Baksheesh (Bribes)

by D S Kane

  Jameson, an ex-US Army surgeon, examined the bomber’s wounds while McTavish reached for the cellphone held in Shimmel’s outstretched hand.

  The medic shook his head. “General, he’s gone. You severed the man’s carotid artery with the knife. He’s gone. Sorry.”

  McTavish dialed William Wing.

  It was 3 a.m. in Chevy Chase, Maryland. “Allou?”

  The major faced away from the dead man. “William? It’s McTavish and I need your help urgently.”

  A woman’s voice answered. “Un moment.” There was a second’s pause and the major could hear whispering.

  “Wing here. How can I help?”

  Avram listened, a few feet away. McTavish was obviously unhappy, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice low. “How can we use cellphone triangulation to find the cell that’s being used to trigger a nuclear bomb.”

  “What? It’s three in the morning.”

  The major’s voice was even louder now. “William, every one of the merc force is in the old city of Jerusalem. We’re here to find and diffuse a suitcase nuke. We have the cellphone the suicide bomber was going to use. Come on, wake up! How do we find the cellphone attached to the nuke without setting off the device? It’s on a timer, and we may not have much time left.”

  “Oh. Well, okay, let me think. Well, there are cellphone towers around so the detonator is looking for a signal sent through one of them. Gotta assume it’s close by. I have a program that can seek and find the receiver. Borrowed it from DARPA.”

  The Department of the Army Research Projects Agency subcontracted software development these days, and William routinely hacked in to steal copies of their newest toys. It only took Wing a few seconds to find what he was looking for as McTavish waited.

  McTavish screamed into the cellphone. “Hurry!”

  “Okay, Al. I just sent it to your cellphone. When you get it just run it and have everyone turn off their cells before you do. It’ll display the exact GPS of each cell it finds. Okay?”

  “Yes, William. It’s on my cell. And it lists four cellphones in the area.” McTavish pointed to the screen on his cellphone and four mercs each scribbled one of the GPS locations onto paper and headed off. “Thanks. Sorry for disturbing your sleep.”

  The voice that replied was female and from the rumors McTavish had heard, the voice had to be Sylvia Orley’s. “Monsieur Colonel, we were not sleeping. Au revoir.”

  Lisa Schmidt was the first one to find a cellphone. It was turned on, and sitting by itself. “Schmidt in location A1. I found one.”

  “Boric here. Found one turned on, sitting alone in location B6.”

  Within five minutes there were mercs stationed with each cellphone. The last merc—Jameson—found a phone atop the suitcase nuke. The bomb was buried under the cell, covered by a half-inch of soil in one of the arcade gardens, at location A3.

  Something seemed wrong to Shimmel. He called Wing again. “William, why are there four cellphone receivers for one bomb?”

  “Whazzit? General Shimmel?” Wing was breathing fast. Shimmel could hear his female companion laughing. “Four? Oh, yes. A virtual conference call. When one phone—any of the four—is turned off or when its battery expires, that will detonate the device. A cheap, fool-proof timing device.”

  “Then what’s the best strategy for defusing the device?”

  Long silence on the other end. “I guess it’s got to be done the old-fashioned way. Screwdriver and pliers, against the suitcase nuke itself. And first, get something to recharge the cellphone batteries without terminating the call. Fast, before one of them fails, out of charge.”

  Shimmel sighed. “Thanks.” He terminated the conversation. He thought about the problem and crafted a plan and a backup in case it didn’t work. “Sergeant Cheryl Swartz! Come to me immediately. We’re running out of time.” It took her less than a minute to jog to his position. “Take your bomb-defusing kit and hurry to location A3. You’ll have to defuse the bomb using screwdriver and pliers.”

  How much time remained?

  * * *

  The setting sun had long vanished into red dusk in the Holy Land. A stiff breeze blew dust into her face. A few months ago, Sergeant Swartz had successfully defused a mid-sized nuclear device. But the trigger on that device was straightforward and the booby traps were easy to defeat.

  This time it was different. She’d never seen anything this sophisticated. On first examination, it seemed impossible to defeat. Each of the cellphones had to maintain its connection or the suitcase nuke would explode. And the batteries were depleting, even as she examined the setup. She spoke into her Bluetooth earbud. “General, we must hook up a power source to each phone as soon as possible. Ten minutes before the first cell dies, and us with it.”

  “I’ll have that done. What’s the device look like?”

  She examined the bomb and its case. “Simple suitcase, aluminum, and sized like an attaché case. Not very powerful, probably can take out fifty acres in diameter. But I think it’s a dirty bomb, and with the evening winds that would increase the damage about threefold.” She examined the latches on the case. “Booby trapped. The latches are wired. Get me some help, please. Is Sergeant Harry Tonsis free?” Tonsis had assisted her a few months ago, disarming the device in Washington.

  “On my way, sweetie!” Tonsis had never adjusted to the point of respect for military formality. A former chess champion, his single strength was logic. It was a skill she’d need now. Swartz waited patiently. “Okay, I’m just about there and I have the battery gear you requested for the cell at your site.”

  As he pulled up in a cloud of dust, she coughed. “Harry, this phone is the most likely one to cause a problem. Battery almost gone. Might as well do it first.” She pointed to the ancient, no-frills Sony clamshell phone. “Make sure nothing happens to terminate the phone call.”

  Harry gently grasped it with his fingers, making sure he didn’t touch any of the buttons on the unit. He lifted it and examined the phone, then placed it back on the ground. He took his own cellphone from his jacket pocket and used it to search the Internet for the technical specifications of the unit on the ground. “Okay, got it. According to the specs, I can remove the back cover without shorting the phone.”

  He grasped its back and front. “Here goes.” Three seconds later the back cover was off and he’d succeeded in placing wires covered with small patches of adhesive tape to the battery’s contact points. “Rather than replacing the battery with a substitute power source, I’ll send juice into the battery to keep it going. Okay, say a prayer. We may all die now.” He chuckled nervously.

  Cheryl knew that everyone was indeed praying.

  But when Harry had finished his work they were all still breathing. “How cool is that?” He smiled at Swartz. “Bye, sweetie, I’ll get the others fixed. Have fun with your big boy toy.”

  And he ran off into the dark with his backpack full of equipment, leaving her alone. Among the equipment he’d left her, there was a searchlight, and she flicked its switch. Cheryl examined the case hinges and frowned. “Fuck.” She touched one of the hinges. As she ran her fingertips across the edge, she felt a wire that ran under it. Just a tiny bit of it extruded beyond the hinge. She removed her Benchmade knife from her pocket and opened its blade. Took a deep breath. Inserted the edge of the knife under the wire and gently tugged more of it from the latch. Now she had an edge to work with.

  Swartz placed the case as close to the light as she could. She used a backlit magnifier to examine its other side. Yes, she could feel another wire on the other side. This one was more stubborn and she couldn’t budge it. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

  Tonsis returned. “They’re all on extended batteries. We could try just bringing the entire show with us to Mossad. Ask the General.”

  She nodded and pressed the Send button on her earbud. “General Shimmel, what about bringing the entire setup—all the phones and the suitcase nuke—out of here to the nearest Mossad location? A
ren’t they better equipped to handle this?”

  “Yah, they are better equipped. But long-range travel by truck or bus with this device might be more dangerous than we know. We can let them decide what to do when we get the device out of the mosque’s grounds. Move the bomb by carrying it, with the phones, across to the Israeli side. A ten-minute walk west. I’ll call Colonel Geller and have him send one of their bomb-disposal teams to meet us. It will probably take them over an hour to get to where we’ll cross. Prepare a team to carry each of the pieces to this puzzle. As best you can, maintain the exact distance each of the phones has from the bomb as you move. Proceed slowly.”

  * * *

  Shimmel called Geller. He spoke in Hebrew. “It’s Shimmel. Can you help out? We can’t safely disarm it and you own the experts. How fast can you get them here?”

  Geller replied in Hebrew. “Where’s ‘here,’ Avram?”

  Shimmel tried to remain calm. “Israeli side of the mosque. We can carry the bomb the five hundred feet onto the Israeli side and give it plus the booby-trapped cellphone network to you. My mercs told me there’s over an hour left on the timer.”

  “I was expecting your call, so I’m in West Jerusalem, not Tel Aviv. My men will be there in less than three minutes. In a black van. But we cannot cross into where you are. If there’s trouble, we can only wait and watch.”

  Shimmel nodded anxiously even though his counterpoint couldn’t see it. “We’re moving it now. Shimmel out.”

  “Good luck. Geller out.”

  Avram had done what he’d been tasked with: locating and removing a suitcase nuke from a mosque. Let the experts defuse the weapon. He wanted to return home to Washington as soon as he could. He looked at his wristwatch. The mercs must be walking toward him. Just a few minutes more.

  As he paced, the area just across from the mosque’s grounds filled with Israeli soldiers, all just beyond the staircase to the mosque. Shimmel’s earbud buzzed. “Avram here.”

  “It’s Geller. Take the package to the northwest gate. Hurry.”

  Shimmel could barely see them moving, shadows in the dark. “Yah.” He terminated the call and dialed Swartz. “Corporal, Take the team and the package to the northwest gate. Captain Geller of the Israeli Army awaits there to meet you.”

  From the corner of his eye, he heard laughter and casual conversation in Arabic. He looked northeast and saw a team of caretakers and security guards meandering toward him. Shimmel could also see the mercs take notice of the interlopers. He whispered into his earbud, “Everyone down. Flat on the ground. Conceal yourselves.”

  In an instant the mercs dropped to the ground. Shimmel raced to the steps down to the northwest gate. He peeked back as the caretakers walked toward the minaret on the southwest wall. The security force headed toward the northwest side of the atrium. Swartz and her team were trapped now.

  CHAPTER 33

  April 21, 6:04 p.m.

  San Francisco Airport

  Sheldorf thought, maybe my patient isn’t the borderline psychotic I’d imagined. Maybe there’s more to this than I’d thought. And maybe she’s put my life in danger. Damn! It’s too late now. I’m well in the teeth of whatever it is.

  RG smiled. “Relax, doctor. Follow me.”

  Major Ralph Giondella ushered Sheldorf to a seat near the baggage claim. He pointed to it. The doctor sat. His companion moved away, toward the restroom hallway entrance. Sheldorf could see that the soldier was hidden from the concourse entrance. He faced Sheldorf. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon. If those men show up, invite them to sit with you. If they ask why you’re here, tell ’em you came for the American Association of Plastic Surgeons. Their convention is in the city next week. Tell ’em you wanted to tour the city and hit some wineries before it starts.” RG turned and left, leaving Sheldorf alone, afraid, and totally mystified.

  * * *

  About two hundred feet from the staircase leading away from the Dome of the Rock and into the Israeli side, the team of mercs carrying the bomb and its cellphone network stopped. They carefully moved behind the tight circle of pillars that marked the spot above where the Holy of Holies once stood, just inside the Israeli “border.” No one made a sound. The mosque’s security force—four armed men—walked right past them on the Palestine side and continued on. Cheryl took a deep breath and whispered into her helmet communicator. “The security people have passed us. They’re heading toward the north wall of the atrium. Where are the caretakers?”

  Shimmel shifted his gaze. “Outside your line of vision. Near one of the minarets on the southwest wall. You’re clear to the northwest exit gate if you hurry.”

  Swartz motioned to her team. They moved out and northwest toward the exit as fast as they could.

  * * *

  Giondella positioned himself outside the exit from the San Francisco Airport’s terminal two. He scanned up and down the gates for the airlines. Where were the spooks? He scanned back inside the entrance, but his targets weren’t anywhere in sight.

  He stifled a curse and stared outside at the bus loading area. One of the suits suddenly appeared, standing just ten feet away at a hotel courtesy van. The suit’s eyes rose above the top of the Sports Illustrated he held. Their eyes met. The suit lowered the magazine and grinned knowingly at him. Giondella felt the barrel of a gun jammed into his back.

  The voice behind him was a deep bass. “Don’t move an inch. Don’t even breathe, major. Don’t go hands up. Just freeze.” As his hands were pulled behind him, he felt plastic cuffs go around them.

  Then he heard two muffled puffs and watched as the suit holding the magazine outside start to collapse. But before the magazine could drop from the suit’s hands, Captain Eric Cassavilla grabbed the man from behind and slowly lowered him to the ground. The merc pulled a tiny dart filled with fast-acting sedative from the man’s neck, removed his wallet and gun from him, and extracted the suit’s earbud along with its battery connector.

  Giondella felt his hands released and turned. The suit behind him was also unconscious, held up by the younger Orley sister, Lisa. She tossed the man’s earbud, gun, and wallet to the major and took the items Cassavilla handed her. Cassavilla placed the other spook’s earbud into his own ear.

  The major shook his hands to restore his circulation. “Good work. Cassavilla, see if you can tell how many others there are and where they are. I’ll get the good doctor so we can depart before things get interesting.”

  Cassavilla listened for a noise from one of the other spooks as they walked toward the terminal’s exit. “Sir, I hear sounds but no one talking.” Giondella nodded and trotted back toward the baggage claim.

  Sheldorf’s expression was that of a cornered animal. He tapped the major’s shoulder. “Can you please tell me what this is all about?”

  Giondella shook his head. “Later. Be quiet and keep up.” He made eye contact with Orley. “Alert our driver.” Orley nodded and spoke into her own headset.

  Cassavilla touched the major’s shoulder and nodded toward the baggage claim. The major stopped and nodded back. Two more suits, trying hard to remain inconspicuous, but failing.

  Giondella whispered just loud enough for Orley and Cassavilla to hear. “Use the Shimmel-three flanking move. Go now,” and both his subordinates simply seemed to simply disappear.

  The two suits noticed Giondella and Sheldorf walking toward them. One suit nodded to the other and they both reached into their suit jackets. They wouldn’t shoot anyone, but Ralph was sure they would threaten them. The men probably had counterfeit ID’s making them out to be FBI, Homeland Security, or possibly Secret Service. He’d seen each of those police forces in operation and could tell these men weren’t from any of those agencies. He was absolutely sure they were contractors or mercenaries, possibly ones the Fed had used in Iraq.

  The suits walked steadily toward him and the doctor. But after less than five paces, they stopped, grabbing at the tiny darts protruding from their necks. And the major’s mercs assisted each suit
to a nearby chair and gently placed their unconscious bodies in an upright sitting pose. The mercs recovered their darts and walked toward Giondella.

  Giondella faced the doctor. “Okay, we’re clear now. Follow, but don’t run.” The team exited the terminal and found the brown minivan that had arrived there for them seconds before. A few more seconds, and they were gone.

  * * *

  The drive to Stanford University Hospital took less than a half-hour. Cassavilla watched the road behind them to ensure they weren’t followed. On arrival, they parked in an underground garage adjacent to the Plastic Surgery Pavilion and crossed the road into the building.

  Giondella approached the receptionist. “I’m Colonel John McGillicutty. I’m tasked with bringing this man, Dr. Harold Sandman, to meet a patient. A field officer who was hit in the face with shrapnel while serving in Iraq.” Giondella scanned the clipboard he’d taken from the car. “We’re here to see Corporal Ellen Smither. Which room, please?”

  The receptionist scanned his computer screen and smiled. “Room two-sixteen.”

  They climbed the staircase. In the room, the woman sat in a chair, nodding at them as they entered. “Thanks for coming, Dr. Sheldorf. I understand you experienced some excitement on your arrival.”

  Sheldorf nodded and anger reddened his face. “Who are you? Really? You have more names than a telephone directory. And these men. And the ones who tried to, to, ah—”

  “So, now you understand why I need your help. There are men trying to kill me.”

  “And if I help you, they’ll try killing me to get to you!”

  “I can make that problem cease. But only if I survive. Do we have a deal?”

  He stood with his mouth agape. “A deal? You want a deal?” Now, he was hyperventilating. She pointed to the other chair in the room. He sat and his anger faded. “What’s your real name?”

  She stared back, her face expressionless.