“Who told him to say that?” Ruth spouted at the TV screen as CBS News went to a commercial break.
Sea Bee picked up the crossword puzzle book, gave it a look, and set it back down, right next to a bowl of ice milk on the metal TV tray.
* * *
36
* * *
Queen Alia International Airport
Amman, Jordan
The Royal Jordanian jetliner arriving from Lyon, France taxied to the terminal as US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell and Billy Finn, dressed in 5.11 tactical khakis, desert boots and casual polos, stood in the exit queue on the plane.
The terminal emptied out into the customs bay where Camp and Finn exchanged a wad of Euros for Jordanian Dinars. They presented blue-jacket American tourist passports and told the customs official they were visiting for pleasure, planning a three-day trip to see Petra and other famous sites in Jordan.
They got into the backseat of the taxi for the 18- mile ride to the Four Seasons hotel in Amman, the capital city of Jordan. It was dusk, and campfires were blazing on both sides of the highway as people parked their cars, trucks and camels for evening picnics. Camp looked out the window and saw a blonde woman, maybe 25 years old, dressed in a pink shirt, and riding atop a camel as the owner made a few tourist dollars from a passing taxi.
“Finn, care for a camel ride before we get to the hotel?” Camp asked.
“I’m good,” Finn said shaking his head.
The taxi pulled through the wealthy Al Sweifiyah residential neighborhood at the outskirts of the Al Shmeisani financial district and into the Four Seasons pull-through driveway. The hotel was impressive, a crown jewel, sitting atop the hills overlooking Amman.
The bell captain put their two small backpacks on an enormous polished brass luggage cart and took them into the first security checkpoint. The bags were run through a security scanner. A walk-through metal detector greeted Camp and Finn followed by a full body pat down.
The Jordanians had grown intolerant of suicide bombers at the hotels and resorts that attracted international tourists of every language and culture.
With room keys in hand, Camp and Finn found the Square Bar just off the lobby galleria and grabbed two chairs away from other patrons.
Arabs, Americans, Asians, Europeans and Africans were all enjoying cocktails and snacks, in the middle of the bar, in the middle of the capital city, in the middle of a progressive and moderate Islamic country.
“So what’s the plan?” Finn asked as his Amstel Light was delivered.
Camp spoke in hushed and subdued tones.
“He said he was coming in from Islamabad through Istanbul.”
“Probably on a Pakistani passport,” Finn speculated.
“Didn’t ask. Wants us to rent a car from the hotel. Doesn’t want his credit card used or anything else to track him.”
“Is he staying here?”
“Don’t know. I assume so. This is where he said we’d meet tonight.”
“When?” Finn asked.
“Nine tonight. He said they have a spa, a steam sauna. Guess we’re going to strike up a casual conversation while we’re naked in the sauna.”
“And if you’re not alone?”
“Don’t know that either.”
“What about your Molly Bloom friend?”
“I told him to contact me tonight.”
“Does he know where we are?”
“Yes.”
LyonBio
Lyon, France
Raines watched the wall clock in her lab move closer to 8:00pm in Lyon. The days on the calendar seemed to be moving faster than the hands on the clock.
Raines thought back to her break-through moment at Fort Detrick. It was the adjuvants. Adjuvants helped her boost the immune response to the tularemia which ultimately prevented the monkeys from dying.
A vaccine adjuvant was a substance added to a vaccine to increase the body’s immune response to the toxin. Aluminum gels and aluminum salts were the only approved adjuvants licensed for use in the United States. Small amounts of aluminum helped stimulate a better immune response.
Raines needed to move beyond alum adjuvants and felt constrained by US rules. That’s when LyonBio moved to the forefront, as well as an adjuvant called squalene.
In early drug discovery, vaccines contained a weakened, or even dead, pathogen of the same disease the vaccine was supposed to prevent. The pathogen itself forced the body to fight off further infection and therefore became a natural immune booster. Modern vaccines used proteins, or protein fragments from the pathogen, which made them more pure, safer and quicker to produce.
During Raines’ first attempts at producing a new tularemia vaccine, the protein fragments she used – instead of weakened or dead complete pathogens – left too many holes missing from the whole bacteria. The missing parts caused an insufficient immune response.
The adjuvants provided the boost she needed. But she didn’t use aluminum. Dr. Groenwald recommended she try squalene.
Squalene was a natural organic compound found in both shark liver oil as well as plant-based oils like rice bran, wheat germ and olives. Squalene was one of the key components of the Mediterranean diet and was found naturally in animals, plants and humans. By using the oil-in-water emulsions of squalene, Raines would not only be able to boost the immune response, but she hoped she could produce four-times as many doses from the same amount of protein fragments.
Squalene was the greatest weapon in her biomedical arsenal. She prayed that it would be faster, more effective and much more powerful than bio-weapons, nuclear bombs and intercontinental ballistic missiles, at least in the short-term.
In the temporary French laboratory that belonged to Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines, the only thing that stood between the mutual annihilation of two countries was olives, wheat germ and shark liver oil.
As two long-time enemies stared each other down with bio-weapons and the threat of nuclear destruction, one biomedical researcher prepared to out-maneuver them both with shark liver oil. It was all on Leslie Raines’ shoulders.
* * *
37
* * *
Four Seasons Hotel
Amman, Jordan
Camp got his locker key and was issued a large white, Turkish towel from the spa attendant and quickly got undressed. The hiss and whoosh sounds of the nearby steam sauna already felt good on Camp’s deep tension.
The sounds of another man in the locker room were distinct and clear. He wasn’t alone.
For a split second, Camp thought about the defensive moves he’d take if the man was in fact Omid, and if Omid had arranged this elaborate meeting scheme just to eliminate a man who knew too much.
No one emerged from the other aisle of lockers. No knife appeared from around the corner. Camp covered himself with the towel, walked over to the steam sauna and pulled on the glass door.
He stepped up to the tiled upper level of the sauna and moved to the corner of the intersecting walls. He was at the farthest point away from the only door, his only avenue of escape. And he was all alone.
Camp’s mind wandered off as tension and fatigue began to melt away. His nostrils and airwaves opened up magically as the eucalyptus penetrated his every pore.
The glass door opened, sucking the humidity and relaxation out before restoring them both on closing.
Camp never opened his eyes. His face was clearly visible. If this was Omid, he would recognize Camp. If it wasn’t, he didn’t really need to gaze at a naked man covered in a white Turkish towel anyway.
Several minutes passed. Eyes were closed. Hiss. Whoosh. Hiss. Whoosh.
“You shaved your beard.”
Camp smiled. It was Omid.
“I wanted to get pretty again.”
“Nice hotel, isn't it?” Omid asked.
“It is. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“Do you eat breakfast?”
“Occasionally.”
The door opened, and two more men wal
ked into the steam sauna. They passed Omid who was sitting next to the door and sat on the upper tiled bench between Camp and the wall. They spoke to each other in German.
“Then you really should try Caffe Mokka on Al-Qahira Street. Incredible patisseries, and they start serving sweet cakes at eight in the morning.”
“Thanks for the idea. I may give it a try.”
Camp and Omid remained silent for another 20 minutes as the Germans continued to talk and laugh. Camp stepped down off the tile bench first and out through the glass door. He changed in the locker room, returned his key, and rode the elevator up to the ninth floor where he called Billy Finn.
Camp was soon sound asleep when his cell phone rang at nearly three in the morning.
“Yes?”
“Shepherd’s Pie?”
Camp sat up fully awake with an instant jolt of electricity.
“Hello Molly Bloom.”
“What did you want to order from the menu today?”
“Three orders of Gesher, to go, right about noon.”
“Three?”
“I’m hungry.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong Molly Bloom. It’s very possible. Three orders of Gesher, to go, around noon. I’m very hungry and I’ll do anything to have this meal. I said…anything…I’ll call the waitress as we’re pulling up.”
Camp closed his phone and threw a pillow over his head.
Caffe Mokka
Amman, Jordan
Billy Finn drove the car that he and Camp rented from the Four Seasons Hotel. Within 30 minutes, they had navigated morning rush hour traffic and pulled curbside in front of the Caffe Mokka restaurant.
Through the restaurant windows they could see many customers seated and eating. School children passed by on the sidewalks as the elderly and several women in full burka’s stopped and chatted with each other.
“So are we going in or what?” Finn asked.
“I don’t know…he didn’t say…let’s wait here a few minutes.”
A woman in a black burka, leaning against the wall of the Caffe Mokka, walked toward the car carrying a vegetable bag. She grabbed the backdoor car handle, opened it and got into the backseat behind Finn and Camp.
“Drive,” the male voice said from beneath the burka.
Finn put the car in gear and followed the second set of GPS coordinates that Camp had entered at the hotel. Twenty miles past Naour and heading southwest on Highway 40, Finn turned north on Highway 65.
“We’re out of the city,” Camp said to his backseat passenger.
Omid pulled the burka up and over his head, straightened his hair and put the sunglasses and a New York Yankees baseball cap on that were inside his vegetable bag.
“You can pull over anywhere along here. We should be good,” Omid said.
“We’re gonna drive for another hour…just to make sure,” Finn said as he looked into the rearview mirror. “Nice to see you again, Omid.”
“Good morning, Mr. Finn. I hope you didn’t mind that I contacted Susan Francis. I had no other way.”
“Susan is the best. She uses the utmost discretion as I’m sure you already know.”
“I do. Thank you.”
“So what’s this all about, Omid? You looking for some more freelance business and thought you’d try your two favorite Americans first?” Camp asked.
Omid laughed.
“Yes, I’ve really developed my cricket skills as of late and was hoping you could arrange a try-out with the Yankees.”
“The Bronx Bombers are always looking for a good second baseman in a pinstriped burka,” Finn added.
The three enjoyed some small-talk banter as they drove up Highway 65. They talked about the Hindu Kush, US Army Major Dean Banks and the latest sports news. The northern most end of Highway 65 was coming into view as dirt roads started to split off on each side.
“This is the end of the road, Finn. I’ve been up here before,” Omid said as he examined the countryside outside of his backseat window.
“Officially or unofficially?” Camp asked.
Omid smiled. “Seriously, we need to pull-over and talk. I’ve got some things I need to talk through with you both.”
Finn turned west onto a dirt road as Camp pulled out his phone. A woman answered the call.
“Tell Molly Bloom that we’re ready for lunch,” Camp said as he closed the phone.
Finn pressed harder on the accelerator.
“There’s no restaurants out here, Camp,” Omid said with tension rising in his voice.
“Not true,” Camp said as Finn’s speed increased.
Omid was panicked.
“What the hell are you doing? There’s an Israeli check-point in less than a mile.”
“Gesher?” Camp asked.
“Yes, Gesher…PULL OVER!”
The car cleared the narrow dirt road and into an open clearing that was blocked by a fully-armed Israeli checkpoint. Omid slid down to the backseat floorboard. Finn slowed the car and cautiously approached the first security officer. The man did not approach the car. He didn’t even look inside the vehicle. The first gate was raised. Finn drove slow to the second gate which was raised as well. Finn drove the rental car through a zigzag pattern of cement barriers where two men stood in front of the third and final gate.
Finn stopped the car.
Three black Suburbans were parked just beyond the third gate. Camp opened his car door as did Finn.
“Get up, Omid,” Camp said.
Reuven and Yitzhak were expressionless as Finn and Camp approached.
“I thought you had three to-go orders today,” Reuven said with a raised eye-brow for Camp.
“I do.”
Camp looked back at the rental car as Omid’s face finally emerged from the floorboard. Yitzhak pulled his sunglasses off and squinted in disbelief. Reuven looked at the man exiting the car and walking toward him, then back at Camp.
“Now this is impossible,” Reuven said.
Yitzhak motioned to Finn. “You ride with me and my driver in number one. You two with my colleague here in number two.”
Omid had an evil, almost terrifying look on his face. Camp wondered if he felt completely betrayed by himself and Finn, the two men that he thought he could trust. Reuven got into the front passenger side of the number two Suburban. Camp sat behind Reuven; Omid was behind the driver.
“If it’s any consolation…the American didn’t tell me either,” Reuven said as he continued to look straight out the front window.
“You didn’t even check me for weapons?” Omid finally said as he gazed out at Israel.
“We may be enemies, but neither of us are fools. Camp here has given us thorough instructions. We’re going for a short ride, then lunch. Hope you’re hungry.”
“I know it’s probably not a good idea to use names so, ah…Randy, this is Omid; Omid this is Randy,” Camp said as he tried to break the ice and the anxiety.
“So this is the friend you were telling me about, Camp? Is this the famous Omid from the Hindu Kush? Now that I finally get the chance to meet your friend Omid in person, he looks a lot like Colonel Farid Amir, military intelligence, the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. The resemblance is amazing.”
Omid closed his eyes in disbelief.
“One would expect that a man such as Reuven Shavit, Director of Mossad’s kotsas in the Middle East, would know such things,” Omid said as Reuven finally relaxed and smiled, a smile that cut the tension in the Suburban 10-fold as they drove through the Gesher kibbutz near the Beit She’an Valley in northern Israel.
Within minutes the three Suburbans came to a stop on the edge of an outlook. The view was expansive ahead of them as a fertile valley sprawled out for nearly 20 miles.
“This is it, US Navy Captain Campbell. This is where you wanted to eat. We have baskets of food, drinks and sweets in the third car. Shall we? I’m already fully amused with this adventure,” Reuven said as he opened his door.
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Camp and Omid got out along with Reuven and his driver. Finn and Yitzhak joined them looking out over the valley as the others got the food out of the last car.
“Where we’re standing, right now, this ridge…what is it called?” Camp asked.
“In Hebrew, it is har megiddo, the Mountain of Megiddo. But as you can see, it’s not much of a mountain, more of a vantage point, a rising really. Anglicanized, you know it as Armageddon, and spreading out before us is the Jezreel Valley,” Reuven said as baskets of food were placed on the hood of his Suburban. “Shall we eat? I’m sure there’s something you want to tell us Camp…now that we’re all here.”
“Can we walk, down into the valley? Maybe take some food to go?” Camp asked.
“As you wish, this is your order.” Reuven and Camp selected some sandwiches, fruit and water and loaded them into the small bags that were inside the basket.
“Go on,” Finn said to Omid who was still stunned. “You three go for your walk. Yitzhak and the rest of us will stay up here and eat.”
Omid moved slowly to the food, and somewhat begrudgingly filled his bag.
The three men started to walk down slowly into the Jezreel Valley. There was silence. More tension. Reuven and Omid seemed to be waiting for Camp to say something profound.
“This reminds me of a joke,” Camp finally said.
“A joke?” Reuven asked.
“I don’t remember how it ends, but the beginning is hysterical.”
“Then humor us. Let’s hear the beginning of your hysterical joke, Captain Campbell.”
Camp stopped, turned and faced both Reuven and Omid.
“So…one day a Christian, a Jew and a Muslim were walking through the valley of Armageddon to have a picnic…”
Camp stopped. It was the end of his joke. Reuven looked at Camp, then at Omid. Omid looked back at Reuven, then Camp. At first there was just a smile, then two. The more he thought about it a laugh rumbled out of Reuven’s mouth, then Omid. Before they knew it, all three were doubled over in laughter.
They found a nice grassy knoll with rocks, suitable for sitting, eating and enjoying the beauty of Jezreel.
Jericho 3 Page 29
