Jet snuck a look at the men and then walked down the hall to the bathroom.
“You haven’t told them, have you? The Qatar government?” she whispered.
The director sighed, weighing how best to answer her direct question. “It was decided at a higher pay grade than mine that a group of our most prominent citizens scheming to nuke the Arab leadership into oblivion could be misconstrued. Would be misconstrued. So no, nothing’s been said. We’re depending on you and your team to stop this in time. If not, it’s a Russian device, and will ultimately be traced back to the Russians. We have plausible deniability.”
“But you don’t need deniability. You’re doing everything in your power to stop it.”
“That’s not how politics works, my dear. Nothing is straight lines.” The director sounded exasperated, unaccustomed to having to explain himself to anyone, much less female subordinates. “There are more considerations than I’m able to discuss, but the decision was made at the highest level.”
“It’s a stupid, dangerous decision,” Jet snapped, furious at the old men running the government for risking countless lives, as well as the stability of the region. “Surely having a nuke explode is worse than a PR problem.”
“I don’t disagree, but it’s out of my hands. At this point you’re our only hope. If the worst happens…” The director paused, and then cleared his throat. “I don’t expect you to be happy with the decision, but it was made, and there’s no going back now. I’ll call you as soon as we have something on the leak.”
Jet stared at the dead encrypted phone, shaking her head. The enormity of the situation was like a monstrous weight over her head – her government had betrayed her trust with this idiocy, and now the world would pay. She wondered how many innocents would be immolated by the blast – people who had never harbored any hate in their hearts, who were guilty of nothing but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Children like her Hannah, just starting out in life…
The ramifications infuriated her, but there was nothing to do. She wasn’t responsible for the crisis, but she would certainly be part of the solution – if any was to be had.
Jet choked back the rage she felt, the broiling in the pit of her stomach eating at it like acid, and took several calming breaths before going back to the men and filling them in on the new radiation detector development.
~ ~ ~
“It’s cracked. You can see where the lead shielding has a hairline fissure in it,” Joseph reported, leaning back from where the bomb sat on the dining room table.
“What about the circuitry?”
“Everything appears to be functional, but there’s only one true test. It’ll either work, or it won’t.”
“Damn it. This is a disaster. Isn’t there any way we can be a hundred percent sure?” Solomon demanded.
“No. But I can be sure that we’re getting irradiated the longer this thing is around with that crack. And I, for one, would like to live to tell about our day of victory,” Joseph said.
“Can you repair it?”
“I don’t see any reason why not. The truth is that it’s more of a safety issue for us than a functionality issue. Whether or not it works is going to come down to whether there are any microscopic cold solder joints – something we can’t fully verify without detonating it. I’ve checked what I can with my instruments, and I’d say it’s still viable, but now that it’s been dropped–”
“Joseph, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Solomon interrupted, his face pale from blood loss as well as the pain of having his bites cleaned and sutured without anesthetic.
“Enough, already. Let me think for a second. I’ll need to jury rig something with lead. I don’t want to risk the device itself, or I’d just melt the existing shielding to repair it.” Joseph trailed off, thinking about where he could get some lead to make the repair. At six a.m. in Doha, it wasn’t like he could just head to the nearest hardware store and ask them if they had any lead available to repair a bomb.
“Can’t you just scrape some from the rest of it, then melt it down and pour it into the crack? There has to be more lead than necessary in that thing. And it’s not like we need it to shield the uranium for the next fifty years…”
Joseph contemplated Solomon’s suggestion and then leaned back and smiled. “You’re not just a pretty face after all, are you? I would have gotten there, eventually. I’m just tired.”
“I know the feeling. I’d gladly trade you whatever fatigue you have for the dog bites.”
Joseph frowned. “I felt bad about the poor dog. He was just doing his job.”
Solomon nodded and took the seat next to him.
“As are we all, my friend. As are we all…”
Chapter 33
The promised hour turned out to be more like an hour and a half, but when the call came in at seven forty a.m. the news was the most positive that Jet could have hoped for.
“We narrowed it down and have a location. It’s a house in the Abu Hamour district, near the big animal market.” The director’s voice was excited for the first time Jet could remember.
“Can you send everything you have? This is going to be a seat of the pants operation, but I don’t see that we have much choice in the matter. We’re going to have to go in. Am I missing something?” Jet asked, hating that they were going to have to do an incursion in broad daylight with zero surveillance or information on what to expect.
“It’s on its way. But the bottom line is that we have a defined radiation signature coming from the structure, so unless someone is enriching uranium in their bathtub, that’s our target.”
“I’m presuming that we have full discretion on how to handle this?”
“Absolutely. All I care about is that you stop the bomb from going off. I don’t really care how. Once you have it, we’ll take it from there, but how you get it is up to you.”
“Okay, then, we’re going to move out as soon as we’ve got all the recon. Do you have satellite imagery for it?”
“That’s a different bird. It’ll take a few minutes to get it up on line – it’s just now hitting the point in orbit where we’ll get images. The technicians are scrambling to bring it live. Any second now.”
“Damn. Isn’t anything going to go our way on this one?”
“At least the one with the radiation detector was in position this morning. That’s something.”
“I suppose so. Anything else?”
“Good luck. You know the stakes.”
“I haven’t forgotten them.”
This time when the line went dead, it was Jet who terminated the call. She strode into the living room, where everyone was gathered around the monitors, studying the odd-looking thermal imagery that highlighted the radiation as a bright blip on the overlaid map.
“We have a go. You’re looking at the target. I want to move out in five minutes. Isaac, what can you tell us about that neighborhood?”
Isaac shook his head. “It’s a residential area. Middle class mostly, shop owners and managers, construction supervisors and the like. I’ve only been through it a few times, but it’s very much like this one – nothing special.”
“I don’t suppose you have any surprises for us, like some decent assault weapons instead of this Russian junk?” Jet asked, eyeing the well-used AK-47 by the door.
“On short notice, you’re lucky you aren’t going in with daggers and slingshots,” Isaac said with a shrug. “I only had a few hours to round these up. It’s not like anyone gave me sufficient time. And I still don’t know enough about what you’re doing to be dangerous.”
Isaac had been kept out of the loop, other than being informed that the group was targeting terrorists. He didn’t know about the nuke, nor that their adversaries were ex-Mossad. The director had kept the need to know very tight; if the bomb went off, the fewer that knew what had actually happened, the better.
“Trust me, you have as much information as you want to. How long will it take to get us there?�
�
“At this hour? Maybe twenty minutes. You want to take one vehicle, or multiples?”
Jet considered the question. “You drive the van, we’ll take the two cars. I have no idea what we’re walking into, so might as well err on the side of maximum flexibility.”
Isaac nodded and stood, jingling his keys. “I have a pistol as well. Hopefully I won’t have to get involved in the shooting, but if you need help with this, just let me know and I’ll do what I can.”
“If all goes well, you’ll just be keeping an eye out on the street so we aren’t disturbed. But it’s never a bad idea to be packing,” Jet said.
Aaron and Eric checked their weapons as Jet studied the directions, and then they bundled the assault rifle into a rucksack along with a pair of bolt cutters. Jet fixed the earbud into place and the others followed suit, and the group moved outside, Isaac taking the van and Jet taking one of the cars while the men took the other.
The streets leading out of the area were congested with commuters bound for work, and Jet found herself frequently being cut off by drivers who seemed completely unfamiliar with turn signals or basic rules of the road. Isaac seemed utterly unfazed by any of it, gunning the van into seemingly impossible openings with the fearless dexterity of a Formula One champion. The flow lightened as they moved north, parallel to the seashore, as most of the traffic headed for the downtown districts and the towering buildings that housed many of Qatar’s largest businesses.
When they drew closer to the target, Isaac murmured into his earbud. “The house will be up on the right, two blocks, number 193. How do you want to do this?”
“Pull past it and let’s get a look at the parking near it,” Jet instructed. “If it won’t look odd, park within a hundred yards and begin surveillance. I’ll slow down, so we aren’t in a motorcade, and park further away. Gentlemen, see if you can find a spot around the corner, preferably on the next street over, so you can watch the back.”
The homes were typical of the region – high walls on the lot perimeters to act as a barrier against robbery, ornate iron gates protecting the driveways and entrances, the construction basic with few frills. The properties were smaller than the safe house, perhaps sixty feet wide by double that deep; an area without pretensions, where the residents worked long hours to pay for their dwellings. She hung back as Isaac braked and swung the van to a stop near the far corner, then backed into a space between two junker vehicles that looked like they were on their last legs.
She kept her speed constant as she drove by the target, noting that there were no cameras in evidence – just the ubiquitous satellite dish on the flat roof, along with air conditioning compressors and a propane tank, presumably situated there to discourage theft. The street itself was quiet, any children already in school, their working parents on their way to the job. Once she was past, she made a right turn on the next street, noting Isaac reading a paper as he watched the house in his side mirror, and then drove slowly around the block, looking for anything they could use to their advantage. As she was approaching the target’s street again, her cell vibrated.
“We’ve lost the signal,” the director said, his gruff voice taut.
“What do you mean, lost it?”
“The satellite stopped picking anything up about twenty minutes ago. We first thought it might be some kind of atmospheric interference, but not now. The signature disappeared, and the satellite has been confirmed as fully operational.”
“Isn’t that impossible? I mean, it’s radioactive. How do you stop something from being radioactive just like that?” Jet demanded, coasting to a stop near the corner.
“We’re still detecting a trace – background radiation from the house – but other than that, nothing. I don’t know what to say. It was there, then it just stopped being there.”
“Shit. Where does that leave us?”
“I can’t make the call from here. You’re on the ground, so I’ll defer to your expertise. But my gut says go in hard, and do it now. Time’s not our friend, and we know that the device was there until a few minutes ago. Ben, the technician, says that it’s possible that they opened the shielding for some reason, and then closed it back up. So there’s still a good chance that they, and the bomb, are still inside.”
“What about the visual sat feed?”
“That’s why we thought it might be an atmospheric glitch. It’s taking longer than we thought to bring it online and grab the stream. The techs say the data’s still there, so they can recover the small window of time since the radiation emission went dark, but it’ll take a few more minutes – hopefully only a couple.”
“All right. I’m signing off. I’ll report back once we’ve taken the house. If you know any good prayers, I’d start saying them.”
“Believe me, I exhausted my repertoire hours ago.”
Jet punched the call off and considered the new information. A bad situation had just gotten far worse. At least as long as the satellite was picking up the radiation emission, they knew that the nuke was in the house. But twenty minutes was a lifetime without any sign of it, and her unease soured her throat as she tapped the earbud on.
“We’re going in. I’m heading straight to the entry gate – if the lock is the usual for this level of place, I should be able to get it open in half a minute, tops. Aaron, I want the rear of the building watched. I saw an alley running between the houses for garbage collection. You have two minutes to get into position. Eric, you come up the street behind me. Give me thirty seconds of lead time. Isaac, stay put. But if you see anyone but us come out the front door, check in on the comm line and then follow them. If we all go down, you’re the last link. You’ll need to call headquarters and get instructions. Okay, everyone, I’ll be making my approach in one minute. It’s show time.”
Jet caught a glimpse of her emerald eyes in the rearview mirror as she pulled on her veiled headdress – the bourga and shayla worn by devout Muslim women in Qatar, along with the ubiquitous abaya – the long black robe that served as perfect cover for toting a Kalashnikov. She double-checked the magazine in the assault rifle and chambered a round before doing the same with her silenced pistol, more a reflex than a necessity given that she’d already done so a half dozen times at the safe house. Satisfied that she was as ready as she would ever be, she patted her front pants pocket, where she carried the lock picks Isaac had given her, and then took a deep breath and exited the car. With a measured glance in both directions, she moved to the trunk and withdrew a bulging sack, then proceeded down the street carrying an opaque white canvas shopping bag filled with paper towels and water from the safe house, her date with a suitcase nuke and ruthless enemies only footsteps away.
Chapter 34
As she rounded the corner she spotted Eric near a corner market at the far end of the block, across the street from Isaac, where he’d been dropped off by Aaron and had raced for the alley to get into position. Jet took her time on approach, senses tingling, wary of any observation. So far she didn’t detect anything, but that didn’t reassure her – they’d had zero time to do any reconnaissance, which made this the very worst kind of operation right from the get-go. Even now the crosshairs of a sniper rifle could be trained on her head from one of the curtained windows of the two-story structure, a nervous finger tic away from vaporizing her skull. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the acrid taste of bile tickled her throat, and she choked it back as her eyes scanned the street, then the houses, her steps slow, befitting an older woman burdened with a thankless day’s chores and a future of endless more.
She spotted the gate twenty yards up on her right and slowed further, now shuffling more than walking. In the gutter, sheltered from the sun by a dull gray pick-up truck, a mangy cat arched its back as she locked eyes with it, and for a moment everything seemed to freeze in her awareness, synthesized into that one second, the insanity of the pending nuclear devastation suspended as she considered the sad, frightened animal, and it looked back, seemingly into her core,
an unspoken message in its glittering eyes.
A car backfired down the street, the report sounding like a cannon to her ears, and the spell was broken; then she was alone, the rifle clutched in her left hand, hidden by the folds of her robe, the barrel held tightly against her body as she set down her shopping bag a few steps from the door.
To any observer, Jet would have appeared to be pausing for a rest, leaning against the wall by the gate, catching her breath as the sun’s baking rays beat down on her. Few would have caught the fleeting movement as she fished the picks from her pocket and, with her body blocking the gate from view, set to work on the lock, all her concentration focused on the tumblers, everything else filtered out.
The picking seemed to take forever, and then the lock gave with a soft click, just as footsteps clumped across the road at an unhurried pace – Eric, right on time, the only other figure on the street, a serious young man with a spring in his step. She gathered up her grocery bag, and when he was a few feet from her, she pushed open the gate and darted inside, followed immediately by Eric, who drew his pistol once he was in the courtyard. Jet set down her bag and whipped the AK-47 into firing position, finger on the trigger, then ran to the side window as Eric took the front door. She peered inside through a space between the heavy drawn curtains, but saw nothing except a darkened empty room, no sign of life in the living room or the kitchen.
“The front room is clear. I’m going to try the rear door – it’ll have one,” she whispered as she inched along the side of the house. “Wait for me – I’ll be back in a few seconds.”
Jet took cautious steps, eyes roving over the windows, and then she froze as she approached the kitchen window, her foot inches away from a nearly invisible strand of monofilament strung six inches off the ground, running from the perimeter wall to a junction box on the side of the house. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the box, then she lifted the bottom of her abaya and carefully stepped over it, marking an X in the soil to the side of the line before proceeding even more carefully, each pace hesitant, watching for anything suspicious.
JET V - Legacy Page 21
