FATAL eMPULSE (27 page)

“Have they cleared The Situation Room for bugs?”

Hawkins nodded. “That was the first area we cleared. Right after the Oval Office.”

“I need to get down there right now.” Stephen followed the agent toward the doorway. He needed to contact Frank Collord. Frank’s people may be in harm’s way. As they walked, Stephen tried to figure out who might have done this.

Until that question was answered, there was no one close to him he could trust except his wife and Frank Collord’s people. No one!

This job suddenly became lonelier than that first day he took office and learned all the secrets about how fragile world peace had become. And now, his trust in a friend, a confident, had been violated.

He must find the traitor.

March 2
Damascus, Syria

G
errit grabbed his carryon from the overhead. “You ready?” he asked, as Shakeela slung a bag over her shoulder.

She gave him a tense nod, a blue hijab covering her head and draped beneath her chin. She and Alena would both wear these in an attempt to draw attention away from themselves while in Syria.

Shakeela had worn a hijab during part of their operation in Iran many years ago. He’d watched her carefully make the folds in the scarflike headdress, pinning the cloth so only her facial features could be seen. It had always made her look different, more nameless, her long silky black hair tucked underneath. Maybe the world could use a little more modesty, but this—or even worse, the shroud like covering of the burka—seemed to confine the spirit of that person.

In Dubai, the women had been able to dress more comfortably and fashionably. In Syria, though, they needed to dress conservatively. Civil unrest and many watching eyes created a hostile place for foreigners. As much as they could, they would try to blend into the population.

He grimaced as he thought of Alena and Shakeela having to frequent someplace like Saudi Arabia where they most certainly would need to wear the burka. Both women possessed strong wills, each very independent, and it seemed like a crime to imprison them in clothing that made them shadows of their true selves.

As they disembarked from the plane and entered the terminal, a man in a brown waist-length coat and Levis approached Gerrit. “A mutual friend has asked that I meet you and your wife. Let me help get you through security.”

Gerrit recognized the man from a photo Max had shown Gerrit before they parted ways. He nodded followed the man through the crowd. Clearing security, they came to a white Honda compact with tinted windows. The man opened the trunk and motioned them to store their luggage. He seemed nervous, his eyes shifting from them to search the crowd pushing against them. They climbed into the car and made their way across town.

Gerrit had poured over maps of Damascus he’d downloaded from the Internet before leaving Dubai, committing nearly every street, suburb, and landmark to memory. He looked around to get his bearings. They took the main highway toward Damascus and followed an exit leading to the Ebla Cham Palace resort, approximately a mile this side of the Almotahalik Aljanobi The university lay just beyond that.

As they came off the exit ramp, a security checkpoint loomed ahead, directing traffic in another direction as smoke billowed near the university.

“Trouble?” he asked, looking at the driver.

The man just shrugged and drove on without comment.

They pulled near the lobby of the hotel, grabbed their bags, and watched as their contact drove off.

“So much for his help.” Gerrit shouldered his bag. “Need a hand, Shakeela?”

She shook her head, and they walked into the lobby. “Let’s get a room and see if we can contact the others.”

He quickly registered and they took an elevator, never exchanging words. They were both searching everyone in the vicinity, looking for unusual attention directed their way. As the elevator door closed, Gerrit thought he saw a man watching them from across the lobby, but he couldn’t be sure. They got to their floor and found their room a short distance from the elevator, about midway down a hallway that had exit stairwells at both ends. There seemed to be several ways to leave this floor.

Once in their room—modestly furnished with a queen-sized bed, pale green walls and bedspread, and gray carpeting—he and Shakeela gave the place a quick search, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It would be impossible, with the equipment at hand, to thoroughly search for any listening devices. He just assumed there might be some.

He stepped out in the hallway and made a call to Max. A phone rang behind him. He whirled around just as Max and Alena came into view.

“Welcome to Damascus, Gerrit,” Max said. “My contact let us know he dropped you off.”

“Did you see anyone in the lobby watching us?”

Max grinned. “I had one of my people watching.”

“Your people?” Shakeela stepped out in the hallway and joined them.

“Let’s not discuss our business out here,” Max said, nodding at Shakeela. “I’ve got a car downstairs. Let’s go down separately and meet in the parking lot. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

As Gerrit passed through the lobby, he noticed the man he’d spotted earlier had disappeared. He and Shakeela made it to the edge of the parking lot just as Max and Alena drove up. They got into the backseat, and Gerrit glanced over his shoulder as they pulled away. No other vehicles seemed to be following. “Where are we going?”

Alena, in the front passenger seat, glanced back, speaking for the first time since their arrival. “We’re heading back toward the airport but pulling off the main highway to a small farming community only minutes from the main thoroughfare. That will be our base of operations.”

Max turned onto the highway and accelerated. “I did not see any checkpoints between here and the airport. I think we can move around in this area without too much risk of running into one of Syria’s security barricades or any roaming Free Syria Army units the government is trying to eliminate.”

Gerrit leaned forward. “I saw smoke rising near the university and an Army checkpoint just beyond our hotel.”

“Yeah.” Max glanced over his shoulder. “Student dissidents held a demonstration that got out of hand. Started burning cars and a few buildings before the Army units moved in.”

“With all this civil unrest going on, Max, why would al-Assad risk starting a major conflict with Israel?” Gerrit asked. “It would seem he has enough problems to deal with right here at home. And the international community, including the UN, looking over his shoulder every minute—this just seems crazy.”

“I agree, but we do know that something is underway, with Iranian and Russian support. That it is directed at Israel.” Max looked back. “All we have to do is prove it—fast.”

Gerrit squinted. “And how do we do that? We’re in a hostile country with limited resources and no real assets.”

Max pulled off the highway and drove down a two-lane dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere. He pointed ahead. “We will be there in just a few minutes.” He pulled off onto a single gravel driveway heading into a grove of orange trees. A clearing emerged, and a large house and several outbuildings came into view. “Here is our new home.”

Gerrit caught movement along the tree line. He tensed as he spotted several men stationed in the shadows, each carrying assault rifles. They appeared to be dressed in civilian attire and could have passed for members of the Syrian Army or FSA. They moved as if they had military training.

“We got armed men in the tree line.”

“Relax, Gerrit, they’re part of my unit,” Max said. “We’ve got about a dozen Sayeret Mat’kal members that crossed the border in the last few days, setting up this site for our operation.”

“What kind of firepower?”

“Small arms, rocket launchers, and explosives—everything we need for a small unit to operate when the time comes. We just need to find the target. Frank is sending more tools our way.”

They parked in front of the farmhouse and went inside. Several men along the tree line came toward them, leaving a few spotters roaming the shaded groves. Max greeted a number of the men, embracing a few as they came through the doorway. They gathered around a large table set up in the main room. A map lay on the table.

Max leaned over the map. “Gather in here closer and I’ll show you where I think our focus ought to be.”

Gerrit peered down at the map—it detailed the area of the Damascus International Airport. “We’re going to hit the airport?”

“Jack and my boss have been trading intelligence reports back and forth,” Max said. “Let’s just take what we do know. The Russians and Iranians have offered some kind of technology to the Syrians that would help them blind us to an aerial attack. Your guys learned that Brandimir got his hands on an aggressive electronic program that can penetrate and cripple air-defense systems. Let’s assume he sold this information to the Russians, who were able to duplicate and implement this system. Iran has become a major player since they got their hands on at least one of your stealth drones and shared this technology with the Chinese and Russians, coupled with their supply of oil reserves to those two countries that ensures continued support and cooperation to a certain extent. Add that to Iran’s ability to field any number of terrorist cells around the world.”

Gerrit nodded. “I know the Iranians must be involved, based upon what we’ve been able to pick up over the last few weeks—including this Syrian contact you uncovered. But that still doesn’t get us any closer to the target here in Syria.”

“Give me a minute.” Max pointed to the map. “See this section in the southeastern part of the airport, segregated and protected from the main terminal?”

“Yeah,” Gerrit said, looking closer. “It seems like some kind of military installation.”

Pulling out a laptop with a satellite connection, Max activated the computer and hit Google Earth. “Now, look closer at this screen. This is not real time, but the current aircraft at that site is consistent with our own satellite feeds.”

Gerrit moved closer. “What are these small planes all lined up together wing to wing?”

“They are assigned to Syria’s 29th Brigade at the military ramp housed at Damascus International. And these”—Max pointed to the smaller aircraft Gerrit mentioned a few moments earlier—”are An-26 aircraft the Syrians use for electronic warfare.”

Gerrit jerked his head up and stared at Max. “You think they’d launch from this location?”

“If they have the electronic systems we suspect, they’d most likely start from this location and direct their attack straight toward our border.”

“Wouldn’t that be suicide? You could take them out before they ever got near your installations.”

Max shook his head. “Not if they scramble our electronics.”

“You mean like you did to them in 2008?”

“No comment. But if—and this is a big
if
—they had the technology and got it close enough, we would be very vulnerable. Once they blinded us, they could target their missiles wherever they wanted.”

“Aren’t they concerned you might launch the Samson Option?” Gerrit heard during his military training and university classes about nuclear deterrent programs, including Israeli’s so-called Samson Option. Though the Israelis refused to acknowledge or deny their nuclear weapons program, they continued to allow the world to believe—in a policy dubbed
nuclear ambiguity—
that any nation that threatened Jewish extinction through military attack would face massive nuclear retaliation.

“You know I can’t comment on that, Gerrit. But I will tell you that my country will do everything in its power to eliminate them before they wipe out our defense system. We’d have nothing left to lose. If even one country broke through our defenses, the other Arab countries would be on us like sharks smelling blood. We cannot appear to be weak, not for a moment.”

Shakeela stood with her arms folded. “You cannot speak for all Arabs…or Persians, Max. There are those wishing peace.”

“You’re Iranian, right?” Max asked. “I’m not speaking for all people, Shakeela. But you have to admit that Israel has her fair share of enemies in the Arab world. In your own country, fanatics like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad calling for the extermination of my people.”

“I am an American. Born and raised,” Shakeela said, eyes flashing. “Don’t link me to people like that dirtbag.”

“Okay, okay.” Max held up his hands. “I meant no offense. But look at it from my perspective. Where do your loyalties lie in this conflict?”

“With my country—the United States of America. And don’t you ever question my loyalties again.”

One of Max’s men slowly raised his weapon. Max looked at the man and shook his head. The man obediently lowered his weapon, but Gerrit saw the man’s index finger still rested on the trigger.

“And to which God do you pray, Shakeela?” Max asked, a bit testy. “Allah or the One True God.”

Shakeela tensed, fists clenched. “Who I pray to—if I pray at all—is none of your damn business. All that matters is whether I support my country and her allies. Do you really want to make me an enemy?”

Max and Shakeela stared at each other without blinking.

Alena gave Gerrit a tense look. He nodded and gestured toward the door with his chin. “Hey, let’s take a break and let everyone cool down. We’re here to work together. Let’s relax for a few minutes and figure out what our next move should be.”

As he walked toward the door leading outside, he felt all eyes on him. He felt the level of distrust each person harbored in that room. Would they be able to work together? The Arab-Israeli conflict had been going on for thousands of years, almost since the beginning of time. Would they be able to put differences aside for a few days to fight for a common good?

A Jew, a Muslim, and a Christian, and here I am trying to be a peacemaker.
And what did he believe in? Gerrit thought about that question, but could not come up with an answer. There had to be a reason for all the evil he’d seen in this world. And here he found himself in a part of the world where men continued to kill each other over what—God?