His three demands had been issued in increasing order of importance and this one – requiring the president to move the embassy – didn't really matter. He couldn't have cared less – he only said it to stir the pot – as a show of strength. If the president had failed to comply in seventy-two hours, Tariq would have dispatched suicide bombers to the compound. It would have been the act of terror he promised but nothing on the scale of what had been carried out.
The only demand important to Tariq was his third one. He wanted his fourteen loyal brothers out of Guantanamo. So far none of them had given any information to the Americans – at least as far as Tariq could determine – but each had vast knowledge of al Qaeda's inner workings and about Tariq himself. He wanted them released both for security reasons and because he needed the help of these senior members of the jihadist movement.
_____
The president and his advisors were in the Situation Room along with General Nelson Barker, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Harry addressed the group, assuming full responsibility for the tragic loss of American lives.
"I should have ordered the ambassador to move everyone to safety the minute there was a threat," he lamented. "Thank God many of the staff were already gone. John told me he and the rest of his people were moving to Tel Aviv at 7 a.m. That's just three and a half hours from now, dammit!"
Defense Secretary Vernon said, "Sir, I understand how hard this is for you, but no one could have expected AQS to ignore its own timeline. No terrorist has ever issued a threat with consequences and then followed through without waiting to see what the response was. Your final order to me when we met yesterday afternoon was to ask Ambassador Sheller for his assessment. He suggested moving the nonessentials before nightfall, and that happened. Thank God nearly two hundred people were moved out of harm's way. We had seventy-two hours to answer Tariq's demand, Mr. President. No one – the ambassador included – had an inkling this might happen if we took sixteen hours to get the rest of our people out. I polled each person in this room by telephone after I spoke with Ambassador Sheller and we unanimously agreed with the ambassador's plan. You can't blame yourself, sir. That's what I'm saying."
"But the buck stops here. That's the way it was for Harry Truman and that's still the way it is today."
CIA director Stan Kendrick was the only one in the room who was a friend of Harry's. They'd grown up in DC politics together, first in the House and then the Senate. He and his wife had spent many hours with Harry and Jennifer over the years. He knew what this man was made of and what he stood for.
"Mr. President," Kendrick said, "you're right. The buck stops with you. There's nobody above you in the pecking order. But if you took that literally, you wouldn't get much done around here. There are tough decisions that must be made every day. Our men and women in the armed forces bravely serve around the world. Every day some of them die. It's tragic that the world is like it is, but it's not this way because of what America has done. Like it or not, we are the world's policeman. Leaders around the world look to us for protection because they know we will do what's just, fair and right – not just for America, but for all nations. Ambassador Sheller was a good man. I knew and respected him and so did you and the others in this room. He knew what it meant to sign up for government service, just as our soldiers know and just as each of us who serves the United States knows. Based on the best information we had, Ambassador Sheller made a rational decision about his people. We signed off on it and it backfired. In memory of him, the deputy ambassador and the scores of others, we have to choose our reaction and decisively implement it."
The room was silent until the president spoke. "Stan, everything you said is right, of course. President Obama once spoke about how lonely the office is. He called the White House a great white jail. And in many ways, it is. I'm fortunate to be surrounded by the best and most competent leaders in the world. Join me for a moment of silence for our fallen comrades, and then let's move forward."
The room was quiet as six of the most powerful men in America and four United States Marine guards bowed their heads.
"Okay," the president said, breaking the reverie. "Back to the real world. Don't be reluctant to toss out anything you're thinking about all this. We have to think outside the box because nothing about this makes sense."
His team laid out what little they knew and tossed out theories and ideas. The underlying question was who was responsible. Tariq had promised to inflict terrible casualties on the workers if Harry didn't announce the removal of the embassy from West Jerusalem. But the attack came less than twelve hours into a seventy-two-hour deadline. He hadn't given Harry time to respond, and a surprise strike against American interests was certain to provoke a response just the opposite of what the al Qaeda leader wanted.
"We know the missiles were launched from a site in Syria," Cruickshank added. "Regardless of the timing, we know Tariq promised to inflict casualties. He really might have been behind the attack." Some of the others thought that Tariq would have claimed responsibility by now, but so far neither ISIS nor al Qaeda had made an announcement.
"I have a question for you, Ken," General Barker asked the NSA director. "When Tariq made that threat, I wondered if he could back it up. As far as you guys or the CIA knows, do they have missiles and a launch platform? I don't want to underestimate them, but I still doubt they could pull this off."
"There's nothing we have to indicate that ISIS or al Qaeda have this kind of capability," he agreed. "What do you think, Stan?"
The CIA director agreed, but pointed out the enigma. "Are we talking about an angry terrorist who said he's going to kill people at the embassy, but someone else in Syria beat him to it? The government itself or another terror group blasted our embassy instead of Tariq? That's too much of a coincidence for me. There's something we're missing here."
They spent the better part of two hours trying to answer that last question – what was this about? Then President Harrison wrapped the meeting. It was time for him to speak to the people.
_____
He addressed the nation from the Oval Office, calling the strikes acts of radical jihadists against both Israel and America, and promising a swift response. As so many other leaders have said in trying times, Harry declared that the attacks only served to bring the country closer together and make America stronger. He offered condolences to the families of those whose lives were cut short and praised Ambassador Sheller, his deputy and the staff for their dedicated service to their country. At the end of his speech, he pointed a finger at al Qaeda and its leader Tariq the Hawk, calling him a despicable coward who killed innocent civilians without compunction. Harry didn't know for sure who'd done it, but the words described Tariq regardless.
Tariq watched the speech. He jeered, snickered and joked during parts of it, but his laughter turned to violent cursing when Harrison called him a coward. "This is not over," he sneered. "You will be the sniveling coward soon, when you see what I do to my enemies. Your friend Brian Sadler is a dead man, Mr. President."
Tariq would waste no more time on Abdel Malouf. He was a traitor and he would pay the price for his sins. It was time to bring Abdel and his American friend in. He turned to a lieutenant. Fire blazing in his eyes, he commanded, "Put your most trusted people on this. I want Abdel Malouf and Brian Sadler, and I will pay a million euros for each. Force them to reveal where the Israelite treasure is hidden, but keep them alive. Once I have them and the treasure, the Israelis and the Americans will give me everything I want."
Within hours, al Qaeda operatives had received their orders. A team embedded inside Israel was on the Sadler mission while the task of finding the Arab was given to two men in Jordan, who were now heading to the Israeli border. Once Malouf and the American were captured, the terrorists would learn where the treasure was hidden. Tariq's interrogators looked forward to that part. Extracting information from prisoners always provided an interesting diversion. Tariq had taught them their trade, and h
e had prepared them well. It would be pleasurable for everyone concerned ... except the prisoners, of course.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The war raged on. Israeli defense forces successfully took out most of the surface-to-air missiles raining down on Jerusalem from Egypt and Lebanon, but others hit their targets, killing civilians and destroying neighborhoods. For a day and a half, air-raid sirens blared almost constantly in the larger cities and the night sky glowed with barrages of enemy activity and Israeli responses. Convoys of Jordanian and Lebanese armored tanks and troop carriers breached the border, rumbling across the Allenby Bridge into Palestinian-controlled Jericho. Israeli pilots flew mission after mission, systematically taking out one enemy battalion after another. When Egyptian jets entered Israeli airspace from the west, antiaircraft artillery units blasted them from the skies over the Negev Desert.
There were only a handful of guests left at the David Citadel Hotel. Once the airports briefly reopened, most had left. By now many had been able to get on flights out, and the rest still camped out in the terminal buildings or in hotels near the airports. All deliveries to the hotel had stopped, so the daily breakfast and lunch buffets were replaced by meals served at seven a.m., noon and six. Everyone – staff and guests – ate together. Breakfast consisted of bread, cheese and fruit. Lunch and dinner were whatever meat was still on hand plus potatoes and onions, which were in plentiful supply in the hotel's larder. There was also plenty of coffee, tea and thousands of bottles of wine, the latter now supplanting water as a primary drink after the main filtration system for Jerusalem had been damaged by a doomed Jordanian fighter jet that crashed into it.
Electricity was still working in most of the city and two television stations remained on the air, although there was speculation how long they would last if the shelling continued. Telephone and Internet connectivity was fine in parts of Jerusalem and nonexistent in others.
After the embassy attack, Congress had acted quickly. Now squadron after squadron of USAF bombers rained pure hell on Damascus and Syria's border installations until they were obliterated. Although Syria was no longer a threat, the other border nations still fought with determination, and Israel's military handled itself with the same poise and precision as it had done in the Six-Day War fifty years previously.
Once America had responded to Syria's attack, US forces withdrew. Shigon and Harrison agreed that so long as Israel could successfully defend itself, the United States would stay on the sidelines, although two more nuclear aircraft carriers had joined the Harry Truman in the Mediterranean off the coast of Haifa.
The battle raged for thirty-six hours, but at three p.m. the afternoon after things had begun, the residents of Jerusalem noticed an eerie silence. There were no planes, no antiaircraft gunfire, no screams and no air-raid sirens. News that it was over spread quickly. Their resources depleted, air forces destroyed and troops demoralized by the intensity of the response by the Israeli military, its enemies withdrew. An uneasy calm settled over the city and people hesitantly popped out of shelters to assess the damage. It was Sabbath afternoon – a time when families traditionally spent time together – and before long friends were gathering in parks and homes. People had died – no one yet knew how many – and their country had been attacked once again, but the resiliency of this brave nation was what shone forth in the aftermath of war.
In the unusual, brief call yesterday, Abdel had instructed Brian to come to his shop at noon. Brian had tried to call, but there was no service. It was now four p.m. and he was anxious to check on Abdel. Brian was torn; he regretted how he had left things; despite Brian's distrust of him, the man had upheld his side of the deal and Brian had reneged on a promise.
Because of previous hotel bombings – the King David decades ago and the American Colony recently – security outside Brian's hotel remained very high. Until an hour or so ago, guests had not been allowed to leave, but word spread that enemy troops had withdrawn, and everyone who had been cooped up was anxious to get outdoors. Armed security personnel outside the hotel still examined documents for every person coming or going, and the porte cochere was still closed to vehicles. It was chaotic, but everyone accepted the inconvenience because it wouldn't last much longer.
Brian was surprised to see how few cars there were in the streets. There were no taxis; he guessed there had been no fares to be picked up during a battle. He wouldn't have taken a cab now anyway. The conflict was over, the skies were clear, and there was a warm breeze. He wanted to walk. As he saw other pedestrians, he realized how tough these people were. The war hadn't been over four hours, but a few bars had already reopened, and he could hear music and conversation from inside them. In another hour or so it would be dark and Sabbath would be over. As usual on a Saturday night in Jerusalem, the streets would be filled, as they had been last Saturday evening. It was a comforting feeling knowing that things were going to be all right. Life was already returning to normal, whatever normal meant to citizens who lived knowing there could be more conflict at any moment.
He entered the Old City through the Jaffa Gate and strolled down the street that divided the Armenian and Christian Quarters. Above him, the Dome of the Rock stood grandly. Tonight, he stopped to gaze upon its beauty as the setting sun's rays emblazoned its roof. As he walked to Abdel's street, he gathered his thoughts. As conflicted as he was about the man, he wanted to know why he'd told Brian he was in danger. When he arrived, he saw that the gallery was dark. The front door was locked. He knocked a couple of times, but there was no answer.
As he turned to leave, he spotted Abdel coming around the corner. He waved and noticed that the man looked surprised – maybe even upset – to see him.
"Brian," he said sharply as he took out a ring of keys and unlocked the door, "what are you doing here?"
"You asked me to come at noon, but obviously I couldn't. As soon as they let us leave, I came here. What did you mean when you said I was in danger?"
"Everything is fine now," he said, his eyes darting nervously down the block. "I made a mistake, that's all. I'm sorry, but I must go now. I have a client who will be arriving at any moment."
"Your clients are still doing business in the middle of all this?" Brian joked, but Abdel didn't smile. Once again, something wasn't right.
"Abdel, you sounded really worried when we talked yesterday. Are you in trouble?"
"You must leave now," he stammered, glancing anxiously down the block. "I will contact you tomorrow." Brian saw two men dressed in black robes a block away. Abdel went inside the gallery, leaving the front door open behind him. Brian walked down the street, turned and saw the men go into Abdel's shop. In the gathering gloom, it was impossible to see their features, but there had been no mistaking Abdel's distress. Whoever they were, Abdel knew them and they weren't clients. He was terrified.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The three men sat around a table at the back of Abdel's gallery, drinking tea and smoking as he attempted to make small talk until they were ready to divulge what they were doing here.
"How difficult was it to cross the border?" Abdel asked the junior one, a Syrian he had known for many years.
"It was nothing," he replied, explaining that they had joined a convoy of Jordanian troops that crossed the Allenby Bridge and went into Jericho. "We left the soldiers and became just two more Palestinians caught in the battle. Last night we sneaked around an Israeli checkpoint, and today we hitched a ride from a farmer with a donkey and a cart. We arrived in Jerusalem just as the fighting ended."
The other man – the one with the six-inch scar on his face – was also a Syrian. His name was Ibrahim. Abdel had met him once or twice many years ago, but they had never worked together. Ibrahim had a commanding presence that demanded respect and a frightening reputation for violence. Rumor had it that he was a ruthless jihadist who had been trained by the best – Tariq himself.
Why were they here? Did Tariq send them? He had a growing sense of uneasiness and a knot in his
gut that was getting more painful by the minute.
"What brings you to Jerusalem during a conflict?"
The cordiality was over. Ibrahim snapped, "We have no time to chatter like women. We have come to protect the treasure. You must take us there."
Now I understand, Abdel thought to himself. Tariq didn't send them. He doesn't even know they are here. They're acting on their own and they want to steal the treasure!
Abdel felt more comfortable now. One call to Tariq and he would be the hero while these two faced his wrath.
Abdel shrugged. "Me? Take you where? What treasure?"
"Who was the man you were talking with when we turned the corner?" he said with a twisted grimace that would have been a smile had the scar not pulled it roughly to one side. "Was it Brian Sadler?"
Abdel looked up in shock. "No, no," he responded too quickly. "No, just a friend."
Ibrahim's job wasn't to find Brian Sadler; his responsibility was to capture Abdel, and accomplishing that mission had been simple. Another team would be sent for Abdel's friend, but he could earn twice the ransom if he delivered them both.
"Tariq wants to talk to the American. Where is he staying?"
He shuffled nervously at the mention of Tariq's name. Maybe his visitors wanted something other than he had thought.
"How should I know where he is staying? I hardly know him."
Ibrahim let the lie pass. Soon Abdel would tell everything he knew, and there was still the matter of the treasure. He pointed to the crates sitting nearby. "What are those large boxes? Are you planning on going somewhere without telling your friends?"
Temple: The Prophecy of the Hidden Treasure (Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries Book 7) Page 14
