The Babel Conspiracy

by Sylvia Bambola

  When he reached level ground, he removed the rifle from his shoulder and positioned himself behind a boulder. He didn’t have to wait long for suddenly four men appeared at the top of the ridge. He opened fire, drawing attention away from the women who were still exposed as they maneuvered the last several feet of the crag. Then noise, like firecrackers, exploded in the air as the four terrorists responded.

  A bullet grazed a rock next to Trisha, slicing off a tiny stone chip, as sharp as a razor, and cutting her hand. As she wiped it on her jeans, Trisha saw the body of one of the fighters fly past her. By the time she reached level ground, another body had fallen. Now, there were only two fighters left, and they would have to scale the same precipice.

  To the side of the boulder where Iliab crouched was the dried gorge that cut between the mountains. Somewhere ahead, Joshua and his men waited. “It will be an easy trip, now. We should reach Joshua before the two fighters scale the bluff. But other patrols must have heard our gunfire and will be coming, so we must move quickly.”

  He looked at the two women squatting next to him. Audra’s cracked lips were bleeding. Her body was bruised and cut, her blouse, shredded. Large tears streamed her pale cheeks as she clutched her ankle. The climb had all but finished her. Trisha sat beside her, her lips and body equally battered; her left hand caked with dried blood.

  “Up! Get to your feet!” Iliab said gruffly.

  Audra began to sob. But when she looked at Iliab’s boots she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, and with Trisha’s help, rose to her feet. Then leaning on the engineer’s shoulder, she slowly moved one foot in front of the other.

  “Come on! Come on!” snapped Iliab. And throughout the rest of their journey he drove them like cattle, whipping them with his tongue. “Faster! Move!”

  “I hate you!” Audra blurted, half crazed from pain and thirst and exhaustion.

  “I’m not concerned with your feelings, Miss Shields. So, don’t waste your energy on such useless words. Now . . . move . . . quickly . . . quickly!”

  And so it went, until Trisha spotted a pair of trucks nestled between two boulders framed by rifle barrels. When they were recognized, Joshua and his men were all over them, half carrying, half dragging the women to the trucks; laughing and congratulating Iliab as they went. For Trisha, there were added displays of affection from Joshua as he hugged and kissed her.

  “Where’s Nathan?” Joshua said, looking around.

  “He didn’t make it.” Iliab’s tone was emotionless, but for a time, the laughter and chatter stopped.

  As the women guzzled water from fresh canteens, Iliab looked backward at the path. “We need to go. There are sure to be one or more patrols on their way here. If we get a head start the fighters won’t be able to catch us on foot.”

  He ushered Audra, then Trisha, onto the truck, and slipped in beside them. Within seconds, he pulled ammunition from his bandoleer, reloaded his rifle, then positioned it for laying cover fire.

  Audra was already sprawled on the truck bed. She had never felt so battered or in such pain. She tried ignoring Trisha, who was praying as usual. The praying irritated her, though Trisha prayed silently and off to the side.

  “If we travel the rest of the day we can reach the airstrip where a plane awaits you. You are almost home,” Iliab said.

  “Yes, but at such a great price!” Trisha responded.

  “In this world, everything must be paid for, one way or another,” he returned dryly.

  Audra rolled onto her side. Yes, that was the very thing she was thinking. And she was determined to extract payment.

  • • •

  CHAPTER 17

  Joshua sat in Mike’s office watching agent Peter Meyers turn various shades of red.

  “This was not authorized!” Peter shouted. “The Mossad never cleared this with DHS! You spoke of a better partnership between us. Is this what it looks like?”

  “Our agency knew you wouldn’t want your fingerprints on it, so we took the initiative. You should be glad there’s one less terrorist camp in Mexico,” Joshua returned calmly.

  “One less terrorist camp? You’ve got to be kidding! Seco Polvo was incinerated!”

  “To everyone’s satisfaction. Even the Mexican government. Why else would they have their newspapers write it up as a drug war between two rival cartels?” Joshua’s lips formed a crescent.

  “Yeah. According to their news, two unmarked helicopters swooped down on Seco Polvo and pulverized them with what the reporter believed were ATAS, air-to-air Stinger missiles. Stinger missiles? For crying out loud, talk about overkill!”

  Joshua leaned forward. “This is war, not a polite parlor game. We don’t take short cuts or do half measures. That’s why we’ll win. The Mossad is thorough. Besides, we wanted to send a message.”

  Mike thumped his desk. “Where is the argument? Joshua is right. The mission was accomplished. The women are safe. We should be rejoicing. It’s a victory for the good guys. And I agree with Joshua on the message part. ISA will think twice, now, before trying to kidnap one of ours.”

  “How are the women by the way?” Joshua said.

  Peter slid down in his chair like a petulant child, but his countenance told Joshua the verbal tongue-lashing was over. “I haven’t seen them since their debriefing. Right now Trisha is staying at a motel in Everman under heavy DHS security and Audra is still detained.”

  “Trisha looks thin,” Mike said. “But her color is coming back and her lips aren’t bleeding anymore. She still looks pretty banged up, though.” He frowned when he saw the look on Joshua’s face. “What?”

  Joshua still felt sorry for his brother for losing Trisha, but like anyone who had loved and lost, he’d get over it. Hadn’t he gotten over losing Rachel? Or . . . almost? At least he was working on it. “And Audra? How is she?”

  Mike appeared embarrassed for having forgotten her. “I hear she’s doing okay. After her debriefing, she was forced to check into Everman City Hospital under an assumed name for further observation.”

  “Regarding her mental stability?”

  Mike nodded.

  “I’m not surprised,” Joshua said. “She seemed pretty fragile on the trek home.”

  “But this whole thing still doesn’t make sense,” Mike said with a frown. “What did ISA hope to gain? As much as I hate saying it, if they wanted to stop the P2 wouldn’t they have been better off killing them both? But a kidnapping for ransom? That doesn’t add up.”

  “The Mossad agrees,” Joshua said, feeling a familiar rage come over him. “Believe me, if destroying your project was Kamal’s purpose, you’d have found the women dead in their apartments. He has no qualms in murdering anyone, no matter their sex or age.”

  He glanced at Peter. “Our agents have learned that while Tafco Oil was interested in stopping the P2 project, Kamal was interested in obtaining the specs.”

  Peter shook his head. “No, your boys are wrong this time. Both ISIS and ISA want to stop all use of alternative energy. They want everyone using oil so they can control it and its revenue as a means of crippling the industrialized west and filling their war chests.”

  Joshua picked up one of the brown envelopes sitting on the desk in front of him and handed it to Mike. “Here’s proof that Kamal and Robert Gunther made a deal with Russia to obtain your specs, unbeknown to ISIS or ISA, or even Tafco Oil, and for a large sum. When the attempts failed, Kamal decided to take the women, instead.

  “It’s not clear whether Gunther was privy to this part of the plan. At any rate, when they didn’t succeed, Kamal settled on the idea of a ransom, maybe figuring a little money was better than nothing. So he made the demand reasonable, just a million dollars, something doable for you. But we don’t think Kamal’s men at Seco Polvo knew he was operating on his own rather than under orders.”

  Mike tossed the envelope onto his de
sk. “So what part did Tafco Oil play?”

  “The part that involved sabotaging your project in hope of stopping it. Robert Gunther, on the other hand, wanted to profit from it personally by selling the specs to the Russians. Right now the agency is inclined to believe Gunther was acting without permission, and in sole collaboration with Kamal.”

  “I never did trust him! But this! It’s beyond the pale.”

  “Tafco Oil has other sins to answer for,” Joshua said as he watched Peter drum his fingers on the arms of his chair. After a brief hesitation, he slid the second, even larger, brown envelope across the desk. “Here’s the proof you’ll need, Peter, to get your country back.”

  Peter tapped the envelope. “Something tells me this is trouble.”

  “Plenty of it. It shows how President Thaddeus Baker used government funds to pay Tafco Oil to build five internment camps in preparation for when he declared martial law. In exchange, Baker was to push Israel to relinquish their oil holdings in the Golan, after which Tafco would be paid to extract the oil. Baker was even prepared to back a Russian-Syrian invasion to accomplish it. Apparently the three of them, Tafco, Russia and Syria were to share the spoils.

  “It’s also obvious that declaring martial law was Baker’s plan all along. The report details how he did it by enlisting the aid of imams and members of American based Islamic groups, as well as elements of the Islamic Brotherhood to foment riots in major cities and start an anti-police campaign. Then, when lawlessness spiraled out of control it would set up the perfect scenario for establishing martial law.

  “It’s possible he wouldn’t have followed through on the plan if his puppet, Senator Garby, had a chance of winning the presidential election. Having Garby as president would enable Baker to essentially conduct a third term behind the scenes, much like Vladimir Putin did with Medvedev. But when it became obvious it was not going to happen, Baker settled on Plan B—a forced takeover of the country.”

  Peter’s fingers rested on the envelope. “This is explosive stuff. If it’s true, if your so-called proof holds up, it makes it dangerous. People have died in the riots, many more taken to internment camps under the guise of maintaining law and order. What makes you think President Baker will stop at that? What’s my life, or the life of anyone else worth if it threatens to thwart his plans?”

  “Nothing. That’s why you must share this with people you trust. I suggest you begin by leaking it to the press, a press not sympathetic to Baker or they’ll squash it. I would be lying if I said Israel isn’t anxious for you to do this. President Baker has begun what we call the ‘Hitler Plan.’ He’s blaming Israel and the Jews for the rise in world terrorism. He’s doing what Hitler did, making us the scapegoat. It’s also one way he can justify martial law. Between the riots at home and the increasing terrorist threats, people will continue to be tolerant of his takeover. When citizens are afraid, it makes them more willing to give up their liberties.”

  Peter picked up the envelope and slipped it into his briefcase. “Only the president can end martial law and reinstitute our constitutional structure. Impeaching him may be impossible. Many powerful leaders in congress support him. And even if we could impeach, it would all be for naught if we don’t have an honest candidate to fill the presidency.

  “No one has seen or heard from Senator Merrill in weeks. No one knows where he is. It’s rumored he’s been arrested and taken to one of the internment camps. Is he alive? Or dead? No one knows that either. And if he’s dead and we manage impeachment then the lifting of martial law and new elections, what do we gain if there’s no one but Garby on the ballot?”

  Joshua smiled. “Don’t worry about that. If and when you’re able to hold elections, you’ll have your honest candidate.”

  “Don’t tell me your boys have him?” Peter said, frowning.

  “This debriefing is over, gentlemen.” Joshua rose to his feet. “I’ve given you the number where you can reach me. And use a secure line when you call. It’s not just your necks on the line. We have several there as well. But considering President Baker’s ‘Hitler Plan’ I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to work together.”

  Mike’s intercom buzzed just as Joshua turned to go. “I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted. What?” Mike motioned with his hand for Joshua to wait. “Are you sure? What did he say? All right . . . put him through.” Mike’s face tightened as he picked up the desk phone. “It’s for you, Joshua. The man claims to be Kamal.”

  Joshua took the phone. “Yes.” He listened to the familiar voice identify himself. “What do you want?”

  “Payback. It’s coming. You took my property. Those women were mine. And you incinerated my town, killed my men. Now, it is time for you to lose something. Perhaps your brother or your new friend, Cassy. I haven’t decided which. Maybe both. But you shouldn’t mind so much, me removing Cassy’s head from her shoulders. She’s not as beautiful as your Rachel was. But I can make sure it is more painful. Whatever I do, whoever I do it to, it will be painful, rest assured of that.” Then the phone went dead.

  Joshua hung up his end, then pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began punching numbers.

  “Was that really Kamal? Peter asked. “What did he want?”

  Without answering, Joshua bolted out the door.

  • • •

  Joshua pressed hard on the door bell. Even from his position in the hall, he heard the annoying ring that pulsed nonstop at the command of his thumb. His other hand was on the Berretta tucked behind his back. No telling if ISA got here ahead of him. He released the gun when the door opened and he saw Cassy.

  “Well,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, “I didn’t expect you to be this anxious to see me. Not after you leave town without a word and don’t even bother calling. Am I supposed to be all flustered and excited that you’ve decided to pay me a visit?”

  Without a word, Joshua shoved Cassy inside then closed and bolted the door.

  “Easy lover-boy. If you think it’s going to be that simple you’ve got . . . .”

  Joshua grabbed her and kissed her. “Now, will you stop talking and listen?” he said, releasing her. “You always have to get the last word, and there isn’t time.”

  He told her about Kamal’s threat and watched color drain from her face. “You must be taken to safety. Two Mossad agents will fly you to Tel Aviv where you’ll stay in a safe house, under heavy guard.”

  Cassy pursed her lips as she shoved her growing bangs behind one ear. “I don’t want to go to Tel Aviv.”

  “It’s only for a little while. Until we get Kamal.”

  “And how long have you been on his trail? Two years. Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “Yes, but . . . .”

  “I’m not leaving my apartment or my work for that long. Besides, this is your opportunity, Joshua. You have him where you want him. He’s desperate to hurt you. To extract revenge. Use that against him. Let me stay and be your decoy. Let’s finish him once and for all.”

  When Joshua looked away, Cassy tugged on his arm. “That’s what they want me to do, isn’t it? The Mossad wants me to be their decoy.”

  Joshua nodded. “I told them, no. We’re not dealing with a man but a devil. Without a conscience, and capable of anything. And Kamal promised that whatever he did would be painful. Not like last time when he killed . . . .”

  “Finish it, Joshua. When he killed Rachel?”

  “Yes. And I can’t let that happen again to someone I . . . .”

  “to someone you like, respect, find funny . . . what?”

  “You really want me to say it?”

  “Yes.”

  “To someone I like a lot.”

  “You mean in the way you like baseball a lot or bubblegum a lot or . . . .”

  “Love . . . I should have said love, ok? And I can’t go through that again. I can’
t let that butcher do it again.”

  “Well, thank you. That’s the first time you’ve actually used the word ‘love’. And if I didn’t love you, too, I’d probably take that vacation you offered me in Tel Aviv. But the problem is, I do love you, Joshua. And Kamal has made this our fight. And together we can beat him.”

  • • •

  Hours later, Joshua showed up at his brother’s apartment accompanied by two men in black suits. “Pack your things,” he said. “You’re going on a trip.”

  • • •

  “How reliable are his sources?” Trisha asked, outwardly calm, but inwardly seething.

  Mike handed her a baloney sandwich and settled in a nearby chair. “Not the best accommodations,” he said, looking around the small motel room. “Can’t DHS do better than this?”

  “I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember. Not splashing around a grand pool at the Ritz. But let’s get back to Joshua. Did he really prove that Tafco Oil, or at least Robert Gunther, was behind the abduction?”

  It had been a week since she left Nathan Yehuda in the mountains. The remainder of the trip to safety and the days that followed were, for Trisha, almost as much a blur as her initial abduction. Buck had been waiting at the airstrip. There was the flight home. Then came a trip to a giant, gray-green fortress—a military installation of some sort—for a physical and a battery of questions. And finally, the reunion with Mike. He had come often to see her but this was the first time he had come here, to the motel, the first time they had been alone, without doctors or nurses or secret service body guards, though two guards stood outside their door.

  “It appears that Gunther was the mastermind behind the Russian deal. Then things took a turn when he was unable to steal the specs. We’re not sure Gunther ever intended for you or Audra to be abducted but certainly once he found out he went along or at least didn’t stop it.