Dead Heat

by Joel C. Rosenberg

  aliens.

  What's more, James noted, the task force found that "COSCO ships serve as a vehicle for the transportation of strategic material to allies of the PRC in support of their strategic programs—development of ballistic missiles, nuclear weapons, chemical and biological

  weapons." Just as troubling, "COSCO not only carries military and strategic cargoes from the PRC and North Korea to such countries as Pakistan, Iran, and Syria—but also carries strategic items and materials illegally purchased in Western Europe to these countries

  while concealing the ultimate destination."

  "The Chinese even tried to buy the port at Long Beach back in the nineties, right?" the president noted.

  "Actually they were trying to lease it, sir, but yes."

  "When was that?"

  "Around 1996 and '97, Mr. President."

  "And Clinton supported that deal at the time, did he not?"

  "At first, he did, sir," James explained. "But to be fair, once more facts became known about how China was using its shipping companies for military and terrorist purposes,

  Congress passed a law preventing the lease from going through."

  "Did Clinton sign it?" "Yes, sir."

  Oaks paused briefly, then said, "Look, you and I both know in the past several

  decades, China has become a clear and present danger to the United States. They're working feverishly to become a world military power. They've stolen classified designs for at least seven of our latest thermonuclear warheads. They've stolen the design of our neutron bomb.

  They've been caught stealing other classified information on American nuclear weapons

  systems from all our top research labs—Los Alamos, Sandia, Lawrence Livermore, Oak

  Ridge—you name it. They've used their container ships in the past to smuggle weapons

  targeted at the U.S. They've been ratcheting up their rhetoric against us. And then last summer, of course, I agreed to that arms deal with Taiwan. The CIA warned me at the time the deal could backfire. As I recall, you were a little concerned yourself, Burt."

  Trainor nodded.

  "Then, just three months ago," the president continued, "Danny Tracker over at CIA 15

  warned me of a growing clique of generals inside the Chinese air force arguing Beijing had to move against Taipei before those weapons systems were delivered and installed. When is the first shipment scheduled to arrive in Taipei?"

  "Next month, Mr. President," Trainor admitted.

  "My point exactly," Oaks said. "Which raises the question, what if the Chinese leadership in Beijing concluded that they were running out of time, that they had to strike now or lose Taiwan forever?"

  The room went completely silent as everyone realized the magnitude of what the new

  commander in chief was contemplating.

  "Burt, how many nuclear weapons does China currently possess?"

  "Our latest assessment says about four hundred, Mr. President," Trainor said.

  "Roughly 250 are strategic warheads for intercontinental ballistic missiles. Another 150 or so are tactical nukes—battlefield nukes— typically mounted on short- to medium-range

  missiles."

  "Like the ones someone just fired at us?" Oaks asked.

  "Theoretically, yes, Mr. President," Trainor confirmed. "The last CIA assessment about six months ago put the number of Chinese nukes aimed at the U.S. at between 150 and

  200."

  "About half of all the nukes they have?" the president asked.

  "Yes, sir," Trainor said, "give or take."

  The president looked up from his notes. "What did Mao once say? Èvery Communist

  must grasp the truth: political power grows out of the barrel of a gun."

  Again there was silence.

  "You've got twenty-four hours, gentlemen," the president concluded. "By this time tomorrow, I want a detailed plan for a full-scale nuclear retaliation against China. I can't tell you if I'm going to use it, but I'll tell you one thing: somebody's going to pay for this, and soon."

  16

  8:58 A.M.-A REFUGEE CAMP IN JORDAN

  Bennett's satellite phone began to ring again.

  This time, he had no doubt who it was. He took a deep breath and, after four rings,

  finally picked up.

  "Hello? This is Jon."

  "You've been expecting my call," said the voice at the other end, once again

  electronically disguised.

  "You told me something terrible was about to happen," Bennett said.

  "Now you know I'm telling the truth."

  "The only way you could have know those attacks were coming was if you were

  complicit in them," Bennett charged.

  "I had nothing to do with it," the voice countered. "Not directly."

  "You really expect me to believe that?" Bennett said. "You obviously know the players.

  You knew what they were planning. You knew how serious it was going to be. You knew

  when it was going to happen. You knew where it was going to happen. You knew how to

  track me down. And you gave me no time to warn anyone. In my book, that makes you part

  of the conspiracy to commit genocide."

  "I do know the people responsible," the voice conceded. "And yes, I know what they're capable of. But they have gone too far. This wasn't

  hen I

  what we had agreed to w

  first signed on. What they're planning is unimaginable. Millions will die. Tens of

  millions. Believe me, Mr. Bennett, these were merely the appetizers. You don't want to taste the main course."

  "What is it?"

  "Cooperate and I'll tell you," the voice said. "But not yet."

  "Why should I cooperate with you?" Bennett demanded. "You've just annihilated millions of people. Maybe more."

  "How many more do you want to

  ?

  see killed " the voice asked.

  "If you really want to stop the next attacks, then do it," Bennett shot back. "Call the U.S.

  military. Tell them everything. But why get me involved? I'm out of the game. That's not my world anymore, an y

  d ou've killed everyone I know inside the American government."

  17

  "Not all of them," the voice said.

  "All of them," Bennett repeated.

  "That's not true, Mr. Bennett, and you know it. You know the new president. You've known him for years."

  Bennett immediately tensed. He spun around, scanning the faces in the crowded

  alleyway by his tent. Was someone watching him? Could this person know that he had just spoken to the president? How? It wasn't possible. Was it?

  "W

  lied, trying not to lie but walking t

  e were never close," Bennett rep

  he line.

  "Close enough for my purposes."

  "Which are what?" Bennett asked, his blood pressure rising. "You never answered my question. If you're really serious,

  hy didn'

  w

  t you stop these attacks? And why don't you stop

  the next ones? Why get me involved?"

  "I couldn't stop these attacks," the voice insisted, betray

  f

  ing the irst trace of emotion thus

  far. "And the truth is, I can't stop the next ones either—not by myself, anyway. I need help, which is why I'

  m talking to you."

  o

  The two were silent for a m ment as each sized up the other.

  "You believe I'm telling the truth?" the voice finally asked.

  "I believe you knew the attacks were comi

  tt said cautiously. "

  ng," Benne

  Beyond that, the

  jury's still out."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "How do I know you'll tell me the truth going forward?" Bennett asked.

  "You don't," he was told. "You'll have to trust me."

 
"I don'

  can do that."

  t know that I

  "It's your only hope to save millions of lives."

  "You've given me no pr

  you ca

  oof

  n deliver."

  "Look, Mr. Bennett," the voice said sharply, "you're either in or out. You're in no position to negotiate."

  "I'm not trying to negotiate,"

  kn

  Bennett said. "But I need to

  ow what I'm being asked to

  do and whether I can deliver."

  "If you couldn't deliver, I wouldn't waste my time calling you," he was told.

  "Then what do you need?" Bennett asked.

  "Five million dollars and seventy-two hours of your life."

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  "It's very simple, Mr. Bennett," the voice said. "I will e-mail you a Swiss bank account number. You will wire

  e money t

  th

  oday. Then you'll get on a plane to Bangkok.

  Alone. If the money clears and I'm convinced you're alone, my people will meet you at the airport. They'll bring you to me, and I'll explain what I need you to do. If you'

  a

  re not lone,

  or if I think you're working with someone . . ."

  ennett asked.

  "Then what?" B

  "Then I'll keep your money and people will die," the voice said. Bennett was

  incredulous. "You want me to pay for the privilege of risking my life to help you?"

  "Mr. Bennett, five million dollars is a small price to pay to save

  lives of fifty

  the

  million; is it not?"

  Bennett gasped. Fifty million people? It seemed unimaginable. Or it would have, before

  all this.

  "Pay me the five million and I'll tell you everything I know," the voice said.

  18

  "If it's so urgent, why not just tell me now?" Bennett asked.

  "We will do this my way, or we won't do it at all. Look, I will give you everything—a list of everyone involved, what their motives are, where they are based, and what their plans are.

  'm

  But I

  not going to do it over the phone. You and your wife must meet with me face-

  to-face. You come to Bangkok. My people will find you. They will bring you both to me.

  And then we will talk. That's it. That's the deal. It's not open for discussion.

  It's a simple proposition, Mr. Bennett: save th

  r suffe

  e world o

  r the consequences. Are you in

  or out?"

  Bennett took a deep breath. "T re'

  he s been a slight complication since you last called," he

  said cautiously.

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

  "What kind of complication?" the voice asked.

  "I got a call from the president."

  "Which one?"

  "The president of the United States."

  "Oaks?" the voice asked, clearly caught off guard.

  "Yes," Bennett said, trying to figure out how to explain this without making a bad situation worse.

  "Why? What did he want?" the voice demanded.

  "He's trying to rebuild his government, and he wants my help."

  "I thought you were out of the game," the voice said. "You just said so."

  .

  "I had been "

  "But now?"

  "Everything's changed—you changed it," Bennett said. "I'm supposed to leave in two hours for the U.S. to meet with the president."

  "Where?"

  "I have no idea."

  "How are you getting there?" the voice asked. "All flights in and out of the U.S. have been canceled."

  "I don't know—it's being arranged," Bennett said. "That's all I can say. Bu t look, if you

  really want to help stop these

  forget the m

  attacks,

  oney. Tell me what you know. I can talk to

  the president. I can persuade him to take action. Maybe I could get a deal for you as well.

  Immunity from prosecution. Witness protection. What do you say?"

  The voice laughed. "Forget it, Mr. Bennett. Now I want fifty million."

  "What?" Bennett asked. "Why?"

  "Fifty million dollars, Bennett, wired to my account today," the voice replied. "And you and Erin on a plane to Bangkok—or you get nothing."

  19

  9:06 A.M.-A REFUGEE CAMP IN JORDAN

  For almost a full minute, Bennett said nothing.

  "I will talk to the president about the money," he said at last. "I doubt he will give you that much. But Bangkok isn't going to happen."

  "I told you, Bennett, this isn't a negotiation. You and Erin are coming to Bangkok, and that's final."

  "I'm not coming to Bangkok," Bennett repeated. "Neither is Erin. It's out of the question."

  "Are you insane?" the voice shot back. "Do you understand what's going to happen if you two don't come?"

  "We can't," Bennett said firmly. He explained that he had an ailing wife, a baby on the way, a nation in mourning, and a president who had asked for his help. "I'll do my best to get you the money, but only if you e-mail me everything you know. If you're really sorry about what's happened, if you're really serious about saving lives, then that's it. That's the deal. I'm sorry. It's the best I can do."

  The voice was seething. "I'm not interested in your troubles, Mr. Bennett. I've

  got troubles of my own. I will call you in precisely twenty-four hours. Either you've

  wired the fifty million, are standing with your wife at the airport in Bangkok of

  your own free will, and have thus earned the chance to save the world, or the deal is

  off. You'll have just sentenced fifty million people to die. And you'll have no one to

  blame but yourself. It's your choice, Mr. Bennett. Choose wisely."

  The line suddenly went dead.

  Bennett's heart was racing. He had no doubt whoever he'd been speaking with was deadly

  serious. He wiped his brow, took a swig of water, and prayed the plan had worked as it was supposed to.

  He stepped into his tent and quickly dialed a phone number in Europe that cross-linked

  him via secure fiber optic cables into the Communications Center at Site R, the Pentagon's top secret war room in the Catoctin Mountains near the border between Maryland and

  Pennsylvania. Once in, he got a stutter tone. He then punched in the nine-digit code that immediately patched him through to a colonel working directly for Defense Secretary Burt

  20

  Trainor.

  "Mr. Bennett, we've been waiting for your call," the colonel said. "Did it work?"

  Bennett asked immediately. "Could you trace it?" "Hold on, sir," the colonel said. "I should know in a moment." Bennett paced his tent.

  He knew it was a huge risk. But he was sure he'd done the right thing. A few minutes

  after President Oaks had hung up from his phone call with Bennett, a senior aide to the secretary of defense had followed up the president's call to arrange the details of their extraction from Jordan. With mushroom clouds rising over four American cities, Bennett

  hadn't hesitated to tell the aide what had happened. After all, if he was agreeing to advise the commander in chief, he could do no less than be fully candid with those around him.

  The colonel had been instantly intrigued. He'd offered to trace every call that came

  into Bennett's satellite phone. Until then, Bennett had thought all satphone calls were untraceable. Apparently that wasn't exactly true. Bennett hadn't the foggiest idea of all the technology involved. All he knew was what the colonel told him to do: as soon as contact was reestablished with the mystery caller, Bennett was supposed to dial into the military's top secret command post and await further instructions.

  Bennett stopped
pacing.

  He was still on hold, but he knew he had to start packing his and Erin's things as quickly as possible, for it was clear now that one way or the other, they'd be leaving soon. He pulled their two large suitcases out from under the army cots they had been using and began loading

  them with clothes and their toiletries. Then he gathered their Bibles, journals, iPods, and chargers and packed them in his large leather briefcase.

  Next he powered up his laptop, pointed his antenna toward the southern sky, and

  connected to the Internet via satellite. A moment later, he was downloading e-mails for the first time in several weeks-319 and counting.

  Bennett scrolled through the list. There were at least a dozen from his morn, but

  none of them were within the last few days. None of them would help him find her. All of them, therefore, would have to wait. Two e-mails were from Chuck Murray, President

  MacPherson's former press secretary. Bennett scanned them quickly. Murray was working

  on a book about the administration and was trying to track him down to confirm various

  details, as well as to catch up. All that was no doubt irrelevant, he realized. He wondered if Murray had even survived the attacks and said a prayer for his safety, and his soul, just in case.

  An e-mail from Dmitri Galishnikov now caught Bennett's eye. The Medexco

  gazillionaire wanted to know where in the world Jon and Erin were, and when could they

  come to Jerusalem and have dinner with him. Bennett made a mental note to give

  Galishnikov a call on the flight back to the States. They hadn't seen each other or spoken since January. It was time to reconnect.

  The Russian Jewish petroleum engineer had become one of Bennett's dearest friends

  since his days on Wall Street. But the blunt truth was that Galishnikov was a man on his way to hell unless something changed radically, and soon. He was rich. He was powerful. He had everything he wanted. But he hadn't nearly everything he needed. He needed Yeshua HaMashiach, Jesus the Messiah.

  Bennett had been heading to hell as well. But now, by God's grace, he had found a

  personal relationship with Jesus. More than a million Israelis had found Him too, and had planted more than ten thousand messianic Jewish congregations just since the firestorm.