The Prophet Conspiracy

by Bowen Greenwood

  She looked at it, just for something to keep her mind off the dangers of motorcycling. The minivan had dark tinted windows and a dark stripe down the side. It looked no different than something an American mom might use to drive her kids to little league baseball.

  Then the side door slid open.

  Siobhan screamed as the man sitting in the seat aimed a gun at them. Cameron heard her over the rushing air and looked back toward her. As his head swiveled, he caught sight of the van with its door open and the gun.

  He braked hard. Siobhan felt her body pressing forward into his back and lifting up as if she was going to fly over him. She clung to Cam with every muscle in her arms as the tires squealed and the bike slid sideways.

  A car behind them honked as it, too, braked hard to avoid hitting them. All around them, a chain reaction of squealing brakes and angry horns erupted as if someone had thrown a switch.

  Once the bike stopped, Cam yanked on the throttle as hard as he could to get going again. It leapt forward with a jolt so hard Siobhan lost her grip.

  She slipped off the back and thumped to the pavement on her rear. Her mouth hanging open in shock, she saw Cameron look over his shoulder, having noticed the change in the weight of his bike. Now he brought his motorcycle to a screeching stop again, turning it around as fast as he could. His face was hidden behind his helmet visor, and the roar of the traffic was too loud to hear if he said anything.

  The high-pitched wail of rubber brakes locking up behind her drew Siobhan’s attention backward, where she saw a blue sedan trying to stop before it hit her.

  With a shout, she threw herself into the ditch between the two different directions of traffic. She barely had time to take a deep breath, though, when the white minivan pulled up and skidded to a stop. Apparently, they had circled back. The side door opened again, and a man with a gun shot at her.

  Siobhan buried her face in the ditch, pressing herself down as far as she could go. The sonic crack of rifle bullets breaking the sound barrier over her head hurt her ears, it was so loud. It was easy for her to imagine if she were anywhere but pressed against the bottom of a deep ditch, she would have been shot already. Then she heard the roar of a motorcycle engine racing toward her. She risked a glance up to see Cameron’s bike racing toward the van.

  He brought the bike to a stop, produced a handgun from somewhere, and fired it over and over again at the van’s windshield. Siobhan had no idea whether he hit anything or not, but the gunman in the van stopped shooting. She seized the opportunity to get to her feet and sprint toward Cam.

  She climbed back on the bike. He twisted the throttle and worked the clutch like crazy as he merged into traffic going in the other direction.

  She managed to stop screaming, but Siobhan couldn’t bring herself to ease her grip on Cam’s chest. It didn’t seem to bother him as he swerved around other vehicles, sometimes missing them by what seemed like inches.

  Siobhan shouted to make herself heard over the noise. “How did they find us?”

  Cam shouted back, “Is your phone on?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “We need to know, Siobhan. If it’s on, that’s how they found us.”

  With one arm, she figured out how to grip Cameron even tighter. With the other, she reached inside the pocket of Cameron’s overlarge jacket. She pulled the phone out far enough to peek at it, and then held down the power button until it vibrated to indicate it was shutting down.

  “It’s off now!”

  Cameron didn’t respond. He just leaned forward, twisting hard on the throttle, and weaved his two-wheeled rocket through traffic.

  **********

  Maya Godwin and Haaris Toma sat in the back seat of his black sedan. Toma observed her fidgeting nervously, squirming in the leather seat. He grinned without saying anything. No doubt she was afraid of being observed in his car. People would ask questions if a Division Director in the Shin Bet were caught in the car of a known terrorist. He, of course, had his own men watching; no one from Israel was spying on them.

  He could have told her and eased her fidgeting. But where was the fun in that?

  “I’ve had a wrinkle in my operation,” he said.

  Godwin said nothing. Toma could see the muscles in her jaw clenching.

  He laughed.

  “Maya, you’re always so hostile. You should be friendly. You’re going to love this.”

  Still no response.

  “I told you I intend to destroy that dig in Jerusalem. The things they are digging up are abominations! They cannot be allowed to see the light of day. But some stupid American has taken a picture of them. She still has it.”

  Godwin still said nothing.

  Toma turned to look at Godwin, watching her face intently. He expected to enjoy the reaction.

  “Now, this American has teamed up with Cameron Dorn.”

  Godwin didn’t disappoint. Her teeth showed for a moment before she clamped her jaw shut again.

  “Smile, Maya. Smile! Because now, in addition to dealing with the woman, I plan to deal with Dorn as well. And you get to play a part in it.”

  She sighed.

  Toma went on.

  “I sent men to kill the American on her way to the airport. A moment ago, I learned they failed. But I also learned they identified the motorcycle carrying her to the airport. It belongs to your old friend Cameron Dorn.

  “Since he’s involved, I can’t simply depend on your good graces to keep the government out of this. Dorn will be trying to tell his former colleagues as soon as possible. He won’t go through ordinary channels, and he certainly won’t go through you. Most likely, he’ll approach friends or even his old partner. Together, you and I have to prevent that.”

  Godwin finally spoke.

  “I hope you’re not planning to ask me to kill him. I hate him, but I’m not going that far. I might like to see him dead, but I’m not going to do it myself.”

  Toma laughed.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re not trained for it. If killing him was the plan, I would do it myself or send the job to an underling. Most of the talent we recruit is only skilled enough to walk into a crowded building and push the detonator button but even they are better killers than you. I have a better idea, though.”

  “I’m listening,” she whispered between her grinding teeth.

  Toma said, “We’ll set off a bomb at the airport. We’ll leave some materials at the scene with Dorn’s DNA on them; we’ve already been to his apartment and collected some. It’s clear the two of them were there last night, by the way. Meanwhile, we’ll leave identifying information about the woman in the pocket of the pants we’re about to leave there. Our technicians have already used what we learned about her cell phone to construct a fake log of calls between her and known operatives. Hamas operatives, that is. Not yours.”

  Godwin replied, “If you expect me to help set off a bomb and kill hundreds of innocent—”

  Toma cut her off.

  “Spare me your self-righteousness. I won’t make you get your hands dirty. Believe me, I’ve already figured out you’re no field operative.”

  She said, “Let me guess: Dorn won’t be able to take his story to anyone in the Shin Bet if he’s a known terrorist, and they all have orders to shoot on sight.”

  Toma said, “Now you’re getting there. The Shin Bet does not train its people to shoot on sight except in extreme circumstances. We need someone in authority there to give that order. Can you guess who I might have in mind?”

  CHAPTER 14

  It was a different clerk whose light went off this time, but Eli Segal walked over to her desk just the same. When he read the words on her screen, though, he knew there would be no time to ask her opinion of what to do.

  “Send it to me now!” he shouted, turning and running back to his desk. “And again if anything more comes in!”

  He got to his phone and started dialing. This was no tentative guess about something that might merit the attention of Int
ernal Affairs. This was an urgent action message for the Tel Aviv bureau chief. He knew her, so he circumvented the normal channels and called her direct line.

  “Tikva, it’s Eli,” he panted into the phone. Sweat popped out of his forehead even from the brief run across the room, and he reminded himself of his promise to walk more.

  “Eli? Layla tov,” she replied, using the Hebrew for good evening.

  “No time. We just took in a message here. It was only five words long. ‘Set off the bomb.’ And the receiving number was geolocated at Ben Gurion!”

  Tikva Berg swore on the other end of the line and hung up without another word. Eli could picture her barking orders to her field agents. There would be Shin Bet agents stationed at Ben Gurion airport at all times, and they would surely be told to try to find the bomb. But if Segal knew her, Tikva would be sending additional agents as well and going herself. She had been a sniper when she did her mandatory service in the IDF, and she would not leave the danger to others.

  He had done his part in passing the warning to field agents. But he used to be one of those himself and sitting at his desk twiddling his thumbs while a bomb was about to go off grated against his every instinct.

  He clicked send on a forward of the email the clerk had passed on to him. That would send the report through formal channels, even though he had already gone around those. But he still wanted to do more.

  At a loss, he called his boss, the Director of the Division for Countering Terrorism. As the cell phone rang and rang, he muttered, “Pick up Maya… pick up!”

  **********

  Godwin walked away from Toma’s sedan. She felt hot tears in her eyes. Rage, impotence, and shame mixed together into a potent emotional cocktail causing her to stumble as she walked.

  She was caught in a trap of her own making. Youthful stupidity and adult ambition combined in a way that left her no choice. She couldn’t let people see those pictures. Drug addiction would not necessarily disqualify a person from working for the Shin Bet. But appointment to the Director’s post wasn’t just about the regulations. It was political. And for that, she would need to appear beyond reproach.

  She went over the situation in her head one more time, but there was no way out of the simple political calculation. The Knesset would never approve a new Director of the Shin Bet who had pictures like that out there. If nothing else, it would make them wonder what else might be out there about her.

  All of which added up to one simple, horrible, painful conclusion. She must let Toma and his terrorists set off their bomb in Ben Gurion. Then she must fix the blame on Cameron Dorn and this American woman with whom he was now associated.

  She cursed Toma. The man was even making her feel guilty of her hatred for Dorn. She wanted him humiliated. She wanted him to suffer. But she didn’t want it bad enough to murder innocents.

  One of her cell phones buzzed. Godwin reached into her purse and pulled out the one ringing. It was her official, encrypted phone. And the screen told her Eli Segal was calling; Dorn’s former partner, who she had exiled to the surveillance bureau for the crime of knowing Cameron Dorn too well. Guilt and shame were in every direction, it seemed.

  She waited for a moment, breathing deeply, exhaling, and then breathing again. She didn’t want to break down sobbing on the phone with him.

  Finally, she pressed answer and said, simply, “Godwin.”

  “Maya, it’s Eli—”

  She interrupted him. “I know, Segal. Caller ID.”

  “No time! No time, Maya! My people just intercepted a message. There’s a bomb about to go off at Ben Gurion.”

  He knew? Already he knew? The surveillance people were better than she had ever expected. Or else…

  Toma never promised anything about his timeline for setting off the bomb. Apparently, things had already been in motion, even while he asked her to — informed her she must — help frame Dorn.

  So this was the moment of truth. She could tell Segal the bomb was planted by Hamas and Haaris Toma. She could reveal everything she knew.

  Or she could preserve her hope of ascending to one of the two highest intelligence posts in Israel.

  “Maya? Director Godwin? Are you there?”

  Godwin sighed.

  “I’m glad your people also discovered it. Other agents have uncovered some intelligence about this bomb as well. We’re looking for an American woman named Siobhan McLane. This is her cell phone number. Get to work tracing it.”

  **********

  They parked the bike in a public lot, and then walked a few blocks to a small coffee shop in Tel Aviv. Both ordered something to drink and went to sit in the back of the room. Cam picked out a corner table and sat with his back to the wall, watching the crowd and the door.

  All around them, people chattered in Hebrew and Arabic. In the background, a TV showed scenes of the latest American hit reality show. The smell of fresh ground beans filled the air.

  To Siobhan, it seemed unreal. For the past two days, someone had tried repeatedly to either kidnap her or kill her. She was beginning to feel like she’d never be calm again. Every time she started to relax, or feel like she had things under control, something else happened to make it worse. The armed assault on the road today, the kidnapping, the tunnel chase…

  In the midst of all that, how could there be a calm world where people sipped lattes and watched attention-seekers make fools of themselves on TV?

  Her four-o’clock flight back to the U.S. was gone by now. Once she had shut her phone off, Cam drove all over the city of Tel Aviv to make sure they were nowhere near the last place they had been tracked. He said he was also making sure they weren’t followed.

  Then he told her the terrorists would certainly look for them at Ben Gurion. Having tracked them on their journey toward the airport, and assuming if they were good enough hackers to track the phone they were good enough to have figured out when her flight left, the airport was the next logical place to reacquire them. He absolutely forbade her from going there.

  Siobhan felt cold tendrils of panic creeping around the edges of her consciousness every time she thought of that departed flight. She had already gone through the three hundred dollars in spending money she’d brought to Israel. Her credit cards were all maxed out long before she came. She literally did not understand how to get back to the U.S. now with no money. The airline app on her phone had all the ticket info, but what good was that when the flight she had a ticket for was already gone?

  And, of course, even if all that worked out, she wasn’t sure how to get to Ben Gurion Airport without being shot at. Whoever these terrorists were, they hadn’t given up on her yet. Maybe Cam was right and they would quit after he went to Shin Bet with what they knew. But that possibility was still in the future. Until that happened, she wasn’t sure how she would ever feel safe again.

  For the past day, she had placed all of her hope in the flight to America. That hope was now gone. She couldn’t get home, she couldn’t be safe here, and Siobhan didn’t know if she’d ever feel secure again.

  “How come my phone was such a problem?” she asked.

  “Every phone is built with a GPS locator these days. It’s so the ambulance can find you if you ever call in an emergency, like dialing 911 back home. A skilled enough hacker—”

  He cut off in mid-sentence as the TV switched to a breaking news story.

  The entire screen was filled with their faces.

  ********

  Maya Godwin stood in the briefing room at the Tel Aviv bureau. It reminded her of a college lecture hall, but that thought put her mind on those old pictures. She blanked it out and turned to address the assembled agents.

  What she said would be transcribed and transmitted to the rest of her people. She was giving orders to every agent in the division for countering terror.

  Despite the long day of work, her suit still looked perfect. She had her hair in the tightest of buns. Toma had given her the Jericho pistol back, and it was tucked into
the waistband of her skirt at the small of her back.

  “Many of you knew Cameron Dorn. I did, too. If you did, it probably fills you with rage the same way it does me. Terrorists are bad enough. Traitor terrorists are the lowest of the low.

  “Dorn and I used to work together. It hurts me to think the things he learned from me when I was a demolitions expert may have gone into the bomb he set off today. We are the line between the people of Israel and the people who want to wipe it off the map. One of our own just killed twelve of the people we’re supposed to protect.”

  She paused, making eye contact with several of the agents in the auditorium. None of them liked the idea of a traitor very much; she could see it in their faces.

  Behind her, the building’s audiovisual system projected a slideshow. The most recent photo they had of Dorn was on the screen. Then it shifted to one of the American girl.

  “His accomplice is Siobhan McLane, an American citizen. No doubt she believes the Hamas propaganda about how evil Israel is.”

  She paused for the expected eye-rolls and snorts from the agents.

  “We have clear evidence of her involvement with Hamas. We don’t know whether she corrupted Dorn or he corrupted her, but we want to find out.

  “Her, we want alive. As for Dorn…”

  She paused long enough to make sure everyone was paying attention.

  “Your orders are to stop him from killing again. Whether he survives is immaterial to the mission. Does anyone have any questions?”

  No one spoke.

  ********

  Given a cell phone number, Eli Segal’s clerks could do miracles. It didn’t take long to determine Siobhan McLane had made several calls to known Hamas operatives both before and during her visit to Israel.

  Her phone had not transmitted very much for the past day but no doubt that was explained by operational security from Hamas. The terrorists knew about Israel’s wiretapping abilities. They would want their operatives to maintain radio silence in the lead up to an op.