Genetic Bullets: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 3)
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“About time we did something about those sand…”
“Ian, let me remind you there are other ears nearby,” interrupted his counterpart, the Fleet Admiral, forestalling a politically incorrect epithet that could have sunk his friend’s illustrious career. The two entered the war room, expecting final orders within the next ten minutes.
A satellite feed had been opened for screens in the JOC as well as in the White House, but it was too dark to see much. A faint streak appeared in the lower right quadrant of the screen, and Harper’s breath hitched. Five minutes passed with nothing but the eye-straining black screen with what looked like a meteorite traversing it. Then, a brighter streak came from above, the two converged and a bloom of orange and red burst into view, so bright that Harper instinctively threw his arm in front of his eyes. As soon as he realized what it was, he dropped his arm and yelled, ‘Hell yes!’ His sentiment was echoed wherever the feed was active in the West. Israel was safe… the last missile had been intercepted and exploded safely far above ground.
In Israel, the colonel with his finger on the button received a tap on his shoulder and an order to stand down. The Prime Minister, standing surrounded by his generals in the Ops room, asked, “What happened?”
The Chief of the Mossad, smiling, said, “I will explain it to you later, sir.”
That it would spread nuclear fallout below it was of concern. Jordan’s prevailing winds were from westerly to southwesterly, meaning that Israel’s citizens, along with those of Egypt and beyond, would still suffer the effects. The missile from Iran had come dangerously close to Israel’s air space, evading Israel’s own defenses. Within minutes, the explosion would have been over Israel, wreaking almost as much havoc from fallout sickness as the explosion itself would have caused. Only slightly less was to be expected now.
The crisis wasn’t over, though. The screens immediately switched feeds to track the progress of the second missile, which was nowhere to be seen in the live feed. A few minutes passed while the analysts who were watching the Qom missile site were consulted, and the recording was played back from the beginning. Seconds later, Harper watched the orange bloom that signaled the death of the second missile, which death-star satellites had intercepted over the border of Iran and Afghanistan.
Once again, Harper considered the radioactive fallout problem. He knew from previous briefings during which a nuclear strike against Iran had been considered, that this one was going to affect even more people, some three million in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India could die within the first two weeks. Another thirty-five million would be exposed to carcinogenic radiation, if indeed there were that many left alive by the virus. This had been a costly mistake on the part of the Ayatollah Kazemi, or whatever he was calling himself now.
The Pentagon would remain alert, lest North Korea decide to get into the act, but for now the threat of nuclear holocaust was averted.
Moments later, a phone was brought to Harper and he was told that David Yedidyah was calling. That was just the man he wanted to talk to. He owed Yedidyah an explanation.
“David, I trust you slept well?” Harper said in lieu of ‘hello’, not without humor.
“Perfectly, thank you,” deadpanned the other man. “By the way, you wouldn’t have any idea where that Superman missile came from, would you? Like the Man of Steel himself, it came just when we needed it.”
“I might. But, like Clark Kent, I’ll deny any knowledge of exactly what happened. I trust you’ll back me up when I announce to the world that the US is very happy that Israel’s defenses averted the strike?”
“I will, on your assurance that none of your illegal satellites are pointed at us,” said the Israeli Prime Minister. Harper frowned slightly at the adjective, thinking that Yedidyah was rude for bringing it up, considering the US had just pulled Israel’s figurative bacon from the fire.
“Of course they aren’t pointed at you. They were only placed there to protect you, and to keep your neighbors’ missiles out of our airspace,” Harper retorted. “Are you trying to tell me that you have none of your own?”
“If we had, we wouldn’t have needed yours. I’m sorry if I offended you my friend. We are indeed very grateful for your assistance.”
“How about allowing us to reopen our embassy, then?”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, as soon as our borders are opened. Unfortunately, our efforts to keep the virus out of our country must leave them closed for the moment. However, I will speak to my advisers about making an exception if you would like to send a contingent in Air Force One, with all passengers screened for antibodies. We cannot allow carriers into the country, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course. It will be a while before I can screen a candidate, introduce him to Congress and get approval, all the red tape involved in naming a new ambassador. Perhaps this damnable crisis will be over by then.”
“As my sainted grandmother would have said, ‘from your lips to God’s ear’.”
“You’ve succeeded in keeping the virus outside your borders, then?”
“Except for some isolated cases, yes. As soon as the symptoms showed, we quarantined them, along with anyone with whom they had contact. Their caregivers were instructed to wear hazmat suits when caring for them, and we kept them in negative-pressure rooms to keep any airborne microbes from getting out. We’ve had a few deaths, but we’re keeping the caregivers in quarantine until a vaccination is developed. Our finest minds are at work on that.”
“Ours, too. I trust you’re getting all the up-to-date information from our central clearinghouse?”
“Oh, yes, our scientists work well together. Nigel, I am happy that our countries will be able to resume their long friendship.”
“Me, too, David. Me, too. Now, what are we going to do about this lunatic in Iran?”
“If I had my way, we’d give him a taste of his own medicine.”
“I’m afraid the UN would never approve. Especially since I’ve been telling them desperately for weeks that a nuclear strike carries global consequences, and I don’t just mean disapproval from the rest of the world. I’d like to avoid that. Why don’t you talk to your Mossad guys, and I’ll talk to my CIA guys, and see if they can come up with a solution?”
“Very well. I don’t promise that my people won’t employ their own solution before that.”
“I couldn’t blame you if they did. I won’t delay too long.”
“Thank you again, Nigel.”
“You’re most welcome, David.”
Harper turned to his Chief of Staff. “Well, that was exciting,” he deadpanned. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“You’re scheduled for a press conference, sir. In fact you’re a few minutes late. The major networks wanted to air your remarks right before their ten o’clock news broadcasts. You’ve got less than fifteen minutes.”
“Time waits for no man, eh? I trust there’s a speech ready for me. What am I going to say?”
“Just that a severe security threat has been averted, thanks to the quick action of our military. You’ll name the perp. We left out what you are going to do about it in retaliation, since we didn’t know.”
“Good. I still don’t know myself. But I’ll be discussing it with the Joint Chiefs first thing tomorrow. I hope we’ll have a response within the week that doesn’t include nuclear force, but it hasn’t been ruled out.”
“Then tell them that, sir. The enemy will be listening. Hearing that nukes are still on the table may make them pause.”
It turned out that the networks had been running ‘breaking news’ stories almost since the immediate crisis had begun, thanks to an internet shockwave that hit during Kazemi’s broadcast. The President addressed a terrified nation in a televised speech that pre-empted the beginning of the ten o’clock news. Among the most relieved of his constituency were the broadcast journalists who’d been asking, futilely, what was going on for the past hour. It is a peculiar talent of broadcast journalists that
they can take one statement and one picture and weave an hour-long suspense drama that can compel their viewers to keep watching even while saying nothing more than ‘something’s going on but we don’t know what.’ The majority of Americans, either assuming it was over or oblivious in the first place, went to bed that night thinking that the world must be a safer place.
Nothing was further from the truth.
~~~
Ahmad had expected nothing less than the disaster that the launch became. From the bunker in which Kazemi and all of his lieutenants, watched the drama unfold, Ahmad watched too, planning his next move.
Kazemi was a fool if he thought that Iranian technology, indeed any and all Middle Eastern technology, even supplemented with North Korean, was any match for what the US threw on the trash heap every day. He’d been looking for a way to bring America down since his time as a student there convinced him that it was them or his people—there was no way that they could occupy the same world peacefully. His disgust for the wastefulness of Americans when his people starved in some countries fed his hatred, which had been nurtured in his cradle and fed all his life by his father’s teachings about the great Persian Empire under Cyrus the Great. The restoration of which, every true Persian should aspire to.
When the opportunity to study the enemy’s ways had presented itself in his early manhood, Ahmad went willingly. Nothing he saw or learned in the US changed his mind about the decadence. Though he wasn’t a particularly devout man, Muslim beliefs and cultural practices were as much a part of him as his skin. He came to hate Americans and what they stood for—disregard for other peoples, arrogance and conspicuous consumption. He hid his revulsion well, though, and the reward was that, near the end of his senior year at Harvard, he was approached by a nondescript man in a bad suit and offered a job.
This was what his father and those who had raised money to send him to school in America had hoped. If he took certain courses and made certain moves that attracted the attention of the CIA, perhaps he would be recruited. From within the infidel’s own spy network, he could do more harm to the US than as a gun-toting soldier of al-Qaeda. He accepted the job, juggling his few assignments with as little harm to his real friends as possible with the full cooperation of al-Qaeda leadership. Even the death of their founder, Osama bin Laden, would not stop al-Qaeda from accomplishing their ultimate goal—destruction of America and all her allies. Ahmad was to feed the CIA what disinformation he could, and report to his commander what information the CIA wanted him to give them as well as anything he could pick up on his own. In fact, he was virtually a sleeper agent, as the CIA wanted to save his talents for a crisis.
When the medical crisis reached critical mass, Ahmad saw an opportunity in the gathering of his and other resistance groups under Kazemi’s leadership. Until he understood what leverage it might give him, he would keep a low profile and cease all communications with his CIA handlers. They would think him dead, probably. Al-Qaeda would lose the advantage of knowing where the CIA was looking, but other advantages would replace it.
On the morning of the abortive attack, while others ranted and displayed their tempers over the destruction of Iran’s nukes, the Ayatollah sat stunned. Ahmad observed from the rear of the room, waiting to see if Kazemi’s temper would erupt as well. After all, he’d been the last person to assure Kazemi, who he knew very well was not the al-Mahdi, that today’s strategy was sound. One never knew what an angry ayatollah might do. Perhaps he would pretend that this was not unexpected, so as to save face. Perhaps he would order any of his advisers who encouraged the strategy to be stoned, or even beheaded. If it began to look like a scapegoat would be required, Ahmad had plans to slip out unnoticed and disappear into the crowds in the streets.
Ahmad needed a Plan B, one that would leave him rich, or in power – or both. The man in whom he and the others had placed their trust was a fool, and he should have known it as soon as the plan to nuke Israel began to surface. By the time he knew of the extent of it, Ahmad could do nothing to stop it without bringing suspicion on himself, so he pretended to go along, even encourage the futile gesture. He had two choices: he could, if the Ayatollah weren’t inclined to cast blame on someone else, remain in the ranks, but work subtly to learn anything of use to the CIA to win their trust again. That would give him the opportunity to later worm his way into the Rossler Foundation to steal back whatever of value could be found in the 10th Cycle Library, which the infidels had stolen from the Middle East in the first place. Or, he could assassinate the fool himself and take over the organization. Of the two choices, he preferred the former. Less chance to get his own hands dirty, more chance to gain both wealth and power.
Ahmad instantly stopped thinking to closely observe as Kazemi rose to his feet and hushed the bickering men in the room.
“My friends, the struggle for our supremacy has just begun. Our first blow did not land as we expected, but that does not mean we are defeated. Our enemy has turned our own weapons upon us, we know not how. It is now time to use our numbers to overwhelm the infidels among us and drive them out of our lands. We will push the Jews into the ocean! Once our land is cleansed, we will fight to erase from the face of the earth those who refuse to worship Allah. Allah is with us! All who are true to the Islamic faith must now take up arms, whether rifles, knives, stones or poison, and kill the infidels. I, Muhammad ibn Hasan al-Mahdi, decree it! He who kills an infidel will not suffer punishment, but will assure himself a place in Paradise!”
So, the man was not as great a fool as Ahmad had thought, but still a fool. He would curb his temper and keep his lieutenants close, while recruiting masses of expendable soldiers with his rhetoric. Ahmad could appreciate the strategy, especially since it left him at the center of the action. Within hours, Kazemi had again taken to the airwaves, this time to urge every true Muslim to do his duty and take part in jihad.
North Korea and Pakistan had also been waiting for the Ayatollah’s response to the debacle. As soon as the broadcast was over, Kazemi received calls from both governments pledging their support, their nuclear weapons, and their armed forces to Kazemi to advance his war and utterly destroy the infidels when the time was at hand.
During the following seven days, the immediate result was the murder of more than a dozen Western physicians who were treating victims of the virus. As soon as the broadcast was picked up by both Western news media and security forces, every Western country withdrew their diplomatic missions from the Middle East and urged their citizens to leave with all possible speed. Other murders had less impact on the course of the virus, but inflamed the victims’ families and governments to the brink of formal declaration of war. By Feb. 21, just a week before the nominal travel deadline in Antarctica that could trap the remaining expedition members for the winter, more than seventy-one million new cases of the flu had been reported, bringing the total sick, dead or dying to over one-hundred million. Twenty thousand of the faithful volunteered for suicide bombing missions, but fewer than half that number would be well enough to carry out their missions by the time they were called.
Chapter 28 - Let Rebecca tell you He’s cured?
Harper was fully aware that his deadline was at hand. On the next morning after the unsuccessful Iranian strike against Israel, he had stood before the Security Council again, determined to use the barely-averted crisis as a reason the UN should not carry out its threats against the Rossler Foundation expedition. Once again it was Representative Demir from Turkey who demanded punitive measures against the Rosslerites.
“You have done nothing to stop this plague,” he ranted. “It is time for the UN to act.”
“When we last spoke, I agreed to send US troops to ensure that the expedition members stay where they are until they can be brought to trial. I am ready to do that. There is no need for UN intervention.”
“On the contrary, President Harper. I demand that observers be allowed to accompany your troops. I’m not sure we can trust you at this time.”
“In addition,” Demir said, “Turkey is resigning from NATO. We are also closing all US embassies in Turkey. You have twenty-four hours to get your embassy staff out of our country, and forty-eight to move out all US troops and other US citizens. Turkey’s borders are now closed to America. After the forty-eight hours have expired, Turkey will confiscate all American air assets and jail any US citizen remaining within our borders.”
Harper was stunned. This was an act of war. Surely Demir and his government had not thought this through. He did his best to alleviate the situation on his own, knowing that otherwise he would have to act in kind. “Hakim, I don’t understand why your country is reacting in this way. There is no threat from Antarctica. The people there can’t get out, and they even voluntarily quarantined themselves as soon as they understood what was happening. Please, speak to your government. Urge them to reconsider. Our countries have been allies for too long to throw it away in a virtual act of war.”
At the word war, Demir drew himself to his full stature. “It is America that has committed an act of war. An act of genocide. Our decision stands.”
With a face like a thundercloud, Harper stalked out of the conference room, unwilling to interact more with the Turk. Once, he might have had more to say to the man, but his time in office had taught him not to give his temper free rein.
Upon his return to the Oval Office, Harper sent for the Secretary of State and the Joint Chiefs. It seemed he would be forced to sever diplomatic relations with Turkey, if not prepare for war. Then he instructed his Chief of Staff to convey the orders for a squad of Marines to be sent to Antarctica, sick at heart for his friend Daniel Rossler and the men and women of his expedition. Harper understood that the virus was not a biological weapon, but a time bomb left from some unimaginably long time ago. That his friend was going to catch the fallout was terrible, but someone had to be the scapegoat for the loss of what, by the end of the next week, would approach one-hundred million lives.