Dark Rising

by Greig Beck

  Zachariah’s brow creased as though he was trying to tease apart a tangled physics equation. ‘I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess I’d say that he was washed back…’ He paused and tapped his lips with his fingers. ‘The universe doesn’t like an imbalance – if he exited to another universe, then, through basic universal elasticity, he should have been washed back into our universe. But if he weren’t, then something else had to be washed in in his place to restore the balance. I guess it was lucky he even appeared back on Earth. You know, there’s a theory that postulates other dimensions and universes as strings and -’

  Adira raised her voice over her colleague’s. ‘You asked what the Iranians would do with this type of technology, Captain. If it were a rational regime we were dealing with, I might be able to answer that question, but it isn’t rational. Mahmoud Moshaddam reads the Qur’an as if it’s a script for his own life; he truly believes that if mankind is cleansed from the planet the pious believers will rise again to form a true Islamic caliphate worldwide. Every time he makes a speech, he includes some reference to the apocalypse. Captain Hunter, we must not underestimate Moshaddam’s ability to create some sort of man-made extinction event just to see his vision come true.’

  Alex noticed that Adira’s hand had made a fist again and her eyes bored into his as she spoke. ‘We need to find that second site as soon as possible; we can’t afford to wait and see what they plan to do with this technology. We have agents working day and night in Iran to find this information for us. Make no mistake, Captain, this technology is beyond dangerous. It needs to be eradicated immediately.’

  FOURTEEN

  It was late afternoon by the time the briefing and strategy session was finished, and Alex had talked through the HAWCs’ approach plan. Afterwards, back in his room, Alex put a call through to Hammerson and updated him on the new Israeli theories.

  Hammerson called back fifteen minutes later: the mission profile had changed. If the energy pulse was the result of new technology, Alex was to upload or secure that technology and await further orders. Priority was now information retrieval; destruction had become the secondary option.

  Hammerson said he was sending Sam an ‘exa-box’ from a local US technology outpost. Alex had heard of them: small flat boxes the size of a cigarette pack with multiple ports to enable it to be plugged into any computer. The small boxes had the ability to store one exabyte of information – that was a ‘1’ with eighteen zeros after it. Alex had been told the device could easily store all the words from every human language that had ever existed – and be slipped into your back pocket. Today, information was power, and an exa-box was the latest way to steal and transport it.

  Alex lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling. Secure the technology and get it back home… hmm. How were seven foreign agents going to secure a heavily guarded laboratory in the middle of a foreign country while he tried to back up an exabyte of data? He closed his eyes and thought through some scenarios. None looked easy or made a lot of sense, but there was one that stuck in his mind: where he and his team were unsuccessful. If their mission failed, Israel would send in a squadron of F-161 Sufa Falcons armed with laser-guided AGM-45 Shrike missiles and some big AGM-130s with thermobaric warheads for deep ground penetration. Or worse – a single mega-kiloton missile to vaporise everything for miles. The fallout would be off the radioactive spectrum. A lot was at stake here.

  Alex was also worried about taking Dr Shomron along. He wasn’t concerned for the woman. If she was Mossad – either Kidon or Metsada – she could take care of herself. But the young scientist, even with the HAWCs there, would be significantly exposed. That said, Alex knew Shomron would be needed on the ground. He may be the only one who could actually identify what it was they were looking for. But does he know what he’s getting himself into?

  Alex shifted on the cot, trying to get comfortable. His mind was racing and his headache had returned. Damnit, can’t babysit them all, he thought. And if the scientist volunteered, it was his own head after all. Still Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t have all the facts. Something’s missing, but what? All the puzzle pieces weren’t being laid out. Too late now, he thought, we’re committed.

  He tossed and turned for another fifteen minutes, then surrendered to his body’s agitation. Gotta burn some energy, he thought as he got to his feet.

  Adira found the American HAWC captain wandering along the corridor, trying various doors. At first she’d assumed he was spying, but the T-shirt and towel around his neck and the embarrassed look on his face convinced her he was genuinely looking for somewhere to exercise. She knew herself what the body was like before a mission.

  She looked him up and down and grinned. ‘No gymnasium or running track, and don’t ask about a soda machine either. To use one of your own American phrases, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Captain. And don’t even consider jogging up and down the corridor or you’ll be shot.’ She laughed and let him off the hook. ‘I can offer you a coffee, and we can talk through more details of the plan. If you want, you can even do some push-ups on my floor.’

  Alex laughed too and gave a slight bow of the head. ‘Lead on.’

  She took him to a room more spartan than his own. She kicked a seat around for him to sit on and flicked the button on the electric kettle, which boiled furiously. ‘Instant, no sugar, no milk, and no cookies. The water also tastes like metal.’ She turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Just the way I like it,’ Alex responded with mock enthusiasm.

  Adira handed him the steaming metallic-smelling brew, then sipped her own in silence. She could feel the tall American looking at her, assessing her. For the first time in many years she felt awkward, self-conscious. Achhh, stop it, she thought. She knew there was something on his mind; something he wanted to ask. She waited.

  Alex looked at her over his cup. ‘Ms Senesh, why do I feel you’re simply looking for a lift and some US armour plating, and once we locate the target you’ll go on a killing spree that ends up making the mission more kamikaze than Special Ops?’

  If not for her training, Adira may have spluttered coffee over herself. She hadn’t expected an American to be so direct, or to try to flush away her cover so quickly. Now she wondered if she’d ever had any cover with this agent. Best to ‘play ball’, as the Americans called it.

  ‘Captain Hunter, my orders are to assist Dr Shomron in the detection of the facility and, if necessary, to aid you in the destruction of any threatening technology. That is all.’ She kept her gaze steady as Alex’s eyes drilled into hers.

  He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not sure you’re worth the risk, Ms Senesh. Dr Shomron will be a physical liability, but I can manage that. What I would find distracting is you making a mess while we’re trying to do our jobs.’

  Adira felt a flush of anger colour her cheeks but she responded as evenly as she could. ‘Captain Hunter, Israelis have never been a liability on any mission, ever. With us you will succeed, this I promise. You should be aware that if you were unsuccessful in your assignment, then our government would mount its own mission. It would, unfortunately, be a little more heavy-handed than what you are planning. The Iranians will retaliate, of course, and also shut off their oil supply lines. And, while they’re at it, activate hundreds of terrorist sleeper cells internationally. It will get very expensive and very bloody for all of us. My orders are to assist you, and I give my word that I will follow your commands at all times.’

  Adira was breathing heavily when she finished. No one had ever dared infer she was either a risk or a liability for any mission.

  Alex looked into her face for several seconds; she didn’t flinch.

  ‘Ms Senesh,’ he said, ‘our priority is to understand what we are dealing with before there is any “destruction of threatening technology”. We don’t even know yet what it is we would be trying to destroy. This threat has come from out of nowhere, and if it’s anything like Dr Shomron has described, then f
rankly I would prefer to be dealing with a nuclear bomb. Destruction is the fast and easy option, and if we could go back in time and stop yet another way mankind has worked out to annihilate itself then I’d be the first to do it. But we can’t. The genie is out of its bottle – it’s already here.’ Alex put his cup down and brought his hands together in front of him. ‘You and Dr Shomron will be assisting us in intelligence gathering – we need to better understand the threat. Both our countries may have to face it again somewhere, sometime. This may be our only chance to know the devil, so to speak.’ Alex looked hard again into her eyes and opened his hands. ‘Can you do that for us, Ms Senesh?’

  Adira held his gaze, trying to see if he really believed what he had just said. She knew that the only reason Israel still existed today was because it had greater firepower than its neighbours, all of whom would love to see it obliterated. She looked from his eyes to the rest of his face; she could see strength and honour in his features. A noble man, she thought, and perhaps a little naive.

  Adira smiled and lifted her near empty cup in a salute. ‘Of course, Captain Hunter. If we can get close to the technology, the blueprints, or even the scientists who designed it, we can help you understand it.’

  She liked the tall HAWC, but she had her orders. Leave nothing standing, and find the key to the new American weapon, Arcadian. She hoped Captain Hunter wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Back out in the corridor, Alex assessed the Israeli woman again. He knew she was a professional, and didn’t doubt she could mask her emotions and hold her composure, probably even under torture. Still, he could tell she hadn’t been telling him the whole truth.

  ‘Metsada or Kidon?’ he asked her.

  The question elicited no surprise, not even a blink. ‘Metsada: level five. And you, Captain, how long in the HAWCs? I heard about your work in the Antarctic.’

  Alex smiled but didn’t reply. He should have known that the Mossad information network would be just as active in America as it was everywhere else in the world. He was relieved she was Metsada. The Kidon were assassins, just brawny torpedoes. The Metsada matched their lethality, but added in the key element that differentiated a good agent from a special agent – intelligence.

  ‘I need to check in with headquarters and grab your kits,’ Alex told her. ‘Bring Dr Shomron with you over to our billet – Lieutenant Reid will introduce you to the guys.’ He gave a small salute and peeled off at a branch in the corridor, then he stopped. ‘One more thing: try not to kill anyone, will you?’

  It was Adira’s turn to smile.

  FIFTEEN

  Rocky Lagudi took a step forward. To Adira, he looked like a man who hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to a woman in a very long time. Though inches shorter than she was, he straightened his back and bounced on his toes to try to look her in the eye. Sam Reid and Hex Winter nodded and said polite ‘hellos’, while Francis O’Riordan simply slow-blinked at her and Zachariah.

  Adira stuck to her cover story with the three HAWCs. She knew that she would have to break from it during the mission, but not until the time was right. She had worked with Americans before – they were competitive. Best if these men focused on the mission objective and not a Special Forces rival. She suspected that they’d find out about her soon enough – after all, Alex Hunter now knew the truth.

  Adira shifted the attention to Zachariah, encouraging him to talk about the gamma pulse, its dangers, its possible origination point, and also what they suspected was being engineered from within Iran. She guided him in his delivery, skilfully ensuring he gave the men just enough information to inform them as necessary, but changed his course when she thought he was straying into an area where she wasn’t prepared for them to go just yet.

  All the men asked good questions, with Sam Reid again displaying a knowledge of particle physics that clearly astonished Zachariah. At times it seemed to Adira that Zach and Sam were speaking a language that was inaccessible to the rest of the room.

  The red-headed HAWC, the one they called Irish, tilted his chair back, resting his shoulders and head against the drab green plasterboard wall behind him. ‘But why do you two need to be with us?’ he asked when Zach had finished. ‘No offence, miss, but we can be briefed right here, right now. Or we can get voice comm updates while we’re in the field. He’s a smart kid and you look fit, but you’re just gonna be baggage when the hot rain starts comin’ down.’

  The temptation to kick the man’s chair from under him was nearly overwhelming. Adira reined in her irritation and explained as patiently as she could that they had significant knowledge of the language and local customs, and would be making use of an embedded Israeli network that would be vital in getting them in and out safely.

  But Irish wasn’t finished. ‘We don’t need you guys there for that. Just give us your logistics and we’ll take over. Besides, we’ve got our own networks in place. Bottom line, missy, you science types ain’t cut out for this type of field work.’

  Missy? Adira felt a spot of anger start to burn deep in her stomach. She exhaled slowly through her nose – she needed the HAWCs onside. Her tone was a little more authoritative this time. ‘Your own networks? Lieutenant, your networks are paid informants who despise you. They would gladly sell you all for another handful of American dollars. You will need us, and the Israeli spy infrastructure, to complete your mission safely, and we are going to be there. We are tougher than you think, Second Lieutenant O’Riordan. Besides, I believe it is your superior’s call, and that’s already been made. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Israelis are gonna make us safe and we need’ em?’ Irish scoffed. ‘Lady, I don’t think so. You guys’ve been draggin’ us into fistfights for twenty years, and, frankly, we’re the only thing stoppin’ you being burned off the map. You reckon you’re tough? How hard can it be to use a tank against kids in rags throwin’ rocks? No wonder them Palestinian mooks hate you. I’d say you need us more’n we need you.’

  Adira narrowed her eyes and was about to respond when Zach stepped forward with a face as red as fire and a voice only slightly cracking with nerves.

  ‘You have the ignorance to question our worth or our spirit? We Israelis die every day for what we believe in. Our country was created in 1948 and since then we have produced more scientific papers than any other nation; we have more museums, have planted more trees, and have the highest living standard in the entire Middle East. And we do all of this without ever knowing a day free from war or terror. Israel has never retreated or lost a war – can you say that? No, I didn’t think so.’

  Adira looked briefly at Zach with surprise and admiration. He’s braver than he looks, she thought.

  O’Riordan’s clenched hands came down hard in front of him and he started to rock his chair forward. Adira’s hand shot out like a striking snake. There was a thunk, and a blackened sliver of metal stuck out of the plasterboard less than a match-width from O’Riordan’s temple.

  ‘Kids in rags?’ Adira spat. ‘Jiffa! Your stupidity is matched only by your lack of knowledge about our conflict. We live under a rain of hundreds of rockets per week. Our women and children are torn apart by ball-bearing explosions, and when they lie on the road, broken and in misery, the terrorists hand out sweetmeats while dancing and ululating in their streets. The average Palestinian wants peace with us, but there is a cancerous core that wants eternal conflict. We simply cut out that cancer; like surgeons.’

  Before O’Riordan could do something stupid, Hex Winter stepped forward and pulled the thin blade from the wall. ‘Twin-edged, night-blackened blade, vase-shaped handle, foiled grip. Looks like a Fairbairn-Sykes stiletto, but it’s shorter and got no pommel.’

  Adira could tell he was trying to defuse the situation. She smiled a thank you, though she kept one eye on O’Riordan as she half-turned to the tall, fair-haired HAWC. ‘It’s our own design – an Israeli wasp throwing spike. You throw it like a spear; it’s not designed to swing in the air, hence no pommel to balance the weight. My broth
er taught me to throw it.’

  Hex hefted the knife, spun it around in his fingers expertly and laid it over the back of his forearm for her to take. ‘You’ll have to show me your throwing technique and concealment one day,’ he said. ‘Or maybe your brother will.’ He winked at her.

  Sam Reid stepped forward to take the knife before Adira could. He held it up close to his face. ‘Israeli wasp knife, you say? Seen these before, but it wasn’t in some backyard family knife-throwing competition. It was during a mission in the Indian Ocean, just south of Oman – me and a few Ranger buddies were tasked with intercepting a North Korean ship suspected of carrying yellowcake for delivery to Iraq. By the time we got there it was a ghost ship. No survivors, no bodies and no cargo. Plenty of rads on the Geiger counters though – something hot had been there. Saw a few of these knives stuck in the side of some boxes below deck. We found out later that we’d just missed Operation Goldenbird – one of the Mossad’s little meetand-greet parties. Very clean job.’

  Adira took the blade but didn’t respond. Outside of Metsada, missions were never acknowledged. Nevertheless, she sensed the mood in the small room shift from one of tension to professional interest and respect.

  Except for the redheaded O’Riordan, of course. He just mumbled, ‘What’s a jiffa?’

  Sam spoke again, ignoring Irish’s question. ‘We don’t have to be friends, but there will be military respect. And that’s an order.’ He looked from Irish to Rocky and then across to Adira and Zach.

  Adira just nodded. Zachariah shifted uncomfortably and said, ‘Can we start again?’

  ‘What’s a Jiffa?’ O’Riordan still wasn’t smiling.

  *

  WOMACK Army Medical Centre, Neuropsychological Unit – Fort Bragg