Pinnacle Event

by Richard A. Clarke

  “Notice that she didn’t mention what her father did in South Africa. Didn’t mention South Africa at all,” Mbali said.

  “What did her dad do back then?” Peter Mason, or whatever the CIA man’s name was, asked.

  “He was the CFO of ARMSCOR, their big defense industry,” Ray Bowman replied.

  “I am Rachel Steyn, a mother of two girls. I worked at Google in Israel. I managed databases and had a small R-and-D team on new projects in data storage. I served in the Israeli Army before that. My late husband, Dawid, who was murdered, was the investor. He had 2.1 billion dollars in the accounts. His father made nuclear bombs in South Africa, but I will wait to talk about that.”

  “Nicely done,” Bowman observed. Mbali nodded, pleased.

  “Johann Potgeiter, Vienna. My father also worked on the nuclears, lately for the UN. I had been working with him on the assets for some time. We have 3.1 billion U.S. dollars under management, much of it in real estate.”

  “Short and sweet,” Mbali said.

  “From a man who told me he was not a Trustee,” Ray added.

  “Well, back to me,” Robert Coetzee began. “I was a South African Special Forces officer. My brother was in intelligence. He was the Trustee. With the new money, we have almost three billion dollars in book value, which, if I have done my sums, gives us collectively slightly over ten billion dollars U.S. in assets under management. We are going to have to discuss at some point what we do with it all, because it must kick off far more than we need to pay for the widows and orphans. But, first, Rachel, you wanted to discuss the, ah, recent events.”

  “My husband was murdered,” she began. “Your father was, too, Elizabeth, as was yours Johann. And your brother, Robert. And Willem Merwe.”

  “Well, Rachel, we can’t be sure of that yet. The police think that the deaths in Dubai, Sydney, and Vienna may have been accidents,” Johann Potgeiter replied. “Although I admit it would be an extraordinary series of coincidences.”

  “They were not coincidences, Johann,” Coetzee said. “That is why I am willing to provide for all of your protection at home in your countries using the global security company we own. All former Special Forces and Special Branch types from several countries. Very good. Very solid.”

  Rachel resumed. “They were all murdered shortly after they received large deposits of half a billion dollars each. They were killed by the men who paid them that money, who paid them for something.”

  “What? I don’t understand,” said Wyk. “Why pay and then kill them. Why not the other way round? What did they sell them?”

  “Nuclear bombs,” Rachel said.

  No one replied, for a moment.

  “How do we know that?” Robert Coetzee asked.

  “Mossad. They told me. They have proof,” Rachel said confidently. “Proof that the original Trustees took with them when they left South Africa not only cash, diamonds, and gold, but also six nuclear missile warheads. There are five left. One they tested secretly to prove they work still. Then they sold the five.”

  “That’s incredible,” Wyk said.

  “No, I think it could be true,” Robert Coetzee interjected. “Cornelius always told me there was a secret program that he could not read me into. He also told me before he died that they had made what he called a Deacquistion Decision that would result in a great deal of additional cash. They sold something to somebody.”

  “But, as Paul asked, then why would the buyers kill them? Maybe it was someone else who killed them because they sold whatever it was they sold?” Liz Pleiss thought out loud.

  “They killed them to cover their tracks. Now no one knows who bought the bombs,” Rachel said looking around the table. “Unless one of us does.”

  Johann Potgeiter squirmed in his seat. “It is possible,” he said. “My father and I used to have long discussions about his work at the IAEA, over schnapps, after my wife and the children would retire.” He seemed reluctant to go on, but then added, “I remember him asking me whether the best way to deal with Iran’s nuclear program would not be to give the Saudis nuclear weapons.”

  “That’s crazy,” Paul Wyk said.

  “Maybe, but if Iran has the bomb, they can intimidate everyone in the region. Unless another equal power also has the bomb. Just like India’s program balances Pakistan’s. Like America’s balances Russia’s and China’s. I think he wanted Saudi Arabia to have the bomb. He believed the answer to nuclear proliferation was balance.”

  “Lovely,” Rachel observed.

  “Well, you already have nukes in Israel,” Johann replied.

  “Balance could mean someone else,” Robert Coetzee interjected. “It could mean South Korea getting some to counter what the North has made.”

  “Or it could be al Qaeda,” Rachel noted.

  “My brother would not have done that,” Coetzee shot back. “Never. If he did this, he must have thought the buyer was a responsible party.”

  “Responsible for killing him,” Liz Pleiss added. “So, let me get this straight, we are all accepting the fact that we have about 2.5 billion dollars in dirty money, money made from selling nuclear bombs? That makes us all criminals, even if we didn’t know, they could arrest us, or at least seize the assets, or both. This explains why they raided my office yesterday. I heard about it just after I landed here.”

  “Who?” Johann Potgeiter asked. “Who raided your office?”

  “Apparently the RCMP, the Canadian police.” Liz Pleiss replied. “They took all my files, according to my secretary.”

  “The Shin Beth took mine,” Rachel answered.

  “God, the Mounties going through everything. That’s all I need with my taxes as they are,” Liz said.

  “Taxes? Is that all you are worrying about, your taxes,” Paul Wyk asked. “Don’t you get it? Somebody is getting ready to blow up bombs. Nuclear bombs that we, our organization sold them. Shit. We need to turn ourselves in.”

  “To who?” Robert Coetzee asked.

  “The UN, I don’t know,” Wyk stammered.

  “No, it’s not that we sold them,” Liz Pleiss insisted. “We did nothing wrong. We knew nothing about this. We just inherited the money as fiduciaries of a charity for South African exiles. No, we did not sell bombs. We did nothing.”

  “Who could arrest us?” Wyk asked.

  “The Americans certainly,” Liz Pleiss answered. “They have all sorts of laws related to anything they think is national security. Christ, we are going to need some good lawyers.”

  “Maybe we give the money back,” Paul Wyk offered.

  “To who?” Rachel asked.

  “To the Americans, for starters,” Liz Pleiss suggested. “Maybe they can trace it.”

  “Mossad couldn’t,” Rachel replied. “They told me they tried.”

  “Do you work for them?” Johann Potgeiter asked. “You said you were in the Army.”

  “Ten years ago I was in the Army. We all do that in Israel,” Rachel answered. “The only intelligence service I worked for was Google. We collected intelligence so we can sell ads to people. The first time I met Mossad was when they came to tell me that my husband’s dying was no accident.”

  “It’s all so incredible,” Paul Wyk repeated. “How have I gotten involved in all of this?”

  “Rachel, if there were bombs somewhere, they must be ancient. Did Mossad say that they think they would still work?” Liz Pleiss asked.

  “Yes. They say the test bomb worked in the middle of the Indian Ocean. And then, recently, something else happened.”

  “What was that?” Robert Coetzee asked.

  “In South Africa, there was a truck hijacking, ah, what do you call it, a heist,” Rachel explained. “Someone stole some special material called tritium. That is what is needed to make the old weapons work. Around the same time, Mossad thinks, the bombs left their storage area on Madagascar.”

  “Oh, dear,” Robert Coetzee replied. “That does sound like al Qaeda or some group, not Korea. Korea would just ha
ve made its own stuff, Trit, whatever it was.”

  “We need to find out who they sold the bombs to because we need to stop them from being used,” Rachel interjected. Her voice was higher now, her pace faster. “What if it is al Qaeda? I know Dawid would not knowingly have sold to someone who would threaten Israel, but what if they were al Qaeda pretending to be somebody else? I love Israel. It is my home, my children’s home. If it is a risk, I must do everything I can to save it.”

  It was Paul Wyk who broke the ensuing silence. “If any country is at risk of a nuclear attack, we all must do everything we can to save it and not just because we personally will be to blame.”

  Robert Coetzee had his head in his hands. He looked up, ran his fingers through his thin white hair. “Yes, of course, but the question is how can we help. We have all been through our predecessors’ records. I assume no one found a receipt for the sale of a nuclear bomb? Or anything else that might lead us to who the recipient was?”

  “So,” Johann Potgeiter said, “we are all assuming Rachel’s story is right. That what the Mossad told her is true?”

  “We have to,”Liz Pleiss answered. “We have to assume it’s true, for now. It’s certainly not impossible and it does answer the question of why we suddenly have so much new money.” She opened her laptop. “We need a timeline, a unified timeline. Where were our predecessors in the month or two before they died? Did they meet together somewhere? Did a couple of them go somewhere first to negotiate on behalf of the group?” She tapped the keyboard. “I have all of his travel records.”

  “I have Dawid’s, too,” Rachel added.

  “In the two months before he died, my father went to New York twice, Taipei once, London once, and Vancouver twice,” Liz Pleiss read from the screen.

  “Taipei?” Robert Coetzee queried. “My brother was in Taipei as well. Was that your father’s first trip there?”

  “As far as I know,” Pleiss answered, staring at her records.

  Paul Wyk was busy tapping on his iPhone. “We may be on to something here. I just checked with my office. Merwe also went to Taipei six weeks before he died.”

  “That’s it, that’s the balance my father was talking about,” Johann Potgeiter interjected excitedly. “Taiwan was one of the examples he used. He said they were building a nuclear bomb in the eighties, but the Americans caught them and made them stop. He said if they had gone ahead, they could have stood up to China better. He talked about that after he returned from a trip to Asia. I didn’t know it included Taipei, but it must have.”

  “Rachel?” Coetzee asked. “Was Dawid in Taipei?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “But it does make sense that he would be willing to sell nuclears to them. They would be no threat to Israel. And Dawid hated Communism.”

  “Well, it seems plausible that our predecessors as Trustees sold old nuclear devices to Taiwan. There would be nothing dishonorable in that, just helping an ally of old South Africa to defend itself. Taiwan is peaceful, doesn’t threaten anyone,” Robert Cotzee mused aloud. “And I suppose perhaps the Taiwanese could have been somewhat duplicitous and killed off the men who sold them the weapons, just to make sure no one knew about the deal. They have a large intelligence service.”

  “So, is that what we think?” Paul Wyk asked the group.

  “It explains it all rather well, actually, fits all the pieces together,” Johann Potgeiter added.

  “And it may not even have been illegal,” Liz Pleiss suggested. “You said, Rachel, the bombs were stored in some African country?”

  “Madagascar, it’s an island, a country, off Africa.”

  “Okay, I bet they don’t have laws there against selling nuclear bombs,” Liz said, gaining in enthusiasm for her own theory. “Maybe the bombs were stolen property, but I bet that can be argued either way. Maybe our fathers and brothers owned the bombs when they moved them from South Africa. Anyway, it could all be a legal transaction, maybe violated some UN resolutions, but nothing that could cause us to be arrested. A sovereign government did a transaction with our funds and paid us for goods received. We’re off the hook.”

  “That’s a relief,” Wyk replied. “It does leave the fact that the Taiwanese may have ordered our predecessors murdered, but maybe we just forget about following up on that.”

  “That would be wise, Paul,” Coetzee suggested. “If we try to do anything about it, we will be telling Taiwan that we know who bought the bombs. Then they could come after us. No, I think we remain silent about our suppositions about whether there were bombs, who they were sold to, and who ordered the hits on our people. Silent.”

  “I agree,” Liz Pleiss replied. “Completely. And I suggest that we also all agree that this conversation never took place.” There was murmured concurrence around the table.

  “Then, let’s take a break and go out on to the roof deck for some tea and coffee,” Robert Coetzee suggested. “When we come back, we can deal with the issue of how we spend what these funds earn, in a way that benefits the diaspora that we represent.”

  From their little war room, Mbali and Ray watched on their screen as the new Trustees pushed back and got up from the conference table. Mbali looked at Ray without a word, but with a face that asked for comment.

  “Taiwan? I doubt it, but let’s check with Dugout and see if the records match up,” he said. He tapped on a keyboard and another image appeared on the large screen in the room, a long-haired man, with glasses, wearing a black T-shirt. “I assume you were listening to all of that Duggie.”

  There was a brief static as the audio connection from Washington was established. “Yes, good evening to you, too. It’s evening here, of course. And thank you for introducing me to Miss Hlanganani. Pleased to meet you. My name is Douglas Carter and I have the pleasure of working with the gentleman to your right.”

  Ray Bowman rolled his eyes. “Delighted to finally meet you,” Mbali said to the video camera.

  “As to your implied question, Raymond, I’m not buying it,” Dugout continued. “Yes, Pleiss, Coetzee, and Potgeiter were all in Taipei at the same time six weeks before they were murdered. The others weren’t there. Those three gentlemen were there to close on an investment in a large, new hotel and high-end retail mall that each of them put some money in. But we would know if the Taiwanese had bought bombs and there is no indication that they did.”

  “How would we know?” Ray asked.

  “First of all, we have their government fairly well penetrated and second, there is no record of funds like that leaving any Taiwanese accounts around then. And do you think the Taiwan intel service could stage everything else involved: murdering these Trustees all over the place, the tritium heist, the covert shipment from Madagascar, the attempted hits on you?”

  “Probably not,” Ray replied. “But it wouldn’t hurt to confront them with the story and see what happens, see if they panic and say something internally, something we can pick up.”

  “You two are forgetting something,” Mbali interjected.

  “What’s that?” Dugout asked over the video link.

  “We just had Rachel do something to see if anybody panics. She laid out the fact that we know what is going on, or at least Mossad does.” Mbali was proud of how her newly recruited agent had done as an actress in the meeting. “If you two are right and it’s not really Taiwan, then somebody will panic shortly when they find out that we are on their trail and we are closer than they thought.”

  “Well, one of them better panic quick. ’Cuz we got an election in eight days and a lot of people at CIA, FBI, and DHS are telling the President that nukes are going to go off in this country between now and then,” Dugout answered.

  “Patience,” she said. “You Americans need to learn patience and the skill of laying in the tall grass, waiting, listening, like a lion. You are all flapping and flying like your eagle. We are like the cat. Still, ’til we pounce.”

  26

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1

  NEBRASKA AVEN
UE COMPLEX (NAC)

  DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY (DHS)

  WASHINGTON, DC

  She looked uncomfortable as her press secretary made brief introductory remarks to the hastily assembled news conference. She had not left governing a huge state to do this. It was borderline dishonest and unethical, but the President had persuaded her that sometimes for the greater good, temporarily, some amount of truth could be withheld.

  “Last night I ordered a no-notice operation to exercise sovereignty over our borders, specifically, the cargoes crossing our borders.

  “Congress has, for years, insisted that the Customs and Border Protection agency, CBP, inspect every container and shipment coming into the United States for drugs and other contraband. That is what we are now doing as of this morning.

  “This is the first in a series of no-notice exercises that I will be ordering in the next few weeks, testing each of the components of DHS, testing their ability to surge in an emergency. I want to be able to identify any remaining weak spots or deficiencies we still have so that I can report on them to my successor, whom I assume will be taking office on or about January twentieth. Thank you.”

  With that the Secretary of Homeland Security left the podium without taking questions, but questions were thrown at her as she walked out of the room, questions she ignored.

  UPPER HOUSE HOTEL

  CENTRAL HONG KONG

  Johann Potgeiter returned to his suite just after midnight, only slightly tipsy from the spectacular dinner party Robert Coetzee had thrown for his colleagues at his villa in the New Territories. Clearly, Coetzee had been spending a lot of the Trustees’ funds on living expenses.

  He did not begrudge Coetzee the extravagance. Indeed, he was planning a very nice, new life for himself very soon. The day had gone well. What had started out as a potential disaster with the Israeli woman revealing the plan, had turned into their acceptance that Taiwan had probably ordered the hits on their predecessors, and a consensus the best path was to forget about all of that. They had agreed to build a high-end retirement village and health-care facility in Australia, with priority given to South Africans, white South Africans, who would be heavily subsidized and given every comfort. A good day’s work had been followed by a good night’s dinner and drinking. Suspicions had been eased. They were all good chums now.