by Darrell Bain
“Wait, wait! You can’t kill me! I’ll talk! I know who…”
“Fire!” the officer called loudly, his sword sweeping downward in a precise arc. Rifles firing in unison drowned out Rafe’s last words. His body slumped forward against the restraints and hung from the pole, lifeless. A physician moved onto the courtyard. As quickly as Rafe was pronounced dead, the doctor retreated and it was the next prisoner’s turn to die.
Reading the charges, the sentence, then the execution and pronouncement of death of the five white supremacists took a long time, just as planned. The president had been the one to suggest that the executions be stretched out so that the scene of their punishment would stick with the audience, both live and to those watching the broadcast. He watched the first two himself, then got back to business.
* * *
There were only three persons present in the underground bunker beneath the big military base near Tel Aviv; Yitzhak Luria, the premier of Israel, Sheila Goldblatz, his Chief of Staff and General Yael Rabin, the highest ranking man in the Israeli armed forces.
Yitzhak Luria’s ancestors were a mixture of Eastern European and second generation Sabra settlers. He was short, stout and known among his intimates for his cut-throat brand of poker. He was proposing to play poker now on a grand and unprecedented scale. “We’ll never have a better opportunity than right now,” he said, his voice level and determined. “No matter what we do, or how many peace treaties we sign, the Arabs are determined to wipe us out. This is our chance to end the threat for all time.” He stared forcefully at the other two persons in the absolutely secure bunker. Meetings here were never recorded and Luria never brought an aide with him, nor allowed others to do so.
“Iran and Pakistan have nuclear weapons,” Goldblatz said bluntly. “What if they decide we’re behind it and retaliate? No, let me rephrase that: when they decide we set the virus loose they’ll retaliate. What then?” She shifted the penetrating gaze of her clear blue eyes toward Yael Rabin.
Luria felt the satisfaction welling up inside him. Goldblatz hadn’t been angered or horrified at the very mention of his proposal. Instead, he saw the remnants of the beauty which had once graced her face become brighter and more apparent. Luria turned to Yael Rabin. “Yael? What about it?”
General Rabin slouched lower in his chair and lowered his gaze, a peculiar posture for a general, but Luria knew he did it when he was giving serious consideration to a subject. His forehead below the widow’s peak of silvery white hair wrinkled in thought. He remained silent for long moments before responding.
“Iran is no problem. We know exactly where their nukes and missiles are and how to take them out.
Pakistan? Maybe. No, I’ll call that probably, depending on how much time I have to nail down the locations. And I’m sure you realize we’ll have to do a preemptive strike on both countries as soon as we set the virus loose, as well as Egypt, Syria and Jordan.”
“Why so soon?” Goldblatz asked, brushing a straying lock of hair from her forehead.
“Think about it. Their biologists aren’t dumb and you know they recruited scientists from Russia after the USSR disintegrated. We know they’re still working in Egypt for certain, and probably in Iran. As soon as lighter skinned Arabs start dying, they’ll realize we instigated a new epidemic and strike back at us, just like we would if our positions were reversed.”
“All right, let’s say we decide to do the preemptive strike right after infecting as much of the Middle Eastern population as possible with the virus… what if they have one of their own?”
“You mean a virus targeted toward genes specific to Jews?” Luria asked.
Goldblatz shrugged her shoulders. The movement was barely visible under her jacket and sweater. The bunker was always cold and she had come prepared. “If we can do it, so can they.” She knew the Jewish population was particularly susceptible to a virus that went after particular genes. Jews carried a number of unique genes simply by through long centuries of marrying only their own people.
Luria let a thin smile cross his face. “Don’t worry about it. We have a ringer in the Egyptian’s biowar weapons development center and they pass information around. They don’t have anything like the Harcourt virus yet, or like the one we’ve had for years that can target Arabs. They are doing their damnedest to develop one, though. Which is why I say strike now, while the world is preoccupied with all the blacks dying and we have the chance.” He paused then added what he thought would be the clincher. “The good thing about our bug is that it targets not just the Arabs, but all the Middle Eastern countries.”
“How so?” Goldblatz asked, as a new worry suddenly occurred to her. “How about our own Arab citizens?”
Luria shrugged. “It will get a lot of them, true, but it’s a price we can pay. There’s a lot of Arab sympathizers among them, you know. That will solve another problem.”
“Even so, the world won’t take kindly to this, Yitzhak. And a preemptive strike will initiate a war with all the Arab and Middle Eastern countries. America won’t help us this time, not if they know we instigated the new virus.”
Luria turned to Rabin. “General?”
General Rabin had been turning the complexities of the proposal over in his mind, including the certainty of all out war with their Arab neighbors should they decide to do it. “Let me think,” he said. The bunker was small, but still allowed room enough to pace. Rabin stood up. He lit a cigarette and began walking around the conference table, puffing furiously. Clouds of smoke from the cigarette wafted up toward the intake of the air conditioning vent. When he had smoked the cigarette down so low that the scorched smell of the burning filter was detectable, he sat back down.
“As you say, Yitzhak, we’ll never have a better chance. And Sheila, I have to disagree. The Americans will help. Maybe not publicly, but they’ll see that we have sufficient replacements for munitions and armaments.” He lit another cigarette, got it going good and continued. “There’s the religious factor, too.
Half the people in America already think the Harcourt virus is the work of God, preparing us for the End Times. Those people will applaud us for attacking the non-believers. And despite the anti-Semitism still prevalent there, almost everyone in America would love to see the Arabs get a dose of their own medicine. They’ve been the terrorists too long. Trust me, they’ll help us if we need it. Maybe not with manpower, because they’re tied up at home, but their Air Force will be free to act if we need them. And I know for a fact, they have plenty of munitions stockpiled.”
Goldblatz wrinkled her forehead, trying to imagine why anyone would help them after loosing a virus that might kill a hundred million people—and some of their own citizens as well.
“Don’t bother wrinkling your brain to go with those lines on your face, Sheila. It’s simple. Besides everything else, with the Arabs dead, the oil fields will be up for grabs. Do you think the Americans will let Russia, China, or Japan take them? Or the European powers? Not a chance. They’ll try, though. You name a country with insufficient indigenous supplies and they’ll begin loading their troop transports. The Americans will love it if we get there first.” When he saw that Luria’s Chief of Staff still wasn’t completely convinced he looked at the Prime minister. “Yitzhak, may I?”
“Go ahead.”
“Sheila, The American politicians already have their secret think tanks pinning down scenarios for re-colonizing Africa, and their military planners are working up the contingency plans. They aren’t about to let other countries grab all the oil. But they’re going to be tied down for a while with so many of their citizens dying. This virus will clear out a huge area of oil producing areas. Wherever Mouloukhia is eaten, they’ll die.”
“Oh.” Goldblatz’s frown lines disappeared. She shook her head and said sadly, “Human nature doesn’t change, does it? Well, better we instigate a holocaust this time than be on the receiving end, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we’re superior to the ones who starte
d this. We’re going to be committing genocide, pure and simple. And once the world settles down, we may be tried and executed, even though no country is going to really be sorry to see the blacks and Arabs all dead. However, they’ll need some scapegoats to soothe their sensibilities and we’ll be prime candidates.”
Her statement sobered the prime minister and the general, but the planning went on.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Doug was sorry to see June have to go back to work Monday morning. He held her in his arms while the door to her apartment was still closed. He looked into her eyes and thought about how quickly she had become the epitome of all he held dear. “You’ll call soon as you get off?”
“You know I will, sweet. Or better still, rather than me calling, why don’t you go back and gather whatever you think you’ll need and move in here with me?”
Doug gave her a long kiss, but didn’t let her go. “That might be fine for when I’m off or on the day shift, but I’d disturb you with my coming and going when I started working nights again. This place is pretty small, you know.”
“I don’t care. AT least you’d be here, and don’t forget—sometimes I’ll have to work late, too.”
“I’ll have to bring my guns and cleaning equipment and weapons with me.”
“I still don’t care.”
Doug grinned. “Must be love.”
“It is, stupid man. Now kiss me again and let me leave before I’m late on Amelia’s first day in the Director’s chair.”
Doug did kiss her again, but still didn’t let her go.
“What is it now?”
“A key?”
“Oh. Just a minute.” June ran back to the bedroom and came back a moment later with her spare. “Here.
Make us a nice dinner for tonight. ‘Bye.” She gave him a quick firm peck on the lips and practically ran down the hall toward the elevator.
* * *
Nabil Hassan, an Arabic Jew with a false passport, didn’t like to think about what he was doing. He didn’t know for certain that the contents of the little spray bottles of breath freshener he had already carried to three countries were lethal, but he suspected as much. No matter, he would carry out his orders. Wherever he traveled, he dispensed puffs of vapor from the tiny containers into the atmosphere of closed environments. He drove to the Syrian capitol of Damascus first, after the Mossad helped him cross the border and provided him with a car. The first time, he simply dispersed it into the intakes at the air terminal, and then into the bathrooms of the jetliner on the way from Amman, Jordan to Bahrain, the playground of Rich Arabs. From there, he was headed to Cairo, Egypt.
Nabil was only one of several couriers, all agents of the Mossad, the secret service of Israel. Perhaps the Mossad wasn’t quite as efficient as it had been in the past, but this was a relatively simple operation, even though it portended enormous consequences for the future. Within a week, it was done. The only problem had been the increasing disruption of travel as black Africans who could afford it frantically bought and bartered and fought over every available seat that would take them away from the sickness that was consuming their compatriots at an ever increasing rate. Some countries had already barred travel from Africa but others still allowed immigration, particularly people with lighter skins who possessed technical skills.
Although Nabil and the others might have suspected they were spreading a contagious virus similar to Enterovirus harcourtii, they had no way of knowing that there was a great difference. This one targeted a gene peculiar only to the genetic pool of the Middle east and some areas beyond, causing it to begin producing a protein which interfered with the protein another gene coded for, an enzyme involved in metabolizing a byproduct of the Mouloukhia leaves of an Arab national dish by the same name. The virus altered the protein, causing the digestive pathway of Mouloukhia in those carrying the wrong gene to go awry, producing a lethal toxin that quickly caused death. Even the season was right for the virus to spread and kill rapidly, late Spring. Mouloukhia was hard to find after the season ended except for the dried variety in gourmet or specialty shops. Nabil and his cohorts spread their tailored virus around the Middle East just at the right time, when rich and poor alike were eating dishes made with fresh Mouloukhia leaves.
* * *
Doug took another bite of the pork roast and complimented June. “You’re a much better cook than me.
This is good.”
It was the week following his time off. June was working late almost every night helping Amelia after she took over the reins of the CDC, but on this Friday night, she had called to tell him Amelia had flown to Washington and that she would be home early enough to prepare a meal herself.
“Thanks. It would be better if supplies weren’t getting scarce. Amelia is talking about having us all eat in the cafeterias when rationing goes into effect next week.”
“It might be just as well,” Doug said, glancing over to where the workday weapons he was keeping in June’s apartment were stashed, his heavy handgun and a rifle/shotgun combo that was just being issued to the security force. “It’s getting a little scary going out to shop. So many blacks have just given up and are either staying home or roving the streets in armed gangs.”
“I know. I worry about you every time you leave the complex.”
Doug decided not to mention that it had been necessary to fire some warning shots to keep a gang of drugged up black youths at bay on one of his shopping trips. It would only cause her more worry. He felt sorry for them. So young and already having to stare death in the face, through no fault of their own. The army had begun using food as an inducement to get help collecting and burying the increasing number of bodies. “It’s hardly worth while anyhow, except for food. There’s not much left in the shops worth buying.”
“And it’s too dangerous. I’ve seen how worried you are, Doug. It’s thoughtful of you to try sparing me the gruesome details, but don’t you think Amelia knows what’s going on? And passes it on to me?”
Doug pushed his empty plate away and took a sip of wine. His face was lit with a wryly amused grin.
“You’re always one step ahead of me. I guess if we decide to get married, I’d better always be honest with you.”
June was already up, preparing to collect the dishes. She came and stood behind his chair and put her hands on his shoulders, then leaned down to tickle his neck with her lips. “If that was a proposal, I accept, but let’s stay engaged for a little while first if you don’t mind.”
Doug felt June’s pendant moving on his skin as she continued nuzzling him. He slid out of his chair and stood up. He kissed her briefly, then took the pendant in his hand, holding it so that he could examine it more closely. “Is this the reason?”
“Talk about someone being a step ahead. You’ve known all the time what it was, haven’t you?”
“Guilty, but I’m admiring, not complaining. I buried Doris with her rings. Now I wish I had thought of your idea, having them made into a pendant or a regular ring. It was a beautiful gesture and tells me what a wonderful, caring woman you are.”
Tears gathered in June’s eyelashes. One separated and trickled down her cheek. Doug gathered it with his forefinger before it could fall and touched it to his lips. That induced others to overflow. She leaned against his chest, unable to talk for a moment.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t intend to make you sad,” Doug said softly.
“I’m not sad, silly; I’m happy. Never mind, if you want to get married now, we will.”
“I do, but we can make it whenever you like.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Good. Let the dishes wait; let’s go to bed.”
* * *
Doug kissed June good by and reluctantly left the bedroom. She was off for the weekend, but he had two more weeks yet before having any days completely free. On the way to the security building, he stopped twice for gas, thinking how glad he would be when the new building next to the CDC comp
lex was ready for occupancy. It was becoming dangerous for the guard force to go back and forth from where they were presently housed to the CDC. Without the single army battalion patrolling the streets of Atlanta, he thought it would already be next to impossible. At that, he was very dissatisfied that only one company detached from another battalion had been assigned to help guard the immediate area around the CDC. To his mind, it was grossly inadequate.
The first place he stopped at was closed. The big front windows of the convenience store were shattered and the shelves inside strewn with rubble. He suspected that the owner had died and it had been looted in his absence. He remembered the man well, a black man in his fifties with graying hair who always wore a cheerful gin. He once told Doug he had begun work there right out of high school and eventually bought the store when its original owner retired.
The second place was open but he had to wait in line. He noticed that many of the men wore holstered handguns as openly as he had begun doing, while others carried rifles or shotguns as they pumped their gas. A weapon in sight gave an obvious signal: no easy pickings here.
By the time he filled up and paid for the gas and some non-perishable items he could store in the trunk of the car until that evening, he barely had time to make it to Gene’s early morning briefing. Teresa Williams, William Jurgens and Gary Jones, the other three platoon leaders were already there.
The first thing he did was head for the coffee pot. The convenience store had been out. He poured a cup and took his seat with the other three security heads just as Gene Bradley arrived. Doug thought he was beginning to appear worn, but he got right down to business, as usual.
“Good news. The new security building will be ready two days from now. Tell your troops to make plans to move their personal gear over there on their own time, but I want a detail of two men each from your platoons tomorrow morning to help move our munitions. The army will furnish transportation, but they tell me they can’t spare the men.” Gene’s lips twitched in a caricature of a smile. “At least they’re taking some pressure off us now.”