by Alex Lukeman
Dysart: On schedule. Minor problems.
Unidentified Sender: Resolve them.
Dysart: As you command.
"That's interesting," Elizabeth said. "Who commands Dysart?"
"Valkyrie," Stephanie said. "Parsifal. These guys are into Wagner, or some kind of operatic fantasy."
"I don't think it's a fantasy. It looks like Dysart's part of one op and running another."
Unidentified Sender: Council 9 tonite. Sec protocol 7.
Dysart: Yes.
Unidentified Sender: Prepare for transition.
Dysart: As you command.
The exchange terminated there.
"Transition? Transition to what? Director, I don't like this."
Elizabeth shook in a brief, involuntary movement that traveled from her head and shoulders to her feet. Her intuition had woken up.
"I think it's an assassination attempt. We have to find out who was on the other end of that email. It looks like there was a meeting last night. If it was a conference call we might be able to back trace."
"There's always a way," Stephanie said. "If it was a call and I can isolate it, we can find out who else was on the line. Do you think we're the 'minor problems' Dysart is talking about?"
Elizabeth was tight lipped. "Maybe."
Nick had called again, to tell her she was now under Rice's direct orders. So far there hadn't been any orders to follow. This was something outside of her experience. She'd have to let things play out while she pursued the slippery threads of conspiracy and hope they led somewhere.
"Time for Rice's speech," Stephanie said.
Elizabeth was tired. The seven and a half hour time difference from Jerusalem made for early viewing and it was after two in the morning. The team sat in front of the television and waited for Rice to begin. Ronnie and Selena had caught a couple of hours sleep, but Elizabeth and Stephanie hadn't been that lucky.
The camera panned across the Temple Mount, then switched to shots of the angry mobs below and the troops and police holding them at bay. It moved back to the stage and podium. President Rice was visible behind his shield of bodyguards, getting ready to speak.
"There's Nick!" Selena pointed at a tense figure in sunglasses and a gray suit standing in front of the stage, almost in front of the podium. The stage came up shoulder high behind him. The al-Aqsa Mosque loomed in the background of the shot, behind and to the right of the stage.
Ronnie said, "Son of a gun looks ready for trouble and he's tugging on his ear. I've seen that look before. He thinks things are about to go south."
"I hope you're wrong about that." Elizabeth pulled at her skirt. "I'm beginning to wonder if Rice knew what he was doing when he set this up."
"Sometimes things look different when it gets real. Anyway, it's set to go. Rice is ready to start."
Rice stepped up and the cameras zeroed in. He placed his hands on the sides of the podium. Behind him, the Prime Minister of Israel, the Secretary of State and the National Security Advisor sat stage center, bordered by their security guards.
Rice began with thanks to the Israeli Government and the Muslim Authority for the honor of speaking from a place sacred to three of the world's great religions. He spoke of the history and the conflict that had always surrounded the Mount and the city of Jerusalem.
A few minutes into the speech Selena said, "What's Nick doing?"
On screen, Nick took his phone from his pocket and placed it against his ear. His body tensed. He stepped over to a tall agent standing a few feet away and said something to him.
Later, when people went over the many tapes of the explosion, no one could quite agree on the exact sequence of events. It depended on the viewer's perspective and religion. But all agreed that things began when the man in the gray suit answered his cell phone in front of an estimated two hundred and fifty million viewers watching around the globe.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Calloway, there's a bomb."
Agent Calloway didn't ask where, or how. He moved fast, yelling into his microphone. He leapt onto the stage as agents began to converge on the President. Rice stopped mid sentence, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sudden flurry of frantic activity around him. Behind him, the Prime Minister rose from his chair, a look of confusion on his face. Ascher's personal bodyguard moved toward him.
Carter stood rooted to the spot, not sure what to do next. Two agents grabbed Rice by the arms, lifted him up off his feet and ran with him toward the end of the stage.
Rice and the Secret Service had reached the edge when the ground shook and rumbled. A geyser of yellow earth and rock and black smoke erupted with an ear-shattering roar and shot into the morning air. The stage rose upward, hurling chairs, people and debris in every direction. Nick was thrown backward into the group of guests sitting before the platform.
The seven-arched porch on the al-Aqsa mosque swayed and fell in on itself in a crazed jumble of moving stone. The walls of the Mosque rippled in kaleidoscopic motion like falling dominoes, collapsing backward from the façade to the dome, sinking into a gaping maw opening in the ground. Two of the ancient minarets leaned sideways and fell. Huge blocks of stone caromed off the Mount and down into the packed crowds.
In the Stables of Solomon, excavations for the el-Marwani Mosque had weakened the southeastern corner of the Mount. The explosion blew through the shoring erected to stabilize the area and the corner collapsed in an avalanche of dirt and stone. Tons of earth and rock cascaded onto the streets and buildings at the foot of the Mount.
The rumbling died away. A third minaret toppled in a grinding mass of stone. The huge stones tumbled together like giant dice, down onto the helpless, screaming crowd below.
Carter stumbled to his feet. Thick clouds of dust hung over the square. A broad, deep pit had opened over Solomon's Stables. The President, Calloway and the others were somewhere in that pit. Nick ran to the edge and peered over.
Rice lay half buried in dirt thirty feet down. One of his agents lay next to him, head twisted in an unnatural position. Calloway was nowhere in sight. Someone's arm extended from under a mound of rock. The edge of the Mount had disappeared and the fabled Stables were now open to the sky. Dirt and stone sloped down like a ramp to the President. Nick jumped into the pit and slid down, feet first.
He placed his hand on the President's neck and felt a strong pulse. There was a long gash on Rice's forehead. Rice's eyes fluttered. Nick began pulling rocks and dirt away from him, all the time looking around. Where were the others? Why was he the only one here with Rice?
He pulled the President free. Rice was coming to.
"Mr. President. Are you all right? Can you hear me?"
Rice opened his eyes. Suddenly they cleared.
"Carter. What happened?"
"A bomb. We'll get you out of here, sir."
Up above, on what was left of the surface, there were shouts and screams, cries, confusion, the beat of helicopter blades coming close. Someone pointed a camera over the edge of the pit. Another figure appeared. It was one of the Muslim honor guards. His beret was gone, his uniform torn and streaked with dust. His eyes were wild. Tears ran down his face. He had a gun in his hand. He was screaming.
"Allah hu Akbar! Allah hu Akbar!"
The last time Carter had heard that cry was in Afghanistan, right before his unit was almost overrun by two hundred Taliban. He'd never wanted to hear it again.
The man started shooting at them, sending chips of rock flying. Carter threw his body over Rice, drew his pistol and fired. The first two rounds took the shooter in the abdomen. He tumbled over the edge. Nick kept firing as he rolled down the slope. More faces appeared at the rim, this time, Israeli soldiers.
In a few minutes they were surrounded by a cordon of soldiers and enough firepower to hold off an average army. The soldiers got them out of the pit.
The square in front of the Mosque was strewn with fragments of stone, the remains of the stage and broken chairs. Dead and injured lay scattered across the bloody
carpets. The surface of the Temple Mount had collapsed all the way to the southeastern corner, fallen away into the open chambers of the Stables and the streets below.
The al-Aqsa Mosque was in ruins.
The roof was gone. The walls were broken down all the way back to the dome. The dome was reduced to a gray, shapeless mass on a heap of rubble and stone. One of the minarets still stood, but not for much longer. A thick cloud of yellow-white dust drifted lazily up from the ruins and across the Mount.
The sound of the crowds below spiraled up in a swelling chorus of grief and rage, the cry of a great, wounded beast. Carter thought of Yeats' poem of the Second Coming. His twelfth grade English teacher had forced him memorize it. He'd never forgotten.
And what rough beast,
it's hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
This was Jerusalem, not Bethlehem. But it was close enough.
An Israeli military helicopter settled hard onto the Mount. Soldiers fanned out around Nick and the President, weapons ready. Nick supported Rice under his arm. He was limping. They were hustled on board in a storm of dust and debris kicked up by the spinning blades. Calloway was nowhere in sight. Angry soldiers took up posts at the doors of the chopper.
Rice turned to the hard faced captain sitting next to him. He shouted to be heard above the sound of the big rotors as the chopper lifted away toward Mount Scopus and Hadassah Hospital.
"The Prime Minister?"
The soldier shook his head. "Dead."
"The others, the Secretary of State?"
The soldier shook his head. No one said anything the rest of the way in.
At Hadassah, a delegation of worried doctors waited on the helipad. Rice turned to Nick before he was whisked into the hospital.
"Carter. I want you with me when I fly out of here today. We're going back to Washington. Someone has started a war and I'm going to have to try and stop it. Get Harker. Get her on this. Tell her to find out who's behind it. This isn't a Muslim attack. Al-Qaeda and the others wouldn't go after me at the Mount or blow up al-Aqsa."
"Yes, sir."
Rice turned to the Israeli Captain. "Captain I want this man protected like you would protect me. Coordinate our return to Air Force One immediately with your superiors. I can't say it's been a pleasure meeting you, but thank you. You must come visit me in America when this has passed."
It was typical of Rice. Someone had tried to kill him and he was taking time to acknowledge a soldier who had just been doing his duty.
The Israeli saluted. "Yes, Mr. President. Thank you, sir."
Nick followed the President inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The team watched the explosion in disbelief.
"Oh, my God!" Selena put her hand to her mouth.
They watched the stage lift, the people flying into the air. They watched the Mosque collapse in a deep rumble of falling stone. The camera shook and swayed. The sound of the detonation died away. Screams came from the television speakers.
"Holy shit!" Ronnie said. "The President! And the Mosque! It's gone!"
Elizabeth put her hand out, gripped Stephanie's shoulder. "There's Nick!"
On screen, the camera steadied. They watched Nick scramble to his feet and run to the edge of the pit. He disappeared into the hole. Fragmented, shaky images of the destruction filled the screen as the cameraman ran forward. The picture steadied. The camera looked over the edge of the pit.
Nick was helping the President sit up. The camera zoomed in on their faces. Rice was bleeding from a wound on his forehead. Nick's sunglasses were gone and his suit was torn and dirty. The camera swung toward a man in the uniform of the Muslim honor guard. He was standing on the edge of the pit and brandishing a pistol.
He was screaming, distraught. He began firing into the pit. The camera moved again and the team watched Nick cover the President with his body, draw and fire. His face was closed and angry. He kept firing while the shooter rolled down into the hole. The camera followed him down. They watched the slide lock back on Nick's .45.
"The whole magazine," Ronnie said. "He gave him the whole magazine."
The camera swung round to a jittery shot of running Israeli soldiers. The screen went black. A few seconds later a studio shot with a famous anchor appeared. The live feed from Jerusalem was down. Ronnie went to the set and turned off the sound.
They looked at each other. No one knew what to say.
Stephanie took a deep breath. "What shall we do, Director?"
"This will start a war. We've got to get evidence to take Dysart down. So far we've got nothing. For all we know Valkyrie and Parsifal are part of a school play for his teen age daughter."
"Sure they are," said Ronnie. "That bastard is in this all the way. Can he find out where we are?"
"I don't know. We'll stand watch. Four hour shifts in front of the monitors. Ronnie, you and Selena take the first one. You got a little sleep earlier. Steph and I are beat. We're too tired to do much good. Wake us in four and Steph and I will get back on the computers."
In her room, Elizabeth stripped off her crumpled clothes and headed for the shower. She stood for a long time with the hot water streaming down the front of her body. It washed away some of the stress and tiredness of the day, but she was exhausted. She turned around and let the water soak her hair and back, feeling some of the tightness go out of her shoulders.
She dried off and pulled an old shirt and pair of jeans from the closet. She dressed and lay down on the bed. She was drifting off when the phone signaled. It was Nick.
"Director. You know about the bomb?"
"We watched it live. Good work with the President."
"They broadcast it all?"
"Yes. You've got your fifteen minutes of fame."
"Director, Rice wants you to find out who did this. He told me to 'get her on it'. I'm flying back with him today."
"We're already doing that. Tell the President he'll be first to know if I find something to nail Dysart or anyone else."
"What happens when I get to Washington?"
"That's up to Rice. Assume you'll be watched. Use the email protocol or the sat link to keep me up to speed."
"Roger that, Director."
"Good luck, Nick." But he was already gone.
Elizabeth set the phone down on the nightstand and lay back on the bed. Her eyes closed and she slept.
She dreamed she was being buried alive and woke gasping for breath.
***
The Grand Master watched a rerun of the explosion for the fourth time. For the fourth time he smiled as the Mosque crumbled into ruin. But then came the part where the President was rescued by that woman's operative. It was irritating. Now he'd have to find another way to get rid of Rice. Harker and her agents were proving to be an obstacle that needed to be eliminated.
Perhaps he could turn things to an advantage. Rice would have to be killed here in America. It could add fuel to the fire he had started. Proof could be found of Iranian involvement.
Yes, that would fit nicely. He knew just the person for the job. Nothing would stop PARSIFAL.
Nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The rhythmic tramp of Nick's military escort echoed on the tiled floors of the hospital ward. The ward supervisor looked up from her station by the elevators. She was stout and dark haired. She reminded Nick of his old drill instructor at Pendleton.
"Could you tell me where Rivka Stern is?"
The nurse was pretty in a hard way, around thirty, which meant she'd done her time in the army. She gave the soldiers a once-over and studied the tall American. She ignored the weapons. Everyone in Israel saw weapons all the time. It was part of daily life, along with the random, lethal explosions marking the reality of terror. By contrast, the drive-by violence of America's inner cities looked almost peaceful.
"She's in 1438, down the hall on the right. Please have your escort wait outside the room."
"
Yes, Ma'am," Nick said. "Thank you."
Ari Herzog was there. He put his phone away, ready to leave. Rivka sat propped up in bed in a blue hospital robe, her left arm strapped across her chest. She sipped something red from a clear plastic glass held in her good hand. There were dark circles under her eyes. An IV was taped to her good arm.
Ari looked haggard and tense.
"Your call saved the President, Ari."
"No, Nick, you saved him. I only gave the warning. Anyway, he's safe. But Ascher is dead. In hours Israel will be at war."
"It can't be stopped?"
"No. I just got a call. A Jewish group has claimed credit for the bombing. They've been a problem for years, calling for the demolition of the Dome of the Rock and construction of a new Temple on the Mount. They released an announcement to all the major networks, starting with Al-Jazeera."
"Is it authentic?"
"Maybe. I don't know, yet. We've already detained the leaders of the group. They deny any knowledge or participation. Even if the announcement is a phony, the damage is done. The entire Muslim world now believes a group of fanatical right-wing Jews desecrated one of the holiest sites in Islam. We're on full alert. The reserves are being called up as we speak."
"That's bad news."
"A masterpiece of understatement."
"I'm leaving with the President," Nick said. He thought for a moment. This man was a friend. "How can I help?"
"Keep an open channel for me. I'd like to know what's going on. I don't expect you to betray confidences, but…"
"I'll do what I can."
"Good enough." Ari took out a card, scribbled on it. "This number will reach me any time of the day or night." Nick took it.
Ari bent over Rivka. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek.
"Shalom. Get well."
The door closed behind him.
"How are you?"
"Messed up. I'll be in rehab for a few months."
"Rivka, I'm sorry."
"For what, Nick? You know better. I should have been more careful."
