by Alex Lukeman
"How do you like the limelight, Nick? You don't mind if I call you Nick, do you?"
"Of course not, sir. I don't like cameras much, to tell the truth. Don't you get tired of it?"
"It goes with the territory. Don't be surprised if someone wants you to run for Congress. You've got name recognition, now."
"I'd make a lousy politician, Mr. President."
He laughed. "Yes, you would. You're too willing to say what's on your mind. Even when you don't, your face gives you away. Don't get into any poker games, Nick."
Rice turned serious. "I was sorry to hear about Director Harker. How would you feel about taking over for her?"
It took a moment to absorb that. "Sir, I'm no administrator. And as you pointed out, I wouldn't make a very good politician. A lot of what she does is political. I'd screw it up."
Rice picked up a letter opener, set it down. "What is your evaluation of Harker's deputy?"
"She's very competent. She's fully capable of running things and she knows everything that's going on. She and the Director have been an excellent team. We're all comfortable with her in charge."
"Hmmm. Then for now we'll leave things as they are."
Nick briefed him on Greenwood. He relayed Steph's question about how to handle the implications of Dysart's emails to the conspirators. He could see Rice thinking about what he was going to say next.
"This situation will tear the country apart if it becomes public. It was bad enough about Dysart, but the rest of it…" His voice trailed off. His eyes had a glint in them. Nick had seen it before, in the eyes of men getting ready to go into combat, an inward look of calculation, determination and something else.
"When I think of what this country has given these men," Rice said, "the honor and position—to have them throw it in our faces because of some rabid Nazi philosophy of hatred makes me want to puke. You have to get me proof, Carter. Proof. I can't move against them without it."
"Yes, sir."
Rice stood up and Nick rose. The President walked over to the windows and looked out into the Rose Garden. He had his hands clasped behind his back. The knuckles were white and his voice was tight, controlled.
"I thought I'd have an eight year run here. Time enough to do some good, get the country back on track, wind down the war. If this becomes public, I'm finished. My VP is a Nazi. No one can spin that away."
Rice was speaking to the window. Nick couldn't see his face.
As if it were an afterthought, he said, "If General Dysart had been taken alive and tried, it would have been a bad day for our country."
"Yes, sir, it would have been." The message was clear. The President didn't want these men to come to trial. But he hadn't said the words out loud.
"Meanwhile, I still don't have what I need to show it wasn't a Jewish group that bombed the Mosque."
Rice turned back to face him. "I must have something, or I will not be able to stop what is happening over there. It may be too late, anyway, but I've got to try. I've spoken with the Presidents of China and Russia. They're willing to work with me to try and broker a solution, but without a clear trail of evidence showing the Israelis weren't behind it, there's not much any of us can do that will make a difference. This bomb has ignited hatreds that have festered for a thousand years."
"I understand, sir. I'll do my best."
Rice reached across the desk and shook his hand. "I know you will. I'm counting on it."
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
The dreary façade of the Jaffa Road Royal Arms in Tel Aviv would never find its way into the tourist brochures. A large, faded sign in Hebrew and English on the front of the building advertised "Furnished Rooms/Apartments To Let".
Ari wondered how he'd let himself be persuaded by Nick's phone call to mount this operation. He was beginning to think it was a good thing he had. Earlier his agents had checked out the building. A conversation with the manager and a look at the tenant list and Ari called in his teams.
The entire block was due to be leveled as part of a comprehensive program of urban renewal. Rents were cheap. All of the units except one in the Jaffa Arms were occupied by pensioners and older people down on their luck. Most had lived here for years. The one exception was a one bedroom unit rented only two months before by a middle-aged tourist couple from America. In this building, that rental stood out like a neon sign. The manager hadn't seen the tenants for a week. He did remember that several packages had arrived by private courier ten days before.
The street was sealed off. Anyone looking would see only the road barriers and work crews common when the utility company was digging something up.
Ari followed his six man team up the stairs. Outside the building, men watched the fire exits and escapes. The elevator was out of commission. The only way out from the upper floors was down these stairs he was now climbing.
The hall corridor on the fourth floor smelled of stale cabbage and cigarette smoke. Flickering fluorescent lights did nothing for the scuffed linoleum on the floor. Cracked and peeling yellow paint covered the ceiling and walls. The door to 416 was painted dull green. Ari put his ear against the wood. There was no sound from inside the apartment.
The lead man inserted a key the manager had given them. The key would not turn. The lock was shiny and looked new. Perhaps the tenants replaced it, Ari thought. Perhaps there was something in there they didn't want anyone to see.
One of the men held a ram ready. Ari nodded and the ram slammed into the door, splintering the lock and frame. The men boiled into the apartment, guns ready, and spread into the rooms, calling out.
"Clear."
"Clear."
The apartment was empty. The curtains were drawn. Ari pulled them back in a cloud of dust to let in some light.
A large, shiny metal case with reinforced corners and a black plastic carrying handle sat on a chipped brown table in the kitchen. Ari bent close and listened. He could hear nothing. He was tempted to open the case but he knew better. Maybe it was a travel case. Maybe not.
"Call the bomb squad. Clear the building and get out of here."
Three hours later, he gave Nick a call.
"Shalom, Nick."
"Shalom, Ari. What did you find?"
"Your line is secure?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"My friend, please do not hesitate to call me again if you have one of your dreams."
"Come on, Ari, what did you find?"
"A nuclear warhead rigged to an electronic timer and set to detonate on the coming Sabbath."
Nick couldn't think of what to say. Ari continued.
"The warhead is of Russian manufacture. The container and detonator materials are Iranian. There's quite a debate going on right now about that. There's a lot of pressure on the acting prime minister. You can imagine what the hardliners want to do about this."
Nick found his voice. "Nuke Iran back into the stone age?"
"Exactly. There is going to be real trouble no matter what. If that warhead had gone off, a large part of Israel would have been gone in a mushroom cloud. We are a small country, Nick. With the fallout and aftermath one nuclear explosion could wipe us out."
"What if it's not Iran? What if it's these Nazis we're after? They want Israel destroyed. This could be misdirection, like the Mosque explosion. Hell, the whole world would get involved if nukes go off in the Middle East. Pakistan has the bomb. We'd never get the genie back in the bottle."
"It's not my call, Nick. All I can do is keep feeding information to the powers that be. What is happening on your end?"
"We have a suspicion about who's at the head of this organization but we don't have proof yet. We've mounted an operation to find out. Rice is behind us, all the way. I have to tell him what you've found."
"Mmm. What do you think your President will do?"
"I don't know, but I trust him. He doesn't want this to escalate. He's got Russia and China backing him up."
"You didn't get this information from me."
&nb
sp; "Of course not. But this isn't a time to keep secrets, is it?"
"No. There's too much at stake. Too many mistakes get made because governments keep secrets. Soldiers know that, I've never understood why politicians don't. Let's not give them the option."
"You're a good friend, Ari."
"I do this for Israel, Nick. But I would be pleased to see you again when this is over. In friendship."
Ari ended the call and thought about the conversation. Some might condemn him for passing information to the Americans. It might ruin him if it came out, but Ari knew he had not betrayed his country. Politics and country were not the same thing.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Lamont and Selena parked down the street from Greenwood's house. The street was wide, pleasant and shady. The houses in the development were in the two million dollar plus range. Landscaped lots of ten acres, with mature trees and plenty of privacy. The American Dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
A long blacktop drive led to Greenwood's house. It circled under a covered entryway in front of the house and around a large Italianesque fountain before it rejoined itself. The fountain featured four smiling cherubim relieving themselves. They sat in the van, watching. A bird sang somewhere. The engine made a ticking noise.
Selena said, "In the blue BMW, reading the paper. He hasn't turned a page since we got here."
"Yeah, I see him. There's another pretending to walk his dog, over there." Lamont lowered his binoculars. He pointed at a man some distance away leading a muzzled German shepherd on a tight leash.
"I guess we've got our proof."
"Proof enough for us. Not enough to bring him down. Plan B, we don't go in. Ready?"
Selena nodded. Lamont started the van and drove to Greenwood's driveway and up to the front of the house. He parked and they got out. Lamont walked up to the front door and rang the bell, just as any telephone repairman might do. They waited. No one came to the door. Selena kept her hand on the Glock concealed under her shirt.
Lamont opened the back of the truck. He buckled on a tool belt. He went around to the side of the house where the phone box was located. Selena followed a few steps behind. There was no one in sight.
Lamont opened the box. He took his time pretending to check the connections. He installed the bug, tightened everything up and closed the box. He didn't think the bug was going to be there for long. They got back in the van and drove away. Now they'd wait to see what would happen.
Across town, Senator Greenwood set his phone down. He looked out the window of his office on the Hill. Things were not going according to plan. He was annoyed. More than annoyed, he was angry. Why hadn't those meddlers gone inside? If they had, they would not have come out again.
The Visitor had failed. Always, his assignments had ceased to exist, ceased to create problems. Now he was dead. At least that damned woman was out of the picture. Greenwood hoped she suffered. He hoped she died.
He took a deep breath and calmed himself. There was no point in over-reacting. The meeting was still set for tonight. The last element would soon be in place. It had been botched yesterday, but that final detail would be taken care of today.
Tomorrow would bring the dawn of the Fourth Reich. Of course, it wouldn't be called that. This wasn't 1933. There wouldn't be parades of jackbooted soldiers or gigantic squares filled with troops. Modern times demanded modern techniques. The appearance of democracy was everything. By the time America realized what had happened, it would be too late.
The bomb would detonate in Israel. Rice's assassination would create panic. In the confusion, no one would see what was happening. Earlston would step into the Presidency and let Israel and the Muslim states destroy one another. He would intervene only to protect the oil in the region. The war drums would beat against Iran. When the dust settled, the Jewish state would be only a bad memory. Control of the resources of the Middle East would rest in the hands of the Council. His hands. The New Leader.
It was all coming together, just as he'd planned.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Selena stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hotel corridor toward her rooms. The team was meeting at seven. She wanted to shower and change clothes. It was going to be a long evening.
A uniformed waiter rolling a large food cart draped with white linen came down the corridor. Selena noticed that the sleeves of his uniform jacket seemed too short for him. Trays of food under glass domed covers filled the top of the cart.
Selena was hungry. She decided she had time to order room service before meeting the others. Breakfast hadn't been much more than coffee and a few bites of toast. She'd had nothing to eat since, except a power bar in the van.
She paused in front of her door and took her key from her purse.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am," the waiter said.
Selena inserted her key. Something stung her neck and everything went black.
Then she was awake.
The first thing she felt was pain. Pain in her arms and hands and shoulders. Something cut into her wrists and ankles. She opened her eyes. She could see nothing. Wherever she was, it was pitch black. A hard, rough surface scraped against her skin.
She was naked.
She hung from something. Her arms stretched above her, her legs buckled under. She straightened her legs and the strain eased in her arms.
She remembered the waiter in the hotel corridor. She remembered inserting the key in her door. Then a brief pain, like a bee sting. Then nothing.
A wave of primal fear rocked her. Her mind cleared, as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in her face. She waited for her heart to stop pounding. She closed her eyes and drew upon her training in martial arts, remembered her teacher's words.
Fear does not exist, except in the mind. There is only being, only chi. All else is illusion. Meditate on this. Believe. Then you will be invincible.
She began the meditation to gain control of emotion. To focus the mind and gather power, the warrior's way. Her breathing settled to a steady, slow rhythm.
Selena opened her eyes. She could see nothing, but the meditation had created a heightened state of awareness. She could feel the space around her. It was large, she could tell that. The wall behind was of stone. The floor under her bare feet was cold and smooth. Polished granite or marble, or tile.
She was cool, but not cold. It was very quiet, with a sense of weight all around. There was a whisper of ventilation, a mere breath of air moving against her body. She thought the room must be underground. That would explain the complete silence, the feeling of containment. Her eyes were adjusted to the darkness but there was still nothing to see, except the suggestion of a faint, reddish glow across the way. It could be her imagination.
She was clamped by metal cuffs to the wall. Tight enough to prevent any slippage, any Houdini-like escape.
What time was it? She had no way of knowing. She was due to meet the others. When she failed to show up they would know something was wrong. Was it seven yet? How long had she been out? Was it the same day? Did they know she was missing? How would they find her?
She thought it was the same day. Probably no more than a few hours since she'd been taken.
Light erupted in the room, blinding her. When the flare subsided behind her eyes and she could see, she felt the fear trying to return.
The light came from gas torches set in brackets of black iron. She was in a large, windowless chamber of stone. Shadows from the flames danced around the room. A pattern was inlaid in green marble on the polished granite floor. Selena recognized it.
The Black Sun.
Die Schwarze Sonne. The dark opposite of light. She'd seen a floor just like this one in Germany, in the Generals' Hall of Himmler's Westphalia castle.
In the center of the circle was a vertical wooden pole. Two iron rings were set into the pole, one high and one low. The top of the pole was crowned with a replica of the Black Sun fashioned of gold. Near the pole was a low table. A silver cup studded with emeralds res
ted upon it. There was a polished wooden box next to the cup, carved with the lightning bolt runes of the SS.
There was a picture of her tacked to the pole.
The circle of the Black Sun was ringed by twelve chairs of wood and flat leather. A thirteenth chair was made of polished wood, larger and more ornate than the others. The chair was carved with runes and swastikas in a design of leaves and branches. Runes were branded into the leather of the other chairs.
Power. Victory. Life. Death.
Repeated, again and again. On one side of the carved chair stood a large Nazi flag. On the other, a flag in black and silver. Words were inlaid in black marble on the wall behind the chair, outlined with gold.
Meine Ehre heist Treue
My Loyalty is True. The SS motto.
Off to the side was a heavy, arch-topped wooden door. The door opened, and Gordon Greenwood entered the room. He was dressed in black under a monk-like robe of white, the cowl thrown back onto his shoulders. The robe was tied across the front with a black cord. The black sun was embroidered over his left breast. A wide black band embroidered with silver runes circled his left sleeve. Beyond the door a flight of stone steps led upward.
Greenwood came over to her.
"Awake? Good, we want you alert."
Selena was angry. "You've made a big mistake, you Nazi cretin."
Greenwood laughed. "Oh, no, I don't think so, Doctor Connor. You're the one who made the mistake. You should never have meddled in things that didn't concern you. But it all works out well in the end."
She heard steps on the stairs. Others began filing into the room. They were dressed like Greenwood in white robes with the black sun on the left breast. Only Greenwood bore the band around his sleeve. Selena recognized Smothers and Earlston. She was shocked to see a man she'd watched countless times anchoring the evening news.
The last one to enter the room was a blond man in his mid twenties. He examined her as if she were an interesting but loathsome bug.
