The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  “This could be quite a pleasant posting,” observed Gary.

  “I'm surprised you weren't despatched to Siberia after the Mozambique fiasco,” Vitti countered

  “We found tonnes of uranium.”

  “I heard it was depleted uranium – no fissile material – the wrong stuff to make a nuclear bomb with.”

  “You're right. It was all uranium-238. Not the right kind to make a bomb with. So where did it come from? And where's the uranium-235 – the bomb-making component of all uranium ore? There was absolutely no uranium-235 in what we found. None. Not an atom. Even our processing and isotope separation techniques can't make uranium as pure as what we found.”

  “You mean they completely extracted the fissile material?”

  “Yes – completely.”

  “Enough to make a bomb with?”

  “Enough for several bombs. Enough to start Armageddon.”

  Agent Vitti let out a low whistle.

  “Damn.” Gary cursed and slapped the Sat Nav on the dashboard. It was flashing. It had lost track of their position.

  “That's odd. Where the hell are we?”

  “I wish I knew. I was following this thing but now all it says is no satellites detected. And to top that, all the street names are in Arabic.”

  “The hotel is down by the water front. That should be easy enough to find?”

  “Do you fancy asking the locals for directions?” Gary looked across at Agent Vitti. “No, me neither. Beirut is not a great place to get lost after dark.”

  “Do you know what road we're on? I'll call the local office and get directions. A bit embarrassing...”

  Gary gave the name of the road – or at least the last road they were on – and Agent Vitti pulled out his cell phone and dialled. He started to explain their situation but stalled. He was interrupted. “Could you repeat that?” Agent Vitti's voice was laced with concern. Not something Gary had heard before. “Global Positioning is down. No explanation yet – but so is the European Galileo system. Satellites started going offline about eight hours ago. The Russian GLONASS is still working.”

  “What the hell? Who's responsible?”

  “No one has owned up yet but the Pentagon is going ape shit. The President has ordered DEFCON 3.”

  After three hours of traffic chaos, a crash course in Arabic street names and illegible maps in a pocket-sized tourist guide to Beirut, Gary pulled up at the Four Seasons Hotel. They checked in and went up to their rooms. Agent Vitti joined Gary and they watched CNN. A passenger airliner had crashed in South America having run low on fuel and tried to land in thick fog. There were survivors stumbling from the wreckage. Elsewhere, planes were delayed and diverted. There was horrendous traffic congestion as people got lost and turned this way and that and then panicked. The American GPS and European Galileo were no longer operational. The President was due to address the nation later that evening. The latest news was that the Russian GLONASS had also gone down – six hours after the other two. There was speculation: had the Russians turned it off to avoid looking responsible? The Russian Prime Minister had already laid the blame with Beijing or Islamic terrorists. No one was saying how it had happened. No one was saying it was an accident. Accusations were being hurled backwards and forwards. Gary asked Agent Vitti.

  “How close to war is this?” Agent Vitti was thoughtful for some time.

  “Hard to tell. Depends who's responsible – and we might never know.”

  The twenty-four-hour news machine was working at full pelt. Story after story of distress and heroism unfolded: roving reporters posed in front burning car wrecks; climbers were rescued from mountains; the army was shown lost and disorientated, driving their Jeeps and Humvees in circles. The viewing was compulsive. The crisis was global and seemingly endless.

  Gary and Agent Vitti's attention was beginning to wane when a retired military science professor from West Point was interviewed. A body blow had been struck tactically and decisively against the technology-reliant military machine of the United States and European allies. The battlefield had been abruptly levelled. The professor made reference to the Japanese advance down the Malaysian peninsula during the Second World War using bicycles and school-room atlases. Well-trained, motivated and disciplined soldiers won wars. Strategy, planning and logistics won wars. Gadgets were a distraction and some elements of the military had lost sight of how vulnerable they were when the fog of war descended – as it inevitably did. He was confident, however, that the US military was in good shape if they avoided under-estimating whatever enemy force might present itself. When asked who was responsible, the professor declined to identify a suspect but instead posed the question: who would benefit the most as a result? China's position was enhanced greatly. The invasion of African and Middle Eastern nations had become considerably more difficult. The Russians had, apparently, lost their own satellite positioning system but the majority of their military assets were ageing and obsolete and GLONASS had never given much advantage anyway. It was a polite way to say it did not work.

  No one could predict what the consequences would be. The Pentagon was, publicly at least, avoiding reckless rhetoric. There were no casualties of aggression. There were no scenes of blood-soaked soldiers lying in the streets. War was a step too far without that. It had taken Pearl Harbour to launch America across the Pacific against Japan.

  Gary and Agent Vitti tore themselves away and headed to the hotel restaurant. They sat mainly in silence: Gary submerged in his own thoughts – Agent Vitti most likely the same. It had been a harrowing day psychologically. They had almost forgotten about their mission objective: find Rachel Cohen. Gary had watched repeatedly the footage of the botched assassination of Doctor Campbell. They believed that the woman who took the bullet was Rachel but the body had never been positively identified – it had been quickly buried in an unmarked grave. Rachel's mother had prevailed upon the CIA to probe further – a mother's request when her husband, General Cohen, would not sanction Mossad involvement. Rachel's mother had influential connections within the American Jewish political set and Gary and Agent Vitti were despatched to Beirut to investigate. Toward the end of the meal, Gary looked up at Agent Vitti.

  “Vitti, do you think we are going to war?” Agent Vitti pondered for a moment and answered decisively.

  “No.” Gary waited for an explanation but none came.

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Don't get me wrong. People will talk about war, threaten war. The geeks in the basement of the Pentagon will already be doing night shifts running different conflict scenarios on their computer simulations. The usual set: China invading Taiwan; the Arabs against Israel – perhaps even Russia driving into Western Europe or the Central Caucasus. But the fact is that everyone has too much to lose. America owes too much money to China for China to act, the Arabs will always lose because they are too busy administering corruption than the hard graft of professional soldiering – and they know it. The Russians are making too much money selling oil and gas. Who's going to benefit from mutually assured destruction? Not even the Iranians are stupid enough to nuke Israel though they might talk about it a lot. No war, Gary. I’m sorry if that disappoints.”

  Gary was not specially relieved by Agent Vitti's line of argument but it was hard to refute his rational dissection. The human tendency to adhere to apocalyptic visions was difficult to put aside. Gary had read a theory that argued human instinct was necessarily predisposed to threats. The human psyche was formed, it was said, during the hunter-gather societies of the early stone age. A rustle in the grass might just be the wind – no harm done if you take fright and ready your defence. However, if the rustle is a wild animal and you ignore it then you become lunch. Natural selection favoured those who were more cautious – those who were predisposed to scenarios of doom and gloom. Gary was intrigued by the theory. He tried to dismiss his foreboding by rational argument. He failed. Nor could he think of one normal, happy person who was paid that much attention t
o how they all might die. He could think of a few misfits, drug-addicts and crazy people who were really quite paranoid. Gary did not rate their survival fitness very highly.

  Having agreed to rendezvous at breakfast to commence the task of looking for Rachel Cohen, Gary and Agent Vitti went to their rooms. Gary reran the words of the retired general: who would benefit the most? He had a point. It did not matter so much who disrupted the GPS network but rather who would emerge to take advantage of the situation. As Agent Vitti argued, there were no winners with mutually assured destruction. That amounted to no more than a stale mate – a meaningless draw.

  Chapter 45

  Beirut, Lebanon

  Agent Vitti looked across the table at Gary. Breakfast finished, Agent Vitti got straight to business.

  “Let's go over what we know. Rachel left her parent's home in Tel Aviv and took the bus to Amman in Jordan and then another bus to Beirut. She arrived early morning. We have an eye witness who says Rachel waited maybe an hour or two in the bus station before she was approached by a young Chinese girl.”

  “That's from the Mossad report?”

  “Yes, but that's as far as their investigation went. Before she left, Rachel sent a text message to an unregistered cell phone in Beirut. They followed her trail to the bus station but there she evaporated. After she arrived here, her phone was switched off.” Agent Vitti held his palms upward and shrugged.

  “Until the passport of Melissa Williams turned up in the hospital carried by the victim of a gunshot?”

  Agent Vitti nodded.

  “I saw the video and there was no way to tell who she was for sure. The picture was dark and blurred.”

  “You've seen that video?!” Agent Vitti was amazed. Gary shrunk back. Agent Vitti was rarely so openly surprised. Years of training and experience helped him keep his emotions cool. “The security clearance needed to see that is...” Agent Vitti trailed off. If Gary was not mistaken, there was a hint of jealousy.

  “You can't see it, it doesn't exist and I didn't mention it.” Gary responded tartly. He was picking up the CIA attitude having spent so much time around Agents Vitti and Schultz. “Anyway, we have it from a reliable source – Mossad again – that Rachel Cohen was travelling on a forged or borrowed passport – that of Melissa Williams. But how can we be sure the victim wasn't the real Melissa Williams?”

  “Well I'm pretty sure. I went to visit Melissa at her New York apartment. I had the passport from the hospital here in Beirut. The photograph was Melissa all right. Melissa confirmed it was her passport – claimed she didn't know it was missing. She had no explanation how it came into Rachel's possession. Claimed she had no idea who Rachel was.” Agent Vitti chuckled morbidly. “Melissa wasn't very happy when I showed her a death certificate with her name on it!” Gary must have looked appalled because Agent Vitti continued, “I know, I know. It was very bad of me. God forgive me, she got so upset and started crying.”

  “How do we find out for sure if it was Rachel or not? I mean, if it was Rachel then Mossad and Doctor Campbell are collaborating somehow. If it's not Rachel, who are we up against? Surely, we need to know. Was it Rachel?” Gary challenged Agent Vitti. Agent Vitti smiled mischievously.

  “A DNA sample would tell us. And the only way to get one is to dig up the body...”

  Gary had not seen it coming. Over the last few months he had added many new skills and experiences to his résumé. He had not bargained on adding grave robbing. He felt a ghoulish chill run down his back. He felt his eyes bulge. He even crossed himself though he was neither Catholic nor Orthodox.

  “You must be joking.”

  “Rachel's body was released by the hospital to her family. That would be Doctor Campbell's family. She is interned in a cemetery in the Achrafieh district just east of the city centre. The grave is unmarked. It's this one here.” Agent Vitti handed Gary a map showing the layout of the plots; one was marked with a red outline.

  “How I wish I hadn't come.”

  Chapter 46

  Beirut, Lebanon

  There was a chill in the air. The night sky burst brightly with star light. Venus shone in the East – an advance warning of the approaching dawn. Gary and Agent Vitti's work had progressed steadily under the shroud of darkness. Earlier, during the day, a pickaxe, two spades and a crowbar were purchased. Gary and Agent Vitti had navigated from the hotel to the cemetery using a paper map and a fair amount of guesswork. They chose a local restaurant in which to have dinner and they waited. When the neighbourhood was asleep, the tools were retrieved from the trunk of the car, tossed over the cemetery wall followed less adeptly by Gary and then Agent Vitti. Fresh flowers had been placed on the nameless grave. Gary moved these aside and digging began.

  Agent Vitti's spade stabbed into the loosened earth and a hollow thud resonated below. Gary looked around nervously. He held his breath. Nothing, no one stirred. He nodded to Agent Vitti. Carefully, they scraped the remaining soil away.

  The coffin was new. The wood was still in good condition and solidly constructed. Agent Vitti handed Gary the crowbar. Digging was the easy part. It merely required physical effort. Opening the coffin and confronting a corpse of several weeks was much less appealing. Agent Vitti stood ready to extract a sample for DNA analysis. Gary forced the crowbar into the edge of the coffin lid and pressed. The crowbar bit into the wood but Gary could not lever it off.

  “Stand on it and put your full weight on it,” advised Agent Vitti.

  Gary stood then jumped on the lever end of the crowbar. The nails securing the lid gave way. Gary worked round the lid and soon had it completely off. He dared not look inside. He braced himself mentally. Agent Vitti lifted the lid and shone a flashlight inside. After several moments, Agent Vitti still stood staring down.

  “What's the matter? Who is it?” Gary still could not bring himself to look at the body. In the cool, crisp air he did not smell the gut-wrenching stench of decay he had expected. Gary's curiosity won over. He peered inside.

  “I didn't expect that!” was all Agent Vitti said. Gary also stared speechless into an empty coffin. Empty except for a pile of folded clothes: plain black trousers, a pair of brown leather lace-up ankle boots and a white linen blouse. The blouse caught Gary's attention. It had an embroidered neckline – a simple but distinctive pattern. Gary recognised the clothes from a photograph in the Mossad report. These were the clothes Rachel was wearing when she boarded the bus in Tel Aviv. Gary reached down and tugging, unfolded it to reveal a neat hole – the size of a dime – in the left side just below the shoulder.

  “A bullet hole?”

  The blouse was perfectly white. Gary had the image of blood running freely from Rachel's heart and soaking her top, the ground, those gathered around and soaking Gary also. The frames of the assassination footage were frequent visitors during Gary's recent nightmares. He was no longer sure of what he saw in the video – he had imagined so many other details.

  “What do we do?” asked Gary. Agent Vitti was the expert. He should tell Gary what to do next and how to feel about it.

  “Shush. Someone's coming.” Agent Vitti's hushed tones were yet insistent. Gary listened. There was the metallic clank of a lock followed by the creak of a rusty hinge. Agent Vitti plucked the exhumed garment and sprang out the grave. Bending low he moved away and ducked behind the jumbled rows of marble tombs. Gary followed closely having no desire to remain alone.

  A couple of quiet women wearing head scarves entered the cemetery. They began sweeping the pathways. They were some way off but, in time, their methodical work would take them to the dug-up grave. Gary did not want to be here when that happened. Gary followed Agent Vitti as he worked his way behind some bushes toward the entrance. The last ten or twenty yards yielded no cover to conceal them. They paused. Gary looked up at two beautifully carved white marble cherubim perched on a large tomb. These angelic guardians had watched him and Agent Vitti all night. Now it seemed to Gary that their sightless eyes condemned him for his unholy a
ctivities. Gary was startled by Agent Vitti tugging his arm.

  “Just walk out casually,” Agent Vitti ordered.

  A small stone was tossed to the other side of the pathway to distract the women. It clattered among the graves but the women barely looked up. Gary felt Agent Vitti grasp his arm and push him toward the doorway. They walked straight out and did not hesitate or look back. They reached the car and Agent Vitti pushed Gary into the back while taking the driver's seat. He drove off and meandered through the maze of streets.

  Later, back at the hotel, Gary sought to resolve the findings of their night's work.

  “Why is there no body?”

  “I have no idea,” confessed Agent Vitti.

  “It makes no sense.”

  “Maybe she's not dead?” proposed Agent Vitti. “Fake identity – why not a fake death?”

  “Or there's some other reason to hide the body. But why? We're missing something Vitti. I know it. It's like we're looking for something over here but really what's important is over there – and we're missing it!” Gary was frustrated.

  “I know what you're saying. I feel it too. In my time with the CIA, I've never seen a case like this. It defies normal analysis. But we'll get a break. We'll find evidence. Nothing remains a secret forever – it all comes out. It always does. Someone, somewhere will get sloppy – or disaffected. Someone will have an axe to grind or will just want more money. In the meantime, we keep the pressure up. We follow leads. The truth will out.” Agent Vitti spoke with calmness and conviction.

  “Let's hope it's not too late.”

  “Let's hope so...”

  Chapter 47

  National Secure Archive Facility

  Julia finished her shift. Outside in the corridor, Sarah was waiting for her.

  “Bastards!” Sarah was furious about something.