The Beijing conspiracy

by Adrian D'hage

  ‘Fuck,’ Howard muttered. Well, if they couldn’t do anything about the tanker, at least they might be able to stop the Jerusalem Bay.

  With the Destiny ’s big diesel engine thundering beneath him, Jamal centred the laser beams on a point about 2 metres above the water line. As the two red dots came together on his computer screen he fired the port anti-armour rocket and then the starboard one. The first rocket breached the outer hull of the Ocean Venturer and exploded against the inner hull, a metre further in. The second rocket exploded as it breached the inner hull. The weight of millions of litres of oil in the amidships tank was immense and a powerful geyser of Kuwaiti crude shot out of the side of the tanker, spewing on to the surface of the harbour, blackening the white caps.

  Further down the harbour, Captain Jeffery and his commandos onboard the flying RHIBs had their hands full as they pressed on towards the tugs. Both of the RHIBs still had more than 300 metres to cover and Malik al-Falid had one more weapon.

  Malik ducked behind the control console as a burst of machinegun fire ricocheted off the side of the steel bridge of the Montgomery. He nodded to the crew member crouching in the starboard wing with the rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

  ‘The closer the better; wait till they get within 100 metres then hit them,’ he commanded quietly.

  The young Palestinian cell member raised the RPG-7 grenade launcher to his shoulder. The return fire from the commandos was continuous but they were struggling to get accuracy as the big RHIBs bounced off the water at high speed.

  Steadying himself against the bridge, the Palestinian calmly aimed just in front of the bow and fired. Seconds later, the anti-tank grenade exploded with a deafening roar against the hull, killing three of the infidels instantly. As the shattered RHIB fell back to the choppy water, the big outboards were still screaming at full power and the commandos’ boat was driven under the surface in a ball of exploding foam.

  ‘ Allahu Akbar! God is Great!’ Malik clenched his fist as he drove the big tug at the men struggling in the water.

  Fifty metres. Forty metres. Jamal raised his fist in defiance as he adjusted his course to avoid the geyser of oil spewing from the side of the tanker. Willing the Destiny to go even faster, he aimed the heavy boat towards the breach in the tanker’s hull.

  With a cry of ‘ Allahu Akbar!’ and confident of his place in heaven, Jamal calmly pressed the detonator moments before the bow of the Destiny slammed into the side of the stricken tanker. The shaped charge penetrated deep into the bowels of the Ocean Venturer and exploded in a deafening roar. Thick, black smoke and fuel-fired flames shot 70 metres into the air, engulfing the roadway above and the emergency crews who were working desperately to save those who’d been hit in the earlier missile strike. As the intense heat from the oil fire softened the asphalt on the roadway, people ran from the Bridge, fleeing from what had turned into a blazing car park. The fire generated temperatures in excess of 1000 degrees and the steel walls separating the amidships tank compartment from the others on the Ocean Venturer began to twist and buckle.

  ‘Anthea, you’re to pull the emergency brake now. Don’t ask questions sweetheart, just do it,’ Murray said quietly.

  ‘But…’

  ‘DO IT!’

  Anthea found the yellow emergency handle near the doors. Above it was a warning of severe fines and imprisonment for improper use but Anthea trusted Murray with her life. With the distant gunfire on the harbour faintly audible, she pulled the handle and the train slid to a halt on the greasy tracks.

  ‘What the-’ The driver reacted angrily as he lost control of his train.

  The captain of the Jerusalem Bay fingered the detonator in his right hand as he crouched below the shattered windows of his bridge.

  ‘Cover me!!’ Major Gould broke cover and fired several bursts from his MP-5 as he stormed forward towards the foot of the companionway that led to the bridge above him.

  As he peered above the shattered port side glass, the Sydney Opera House was so close the captain could see the bars and entertainment areas inside. Reluctantly he realised that he would not be able to get his ship as far as the ferry terminals in Sydney Cove, but it was better to detonate now than not at all.

  ‘ Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! God is Great! God is-

  The detonator tumbled from the captain’s hand as Major Gould burst in through the bridge’s rear bulkhead, his MP-5 blazing.

  Kate Braithwaite stared numbly at the plasma screen in the State Crisis Centre showing the fiercely blazing tanker.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Curtis said softly, as he put his arm around Kate’s shoulder.

  On the bridge of the Montgomery, Malik al-Falid tightened his seat belt as the Montgomery and the Wavell charged towards the Heads and the safety of the Pacific Ocean beyond.

  ‘Keep a sharp lookout,’ he ordered. ‘The infidel will try to mobilise his forces.’

  Onboard the Melbourne Keke Newbold steadied himself in his captain’s chair on the starboard side of the bridge. As soon as he’d received word of the attack on Sydney, he’d turned the powerful frigate around and headed north back towards the Heads, demanding from his Marine Engineering Officer every last horsepower out of the Melbourne’s big gas turbines. Her huge prop was throwing a 3-metre high rooster’s tail of white water behind the stern. The phone beside him rang as the Melbourne’s Principal Warfare Officer called from the operations room two decks below.

  ‘Captain, this is the PWO, we’ve got an update on the situation here, Sir. You’d better come down and have a look.’

  ‘On my way,’ he replied brusquely, leaving the ship in the hands of the officer of the watch.

  The operations room was lit with a green glow from the radar and fire control screens and as soon as he entered through the bulkhead Captain Newbold put his headphones on and took a call from General Howard.

  ‘ Melbourne, over.’

  There was more than a touch of restrained anger in General Howard’s voice. ‘The two tugs are running for the Heads and they’re presently west of Line Zulu. All commercial shipping’s been suspended and you are cleared to destroy them, over.’

  Keke glanced at the two blips on the radar operator’s screen.

  ‘PWO, sound action stations,’ Keke said calmly.

  ‘Hands to action stations, hands to action stations.’

  ‘PWO,’ Captain Newbold commanded, ‘these are harpoon targets, let me know when we’re in range.’

  ‘Captain, Sir, harpoon targets 2412 and 2413 confirmed, ready to engage.’

  ‘Engage,’ Keke said without emotion.

  ‘Birds away.’

  Captain Newbold and his PWO watched while first one missile and then another left a track of phosphorescent blips across the ship’s radar screens.

  On the bridge above, Lieutenant Campbell focused his binoculars on the tugs that were now clear of Sydney Heads.

  ‘Bastards,’ he exclaimed, as he watched the Montgomery and then the Wavell explode into separate balls of flame.

  Even among the chaos it had taken Murray Black barely 15 minutes to get across to Observatory Hill, a short distance from the train tracks. As he ran towards Anthea and the children the tears streamed down his face.

  CHAPTER 71

  CANBERRA

  C NN’s television images of the tanker fire and the burned out fuselages of the two 747s faded in front of a packed media conference in Canberra. The Prime Minister of Australia was visibly shocked as he addressed the nation. Flanked by a confused-looking Defence Minister and a grim-faced Chief of the Defence Force, the Prime Minister brought his speech to a close.

  ‘These terrorists are murderous barbarians who have no respect for human life and human dignity, and my government will leave no stone unturned to bring the perpetrators to justice.’

  The Prime Minister faced a flurry of questions about the ability of hospitals to cope, what might happen to Sydney and how people who were still employed might get to work. Michelle Gillard, the journ
alist who had covered Professor Imran Sayed’s opening address at the bioterrorism conference, ignored the tabloid newspaper approach as to how the attack might affect the average worker in the street. She was asking the deeper questions about why this had happened.

  ‘Prime Minister, we’ve all seen the declassified reports in which no fewer than sixteen intelligence agencies in the United States have concluded that the war in Iraq was a very big mistake. Those reports claim that the war is providing a training ground for terrorists and is attracting more and more young Muslim suicide bombers to the fundamentalists’ cause. Will you finally concede that we’re now a bigger target because of our unqualified support for the United States war machine and that as a result of our policies in the Middle East, the Muslim fundamentalists are gaining strength around the world?’

  The Prime Minister looked rattled. He responded angrily. ‘Now is not the time to be cutting and running from the war on terror. Now is the time to be redoubling our efforts to bring these terrorists to justice.’

  ‘We’ve heard reports, Defence Minister,’ another journalist asked, ‘that you and your advisors blocked the military’s decision to reduce their notice to move. I’ve heard claims that, had the military been authorised to move earlier, this attack might have been prevented. Can you comment on that?’

  The Defence Minister blinked several times and looked even more confused. ‘Those sorts of questions are best answered by the military,’ he responded, looking at the Defence Chief.

  The Chief of the Defence Force’s left eyebrow rose quizically. It was one of those classic media moments and another flash lit the room as one of the Herald’s most experienced photographers caught it for posterity. The relationship between the Defence Chief and his egotistical minister had just reached a new low and every journalist in the room knew it.

  ‘I think it would be unwise to speculate on rumour before we have a full and thorough report on what has been a dreadful and dark day in Australia’s history,’ the Defence Chief replied diplomatically. ‘I extend my personal condolences to those military families who’ve lost loved ones serving their country today and on behalf of the military, I extend our condolences to the wider community who’ve also suffered so tragically as a result of these attacks.’

  BOOK THREE

  THE SECOND AND THIRD WARNING ATTACKS

  CHAPTER 72

  THE SITUATION ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON DC

  A s the enormity of the attack on Sydney dawned, the mood in the Situation Room beneath the Oval Office was again tense as President Denver Harrison and his war cabinet watched the video released on al-Jazeera.

  ‘The loss of life in Sydney is to be regretted,’ Dr Kadeer said, ‘but of all the governments in the West, the Australian government is the most enthusiastic supporter of the United States war machine. This was just the first of three warning attacks. If the West does not change course and start to negotiate, more lives will be lost, on both sides.’ Kadeer’s face was expressionless.

  ‘Even by the West’s own figures,’ he continued, ‘over 3000 people, more than the total number killed in the Twin Towers on September 11, die every month as a result of your free-wheeling invasion of Iraq. The attack on Sydney is a small taste of what is to come if you don’t take the opportunity to redress this. Sit down and negotiate with Syria, with Iran, and with all of the Arab nations in the Middle East. Hold a summit and agree to a way forward. It looks complex but the fundamental principles are not difficult. The establishment of a viable Palestinian State should be the first principle the West must support. There will be a need for compromise on both sides with an exchange of Israeli land for the illegal settlements that continue to be built on Palestinian land with the support of you in the West, and there will need to be funding for the return of Palestinian refugees to the new State of Palestine. If you in the West genuinely get behind this, you will find that the ordinary Israelis and Palestinians crave peace and they will support it.’

  ‘Arrogant bastard,’ Vice President Bolton muttered.

  ‘The only way you will solve the horror you have created in Iraq is by political negotiation. Extra troops will not solve your problems and many more of them will be killed. Persian Shiite Iran doesn’t want a hotbed of terrorism on her borders, any more than Arab Sunni Syria does, but you won’t solve your problems without inviting both of these countries to the negotiating table. Finally, you must stop ignoring the murder and imprisonment of ordinary people in China and the thuggery and human rights abuses of the Chinese Communist Party. If you do not we will deliver two more warnings. When the opportunity presents itself we will attack you when the alpha rotates for the first time, then we will attack you when the alpha rotates for the second time. One of the most powerful prime numbers, through which we are all intimately connected, is the prime of 137. Verse 137 of the noble Qu’ran makes it very clear that we are all believers in what was given to Abraham, Moses, Jesus and all the prophets. When the alpha rotates for the second time the prime of 137 will be turned against you. For you, Western infidels, time is running out. If Allah the Most Kind, the Most Merciful directs it, then as Noah was commanded 6000 years ago, the final solution will be implemented where the single strand meets its double.’

  As the video faded to black, President Harrison’s face was set more stubbornly than ever. It was Vice President Bolton who broke the silence.

  ‘We can’t be seen to be negotiating at the whim of some two-bit terrorist, Mr President.’ With Curtis O’Connor in Sydney there was no one in the room to challenge the Vice President’s view.

  ‘I agree, Mr President,’ the Defense Secretary said, adding his weight to stay the course. ‘The President of Iran’s price for helping out in Iraq will be endorsement of their nuclear capability.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen on my watch,’ President Harrison agreed, turning to his press secretary. ‘No negotiation.’

  In the NSW State Crisis Centre, images of the death and devastation in Sydney were suddenly replaced by CNN’s anchor announcing a live broadcast from the White House Rose Garden. The image of President Harrison of the United States standing behind the White House podium took over the screen.

  ‘These latest attacks show that these terrorists, these fundamentalist Muslims, will stop at nothing. They hate decent, freedom-loving people like my good friends in Australia and other like-minded people, and they’re trying to break our will. They’re trying to destroy us and our civilisation and everything we stand for. Let me assure the Australians and my fellow Americans that we’re not going to stand by and let that happen. God is not going to stand by and let that happen. We’re winning in Iraq. We’re winning in Afghanistan and now is not the time to surrender. We’re winning this war on terror. The terrorists are being defeated on every front and we’re going to keep fighting until every one of them is brought to justice.’

  The President’s refusal to even consider changing a policy that was clearly not working left the most sycophantic of the journalists in the White House press corps shaking their heads.

  Curtis turned to Kate. ‘Doesn’t look as if Denver Harrison’s going to negotiate anytime soon,’ he said.

  ‘Neither will our Prime Minister,’ Kate replied. ‘One’s as stubborn as the other.’

  ‘Yet they must realise that Kadeer is deadly serious.’

  ‘He’s an unusual man, this Khalid Kadeer,’ Kate said quietly.

  ‘Highly intelligent and more moderate than people think. I suspect we could do worse than sit down and talk to him to see if we have any common ground,’ Curtis said.

  ‘I wonder if it will have any effect on the Chinese torturing their citizens?’ Kate mused. The preliminary attack on the Chinese Consulate in Camperdown had been all but forgotten by the media, but the significance of the target had not been lost on either Kate or Curtis.

  ‘Hard to tell but the Chinese can be just as stubborn as the West and I can’t see any movement on the human rights front. They execute you
over there at the drop of a hat, although,’ Curtis reflected, ‘if this starts to affect the success of the Games, the Chinese may shift ground. Nothing’s going to get in the way of them getting “the best Games ever” tag; it will be a matter of saving face. What do you make of the alpha and 137?’

  ‘Not sure about the next warning and the alpha rotating for the first time,’ Kate responded, ‘but the prime number 137 is an interesting one. The fine-structure constant of the universe is very close to 1 over 137.’

  Alpha, the universe’s fine-structure constant had been puzzling some of the finest minds in the world of physics for nearly a hundred years. It had been introduced in 1916 by the German physicist Arnold Sommerfield as a constant that characterised the strength of electromagnetic reaction. Several formulae had been developed, the simplest of which was: where ‘e’ was the charge on the electron, ‘c’ was the speed of light, h-bar was Planck’s constant and the epsilon represented the permittivity or effect of an electric field on free space.

  ‘Arguably the most important number in physics,’ Curtis agreed. ‘If it varied in the minutest amount life on this planet wouldn’t exist. I wonder if that’s what Kadeer is saying to us.’

  ‘That life will no longer be possible,’ Kate wondered, ‘or is it related to the number itself? If you rotate the alpha you get 137, and if we’re talking about an attack that is even more deadly and more explosive than what Kadeer’s just carried out in Sydney, he might be threatening a dirty bomb.’

  ‘The radioactive isotopes,’ Curtis offered, following Kate’s logic with intense interest.

  ‘Exactly. The isotopes having two elements with mass numbers of 137 are barium and caesium, and if either of those elements were rotated into their radioactive form Kadeer would have the ingredients for a dirty bomb,’ said Kate.