by D S Kane
Xian seemed surprised. He bent his head as if to ask a question. “Chan. Why?”
Chan pulled a handgun from his pocket. There was a silencer at the end of its barrel. He pointed the gun at William. “I always knew you were dangerous.”
CHAPTER 12
Hallway outside room 416,
Mandarin Hotel, Singapore
February 22, 1:24 a.m.
Betsy and Jon paced the hallway, with Xian’s bodyguards covering the door.
She shook her head. “Wish I knew what was happening in there.”
He faced her and nodded. Then he stared at the two unmoving giants.
They all flinched with the sound of a gunshot from inside the room. Jon pointed to the bodyguards, then to the door. “Open it. Right now!”
One of the guards nodded and used a jujitsu kick to force the door open.
The guards rushed into the room, followed by Jon and Betsy. William was standing at the guardrail of the terrace, looking down. He turned to face them, his face full of rage. “General Chan shot my father. Then Father pushed Chan over the railing. Chan pulled my father with him.” He pointed down. Then he faced the guards and repeated what he’d just said, in Mandarin.
Jon and Betsy rushed to his side. Jon looked down and saw two bloodied corpses lying on the pavement, four flights below. General Chan’s head was cracked open, his brains splattered on the sidewalk. Xian’s body was bent at the neck so his head was twisted unnaturally backward, his eyes staring up at them.
The bodyguards stood on the terrace, looking down. One was speaking into the headset dangling from his ear.
Jon pulled William off the terrace. William seemed numb and unable to move. Betsy folded her arms around William.
As they huddled together, Jon whispered, “We leave now. No one speaks.” Betsy nodded and they both pulled William from the room. “No stairs. Elevator’s faster.” They trotted to the elevators.
Jon pressed the button and the doors opened within a few seconds. He pressed the number for the parking garage. “We’ll exit and walk out the back exit. When we’re a few blocks away, we’ll find a cab.”
William seemed distant and confused. “Why did Chan shoot my father?”
Betsy pulled him close. “Not now, Willy. Just try to stay alert and focused.”
He nodded. The doors opened in the garage and the three scooted to the exit and out into the overpowering humidity.
“Where are we going? asked Betsy.
Jon trotted down the alleyway toward the street. “Dunno. But we’re getting out of Singapore as fast as we can.” As they emerged onto the crowded sidewalk, Jon’s eyes shifted right and left. He gazed at every reflective surface they passed, to ensure no one was tracking them.
William touched Jon’s shoulder. “I think I know why. My father told me his biggest secret and gave me proof.” William shook the envelope. “It contains China’s plans to attack the United States, with Russia as China’s ally.”
Jon grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into his own jacket. “Please, let me read this when we’re away from here.” As they neared the taxi stand, Jon opened the envelope. He scanned the documents. He shook his head, then pulled his cellphone from his pocket. He snapped photos of the documents on his cell. “This confirms what we found out in Shanghai. Big trouble, guys. Avram needs to hear about all this.”
As they waited their turn at the end of the taxi line, he punched in Avram’s number.
CHAPTER 13
Taxi line outside Mandarin Hotel,
Singapore
February 22, 1:43 a.m.
In the sun-drenched humidity, perspiration made rings around Jon’s armpits. “Avram, it’s Sommers. Are you involved in Ben-Levy’s nightmare?”
The voice on the other end chuckled. “Not yet. He called me last night but I haven’t agreed to listen to his fable yet. Why? Are you working with the old fool again?”
Jon motioned toward the cab he’d hailed, and Betsy and William slid into the back. Jon followed and closed the door. “Changi Airport.” He took a breath as the cab slipped into heavy traffic. “Yeah, Avram. I’m embedded with William and Butterfly Brown. According to documents Xian Wing gave to William, the threat of a global war is real and imminent. It might be as soon as a few days from now. We’re in Singapore, and I fear things here will get very nasty for us, and soon. Can you help us?”
“Why? Did you kill someone?”
“We were present when Xian Wing was done in by Benny Chan. Any suggestions on how to leave safely?”
“Not off the top of my head. If you think the airport is safe, use it. If not, find a boat and sail north as fast as you can.”
Jon considered this. “We’re on our way to the airport. I’m hoping we get there before anyone looking for us does. Can you supply logistics if that isn’t workable?”
“No. It would take too long to mobilize from here. I fear you are on your own.”
Jon focused on keeping his demeanor neutral. “Right, then. What about Ben-Levy? Can we offer him any real help?”
“Yeah. We can try to protect him. But as for helping him tell the world, what can we do? There are only us and my merc force. Not enough to stop any war.”
“I agree. Lemme get in touch with Mother and see what he wants. Maybe he has an idea.”
Jon heard Avram end the call. He was sure Avram’s first step would be to muster the hundred or so mercs within his little private army.
The traffic threaded into the airport and the three approached the terminal desk. No one appeared to be looking for them. No one moved away fast to use a phone. “One ticket to JFK and two tickets to Washington, DC. All one way, on the earliest flight.” Jon handed his passport and credit card to the counter clerk. William and Betsy did the same. “Now to find out what the future holds.” He smiled at them. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He punched Ben-Levy’s number into his cell.
William seemed to still be in shock. Betsy hugged him.
* * *
Yigdal Ben-Levy paced his office. What could one frail, dying, lonely old man do? The landline buzzed. He staggered to the desk and grasped it. “Ben-Levy.”
“Sommers. I’ve vetted what you told me. William Wing has proof. Documents he just received from his father. So, you can count on me, and on William and Betsy, and I think I can get Avram. All the mercs, too. Is there anyone else you want?”
Ben-Levy remained silent for almost a minute. What about Sashakovich? She knew the Russians and their way of thinking. Her parents had been born there and were once members of the Soviet Central Committee. But Cassandra had just birthed a son and from what he knew she was on maternity leave. Whatever plan he enacted would mean danger. He shook his head. Too much danger for a young mother.
He shook his head. “No.” He hung up.
The thought of once more being involved in something big spread a rush of adrenaline through Yigdal’s body. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in memory, he grinned. He felt better than he had in months. What he intended next was very dangerous. He felt a thrill fill his gut. If the Chinese found out, they’d try to have him terminated before he could complete his self-assigned mission. If the Russians found out, they’d surely kill him. And since he was about to violate a direct order given him by his own prime minister, when Oscar Gilead found out, he’d send assassins after Yigdal, or probably kill him with his bare hands. He almost relished the thought of dying during a mission, rather than waiting for the Grim Reaper to quietly take him.
He sat behind his desk, faced his computer, and set to work. He was ready to take the first step into the plan he’d been developing. It would seal his fate.
But he would be dead soon from cancer even if he survived the mission. He smiled. He found himself giggling.
The ghost appeared and shook her forefinger at him. “Committing to this decision isn’t success. You still have to make it all work.”
He nodded. The part of him that was the ghost of Aviva Bushovsky wa
s correct. He’d made a good plan. He took a few additional notes, saved the document, and sent it to his cellphone. Then he walked to the chalkboard in the corner of his office where he’d drawn Venn diagrams specifying the timing of his team’s possible events, the moves of the hostiles, his own countermoves. He snapped photos of the chalkboard on his cell.
Everything, he thought, would happen soon.
PART II
We’re hard wired to be stupid.
—Steve Schear
CHAPTER 14
Medical facility,
basement of the Israeli Embassy,
Washington, DC
February 22, 3:00 p.m.
Yigdal walked down a flight of stairs to see his doctor, but not because he thought it would do him any good. No, he just needed to have confirmation of what the cancer would do to him next.
The doctor stood in front of him, writing notes on a clipboard. He touched the old man’s shoulder as if it could communicate the compassion Ben-Levy didn’t think he felt. “I want to put you in the hospital. They can make you comfortable in your final days.”
Yigdal Ben-Levy buttoned his shirt. “How long before I die?”
The doctor shrugged. “These things are inexact.”
Ben-Levy stood up straight, ignoring the flare of pain in his gut. “I can still think. I can still walk. Therefore, I can still work.”
“What about all the pain? The painkillers you take will need to be increased over time. Soon you won’t be able to think. After that, you won’t be able to walk. And then the pain will be so bad, you won’t be able to work. And finally, even the drugs won’t work.”
Ben-Levy scowled. “You act as if dying should be easy. Over my life I have experienced pain unlike anything you can imagine. I’ve been shot, tortured, poisoned, shocked, burned—you name it. This is just a little more. No, doctor. Never. A hospital isn’t in my future.”
“Mr. Ben-Levy, if you refuse my care, I can’t treat you.”
Yigdal nodded. “This is true. You can’t. Thanks for trying.” He put his shirt back on.
As he walked from the examining room, he coughed blood into a tissue.
His death was imminent. He had nothing to lose. This thought left his head clear to think about the task at hand.
Completion of his mission plan would drive him now. It will be a close thing. My death, or the completion of the mission. Which will happen first? How to make this work? I must work fast. First, I must complete staffing the mission. I’ll start by calling my former coverts. They all work now as bodyguards for Cassandra Sashakovich. He listed them. Lester Dushov, Ari Westheim, Shimon Tennenbaum, JD Weinstein, and Michael Drapoff. Lester is nearly sixty years old but the others are in their late forties. Years ago, they were formidable covert operatives. Can they still perform? Will they even listen to a dying old man?
Can I get them to work with me? Can they help me formulate the plan? Sashakovich’s compound is less than twenty miles away. He pulled his cell from his pocket and punched in Lester’s number.
* * *
Avram Shimmel sat at his old oak desk, reading email from his liaison officers. He felt tired from his latest set of missions. As his eyes shut, his cell buzzed. He was instantly conscious again. He answered the cell on its first chirp. “Shimmel.” He stared out the office window at K Street, four floors below.
“Chow Sang. I’m the operative you met when your little army took care of a problem I had in Jordan a few years back. I was also the one who contacted Misha Kovich last week. So sorry about your courier. I’m returning your favor to me in Jordan, hoping to clear our ledger.”
Avram wondered what the hacker knew that might make Bob Gault’s disappearance less of an issue. “I’m listening.”
“I’m retired now. But I had a very close, dear friend who was a hacker. He did a hacking assignment for someone, and they murdered him after he completed it. I obtained electronic copies of the documents and sent them to several people before I thought of contacting Misha. My friend’s murderer tried killing me and a few people who also came looking for me. I escaped but I don’t know if they made it out of Shanghai alive. Anyway, I made my way to Moscow where I have cover driving a taxi. I have friends in the FSB. The documents I tried to deliver to Misha indicate a plan to invade the United States. Sounds farfetched, but then again, it’s Russia. They have hated America forever. After your courier died, I visited the morgue in Istanbul and overhead another conversation. One of their information systems jocks was ordered by an FSB liaison to delete some records. The person whose file they deleted was one of yours. ‘Robert Gault.’ Was he the courier Kovich sent to me?”
Avram’s brows curled at the mention of his covert agent’s name. “Yeah, he was. So you must be speaking about his autopsy records.”
“Yes. I hacked and copied the records they deleted. These are too dangerous for me to send you. So, I’ll tell you. Mr. Gault was murdered. A form of poison used exclusively by my friends at the FSB.”
Now Avram put the pieces together. Ben-Levy wasn’t crazy after all. Something big was afoot. “You were right not to send the records using either snail mail or email. I’d like you to upload them to the Drafts folder of the Swiftshadow.com website. Okay?”
“Can do. Now we’re even.” The call terminated.
Avram guessed what would be in the uploaded file. And having the file would be useful evidence. He’d have to speak with Ben-Levy as soon as he’d examined the documents.
* * *
As the Cessna neared Dulles Airport’s private air cargo terminal in Washington, Dmitri Sokol completed his backtrace of the emails containing the plans of the US and Chinese electric grids. One was sent to a hacker in a remote town in Iowa. William Wing. One went to a mercenary organization in downtown Washington, DC, the Swiftshadow Group. And one was sent to the Israeli embassy in the center of DC, addressed to Yigdal Ben-Levy, Associate Foreign Minister of Israel and Israel’s Ambassador to the United Nations.
Snow covered the runway and fell heavy on the rooftops of the homes in Washington. The aircraft’s wheels aligned with the private terminal runway at Dulles. One small bounce and the plane taxied to the terminal building. When the door opened, Dmitri Sokol exited onto the tarmac. He sniffed the air. The air in the United States smelled no different than what he’d left behind in China.
Twelve operatives followed him, dressed in night-camouflage parkas. He pulled up the collar on his trench coat and then turned to them. “Alexi, take your team and find Cassandra Sashakovich. Her address is in the file on your cell. Try to take her alive, but if she dies during your little mission, bring me her corpse.” He watched the team of four leave in a waiting black SUV.
Sokol led the other eight to a small van. “We’ll go and fix the problem at the Israeli embassy. Then we’ll wipe the Swiftshadow Group off the earth.”
Sokol drove the van containing his team of operatives from the private air terminal and onto the highway.
* * *
The small group of retired spies sat around the large oak table in the conference room on the second floor of the Israeli embassy. Lester Dushov, a specialist in interrogations, sighed. “So, if I am to believe any of what you say—”
Yigdal waved his arm. For once, his voice was a plea rather than a hiss. “It came from the Mossad’s Collections Department and was vetted by Analysis.” He made the lie sound true.
Lester shrugged. “So? They’ve been wrong before.”
JD Weinstein’s eyes were fixed on the floor. His background as a kidon focused on expertise with handguns and bladed weapons. “Yigdal, even if they are correct, what can we do? There are just the six of us.”
Yigdal shook his head. “No. Jon Sommers, Avram Shimmel, and almost one hundred mercenaries. Oh, and William Wing and his hacker girlfriend. We can do something. We must. Get me to New York, to the United Nations. If I tell them what I know, something might happen. Our only other choice is to neutralize their cyberwar capability.”
Michael Drapoff, a yahalom, cyber warrior, walked to the chalkboard and pointed at one of the Venn circles. “From what you say, the key weapon we must eliminate is the logic bug China dropped into the United States electric grid. It’s more complex and harder to stop than the one the Russians placed in the grid. From what I know of the Chinese virus, we can’t defeat it. It mutates. Only the communications module is static. And there are now a few thousand versions. Each one is unique. Is there another course can we take?”
Yigdal raised his voice. “Can’t we attack and neutralize the virus through its static portion? Attack or neutralize the communications function?”
Ari Westheim specialized in hand-to-hand combat training. He’d spent time working with the Mossad’s yahalomim. He clenched his lips. “Not likely. Our hackers would need more time than I think we have.” He turned to Drapoff. “Can you contact the Tech Team at the Mossad?” He was silent for a second, and then smiled. “What about Stuxnet II? Could we use it to disable the Russian and Chinese electric grids before they disable the one in the United States?”
Drapoff nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. Anyway, Stuxnet development used to be my department.” He pulled his cell from his pocket and poked a number.
They had already worked for several hours, but had nothing tangible to show for the time they’d spent. Yigdal was feeling frustrated, and the feeling brought successive waves of throbbing pain. Dinner dishes from the embassy kitchen covered the conference room table. The chalkboard was covered with notes from several plans. Each plan had been created by Ben-Levy, and each of them had been refuted. Outside, snow was falling in drifts. The six Israeli spies were finishing the final bits of their meal in silence.
They heard the sound of a gunshot, followed by several more. The sounds came from the floor below them, but they were loud enough for all of them to have heard it. “Intruder,” whispered JD Weinstein. He tried to push Ben-Levy underneath the conference room table but the old man refused to move.
