Pinnacle Event (20 page)

“Maybe we give the money back,” Paul Wyk offered.

“To who?” Rachel asked.

“To the Americans, for starters,” Liz Pleiss suggested. “Maybe they can trace it.”

“Mossad couldn't,” Rachel replied. “They told me they tried.”

“Do you work for them?” Johann Potgeiter asked. “You said you were in the Army.”

“Ten years ago I was in the Army. We all do that in Israel,” Rachel answered. “The only intelligence service I worked for was Google. We collected intelligence so we can sell ads to people. The first time I met Mossad was when they came to tell me that my husband's dying was no accident.”

“It's all so incredible,” Paul Wyk repeated. “How have I gotten involved in all of this?”

“Rachel, if there were bombs somewhere, they must be ancient. Did Mossad say that they think they would still work?” Liz Pleiss asked.

“Yes. They say the test bomb worked in the middle of the Indian Ocean. And then, recently, something else happened.”

“What was that?” Robert Coetzee asked.

“In South Africa, there was a truck hijacking, ah, what do you call it, a heist,” Rachel explained. “Someone stole some special material called tritium. That is what is needed to make the old weapons work. Around the same time, Mossad thinks, the bombs left their storage area on Madagascar.”

“Oh, dear,” Robert Coetzee replied. “That does sound like al Qaeda or some group, not Korea. Korea would just have made its own stuff, Trit, whatever it was.”

“We need to find out who they sold the bombs to because we need to stop them from being used,” Rachel interjected. Her voice was higher now, her pace faster. “What if it is al Qaeda? I know Dawid would not knowingly have sold to someone who would threaten Israel, but what if they were al Qaeda pretending to be somebody else? I love Israel. It is my home, my children's home. If it is a risk, I must do everything I can to save it.”

It was Paul Wyk who broke the ensuing silence. “If any country is at risk of a nuclear attack, we all must do everything we can to save it and not just because we personally will be to blame.”

Robert Coetzee had his head in his hands. He looked up, ran his fingers through his thin white hair. “Yes, of course, but the question is how can we help. We have all been through our predecessors' records. I assume no one found a receipt for the sale of a nuclear bomb? Or anything else that might lead us to who the recipient was?”

“So,” Johann Potgeiter said, “we are all assuming Rachel's story is right. That what the Mossad told her is true?”

“We have to,”Liz Pleiss answered. “We have to assume it's true, for now. It's certainly not impossible and it does answer the question of why we suddenly have so much new money.” She opened her laptop. “We need a timeline, a unified timeline. Where were our predecessors in the month or two before they died? Did they meet together somewhere? Did a couple of them go somewhere first to negotiate on behalf of the group?” She tapped the keyboard. “I have all of his travel records.”

“I have Dawid's, too,” Rachel added.

“In the two months before he died, my father went to New York twice, Taipei once, London once, and Vancouver twice,” Liz Pleiss read from the screen.

“Taipei?” Robert Coetzee queried. “My brother was in Taipei as well. Was that your father's first trip there?”

“As far as I know,” Pleiss answered, staring at her records.

Paul Wyk was busy tapping on his iPhone. “We may be on to something here. I just checked with my office. Merwe also went to Taipei six weeks before he died.”

“That's it, that's the balance my father was talking about,” Johann Potgeiter interjected excitedly. “Taiwan was one of the examples he used. He said they were building a nuclear bomb in the eighties, but the Americans caught them and made them stop. He said if they had gone ahead, they could have stood up to China better. He talked about that after he returned from a trip to Asia. I didn't know it included Taipei, but it must have.”

“Rachel?” Coetzee asked. “Was Dawid in Taipei?”

“Not that I know of,” she said. “But it does make sense that he would be willing to sell nuclears to them. They would be no threat to Israel. And Dawid hated Communism.”

“Well, it seems plausible that our predecessors as Trustees sold old nuclear devices to Taiwan. There would be nothing dishonorable in that, just helping an ally of old South Africa to defend itself. Taiwan is peaceful, doesn't threaten anyone,” Robert Cotzee mused aloud. “And I suppose perhaps the Taiwanese could have been somewhat duplicitous and killed off the men who sold them the weapons, just to make sure no one knew about the deal. They have a large intelligence service.”

“So, is that what we think?” Paul Wyk asked the group.

“It explains it all rather well, actually, fits all the pieces together,” Johann Potgeiter added.

“And it may not even have been illegal,” Liz Pleiss suggested. “You said, Rachel, the bombs were stored in some African country?”

“Madagascar, it's an island, a country, off Africa.”

“Okay, I bet they don't have laws there against selling nuclear bombs,” Liz said, gaining in enthusiasm for her own theory. “Maybe the bombs were stolen property, but I bet that can be argued either way. Maybe our fathers and brothers owned the bombs when they moved them from South Africa. Anyway, it could all be a legal transaction, maybe violated some UN resolutions, but nothing that could cause us to be arrested. A sovereign government did a transaction with our funds and paid us for goods received. We're off the hook.”

“That's a relief,” Wyk replied. “It does leave the fact that the Taiwanese may have ordered our predecessors murdered, but maybe we just forget about following up on that.”

“That would be wise, Paul,” Coetzee suggested. “If we try to do anything about it, we will be telling Taiwan that we know who bought the bombs. Then they could come after us. No, I think we remain silent about our suppositions about whether there were bombs, who they were sold to, and who ordered the hits on our people. Silent.”

“I agree,” Liz Pleiss replied. “Completely. And I suggest that we also all agree that this conversation never took place.” There was murmured concurrence around the table.

“Then, let's take a break and go out on to the roof deck for some tea and coffee,” Robert Coetzee suggested. “When we come back, we can deal with the issue of how we spend what these funds earn, in a way that benefits the diaspora that we represent.”

From their little war room, Mbali and Ray watched on their screen as the new Trustees pushed back and got up from the conference table. Mbali looked at Ray without a word, but with a face that asked for comment.

“Taiwan? I doubt it, but let's check with Dugout and see if the records match up,” he said. He tapped on a keyboard and another image appeared on the large screen in the room, a long-haired man, with glasses, wearing a black T-shirt. “I assume you were listening to all of that Duggie.”

There was a brief static as the audio connection from Washington was established. “Yes, good evening to you, too. It's evening here, of course. And thank you for introducing me to Miss Hlanganani. Pleased to meet you. My name is Douglas Carter and I have the pleasure of working with the gentleman to your right.”

Ray Bowman rolled his eyes. “Delighted to finally meet you,” Mbali said to the video camera.

“As to your implied question, Raymond, I'm not buying it,” Dugout continued. “Yes, Pleiss, Coetzee, and Potgeiter were all in Taipei at the same time six weeks before they were murdered. The others weren't there. Those three gentlemen were there to close on an investment in a large, new hotel and high-end retail mall that each of them put some money in. But we would know if the Taiwanese had bought bombs and there is no indication that they did.”

“How would we know?” Ray asked.

“First of all, we have their government fairly well penetrated and second, there is no record of funds like that leaving any Taiwanese accounts around then. And do you think the Taiwan intel service could stage everything else involved: murdering these Trustees all over the place, the tritium heist, the covert shipment from Madagascar, the attempted hits on you?”

“Probably not,” Ray replied. “But it wouldn't hurt to confront them with the story and see what happens, see if they panic and say something internally, something we can pick up.”

“You two are forgetting something,” Mbali interjected.

“What's that?” Dugout asked over the video link.

“We just had Rachel do something to see if anybody panics. She laid out the fact that we know what is going on, or at least Mossad does.” Mbali was proud of how her newly recruited agent had done as an actress in the meeting. “If you two are right and it's not really Taiwan, then somebody will panic shortly when they find out that we are on their trail and we are closer than they thought.”

“Well, one of them better panic quick. 'Cuz we got an election in eight days and a lot of people at CIA, FBI, and DHS are telling the President that nukes are going to go off in this country between now and then,” Dugout answered.

“Patience,” she said. “You Americans need to learn patience and the skill of laying in the tall grass, waiting, listening, like a lion. You are all flapping and flying like your eagle. We are like the cat. Still, 'til we pounce.”

 

26

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1

NEBRASKA AVENUE COMPLEX (NAC)

DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY (DHS)

WASHINGTON, DC

She looked uncomfortable as her press secretary made brief introductory remarks to the hastily assembled news conference. She had not left governing a huge state to do this. It was borderline dishonest and unethical, but the President had persuaded her that sometimes for the greater good, temporarily, some amount of truth could be withheld.

“Last night I ordered a no-notice operation to exercise sovereignty over our borders, specifically, the cargoes crossing our borders.

“Congress has, for years, insisted that the Customs and Border Protection agency, CBP, inspect every container and shipment coming into the United States for drugs and other contraband. That is what we are now doing as of this morning.

“This is the first in a series of no-notice exercises that I will be ordering in the next few weeks, testing each of the components of DHS, testing their ability to surge in an emergency. I want to be able to identify any remaining weak spots or deficiencies we still have so that I can report on them to my successor, whom I assume will be taking office on or about January twentieth. Thank you.”

With that the Secretary of Homeland Security left the podium without taking questions, but questions were thrown at her as she walked out of the room, questions she ignored.

UPPER HOUSE HOTEL

CENTRAL HONG KONG

Johann Potgeiter returned to his suite just after midnight, only slightly tipsy from the spectacular dinner party Robert Coetzee had thrown for his colleagues at his villa in the New Territories. Clearly, Coetzee had been spending a lot of the Trustees' funds on living expenses.

He did not begrudge Coetzee the extravagance. Indeed, he was planning a very nice, new life for himself very soon. The day had gone well. What had started out as a potential disaster with the Israeli woman revealing the plan, had turned into their acceptance that Taiwan had probably ordered the hits on their predecessors, and a consensus the best path was to forget about all of that. They had agreed to build a high-end retirement village and health-care facility in Australia, with priority given to South Africans, white South Africans, who would be heavily subsidized and given every comfort. A good day's work had been followed by a good night's dinner and drinking. Suspicions had been eased. They were all good chums now.

Before he crawled into the bed, he needed to report in. He would have preferred to send a text message, but the old man was old school and would want to talk, so he extracted the German E-Plus mobile from within the lining of his computer bag. They had put a compartment in the bag, lined so it did not show on X-rays, big enough to hold his German identity of Wolfe Baidermann, his mobile, his passport, some credit cards, and euros.

He had memorized the number of the proxy, the phone switch in Los Angeles. When he dialed it, anyone tracking calls would see a German mobile somewhere in Hong Kong, using data roaming, contacting a number in America. What they would not see, was that as soon as the connection was made in California, the call bounced out from a Los Angeles area code 310 number to another phone in area code 236.

“I've been waiting for your report,” the voice on the other end said.

“I could not break away sooner. It would have raised suspicion.”

“Was the meeting a success or do we have problems?”

“Both. The Taiwan story worked.”

“Then why do we have problems?”

“Because they know. They know about the test, the sale, Madagascar, and Pretoria.”

“Don't say anymore,” the distant voice scolded.

For a moment, there was only the sound of breathing on the connection. Then the distant voice resumed, “Come to me. We may need to act sooner than we planned and I will need you to help with my part of it. You have your extraction planned?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I can be there in three days.”

“Good.” The connection was severed.

He set the alarm for five o'clock and then let the jet lag take him. Five hours would be enough sleep. And when he woke, he would become Wolfe Baidermann and begin his next journey.

 

27

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 2

POLICY EVALUATION GROUP

NAVY HILL, FOGGY BOTTOM