Critical Error (37 page)

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 the time we get that organized you’d have been half way there in the Gulfstream.”

“OK, 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 keen to test it and as 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 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 quite 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 coming 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 of one of Israel’s most famous and feared men venturing 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 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.

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 Preston had ever met. That was an exceptionally dangerous combination and he most certainly was not a man 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 train, 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, 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 code breaker. 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 site as 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 what 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.

Sam really wished he could just phone his brother and tell him to come to him but he couldn’t. If anything happened to them, he’d never forgive himself. All it took was the tiniest slip-up at a gas station or a restroom and they’d be dead. With no option but to go get him, he had run through the routes with Rebecca. Driving was out, too long. The train, likewise. That only left airplanes which, considering everything he had done, was not going to be the easiest form of transport, nor the safest.

Rebecca made a call. It was going to get her into a lot of trouble but if it paid off, it would be fine. If not, she may be paying the state of Israel back for many years to come. Hiring private jets was not going to please the Accounts Department.

They grabbed their kit. Of course, another reason to justify the additional expense, around $25,000, was the benefit of keeping hold of their $1,200’s worth of weaponry. Forty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of Manassas Regional Airport and avoiding any type of scanner or camera equipment, they boarded their waiting Learjet 45XR for the four-hour flight to Glacier Park. As the stewardess offered them champagne for the flight, Rebecca checked if it was an additional cost. It was. They drank water. And she added that to her list of justifications.

Just after lunch, they landed, picked up the Camry from the parking lot and drove to the Lodge.

The second they turned off the main road and entered the grounds of the lodge, they became targets. At least in the eyes of the Avenger’s operator. The drone was stationed almost 30,000 feet above, maintaining a constant visual on the property below. It had replaced the satellite surveillance just two hours earlier and had been the same unit previously used by Johnson’s team to obliterate an empty cabin. It still had almost eighteen hours left in its tanks but with the assault team due in the next two hours, it was extremely unlikely to need a replacement.

Sam was delighted to see his brother and quickly updated him on where they had been and how the Alibi Club may have a glut of new members joining in the near future. Once they had brought them up to speed, Sam pulled out the comic book and explained his theory to the Secretary of Defense. James studied the drawing carefully, he had heard of it but it was well before his time. However, he knew a few people in England who may be able to help. He also considered calling some of his own men but after discussion, they agreed it just wasn’t worth the risk. They really did not know who they could trust, money and power talked and it seemed the President and his cronies had an abundance of both.

With leads that required a few calls to Russia, James cracked on. The comic might be correct after all. So far, things were adding up factually and had Deif searched similarly, he would have made the same links. It was all out there, as James proffered more than once. As darkness fell, James’ progress slowed down. Across the world, it was the middle of the night but he carried on relentless. Numerous angry calls later and they had a breakthrough. The owner of a small shipyard in Russia had sold an item like that a few months earlier.

The owner went to get his records. He had the name of the ship somewhere. And eventually, James Murphy jumped up and down with excitement.

“I’ve got it! I’ve found the ship!”

As the others jumped up to congratulate him, Sam dived and pulled his brother and Rebecca with him to the floor.

The first bullet flew through the window and entered Secretary of Defense James Murphy’s open mouth, a fraction of a second before it took the back of his head with it.

Ben Meir checked his watch as he paused for breath. He had not stopped talking for almost two hours. Ahmed Hameed sat open-mouthed before him.