Dark Rising (11 page)

Alex looked into her face for several seconds; she didn’t flinch.

‘Ms Senesh,’ he said, ‘our priority is to understand what we are dealing with before there is any “destruction of threatening technology”. We don’t even know yet what it is we would be trying to destroy. This threat has come from out of nowhere, and if it’s anything like Dr Shomron has described, then frankly I would prefer to be dealing with a nuclear bomb. Destruction is the fast and easy option, and if we could go back in time and stop yet another way mankind has worked out to annihilate itself then I’d be the first to do it. But we can’t. The genie is out of its bottle – it’s already here.’ Alex put his cup down and brought his hands together in front of him. ‘You and Dr Shomron will be assisting us in intelligence gathering – we need to better understand the threat. Both our countries may have to face it again somewhere, sometime. This may be our only chance to know the devil, so to speak.’ Alex looked hard again into her eyes and opened his hands. ‘Can you do that for us, Ms Senesh?’

Adira held his gaze, trying to see if he really believed what he had just said. She knew that the only reason Israel still existed today was because it had greater firepower than its neighbours, all of whom would love to see it obliterated. She looked from his eyes to the rest of his face; she could see strength and honour in his features.
A noble man
, she thought,
and perhaps a little naive
.

Adira smiled and lifted her near empty cup in a salute. ‘Of course, Captain Hunter. If we can get close to the technology, the blueprints, or even the scientists who designed it, we can help you understand it.’

She liked the tall HAWC, but she had her orders. Leave nothing standing, and find the key to the new American weapon, Arcadian. She hoped Captain Hunter wasn’t going to be a problem.

Back out in the corridor, Alex assessed the Israeli woman again. He knew she was a professional, and didn’t doubt she could mask her emotions and hold her composure, probably even under torture. Still, he could tell she hadn’t been telling him the whole truth.

‘Metsada or Kidon?’ he asked her.

The question elicited no surprise, not even a blink. ‘Metsada: level five. And you, Captain, how long in the HAWCs? I heard about your work in the Antarctic.’

Alex smiled but didn’t reply. He should have known that the Mossad information network would be just as active in America as it was everywhere else in the world. He was relieved she was Metsada. The Kidon were assassins, just brawny torpedoes. The Metsada matched their lethality, but added in the key element that differentiated a good agent from a special agent – intelligence.

‘I need to check in with headquarters and grab your kits,’ Alex told her. ‘Bring Dr Shomron with you over to our billet – Lieutenant Reid will introduce you to the guys.’ He gave a small salute and peeled off at a branch in the corridor, then he stopped. ‘One more thing: try not to kill anyone, will you?’

It was Adira’s turn to smile.

FIFTEEN

R
ocky Lagudi took a step forward. To Adira, he looked like a man who hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to a woman in a very long time. Though inches shorter than she was, he straightened his back and bounced on his toes to try to look her in the eye. Sam Reid and Hex Winter nodded and said polite ‘hellos’, while Francis O’Riordan simply slow-blinked at her and Zachariah.

Adira stuck to her cover story with the three HAWCs. She knew that she would have to break from it during the mission, but not until the time was right. She had worked with Americans before – they were competitive. Best if these men focused on the mission objective and not a Special Forces rival. She suspected that they’d find out about her soon enough – after all, Alex Hunter now knew the truth.

Adira shifted the attention to Zachariah, encouraging him to talk about the gamma pulse, its dangers, its possible origination point, and also what they suspected was being engineered from within Iran. She guided him in his delivery, skilfully ensuring he gave the men just enough information to inform them as necessary, but changed his course when she thought he was straying into an area where she wasn’t prepared for them to go just yet.

All the men asked good questions, with Sam Reid again displaying a knowledge of particle physics that clearly astonished Zachariah. At times it seemed to Adira that Zach and Sam were speaking a language that was inaccessible to the rest of the room.

The red-headed HAWC, the one they called Irish, tilted his chair back, resting his shoulders and head against the drab green plasterboard wall behind him. ‘But why do you two need to be with us?’ he asked when Zach had finished. ‘No offence, miss, but we can be briefed right here, right now. Or we can get voice comm updates while we’re in the field. He’s a smart kid and you look fit, but you’re just gonna be baggage when the hot rain starts comin’ down.’

The temptation to kick the man’s chair from under him was nearly overwhelming. Adira reined in her irritation and explained as patiently as she could that they had significant knowledge of the language and local customs, and would be making use of an embedded Israeli network that would be vital in getting them in and out safely.

But Irish wasn’t finished. ‘We don’t need you guys there for that. Just give us your logistics and we’ll take over. Besides, we’ve got our own networks in place. Bottom line, missy, you science types ain’t cut out for this type of field work.’

Missy? Adira felt a spot of anger start to burn deep in her stomach. She exhaled slowly through her nose – she needed the HAWCs onside. Her tone was a little more authoritative this time. ‘Your own networks? Lieutenant, your
networks
are paid informants who despise you. They would gladly sell you all for another handful of American dollars. You will need us, and the Israeli spy infrastructure, to complete your mission safely, and we are going to be there. We are tougher than you think,
Second
Lieutenant O’Riordan. Besides, I believe it is your superior’s call, and that’s already been made. I’m sorry.’

‘Israelis are gonna make us safe and we need’ em?’ Irish scoffed. ‘Lady, I don’t think so. You guys’ve been draggin’ us into fistfights for twenty years, and, frankly, we’re the only thing stoppin’ you being burned off the map. You reckon you’re tough? How hard can it be to use a tank against kids in rags throwin’ rocks? No wonder them Palestinian mooks hate you. I’d say you need us more’n we need you.’

Adira narrowed her eyes and was about to respond when Zach stepped forward with a face as red as fire and a voice only slightly cracking with nerves.

‘You have the ignorance to question our worth or our spirit? We Israelis die every day for what we believe in. Our country was created in 1948 and since then we have produced more scientific papers than any other nation; we have more museums, have planted more trees, and have the highest living standard in the entire Middle East. And we do all of this without ever knowing a day free from war or terror. Israel has never retreated or lost a war – can you say that? No, I didn’t think so.’

Adira looked briefly at Zach with surprise and admiration.
He’s braver than he looks
, she thought.

O’Riordan’s clenched hands came down hard in front of him and he started to rock his chair forward. Adira’s hand shot out like a striking snake. There was a
thunk
, and a blackened sliver of metal stuck out of the plasterboard less than a match-width from O’Riordan’s temple.

‘Kids in rags?’ Adira spat. ‘
Jiffa!
Your stupidity is matched only by your lack of knowledge about our conflict. We live under a rain of hundreds of rockets per week. Our women and children are torn apart by ball-bearing explosions, and when they lie on the road, broken and in misery, the terrorists hand out sweetmeats while dancing and ululating in their streets. The average Palestinian wants peace with us, but there is a cancerous core that wants eternal conflict. We simply cut out that cancer; like surgeons.’

Before O’Riordan could do something stupid, Hex Winter stepped forward and pulled the thin blade from the wall. ‘Twin-edged, night-blackened blade, vase-shaped handle, foiled grip. Looks like a Fairbairn–Sykes stiletto, but it’s shorter and got no pommel.’

Adira could tell he was trying to defuse the situation. She smiled a thank you, though she kept one eye on O’Riordan as she half-turned to the tall, fair-haired HAWC. ‘It’s our own design – an Israeli wasp throwing spike. You throw it like a spear; it’s not designed to swing in the air, hence no pommel to balance the weight. My brother taught me to throw it.’

Hex hefted the knife, spun it around in his fingers expertly and laid it over the back of his forearm for her to take. ‘You’ll have to show me your throwing technique and concealment one day,’ he said. ‘Or maybe your brother will.’ He winked at her.

Sam Reid stepped forward to take the knife before Adira could. He held it up close to his face. ‘Israeli wasp knife, you say? Seen these before, but it wasn’t in some backyard family knife-throwing competition. It was during a mission in the Indian Ocean, just south of Oman – me and a few Ranger buddies were tasked with intercepting a North Korean ship suspected of carrying yellowcake for delivery to Iraq. By the time we got there it was a ghost ship. No survivors, no bodies and no cargo. Plenty of rads on the Geiger counters though – something hot
had
been there. Saw a few of these knives stuck in the side of some boxes below deck. We found out later that we’d just missed Operation Goldenbird – one of the Mossad’s little meetand-greet parties. Very clean job.’

Adira took the blade but didn’t respond. Outside of Metsada, missions were never acknowledged. Nevertheless, she sensed the mood in the small room shift from one of tension to professional interest and respect.

Except for the redheaded O’Riordan, of course. He just mumbled, ‘What’s a
jiffa
?’

Sam spoke again, ignoring Irish’s question. ‘We don’t have to be friends, but there
will be
military respect. And that’s an order.’ He looked from Irish to Rocky and then across to Adira and Zach.

Adira just nodded. Zachariah shifted uncomfortably and said, ‘Can we start again?’

‘What’s a
Jiffa
?’ O’Riordan still wasn’t smiling.

*

WOMACK Army Medical Centre, Neuropsychological Unit – Fort Bragg

It was just after midnight. The door to the lab opened and shut with little more than the sound of a breath. A figure dressed in army fatigues moved in the dark to the recessed filing cabinets with a sure-footedness that came from prior knowledge of the room’s interior.

All the cabinets were locked; not by something as simple as a flat key tumbler, but with the latest algorithm-based electronic security. Each drawer was in effect a stand-alone safe, protected by a quarter-inch of toughened steel and a ten-digit keypad.

The figure crouched beside one of the drawers and pulled back the plastic glove on his left hand. Written on his wrist were eight numbers, which he entered into the keypad. A small red light turned green and the drawer popped open half an inch. The figure counted the folders within, stopped at a designated number and withdrew the file. He shone a pencil torch for a second on the title:
Arcadian
. It was the one.

SIXTEEN

M
ostafa Hossein, the leader of the Islamic Guardian Council, watched President Moshaddam climb the podium in the UN Assembly hall. It was the first time an Iranian president had delivered an address to the world’s leaders and their representatives and he received a standing ovation as he stood at the lectern and looked out over his audience. To date, the president’s rhetoric had swung between brilliantly pragmatic to frighteningly apocalyptic, and Hossein knew that his appearance at the Assembly had been eagerly anticipated – by some for the entertainment value alone.

Hossein nodded to several of the Middle Eastern representatives as he took his seat. Though Iran was in diplomatic conflict with many of the Western nations, Moshaddam had his international supporters and could count on them to deliver enthusiastic applause for any barb he may wish to sling at the West today.

The president had been embarrassingly excited in the car, almost feverish. He was like a small boy who was only just managing to keep some great secret behind his lips, Hossein thought. He was calm now though – smoothing his slightly crumpled brown jacket before drawing from his pocket a wad of notes which he spread on the lectern. He shuffled them, looked up and smiled, then went back to silent reading and more shuffling. The silence in the room thickened, until it was almost a living thing filling the room with expectation and suspense.

Moshaddam raised his arms, held forth both his open hands, closed his eyes and finally began to speak.

‘Distinguished heads of state, distinguished representatives, excellencies, ladies and gentlemen, praise be to Allah the merciful, the father of us all, the all-knowing and almighty God, for blessing me with this chance to speak to you here today, representing the great but humble nation of Iran before you, the international community.

‘The Almighty did not create humanity to make war on each other. He did not create humanity to lie, steal or cheat each other. Nor did he create humanity so it could batter, burn and bomb each other. Some nations are rich beyond belief, but they want more; they have nuclear arms, but don’t want others to have them; they profess to follow God, but allow their own people to degrade each other with unspeakable acts.’ The president lowered his hands, opened his eyes and sought out the unblinking stare of Harvey Benton, the United States’ UN representative. Moshaddam smiled slightly.

His voice rose in volume and emotion as he continued. ‘How can any nation profess to love its fellow men while it allows its own people to murder each other in numbers the size of a small nation?

‘Distinguished people, I ask you, can you drink oil? Will money soothe the father of the child who has been crushed beneath a building that was destroyed by a bomb? Can you be happy amassing ever more wealth while there are nations that endure ever more poverty, suffering and misery?’