by J C Ryan
“Jim, let me guess,” Ben started. “This has something to do with the bomb explosion in Jerusalem the other day?”
James nodded.
“Our intel says there were four Americans involved, the Devereux family of three and a young single woman, Sally Johnson, who was backpacking through Israel. Which of those is the subject of your interest? Or is it someone else?”
“It’s the Devereux family.”
“Jim, are you here on a personal or official mission?”
“Official, but you know what it’s like; you work closely with people, and sometimes you become friends. In this case, it was both of them.”
“Yes I know, and I understand. Are you saying Devereux and his wife were working for you?”
James nodded yes.
“I take it you will tell me when I need to know, what type of work they were involved in.” Ben had a questioning frown on his face.
James nodded again.
“Okay. Let me tell you what I know.” Ben took a sip of his coffee and continued. “As you probably know, the investigation is still in progress, and there is a lot we still don’t know yet. What we can be sure of is that everyone who was inside that restaurant is dead, except for Professor Devereux. He only escaped death because he was in the restroom at the back of the building when the bomb went off. He was discovered there by the first response rescue team, and if it were not for their swift actions, he would have been dead as well.”
James nodded. That answered one of his questions. “How did it happen?”
“We are still questioning eyewitnesses. So far, we’ve established that shortly before the explosion a fight broke out across the street from the restaurant. A crowd gathered quickly; security personnel rushed in to disperse the crowd and stop the fighting when a van drove into the restaurant, and the bomb exploded.”
Ben’s explanation answered another of James’ questions from earlier about why more people had not been killed. They were on the other side of the street and dispersing when the bomb was triggered. “Has your forensics team been able to identify the type of explosives used?”
Ben licked his lips and looked around almost nervously. He dropped his head and whispered, “Jim, what I’m about to tell you is extremely sensitive, and until I tell you otherwise you cannot discuss it with anyone. I trust that you will honor this request?” He raised his eyebrows to get James’ agreement.
“You have my word, Ben.”
“They used a mini thermobaric bomb of Russian origin. We’ve known for some time that Russian Spetsnaz forces had these bombs in their arsenal, but it’s the first time it’s been used by terrorists as far as we know. As you can imagine, we are more than worried by this turn of events.”
“Oh – my – God.” James was shaking his head slowly.
The Russians had developed and tested a thermobaric bomb in September 2007. They called it the FOAB, which was an acronym for ‘Father of All Bombs.’ After the first tests, the deputy chief of the Russian general staff, Alexander Rukshin was quoted as saying; ‘all that is alive merely evaporates.’
The bomb was said to be the most powerful conventional, non-nuclear, weapon in the world - four times more powerful than the US military's GBU-43/B MOAB – ‘Massive Ordnance Air Blast Bomb.’
The Russian thermobaric device yielded six to seven times more explosive power than TNT of the same weight and produced twice the blast radius of the USA’s MOAB, which yielded only 50 percent more blast power than equivalent weight TNT.
A supersonic shockwave and extremely high temperatures inflicted most of the FOAB’s damage.
“And now they have created a mini version, which has landed in the hands of terrorists?” Jim responded.
Ben nodded. “I guess you can understand our concern. The problem is, these bombs are so small they are easy to hide and transport, and extremely difficult to detect.”
A long silence followed while James considered the impact of what he just heard.
“Ben I appreciate your openness and the information you’ve shared with me. Do you know; do you have any idea who is behind this attack? Is there any reason to believe that the Devereux’s were somehow connected to this?”
Ben was shaking his head. “We have no idea who did it, Jim. Our moles and agents have not been able to pick up anything. Our electronic surveillance hasn’t picked up even one single lead so far. There isn’t any chatter on the wires. This is not going to be easy to unravel.”
James looked at Ben intently. “Ben, you haven’t answered my other question. What about the Devereux’s.”
“I haven’t answered because I don’t have an answer for you. I first learned from you just a few minutes ago, that they were doing undercover work for the US government. As far as I know, no one in the Mossad even knows that much.”
“Okay then; can we please keep this between the two of us until I tell you differently?”
Ben nodded his agreement. “What else can I help with, Jim?”
“Ben, I need to see every shred of evidence that your teams have collected; every report, all the tests with the results, statements, everything,” James said.
Freidman frowned. “This is a very unusual request, my friend.”
James noted the look on his friend’s face, “Ben, this is of the utmost importance to both our countries. I can assure you that the Devereuxs were on a family holiday here in Israel. They were only going to spend two days in Jerusalem and then they were going on a six-week Mediterranean cruise. They were not spies. They were researchers; working on two very different, but significant projects. Carter’s project has potential global security implications. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you more at the moment, but I promise you, if you are willing to cooperate with me on this, I’ll get the necessary authorization to tell you everything. In the meantime, please, will you just trust me?”
Ben looked at James. “Jim, we’ve come a long way. I trust you; I owe you my life, man. I will make sure that you get the information you asked for.”
“Can you pull some strings to make sure that Carter Devereux is kept safe in that hospital and, if necessary, that he is moved to a safe place as soon as possible?”
“Absolutely. I will attend to that as soon as we are done here.”
“Thanks for that. Finally, we need to establish as quickly as possible, whether Dr. Mackenzie Devereux and her son were killed in that explosion or not. I don’t have to tell you how important it is in our line of work to verify facts.”
“Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do to speed up the process. But, I have to remind you that the forensic analysis is a long and tedious process. And as you know from 9/11, forensic testing does not always reveal everything.” Ben replied.
A stab of pain for his friend went through James’ heart, and he nodded sadly, “Yes, I know.”
James was all too familiar with the shortcomings of forensic testing in scenarios like these. High-powered thermobaric bomb explosions such as the one at the Triangle could literally vaporize human bodies and convert building material and human tissue into homogeneous dust that could render DNA and other forensic tests useless.
Of the estimated 2,780 people killed during the 9/11 destruction of the Twin Towers World Trade Center, more than 1,000 remained unidentified and missing to this day.
On his way back to Jerusalem, James reviewed the conversation with Ben Friedman in his mind. He was absolutely sure he could trust Ben and that his friend had not withheld any information from him. The fact that no one had claimed responsibility for the attack, and that the world’s most efficient intelligence agency had no clue who was behind it, posed a problem.
As James was working through the information in his mind, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that the attack was connected to the Devereuxs’ work. That thought scared him immeasurably.
If Carter or Mackenzie’s work was the motive for the attack, it meant A-Echelon has been infiltrated! His whole body filled with tension and dread as t
he thought resonated through his brain.
Chapter 6 -
On your shoulders
Three days after the bomb explosion
She woke with a throbbing ache in her head and blinked her eyes against the bright light in the room. Her mouth was dry, and she was thirsty. Where am I? Her foggy mind questioned as she looked around. What happened? She turned her head to the left and nearly screamed when she saw a veiled face next to her bed. She could only see dark, unreadable, emotionless eyes.
“What …? Who are …?” She stuttered. She wanted to bring her hands to her face but she couldn’t; they were tied to the bed, as were her legs. Why am I tied to a bed? She became aware of the drip stand next to her bed. Her eyes followed a tube leading from a bag of fluid hanging from the stand and ending in a cannula secured to her left arm with a piece of tape.
The figure was dressed in black from head to toe; a niqab covered the head and face revealing only two big dark brown eyes. The figure got up from the chair and moved to the bed.
“Dr. Devereux my name is Seema.”
A woman Mackenzie thought. And she speaks perfect English but with a thick accent.
“I am here to take care of you and make sure that you are comfortable,” The woman continued. “Would you like something to drink? You must be thirsty.” She turned and busied herself at a table pouring water into a glass.
Mackenzie didn’t answer – her memory returned like a flash of lightning. Jerusalem. Restaurant. Liam. Carter. “Where are my son and my husband?” She demanded with as much force as a dry, whispering, voice could produce.
“Don’t worry about them, Dr. Devereux.” Seema placed her hand on Mackenzie’s arm. “They are both alive and well. You will see them soon.”
Mackenzie let out a big sigh. Thank God. She paused and closed her eyes. “Where am I? Why am I here? What is this place?”
Seema lowered her eyes and replied quietly, “I am not permitted to talk to you about any of that. My orders are to take care of you, feed you, and make sure you are comfortable. The Director will see you later and explain everything to you.”
“What Director? Where am I? Why am I tied to the bed?”
Seema ignored Mackenzie’s questions and shook her head. “I already told you I will not discuss any of that with you. Don’t waste your breath asking again.” Her eyes were shooting darts as she spoke. “I’m going to give you water now and then I will feed you. After that, I will wash and dress you for your meeting with the director.”
Somewhere in her befuddled mind, Mackenzie was amazed that just a set of eyes in a hidden face could express so much anger.
Wash and dress me? I think not! Mackenzie pulled at the restraints on her arms and legs, but she couldn’t get them free. She rested back on the pillow. There was nothing she could do. It was hard to think, to assign meaning to all of this. For now, she knew that her head hurt, she was thirsty and hungry, she was tied to a bed with a drip in her arm, and she didn’t know why. Her only consolation was that Liam and Carter were okay.
She closed her eyes trying to return to the past. The last thing she remembered was being at a restaurant in the Downtown Triangle in Jerusalem with her husband, Carter, and their six-year-old son, Liam. Carter had gone to the restroom, and there was a noise and disturbance across the street. A fight had broken out, and she stood to watch, her arm around Liam, who was standing on his chair. And then there was nothing, no images, only a blank.
***
“Good morning sir,” Seema greeted when Daiyan Nasser answered the phone in his office. “Dr. Devereux is awake; if you would like to see her, I will have her ready for you within the hour.”
“Thank you. An hour from now will be good. Take her to the interview room and let me know when you’re ready.”
“Yes, sir, I will let you know.”
Daiyan Nasser was the Director of the Institute of Scientific Research and Development – ISRD. It was a private organization, owned by a group of wealthy Saudi Arabians.
The ISRD was located about six miles south of Mecca, in the mountains of Jabal Thawr (Mount Bull). It was very close to the famous cave, Ghar al-Thawr, the Cave of the Bull where Muhammad and his companion Abu Bakr, stayed hidden from the Quraish, their persecutors, during the migration to Medina in 622 CE.
It is said that with the help of Abu Bakr's family and slave, Muhammad and Abu Bakr took refuge in this cave. When the Quraish came seeking them, Abu Bakr was worried and told Muhammad, but Muhammad assured him that Allah was in the cave with them. When the Quraish reached the cave, it was clear to them no one was in the cave because there was a spider web spread across the mouth and birds nesting nearby.
The ISRD conducted two types of research, overt and covert.
Their overt operations were housed in a six-story building above ground where they performed various medical and technical research projects. These were related to the business operations of the institute’s financial benefactors.
The covert operations were housed six levels underground, directly beneath the building of the overt operations. The building on the surface was the spider web that was hiding the subsurface facility. Except for two people, no one working above ground knew about the underground facilities. They had no clue about the activities going on beneath their feet. There was only one way into the underground facility from above. It was a small lift and staircase hidden behind a bookcase in the director’s office. He was the only one who knew about it and used it.
Staff working on the secret projects entered the facility from a parking garage located about 300 yards away. From there they took an elevator down to an underground access tunnel that led to their workplace.
The handpicked and carefully vetted covert operations staff members were specialists in a variety of scientific disciplines from across the globe, and they were sworn to secrecy. Their research projects covered chemical warfare, human performance enhancement, medical research, nanotechnology, and nuclear physics.
Many of them did it for the money. They were paid exorbitant contract rates to work and keep their mouths shut. Some of them, as Mackenzie was about to find out, were unpaid, ‘compulsory volunteers.’
Mackenzie had furiously protested when Seema approached her bringing the traditional attire of a Muslin woman for her to wear. “I am not a Muslim; I won’t wear this clothing!” She shouted. But Seema ignored her.
“Dr. Devereux, please don’t test our patience. You are now in a Muslim country, and you will wear what every woman wears.” Seema stopped what she was doing and fixed her dark, angry eyes on Mackenzie, “Let me give you some advice. The quicker you accept your situation and cooperate the quicker you will see your husband and son.”
After fifteen minutes of arguing, Mackenzie realized the futility of her protests and decided that if she were to discover what was going on, she would have to cooperate.
Within a few minutes, Mackenzie was dressed in black from head to toe, with a niqab covering her head and face. The only part of her body that could be seen was her two emerald green eyes.
Before she knew it, she was seated at a big oval table in a large room; there was a dark tinted window behind her. She was handcuffed, and Seema sat beside her on the right. They waited in silence for several minutes. Mackenzie was still seething and thought it best not to antagonize her captors further for the moment. The door opened, and Seema stood when a middle-aged Arab man walked into the room. Mackenzie remained seated. The man wore a business suit; his dark hair was neatly combed. His dark eyes and skin spoke of Arab ancestry. He smiled when he looked at Mackenzie.
“Dr. Devereux.” The man started. “You will have many questions, no doubt, and I will be happy to answer as many as I can.”
“You underestimate my thoughts; I can assure you.” Although Mackenzie kept her voice low, it vibrated with anger, and fiery sparks flashed in her eyes. “What is this? Why am I here? I’m sure you know this is an outrage! I am a United States Citizen, handcuffed and held hostag
e.”
The man smiled and held his hand up. “Dr. Devereux, I appreciate your restraint.”
Mackenzie was angrier than she’d ever been in her life and this alone was making her very precise and correct in her use of language. “I’m glad that I please you. Now, I insist you remove these filthy things and that I be allowed to see my family. Immediately!”
“All in good time Doctor, I will answer all of your questions. My name is Daiyan Nasser, and I am the Director of this Institute …”
“I don’t give a damn who you are or what the Institute is; I want to know about my family,” she kept her shaking hands in her lap out of sight. So far, she was keeping things pretty equal. “I demand to see my family and that you also remove these handcuffs. There is nothing you can make me do unless I am prepared to cooperate, and at present, I’m not prepared.” She held her head high in defiance.
“You have to understand Doctor, that I hold the reins here. You do not. I can see that further explanation is needed. In the interest of clarification, I will show you something that will help you understand.”
“Give it your best shot,” Mackenzie intoned under her breath.
“What was that Dr. Devereux?”
Mackenzie cleared her throat and replied, “Nothing.”
A tight smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, and he inclined his head to her, “of course.”
He stood and pushed his chair aside, and then walked to the door where he whispered something to the guard. He turned around and spoke to Seema. “Stay here and keep an eye on her. I will be back shortly.”
A few minutes later Nasser returned and said. “Turn her around so that she faces the window,” He said indicating the window behind her.
“You should have taken my advice,” Seema whispered as she turned Mackenzie’s chair around. A light went on beyond the window to reveal a small room with a long narrow table in the middle. There was a door to the left, which opened and a tall masked man, dressed in black, stepped into the room. He was holding the hand of a small child with a black bag over its head; he led the child to the table. When they reached the table, he removed the bag.
