JET V - Legacy

by Blake, Russell

  “But that was a decade ago. Why would they have waited until now to detonate one, and why in the most desolate stretch of coast in the world?”

  “All we have is conjecture, but we think there must have been technical hurdles to be surmounted to render the bombs operable. They were built in the mid-eighties, so they’re relatively primitive by contemporary standards. Crude. But the radioactive material – the uranium – hasn’t lost its capacity to create a chain reaction, so we’re really talking the wiring – the brain and the power – that would have been the problem. The basic guts of it aren’t particularly sophisticated: An explosive charge propels the uranium bullet at the uranium target, and when they collide, well, boom. Conceptually it’s simple. But the devil’s in the details.”

  “And you think that they’ve somehow either rehabbed or changed the computer or whatever it is so that it’s now viable.”

  “Exactly. Our experts say it could be done, though it might take years; and if there were false starts trying to locate components that can’t exactly be bought at the local electronics store…anyway, the how isn’t so important at this point. More so is the why.”

  “And the who. Tell me about these men. These operatives.”

  The director pushed three files across the desk to her. She opened the top one, and found herself looking at a photograph of a handsome dark-haired man with strong features, in his late twenties.

  “That’s Solomon Horowitz. He’s the older of the two brothers. Sixteen months older, to be precise. The younger one is Peter. Both in the service for six years at the point they were sent into Iraq. Their entire dossiers are there, although the photos are a decade old, so they are unlikely to look the same. You can study their backgrounds at your leisure. The third man, Joseph Aloni, was in the same class as Peter. But he went on to specialize in explosives, including arcane devices, which is why he was part of the team we sent in.”

  “But I thought the Mossad didn’t recruit family members?” Jet interjected.

  “We stopped after these two left the Mossad. That’s not important for your purposes. They were part of us – and we sent them into Iraq to find the nukes.”

  “And they came out, reported that they never found anything, and then…?”

  “The younger of the two brothers turned in his resignation six months later. Their father had just died, so it wasn’t completely unexpected. His death hit them both very hard, according to their colleagues. Four months later, Solomon quit – said it was time to move on to something else. He expressed interest in traveling.”

  “And you just let them go?”

  “This wasn’t like our experiment with your team. That was a special case. If an operative really wants to leave, we aren’t going to force them to stay. There’s no point. If they’ve lost the stomach for it, they’re more dangerous to us remaining in the service than leaving.”

  “Apparently not always,” Jet said, then bit her tongue as the director glowered. She may have resented him dragging her back into the fray, but he was a figure who commanded respect. Who had earned it, just as she had, through years of demanding duty.

  “I’ll let that slide. The third operative, Joseph, departed thirteen months after the Iraq assignment. Then all three of them dropped completely off the radar.”

  “How is that possible, in Israel? It’s a small place. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. How do you just disappear?”

  “Under normal circumstances you’d be right. But nothing about any of this is normal. You see, all three men left Israel, and as far as we know, haven’t been back. It’s probable that they’re using aliases and different passports, or we would still have a good idea of their whereabouts.”

  “Almost like they’d planned to go dark for some time.”

  “Exactly. We now believe that whatever scheme they concocted to abscond with the nukes was hatched before they ever left for Iraq. So it was premeditated. And required considerable planning.”

  “And resources.”

  “Yes. And that’s where we believe The Council came in. Money is nothing to that group. Which is speculative; but if accurate, explains how three young men can disappear, with nuclear weapons, and stay invisible for a decade.”

  “What about motive? Money?”

  “That’s one of the big questions. Certainly, in my experience, money makes the mare run. But it could go deeper than that. One of Solomon’s closer friends was interviewed when alarms sounded after they disappeared, and he mentioned that Solomon was staunchly conservative in his political views – which, given his career choice, wasn’t viewed as a negative. Only we now believe that we missed a warning sign. Upon closer examination, there are hints that he wasn’t just conservative, but radically so. He apparently felt that we weren’t doing nearly enough to stamp out the terrorism that’s been plaguing the nation for years. His friend said that he once mentioned that he thought we should take a scorched earth policy, and recognize that this was a war to the death. Those were the exact words he used. At the time, that wasn’t viewed as zealotry so much as the sort of patriotism we would want. Perhaps a little simplistic and hyperbolic, but young men need big ideas to sustain them when they’re being asked to sacrifice everything…”

  “I remember.”

  “That’s right. I keep forgetting how much of this must seem familiar.”

  “What about tracking the nukes? Don’t they emit some kind of radioactivity?” Jet asked, moving past the why question to more practical concerns. When all was said and done, it didn’t really matter why a suicide bomber detonated his vest in a crowd – it just mattered that he did.

  “Negative. They would be shielded. If these are anything like the other designs we’ve studied, there’s a lead sheath, and the case might also be lead-lined. That’s part of their weight. The lead, and of course, the uranium.”

  “And you haven’t come close to locating any of the three former operatives.”

  “Correct. It’s as though they evaporated.” The director paused. “Except for one possible sighting in Genoa recently, which ended with the surveillance team butchered. We had picked up some promising chatter, but the operation ended in disaster. Long story short, it was inconclusive, and we wound up with nothing but what you see here.”

  Jet thought about the magnitude of the problem as she read through the files, taking her time, absorbing the details for future reference. “Both devices are in the same kiloton range?”

  “Yes. Roughly five. I could take you through the physics of the fireball versus the air blast versus the radiation radius, but suffice it to say that anything human out in the open within at least a kilometer will be killed. Worse, if it’s detonated in the air above a target. A small plane with a warhead could cause almost twice the damage as a ground-level strike.”

  “Do you think that’s a legitimate possibility?” Jet asked.

  “At this point, anything’s possible. But I think the better question is what the likely target will be.”

  Jet closed the files and pushed them aside. “You’ve given some thought to that, or have a lead, correct?”

  “I wish you were right about the lead. All we have are guesses. None of which are positive. Iran. Syria. Any of a half dozen terrorist groups. Most of our neighbors, when it comes down to it, depending on how radical these men’s ideologies have become. A holy place. Or a false flag attack on a location in Israel. It’s a question of how twisted their logic is, and what they hope to accomplish. I would hope none of those, but from where I’m sitting, hope isn’t a very good strategy, is it?”

  “Not really. Imagine the fallout if a nuke were to go off someplace like Mecca. It would be a never-ending holy war. Nobody would care that these were fringe lunatics. That they were Israeli would be all anyone would ever remember.”

  “And any denials would be meaningless. Yes, we’ve considered the worst-case scenarios, and they’re more horrifying than any sane person could contemplate.”

  “But the mem
bers of this Council – are you saying that they’re insane? Who are they, anyway? Any ideas?”

  “Not insane. Not in the way you or I would think of it. But reckless and fanatical, and willing to jeopardize world peace to attain their goals. Which is just as bad. Maybe worse.” The director ran a hand over his leathery face and fixed Jet with a cold stare, his eyes unblinking. “At this point our chances of locating the three former operatives are almost nil. Which leaves us with The Council – and the one man we’re almost sure is a member. If we can penetrate its ranks, then our hope is that we can learn where the bomb is. That’s all we have.”

  Jet returned his gaze. “How do you do that?”

  He smiled for the first time since the meeting began, more of a grimace than anything, a humorless and cold thing that tugged his skin in unfamiliar ways.

  “You were always the best of the team members. I remember reading the reports. The smartest. Fearless, effective, but also brilliant. They broke the mold…”

  The director flattering Jet disturbed her more than any threat or blackmail attempt would, and yet a small kernel inside her glowed from the unexpected praise. Apparently she hadn’t completely separated herself from the life – all of her self-talk notwithstanding.

  “I’m listening. And the clock’s ticking.”

  “Indeed it is,” he acknowledged, and then told her how he intended to infiltrate the ranks of the secretive Council – an organization that was little more than a whisper in the halls of power. By the time he was finished, she was nodding.

  It could work.

  Chapter 14

  Jerusalem, Israel

  “Sir, there are two men here to see you.” Jacob’s secretary’s carefully modulated voice sounded tense – uncharacteristic for her, even under the most difficult of circumstances.

  He set his pen down and stared at the intercom speaker. “Men to see me? I don’t have anything on my book. Who are they?”

  “They’re from the government, sir.”

  “The government? Tell them to make an appointment like everyone else. I’m busy.”

  “They’re very insistent.”

  “They can be as insistent as they like. If they want to speak with someone without an appointment, point them to Howard. That’s why we have a corporate counsel in the first place.”

  “Sir, I think you may want to speak with them. This doesn’t seem like any sort of routine visit. They’re quite adamant that it’s a matter of the highest priority.”

  Jacob paused, a small tickle of anxiety quivering in his stomach. “Fine. Show them to conference room B. I’ll be in shortly. And see if you can find David,” he snapped, and stabbed the intercom off.

  He was a powerful man, accustomed to having his will obeyed, and he didn’t take the intrusion well. Whatever this pair wanted, he’d make them rue the day that they had shown up and tried to bully their way into his offices. He’d come too far to be afraid of any bureaucrats, but he’d also learned that it was better to play nice sometimes than to come in with guns blazing.

  With a final glance at the document he had been poring over he stood, then straightened his tie and donned his hand-tailored navy blue suit jacket, appreciating the perfect fit as he always did when he wore it. Jacob traveled to Hong Kong once a year to get ten new suits made by his favorite tailor – a modest luxury for one of the wealthiest men in Israel, but one that never failed to give him a blush of satisfaction.

  He stalked from his suite to the conference rooms. B was decorated in dark wooden panels and adorned with centuries-old oil paintings, creating an imposing aura steeped in tradition and big money; a room that spoke of mega-wealth and importance. When he swung the door open, he was greeted by two hard-looking unsmiling men wearing drab gray suits, seated at the opulent oval table. Both regarded him like he’d stolen their wallets, and the pulse of unease in his gut became a snare drum roll.

  “Gentlemen. I’m Jacob Weinstein. You want to speak to me?”

  “Mr. Weinstein. Sit down.” The words of the older one were an order, not a suggestion.

  “Just one minute here. Who are you, and how dare you barge into my offices and speak to me in that insolent tone? Let’s see some identifica–”

  “Sit down, Weinstein. I’m not going to tell you again.”

  Jacob was so surprised by the outrageous behavior that he was rendered momentarily speechless. He reached to his side and pulled one of the expensive chairs toward him, then eased his bulk onto the butter-soft wine-colored leather with a grunt.

  “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. If I ask questions, you’re going to answer them. You will not ask me any. As to who we are, I’ll give you this much. We’re with the Mossad, and this isn’t a social call. It’s a matter of national security, which means that I’m deadly serious and am not going to waste any time.”

  “The Mossad! What the hell does the Mossad want to talk with me for?” Jacob blurted.

  “To warn you.”

  “Warn me…,” Jacob echoed, puzzled.

  “A little over two days ago, a nuclear explosion occurred off the coast of Africa. Somalia. You no doubt know all about it – it’s on every news program. But what isn’t common knowledge is that one of your ships was hijacked several months ago. By Somali pirates.”

  “How do you know–”

  “We looked over satellite footage of the area where the detonation occurred, and guess what had been floating in the cove that was ground zero? A ship. Camouflaged, to be sure, but still, a ship that looked suspiciously like your missing cargo ship, Salome.”

  “You found her!” Jacob said, affecting relief.

  “Cut the crap. The explosion vaporized the boat, and anything that was left sank.”

  Jacob’s eyes pretended confusion. “I…I don’t understand. If she sank, then why is the Mossad in my offices?”

  “Because we believe you’re involved with the explosion.”

  “What! That’s outrageous! Involved in what way? Have you people lost your minds?”

  “Mr. Weinstein, I’m not going to warn you again. I’m here to give you an opportunity to change the course you’re on. Because it’s a bad one, and it will end in disaster. You’re a rich and powerful man – a man of accomplishment who’s admired and respected. But that isn’t going to matter when I come back and take you in, charged with treason. You know what we can do. You can disappear.” The man rose. “This is a national security matter. We believe you’re involved in something that poses a threat to Israel, and if we’re correct, there will be no mercy. So this is your chance. I want to know everything you know about the blast. No lies. No denials. The truth.”

  Jacob dry swallowed, and then his eyes took on a flinty hardness.

  “Gentlemen. I’m not sure what you believe you know, but you’ve obviously been led astray. We lost a boat, as you know. We were in negotiations to get her back. Negotiations that were nearing a conclusion – a successful conclusion. Now, I don’t know how you think the shipping world works, but we don’t go around bombing adversaries. Especially not when it’s over a few lousy million dollars. Not to mention that I have nothing to do with any nuclear program, nor do I have a pile of nukes in my basement, which you should be well aware of if you’ve done any research at all.” He softened his tone. “Look, the ship is insured. Any ransom would be a cost of doing business – and not even a big cost. So you’re way off base.”

  “Off base. Then why did a nuke go off right next to your boat?”

  “Are you a hundred percent sure it was even one of our ships?” Jacob saw a flicker of hesitation in the agent’s glare, and drilled home his advantage. “How would I know why a nuke went off? Maybe these same scum were involved in some kind of arms dealing? All I can do is guess. You know as well as I do that area of the world is out of control. There’s no law. Anything goes. Maybe they were trying to build, or arm, a device, and they screwed up? Poof. The point is that I have no idea what this i
s about, and there are infinite explanations I can think of off the top of my head that don’t involve me, my company, and nuclear weapons.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the agent stated flatly, his tone openly hostile.

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe. I’m telling the truth. You’re on a fishing expedition, and somehow you got pointed in the wrong direction. Who put you up to this? One of my competitors? It had to be. One of my enemies. And you fell for it.” Jacob leaned forward, matching the agent’s malevolence. “Here’s my suggestion. Go bark up another tree. Because there’s nothing to see here. I’ve never been involved in the arms business, or anything even remotely connected to weapons of any kind. That’s easy to verify. So I’d suggest that you look elsewhere, because this is a dead end. And frankly, if you pull another stunt like this and bully your way in, you’ll be sitting across from my attorneys. This discussion is over, and if you don’t leave quietly, I’ll start making calls to my connections in the government, and I promise you whatever you think you have won’t get you out of that hot water.” Jacob held up a hand. “I know you have a difficult job to do. I can sympathize. But I’m a patriot, and an upstanding member of the community, and the notion that I’m involved in anything related to the explosion is preposterous.”

  The two agents stared stonily at him.

  Jacob stood, more sure of himself. “I’ve given you all the time this warrants. This is a big mistake. Don’t make it a bigger one. I’m willing to forget you were here, but only this once. If you barge in again making wild claims, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  The younger agent put his pen down on the desk, carefully, and looked Jacob square in the eyes.

  “The only mistake is the one you’re making. When we come back, and we will come back, you’ll be crying like a baby as we drag you off. That’s what’s going to happen. Probably soon. Very soon.”