The Sum of All Fears jr-7

by Tom Clancy

  “Such as?” the Commander asked.

  “The explosives.”

  “But you are an expert in such things,” Qati objected.

  “Commander, this task requires precision such as we have never been forced to face. We cannot use ordinary plastic explosives, for example, for the simple reason that they are plastic — they change shape. The explosive blocks I use must be as rigid as stone, must be shaped to a thousandth of a millimeter, and the shape must be determined mathematically. The theoretical side of that is something I could assimilate, but it will take months. I would rather devote my time to refabricating the nuclear material… and…”

  “Yes?”

  “I believe I can improve the bomb, Commander.”

  “Improve? How?”

  “If my initial readings are correct, this type of weapon can be adapted to become not a bomb but a trigger.”

  Trigger for what?" Qati asked.

  “A thermonuclear fusion bomb, a hydrogen bomb, Ismael. The yield of the weapon might be increased by a factor of ten, perhaps a hundred. We could destroy Israel, certainly a very large part of it.”

  The commander paused for a few breaths, assimilating that bit of information. When he spoke, he spoke softly. “But you need help. Where might be the best place?”

  “Günther may have some valuable contacts in Germany. If he can be trusted,” Ghosn added.

  “I have considered this. Günther can be trusted.” Qati explained why.

  “We are sure the story is real?” Ghosn asked. “I have no more faith in coincidences than you, Commander.”

  “There was a photograph in a German newspaper. It appeared quite genuine.” A German tabloid had managed to get a graphic black-and-white photo that showed the results of a hanging in all its ghastly splendor. The fact that Petra was nude above the waist had ensured its publication. Such an end for a terrorist murderer was too juicy to be denied to the German males, one of whom had been castrated by this woman.

  The problem is simply that we must minimize the number of people who know about this, else — excuse me, Ismael."

  “But we need some help. Yes, I understand that.” Qati smiled. “You are correct. It is time to discuss our plans with our friend. You propose to explode the bomb in Israel?”

  “Where else? It is not my place to make such plans, but I assumed—”

  “I have not thought about it. One thing at a time, Ibrahim. When are you leaving for Israel?”

  “I planned to do so in the next week or so.”

  “Let it wait until we see what this treaty business will do.” Qati thought. “Begin your studies. We will make haste slowly on this matter. First you must determine your requirements. We will then try to meet them in the most secure location we can arrange.”

  It took forever, it seemed, but forever in political terms can be a time period ranging from five minutes to five years. In this case, it took less than three days for the important part to happen. Fifty thousand more demonstrators arrived before the Knesset. Led by veterans of all of Israel 's wars, the new crowd supported the treaties. There were more shouts and shaken fists, but for once there was no overt violence, as the police managed to keep the two passionate groups separated. Instead they labored to outshout each other.

  The cabinet met again in closed session, both ignoring and attending to the din outside their windows. The Defense Minister was surprisingly quiet during the discussion. On being asked, he agreed that the additional arms promised by the Americans would be hugely useful: 48 additional F-16 fighter-bombers; and for the first time, M-2/3 Bradley fighting vehicles, Hellfire antitank missiles, and access to the revolutionary new tank-gun technology America was developing. The Americans would underwrite most of the cost of building a high-tech training center in the Negev similar to their own National Training Center at Fort Irwin, California, where the 10th Cav unit would train constantly as the “OpFor” or opposing force against Israeli units. The Defense Minister knew the effect the NTC had had for the U.S. Army, which was at its highest state of professionalism since World War II. With the new materiel and training base, he judged that the real effectiveness of Israel 's defense forces would increase by fifty percent. To that he added the U.S. Air Force F-16 wing and the tank regiment, both of which, as spelled out in a secret codicil of the Mutual Defense Treaty, chopped to Israeli command in time of emergency — a situation that was defined by Israel. That was totally unprecedented in American history, the Foreign Minister pointed out.

  “So, is our national security degraded or enhanced by the treaties?” the Prime Minister asked.

  “It is somewhat enhanced,” the Defense Minister admitted.

  “Then will you say so?”

  Defense pondered that for a moment, his eyes boring in on the man seated at the head of the table. Will you support me when I make my bid for the premiership? his eyes asked.

  The Prime Minister nodded.

  “I will address the crowds. We can live with these treaties.”

  The speech did not pacify everyone, but it was enough to convince a third of the antitreaty demonstrators to depart. The crucial middle element in the Israeli parliament observed the events, consulted its conscience, and made its decision. The treaties were ratified by a slim margin. Even before the United States Senate had a chance to clear the treaties through the Armed Services and Foreign Relations committees, implementation of both agreements began.

  11

  ROBOSOLDIERS

  They weren't supposed to look human. The Swiss guards were all over 185 centimeters in height and not one weighed less than eighty-five kilograms, which translated to about six-one and a hundred eighty pounds for American tourists. Their physical fitness was manifest. The guard encampment, just outside the city in what had been a Jewish settlement until less than two weeks before, had its own high-tech gymnasium, and the men were “encouraged” to pump iron until their exposed skin looked as taut as a drumhead. Their forearms, exposed below rolled-up sleeves, were thicker than the lower legs of most men, and already tanned brown beneath what were often sun-bleached blond hairs. Their mostly blue eyes were always hidden behind dark glasses in the case of the officers, and tinted Lexan shields for the rest.

  They were outfitted in fatigues of an urban-camouflage pattern, a curious design of black, white, and several shades of gray that allowed them to blend in with the stones and whitewashed stucco of Jerusalem in a way that was eerily effective, especially at night. Their boots were the same, not the spit-shined elegance of parade soldiers. The helmets were Kevlar, covered with cloth of the same pattern. Over the fatigues went camouflaged flak jackets of American design that merely seemed to increase the physical bulk of the soldiers. Over the flak jackets came the web gear. Each man always carried four fragmentation grenades and two smokes, plus a one-liter canteen, first-aid packet, and ammo pouches for a light total load-out of about twelve kilos.

  They traveled about the city in teams of five, one non-com and four privates per team, and twelve teams to each duty section. Each man carried a SIG assault rifle, two of which had grenade launchers slung underneath the barrel. The sergeant also carried a pistol, and two men in each team carried radios. The teams on patrol were in constant radio contact and regularly practiced mutual-support maneuvers.

  Half of each duty section walked, while the other half moved about slowly and menacingly in American-built HMMWVs. Essentially an oversized jeep, each “hummer” had at least a pintel-mounted machine-gun, and some had six-barreled miniguns, plus Kevlar armor to protect the crews against the casual enemy. At the commanding note of their horns, everyone cleared a path.

  At the command post were several armored fighting vehicles — English-built armored cars that could just barely navigate the streets of the ancient city. Always on duty at the post was a platoon-sized unit commanded by a captain. This was the emergency-response team. They were armed with heavy weapons, like the Swedish Carl Gustav M-2 recoilless, just the right thing for knocking a hol
e in any building. Supporting them was an engineer section with copious quantities of high explosives; the “sappers” ostentatiously practiced by knocking down those settlements which Israel had agreed to abandon. In fact, the entire regiment practiced its combat skills at those sites, and people were allowed to observe from a few hundred meters away in what was rapidly becoming a genuine tourist attraction. Already, Arab merchants were producing T-shirts with logos like ROBOSOLDIER! for anyone who cared to buy them. The commercial sense of the merchants was not unrewarded.

  The Swiss guards did not smile, nor did they speak to the casual interrogator, a facility that came easily to them. Journalists were encouraged to meet with the commanding officer, Colonel Jacques Schwindler, and were occasionally allowed to speak with lower ranks in barracks or at training exercises, but never on the street. Some contact with the locals was inevitable, of course. The soldiers were learning rudimentary Arabic, and English sufficed for everyone else. They occasionally issued traffic citations, though this was mainly a function of the local civil police force that was still forming up — with support from the Israelis who were phasing out of the function. More rarely a Swiss guard would step into a street fight or other disturbance. Most often the mere sight of a five-man team would reduce people to respectful silence and docile civility. The mission of the Swiss was intimidation, and it didn't require many days for people to appreciate how good they were at it. At the same time, their operations depended most of all on something other than the physical.

  On the right shoulder of each uniform was a patch. It was in the shape of a shield. The centerpiece was the white cross on red background of the Swiss, to demonstrate the origin of the soldiers. Around it were the Star and Crescent of Islam, the six-pointed Judaic Star of David, and the Christian Cross. There were three versions of the patch, so that each religious emblem had an equal chance of being on top. It was publicly known that the patches were distributed at random, and the symbology indicated that the Swiss flag protected them all equally.

  The soldiers deferred always to religious leaders. Colonel Schwindler met daily with the religious troika which governed the city. It was believed that they alone made policy, but Schwindler was a clever, thoughtful man, whose suggestions from the first had carried great weight with the Imam, the Rabbi, and the Patriarch. Schwindler had also traveled to the capitals of every Middle East nation. The Swiss had chosen well — he'd been known as the best colonel in their army. An honest and scrupulously fair man, he'd acquired an enviable reputation. Already on his office wall was a gold-mounted sword, a present from the King of Saudi Arabia. A stallion of equal magnificence was quartered at the guard force encampment. Schwindler didn't know how to ride.

  It was up to the troika to run the city. They had proven to be even more effective than anyone had dared to hope. Chosen for their piety and scholarship, each soon impressed the others. It had been agreed upon at once that each week there would be a public prayer service particular to one of the represented religions, and that each would attend, not actually participating, but demonstrating the respect that was at the foundation of their collective purpose. Originally suggested by the Imam, it had unexpectedly proven to be the most effective method of tempering their internal disagreements and also setting the example for the citizens of the city in their care. This was not to say that there were not disagreements. But those were invariably difficulties between two of the members, and in such cases the uninvolved third would mediate. It was in the interests of all to reach a peaceful and reasonable settlement. “The Lord God”—a phrase each of the three could use without prejudice — required their good will, and after a few initial teething problems, that good will prevailed. Over coffee, after concluding one dispute over scheduling access to one shrine or another, the Greek Patriarch noted with a chuckle that perhaps this was the first miracle he had ever witnessed. No, the Rabbi had replied, it was no miracle that men of God should have the conviction to obey their own religious principles. All at once? the Imam had asked with a smile, perhaps not a miracle, but certainly it had required over a millennium to achieve. Let us not begin a new dispute, the Greek had said with a rumbling laugh, over the settlement of another — now, if you can only help me find a way to deal with my fellow Christians!

  Outside on the streets, when clerics of one faith encountered those of another, greetings were exchanged to set an example for everyone. The Swiss Guards saluted each in their turn, and when speaking with the most senior, they would remove their glasses or helmets to show public respect.

  That was the only humanity the Swiss Guards were allowed to demonstrate. It was said that they didn't even sweat.

  “Scary sons of bitches,” Ryan observed, standing in shirt-sleeves at a corner. American tourists snapped pictures. Jews still looked a touch resentful. Arabs smiled. The Christians who'd largely been driven out of Jerusalem by increasing violence had barely started to return. Everyone got the hell out of their way as the five men moved briskly down the street, not quite marching, their helmeted heads turning left and right. “They really do look like robots.”

  “You know,” Avi said, “there hasn't been a single attack on them since the first week. Not one.”

  “I wouldn't want to fool with them,” Clark observed quietly.

  In the first week, as though by Providence, an Arab youth had killed an elderly Israeli woman with a knife — it had been a street robbery rather than a crime with political significance — and had made the mistake of doing so in view of a Swiss private, who'd run him down and subdued him with a martial-arts blow right out of a movie. The Arab in question had been taken to the troika and given the choice of a trial by Israeli or Islamic law. He'd made the mistake of choosing the latter. After a week in an Israeli hospital to allow his injuries to heal, he'd faced a trial in accordance with the word of the Koran, chaired by Imam Ahmed bin Yussif. One day after that, he had been flown to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, driven to a public square, and, after having had time to repent his misdeeds, publicly beheaded with a sword. Ryan wondered how you said pour encourager les autres in Hebrew, Greek, and Arabic. Israelis had been amazed at the speed and severity of justice, but the Muslims had merely shrugged and pointed out that the Koran had its own stern criminal code, and that it had proven highly effective over the years.

  “Your people are still a little unhappy with this, aren't they?”

  Avi frowned. Ryan had faced him with the necessity of expressing his personal opinion, or speaking the truth. “They'd feel safer with our paratroops here… man-to-man, Ryan?” Truth won out, as it had to with Avi.

  “Sure.”

  “They'll learn. It will take a few more weeks, but they will learn. The Arabs like the Swiss, and the key to the peace on this street is how our Arab friends feel. Now, will you tell me something?” Clark 's head moved fractionally at that.

  “Maybe,” Ryan answered, looking up the street.

  “How much did you have to do with this?”

  “Nothing at all,” Jack replied with a neutral coldness that matched the pace of the soldiers. “It was Charlie Alden's idea, remember? I was just the messenger boy.”

  “So Elizabeth Elliot has told everyone.” Avi didn't have to say any more.

  “You wouldn't have asked the question unless you knew the answer, Avi. So why ask the question?”

  “Artfully done.” General Ben Jakob sat down and waved for the waiter. He ordered two beers before speaking again. Clark and the other bodyguard weren't drinking. “Your president pushed us too hard. Threatening us with withholding our arms… ”

  “He could have gone a little easier, I suppose, but I do not make policy, Avi. Your people made it happen when they murdered those demonstrators. That reopened a part of our own history that we wish to forget. It neutralized your congressional lobby — a lot of those people were on the other side of our own civil rights movement, remember. You forced us to move, Avi. You know that. Besides—” Ryan stopped abruptly.

  “Yes?”
>
  “Avi, this thing just might work. I mean, look around!” Jack said, as the beers arrived. He was thirsty enough that a third of it disappeared in an instant.

  “It is a slim possibility,” Ben Jakob admitted.

  “You get better intel from Syria than we do,” Ryan pointed out. “I've heard that they've started saying nice things about the settlement — very quietly, I admit. Am I right?”

  “If it's true.” Avi grunted.

  “You know the hard part about 'peace' intel?”

  Ben Jakob's eyes were focused on a distant wall as he contemplated — what? “Believing it is possible?”

  Jack nodded. “That's one area where we have the advantage over you guys, my friend. We've been through all that.”

  “True, but the Soviets never said — proclaimed — for two generations that they wanted to wipe you from the face of the earth. Tell the worthy President Fowler that such concerns are not so easily allayed.”

  Jack sighed. “I have. I did. Avi, I'm not your enemy.”

  “Neither are you my ally.”

  “Allies? We are now, General. The treaties are in force. General, my job is to provide information and analysis to my government. Policy is made by people senior to me, and smarter than me,” Ryan added with deadpan irony.

  “Oh? And who might they be?” General Ben Jakob smiled at the younger man. His voice dropped a few octaves. “You've been in the trade for what — not even ten years, Jack. The submarine business, what you did in Moscow, the role you played in the last election—”

  Ryan tried to control his reaction, but failed. “Jesus, Avi!” How the hell did he find that out!

  “You cannot take the Lord's name in vain, Dr. Ryan,” the deputy chief of the Mossad chided. “This is the City of God. Those Swiss chaps might shoot you. Tell the lovely Miss Elliot that if she pushes too hard, we still have friends in your media, and a story such as that…” Avi smiled.