by Greg Iles
that had been forgotten by everyone in the room but him. "I propose
something quite different," he said solemnly. "I am offering you an
aircraft-deliverable nuclear weapon with a forty-kiloton yield,
completely assembled with fissionable core, ready for detonation."
in that moment the air in the conference room seemed to turn to water.
Although the Arabs knew their leader would not view the videotape for
many hours yet, they also knew that the words spoken by the old man in
the wheelchair were for him alone. Their presence had become
irrelevant.
Horn spoke softly to the humming camera. "I can offer you a weapon of
the implosion or the gun-assembly type, and, subject to certain
conditions, I can continue to provide these weapons at the rate of one
every forty days."
Major Karami's black eyes glittered as he fumbled for another cigarette.
At length Jalloud asked softly, "Are you serious, sir?"
Horn's single burning eye was answer enough.
Major Karami regained his composure first. "And what is the price of
this great gift?" he asked warily. "There are only so many billions of
diners in our treasury."
"Not a single piece of gold do I desire," Horn rasped.
"What then?" Jalloud asked, puzzled. "Oil?"
"My price, Herr Prime Minister, is control. I will provide you with a
single weapon. You will not stockpile it and wait for more weapons. You
will use it-and against a target specified by me." Horn raised a
spindly finger. "Only then will more weapons be provided."
"That's ridiculous!" Major Karami exploded. "Why not use it yourself.?
We have our own targets and we'll use our weapons as we see fit! Your
price is too high!"
"One moment, Ilyas," Jalloud cautioned. "What is your target of
preference, Herr Horn?"
"Thank you for asking," Horn said softly. "It so happens that the
target I want destroyed coincides with the one your leader has
unsuccessfully tried for years to destroy-the State of Israel. To be
exact, Tel Aviv."
Ilse let out a short gasp from her chair behind Horn.
"Tel Aviv!" Karami exclaimed, unbelieving. He turned to Jalloud.
"Does he speak the truth?"
"Do you?" the prime minister asked.
"Tel Aviv," Horn murmured. "I want the Jews wiped from the face of the
earth."
"As do we!" Jalloud retorted. "But what good is one weapon to us? If
we have to wait forty days for another, we will be annihilated.
The Zionists have two hundred nuclear bombs."
Horn smiled. "Yes, they do. But think for a moment. I assume you do
not want Palestine rendered permanently unin habitable. You merely wish
the Jews pushed into the sea, yes?
Tel Aviv is the first step on the road to reclaiming Jerusalem.
If skillfully managed, your attack could even be made to appear as an
Israeli nuclear accident."
Major Karami seemed to be debating with himself. "Herr Horn," he said
hesitantly, "Israel's air defenses are the toughest in the world.
Even with the best of luck, it would be difficult to guarantee that a
single plane carrying this warhead could get through to Tel Aviv. And
even if it did, we would have no chance to mask our responsibility for
the attack."
Horn saw that admitting this weakness had cost the Libyan major dearly.
"I appreciate your frankness," he said. "If you would prefer, I could
'arrange to deliver a slightly smaller, warhead-a thirty-kiloton
yield-that could be fitted with a timer and concealed inside a large
crate. It would not be nearly as compact as the American SADM-the
famous "suitcase bomb"-but it could fit easily inside a small truck."
Prime Minister Jalloud started to speak, but Major Karami restrained
him. "I believe we can do business," he said hoarsely, trying to
maintain some semblance of composure.
"Are there any other restrictions?"
"Time," Horn replied. "I want Tel Aviv destroyed within ten days."
Stunned, Major Karami sat back in his chair. Horn's words coursed
through his veins like a powerful narcotic.
After endless years of cowering beneath the Zionist nuclear threat,
Libya would finally possess the means to strike back!
Karami clenched and unclenched his fists in anticipation of wielding the
deadliest sword ever to fall into Muslim hands.
Theti he went still.
"How do we know that you actually have access to such weapons?"
he asked. He was almost afraid to hear the answer-afraid that his heady
dreams of, conquest would disappear like smoke from a tent fire.
Horn smiled. "Because I have one in the basement complex of this house,
ready for Dr. Sabri's inspection. If you gentlemen will follow me ..."
Gasps went up around the table. The Arabs began shaking each other's
hands and talking rapidly among themselves.
The interpreter did not even attempt to translate the effusive
congratulations that filled the room.
s
In the corner behind Horn, Ilse's face had gone slack. After Luhr's
drugs and the horror in the X-ray room, witnessing this nightmarish
conclave had pushed her over the edge of endurance. As the Libyans
filed out of the room behind Horn's motorized chair, she slid awkwardly
to the floor, tiny beads of cold sweat sparkling on her bloodless
forehead.
730 Pm. Burgerspark Hotel, Pretoria
In a small room on the fourth floor of the Burgerspark Hotel, Jonas
Stern reviewed his interception plan with his men.
Gadi Abrams lounged on one of the hotel beds. Professor Natterman sat
in a chair by the window, wearing a bulky bulletproof vest beneath his
tweed jacket. Stern himself sat on the bed opposite Gadi. Yosef Shamir
stood in the lobby four floors below, listening through a hand-held
radio.
"Thirty minutes until the rendezvous," Stern said.
"Where's Aaron?"
Just then they heard a key in the door. The young commando stepped in.
"The elevator control box is in the basement," he said.
"I can stop the elevator wherever you want it."
Stern nodded. "What about the radio?"
Aaron frowned and pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket.
"I could hear you, but there's static. And you were only on the fourth
floor. With eight floors between us, I'm not so sure."
"We'll check it when we get up there." Stern consulted a drawing he had
made on a piece of hotel stationery. "All right, here it is.
I've taken a second room on the eighth floor of this hotel. The closest
I could get to suite 81 I-the room 9 .
where Sergeant Apfel is registered-was 820. It's down the hall, past
the elevators, and around the corner. Gadi and I will be in that room.
Yosef will be watching the lobby.
Aaron will be in the basement. Professor Natterman will wait here."
Stern tugged at the flesh beneath his chin. "Before we intercept Hauer
and Apfel, I intend to let the kidnappers make contact in whatever way
they choose. I suspect that they will call suite 811
and instruct our German friends to meet them at a different place.
If they attempt to seize
or kill the Germans, however, we will
intervene.'5
Stern looked over into the corner. There, in a large open suitcase, lay
the fruits of onle of the telephone calls he had made from Natterman's
Wolfsburg cabin. A Jewish arms dealer of Stern's long acquaintance had
had the suitcase ready when Stern arrived at his Johannesburg home this
afternoon. In the suitcase lay five short-barrelled Uzi submachine
guns, four silenced .22 caliber pistols, two of five walkie-talkies,
silencers for the Uzis, and a small hoard of ammunition.
"Obviously," said Stern, "Professor Natterman must make our initial
contact with the Germans. Of the five of us, Captain Hauer knows only
him. Hauer is likely to shoot anyone else who exposes himself too soon.
Ideally, the professor will make the contact by telephone. When Yosef
sees the Germans enter the lobby, he will radio Gadi and me in room 820.
Gadi has already bugged suite 811, so we will be monitoring what
transpires after Hauer and Apfel get inside. After the kidnappers have
made their contact, we will call Professor Natterman here.
Professor, you will immediately call suite 811. If you reach Hauer or
Apfel, you will give the little speech we went over together."
Natterman nodded attentively.
"If you cannot reach them-because of a busy signal or anything else-we
will go to the backup plan. Gadi and I will observe the Germans as they
leave suite 811. If they take the stairs down, we will radio you here,
whereupon you will walk immediately to the stairwell and wait for them."
Stern smiled encouragingly. "You don't need to run, Professor.
The stairwell is less than twenty meters from this room.
Hauer and Apfel must cover four floors before they reach you.
Natterman nodded again.
"If they take the elevator down, however, it gets a bit more
complicated. In that case Gadi will radio Aaron in the basement, and
Aaron will stop the elevator.between floorshopefully between the fourth
and third. I will radio you"Stern pointed his finger at Natterman-"and
tell you to go to the elevator shaft. Yosef will be here with you. He
will have come up from the lobby, after making certain that Hauer and
Apfel are not being followed. He will pry open the elevator doors for
you, and you will speak to Hauer while he is trapped below you. He'll
probably be trying to get out through the roof anyway."
Natterman looked anxious. "The elevator scenario seems rather
complicated."
"It's the only way we can insure contact without frightening Hauer away
or getting killed ourselves."
"Why can't I just wait in the lobby for them?"
Stern sighed heavily. "Because we would then risk frightening the
kidnappers away. And the kidnappers, Professor, are the men I came to
South Africa to get."
Natterman looked glum. "Can your men do All they're supposed to?
The timing seems close."
Gadi Abrams grinned. "We are sayaret matkal, Professor," he said
proudly. "This is child's play for us."
Stern shot him a dark look. "Hauer will not be child's play, Gadi.
You boys have trained with GSG-9, so I shouldn't have to amplify that.
Captain Hauer is an extremely dangerous man. Don't underestimate
Sergeant Apfel either. He is under unimaginable pressure, and a man
like that is capable of anything."
Gadi nodded. "Yes, Uncle."
Stern glanced at his watch, "Let's move. Twenty minutes to the
rendezvous, and we still need to test the radio reception from the
basement."
As one, Stern, Gadi, and Aaron collected their weapons from the suitcase
and moved toward the door. "Good luck, Professor," Stern said, then
they went out.
As Stern moved toward the elevators, Gadi fell back beside him and
whispered, "I didn't want to alarm anybody, Uncle, but what happened to
our body armor?"
Stern grimaced. "Another buyer came along and offered more money."
"But why give the Professor the one vest we have? You should be wearing
it."
Stern shook his head. "Natterman may have to stand in the stairwell and
wait for Hauer and Apfel to come running down. There's a strong chance
Hauer kvill fire a reflex shot before he even recognizes the professor.
That's why he gets the vest."
In room 401, Professor Natterman sat with the walkietalkie clenched in
his hand. It was sticky hot inside the armored vest. He wanted to take
it off, but he reasoned that if Stern had given him the only vest they
had, he probably needed it. Setting the walkie-talkie on the table, he
stood and stretched. His joints ached terribly from all the una( tomed
exercise. He had been on his feet for less than a minute when the door
slid open.
Facing the professor stood a woman wearing an expensively cut red skirt,
a white blouse, and a red hat. She carried a Vuitton handbag in her
left hand. It took Natterman several moments to realize that she also
held a gun.
Swallow stepped inside the room and closed the door.
"I'vd come for the Spandau papers, Herr Professor," she said in a crisp,
low voice, her British accent unmistakable.
"Would you be so kind as to get them for me?"
"I ... I don't have them," Natterman stammered.
"Stern has them?" Swallow asked sharply.
Stunned by her knowledge, Natterman said, "Who are you?" ' Swallow's
lips drew back, exposing her small teeth in a fierce animal glare. "Does
Jonas Stern have the papers?"
With a fool's courage Professor Natterman grabbed for the walkie-talkie
on the table. Swallow destroyed it with a threeshot burst from her
silenced Ingrain machine pistol.
"Take off your clothes," she ordered. "Every stitch."
When Natterman hesitated, Swallow jerked the Ingrain in his direction.
"Do it! " While Natterman, pale and shaking, removed his clothes,
Swallow began searching the hotel -room.
CHAPTER THIRTY
7,40 P.N. Horn House: ThO Northern Transvaal Deep in the basement
complex of Horn House, Alfred Horn shepherded his Libyan guests through
a maze of stainless steel and glass and stone. Huge ventilator fans
thrummed constantly, forcing filtered air down from the surface one
hundred meters above. An intricate network of cooling ducts maintained
the silicon-friendly environment required by the formidable array of
computers purring against the walls; the brittle air also extended the
life of the manifold chemicals and weapons stored here. The Libyans
surveyed the labyrinth of tubing, hoods, and pipes in reverent silence.
Only young Dr. Sabri, the Soviet-educated physicist, found it hard to
suppress his enthusiasm as he toured the lab. Most of the visible
hardware had been produced by one or another of the various high-tech
subsidiaries of Phoenix AG, but the man who controlled them all was
about to reveal a product of very different pedigree. Horn gradually
led the Libyans toward the rear of the basement, where something
resembling a giant industrial refrigerator stood gleaming in the
fluorescent light. Stretching from floor to ceiling and wall to
wall,
the aluminum-coated lead chamber awaited the men like a futuristic
crypt. Three great doors without handles were set in its face.
"Pieter," Horn said softly.
The tall Afrikaner stepped over to an electronic console and flipped a
switch. An alarm buzzer sounded briefly; then, with a sucking sound,
the center door opened a fraction of an inch. A sickly orange-yellow
light dribbled out of the crack. Smuts slipped a hand inside and
pulled. When the door opened completely, the Libyan physicist gasped.
"Go ahead, Doctor," said Horn, "have a look."
Sabri looked shaken. "You don't store the weapon in halves?"
"It's quite safe," Horn assured him. "The core has been temporarily
removed. The weapon can be disassembled with the tools beside it. You
may verify the soundness of the design at your leisure."
Dr. Sabri stepped gingerly into the storage chamber and tiptoed around
the weapon. The blunt-nosed cylinder stood menacingly on its tail fins
like a blasphemous icon. Painted a gleaming black, the bomb bore a
single marking, emblazoned on one of its fins: a rising Phoenix.
The bird's head was turned in profile, its sharp, break screeching, its
single fierce eye wide, its talons enjulfed by red flames. Sabri's left
hand caressed the cool metal of the bomb chassis like a woman's thigh.
Horn watched the Libyans with thinly veiled curiosity. Prime Minister
Jalloud stood well back from the vault, his eyes on the physicist. His
interpreter did the same.
Major Karami stood rigid, his black eyes fixed unwaveringly on the
upended weapon. "Where is the core?" he asked hoarsely.
"The fissile material," Horn replied, "in this case plutonium 239-lies
in a lead vault below ourfeet."
"We must see it."
"I'm afraid you can't actually see it, Major, not without more
safeguards than are available in this room. But you can see its
effects." Horn waved his right hand.
Smuts pressed another button on the console. Instantly a section of the
metal floor to the left of the storage chamber whirred out of sight.
Beneath it lay a lead-lined vault conraining a wooden pallet stacked
with orange fifty-five-gallon drums.
"The plutonium is in those drums?" Jalloud asked, instinctively
stepping back from the gaping vault.
"They're lined with concrete," Horn explained. "We're perfectly safe.
