Jericho 3 (40 page)

“Our discussions today never happened. Everything said in here today shall be denied…nothing said in here today shall ever be repeated or reported.”

Three news directors, two meteorologists and one Minister of Health nodded their agreement.

“Six days from now, we believe our country will be attacked by a bio-weapon. A hybrid tularemia bacterium has been created, a vaccine-resistant tularemia to be precise. But our friends from the west have developed a vaccine that will protect us. We had hoped for a biomedical shield that would protect
all
of Israel. But due to time constraints, we can now only hope for a biomedical wall. I need precise wind forecasts for next Tuesday morning!” Reuven said as the two weathermen rifled through their charts and laptop programs.

“A storm will pass through on Sunday, but we should be clear on Monday and Tuesday,” said the first.

“Winds out of the north and west, 6 to 10 miles per hour. Pushing to the south and then southwest over Egypt. Typical wind patterns for this time of year,” said the second.

“If a microscopic particle was floating in the air on the coastline, and the winds you describe pushed it inland, how far might it come?” Reuven asked.

“It might not come inland at all. It could be pushed further south,” said the first.

“Worse case?” Reuven pushed.

“Two to three miles…maybe. It’s more of a breeze at that strength. Hardly a wind,” said the second.

“Madam Minister, from Kfar Rosh HaNikra in the north all the way to the Gaza in the south, how many people live and work within three miles of the sea?”

“I can’t answer that right now; I’d need time. I’d need to run some models and create some charts.”

“We don’t have time, Madam Minister. I need your best estimate.”

The Minister of Health looked up at the maps on Reuven’s wall and did some quick calculations in her head.

“Tel Aviv would be the largest number, then Haifa down Highway 2. Rishon LeTsiyon is too far inland, but Ashdod could be in trouble.”

“How many?” Reuven persisted.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shavit. I don’t know for sure. But I’m afraid…I’m afraid that as many as two million people could be at risk.”

The gravity of two million lives weighed heavily on the minds of the three news directors.

“This is another Holocaust,” whispered one under his breath.

“No, it won’t be. But I need your help. The vaccine is sublingual. Three tiny droplets under the tongue, and you get an immune response that prevents sickness from the tularemia. There is only one thing worse than the tularemia itself…fear and panic. So here’s the plan: I need widespread news coverage, calm and matter-of-fact, that flu season is upon us. The health ministry needs to dispatch an army of volunteers from north to south who will start at the coast line and move inland with sublingual vaccines. Set up vaccine tents on the beaches and send others door to door. No mention – anytime or anywhere or under any circumstance – that a bio-weapon has been released. Neither rabbit fever nor tularemia shall ever be mentioned.”

“Are you censoring us?” one of the news directors asked.

“No…I’m begging you,” Reuven said with great humility.

“What if some people start reporting illnesses?”

“Some will. DO NOT REPORT IT. We will get them antibiotics immediately. No one needs to die from tularemia. They may get sick, but they won’t die.”

“What if the weather changes, the winds change?” one of the meteorologists asked.

“Let us all pray that the God of Gideon blows back against the winds of torment. We need wall-to-wall news promos on the flu vaccine program beginning on Friday and up until Sunday morning. We start vaccinating along the coast at 9:00am Sunday morning.”

“I’m going to need thousands of volunteers,” the Minister of Health said.

“We can promote that on TV. Get public service announcements out to radio and ads for the newspapers.”

“Money is not an issue,” Reuven added. “We have funds for bus posters, outdoor signs…whatever you need. Please be clear on this…put a happy face on everything. No underlying concern. We want to have the most flu-free season in the history of Israel.”

ISAF Headquarters

Kabul, Afghanistan

G
eneral Ferguson had dismissed his coffee-pouring majors as Billy Finn had requested. For 30 minutes, Finn explained the long conversations in the Hindu Kush with Omid, the abduction of Thierry Gaudin’s son, the secret calls between Camp and Reuven, the flight into Amman, Jordan, the sauna, the burka, and the Gesher checkpoint into Israel. Finn painted the scene of the Christian, the Jew and the Muslim having a picnic in the Valley of Jezreel beneath the ridge of Megiddo. He explained that while Armageddon was a physical place, the metaphorical meaning transcended all cultures and religions. And Finn laid out the plan that was formulated by the Twelvers in Iran, the 8-minute and 53-second annihilation of Israel and the first retaliation missiles that wouldn’t fall in Iran until 10 minutes had ticked off, as one million Iranian soldiers sprinted into Iraq.

Ferguson couldn’t decide if he was angry with Billy Finn and US Navy Captain Campbell, or if they were the best diplomats that America had ever produced.

“What do I need to do Billy? Do we need to send Camp back to Israel?”

Finn didn’t have a great answer.

“I think it’s out of our hands now, general. Raines has created a biomedical shield for Israel. If the tularemia is rendered powerless, if Iran’s proxies can’t get to the King of Saudi Arabia…then maybe…maybe the plan can be stopped.”

“Stopped?” Ferguson asked.

“Delayed…delayed until the next plan is created.”

“I need to contact the SECDEF, probably CIA…they need to know.”

Billy Finn stood up and leaned over Ferguson’s desk and got close to the general’s face.

“You know who you need to contact? 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The next time the people rally in the streets
against
radical thoughts, radical policies and radical military programs designed…DESIGNED…for mutual annihilation, then maybe we need to worry less about sanctions and more about the people. I can assure you, Jim, there are far more Muslims just like Omid, than the few that are like Kazi. I pray to God that Omid did enough…that Raines did enough…that we all did enough. God save us all if we’re too late.”

Lyon Airport

Lyon, France

O
ne truck filled with 5,000 gallons of sublingual tularemia vaccine was parked on the tarmac of the airport. Airport security had cordoned off the area as 40 officers from Interpol and the Lyon Police Department provided security. Leslie Raines and Thierry Gaudin stood under a single black umbrella as a light rain filtered through the headlights of their car.

The landing lights on the El Al chartered flight were in clear view as the jetliner made its final approach for landing.

The air traffic control tower guided the jet as it taxied over to the maintenance wing where one single truck was parked. The engines shut down as the ground crew pushed a portable staircase up to the front cabin door.

The 747-200F was operated by El Al Cargo. The jet had 10 passenger seats up by the cockpit, and the rest of the airplane was hollowed out for cargo.

The cabin door opened, and two men exited the cabin for the walk down the stairs in the light rain. Flashing yellow security lights lit their faces with sweeps of light. The first man was tall with a very long and narrow face. His hair was combed straight back and small, round, frameless spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose. He wore a full length black overcoat with the collar pulled up high. The second man was shorter, much rounder. His hair was full and flopped from side to side with the wind and the rain. A deep black moustache and goatee covered his face.

The two walked over to Leslie Raines and Thierry Gaudin who stood under the black umbrella, silhouetted against the headlights of the truck in the drizzle of the rain.

It was precisely two o’clock in the morning.

“Molly Bloom?” Raines asked as Reuven stepped closer.

“Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines I presume.”

Thierry looked over at Raines with a surprised look on his face. He had no idea that she was a high ranking American military officer.

“One truck?” Reuven asked with concern.

“Sir, this is Thierry Gaudin, president and CEO of LyonBio. Without his support and that of his incredible team, not even one truck would be possible tonight.”

Reuven looked at them both. His hands were deep in his overcoat pockets.

“On behalf of a grateful nation…thank you. It’ll take our crew about 15-minutes, a quick refueling, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Sir, this is only 5,000 gallons. Will it be enough?”

“It will have to be. Someone once took three hundred lamps and some trumpets…God made them look, and sound, like an overpowering army. God will have to multiply the effect of this vaccine, too.”

“It has a name,” Raines said.

“What does, colonel?”

“The vaccine. It was Camp’s idea. He told me a little bit about your, um, picnic. The vaccine is called GideonX.”

Reuven smiled as Yitzhak nodded his head with pleasure. Reuven pulled one hand out of his pocket and reached to the inside pocket of his overcoat and pulled out an envelope and handed it to Thierry.

“What’s this?” Thierry asked.

“It’s 80,000 Euros.”

“Sir, we can’t take money for this. The Americans have already paid for our services.”

Reuven reached out his hand and stopped Thierry from handing the envelope back to him.

“It’s not for you. You’ll find instructions inside. I recently met an incredible man, a Muslim, a colonel in the Iranian army. His courage may have saved two countries from mutual destruction and prevented a hundred more nations from waging war. He was killed for his courage. Make sure his family is taken care of…that his sons go on to university and study history, become writers, poets, philosophers and great men. Their father was a great man.”

Thierry took the envelope and slid it into his pocket as Reuven looked at the skies and the passing storm.

“The storm is moving out of the Mediterranean…for the next three days we are expecting six mile per hour winds out of the north and northwest blowing south and back to the southwest.”

“You like to follow the weather, Mr. Molly Bloom?” Raines said with a smirk on her face.

“Today I do. Thank you, colonel…Mr. Gaudin…good night, and shalom.”

Reuven and Yitzhak turned and walked back up the steps to the El Al Cargo 747-200F in a light rain that had all but stopped.

Charles de Gaulle Airport

Paris, France

K
azi’s flight from Beirut landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in France just in time for him to see the lift-off on the flat screen TVs in the terminal. Fourteen international television news crews, most of them broadcasting to the Islamic world, fixed their cameras on 50 colorful hot air balloons as the solitary rider on a white horse rode to the starting line and waved the ceremonial Unity Festival flag to start the race. Unity ribbons from each of the carriages waved back in the slight wind as all balloons lifted up for the race to Port Said, Egypt.

Once he cleared customs, Kazi would be on his way for the second leg of his journey.

Tel Aviv Hilton

Tel Aviv, Israel

R
euven and Yitzhak walked down the shore where western camera crews were set up on the beaches by the Mediterranean Sea in front of the Hilton Hotel. The big tents that had served as “Free Flu Vaccination Centers” the previous two days were now filled with producers and on-air talent seeking shade from the sun until the balloon race was within view.

Local universities and high schools had placed hundreds of signs, most of them written in Arabic that simply said “we want unity, too.” Three colorful Israeli hot air balloons were tethered on the beaches as well. The words on the balloons said “Let’s have this race, not an arms race” in both Hebrew and English for western television audiences.

Yitzhak called his contacts at Palmachim. The Israeli Defense Forces at Palmachim Air Force Base down the coast were watching the balloons on radar as they passed over Israeli territorial waters and close to Israeli airspace. Unmanned aerial drones detected all 50 balloons starting to release their equalizing ballast through a water vapor system as each balloon neared Haifa.

TV cameras fired up and international news channels cut into regular programming with breaking news as the first Unity Festival hot air balloons were visible from the beaches of Tel Aviv. Most were two to three miles out above the sea at almost 3,000 feet. They were far too close to Israel’s shoreline, but the authorities let them race. The colorful balloons against a majestic blue sky and the deep blue sea painted an incredible tapestry of color as six mile per hour winds out of the north gently caressed the faces of thousands of Israelis gathered on the sands to witness Unity.

Millions of homes in the Middle East, Southeast Asia, Europe, Russia, China and North America watched and hoped that Unity would truly come to a very troubled area.

Within minutes all 50 balloons had passed by and were out of sight as they raced toward Port Said. Reuven and Yitzhak watched the balloons disappear from sight, then turned for the quick ride back to their command center.

Casablanca, Morocco

T
he unexpected and unplanned visit by the King of Saudi Arabia to Morocco for more physical therapy provided a welcomed opportunity for the Shoeib. Sending a Shia assassination force in from al-Awamiya, a town in the Qatif region, was fraught with logistical problems. But an Iranian hit squad in Morocco with access to the Saudi King was a gift from God.

The King had undergone recent surgery in the United States for a debilitating back condition, a herniated disc that required precise surgery, and Morocco was his preferred destination for physical therapy. It was to be his third such visit for physical therapy, rest and recovery.

The King’s motorcade drove through the streets of Casablanca, Morocco with a military escort after his private luxury jet landed and parked at the Executive Terminal at Mohammed V International Airport.