Critical Error (13 page)

“Yes?”

“They’re not there Ben,” said an almost breathless Daniel.

“Shit! Check the rest?”

“We have, they’re all gone, all five are unaccounted for.”

“How the fuck do we lose five nuclear weapons?” he screamed, his anger welling over. A headache instantly pounded in Ben’s head as the ramifications of the news began to sink in. Five nuclear weapons under their surveillance had simply vanished and if Rebecca’s information was correct, at least one was bound for America, an ally they could not afford to lose.

Akram ‘Pock-Mark’ Rayyan had obtained his nick name like most who had suffered from severe acne as a teenager. However, not many dared mention it in front of him, particularly since he had become Deputy Commander and one of the most ruthless members of the Al Qassam Brigade. Akram stared across at the Cypriot coastline, the nearest he had been to his homeland for some time. The warmth of the air was a blessing from Allah after his last few weeks on the Northern coast of Russia. Severodvinsk was, even in the summer, cold and wet. Pock-Mark was not a sailor. He loved land and particularly his people’s land. Palestine. Pock-Mark had been honored by their leader, Mohammed Deif, with the task of delivering the momentous blow to the American infidels. He looked again at his hand-picked team, twelve young men in their prime who would sacrifice themselves for the cause, ten sailors and two young men trained to deliver the weapon, although only one would have the honor of taking the weapon into the heart of America. It was going to be one of the hardest choices he would have to make on the mission: to whom to bestow the honor. He genuinely did not know who should go. Both men were worthy so it may even be decided by a toss of the coin. Perfect, he thought, that was the solution. Allah would choose, as only Allah would make the coin fall the right way to ensure success.

For a man who loved land, he had been at sea for what felt like months, although it really had been only 15 days. However, the work on the cargo vessel had taken some time and thanks to Deif’s paranoia, Pock-Mark had had to stay on the ship throughout the work, as had the engineers who were being paid handsomely for their efforts. Unfortunately for them, it was not handsomely enough. Pock-Mark’s instructions were clear. The men had been lured to a job in St Petersburg and had then been taken by private jet to Severodvinsk in darkness. For the three weeks, they were on board a ship in a closed dry dock and had no idea where they were. After the works were completed, a celebratory drink to mark the end of the job turned into a slaughter that saw the four engineers stowed in a meat freezer. After a couple of days at sea, they were tossed overboard to feed the fish.

Pock-Mark spotted a small fishing trawler. Using his binoculars, he checked the name. It was their contact and he was exactly on time. Not that he thought that he wouldn’t be. So far, everything had gone exactly as planned by Deif. The equipment required to convert the cargo vessel into one of the most lethal ships on the seas had been exactly where Deif had said it would be. The Soviet military power-base had resulted in bureaucratic disaster at the end of the cold war. The port of Archangelsk was the country’s oldest seaport and had been a key military installation throughout the country’s history. Deif had reckoned on a fifty fifty chance that the equipment would have survived the collapse of the old Soviet Union, mainly because no one would know what the hell it was. His only concern was scrap value but even then that would probably have been worth less than the shipping costs of transporting it from what was effectively the middle of nowhere. Pock-Mark had been sent to the warehouse on his arrival and a rather bewildered owner accepted the offer for the ‘junk’ that had been there as long as he could remember. The world’s largest shipyard lay just 30 miles away. Having been built during World War II, it provided the ideal location for the conversion. The old Russian freighter had been a steal. Its owners were glad to be rid of it as it cost more to keep than it was worth thanks to the recession. Although it had seen better days, it had two major plusses. It was the perfect size, at around 8,000 tons, and it flew under a Russian flag. Despite being the only super power, the United States did not lock horns with the Russians readily.

Pock-Mark smiled again at what they were planning to do. It was ingenious and was going to surprise the hell out of the Americans. Even if they were aware of the impending attack, they’d be defenseless. And all thanks to an old British cartoon book.

The trawler pulled alongside and transferred the weapon which had been sneaked out of Haifa under the eyes of the Israelis. The false bottom of the containers that held the weapons had been another ingenious plan by Mohammed Deif. Deif trusted no one, not even the Sheikh. From the moment the Sheikh had offered the weapons, Deif’s deception plan had begun. The storage locations for each of the weapons were carefully selected and long before they were delivered, tunnels and false floors had been prepared. When delivered, the containers were carefully placed over the secret trap doors and Deif waited. His watchers did not watch for containers, they watched for people watching the containers. It hadn’t taken the Israelis long to track the weapons, their spy satellites could search for such things with ease, something Deif knew very well. However, he was also confident that once they found the weapons, they’d stop looking any further.

As the Israeli watchers got comfortable, Deif’s men used their tunnels and removed the weapons from under their eyes. Pock-Mark couldn’t help but smile as he thought of Deif’s master plan. All five weapons were now secured in new locations, one of which was with him. As for the other four weapons, only Deif knew where they were. He believed in compartmentalization, as Deif called it. Deif read a lot of western spy thrillers. He believed it gave him an edge. Pock-Mark had tried but reading books that were fundamentally anti Muslim just didn’t seem right.

Just as they had fooled the Israelis, Deif’s plan would fool the Americans too. If they looked for the weapons, they’d never suspect a cargo ship. Its destination was Nuuk, Greenland and then Sao Luis, Brazil. At no point would they be within 500 miles of US soil. They would be pretty much the last ship expected of being involved in an attack.

Pock-Mark went aboard the trawler to personally thank the captain of the boat. It was a magnificent day for the cause, he reiterated, before drawing his pistol and executing him and every member of the trawler’s crew. Deif’s plan was to be followed to the letter. Nobody who saw the boat was to live to describe her. The plan was bigger than any individual Palestinian and any who did die would die a martyr’s death. A small charge in the bows ensured the trawler sank quickly. As he re-boarded the freighter, he heard a chirp from his mobile phone. Purchased on a pay as you go contract in Cyprus, it had never been used for voice calls and never would be. The chirp simply alerted him to a new tweet that had been delivered to his account. An account that only one other person knew existed, Deif. Twitter had proved invaluable to the terrorist community. They no longer needed to send emails, SMS texts or make calls. Messages could be sent to twitter and deposited on any account that followed it. The messages were tiny and created no trail as the recipient read them through a message server. It seemed there was one method of communication from the 21st century that was untrackable.

Pock-Mark read the innocuous note about the weather in Prague. However, the true meaning was more relevant. The Israeli’s knew the devices had been moved. He had one more stop to make before heading to America. Akram walked to the bridge and gave the navigator their destination. They had a couple of very important containers to pick up.

Ben joined the other five permanent members of Project Ararat. The chief Rabbis were absent as they were only involved when religious matters were to be discussed. Religion was the last thing on the minds of the President, Prime Minister, Defense Secretary, Mossad and Shin Bet’s Chief. The room silenced as Ben entered.

“Gentlemen,” began Ben. “I believe the state of Israel is in grave danger and I feel we have no choice but to bring forward the final stage of Project Ararat to 12 days from now.”

“Bring forward?” questioned David Hirsch. “But the logistics, it’s just not possible, we need another two months,” he stumbled, as the impact of the change crystallized in his mind.

After David’s question, the room lit up as they all tried to put their feelings across about such a monumental change of plan. Debate raged for some time but with five nuclear weapons scheduled to explode in thirteen days, there really was no alternative. Action had to be taken and Project Ararat was certainly a solution.

“OK, OK, gentlemen, please. I think we have debated the point enough,” interrupted Ehud Rabin, the President of Israel. “Let’s take a vote.”

“Everybody for the move forward, please raise your hand.”

Four hands were raised immediately and they were grudgingly followed by the final two. A unanimous decision was reached and everybody stood up to leave. There was a lot to do and less than two weeks to achieve the impossible.

Only Ben remained seated. “Gentlemen, we have one issue I believe we still need to discuss and it is rather pressing.”

“Yes?” asked Chaim Goldman, the Prime Minister.

“We do have a slight issue of the Palestinians taking a nuclear weapon to the United States.”

“But we have no confirmation of that, it could be just talk,” argued David. “We have just one woman’s word and let’s face it, she’s hardly stable.”

Ben turned to David and spoke in a tone only Ben could get away with. “That woman has sacrificed more for this country than almost anyone I know. She’s lost her parents, her son and her husband. And she doesn’t sit back and mourn. No, she stands tall and fights back. She, herself, has killed more of the scum that bombed our children than any other team that was tasked with the retaliation. She originally brought us the information that alerted us to the bombs in the first place!” His voice boomed as his anger boiled over. “And you dare question her?!”

“Look, we’re all edgy. It’s a very trying time. Whether it’s confirmed or not, we have to let the Americans know,” said Ehud. “ I will call the President and let him know. Is there anything else I can tell him?”

“That we have our best teams on it and we will find the bomb before it gets to them,” offered the Mossad chief.

“I have sent two of my best operatives to America,” added Ben turning to David and smiling. “Which includes Rebecca Cohen.”

“OK, I’ll tell him that Mossad is on it. I think I’ll leave out your guys, Ben.”

“Are you going to tell him about the threat to us?” asked Chaim.

“I have to,” replied Ehud, matter-of-factly.

“You should also give him the heads up on the blackout,” added Ben.

“Sorry, the blackout?” asked Ehud.

“Project Ararat, two weeks from completion. We’ll have a nationwide blackout, all telecommunications are to be cut off and Martial Law imposed. All our media will be off-stream as of the end of this meeting. You can use the threat as the reason for our disappearance from the world stage. Israel is going back in time. No phones, no radio, no television, no internet. The military will keep the peace and calm on the streets. Only essential military and high level government communications will remain in place.”

“Is all of this quite necessary?” asked Chaim, shaking his head. “It just seems so extreme.”

“Gentlemen,” Ben addressed the room. “We have taken the decision and we are nearing completion. Now is not the time to lessen our resolve. David, you have your work cut out for you. I suggest you get going.”

Andrew Russell watched the CNN feed. The President had just phoned and updated him on his call from the Israeli President. The nuclear weapon was nowhere to be found on the news bulletins. In fact, there was only one story of any note: Israel had shut down. Hundreds of people were writing in discussing how telephone calls they had been having with business colleagues and loved ones had simply ended. Emails were bouncing back as if the recipients didn’t exist. It was as though the whole country had just ceased to exist. Andrew grabbed his coat and headed for the door. The President had called a war cabinet and wanted Andrew in the Situation Room asap.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket as he walked towards the waiting limo.

“Hello?” he answered.

“It’s me.”

Andrew recognized the voice instantly.

“We need to see you straight away.”

“I’m on my way to the White House,” he offered as an excuse.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes, don’t be late.” The caller ended the call. Russell looked at his phone for a few seconds before placing it in his pocket and entering the limo.

“The White House, Sir?” enquired his driver.

“No, the Hay Adams, please.” He decided the President would have to wait.