The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  At last, and with some reluctance, the potential for Israel to execute a test was suggested. References were made to an incident in September 1979 when Israel and South Africa were prime suspects for a small detonation of about three kilotons at pretty much the same location. A lot of people in the room began to get nervous. Gary could feel the tension. Israel had a lot to lose if they were caught testing nuclear weapons hence the secrecy. Given the relatively low yield, it may well be a tactical device designed to penetrate layers of soil, rock and concrete to destroy underground facilities – such as Iran was using to enrich uranium. While the Israeli government was strongly influenced by the US government, they were stubborn and pursued their own ends whatever the consequences. It seemed to Gary that Israel was the most likely candidate but no one wanted to finger them. US foreign policy in the Middle East did not permit that. Someone in the room had to know for sure.

  Again Gary reflected on why he was here. His recent visit to Mozambique had produced evidence for which it was difficult to find a resolution. There was definitely some kind of nuclear program under way – of that he was convinced – but surely there was no possibility they could be anywhere near a detonation attempt.

  The meeting reached a hiatus. All the active players in nuclear capability had been considered and substantially discounted. It seemed no one was quite sure where to go next. Someone suggested the test could be African – since it was off their coast. Gary's boss, who had export oversight to the entire African continent, reported that it was unlikely. The only possible candidate was South Africa which had already been discounted. In answer to questions he said that, yes, nuclear technology was occasionally exported to Africa but was always being routed elsewhere. For adequate money, African officials would allow almost anything to vanish from customs paperwork.

  Quite unexpectedly, Gary was invited to answer a question. His concentration had wandered from the proceedings for but a moment yet a critical moment. He found himself the centre of attention but had no idea what the question was. He was too frightened to admit that he had not heard. He had to say something; he began awkwardly.

  “I supervise export controls to some Southern African nations. I recently went on a field mission to investigate an illegal shipment of heavy water. I tracked the shipment after arrival at the dockside to a facility in the open country. Samples I was able to obtain from workers' clothing revealed high levels of uranium exposure. One particle had an extremely high purity of uranium-238. These findings indicate participation in a uranium enrichment program. As there is no civil nuclear power program in the country, that leaves military purposes. There may be a connection with the nuclear detonation observed by the satellite.”

  There was much shaking of heads and murmuring as a result of Gary's report. There was a measure of excitement. Finally, Gary saw his boss stand up and address the meeting.

  “I believe that Mister Sanders was in fact talking about Mozambique.” He turned to Gary. “Is that correct, Gary?”

  Gary nodded and uttered and barely audible, “Yes.”

  “This particle. How big was it?”

  “Just over a microgram.”

  “Is that big enough to make a bomb with?”

  “No, you would need more – a few kilos. And you would need uranium-235 to initiate the chain reaction.”

  “So your suspicions are based on a minuscule quantity of the wrong material?”

  Gary hesitated but seemed to nod.

  “And the facility you investigated? Wasn't it an orphanage? That's what you wrote in your report.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “I don't think we need to pursue this line any further.”

  The meeting back tracked and regurgitated a repeat of the logic and reasoning already presented. To Gary's mind, the most benefit would be obtained by Israel but his gut feeling suggested otherwise. Maybe it was due to his own personal involvement, but the proximity of the blast to Mozambique suggested a link – whatever the security experts might say. The meeting ended without conclusion. Theories were to be investigated and, hopefully, discounted. Gary waited for others to start to leave and took his cue to do the same.

  Gary wandered out of the room in a daze. The meeting had gone on well past midnight and had demanded his full attention which he increasingly struggled to give. He knew virtually no one present – not personally – not to talk to. His boss was caught up with side discussions. Gary felt deflated by his contribution. It had been confused and weak. He walked slowly back to the security check and the exit. He wanted to go home. A hand was placed on his shoulder.

  “Gary, Gary Sanders?”

  Gary looked around to see he had been followed.

  “Gary, I want to ask you about the uranium particle you brought back from Mozambique. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor White from the National Academy of Sciences. I am leading the group responsible for verifying the original forensic results.” Professor White spoke quickly and excitedly. “Let me tell you that it is a most remarkable find. I'm sure you know that it's very difficult to separate any amount of uranium into the different isotopes. Well, that particle – the one you found – it's pure uranium-238. When I say pure, I mean there is no other uranium isotope present – to the limit our equipment can detect – and I assure you our equipment is of the very best sensitivity. Do you have any idea how it was made?” The professor waited with expectation as Gary absorbed the information.

  “I have no idea,” admitted Gary.

  “And what about fissile uranium? Can it be separated in the same way?”

  “I really have no idea. But it worries me that if you can purify uranium-238 then you must, at least, be left with greater proportion of fissile uranium.”

  “Indeed, it's inevitable – this has to be the case. Why are we cursed with politicians who understand nothing about the science and technology that drives our civilisation? They're too busy with their image and opinion-poll ratings to deal seriously with these dangers. Re-election – the curse of democracy! Fortunately, they have little oversight in these matters.”

  “Do you mean to say that the sample had no uranium-235 at all?” Gary backtracked to clarify.

  “Yes. Less than one part per trillion.”

  “But that's impossible.”

  “It's been done. We have a sample thanks to you.”

  “How?”

  “Gary, that's what I'd like to know.” Excitement and frustration mixed in Professor White's voice. “The repercussions are huge. If this nuclear detonation is confirmed, that, together with the particle find, will instigate a major reaction from the CIA, the NSB and many others. Whatever and whoever is responsible must be found. Must be found.”

  The professor shook Gary by the hand and turned away muttering. Gary was left stunned by the news. He was desperately exhausted but fearful and unsettled. He headed for home. As with many nights recently, he would not sleep well. His dreams were disturbing and he would hear whispers. Gary absorbed the growing political tension within himself.

  Chapter 20

  National Secure Archive Facility

  Julia at last found some spare time. She had formed a growing fascination for Omar's uncle, Armando. Armando's story – but more so his manner – was having a subversive effect on her. She could not get the television interview out of her head. After the visit to America, he had gone back to Mozambique and later became president. She decided to search the archive to see if she could find out any more about him. Secretly, she wanted to know as much as possible about those who surrounded and influenced Omar. Julia typed Armando de Sousa, President. A video clip from Armando's election campaign started. It showed a handsome and dignified man – he was tall – addressing a crowd of people. There were so many people that Julia wondered at it. The crowd were all dark skinned – darker than Omar. The sound on the video crackled and buzzed, the noise was so loud it distorted in the microphone. Armando waved his arms and the crowd settled, prepared to drink in his w
ords as though there were life themselves. He began to intone his speech. His voice mesmerised.

  “I tell you this: today is our day. Today we shall know prosperity. We shall provide bread for our children. We shall inherit the riches of our own land – the land of our ancestors and forefathers. No longer shall we bleed our wealth to other nations. No longer shall we feed the abyss of corruption. No longer shall we accept the doctrine of third class citizens of this world. For our time has come. Our opportunity lies before us and we must grasp and hold on this day. Our goats need shepherds; our children need fathers, and our nation needs good government. The riches of our land will not be prostituted before the nations of the world for the self-serving ambition of a minority tribe. We reject the corruption of a few; we favour the benefit of all.”

  “Imagine a Mozambique where we send our children to school. Imagine an African dream with hospitals for the many. Imagine a Mozambique at peace with itself – our heads held high. Yes, my brothers, this is our dream. Are we able to carry the burden of our responsibility? We are proud Mozambicans, we say: yes, we can. Can we provide for our families and honour our parents? This is a rich land, we say: yes, we can. Can we maintain the integrity of our borders in the face of the wind that blows down from the mountains and the waves that crash on our shores. My countrymen brothers, we have fought ourselves for too long and I am in no way innocent of those conflicts but this is a day of hope and we answer: yes, we can and yes we shall! We must stand united, we must stand as one. May God bless this nation and rain his prosperity on us.”

  As Armando spoke, the crowd cheered louder and the microphone buzzed and whined as it overloaded. Armando kept up his wild gesticulations, drums started pounding around the stadium. Armando punched the air with both fists. The camera panned round a throng of dancers and faded out.

  Julia followed links to newspaper articles that described the election. The incumbent president was woefully corrupt and reversed some of the hard-earned improvements in the life of Mozambicans. He called an election confident that, by influencing the vote, he could produce a convincing victory. Apparently, he had not bargained on facing Armando – a new-comer to the political scene. He had some prestige as a successful chess player but that counted for little in African politics. Instead of a naïve and innocent geek, Armando proved to be a powerful speaker with sound principles and he struck a resonant chord when he condemned corruption and reminded the people that Mozambique belonged to all Mozambicans – it was not the property of the greedy few.

  Whatever measures had been put in place to guide the outcome of the election, they failed. Armando won convincingly. The election was declared invalid and the incumbent refused to leave. However, a large crowd gathered in the centre of Maputo. The army were ordered to disperse them. The army refused. It was rumoured that the army had sided with Armando and a peaceful transfer of power. The out-going president took the hint and left – for health reasons.

  Julia could not fully understand democratic politics. They certainly did not have it in the Ark though once America had been the driving force in fostering and protecting democracy. The Patriarch directed the affairs of the Ark and did what was necessary to preserve the Ark and the future of humanity. These needs precluded individual freedoms. The possibility of people deciding for themselves who should lead or what policies should be followed was never discussed. The Patriarch knew best. They had survived for seven generations since the Nakba proving it was so.

  Fatigue overcame Julia but she had gained greater insight about Omar and his family – about the Nephilim. She crept into bed later than intended. Researching Omar was becoming an obsession. She thirsted for more. She sensed the importance. Whatever was coming would change her life – perhaps the Ark – beyond recognition. She feared the change but feared and loathed the status quo even more. She dreamt of speaking to Omar, she imagined what she would say, what questions she would ask. How would he answer? She could not conceive. She slept unable to resolve the tension.

  Chapter 21

  Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America

  Gary sat at his desk in the office. He felt self-conscious. It was his first day back since his trip to Mozambique. The pile of paper in his tray had grown taller. He was aware his colleagues were sneaking surreptitious glances at him. They were whispering for sure but, as yet, no one had spoken to him. They were resentful that he had not been getting through his paperwork – someone else had to pick up the slack. He was not allowed to tell them where he had been or what had happened. All they had been told was that he had been ill and needed some time off to recover fully. It was not far from the truth.

  There was nothing else for it but to start ploughing through the application forms that had accumulated in his docket. Back to the grind. He had to sift through mindless requests to export technology to Southern Africa. This to Angola. That to Mozambique. A few things to Zimbabwe. Eventually, Silvia came over and asked him, “How are you feeling, Gary?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “You've lost weight.” Trust a girl to notice that.

  “I've not been so well but all better now.” Gary smiled falsely.

  “This is for you. I had to sign for it this morning.” Silvia placed a large brown envelop marked Top Secret on Gary's desk. Gary looked down at the envelope. Silvia hovered as if waiting for him to open it and reveal some big secret she could peddle round the office. Gary purposefully placed it in his tray and continued with his work. Silvia bent over and leaned on Gary's desk; her mouth was close to his ear. “We know, Gary. We all know.” Gary casually scanned round the room. The other office girls suddenly looked busy – not a normal state of affairs. They were all anticipating juicy gossip. Gary put his head into his hands while he formed a response. He continued with his work. Silvia huffed and turned away disgruntled. She paused and turned back. “It's a shame it didn't work out, Gary.” Gary was confused; he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Sorry?”

  “I guess it didn't work out then?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Other fish in the sea, Gary. You just get back on the horse.”

  Gary had been to Mozambique – nearly had his head opened up and his brains scooped out. He was still not sure if he had had cholera or typhoid or both but he had been really sick. Nito had been shot dead in front of him. He had killed Escobar after a frightening ten-hour drive. His soul chilled at the memory, the curse Escobar pronounced still lingered in Gary's hearing. At night he slept fitfully, never soundly. His boss had slapped his back and told him he had done a good job – but he could not talk about it.

  “What's the matter, Gary?” Silvia's tone became tender and genuinely concerned. She had realised that she had put her foot in it.

  Gary welled up with emotion and whimpered, “Mmm...”

  “Mandy! That was her name. Did she hurt you, Gary? She's bad news, Gary. Better off without her. Isn't that right, girls?” A tissue was obliged to Gary and his colleagues gathered round. He was hugged, first by Silvia and then by others. Mandy was decried as a shallow heart-breaker who could not appreciate Gary's sweet romantic nature. Gary was not used to being the centre of such attention and it felt wrong because they had got the facts all wrong. Mandy was the sweetest, most tender girl he knew. How dare they speak about her like that? If only he could talk about it.

  At last, he escaped to the restroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Silently, he mouthed, “Mmm … Mozambique.” He washed his face and composed himself. This was tough. The psychologist said it would be. He returned to his desk and sat staring blankly. No one bothered him. He appreciated that they just gave him some space for a bit. He knew they cared – that was almost enough.

  Gary picked up the sealed brown envelope and slit the seal. He extracted a three-page report describing the flight of a radiation-monitoring plane over the Southern Indian Ocean. It contained a map. A large plume of radiation was smeared over the ocean, downwind from the de
tonation point observed by the surveillance satellite. It had been independently corroborated that a nuclear device had been detonated. Gary still sat staring blindly but this time he was coming to terms with the reality that now presented itself. The world had become less safe, much less certain. Fear gripped his gut – he would get used to that feeling soon enough. He reread the report in case he had missed something. He had. He had skipped over the analysis of the radioactive fall-out. The detonation had been a simple single-stage atomic bomb – just like the devices developed and used during the Second World War against the Japanese. One fact stood out. The yield had been high for the amount of uranium used – the ignition had been very efficient. As good as – if not better than – what the US could achieve. That particularly worried Gary. Whoever was behind the test had not just reached a proof of concept but had advanced considerably beyond that stage. The question arose in Gary's mind and remained unanswered was whether this was a test or a demonstration. A test was bad enough – someone else was entering the nuclear club and the power balance would need some fine adjustment. If what they had observed was a demonstration, the implications were far less predictable.

  Gary spent the rest of the day trying and failing to rationalise the facts. Very little work got done but nobody commented. Gary left the office and felt a rush of freedom as he escaped. The feeling lasted all the way to the parking lot where he discovered a large black SUV was parked beside his own less spacious car. The window lowered as he approached. He heard ominous words that penetrated his inner peace and churned his soul.

  “Mister Sanders, we would like a brief word.”

  Agents Thompson and Greg invited Gary to join them in the SUV. Gary sat in the back while the agents both sat up front. Agent Greg spoke over his shoulder.

  “Mister Sanders, you've been reassigned. You should report to this address tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. Ask for Agent Vitti.” A nondescript business card was passed backwards. It had an address in Arlington, Virginia.