“That ought to get things cooking,” he laughed as he turned back and helped Charlie drag the hose across the roof to the fire stairs. He then went to the edge of the roof and waved to Wilson and the SWAT Team. Charlie opened the valve and the water pressure suddenly rose. “Holy Shit!” he shouted, as he held onto the bucking fire hose for dear life. “Eddie! Fer Chris' sake! Gimme a hand here.”
Barnett looked back and smiled, watching the overweight agent struggle for a moment before he stepped over, grabbed the hose, and helped Charlie bring the twisting snake under control. Together, they dragged it to the enclosed fire stairwell. Both the door and the surrounding frame were metal-clad. It had three steel hinges, a hasp, and a padlock set above the doorknob holding it shut. Barnett made a quick appraisal of the hinges and the hasp, picked up the heavy fire axe, and gave it a powerful swing. He landed the blade dead center on the hasp. It split in two, leaving the lock attached to the frame and the hasp to the door.
He and Charlie pulled on their smoke masks and Barnett opened the stairwell door. They started down the narrow flights, running as fast as they could, their boots thumping and banging on the stair treads. Charlie led, dragging the hose, and Barnett stayed close behind, helping with the hose and carrying the cardboard box.
“Fire Department!” Barnett screamed as he pounded on the walls. “Gangway!”
When they reached the third floor landing, Charlie opened the corridor door and screamed, “Fire Department! There’s a fire on the second floor and everybody’s got to get out. Now!” he added. “We're evacuating the whole building.”
To create further mayhem and confusion, Wisniewski opened the big hose full blast and attacked the hallway and room doors, while Barnett quickly checked the side rooms, one door after another, but he found nothing — no young, bearded terrorists, no bomb factories, no cache of automatic rifles, and no Ibrahim Al-Bari. There was nothing to be seen except thick clouds of smoke billowing from the air vents. By ones and twos, angry Muslim women in burqas and older Muslim men with gray beards began to fill the hallway. Barnett quickly studied their faces, but they were not the one he and Charlie were looking for.
“Fire! The building's on fire! Everybody out. Let's go, move it!” he screamed, more concerned about getting him and Charlie out in one piece than continuing on this futile search. However, whether it was the choking smoke, their fire helmets and heavy coats, or the apparent possibility of being broiled inside the building, most of the crowd did what they were told. When the mouthy ones chose to stop and argue, Charlie turned the hose on them and let the cold water herd them down the stairs.
“You see our guy yet?” Charlie asked as they hurried down the next flight of stairs, driving the angry crowd ahead of them.
“Nah, a dry hole. Wherever the bastard is, it isn't here.”
Floor by floor, they repeated the same show as they worked their way down to the lobby. When they finally reached the first floor, they were greeted by more smoke and an angry, milling crowd. Outside, a dozen police cars and two fire trucks now lined the street. The crowd inside did not want to go out, and a line of several dozen uniformed Jersey City cops and State Police held back a jeering horde across the street who wanted to get in. Through the mosque’s tall, glass front doors, the crowd inside saw they were trapped. They saw what was happening outside, backed away from the doors, and started to turn on Barnett and Wisniewski.
“This is a damned po-lice trick,” one of the Muslims in the crowd shouted.
“Yeah! There ain't no fire in here,” one of the women called out as the crowd of nearly two dozen focused their anger on the two men in the Fire Department emergency gear.
“Buncha jive ass turkeys!” another angry man agreed.
Charlie did not wait to hear the rest. He opened the valve on the big hose full blast and blew the first speaker out the front door. One of the women started for Barnett, while another man reached under his dashiki. Charlie did not wait to find out what the guy was reaching for. He knocked him down with a blast of water and then turned the hose on the other two, sweeping them all out the door where they landed on top of the first man. As Barnett continued to check the remaining rooms, Charlie used the hose to pin down the rest of the crowd as the SWAT Team burst through the front doors and tried to round up the rest, but they were already scattering out the front, back, and any door they could find.
By this time, it was pandemonium inside and outside on the street, so Charlie turned off the hose. “I think I’ve enjoyed as much of this as I can stand, Podnah,” he said as he dropped the hose and Barnett followed him outside, where they joined the Fire Chief as a line of uniformed cops struggled to hold back an angry and growing crowd.
The Fire Chief glared at the two FBI agents and asked, “Whose dumb idea was this?”
“Not us, Chief, we had a lot of help,” Eddie Barnett motioned across the street to where the Mayor and Police Chief stood.
“Kinda figured Hamilton and Wilson would be involved,” the Chief spat on the steps. “All I know is it takes a full measure of stupid to screw somethin’ up this bad!”
“Yeah, but you better get some of your men inside the building and make it look like we really are fighting a fire. If you don’t, we really will have a riot.”
The Chief shook his head and pointed at the box Barnett still carried. “Got any more of them smoke grenades?”
“Good idea,” Barnett smiled as the three men walked back inside and Barnett popped off two more smoke grenades, one in the service stairs and one in the air return. As the smoke began to roll out the front door, he and Charlie went back outside, dropped their fire hats and coats on one of the fire trucks, and walked around the corner. The SWAT Team had a dozen Muslim men lined up against the building’s sidewall. Under their guns, Chief Wilson and Mayor Hamilton were walking from man to man, checking their faces against a stack of wanted pictures, and comparing notes. Ignoring the short ones, the fat ones, and the ones with beards more than a week old, Wilson pulled two men dressed in dashikis and skullcaps out of line. They glared at him and at Barnett, their faces etched with hatred.
“Well? Wuddaya think, Barnett?” Hamilton asked. “One of them your guy?”
Barnett stepped closer, looked deep into their dark, angry eyes, and shook his head. “No.”
“Oh, come on, work with me here,” the Mayor pleaded. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said as he looked into the eyes again. “You can let ‘em go.”
“Let 'em go?” Wilson almost exploded. “Our boys went to a lot of effort to give you some ‘interagency cooperation’ here. You want, we can haul 'em all in? Sweat 'em a little?”
“For what? Impersonating a bad ass? You’ve got nothing here, Chief. Neither do we,” he said as he and Charlie walked away and headed for their car.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tel Aviv, Wednesday, October 17, 3:52 p.m.
“Mr. President, with all respect, these proposals of yours are quite impossible. We have rejected them before, we reject them now, and we shall always reject them,” the Israeli Prime Minister declared angrily.
“I understand your concerns, but you haven’t heard the details yet, Mr. Prime Minister,” Wagner said as he realized this was going to be a very long day. “You also know that I wouldn’t come here to simply rehash old ideas.”
“Sir, I am afraid you have no understanding of the ancient or modern history of this complex region if you seriously believe we could accept this.”
“And I am afraid that you have no understanding of the current state of affairs of the larger region around you, if you think that a settlement of these issues can be delayed much longer,” Wagner responded as he looked sharply at the Prime Minister and his Defense and Foreign Ministers. “Time is not on your side.”
The Foreign Minister spoke up in a clear, calm voice. “It is our position that the issues you speak of are in the process of being resolved by negotiations between us and our neighbors.”
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sp; Wagner waved his hand. “What you have is a stalemate. That is not negotiations or a solution. There has been no progress on solutions, and you know there will not be any.”
“If you say so, Mr. President,” the Prime Minister laughed. “There have been many agreements and resolutions over the years, but we have not violated any of them; they did.”
“I don’t deny that,” Wagner replied, lowering his voice. “But this is no longer a neighborhood street fight. You know as well as we do that you already have complete military supremacy in the region, but you have no defense against terrorism. Worse still, with the Arab nationalist uprisings that are happening all across the region, the moderate and conservative Arab governments are terrified that they will be next. If we do not bring about a comprehensive settlement, they know they will be overthrown. If that happens, we will be kicked out of the region, the radicals will be in control of those countries, and you will be surrounded by a solid block of pro-Iranian governments, backed by Iranian nuclear weapons. Time is running out, and they are pleading with you to join with them in a solution that might just save us all.”
“Why should we believe what the Saudis say?” the Prime Minister asked quietly.
“Look around,” Wagner replied in exasperation. “Look at what has been going on since Iraq and Afghanistan.” He looked at each of them, then directly into the eyes of the Prime Minister. “Where will you be in five years? In two? You can win another war, but how many after that? The balance of power is shifting beneath both of us, whether we like it or not; and the supreme irony is that just at the time Israel has its greatest tactical strength, it faces its greatest strategic weakness.”
The Prime Minister had a polite but strained smile as he replied, “Your points are well made, Sir; but all you offer is a handful of promises from our sworn enemies. This nation long ago adopted the policy that we can rely on no one but ourselves to defend ourselves.”
“That is a very admirable position for any nation to take,” Wagner conceded, “so long as it is feasible. Today you have the strength and the courage to make it work. I am asking you to act out of that strength and take a chance that really entails little risk. Tactically your defense sits in the turrets of your tanks and in the cockpits of your jet fighters. But strategically, I am offering you the only kind of security that has any permanence at all — to be at real peace with most of your neighbors.”
The strain was showing on the face of the Prime Minister. “Would that it could be so, Mr. President. Would that it could be so, even with most, if not all. However, all you are offering us is pieces of paper,” the Foreign Minister said. “What guarantees do we have that they will mean anything?”
“The same guarantees you’ve always had,” Wagner replied. “None.”
“Turning the other cheek may be part of your religious heritage,” the Defense Minister stated emphatically, “but it isn’t part of ours. You ask too much.”
“We are prepared to offer you substantial new military capabilities that will more than offset the dangers you fear. Initially we’ll deliver thirty new F-22 Raptor fighters within sixty days of your complete acceptance of the proposals. Then, we’ll deliver fifteen F-35 Lightnings each year for the next four years. That is ninety of the very best planes in the air. We desperately need them ourselves, but we’ll give them to you.”
“Give?” the Defense Minister asked incredulously.
Wagner smiled. “Yes, paid for by the Saudis,” he said, enjoying their uneasiness. “You asked me what assurances there were that the pieces of paper mean anything — well, you have your answer. They’re handing you a gun that’s pointed at their own heads. The United States will also provide you with forty of the latest model Abrams tanks over the next five years. Those, you’ll have to pay for, but on some very reasonable terms — we aren’t as generous as the Saudis.”
The room was silent for several long minutes as they stared at each other. “You really got the Arabs to agree to all of this?” the Foreign Minister questioned.
“Yes.” Wagner bent down to pull a thick folder out of his briefcase. He handed it across the table. “It wasn’t easy, so look them over carefully. It has complete reciprocal recognition, full treaties, and the rest of the details we discussed.”
“This all sounds very attractive, Mr. President,” the Prime Minister said as he coughed to clear his throat and think of a reply. “But this must go to the Cabinet, and frankly, I am not at all optimistic that there will be much support for it. The West Bank and Jerusalem — that is an impossible task. They are not for sale at any price.”
Wagner nodded solemnly. His face was drawn and he went on very slowly, emphasizing each word. “You are a sovereign nation. It is your choice to accept or reject. All I can do is lay the proposals before you and try to explain them. I will put no pressure on you here or through the American Jewish community at home, or through your supporters in Congress. It is your decision. I’ll go no further in trying to convince you that I’m right.”
“That’s a very constructive attitude, I must say.” The Foreign Minister smiled in relief, thinking they were off a very delicate hook.
“I am not finished,” Wagner snapped as his eyes narrowed. “It’s your decision, but it carries consequences. Today is the seventeenth. Take a day to think it over and review it with your cabinet, but we must have a definite yes or no answer by the eighteenth at 6:00 p.m., our time. My Secretary of State will stay here for any further discussions you think appropriate. But at 6:00 p.m. on the eighteenth, it is final for you to accept or reject.” His gaze was hard and unwavering.
“That is preposterous!” the Defense Minister stammered. “That’s not negotiating, it is an ultimatum!”
“You’re absolutely right,” Wagner stared back calmly and confidently.
“What if we make the ‘free choice,’ as you called it, and do not accept,” the Prime Minister asked as he leaned forward to stare right back.
“Then we wash our hands of the whole matter,” Wagner stated firmly. “I have a major speech scheduled for the nineteenth. I’ll describe the terms we offered, and what your answer is. If you reject, you’re on your own. You can go your way while we go another — in everything.”
“That is blackmail!” The Defense Minister screamed.
“Not at all,” Wagner replied calmly with a faint smile. “As I said, it is a free choice, with major consequences for each side. You have your national interests and we have ours. We can no longer afford to jeopardize ours if you are not at least willing to share the risk a little. We are asking for your agreement out of a long friendship. If you choose to go your own way despite the clear direction we believe our policy must go, then do so; but there is a price.”
“Mr. President, do you seriously think you can enforce this?” the Prime Minister asked skeptically.
“Gentlemen, do you seriously think I would be sitting here if I couldn’t?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Columbia, Virginia, Wednesday, October 17, 4:50 pm
Rufus Dante proved true to his word. Unfortunately for him, it would be his last.
Ibrahim Al-Bari and Hafez Arazi had driven late into the night before they reached the small town of Gloucester, Virginia, north of Yorktown and quickly unloaded the weapon and shells in a twenty-four hour self-storage complex at the far end of the small town. Their shed was in the dimly-lit rear row against a fence and a pine forest, offering the privacy Al-Bari was looking for when he rented it on the previous trip. Exhausted, they left and rented a room in a small motel in town for some badly needed rest. The next afternoon, they drove southwest to Columbia, driving Murphy’s old Chevy with the U-Haul still attached. They found Rufus Dante in the grease pit under the truck adjusting its new heavy-duty shock absorbers, while his two helpers, Bobby Lee and Taylor finished installing the cabinets inside the camper.
“Right on time, I see,” Dante called out to them from beneath the truck. “You corporate boys sure are punc-tu-al.”
“As promised,” Dante stated proudly as he stood up and wiped his hands on a rag. “Here, come on down in the pit and let me give ya’ll a guided tour of what we done.” Al-Bari joined him in the pit and Dante pointed out the new shocks, the levelers, the bracing, and the brackets under the truck. “I gotta tell ya, those brackets wuz hard to get in there. Hadda take the rear axle out and even the universal, it was that tight.”
“I see,” Al-Bari nodded. “Of course I was the one who drew the plans, so…”
“Then you’re the one I should blame,” Dante laughed. “’Cept you wuz payin’ for it all, anyway, includin’ my bruises and banged up knuckles, so I figure you’re entitled.”
“I believe you are right.”
“Let’s go up top side and I’ll show you what we done inside the camper.” They walked back up the stairs, opened the rear screen door and stepped inside the camper. Step by step, Dante explained the workings of the skylights, how they opened, how they closed, and how they locked. He showed them the cabinets, and the special steel brackets welded on the new steel floor plate.
“We built in the counters and them cabinets like you wanted. Got ‘em from Home Depot up in Hopewell, and added some electric outlets.” Finally, Dante took Al-Bari to a small switch box set on the front wall and opened the metal faceplate. “This here’s the four switches that extend the load levelers, one set on each corner of the truck frame. And there’s a bubble on the front and side walls so you can get it just right.”
Al-Bari slowly turned in a circle, looked at all the improvements Dante had added in the small space, and finally smiled.
“Well? Good enough, Mister Flor-ra-kis?”
“Oh, much more than good enough, Rufus, you definitely exceeded my every expectation. Your work is most commendable, Sir.”
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