SOFT TARGET III Jerusalem (SOFT TARGET SERIES)

by Conrad Jones

  Tank had visited the city several times and remembered its deep religious history and significance. People have lived in the area between the Mount of Olives and the Judean hills for over five thousand years. King David, the ancestor of today’s Jewish peoples, captured Jerusalem at the beginning of the first century BC. He built an altar for worship on the summit of Mount Moriah, where Abraham had prepared to sacrifice his son, Isaac on a rock. This rock became the place where Solomon, David’s son, built his temple, which housed the Ark of the Covenant. The remains of the base of this temple form the Wailing Wall, and the centre of the Jewish faith.

  Millions of Jews from all over the world make the pilgrimage to the wall every year, bringing with them billions of dollars for tourism. Tank had visited the wall, huge sand coloured blocks hinted at how massive the original temple must have been. Between the blocks, were millions of tiny scrolls of paper, containing personal prayers written by pilgrims and then rolled up tightly and stuffed between the huge ancient building blocks.

  Close by, and built above the temple ruins, is the Muslim mosque, the Dome of the Rock. It was built to mark the spot where the great prophet Muhammad ascended to receive the Islamic commandments from Allah. One of Islam’s holiest shrines, it is the world’s oldest, and possibly the most stunning Islamic building in the world. It towers above the old city. A huge golden dome one hundred and ten feet high and sixty-five feet in diameter is supported by octagonal shaped walls decorated by some of the most ornate blue mosaic murals in the world. Tank could see what a devastating impact sealing of these religious wonders for decades would have. Resentment would spread across the planet, Christians blaming the Jews for allowing their religious epicentre to be desecrated. The Jews would retaliate against the surrounding Muslim states, probably backed by America. Armageddon would be just around the corner.

  “Where has the information about this plot come from exactly?” Tank asked. Everyone had the religious message for now, and it was time to move the discussion on.

  “Our intelligence sources must remain confidential, but we can tell you that the information was first viewed with extreme speculation on our part. We didn’t believe that the Palestinians could carry out such a complex plan alone, even with the help of the Axe organisation. They certainly could not have attacked your security personnel without a significant amount of inside information,” the Israeli Major answered and looked directly at Janet Walsh.

  She understood the silent communication. There was blame and accusation in the look. She breathed deeply before responding.

  “We lost track of one of our most senior estranged MI5 agents several months ago, he was dismissed from his position, and we now believe that he may have copied several encrypted files to disk format before he left. A financial motive, probably, he was last seen on vacation in the Egyptian resort of Taba, situated on the Israeli border,” she stared back at the Israeli allowing the returned accusation to sink in.

  Espionage and counter espionage, Western agents disappeared all the time, with no one ever really knowing where they went, kidnap or defection. The Israelis had been found guilty of harbouring several key Western spies, offering them a haven in the sunshine in exchange for secret information.

  “Touché, Secretary Walsh,” said the Israeli. “Unfortunately he didn’t fall into our hands, however some of our deep cover agents heard rumours that a British agent was being interrogated, and that the information he was imparting was of unprecedented quality.”

  “We believe that he had access to top secret information, is that true?” interrupted the American officer. Everyone turned to look at him, and he realised that the question he’d asked hinted that he had information that he shouldn’t have. He blushed for the second time that day.

  “Yes, he was a tier one agent. He had access to most of our encrypted information files, and the override codes that they require to work,” Janet Walsh knew that there was no point in beating about the bush now. The leak was from British Secret Services, and now they had to deal with the fallout. She continued.

  “We categorically do not have access to foreign personnel files, however we suggest that you delete all your details, change your encryption codes and protect your key agency personnel.”

  The room remained silent again. Tank stared at the floor in embarrassment, and then he looked at the American, who had flushed purple in rage. Chen stared wide eyed at Tank, surprised by the implication. The Prime Minister’s Secretary had admitted that British intelligence agencies had been spying on its allies, and then lost vital information to the worst possible enemies that it could. The American politician on the satellite link was receiving her information via an encoded link, which took the information, scrambled it, and then translated it again for her to understand. The process delayed the dialogue by four seconds, compared to real time.

  “I take it then that your agent could have compromised our national security as well as your own?” the question came over the speaker system, beamed in from across the Atlantic.

  “We wouldn’t rule anything out right now,” the Prime Minister’s Secretary, replied diplomatically, “as I said earlier, we categorically do not possess access to foreign personnel files; however we’d advise that you take every precaution to protect your interests.”

  Tank felt sick to the core, politics and politicians were his worst nightmare, always lying to each other and never mind the consequences for the public that they served. The confidentiality of the whereabouts of every Western agent, officer and military employee and their families had been compromised, but it had been kept a secret. No one was given any warning, because rather than changing access codes nationwide at huge expense to the defence budget, a gamble of incredulous proportions had been played. They couldn’t possibly change codes every time someone left the service, but they took a gamble when key personnel left acrimoniously. On this occasion, they had lost, at the cost of over a dozen lives so far.

  “Perhaps if our confidential files hadn’t been hacked we wouldn’t need to follow your precautionary advice, Secretary Walsh,” the American politician added sarcastically.

  “Oh, come now Foreign Minister, I don’t think that this is as much of shock to you as you’re pretending it is. Your military advisor is here and he seemed to know that our missing agent was in possession of ‘top secret’ information, as he put it so eloquently earlier,” Janet Walsh parried the American aggression away acidly.

  Tank looked at the uniformed American. He was holding his head in his hands, covering both eyes with his elbows still on the table, shaking his head in quiet disbelief. Janet Walsh had laid the trap and the Americans had walked right into it with their eyes wide open. They were not as innocent as they were pretending to be. Tank was tiring of the political tennis.

  “Can we get back to the point in question please, we can hold an inquest when we’ve dealt with the terrorists,” Tank interrupted. Janet Walsh looked at him and raised an eyebrow; she wasn’t used to being interrupted. Tank didn’t care.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Doctor Graff said, “the fact of the matter is that we were given information from a key Palestinian insurgent, under interrogation.”

  “You mean you were torturing him,” interrupted the American military advisor. He felt aggrieved and took the opportunity to strike.

  The Israeli doctor paused and raised his eyebrows, surprised by both the interruption and the hypocrisy.

  “I’m not going to get into a debate about extraordinary rendition right now, but our men were trained in interrogation techniques by your CIA,” the doctor countered. The American flushed red again, and for the second time that day, he wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.

  “Everyone in this room knows full well that some of the information gathered during interrogation is pure fantasy,” the doctor continued, “the plot that was described by this man was so sophisticated in its content that we didn’t believe him. The plot relied on large amounts of radioactive material being acq
uired, transported and then deployed half way round the world. It would take an organised professional mind to plan it logistically. Not to mention the financial cost was so high that it was completely disregarded as nonsense.” No one in the room could disagree.

  “Well, we know that radioactive material has been brought here, and that a well organised assassination campaign is in operation, but how sure are you that Jerusalem and New York could be attacked?” Tank asked.

  The idea that Jerusalem could be turned into a contaminated wasteland could indeed provoke terrible retaliatory strikes against Muslim targets. If New York was attacked, again there would be no telling what America’s response would be this time. What if the response from Israel and the West was to destroy Islam’s holy cities? The possible connotations didn’t bear thinking about.

  “We really didn’t take any of it seriously until you contacted us for information about the men you captured and killed,” the Israeli Major answered.

  “Now we can only share what we were told with you. The source told us that Axe had sourced the thermoelectric generators somewhere in the old Soviet Union, and we now know that strontium-90 has been traced here and on the Syrian ship. That is definitive proof that the source was telling the truth, about that part at least. We also know that there must be more strontium-90 somewhere, because the radioactive imprints that you’ve found are not large enough to contain all the material,” the doctor explained.

  By measuring the glowing rectangles from the photographic evidence that had been recovered from the tower, a projected real size could be calculated. The figures didn’t add up.

  “We were also told that Axe had acquired access to important files, but we didn’t know what those files contained. Obviously, they have used this information to target your people. So that part of the information we received is also true,” the Israeli Major continued.

  “What we don’t know is if the rest of the plot is factual, or fantasy. The source’s condition was deteriorating rapidly, but he told us that, and I quote, ‘the Christians and Jews would not be able to visit their temples for a thousand years’, hence we think that he was alluding to an attack on Jerusalem.”

  “And what was said about New York?” asked the American military advisor.

  The Israelis looked at one another, and then the doctor placed his hands together and formed a triangle with his fingers while he chose his words carefully.

  “He was almost delirious at this point, and we weren’t taking much notice of what the interrogators were recording. We were sure he was rambling, but now we know differently we must take it seriously,” said the doctor.

  “Trust me, I’m taking it seriously,” drawled the American, nodding his jarhead.

  “The source indicated that the rebuilding of the twin towers site would never reach completion, he said quote, ‘they can’t rebuild what they can’t reach’, which we can only assume means that an attack on the financial district could be planned,” the doctor finished his explanation, shrugging his shoulders, his palms facing the ceiling.

  “We need to follow the British response and evacuate the area immediately,” the American military advisor spoke to the politician on the screen. A radioactive attack on that part of New York would render the entire area a no go area, including ground zero.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the woman on the screen responded sharply, “you cannot seriously compare a city like Liverpool with the financial centre of the United States of America. Evacuating a shopping mall and some corporation housing in England is hardly the same as clearing downtown Manhattan, it would cause nationwide panic, not to mention cost billions of dollars.”

  The uniformed man remained silent and shook his head slowly in response. He looked Tank in the eye and Tank understood the hopelessness in his eyes. Liverpool is a huge international port and home to several million people. Tourism is part of the city’s lifeblood.

  “What do you plan to do in Jerusalem?” asked Tank, looking for some support for the American military advisor.

  The Israelis looked to each other again, and both of them bowed their head slightly, shoulders sagging. Their body language displayed their inner feelings. They were not comfortable with what they were about to say. The Israeli response had obviously been decided by men much farther up the political ladder than them. Don’t shoot the messengers.

  “We cannot allow this threat to become public knowledge. The city of Jerusalem is the religious capital of the world, and we can’t compare it to this city, whatever we do it must be a covert operation. We cannot evacuate the city without causing a religious conflict which could spiral out of control,” the Israeli Major spoke grimly.

  “Well I hope your right, because if you’re not all three cities will have something in common, they’ll glow in the dark.” Tank said, heading for the door. The talking was over. It was time to take action.

  “Where are you going Agent Tankersley?” Janet Walsh asked. Tank’s broad back was already squeezing through the doorway. Chen stood up and spoke.

  “I think we’ve learned everything that we need to know for now. We’ll be in the shopping mall as soon as the evacuations are complete; our men are ready to move. It’s absolutely vital that we find this device quickly, so that you’ll know what to look for in your own cities.”

  Chapter Forty

  Yasser Ahmed

  Yasser tried to decipher what the helicopter pilot was saying to his mate but it was useless, he couldn’t make head or tale of it. The helicopter engineer was in the back of the dark grey machine; his voice was muffled and interrupted by banging and clanking noises. The pilot was sitting up front switching banks of monitors on and off, some were above his head and some fixed to the dashboard in front of him. They laughed while they chattered. The pilot saw that Yasser was stood in his cage watching them, and he drew his index finger across his windpipe slowly as if he was cutting his throat. He was goading Yasser that this trip would probably be his last.

  The pilot made an unheard comment to his mate and they both laughed aloud and pointed at Yasser through the windshield. The pilot’s mate jumped from the sliding cargo door, out of the grey helicopter, onto the sand. He was wearing a green military vest, which emphasised his fat beer belly. It looked like it hadn’t been washed for centuries. He tucked his arm inside the singlet mimicking a one armed man. He turned over his bottom lip and placed it over the top one, pretending to cry. Yasser stared into the man’s very soul with his shark like eyes.

  The helicopter mate was the man that had stamped on Yasser’s festering shoulder during the journey here. The man saw the venom in Yasser’s eyes. He coughed up phlegm and spat toward the cage, and then he turned away and carried on with the flight preparations.

  Across the runway in the near distance, dust and sand spewed upward from the earth as a herd of goats and sheep stampeded toward the guardhouse. Yasser could see the Bedouin children chasing them with their sticks and crooks, shouting and laughing as the chased the animals. The pilot and his mate heard the racket and stopped what they were doing inside the helicopter. They both climbed down onto the sand and watched as the animals galloped closer and closer to the guardhouse. They were less than three hundred yards away from the helicopter now, and were running at full pelt, fear driving them on.

  The pilot was bare-chested, wearing green coloured combat pants and high-necked army boots. He had his automatic pistol pushed into his waistband near his spine. The pilot took his gun out of his pants and aimed it at the centre of the approaching stampede. He leaned his right shoulder against the dark grey metal of the helicopter for support as he aimed, and closed his right eye to sight the shot. Suddenly the door to the guardhouse screeched open as the Eygptian guards came out to investigate the kafuffle outside.

  The hooves of the approaching herd were thundering across the runway now. The animals had left the Bedouin children far behind. One of the guards spotted the pilot about to shoot into the approaching herd and he shouted over the noi
se. Killing a Bedouin animal carried severe consequences, as animals were the lifeblood of a nomadic tribe. The pilot heard the guard, but chose to ignore the warning. He looked at him without lowering the gun and sneered. He had visions of taking a carcass of lamb to sell wherever it was that they were heading to. He closed one eye again and fired into the stampeding herd.

  The pilot’s gun jerked as he fired and a loud retort echoed across the airfield, clearly audible over the bleating animals. As the shot rang out, completely unexpectedly, the back of the pilots head exploded, spraying the hull of the helicopter with blood and brain matter. A triangular piece of skull bone hung from the metal, adhered with sticky fluid. Yasser noted that there was skin and hair still attached to the bone.

  The wounded pilot turned away from the stampede and looked toward Yasser, his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide and shocked. There was a ragged bullet hole in the centre of his forehead where a bullet from the Bedouin chief’s M16 had hit him. His legs buckled and he toppled forward onto his knees, still staring into Yasser’s eyes accusingly. Yasser ran his index finger across his windpipe slowly, returning the pilot’s throat cutting gesture, just seconds before he disappeared beneath a tidal wave of bleating animals.