ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS

by Murray Mcdonald

  “Simple,” replied Deif. “Whichever causes the most casualties!”

  Both laughed as they then discussed which it would be, midnight or 6:00 a.m. US time.

  Deif and Akram prayed together before Deif left and watched as the freighter pulled out of port and began her momentous voyage. He boarded the scooter for the last time, praying that Allah would keep him safe again, and headed for the Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles train station where his train to Saint Raphael and his well-deserved break awaited him.

  ***

  Had Deif learned more about Marseille than its links to the Muslim world, he may have discovered that Marseille was quite literally, a melting pot of cultures and communities. It not only had one of the largest Muslim populations in Europe, it was also home to the third largest Jewish community. Almost one in ten Marseillais were Jewish. Of course, they were far less visible than their Muslim neighbors and far less vocal, so this was a fact easily missed by the passing traveller.

  Another traveller, however, was fully aware of this. He was a born and bred Marseillais, but at the age of eighteen had followed his heart and joined the military. He had flown to Israel and enlisted in the IDF. His talents as a linguist had not gone unnoticed, and he was soon transferred to Mossad. Over the years, he had proved his worth and become Head of the Paris Mossad station. Had it not been for his mother’s birthday and a quick trip down to see her, he would have missed the man, who he instantly recognized as a person of interest to Israel. Unfortunately, and slightly embarrassingly for him, he couldn’t quite identify him. As the trip was a personal one, he had left his laptop at home and with nothing other than a mere visual recognition, he could do nothing more than follow the man.

  He watched the man board the train bound for Nice and then once the man had settled into his seat, he joined the same train. From a carriage behind, he kept an eye on Deif, careful to maintain his cover. By the time they both disembarked in Saint Raphael, he was certain Deif was not in the least suspicious, nor aware that he was being followed. In fact, Deif was so brazen that the Head of the Paris Station began to think that he might be following an innocent man. Deif grabbed a taxi from the front of the station. This left the Paris Head with a dilemma. Follow and risk being spotted, or wait for the taxi to drop him off and find out where he had been dropped. He elected for the latter, noting down the taxi registration. He knew he’d be back soon enough. He knew from experience, that this was the only taxi rank in Saint Raphael.

  He began to think he had made the wrong choice when after an hour, the taxi had failed to return. Just as he was thinking the worst, it reappeared and the Paris Head, having secured a healthy sum of money from a nearby ATM, jumped in the passenger seat.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but you must take the taxi at the front of the queue,” protested the taxi driver.

  He handed the taxi driver a €50 note. “But I really like yours!”

  The taxi driver looked at the wad of €50 notes in the passenger’s hand and took off to a blaze of horns from his colleagues.

  After two minutes of talking to the taxi driver, it became apparent that the man he had followed was far from innocent. The taxi driver had dropped him off at one address, but with no room to turn around, the taxi driver had been forced to drive further down the road before being able to complete a U-turn. When he had driven back, he’d seen his passenger disappearing into an entirely different property. With the address in hand, the Paris Head made a decision. Paris by train was at least five hours away, but he was only thirty minutes from Nice and a ninety-minute plane journey.

  A little over three hours later, he was sitting in his subordinate’s car at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport looking through the Wanted List of photos he had instructed to be brought to him. After five photos, he found the man he had just followed, and hoped to God for his career, that the man was where he had left him. Mohammed Deif had been found. Well, he had been, four hours earlier. The Paris Head of Station just prayed he was still there as he dialed Ben Meir’s number. It was his number listed as contact, should the man be sighted.

  Chapter 46

  Naval Observatory, Washington D.C.

  Andrew Russell had not slept for two nights. The Senator, his brother, the Secret Service agent and even the Secretary of Defense had vanished off the face of the earth. The attack by the CIA team at Sam Baker’s house had been a debacle, all eight men dead and the targets vanishing into thin air. The President was asking questions as to the whereabouts of his Secretary of Defense and even more worryingly, the press had cottoned on to the fact that nothing had been heard of Senator Charles Baker for days. Up until his failed assassination, he’d been giving sound bites twice, three times a day. His office could offer them nothing more than they had not heard from him, either. Itself, a cause for concern as to why nobody was doing anything.

  It was all a total and utter disaster. He should never have agreed to it in the first place, but the Horsemen had been insistent, adamant that Senator Charles Baker had to be taken out of the race. They were due to arrive shortly and he was in no state to see them. Unshaven and disheveled, he was far from presidential. He had to pull himself together or the old fuckers would be looking to replace him.

  His phone rang and he looked at it with no intention of answering, unless it was of national importance. He didn’t want another update from the imbeciles trying to track down the targets. He recognized the number or at least the international code, 972, Israel. It must be Ben. Ben had been avoiding his calls.

  “Ben?”

  “Andrew, my dear boy,” replied Ben.

  “I’ve been trying to call you,” said Russell almost breathlessly. His stress levels were off the chart.

  “Sorry, but to say I’m busy at the moment would’ve been a monumental understatement.”

  “Of course,” Russell was fully aware of the timeline Ben was operating to. “Did you have any luck with that little job we discussed?”

  “Hmmm, yes, that little job. I’m afraid our priorities clashed at a crucial moment.”

  Russell was in no mood for BS. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means, the agent who had tracked your target was in a position to carry out her orders when all hell broke loose, and a very dear friend of mine, and of Israel’s, became a potential victim.”

  “Shit, the house in Georgetown?”

  “Yes!”

  “I can assure you, no harm would have come to James. I know he’s crucial to our plans and Ararat.”

  “Nevertheless, I could not take that risk. We’re at a very crucial time for Israel. Your loyalties are split. These ‘Horsemen’, as you call them, are a risk to our nation.”

  “Without them, I will not become President and Ararat may be at risk.”

  “Baker will not interfere with Ararat.”

  “But the democrats will. If any of what has happened comes to light, our party will be destroyed in the polls. You can’t take that risk.”

  Ben remained silent. He knew Russell was right. For Ararat to work, he needed a stable government in the US. The last thing he needed was a change of politics. It was imperative that Russell, or at the very least, Baker, win to keep the quid pro quo.

  “Shit!”

  Russell could sense a breakthrough.

  “Do you know where they are?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I promised my operative that she would be safe.”

  “Give her new orders, then.”

  “She would not accept them. She has spent two days with the Secretary and Baker and knows they’re friends of Israel. She knows nothing of our plans and will not kill any non-terrorists without a very good cause.”

  “Well, give me the location, then.”

  “That, I’m afraid, is something I can’t do, either.”

  “I promise. We won’t harm her or the Secretary.”

  “Were you going to do it yourself, that might’ve been a promise I would accept. However, you’re not and so, I can’t take the
risk. Your fellow Americans are well-known for sledgehammers being used to crack nuts. The operative is my goddaughter, and I will not risk somebody sending a cruise missile towards her.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Andrew. I will sort out your mess.”

  Ben hung up. He had a call to make.

  As Andrew replaced the silent handset, a knock on his bedroom door signaled company. His valet announced the arrival of four gentlemen.

  Andrew asked him to direct them to the library, and he quickly shaved and brushed his hair.

  “Gentlemen,” announced Andrew as he entered the library, closing the door behind him.

  Three of the men looked at Walter Koch, waiting for him to respond on their behalf.

  “We,” the others nodded their consent. “Are very concerned of where we are.”

  “Gentlemen.” Andrew poured himself a Scotch. He was feeling buoyed by Ben’s call. If the Israelis wanted you dead, you died. Simple. “Everything is under control.”

  “Exactly how is everything under control?” asked James Lawson, his temper simmering. He was worried. His man had disappeared over three days earlier, at a point when he was allegedly about to deal with the problem.

  “I have just spoken to a contact, and they’re sending a team to deal with it now.”

  “Sending them where?”

  Andrew had absolutely no idea. Ben hadn’t trusted him with that information, but ever the politician. “That, gentlemen, will all become clear very shortly. Now please, let’s not dwell on issues that are resolved. I believe there were other issues you wanted to discuss.”

  Walter looked at Lawson and received an imperceptible nod. Leave it and move on.

  “We have two issues. The first is the nuclear weapon that is supposedly on its way here and the second is transport.”

  “As for the nuclear device, there are no updates as yet, but it seems this is well covered and our borders will pick up the device, the second it comes anywhere near us.”

  “Just like Texas?” asked Lawrence Harkness, sarcastically.

  “Maybe. How much did you make out of that again?” asked Lawson. They all knew that Harkness had doubled his wealth following the atrocity in Texas, but it didn’t stop Harkness from complaining about it. He owned many of the military suppliers who had benefitted from the United States’ reaction to the nuclear detonation.

  “It won’t happen again!” Andrew responded firmly and with conviction.

  “Best cancel that new yacht you were going to buy!” joked Lawson to Harkness.

  “Gentlemen, please,” asked Walter, looking at the two billionaires who were constantly at each other’s throats. Walter knew that Lawson had made just as much out of the atrocity as Harkness and probably even more. Lawson’s stock in military supply organizations had shot through the roof.

  “What’s even more troubling at the moment, is this solar flare nonsense.”

  “Sorry?” Andrew was taken totally by surprise. The solar flare had been the subject of a few briefings over the last couple of days, but with other things on his mind, he’d avoided them like the plague. Another was scheduled for later that day and included the President, so he’d have to attend.

  “Jesus, have you not been watching the news?” asked William Hathway who until then, had sat quietly.

  “Honestly, no. I’ve not had time.”

  “They’re suggesting that in about a week from now, there will be a massive solar flare. I think it’s like an explosion within the sun which will cause some sort of geomagnetic storm,” informed Hathaway.

  Andrew just stared at the four like they were speaking Greek. He had absolutely no idea what any of it meant.

  “Basically, they’re talking about grounding every aircraft in the world for between three to five days!” explained Hathaway, the biggest landowner and farmer in America. To ensure top dollar, his produce was flown around the world. Grounded aircraft for three to five days would cost him tens of millions in lost revenue.

  “Why the hell would they do that?” asked Andrew, stunned by the revelation and how he had missed the enormity of the problem.

  “Some rubbish about magnetic field and proton storms being a risk to engines on a plane. The worry is when, and if it hits, planes will fall out of the sky as their engines are knocked out.”

  “I’m sorry. This is the first I’ve heard of this. What do you want me to do?”

  “Stop it!”

  “Explosions on the sun?!” asked Andrew incredulously.

  “Grounding the planes!” shouted Hathaway angrily before getting up and leading his three horsemen out of the library and the house.

  Andrew Russell just stared at the four empty seats. What next, he wondered.

  His phone rang. The President wanted him in the Oval Office, ten minutes ago.

  Chapter 47

  Montana, USA

  It had taken the best part of two days, but they had made it. A slight detour on the way had increased their number by one. The Senator’s wife, Beth, was now safely ensconced with her husband in their master suite. The house, as Agent Clark had commented many times, was spectacular, nestling in the mountains below the Whitefish mountain ski resort, with views across the lake, framed by 7,000 foot mountains that bordered Canada, and offered the best skiing in Montana, as promised by the Senator. The house itself was vast. The lounge alone could fit Clark’s whole apartment, as could the circular fireplace in its heart.

  After the events in Washington, Sam had declared that enough was enough, and they had no option but to get out of dodge. The Senator had mentioned the ski lodge, over 2,000 miles away, as a joke, but Sam had instantly grabbed the idea, particularly when the Senator had explained that the lodge had been purchased the previous year, by the Senator’s wife’s family’s estate. He had assured Sam that there was no way it could be linked to them. Her estate was as tight as the Rockefellers. Once something went into it, it was like it never existed. They had spent a small fortune on alterations and upgrades, and hadn’t set foot in it, since they had bought it. Sam wanted Charles and the Secretary of Defense safe. He wanted them secured somewhere that he could leave and not worry about them.

  They had taken some convincing, particularly their newest recruit, Rebecca. She wanted to contact her HQ and arrange for a safe escort to the Israeli embassy. Sam ruled it out. He couldn’t trust his own government, despite having one of its most senior members under his protection, never mind a foreign one. No, they would rely on no-one else but themselves. The first plan of action was to go primitive. Rebecca and the Secretary of Defense’s cell phones were unceremoniously smashed and their SIM cards discarded. They then stripped the Humvees and the eight bodies that scattered the ground, of every weapon and piece of ammunition they could find. They threw it all into Sam’s Toyota Camry and took off. If Rebecca’s version of events was correct, nobody else had tracked them, never mind discovered what they were driving. The Camry was as anonymous as any car on the road.

  They had driven non-stop, picked up a very surprised Senator’s wife, and settled into the lodge just as night was falling.

  Clark came back into the lounge and pressed the button that closed the wall of glass that opened onto a terrace, that seemed to hover above a lake below.

  “Spectacular!”

  Sam and Rebecca struggled to hide their smiles at the fiftieth utterance of the word ‘spectacular’ in the previous hour.

  “Sorry,” said Clark realizing she was repeating herself. “It’s just…”

  “Spectacular,” offered Sam.

  “Yes,” smiled Clark. “And I am spectacularly tired, so I’ll bid you both good night.” She tipped her head and headed towards her own spectacular room.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Rebecca, looking at Sam.

  “Tired,” he said yawning.

  “That’s not what I meant,” replied Rebecca, throwing a cushion at him.

  During the drive, she, as had the Secretary of Defense, had hear
d everything that had happened. The attempts on the Senator’s life and the murder of Sam’s family, and the further attempts to stop him. Both Rebecca and the Secretary of Defense had sat dumbfounded as they’d listened to a storyline straight from a spy thriller. None of this stuff happened in real life, but here they were. Rebecca had offered little when questioned, other than she worked for Mossad, and was tasked with tracking down the nuclear bomb that was allegedly making its way to America. She made no mention of having been tasked with the assisting of the assassination of the Senator and never would. Whoever had made an assessment that Mossad should be involved had made an error. The Senator was clearly a friend to Israel. She and Ben would have a very frank conversation about that error, although she had managed a quick chat with him during a pee break on the road. A public phone in a ladies’ restroom had offered her the chance to report in and update Ben, particularly on the error in targeting the Senator. Ben had assured her this was an error and her job remained as previously, protect the Secretary and find the bomb.

  Sam was silent as he thought of his wife and newborn son. These were thoughts that he had managed to blank during the previous two days. A tear ran down his cheek. Rebecca watched a man, who she had come to admire as one of the strongest she had ever met, weep before her and she wept too.

  “I, too, lost a child,” she said, letting the tears flow freely.

  Over the next hour, she told Sam things she had never told another living soul. Her feelings flowed. The loss of her husband, her parents, and the impact of losing her son, all came flooding out. She knew how Sam felt and the kindred spirits joined as one, as each relived their worst nightmares, both as fresh as though they had just happened.

  When it was time to go to bed, neither wanted to be alone and for the first time in almost nine years, Rebecca Cohen snuggled into a man as she fell asleep. Both slept soundly in each other’s arms, kindred spirits healing their pain.