.”

  “Why now?” Gerrit frowned. “Some major events are triggered by an anniversary, a past event that gives meaning to whatever these fanatics are working toward. Is this some kind of major jihad? The whole world is watching Syria’s internal crisis. They are slowly disintegrating from within because of this civil war. Why would they take this risk?”

  Frank rubbed his jaw. “All good questions, Gerrit. Maybe they want to get even for Israel’s bombing attack in 2008 on their suspected nuclear weapons research sites at Dayr az Zawr. Maybe they need to prove something to the rest of the Arab world. Right now, we don’t know. And we have to find out very soon. All I am at liberty to tell you at this time is that it’s tied to whatever Israel might be planning. You, Joe, Alena, and your computer friend back at Tahoe—”

  Gerrit glowered at Joe.

  “Yes, I know about your hiding place. All of you are free to decide whether you will join us or go your own way. I hope you’ll throw in with us—for this and future operations.”

  Gerrit glared at Frank. “Future ops? I don’t know squat about what you’re up to or who you work for. You stand up there giving commands like you can order us around. Truthfully, I could care less what you want. We’re taking all the risks. Unless you’re forthcoming about who you are and what you are trying to achieve—count me out.”

  Bowing his head for a moment, Frank looked like he might be saying a prayer or fighting a wave of anger. Slowly, he raised his head and met Gerrit’s stare. “You’re right, I can’t force your group to work with us, but I hoped you could see the importance of all this. Beck and Jack have no choice if they choose to follow orders.”

  Jack’s jaw tightened. Beck looked on impassively.

  “You and the others must make a choice. Right now, I believe I can count on your uncle.”

  Gerrit glanced over and saw Joe nod.

  “I can protect you from our own country, give you anonymity when you most need it, and give you technical and material support for each operation. Gerrit, who do you think bailed you and Alena out when Miami PD threw the cuffs on you?”

  Gerrit’s head shot up.

  “That’s right. I had my people move in and clear the way. I won’t always be able to help you like that—but I’ll try. That’s the best I can offer. It’s a dangerous world out there.” Frank paused for a moment. “I need a group like you who can work outside the chain of command, off the grid, so to speak, to work those targets our own government deems too risky or politically sensitive to take on directly. We can no longer risk sitting back, watching and waiting. We must take action.”

  “You’re talking about international border crossing,” Gerrit said, “conflict with other countries, and a lack of government support—as far as I can see.”

  “That’s about it,” Frank said. “I can get you resources for each operation. No questions asked. You will only be accountable to me. Each of you has exceptional skills I need to make these operations successful. For example, between you, Alena, and a third party, you will be able to converse in any language in the Middle East. You have the weapons and tactical experience to handle most limited encounters. Alena brings her experience from Mossad and…other skills…to operate in just about any foreign country.”

  Gerrit found himself nodding, as he inventoried what each member of hi
s team brought to the table.

  Frank continued. “But you’re right, Gerrit. If you’re caught, our government will deny any connection. You will have to fend for yourself.”

  Frank waited, presumably for that to sink in, before continuing. “Personally, I will never leave you out there alone. Hell or high water, I will do everything in my power to make sure you come back alive. Are you in?” No one backed out so Frank pressed on. “Beck, I need you to stay stateside. Run down the leads we develop on Brandimir and his network. I don’t have to tell you that you’ll be treading on a heap of political landmines. Walk carefully.”

  Frank turned to Jack. “Colonel, I need you to fly to Tel Aviv and connect with some of your contacts there with the IDF. We need some eyes and ears in Israel we can trust.”

  Jack gave a slow nod.

  “And Gerrit,” Frank said. “If you’re going to join this effort, I have plans to get you and Alena to Dubai. From there you’ll work your way toward Damascus. Once on the ground, I’m afraid you’ll have to get creative—”

  “I’m familiar with the distance from Dubai to the Syrian capital,” Gerrit said. “Why so far?”

  “Too many eyes in Kuwait, and landing you closer to the target might give our enemy a greater ability to identify and expose your activity. In Dubai, we can make you blend in quickly. At least that is the plan.”

  “What about Iraq?” Gerrit asked. There was a lot of desert between Dubai and their destination. A lot of obstacles to face. “I know that country pretty well.”

  “I know, Gerrit, but there have been a lot of changes in that country since you left. After we basically pulled our military out, a lot of political shifts have made that country very unstable and susceptible to Iranian influence. Dubai, on the other hand, has been a source country where we’ve set up an aggressive network of agents, particularly focusing on our enemy across the Persian Gulf.