The Gamma Option

by Jon Land

  “None,” Evira insisted, trying to collect her thoughts while keeping her calm. How Hassani had learned of McCracken’s involvement wasn’t as pressing as why it seemed so important to him. If anything, as he had noted, the two men were allies in a twisted sort of way. Thanks to her.

  “I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Evira. But only if you provide the answer to a question I’m sure you do know the answer to: where is McCracken’s son stashed?”

  Evira’s response was to stare at Hassani in confused helplessness.

  “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Why is it important to you?”

  “It is. That is all you need to know.”

  “The boy cannot possibly be of service to you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “McCracken has nothing to do with you!”

  Hassani grew still calmer. “I expected far more of you, Evira. You have let me down. But I will give you one more chance to answer my questions.”

  “Then what? Torture? Drugs?”

  He looked genuinely insulted. “A gentleman would never treat a lady so. However …”

  With that, the general gazed back toward the staircase and signaled his guards. Seconds later a pair of them approached, dragging someone between them.

  “I believe you know this boy,” Hassani said.

  Kourosh writhed and kicked between the guards dragging him along. His lips were bloody and the edges of his long auburn hair were wet with blood from a cut on his forehead.

  “No!” Evira screamed.

  The guards stopped just to the general’s right. Evira’s eyes met the boy’s.

  “Now you will tell me where I can find Blaine McCracken’s son, won’t you?”

  A nod from Hassani brought one of the guard’s revolvers from its holster, barrel pressed solidly against Kourosh’s head as the second guard held the boy in place.

  “I will ask you again, and if you fail to answer, my man will pull the trigger.”

  “You … animal!”

  “Where can I find Blaine McCracken’s son?”

  A thousand thoughts swam through Evira’s head. The problem she faced was impossible, death for herself a better alternative than choosing.

  “Kill me instead!” she begged.

  “But then who would tell me what I want to know?”

  “I can’t! I can’t!”

  “How unfortunate,” Hassani said, and nodded to the guard holding the gun.

  The man pulled the trigger.

  “Insurance,” Blaine had replied to Isser’s question of why the fabrication of his death was necessary prior to their leaving the O.K. Corral. “Before we parted in Jaffa, Evira assured me she could get my son away from Fett—and thus Rasin. But if she failed and he’s still alive, his best bet to stay that way is if we put the word out that I’m dead.”

  “Because then Rasin would have no reason to kill him,” Isser added.

  Blaine nodded. “That pair of female killers who went after me in Boston were his from the beginning. He only let Evira reach me so I would lead him to her. And I almost did.”

  “Yes,” Isser had recalled. “Ben-Neser in Jaffa. You saved his life.”

  “He saved mine first without realizing it.”

  In Washington they transferred from the small private jet into a larger one for the flight to Tel Aviv. Precautions insured no one saw Blaine at any point, so the fabricated tale of his death at the hands of Holliday and his deputies was left intact.

  “Incredible,” Isser commented when they were again off the ground. “This whole affair is incredible. This Gamma Option,” he continued, putting it together for himself, “you claim it has as its basis the takeover of a country by exposing it to an enzyme contained in a virus the population becomes instantly addicted to?”

  “For the sustenance of their very lives, yes. But takeover is a poor choice of words. We’re talking about something infinitely more terrifying. Invasion without ever setting foot on foreign soil. Surrender without ever being faced with a conventional weapon. In a scant few days, an enemy country gets transformed into a massive prison camp, the whole of their population’s DNA-altered and in need of more of Bechman’s enzyme in order to survive.”

  “But with such technology available, why not just kill everyone in the enemy country instead?”

  “To begin with you’ve got the Indian over there’s theory,” Blaine said, nodding at Wareagle, “that this is truly a fate worse than death for any proud nation. There’s substance in that and practicality as well. To begin with, a poison potent enough to kill might show up by connection in the water supply early enough for the system to be shut down. And if you risked releasing the killer poison into the air, there’d be no way to control it. Think of it from the American viewpoint. Not only would Japan have been rendered impotent and our virtual industrial slave, but due warning would have been served on the Russians, as well. Hell, that’s what dropping the bombs was all about anyway. Sounds tempting, doesn’t it? In a twisted way, it might have solved all our problems.”

  “Which is the very way Rasin sees it in terms of Israel. But how did he learn of Gamma’s existence?”

  “We can rule Bechman out, which leaves his assistant Eisenstadt. Others might have known about Gamma being out there, but only a scientist working closely with the project could furnish sufficient details and supply the expertise required to meet Rasin’s needs.”

  “And you’re quite sure those needs have been met?”

  “Everything points in that direction. Trouble is, Isser, we’re forgetting that in spite of all this the Americans didn’t use Gamma when they had the chance. I’ve got to figure that something was uncovered at the last minute, except Bechman couldn’t recall anything of the kind.”

  “And would Eisenstadt have known, as well?”

  “Assume he didn’t. Assume he handed Gamma over to Rasin unaware himself of the whole story.”

  Isser wasn’t convinced. “We have no way of knowing there is any more to the story. Truman could simply have changed his mind.”

  “It’s possible, but in my mind the sinking of the Indianapolis indicates more was involved than that. The question is what, and Rasin has no better idea of the answer than we do. Hell, he doesn’t even know the question.”

  “So what do you suggest we do under the circumstances?”

  “All we can do is take one step at a time. For now that means finding Eisenstadt and rounding up Rasin before he can unleash the Gamma Option forty-five years late.”

  “That’s two steps, my friend, not one.”

  “Math was never my best subject. Besides, the third step’s the most important one of all.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We bury whatever’s left of Gamma so deep that nobody will ever be able to dig it up again.”

  During the last leg of the flight to Tel Aviv, Isser at last managed to drift off to sleep, leaving Blaine and Johnny Wareagle awake facing each other.

  “You gotta make me a promise, Indian.”

  “If the spirits allow, Blainey.”

  “It’s like this. We might walk the same path, but we do it with different steps. I’ve always relied on luck and God knows I’ve had plenty, while you, well, I don’t know, I just think the odds of you getting out of this are better than me. Luck’s gotta run out sometime, right?”

  “There are those who don’t believe in luck. There are those who call it fate instead, and fate is ruled by the spirits. It was what guided us through the hellfire and reunited us those few years ago when we at last relented to the truth of our souls.”

  “Then look at it this way, Indian. I’ve got a bad feeling; that’s all. Maybe I’m hearing the words of your spirits at last and I don’t like what they’re saying. What matters is the boy, Johnny. If things don’t work out, you’ve got to get him back. You’ve got to handle things just the way I would have.”

  “It will be done, Blainey.”

 
; “And if you’re too late, if the boy is—”

  “The balance will be preserved,” Johnny Wareagle broke in assuredly. “Those who took the gift of the spirits will lose whatever they hold most precious.”

  “So long as it hurts, Indian. So long as it hurts.”

  Click …

  The harmless strike of the pistol hammer sent a whooossssh of air through Evira. She could barely recover her breath.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Hassani taunted. “The revolver has six chambers, but only one has a bullet. Your odds are one in five now, decreasing all the time, Evira. Or should I say the boy’s odds? If you just tell me where I can find McCracken’s son, I promise to let the boy live. Simple as that.”

  “Why does it matter to you? Why does McCracken matter to you at all? He’s helping you, goddamn it, you said so yourself.”

  “It’s you who does not see, Evira. You are missing the big picture. It’s right before you and you’re missing it.”

  Something struck her. “Somehow you and Rasin are working together. Why? How?”

  Hassani almost laughed. “I’m waiting.”

  “Don’t force me to make such a choice. You can’t!”

  “Life is full of choices. I’ve made my share, plenty of them painful. You too. Now both of us must make another. You first. Tell me where I can find McCracken’s son or this boy dies.”

  She looked through the bars of her cell at Kourosh, who was so desperately trying to stay brave. Their eyes met and locked, his telling her so much.

  It’s okay. I understand… .

  But it wasn’t okay, not in any sense.

  “Kill him and you’ll get nothing from me,” she spit at Hassani. “You know that.”

  “My dear lady, if you make me kill him, your punishment will be done. I would not dare kill you and put you out of your misery. Make your choice and live with it. McCracken’s son or this boy. Choose!”

  “I can’t!”

  “This is your last chance.”

  “No!”

  Distressed, Hassani turned and nodded once again to the guard holding the pistol against Kourosh’s head. Evira’s face contorted in agony as he began to squeeze the trigger.

  “General!” a voice called from the area of the stairs.

  A quick hand signal from Hassani and the guard eased his pressure off the trigger.

  “I have a message for you, General!” a guard announced as he made his way purposefully toward Hassani.

  Reaching him, the guard handed over a piece of paper which the general read quickly, crumbling it in his hands with a smile when he was finished.

  “It seems you have been spared the necessity of choosing,” he announced to Evira. “Blaine McCracken was killed while following the trail of Rasin’s weapon. I no longer require his son.” Then he said to his guards, “Put this boy in the cell with her. Let them die together.” He turned back toward Evira. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid my presence is required elsewhere… .”

  The prime minister heard Isser’s entire report without interruption while standing by his bay window. When the Mossad chief finished, the prime minister made no sound or move, just stood as if transfixed by the day as it began over Jerusalem.

  “Rasin has this weapon. You’re convinced of that?” he responded at last.

  “McCracken’s convinced. That’s good enough for me, sir.”

  “So we are surrounded by madmen on all sides. One would destroy everything we are from the outside. Another would destroy everything we stand for from within. The lesser of two evils is what it comes down to, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t under—”

  “Yes, you do, Isser. It was in your voice as you relayed the story to me. McCracken knew nothing of the immediacy of Hassani’s plot or of his apparent possession of a superweapon of his own, did he?”

  “I told him nothing.”

  “Then he has no reason to suspect.”

  Isser grasped the intent of the prime minister’s words and returned to his feet. “Operation Firestorm is barely twenty-four hours away.”

  “And so is the first stage of Hassani’s strike, and given what we know we can’t trust Firestorm to prevent it, can we?” Isser remained silent. “Answer me, Isser.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Then have your people put out the word. I want to meet Rasin. His terms. Anything.”

  The chief of Mossad just looked at him. “What have we become, sir?”

  “We become what we have to, Isser. In the end we become whatever it takes to survive.”

  “Would you like me to repeat my terms again?” Yosef Rasin asked as the sun’s warmth burned away in the afternoon sky.

  “No,” the prime minister replied to the younger man. “I believe I understand them.”

  Rasin leaned forward and dabbed the sweat from his bronzed face with a napkin. He smiled slightly and poured a glass of fresh orange juice from a glass pitcher before him. He had agreed to this meeting on the condition that it be held between only the two of them on his kibbutz in the Negev. Rasin liked the symbolism of that. Without asking, he refilled the old man’s glass and then drained his own in a single gulp, leaving a pulpy residue behind from bottom to rim. Around him, the trees of the orange grove blew in the wind. To Rasin it sounded like the applause of an approving people. His people.

  “But do you accept them?”

  “Accept you as my minister of defense and my heir apparent? I’m not sure which fate is the worse for Israel.”

  The prime minister had expected a reaction of anger. What he got was a strangely closed smile.

  “You have nothing to bargain with, Mr. Prime Minister. Your hand is folded before you. I hold all the cards.”

  “Not cards, Rasin, lives! Do you hear me? Lives!”

  “You came to me. You came to beg me to unleash my weapon under your direction, with your charter.”

  “And I hate myself for it.”

  “It is done my way or not at all!”

  “Madness! Listen to what you’re saying!”

  “I’m listening to you instead. Words of desperation, of futility, of failure. They are the same words I have heard for years, decades. We are an island surrounded by a vast sea of sharks. Instead of learning to control those sharks, you have allowed them to multiply and grow stronger until they are in a position to control our island as well as their sea. There is to be no compromise.”

  “Not compromise, merely redefinition,” the prime minister implored. “Our major problem is Hassani, so all I’m urging is that you limit the initial release of Gamma to Iran. The rest of the nations will fall in line as soon as they see the results. We can prevent the use of his superweapon and thus the invasion will be stemmed.”

  “This invasion, yes. But what about the next and the one after? You, all of you, are so shortsighted. You accept a war every ten years so long as there is what you call peace in the interim. Releasing Gamma over a single country will make the others more militant, even more prone to the terror tactics that have torn us apart. Our enemy does not fear death, he cherishes it. All he requires is a reason to die, and your ‘redefinition’ would supply it. The moderates and radicals will join forces. We will accomplish ourselves what Hassani himself would have been hard-pressed to do.” He calmed himself. “So it must be all the nations where the murderers hide behind the guise of politicians and diplomats. It must be made clear that any threat to destroy us means they destroy themselves and their only chance for the continued survival we allow them.”

  “You’re forgetting the Indianapolis,” Isser grasped. “The Americans sunk it to hide Gamma forever. They must have had their reasons, and now you’re going to release it in spite of that.”

  “A risk I’m willing to take, just like you, as your presence here today indicates, Mr. Prime Minister. Our entire way of life has been at risk since our very inception. Only this time we are in a position to control our own destiny and destroy the Arab radicals who would otherwise de
stroy us.”

  “And if they still continue their fight after you open your cannisters, what then, Rasin? Do you let half a country die for every hundred of us they kill? A whole country for every thousand?”

  “If necessary, yes. Absolutely.”

  “You’re playing God, Rasin.”

  “As someone clearly must, as you have failed in your wisdom to dare. My terms are nonnegotiable. All my terms, including where and how my appointment to the cabinet will be announced to the country as Independence Day dawns.”

  “As insurance, no doubt.”

  “Precisely. Insurance against you changing you mind once I’ve done your dirty work for you. Rest easy, Mr. Prime Minister. I won’t need you long. The people will rally to me. They will embrace what I represent. I speak for the masses who are sick of living in fear, of living amidst the constant threat of death.”

  “Better to live in hell, Rasin?”

  “Better to live period.”

  Chapter 25

  “IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME,” McCracken said to Wareagle when he heard the sound of a key being turned.

  When they had arrived in Israel over twelve hours before, they were driven by Isser to a cluster of apartments in the Bayet-Gan section of Jerusalem that in actuality formed a Mossad safehouse. Blaine and Wareagle were stowed in a windowless basement apartment with a promise that Isser would return as soon as he sorted things out with the prime minister. They had begun to worry after six hours. After twelve had passed, the unseen Saturday morning sun was rising and the worry had evolved into a certainty that something had gone wrong.

  Now at last they stood before the door. It swung open to reveal a stoop-shouldered, wizened old man.

  “What’s the matter?” Isaac asked, noting their surprise. “You were expecting maybe Moses?”

  “No,” McCracken answered. “Just the prime minister. Or the head of Mossad, at the very least.”

  The old man waved a knobby hand before him. “Ach, you don’t exist to them anymore. Neither do we.”

  “We?”

  “I’m one of four. There’ll be plenty of time to tell you about it on the drive. Come,” the old man beckoned, “we’d better get going before your guards think twice about the story I gave them.”