“We want to ask a few questions about field work on the battlefields of Southern Iraq and Kuwait by some members of your department. I believe you were the expedition leader?” Professor Silva's eyes lit up.
“Ah, yes. A most interesting project. You know, archaeology is not just about ancient history. We received a grant award to apply the same kind of techniques we might use on a Roman or medieval site to a modern battlefield. Of course, in this case we can then consult the eye-witness accounts and military records and see what kind of comparison we can make.”
“Indeed, I've read your article in Archaeology Quarterly Gazette and, of course, you requested access to military reports from the Gulf War. We are mainly interested in three members of the expedition from Brazil. Do you remember them?”
“Yes, yes, from the City University of Rio de Janeiro. Now, what were their names? Miguel, Gabriel and Ariel. That's them! At first we were quite flattered when they offered to assist us with the project but a little sceptical since their institution is quite obscure. We had … difficulties. Our Portuguese staff made a few unpleasant jokes about their accent – the way they speak our language in Brazil, it is quite grating... Agent Sanders, I think I heard a Brazilian influence when you introduced yourself. I am most sorry. I do not share the prejudices of some of my countrymen. Anyway, those guys did such brilliant work that soon no one said anything and they were such good fun – they won us over heart and soul.” Gary was hearing a familiar story. The kids from Doctor Campbell's orphanage were very accomplished – highly educated and were able to win people over.
“What do you mean by that? How did they win you over?”
“Tell me Agent Sanders, are they in trouble? I cannot believe it.”
“It is simply a matter of procedure. The military reports you requested cannot be distributed without the proper authorisation. The US Army has … not so much secrets but things we don't want advertised. We are obliged to check each and every application. The Brazilian connection simply stands out as unusual. Brazil is not a member of NATO, for example. If you would answer the question, candidly please.”
“Well, they were always laughing and telling jokes while they worked. And they were so sure of themselves, so much confidence – but in an healthy way. Their spirit was indefatigable. On an twelve-week expedition, the mood can become … tense – let me tell you. In all that time I never heard a harsh or angry word. Not any sign of frustration or irritation. They were marvellous with the Iraqi authorities. We could scarcely believe. After three weeks they had picked up a working knowledge of Arabic. The commander of the local police invited us for tea and sweet figs. He was practically offering his daughter in marriage. We thought it was a cultural gesture – Arab hospitality – but, hell, I wish I'd married my daughter to one of them. Better one of them that the arrogant waster she chose all by herself.” A look of disaffection clouded Professor Silva's face.
“What exactly was their role in the expedition?”
“Ariel did the surveying. The modern battlefield is much larger than the ancient one so we had to map out accurately where we found evidence. Gabriel was a metallurgist who examined in great detail bits of tanks, munitions that sort of thing. Miguel turned his hand to almost anything. He spent a lot of time driving the digger.”
“What sort of munitions did you recover?”
“All kinds. Mostly thirty millimetre armour piercing rounds from the A-10 Warthogs or larger tank shells as well as a variety used by the Iraqis.”
Alarm bells rang in Gary's head. The specific munitions mentioned by Professor Silva were depleted uranium shells which were used because their greater density meant the shell would travel twice as far as one made from lead – twice as far as the Iraqi shells. The Iraqis were out-gunned both in range and accuracy. That fact, among others, meant they were no match for the allied forces bearing against them and they were soundly defeated – twice.
“What did you do with the munitions you found?”
“We did the ballistics analysis. Of course, most of the shells combusted as they struck their targets but some ricocheted while others missed and were buried in the sand. We found quite a number – enough to allow us to work out which planes flew which sorties. For each Warthog we identified the eight ballistic patterns – one for each barrel of the forward rotary canon. The tanks shells were much easier to identify – the tanks only have one barrel. All the pieces were shipped back here for further work. It has been an immensely interesting piece of forensic research... Are you well Mister Sanders? You are looking a little pale.”
“I'm fine,” stammered Gary. He was not feeling great. “Exactly how much depleted uranium shells did you retrieve? Where are they now?” Gary's voice was slow and nervous.
“They are in a storage unit at a university facility outside the city. They are quite safe, I assure you.”
“How much do you have?” Gary was persistent.
“Several tonnes I believe – a few thousand in all.”
“We need to see them.”
Professor Silva looked somewhat disturbed by this request. He squirmed.
“There are arrangements to be made first. The munitions are toxic and mildly radioactive.”
“I am aware of that.” Gary was recovering his composure. Professor Silva left the office to make some calls. Gary and Agent Schultz were left alone. Neither spoke for a minute.
“You're very quiet, Gary. What's on your mind?” Gary knew Agent Schultz was not concerned – he just wanted to know what Gary's angle was.
“During the Gulf War and Operation Iraqi Freedom, how much depleted uranium ammunition did the US air force use to neutralise the Iraqi tanks?”
“A lot?” ventured Agent Schultz.
“Around a million rounds – five hundred tons, give or take. If those guys picked up a few thousand – maybe a ton – and could somehow separate out the tiny fraction of fissile material that remains, it would yield, say, four pounds of fissile material.”
“But isotope separation is the difficult part. The two forms of uranium are chemically identical. The only way is to utilise the one percent difference in mass between isotopes in a gas diffusion centrifuge. Are you impressed, Gary? I've been doing my homework.” Agent Schultz smirked.
“I am impressed. And, yes, isotope separation is hard. But gas centrifuges are not the only way. I just have a horrible feeling that Doctor Campbell has somehow stumbled on a way to do it more efficiently – much more efficiently. But four pounds of pure fissile material – if that is possible – it's enough to … to hold a nation to ransom.”
“Or start a war.”
These words hung in the air as Professor Silva returned. If he had heard them, he did not comment. His manners were, however, markedly more agitated on his return.
“We can go now and visit the storage unit … to inspect the … artefacts. We'll go in my car.”
Gary and Agent Schultz rose and followed the professor. Winding through the university corridors and stairwells, they reached the car park and climbed into Professor Silva's functional but rusted and beaten-up estate car. They drove for forty minutes in chaotic traffic. Gary was thankful he did not have to drive here – the streets were a frenzy of narrow, winding interchanges with a mind-numbing selection of twisted exits.
The storage facility was located in a low, industrial building on the outskirts of Lisbon. It was an unremarkable warehouse nestled between others just like it. A small sign, slightly askew, labelled it University of Lisbon, Department of Archaeology.
“We are here,” Professor Silva broke the silence endured during the entire trip.
The three men were met by a young Portuguese woman. Professor Silva introduced her as Maria, one of his research assistants. Maria handed everyone white lab coats, rubber gloves and blue elastic overshoes. She was polite and amiable. Professor Silva explained that the guests from the American government wanted a quick tour of the battlefield relics. Maria obliged effortlessly explaining the inv
entory brought back by the expedition. She showed a selection of military regalia – Iraqi medals, flags and insignia. She reeled off the Iraqi units they signified. Gary and Agent Schultz nodded politely. There was a large section of an Iraqi tank, Russian supplied, that was peppered with vicious holes. Whoever had been inside would have been killed, not by a ricocheting projectile, but by a spray of molten metal as the depleted uranium penetrator incinerated the armour cladding. Although Gary knew the specifications, construction and had read the manuals, this was the first time he had witnessed the destructive power of these weapons and so closely sensed the human cost.
“Did you go on the expedition?” asked Gary, as much as a distraction as out of interest.
“Yes. The full twelve weeks,” replied Maria.
“How did everyone get along for so long – in such a place? Don't tempers flare in the hot weather – it must have been unbearable at times.”
“We got on well enough, I suppose. You just get on with the work. There's always something to do. Drink plenty of water.”
“What about the Brazilians?”
“You mean Miguel? Honestly, at first I was suspicious. I couldn't work out what they were there for but they worked so hard... I owe my life to Miguel. We were travelling back from Basra when we stopped for rest break. I went into a mud brick shack to ... well, you know. It was full of boxes. I don't know what happened, I just bumped into them – a bit clumsy of me I guess. I tripped and fell. I tried to get up but my ankle had turned and I was in agony. Then I realised the boxes were full of RPG rounds – all live – all ready to go off at the slightest nudge – all spilled across the floor around me. I froze and began to panic. After a bit Miguel came to check on me. I could barely make a sound for fear of blowing myself up. He picked up the RPG's one-by-one and carried them outside. He was amazingly calm. I reckoned if he could be so calm, I could keep calm too. He picked me up and carried me out. He risked his life. He explained that in the tip of the rounds is a crystal that makes them explode when they impact. Sometimes changes in desert heat – a shadow cast over them – can set them off. As we drove away, there was an explosion and all that was left of the hut was a crater. He saved my life – I am sure I would have died in that hut but for him.”
Maria reflected on her experience for a few moments. Obviously, the events were recalled with absolute clarity. She relived them as she told the story. Gary was deeply impressed. Agent Schultz was seemingly unmoved. Maria continued.
“In here are the spent munitions that we found. These crates have not been opened since they arrived. For some reason, these were stuck in Basra for months while the Iraqi authorities stalled the paperwork and denied export clearance. Our funding had run out by the time theses arrived. There are five more just like this one.” Maria wielded a crowbar on the crate lid. Agent Schultz was studying the radiation warning symbol on the side of the crate. The lid of the crate popped open and Maria deftly worked round and slipped it off to one side.
Gary stared inside. There were hundreds of cardboard boxes neatly arrayed and labelled. Gary reached in and picked one up. Maria caught her breath as she held back her objection. Gary prized open the box. Inside, in foam packing, was a dull, deformed, bullet-shaped lump of metal. Scratches and gouges marked the surface. It was a thirty millimetre calibre round – just a bit wider than Gary's thumb and as long as his hand was wide.
“Whatever this is, it isn't a depleted uranium round from an A-10 Warthog.”
“Yes, it is. Look at the label.” Maria was insistent.
“It's the right size. The Iraqis didn't use anything close to this calibre so I'd have to say it was a fake – a forgery, in fact.” Gary let the accusation hang in the air. Professor Silva sat in a nearby chair.
“It can't be,” complained Maria. “How can you tell?”
“Feel it. Each one of these should be just over four hundred grams,” replied Gary. Turning to Agent Schultz, he explained, “nearly a pound in weight.” Gary whisked the round to a nearby set of scales and placed it on. “Barely two hundred grams. Less than half of what it should be.” Gary tossed it to Maria. “It's far too light.” Gary began inspecting a selection of other boxes. All were the same. Far too light. Professor Silva stood up and interrupted Gary's rummaging.
“I'm sorry, you must leave now. The police must be called. There must be an investigation.”
Agent Schultz agreed and both men moved away leaving Professor Silva and Maria to come terms with the discovery. Gary heard Professor Silva mutter about his reputation. The man was incredulous and his temper was rising.
“No point in getting stuck in the middle of a Portuguese police investigation – I think we got what we came for,” said Agent Schultz in hushed tones. “More than likely they'll find out nothing but take months just to do that.”
They discarded their lab coats and called a taxi. Waiting outside, Agent Schultz looked around quickly to check no one would overhear before he ventured, “You think someone diverted the depleted uranium shells and replaced them with those fake ones?”
“Yes.”
“To extract enough fissile material to make a nuclear bomb?”
“Yes.”
“And leaving the non-fissile uranium you found in Mozambique?”
“Yes.”
“Ironic, isn't it?”
“Yes. Painfully so.”
“I saw you pocket a sample.”
“I doubt you saw it but you're right, I did. It might show something up. We might get lucky and find it says made in China. Everything else is these days.”
“I was thinking made in Brazil?”
“You are probably right. I wouldn't be surprised.”
The taxi arrived and they went directly to the airport.
Chapter 51
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Gary surveyed the villa and surrounding compound. It was affluent yet discrete unlike some of the more gregarious properties in the Leblon neighbourhood of Rio de Janeiro. He had landed three hours ago having flown on a special charter flight with Agent Schultz direct from Lisbon. Miguel, the leader of the cell stationed here in Brazil, had been tracked to the villa. A team of eight Delta Force operatives had set up a stakeout from an apartment block overlooking the house and surrounding gardens. Large rosewood trees had been planted – perhaps decades ago – just within the perimeter wall and obscured much of the property. The Delta team had set up infra-red cameras to get some penetration of the foliage.
Gary was impressed by the speed and efficiency with which the team had been deployed and now they were patiently waiting for further orders. It was believed that Ariel and Gabriel were also in Rio and were possibly staying in the same villa. As yet only Miguel had been sighted. The connection had come as the result of meticulous data processing and cross-referencing together with a stroke of luck. After it was suspected that Rio might be hosting some of Doctor Campbell's brood – some of the Nephilim – a large computer in a Utah facility began to crunch all kinds of personal data. Supermarket loyalty cards were used to analyse purchases. Telephone records, bank records, property registers, tax returns were added to the database. A short list of suspicious discrepancies was compiled. Cell phone calls were intercepted and transcribed by a piece of software acquired by clandestine means from the Chinese Public Security Bureau. Keywords were indexed; accents were profiled. An anomalous import of bottled water stood out. A regular delivery to the targeted villa was followed up by a field agent and Miguel was photographed receiving it. A positive identification was established from a blurry photograph of Miguel meeting Zarina in the Slavia café on the banks of the Vlatava in the old quarter of Prague. The pair were in the background of a tourist snap that had been posted on a social network site.
Gary put his eye to a telescope and examined the villa and garden. Next to his elbow, a high power sniper rifle reminded Gary that there was deadly intent involved. Whoever Miguel was, the Presidential order was to detain him. If he resisted or tried to escap
e, he should be shot without warning. The same went for his friends. Gary felt his stomach tighten at the thought. He half-hoped that this was another dead end – another wild goose chase. Gary did not relish the prospect of body bags. Gary brought his mind back to reconnoitring the target. The villa was painted white with dark stained wooden doors and decking. It was a nice house and Gary admired it. It would be an ideal place to live – with Mandy of course – and children when the time came. Gary stepped back from the telescope. Agent Schultz took his turn.
The two-man sniper team were Max and Hank. Max was from California and was enjoying his posting to Rio. It was his kind of town. Hank was from Wyoming. They asked Gary about the targets. Gary replied vaguely that they were terrorists and involved in smuggling arms.
“They must be mighty serious arms for us to get involved?” said Hank.
“Yes, they are very dangerous individuals,” murmured Gary.
“The chief says the orders are to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“We have to challenge them and ask them to surrender.”
“But we get to shoot them if they try to run.” Gary squirmed a little. It was true but it should not be like that.
“Yeah, I've read the order.”
“Gee, she's nice!” exclaimed Agent Schultz excitedly still looking through the telescope.
“What can you see?” asked Gary.
“Take a look at the curves on that.” Agent Schultz invited Gary to take a look. Gary again placed his eye to the sight on the telescope. This time there was activity at the front. Agent Schultz had left the telescope pointing at a bright red mustang that had pulled up and parked near the entrance. It was a classic. The chrome was perfectly polished and bright. The white roof was folded down and two men yelled up to the house. They were laughing and joking with an unseen person within – perhaps Miguel.
Spanner, another member of the Delta team began capturing frames from the surveillance camera and selecting face shots. He worked deftly on the computer. The faces were submitted for identification within the vast database of personal details held by the CIA. It would take several minutes but if they were in there, they would be matched and identified.
The Nephilim Protocol Page 25
