“Best if we fly down the night before, it’s going to be a big day,” he suggested.
Before long, they were back in the White House and CIA Director, Johnson, was pacing the hallway as he waited for the President.
“What’s wrong?” asked Russell as Johnson followed him into the Oval Office.
“Koch, Harkness, Hathaway, and Mellon. That’s what’s wrong,” he said, shutting the door.
“Christ, what now? They moaning about their babysitters?” he asked, slumping into his sofa and instantly regretting the sudden motion and impact.
“They’re all dead is what’s wrong!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” exclaimed Russell, not believing Johnson for a second.
“Definitely! Executed! One round through each of their foreheads. Bang, bang, bang, fucking bang.” He motioned each bang with an outstretched index finger and thumb.
“Your guys were watching them!”
“While you were getting your cock sewn back on, your Secret Service agents left the Alibi Club, and left my guys swinging in the wind with their asses hanging out. Sam Baker waltzed in, popped the guys and disappeared.”
“Shit!”
“The explosion that had you jumping in the air was nothing more than a glorified firework, all bang and no bluster. It was a sham, timed and placed to perfection. We did exactly what he wanted, pulled the Secret Service away from the Club.”
“But why not get me at the Club? He must have known I was going if he rigged the diversion?”
“Shit, hadn’t thought of that.”
The President pressed his buzzer. “Nancy, get me Henry Preston and Jim Gates, please.”
Five minutes later, the four were trying to work through why Sam Baker had not taken a shot at Russell.
The only conclusion any of them could come up with, that made any sense, was that Sam Baker did not know Russell was involved. It also meant that if he were unaware of Russell’s involvement, Johnson was probably in the clear also.
“Ah, one problem. We’re assuming he didn’t get anything out of the four before he killed them,” offered Preston.
“Okay, back to plan A. I want Sam Baker dead,” instructed the President.
Chapter 73
Sam woke up with a start. Despite the hour, only 4:00 a.m., he called his brother, but Charles had assured him that everything was fine. They had, as ordered, not ventured outside. Cabin fever was setting in, but they would be good, he assured his younger brother. They would not go out.
Sam looked back at the bed and the stunning figure of Rebecca. It felt wrong and he knew it was wrong. His wife and child lay dead. He hadn’t even buried them properly. He knew strange things happened, in times of crisis. You would do things that would otherwise, not even enter your mind. Rebecca had kept him sane. She had kept his mind occupied, his thoughts alive and not with the dead. He knew he’d feel guilt and shame for what he had done but somehow, it felt right as well. He stared at her sleeping figure and realized that now, was not the time. There would be time for mourning and recriminations later.
Sam spotted the Victor Annual in his backpack. Perfect, he needed something to occupy his mind. His mind ventured back almost forty years as he read and followed the comic strips that told their stories of the British fighting the Germans. He smiled as one strip told the story of a spy caught behind enemy lines, who had managed to escape before he was interrogated, and returned home. Nothing overly surprising, other than the fact that the spy had a false tooth, with a cyanide pill. He looked across at Rebecca to see if she was awake to tell her where Deif’s idea must have come from. She was sound asleep. He’d tell her later. The next strip featured a naval convoy taking vital supplies to the Russians, who were valiantly fighting the Germans on the Eastern Front. It was real gung-ho stuff, thought Sam. The British ships fought the harshness of the seas before being set upon by German fighter bombers. Without an escort, all was lost, but in good old Victor style, they pulled something out the hat, and what a something, thought Sam. He stared at the little comic drawing and thought back to the false tooth. Jesus!
“Rebecca!” he shouted, no concerns if she were sleeping or not. “We need to get to my brother and the Secretary of Defense!” If Rebecca’s information was correct, they had three days to stop the bomb.
Chapter 74
The Sheikh was enjoying the warmth of the Texan sun after the biting cold of Montana. The first rays of sun, even at that time of year, radiated a wonderful and welcome heat. Zak had been an extremely reluctant passenger as they’d travelled towards the scene of his atrocity some years earlier. But the Sheikh had assured him, on many occasions, that they would not be going beyond the security wall, that now protected the southern Texas border from the wasteland beyond.
As they drove towards the small town of Bishop, the wall came into view and Zak winced at his handiwork. The wall stretched off as far as the eye could see, blocking the devastation from view. The Sheikh pulled into a small diner and joined a throng of tourists who had, rather bizarrely, come to look at the wall. It seemed quite the tourist destination; badges, mugs, and t-shirts lined the walls, all emblazoned with a mushroom cloud visible above the wall that now protected every American from the land beyond.
The tourists provided perfect cover as they joined a large group on a guided tour of the new border. There was no border-crossing. The massive steel gates that briefly interrupted the wall were firmly closed and a radiation symbol clearly warned anyone from venturing beyond. To the left and right of the gates, two large areas had been cut into the wall and it was these, that the Sheikh was most interested in. Two plaques were soon to be mounted and would be unveiled by the President himself. It was anticipated that most of the Cabinet and high ranking officials of government would be in attendance and it was for that very reason, that the Sheikh required Zak’s assistance. On his own, he wouldn’t get within a mile of the location, come Saturday. With Zak and his Defense Intelligence Agency ID, he’d be able to get up close and personal.
As the site became busier, Zak and the Sheikh walked back to the diner. They saw the first trucks arrive in preparation for Saturday’s event. They paused and watched as the trucks pulled off to the side and a small army of workers appeared, and began unloading staging and folding chairs. If nothing else, it confirmed the event was definitely going ahead.
The Sheikh directed Zak back to their motel, just twenty miles away in Corpus Christi. He excused himself and walked to the internet café, logging onto a non-descript chatroom. He reread the message a number of times. It wasn’t so much what it read, it was the hidden meaning. Things had obviously taken a significant change of direction, and his task had just gotten a lot harder. Fortunately, it did not alter the location, it just increased the number of targets.
Chapter 75
Ben listened as Rebecca relayed what they had discovered in the comic book. Initially, he had scoffed at the idea, it was utterly ridiculous. But the more he’d thought about it, the more he couldn’t rule it out. He instructed his guys to widen the search. The ship did not necessarily have to be in port before midnight on Yom Kippur. They could look at boats scheduled to arrive even a day later.
Ben had sat through his next meeting digesting everything that Rebecca had told him over the last few days. None of it was good and more importantly, none of it was good for Israel. He excused himself from the meeting. There were less than sixty hours until midnight on Yom Kippur, and he had little time available. He looked at the clock, checking the time he already knew. He calculated the timings. It was quite simple. He didn’t have the time, but more importantly, he didn’t have the time not to.
“David, what’s the quickest plane we’ve got to get me to America?” he asked the Defense Minister.
“I’ll call you straight back!”
Two minutes later, he called back. “Ben, normally, one of our Gulfstreams would be as quick as we could do. Fighters just don’t have the range without numerous tanker stops, and by t
he time we got that organized, you’d have been halfway there in the Gulfstream.”
“Okay, that’s normal.” Ben didn’t have time for explanations or pre-amble.
“Well, it seems there’s an experimental American B1-R sitting at Nevatim. It’s undergoing trials for long distance speed runs. It arrived a couple of days ago after doing it in five hours, half the time of the Gulfstream.”
“And they’d let me hitch a ride?”
“They’re excited to test it and since they go supersonic, it has to fly over sea and not land. America to here gives them about as long a straight run as you can get over sea. I just need to tell them when and you’re good to go.”
Ben thanked God. Something was going in their favor.
“Fantastic, David. I’ll be there in four hours.” Or not all, he thought, as he hung up.
Before he went anywhere, he was about to undertake the riskiest mission of his life. The Shin Bet officer greeted him as he left his office and talked him through a number of key points. The most important, was that Ben must stay in full sight at all times. If at any point they feared he would be taken and interrogated, well, quite simply, they could not allow that to happen. Ben was assured that the snipers targeting him would ensure a quick and painless end. How thoughtful and comforting, he thought.
As the helicopter came into land, Ben’s nerves were beginning to get the better of him. It was the most ludicrous idea he had ever had, but with less than three days to save his country, he would try anything, and this was pretty much all that was left.
The small open-top Jeep offered no protection. He climbed aboard and with the white flag in position, he drove towards the gates which opened as he approached them and then, slammed shut behind him.
Ben Meir, for the first time in decades, was in Gaza, where more than half the population would happily slit his throat, and that was only because the rest were too young or too old. He drove forward and stood up for all to see the white flag fluttering behind him. Ben was hoping to meet just one person, and prayed that the boldness of his arrival would afford him that meeting.
It didn’t take long before the first armed man approached, and if Ben’s contacts were correct, Ahmed Hameed would already know that Ben Meir was sitting in a Jeep with a white flag.
“What do you want, old man?”
“To talk with Ahmed Hameed, in private.”
“I will take you to him!” he smiled in response.
Ben almost laughed at the transparency of the offer to slaughter him. “We must meet here, for reasons I’m sure Ahmed will appreciate!”
The gunman drove off. A second gunman, more senior, insisted Ben drive further into Gaza. Ben kept a close eye on the odometer. He had been told to stay in clear view and within 0.8 of a mile of the guard tower. Any further, and they would assume the worst.
Ben stopped as the gauge clicked to 0.8 and ignored the gunman’s gesticulations to come further.
Ahmed had surveyed the scenes from afar. The news that one of Israel’s most famous and feared men had ventured into Gaza on his own with only a white flag as cover, had spread like wildfire. Ahmed’s network had informed him almost immediately, and the news of the request to meet with him in private, certainly intrigued him. If it were a trap, he could see no way out for Ben Meir. His men would cut him down with ease. Perhaps, he was terminally ill and was willing to sacrifice himself for Ahmed. However, Ahmed held no illusions that his name was held in the same regard as Deif or the Sheikh. Ben Meir would not trade himself for Ahmed Hameed. Deif’s plan to bring them to their knees with the nuclear weapons, seemed to be the only thing that fit. Here was Ben Meir, begging on his knees. That would raise Ahmed’s name alongside Deif and perhaps, even the Sheikh. He instructed his best snipers to take up position. Any funny business and they were to kill the Israeli.
Ahmed jumped into a Jeep and drove towards the diminutive Israeli.
Ben stood up and offered Ahmed his hand, as the two introduced each other formally.
“I do not like your snipers aiming their weapons at me, please instruct them to stand down,” insisted Ahmed, refusing Ben’s hand.
“My dear boy,” laughed Ben. “They’re not aiming at you. They have explicit instructions, under no circumstance to shoot you. They’re aiming at me!”
Ahmed looked at him with some confusion. The old man was mad, it was a trick.
“My government is extremely concerned that if I were to be captured, I hold some of the most secret and important information in the land. I’m too dangerous to them in your hands. I also believe that you’re too valuable to us dead. So trust me, if anybody’s getting out of here alive, it’s you. My life is in your hands.”
Ahmed accepted the honesty and Ben Meir’s hand.
“Now,” said Ben. “Let me tell you about something called Ararat.” He beckoned for Ahmed to sit, it was going to take some time.
Chapter 76
Preston hadn’t slept all night. He had become increasingly wary of Johnson’s influence and closeness to the President. Johnson was not the brightest, but was most possibly one of the most ruthless and ambitious people that Preston had ever met. That was an exceptionally dangerous combination, and he most certainly was not a man that Preston ever intended to have to call ‘Sir’. The President was an exceptionally bright man, but unfortunately, he was also incredibly easily led. His judgment, at times, was very wanting. The old men whom he had tied himself up with, were a case in point. Killing Baker had always been the wrong move, but once in motion, it had to be followed through. If it did ever leak, ‘Bakergate’ could destroy the political system in the US.
It was therefore, down to Henry Preston to rescue the President and save the American political system and in turn, he hoped to gain the Vice President’s chair.
Preston, as Director of National Intelligence, oversaw sixteen of the nation’s most important intelligence agencies, and had literally hundreds of thousands of America’s most intelligent individuals working for him. Preston had left the Oval Office the previous evening, and called on his brightest and best talents. He had locked them in the room and between them, they talked through and considered all the information to date.
For obvious reasons, Preston had excluded the CIA from the session. Johnson’s guys couldn’t be trusted not to keep him in the loop, and this was going to be Preston’s baby from start to finish. Preston laid out the timeline, and talked his small and elite audience through what they knew had happened to date. With two FBI agents used to working down the leads, two code breakers/hackers from the NSA, a National Reconnaissance Office analyst with access to satellite feeds, both historic and real time, and a Department of Justice specialist with access to every database in the land, he figured that between them, they’d get there.
It was one of NSA men who jumped on the names they had used on the Paris to New York flight, as a potential for narrowing down the search area. Of course, it was unlikely that they’d ever use the names again, but up until that point, the names had been clean. As suggested, they tracked the names back and one of them, Sam’s, led all the way back to Glacier Park International Airport, Montana. Of course, they were no longer there, but ask ourselves this, suggested the NSA code breaker. Why did they start there? Of course, that rationale, after hours of work, earned a hearty laugh. However, he then pointed out that they didn’t start out as just two people. Light bulbs went on around the room as the point was made. Senator Baker was probably near Glacier Park International Airport.
With a point of reference, it did not take long to track down the skiing lodge. What was a complex barrier of trust funds to a tax lawyer, was a Level One line puzzle to an NSA codebreaker. As morning broke, they had their location. The NRA man was instructed to get a bird over there asap, and was in the process of redirecting a new KH-13 satellite to do just that. They would have visuals of the lodge any time soon. Meanwhile, Preston was on the phone to DIA and instructing a drone be put up, to offer round the clock eyes on the si
te, since the satellite would only have a specific window due to its orbit. NSA were instructed to tap into every piece of communication that went anywhere near the lodge. With eyes and ears all over the location, Preston began to consider the assault.
Having witnessed Johnson’s previous failures, Preston had no intention of repeating them. Bombing was out. He wanted to know for definite that Senator Baker was out of the game. A straight through the door approach had failed as well in Washington, and just succeeded in embroiling the Secretary of Defense into the mess. It was time for the professionals, Amateur Hour was over. Preston picked up the phone and called his contact at the Human Intelligence Directorate of the DIA, similar to the NCS of the CIA in many ways, apart from one. The DIA got the pick of the crop, the CIA had to settle for the best of whatever was left.
Within the hour, two five-men teams were kitting up and preparing to drive their two Suburbans into the loading area on board a C130, for the trip to Montana.
Preston packed up his things, thanked his assistants, and hightailed it to the National Security Council meeting. The President had increased the frequency to every eight hours, as the deadline for the nuclear bomb loomed. However, with the Vice Presidency sorted, Preston would turn his attention to finding the bomb and saving the nation. It was difficult being the most intelligent guy in the room, he smiled, but somebody had to do it.
Chapter 77
ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS Page 62