“There was no mention of a plaque in the news reports,” General Kerr said. Kerr was fifty-eight, a broad shouldered man with snow white hair and heavy jowls. He wore his full uniform for the meeting, numerous medals of honour stretching across his wide chest.
“That’s correct,” Berkeley explained, “because that was the one fact we chose to keep back as our hook.” He turned to address the group. “Can I ask if any of you are familiar with the gas attack which resulted in the deaths of David Clearwater and Jerry Hanson in Lancaster, California?”
All faces looked blank with the exception of William Kessel and Barbara Standish.
Barbara was thirty-eight, tall and blonde with Revlon good looks. Since leaving Harvard she had become one of the foremost chemical, bacterial and biological experts in the world. She had written numerous theses on the effects of chemical and biological agents in modern warfare, and had acceded to Presidential Advisor in 2003. Rumours had begun to circulate that she was a regular feature in the Presidential bed soon after.
“I was contacted by Special Agent McCarthy when the substance used had been confirmed as sarin nerve agent,” she explained. “He wanted to know the availability and/or production requirements for such a weapon.”
“And your response?” Kerr asked.
“Very difficult to buy and exceptionally difficult to manufacture,” she replied. “It requires extreme degrees of temperature and pressure. One would need a dedicated manufacturing installation as well as stringent safety procedures and an on-site hospital facility.”
“And a morgue,” Kessel offered with a smile. He too had seen Barbara’s report.
Berkeley had already collected the rolled-up drawings from Warner and walked to the wall at the head of the table which possessed a pinboard. He unrolled the close up of the site and pinned it into position with F.B.I.-issue blue push pins. “A facility such as this perhaps?”
Alan Firth immediately rose to his feet and walked over to inspect the image. A tall, slender man of thirty-six, he possessed short black hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. As he approached he removed a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from a leather case which he placed gently across his pointed nose.
“Oh my God,” he said, clicking the case closed.
“So this is what we think it is?” Berkeley asked.
“I’d stake my life on it,” he said. “Definite weedkiller.”
William Kessel looked to Barbara Standish and could see that she was already nodding as though reluctant to accept what she already knew to be the truth.
“This, ladies and gentlemen,” Berkeley explained, “is not in Iran, Iraq, the former Soviet Union or even Libya. This is a privately-owned facility situated in Kozlar, Turkey. It is on the outskirts of what some might jokingly call ‘the civilised world’. It quite obviously has a high production capability, much of which is probably being sold to our adversaries. And we would very much like to close it down.”
Kessel looked at the image and then back to Berkeley. “You mentioned on the phone that this might have something to do with IntelliSoft Chairman Jack Bernstein. Perhaps you could run us through your complete investigation, from the top, and then we can ascertain the validity of your information.”
Berkeley nodded to Warner who, as the two men returned to their seats, removed a number of copies of his case file and distributed them around the table.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” he said, “if I could refer you to page four, headed ‘Lara Bernstein’.”
* * * * *
It was three-thirty in the afternoon in California and the sun was high and bright above the campus. The sky was a rich clear blue and even the Pacific breeze seemed to have taken the afternoon off. Jack stood by the glass wall and watched as VideoTek engineers lifted the plasma-screen into place alongside the Technical Division offices. A small crowd of IntelliSoft employees had taken a few minutes out to watch as the screen was tested from the remote terminal. After a few seconds a gold ‘VIDEOTEK USA’ logo appeared and began to spin beneath the tagline ‘making images of history point to a clearer future’. Stock footage of prominent historical events were reflected in its letters. The Second World War, the death of John F. Kennedy, Neil Armstrong, the falling of the Berlin Wall and the tanks at Tianaman Square all appeared in high-speed, fast-access fashion. It was as though history was a TV and the channels were constantly being surfed.
For the briefest of moments Jack wondered whether the IntelliSoft launch itself would be classed as a prominent event in history one day. If it was, then he prayed to God that it would be for all the right reasons.
There was a gentle knock on the door and MaryBeth’s head appeared.
“Hiya,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Jack walked wearily to his desk and fell into his seat. “Good work last night, by the way.”
MaryBeth smoothed the skirt of her terracotta suit and took the opposing chair. “Thanks,” she said. “The bitch sure was desperate to link the Senator’s death to us.”
Jack shook his head disdainfully. “That’s because the Senator’s death is linked to us.”
MaryBeth shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I have to confirm it though, does it? Any news from the sites?”
“Nothing,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I was sure we were going to find something. Anything. It’s the only thing that would seem to make any sense.”
“Not all the sites have been checked yet, though,” she said. “There’s still time.”
Jack shook his head. “No, but all have done at least one full swoop, barring Boston who are still reeling from the water company’s mess. What can I say, maybe I was wrong…?”
“So what do we do about the launch?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “But my gut feeling is still that we cancel. The bastards are looking to shaft me, I just know it. And if they’re also looking to launch Lara’s child as a Saviour of Mankind then it’s going to be big. Let’s face it, as world events go, you don’t get any bigger than our launch.”
MaryBeth shook her head. “You can’t cancel, it would ruin us. If you are right, then they’ll find something. If not, I say we go ahead as planned.”
The phone on Jack’s desk started to ring. He breathed into his hands and turned on the speakerphone. “Jack Bernstein.”
The voice on the other end sounded breathless and erratic. “Jack, it’s Phoebe.”
“You’re on speaker with myself and MaryBeth,” Jack said. “What have you got?”
The excitement in Phoebe’s voice was uncontrollable. Her message was simple. “We found them.”
Jack and MaryBeth looked at each other open mouthed. “Go on,” Jack said.
“There’s one of every site; some kind of bomb, but we don’t know the full details yet. They were hidden away from the sites in the main feed electrical system. Apparently the electrician who was still on-site in Boston highlighted an area we hadn’t checked. We were lucky. If they’d been on-schedule and off-site we might never have uncovered any of them. They’re all on a digital timer, disguised as an electrical panel and set to detonate at the same time as the children kicked off.” She paused for breath. “I’ve just finished doing the liaison. All sites have been sealed and the surrounding areas cordoned off by the relevant authorities. Bomb disposal teams are already on their way to most of the sites.”
“So how long until we get the all clear?” MaryBeth asked.
“Give us chance,” Phoebe laughed. “It could be a good few hours yet. Either way, your hunch was right. Apparently these things look fairly powerful. I shudder to think what might have happened.”
“Good work, Phoebe,” Jack said. “And pass my thanks on to Barry and his team.”
He closed the connection and rested his head on his hands, as though praying.
“We’re in the clear then?” MaryBeth said.
“If we can clean the sites without incident, then yeah… it looks that way,” Jack said, breathing an explosive sigh of relief.
“Thank God.”
to help the king
against the enemy
2 Chronicles 26:13
“Personally, I don’t think we can afford to stall,” General Kerr said, leaning forcefully across the conference table. Both his answer, and the fact that he had chosen to deliver it before the question had even been posed, adequately demonstrated his philosophy on such matters. In his line of business he truly believed that attack was the best form of defence. “I say we strike.”
Barbara Standish shook her head gently. “Let’s not be too hasty, General,” she said, pensively placing slender hands beneath her chin. “We must not forget that President Clarke is facing re-election next year. I don’t think a war-monger policy leading to probable embarrassment is particularly going to help his numbers at the polls. To create an international incident of this nature without first consulting with the Turkish Government would be little short of political suicide. I believe we should be focusing our attentions along much more diplomatic lines.”
Assistant Director Kessel nodded his understanding. Whether or not he agreed was another matter. He was not charged with chairing the meeting so that he would agree with every view expressed, only that he would at the very least hear everyone out. These were professional people, some of the highest ranking in the land and their knowledge in their individual fields was well respected. In such fields, their opinions mattered. It was when they expressed views on matters that they did not understand that Kessel knew he had to gracefully, like a cobra’s hypnotic sway, move the focus and take a second opinion from somebody who mattered. He turned to Alan Firth. “Where do you stand Alan, from a U.N. point of view?”
Firth took a deep breath. “Reluctantly,” he said, “I’m with the General. If the intelligence from Istanbul is correctly pointing toward government payoffs then we simply can’t afford to risk diplomacy. There’ll be a leak and they’ll have the site transferred before we can say ‘Geneva Convention’. This is obviously a high volume facility run by a group of people who are currently under the impression that Jack Bernstein’s grandson is some kind of ‘New Messiah’ and that, to me, also suggests some degree of mental instability.” Having heard the full story of the investigation, he looked to Warner and Berkeley apologetically. “My fear is aimed squarely at scenarios we may not as yet have considered. Namely, just what is happening to their gross product if it is not being sold to our adversaries for stockpiling. As these people have already demonstrated a willingness to use nerve agent on U.S. soil, I’m wondering what lengths they themselves might be prepared to go to. Consequently I’m far more worried about the corollary of a passive approach than I am of direct action.”
“The President is not going to want an incident,” Barbara protested, shaking her head to demonstrate the mistake she felt might soon be made. “Not now.”
“Are you still referring to an international incident,” Montel Keef asked, “or to one where these whackos decide to pump one of our major cities choc-full of toxic gases?” As C.I.A. Head of Overseas Operations he had spent many weeks in Iraq following the Gulf War. His eyes had been brutally opened to the devastating effects caused by chemical weapons such as sarin. “Because a million or so deaths in one day would not, as far as I can see, help your President’s ratings one little bit, and might just be classed, to quote you directly, as an ‘incident’.”
He threw her a ‘this is more important than protecting your boyfriend’ look and then turned back to Bill Kessel. “Risky as it may be, I agree with the strike option. Two people around this table have confirmed the nature of that site and we at the C.I.A. would rather be seen to be proactive than reactive. Let’s not forget what Aum managed to do in Tokyo, and their facility wasn’t even a third the size of this. These guys could decimate New York in under an hour. Besides, I don’t think we’ll have a problem with the Turks once they know what we’ve uncovered right under their noses.”
“But we don’t want another Waco?” Barbara protested further. She knew that she was losing the battle and, consequently, had not chosen to think before she spoke. Out of turn.
Even so, Kessel took the remark a little too personally. Whilst the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms had played the major hand in destroying David Koresh’s Branch Davidians, and it was seventy-six of their agents who had unsuccessfully stormed the compound prior to the fifty-one day stand-off, it was still his F.B.I. who had carried the burden of the bad press. He did not need a reminder, least of all from a chemist who, even though President Clarke’s wife had been dead for over four years, was still afforded the title by the popular press of ‘First Mistress’.
“Well, if I’m going to speak to the President,” he said, ignoring her further concerns, “I’m going to need to know how we intend to approach the situation. What would you be suggesting, General?”
Kerr shuffled sideways in his chair. “Pretty much as initially outlined,” he explained, nodding the credit in Berkeley’s direction. “I can have a team ready in twenty-four hours. Dawn swoop with around twenty Sikorsky Personnel Carriers flying from carriers currently stationed in the Ægean. We’d get straight in and whisk all the people seen in the pictures back to Cyprus to find out what the hell they thought they were playing at. I already know that the United Kingdom have a disused base on the island that could be used for de-briefing and medical purposes. We’d take in a couple of Red Cross and some UNSCOM guys to check the production facilities, and I’d make sure that at least twenty of my Marines were fully trained and equipped to deal with any leakage situation.”
“What else would you need beforehand?” Kessel asked.
“Well, whilst we do have photography of the site, I’d still be of a mind to send the Hercules over again at dawn tomorrow, just to see if I could ascertain the population spread at that time of day. If everything looked okay then I’d say we go the following morning; oh-six-hundred.”
Kessel smiled at the specific, pre-emptive nature of his answer. “And if they put up resistance?”
Kerr’s eyes fell icy cold. “As you well know, Bill, my men don’t go anywhere unless they’re armed.”
Warner had watched the conversation with growing interest. He felt a small wave of excitement, but it was being countered by a steady realisation that by gaining the required authority he was also losing control of his own case. What he needed was a way to seize it back. If he didn’t, he might not be in a position to fulfil his promises to Jack.
“If you are intending to remove the personnel to Cyprus,” he said, “then I would like to volunteer to oversee any interrogations. After all, I do have the most knowledge to date about these people.”
Alan Firth shook his head. “My men are fully trained in these styles of interrogation,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll be needing Bureau help.”
Kessel looked pensive. “It can’t harm, though, Alan. Can it?” he said knowing, as an ex ‘agent-in-the-field’ himself, exactly why Warner had volunteered his services. “I mean, Special Agent Warner is right. He’s been on this case from the start and he might well be able to throw some light on some of the specifics these people might start voicing.”
As the rest of the gathered officials nodded in recognition, Firth looked disgruntled. He was clearly overruled and clearly far from happy about it.
“That’s settled then,” Kessel concluded. “Well, I suppose I’d better get the President on the line, outline our concerns and see if we can get his clearance to go for Senate approval. I’ll contact you all individually with his decision by...” he checked his watch, “...twenty-one-thirty hours. Thanks for coming.”
Hands were shaken and the room was slowly vacated. In the corridor outside, Berkeley turned to Warner. His face said it all; he was looking good. If there was one thing Warner did know about Berkeley, it was that no work went unnoticed; good or bad. An office with a window overlooking the Pacific might even be beckoning. With a bit of luck it might even be the one currently occupied by Special Agent Kyle McC
arthy.
“Good work, Frank,” Berkeley said, vigorously shaking Warner’s hand. “Now to get the bastards.”
As soon as Berkeley had started walking down the corridor, Special Agent Warner removed his mobile phone and started to dial a number. There was a man he felt a pressing need to speak to.
* * * * *
“Jack? Frank Warner here. I’m in D.C. and I need to know how soon you can get a flight over.”
Jack was driving home in his Bronco. MaryBeth had left the campus about fifteen minutes before him and both had agreed that, with the disposal operation firmly underway, they were going to get a much better night’s sleep that night.
“Why?” he asked. “What’s in Washington?”
“Nothing, but I might be flying out pretty soon. To Cyprus, and I just wondered if you fancied coming along?”
Jack could tell from Warner’s tone of voice what was coming next. He sounded uncharacteristically happy and had lost that tired drawl that he usually possessed. “You found them?” he asked with corporately restrained excitement.
“Sure did,” Warner said. “Kozlar, Turkey. I just thought that when they’re brought in you might want to be around. With a bit of luck we might just be able to greet your little boy.”
There was a brief silence, during which Jack felt the weight rising from his shoulders. In many ways he could not believe that it was all coming to an end. He had wondered on numerous occasions whether he would ever see Lara’s child, now it seemed that he would. At least he might, if the boy was still alright. Still alive. He had never felt so happy, but then he realised how short-lived that happiness might have transpired to be if things had been different.
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