Rudi nodded and took off his jacket and climbed into the car. “How quickly can you get me downtown?”
“There should be no delays whatsoever,” the driver insisted. “Traffic has been getting lighter every day. Where are you going? The message didn’t say.”
“The General Staff Building at the Kirya,” Rudi replied.
The Kirya was an area in Tel Aviv where the Israeli Defense Force headquarters were located. In essence, it was the Israeli version of the Pentagon.
Rudi had been there several times, the trip from the airport usually started out smoothly and then got bogged down in traffic, but on this run the only traffic Rudi saw was a long collection of cars and trucks waiting to fuel up at a single gas station. “Have they started rationing gasoline?”
“Not officially,” the driver said, “but many of the stations are closed. A large, new tax has been imposed on any vehicle that isn’t a hybrid or electric. It’s calculated based on mileage, so no one drives if they don’t have to. It’s my living, so I don’t have a choice.”
Rudi sat back. He’d seen lines at the gas stations in Washington before he left. The price of oil was going through the roof, just as the President said it would. Traders were riding the wave with glee, while regular people were acting the way they often did before a hurricane rolled through, filling up everything in sight in case there was no gas available next week.
Rumors of gas stations closing and oil companies withholding deliveries made it all worse.
Then, in an attempt to calm the public, the President had gone on television to assure everyone that there was enough oil in the strategic reserve and coming in from unaffected sources for the nation to function normally without grinding to a halt. The effect of that speech was panic.
Unfortunately, Rudi thought, a presidential denial of a problem served only to confirm in the minds of many that the problem was real. Silently, he wondered how far America was from mileage taxes, forced carpooling or people checking their license plates to see if they ended in odd or even numbers as they’d done during rationing in the seventies.
“Front gate of the Kirya coming up,” the driver said.
He was soon passing through the outer gate. From there, he quickly reached central reception, where Rudi’s NUMA ID was enough to get him in front of a receptionist from the Office of Naval Records.
“I’m here to see Admiral Natal,” he said, holding out his credentials yet again.
The uniformed aide checked his computer screen. “There’s nothing on the Admiral’s calendar about a visitor from NUMA.”
“I’m an old friend,” Rudi said. “Please, just give the Admiral my name.”
“He’s very busy.”
“As he should be,” Rudi said. “But tell him I’ll wait. All day, if I have to.”
Rudi’s patience was not required. He would cool his heels for no more than five minutes before the aide returned and escorted him to Admiral Natal’s office. There, the two men shook hands warmly and sized each other up after several years without face-to-face contact.
“Wait all day, would you?” the Admiral said. “You’ve used that trick on me before.”
Admiral Natal was thirty years Rudi’s senior, nearly the same height and pure gray on top. He’d spent two years as a visiting professor at Annapolis back when Rudi was a student at the Naval Academy. They’d seen each other occasionally at functions since then and had even worked together on a project several years back.
“You’d misgraded my test,” Rudi reminded him.
“I misgraded everyone’s exam,” the Admiral said. “The true test was seeing who would come in and argue their score. You were the only one who waited for me to return. And all for a few meaningless extra points that wouldn’t affect your A plus.”
“I like getting things right,” Rudi said. “Which is why I’m here. To make something right and to ask you several questions.”
“Somehow, I didn’t think it would be a personal visit. What’s on your mind?”
“NUMA has a crew diving on the Dakar,” Rudi said.
The Admiral’s face tensed. “That boat is a tomb, Rudi. Of all people, I would expect you to understand that. What possible reason could you have for disturbing it?”
Rudi didn’t offer any reasons just yet. “We’ve recovered personal artifacts that we’d like to return to the families of the men who were lost. I assume I can have them delivered here, to you?”
“Of course,” Natal said, leaning back in his chair and staring at Rudi as if trying to gauge him. “But I’m sure you haven’t come all this way just to ask me that.”
“No, I didn’t,” Rudi said. “I came to ask you about the Dakar’s cargo. I need to know what she was carrying when she went down.”
“Carrying?”
“I have good reason to believe there was a biological weapon on board,” Rudi said. “A strain of bacteria that feasts on hydrocarbons, destroying the productive capacity of oil fields and creating dangerous toxic gases that cannot be safely handled.”
The Admiral seemed unmoved. “Rudi, this sounds like fantasy.”
Rudi had expected some pushback. “It cannot have escaped you what’s going on around the world right now. It started right after someone else dived on the Dakar and cut that ship apart.”
For the first time, Natal appeared unnerved. “Cut it apart?”
“It’s sitting on the bottom in three sections,” Rudi said. “It’s been ransacked and cleaned out. We’ve found equipment and personal effects strewn all over the seafloor. We also found this.”
Rudi reached into his pocket and pulled out the French naval pin that Kurt had recovered. He placed it on the Admiral’s desk, pausing and then sliding it over to him.
The Admiral picked it up and looked it over, front and back.
Rudi gave him time to process what he was holding. “We’ve found the remnants of three separate uniforms belonging not to the INS sailors but to crewmen from La Royale.”
La Royale was the nickname of the French Navy. He looked at the pin once more, shook his head softly and sighed.
“We know there was a weapon,” Rudi said. “We know it was developed in conjunction with the French. We assume this pin came from a sailor working with your people before the weapon was stolen.”
“It was stolen,” Natal insisted, “but by the French, not by us.”
“Then what was it doing on board the Dakar?” Rudi asked. “And why would the French Air Force sink a vessel partially crewed by their own personnel?”
The Admiral turned the pin over in his hand several more times. “I had a feeling someone would come to ask that question one day. I suppose I should be thankful it’s you.” He slid the pin back to Rudi. “This is not something my country can admit to. We have enough enemies in this world already. And, in all honesty, we assumed the weapon had been destroyed by the effects of time.”
“I understand Israel’s position in the world,” Rudi said. “That’s why I’m here in person. Nothing needs to be disclosed, but we need the antidote, the counteragent. Or at least the scientific data showing us how it was created.”
“Don’t you think we’d have already given it to you if we had it?”
“I would hope so.”
“Of course we would have,” the Admiral said. “Do you think we want our enemies earning three hundred dollars a barrel for their oil while our allies and our own economy suffer?”
“Then why can’t you help?”
The Admiral stared off into the distance, contemplating a decision, then rose from his seat. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll show you why.”
55
A LONG HALLWAY led to an elevator with no interior controls. Once both men were inside, Admiral Natal gave a voice authorization that got the car moving. It descended to a floor several stories below ground level before stopping.
&nb
sp; When the elevator doors opened, they entered a dimly lit hallway with stainless steel walls.
A checkpoint at the front of the hall was manned by two enlisted sailors and a lieutenant, all three of whom snapped to attention with the Admiral’s appearance.
The Admiral looked the officer in the eye. “Take a break, Lieutenant. Take your men with you.”
The order was so unorthodox that it took a moment before the lieutenant could process it. “Yes, sir,” he said finally.
The men left their post and entered the elevator. Once the doors had shut, the Admiral moved behind their desk, where he began flicking through a series of switches. “Shutting off the cameras,” he told Rudi. “Can’t have a record of this remaining after we’re gone.”
With the surveillance system shut down, the Admiral took Rudi to another desk before disappearing into a labyrinth walled with numbered and locked cabinets. He returned with a metallic container, sealed with rubber around the edges.
“I’ve looked at this record several times myself over the last week. I should have destroyed it. But perhaps it’s best someone like you sees it. You’ll understand.”
Rudi nodded.
“What I’m about to show you cannot be spoken about outside this room,” the Admiral added. “Not without doing irreparable damage to my nation. I hope you understand that.”
Rudi nodded. “You have my word that I’ll keep the information to myself, and that anything we do use will not be sourced back to you or Israel.”
The Admiral opened the container and pulled out several envelopes made of a fireproof material. “The program was known here as Jericho,” he said, breaking the seal on the first envelope. “I’m not sure what the French called their portion, probably Joan of Arc or something. The idea was dreamt up in 1965 and launched early the next year. As you’ve already surmised, it was a biological weapon designed to eat oil and create dangerous waste products.”
“Was the plan to use it as a deterrent?”
The Admiral nodded. “The Arab nations seemed willing to sacrifice untold numbers of lives to destroy Israel. By ’68, they’d already attacked us three times. Despite heavy losses in each war, they simply retreated and rearmed, using oil money to rebuild their forces. Our leaders knew something had to be done or they’d overwhelm us. Some wanted nuclear weapons—which they eventually got—but others wanted a weapon that would render the threat moot without obliterating cities and killing millions. A panel of our scientists suggested genetically engineering a strain of bacteria that would take their wealth away from them before they ever pulled it out of the ground.”
“They obviously succeeded.”
“Not at first,” Natal admitted. “Genetic engineering was in its infancy back then. What could and could not be done were complete unknowns. After a year with little progress, we were at an impasse. The problem was, expertise and equipment. The French had both and they had already helped us develop our nuclear reactors. Indeed, in the early days the French were one of our strongest allies.”
“So, you made a deal.”
Natal nodded. “The joint operation was undertaken. Two teams would work on the project, one from Israel and one from France. They were sent to the island of Jaros, in the Aegean.”
“Why there?” Rudi said. “Jaros is neither Israeli nor French.”
“You’ve answered your own question, my friend. It belonged to neither country, but is barren, uninhabited and not worth a visit from anyone. It served as a neutral spot, not quite halfway between our nations.”
“Trust was already an issue,” Rudi said.
“Isn’t it always?” the Admiral said.
Rudi didn’t respond, but said, “What happened?”
“The first year was uneventful but productive. The second year brought us stunning success, including several strains of bacteria that could live in the heat and pressure of the oil fields. We found the strongest and most voracious and crossed it with another strain of bacteria that consumes hydrocarbons—similar to the bacteria they use when trying to break down oil spills today. The results were spectacular. When the bacteria were exposed to crude oil, it grew at a phenomenal rate. It also produced a highly viscous sludge that acted to seal the wells, blocking them up like caulk. A final by-product was an explosive gas that, once released, would react instantly with air or water.”
“My people have seen it in action.”
“For that, you have my apologies,” the Admiral said. “At any rate, with success comes greed. And the partner of greed is fear.”
“From the French side,” Rudi presumed.
Natal nodded. “By then, France was becoming dependent on Arab oil. And, as a result, becoming less and less interested in a friendship with Israel. After the early success, they demanded that we work on a method to kill the bacteria. The very antidote you’ve come to ask about.”
“And?”
“It was developed,” the Admiral insisted, “and its creation and successful testing brought a quick end to things on Jaros. As soon as the counteragent had been proven to work, a chill descended over the island. Our people realized that the weapon itself would be useless if the French could counteract it, while the French realized that we might wish to destroy the counteragent or to take complete control of it ourselves. Ultimately, they acted before we did, taking everything they could carry and destroying the rest.”
“The facts don’t support that,” Rudi said. “If the French took everything, how did the oil destroyer and a group of French sailors end up on the Dakar at the bottom of the Mediterranean?”
“I said they took it. I didn’t say they got it home. The French sent a submarine to Jaros with a squad of heavily armed commandos on board. They massacred most of our scientific staff and took everything they could carry. They destroyed what remained with explosives and kerosene. All the equipment, all the records. Everything.”
The Admiral took a breath and continued. “We learned of the treachery within twelve hours, but it was too late to give chase. The French were out of range the moment they left the island. With several hundred miles between them and our nearest warship, we could neither stop them nor threaten them. They were home free . . . Or so they thought.”
Rudi was starting to see the picture. “But the Dakar was coming in from the other direction. From the UK via Gibraltar. It was in position to cut them off.”
“It was,” Natal admitted. “We ordered it to intercept the French boat and spent the next several days broadcasting fake position reports while maneuvering the Dakar to a station between the French sub and their home port.”
“How did you know where to wait?”
“We suspected their vessel would make for the submarine base at Toulon. It was a calculated risk, but it made the most sense. Now all we had to do was wait. For the next two days, a debate raged at the highest levels of government as to whether we should sink the French submarine or not. Some felt that that would be an act of war and that we should avoid antagonizing the French. Others pointed out that the murder of Israeli scientists and the theft of our labor was already an act of war.
“Finally, one voice clarified things for everyone, pointing out that while the French were unlikely to go to war with us over something they would have a hard time explaining to the rest of the world, history suggested that the Arabs would most certainly attack us again in due time. That being the case, it meant that neither the submarine nor the scientists’ lives nor relations with France were as relevant to Israel as the research material itself. The bacterial cultures and genetic codes were what mattered. Destroying the French submarine would be a wasteful act. Allowing it to reach France would be an act of cowardice. We needed to get the materials back and there was only one way to do that. The crew of the Dakar had to stop the French submarine without sinking it, boarding the vessel once it surfaced and taking it by force.”
Rudi
could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Is that what happened?”
“That’s how it began,” the Admiral said, handing over the second of the sealed envelopes. “Read for yourself, you’ll see how it ended.”
Rudi opened the envelope and found that it contained dispatches from the INS Dakar.
27 January 1968, 0640 hours. Target located. Tracking. Expect target to surface prior to entering port.
27 January 1968, 0755 hours. Intercepted coded message. Decryption indicates target will not surface until it enters channel. By that point, we would be exposed to French radar and hostile vessels. Action would be impossible. Attempting to ram target vessel's snorkel and force them to the surface.
27 January 1968, 0819 hours. French vessel boarded and subdued. Three casualties. Due to mounting threat of detection by French Air Force and the nature of contraband cargo, we have only been able to retrieve Objective Alpha. Objective Bravo remains on the French submarine. Executive decision has been made to divide the crew and sail captured vessel back to Haifa. Releasing debris as countermeasure to convince the French that she foundered. With luck, they will conduct search-and-rescue operations for days and never learn that we’ve taken her.
“They took the French sub as a prize,” Rudi questioned. “Am I reading this right?”
“They couldn’t leave her afloat to call for support,” the Admiral said. “And considering the weather and time constraints, they couldn’t transfer the entire crew or all the materials. The only other option would have been sending her to the bottom, but that would have been murder.”
Rudi understood. There was a difference between acting in combat and killing prisoners. It was a line professional military men would not cross.
Rudi envisioned the situation. “Two submarines headed for Haifa,” he said. “Each with a divided crew, each carrying some portion of the bacterial cultures on board. How could they not expect an uprising on one ship or both?”
“There were clashes,” Natal admitted. “The captain’s logbook, which we recovered from the Dakar, stated there were two attempts by French sailors to escape when the sub was surfaced briefly and one attempt to take the boat by force while running submerged. One Israeli sailor died. Three French sailors were wounded. But the voyage continued.”
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