FATAL eMPULSE (43 page)

Atash’s contact from the United States finally reached him earlier this afternoon to confirm that President Chambers and Prime Minister Shalev would arrive by helicopter in the community of Katzrin in the Golan at about noon. They would be there for at least an hour before returning to Tel Aviv. As promised, Atash provided this information to Fotouh and now he would leave it for Raed.

After this, Atash’s role was finished. He would sit back and see how world events played out.

There was one hitch in these plans that he did not share with Fotouh or Raed, for obvious reasons. He could not reach Kadar Hanano. After failing to reach him by cell phone, Atash put feelers out through his contacts. Two nuggets of intelligence reached him through difference sources, and as he dug deeper, this information seemed more puzzling—even disturbing.

First, he learned that Hanano’s people—searching for the Americans—had been ambushed and killed on the outskirts of Damascus. The second tidbit—no one could get in touch with Hanano. He’s just dropped out of sight. Even his own people could not contact him.

Where was Kadar Hanano?

No matter! In less than twelve hours, planes would fly, missiles would launch, and people would die. Raed came through on his word and arranged for a squadron of fighters to attach behind the path of the An-26 aircraft. Israel would counterattack when the Syrians failed, President Assad would try to explain that he was not responsible, and chaos would follow that just might thrust the Muslim Brotherhood into power.

Atash would be around to work with whoever maintained power in Syria.

The lights of Tel Aviv sparkled in the distance as Frank Collord huddled with Jack Thompson and Marc Perlman in the Israeli’s IDF office. Yesterday’s storm had moved on, and they had a clear sky overhead. The men could care less about the weather, the lights, or the view outside. They had more pressing matters to contend with right now. Only hours away before President Chambers and Prime Minister Shalev stood before the world in the Golan Heights, basically thumbing their noses at the rest of the international community.

It was Frank’s responsibility to keep the president safe. He needed more intelligence from Syria right now in order to do his job. At the moment, he found himself working in the dark.

Frank said, “Gentlemen, unless Gerrit, Max, and the others can guarantee that the An-26 aircraft they located was the only one the enemy might use, Israeli aircraft will be committed to a full attack on the airport and any aircraft or missiles that might be launched from that location or flying toward Israel’s border. We have to make sure Syria is unable to attack the Golan Heights—absolutely sure—or Israel and the U.S. will unleash the dogs of war. We will have no choice. Right now, my people on the ground have done all they can do—including paint the target for us. Unfortunately, to finish the job they must return to the airfield, make sure the American scientist never reaches the aircraft and make sure the device has been made inoperable.”

The men looked at one another without further comment. Finally, Marc Perlman rose. “Would you gentlemen excuse me for a minute? I must make an important telephone call.”

Frank and Jack looked at each other, as Perlman walked out of the room. “What do you think, Jack?” The other man looked back and shrugged. They waited for Perlman to return.

Marc peered in the eye scan, called his name for the voice print, and placed his hand on the biometric reader. The door clicked open after his information was processed and verified. He opened the door into a command center that very few in IDF—or the government, for that matter—ever entered. He nodded to the communications coordinator, told him the connection he needed to make, and then walked into a soundproof booth, waiting until the call came through.

The caller came on the line. “Why don’t you just come over, Marc. We are just across town.”

“I try to stay away from Mossad, my friend. There are too many eyes watching me. I do not want them to be watching you, too.”

“Thank, you. So…we talk.”

“Have you been keeping up with our friends in Syria?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know time is short. We need to have our friend give the team some assistance. Now!”

“This might put him in jeopardy.”

“It can’t be helped. You know what the stakes are tomorrow. If we fail, we can only imagine what the consequences might be.” Marc heard the man give a deep, prolonged sigh. “We need to activate the secondary plan. Time is of the essence.”

“Okay. I will make the call. But tell your people to be aware that our person may be under surveillance.”

“I will tell them. Israel thanks you…again.”

“My friend, if we do our job right, Israel and the world will never know.” With that, the man hung up.

March 18
Damascus, Syria

G
errit shivered among the trees, looking back at the farmhouse. He forgot to wear a coat. Through the orchard to the east, he saw the first hint of dawn spreading a rosy hue to a fleeting dark-gray sky. Max Salk emerged and walked in his direction. Gerrit took a deep breath of cold morning air, breathing it out his nostrils.

Max stopped a few feet away, facing him. “You good with the plan?”

“I don’t think we have too many options. But it sounds crazy.”

“I know,” Max said. “I have never been one to trust the enemy, even one who supposedly is working for us.”

“Do you know who this contact is?”

Max shook his head. “Colonel Perlman said I’d recognize him when he gets here and he’d know the password.” He paused for a moment. “Oh yeah, and we need to look for surveillance.”

“Huh?” Gerrit said. “You never told me that part.”

“Just passing on the information. The source believes he may be under surveillance.”

“Informants always think that. And if so, why drag them here to our hiding place?”

“Because the source doesn’t know for sure…and we’re running out of time. We have until just before noon to verify and report back. Otherwise, they are coming in and taking everything out. We’d better not be in their way. I just hope your part of the plan works. Everything has to happen just right or we’re…how do you Americans say it…toast?”

“Finally, you guys get one of our clichés right.” Gerrit smiled, watching the sky lighten from rose to yellow as the sun climbed higher. “You’re right. Timing is everything. So let’s be on time. I’m going to check on Shakeela.”

As he entered the farmhouse, Alena looked up at him and shook her head. She sat near the bed where Shakeela lay. Alena rose and nodded with her head to join her in the next room.

Once they were out of earshot, Alena whispered, “She is not doing well, Gerrit. One of Max’s teammates is a medic. He did what he could, but…” She took a deep breath. “It is the head wound we’re worried about. I think she’s suffered major trauma to the brain. She keeps trying to go to sleep and we are trying to keep her awake. We need to get her to a hospital as soon as we can.”

“I know, but there’s nothing we can do until this mission ends today. After that, we can all pull out.”

“I just hope we can get her out in time.” She gave him a worried look.

Gerrit was waiting for confirmation on Kadar Hanano. He’d e-mailed out everything he gathered at the Syrian command post. They were waiting to hear from Frank and Jack. Frank provided Colonel Perlman with a series of satellite imagines just before Gerrit’s explosives blew up the Syrian command post and right after. The photos captured the image of a man, matching Hanano’s features, going into the building just before it became engulfed in flames. In Gerrit’s mind, Hanano and his men were history. Now, they must figure out how to coordinate taking out the An-26s before it was too late.

Alena seemed distracted.

Gerrit gave her a serious look. “Would you be willing to stay behind, Alena? We need someone to stay with Shakeela, protect her until we can fly out.”

“Sure. I’ll do whatever the team needs. Just make sure you come back, okay? And leave me a lot of ammo.”

The sun rose high enough to bake the rocky ground in the driveway. Gerrit heard the truck arriving before he saw it. He snatched up his rifle and headed off into the trees. One of Max’s men gave him a warning whistle. He dashed through the orchard and took a position behind the trunk of a mature orange tree, one of the largest along the road leading to the farmhouse.

As the truck rumbled through the orchard, Gerrit sucked in his breath. It was a two-and-a-half ton cargo truck, with a camouflaged military paint job, its bed covered by camouflaged canvas. From this position, he was unable to determine whether there were any soldiers in the back of the truck. He could only see one man in the front—the driver.

He raised his rifle and aimed it at the driver’s face. Brakes squealing, the truck came to a halt, the driver set the brake, and then he slowly emerged from the cab, raising his hands. Gerrit heard someone walk up behind him. He glanced back quickly and saw Max standing there. “Your guy?”

Max grinned. “Do you not recognize him?”

Gerrit turned as the driver came into view.

Raed al-Azmah.

Gerrit leaned over and whispered, “Do you always bug your informant’s pad without him knowing about it?”

“Every chance I get. Besides, I never knew he worked for us,” Max whispered back. He walked forward. “Storm clouds are rising in the east.”

“And thunderstorms will be coming from the west,” Raed replied, smiling.

Max’s shoulders relaxed.

The two men shook hands, and Max introduced him to the others.

Raed seemed most interested in Gerrit. “An American? Do you know Selena Gomez?”

Gerrit looked to Max to see if Raed was pulling his leg.

Raed laughed. “You Americans.” He shook his head. “You think we don’t know what’s going on in the rest of the world. Selena’s a little young for my taste. I miss Elvis Presley. Lady Gaga. Madonna. You know—you say ‘oldies but goodies!’”

Not sure where to take this conversation, Gerrit just smiled and kept his mouth shut. He’d let Max take the lead. They escorted Raed into the farmhouse. When Raed saw Shakeela, he shook his head. “I am sorry your people were hurt. But from what I hear, you have left quite a few bodies behind, including one who intended to have me shot. Thanks.”

Looking around at the others, Raed continued. “We do not have much time. In the back of the truck are Army uniforms.”

Max glanced at his watch. “It is now 10:00 a.m. We have to be suited up and on our way to the airfield in thirty minutes. Go!”

Gerrit and the others assembled twenty minutes later, went over the plan one last time, and climbed into the bed of the truck, pulling the tarp shut so no one could see inside. Raed drove and Max rode with him up front. Gerrit and the other four men hid in back. As they pulled out of the circular driveway and headed through the orchard, Gerrit glanced back and saw Alena standing in the doorway. She waved as they left, as if she knew he would be watching.

A yellow taxi drove past just as the Army truck pulled away from the farmhouse and drove toward the highway. Once the truck was almost out of sight, the cab driver pulled off the road and honked his horn. A man—lying in a ditch wearing camouflaged clothing—jumped up and hurtled himself toward the car.

The driver handed the man a portable radio. “Follow the Army truck. Raed is driving. Call for a unit to take up a perimeter around the farmhouse. Do not attack until I give the word. Understood?”

Several voices acknowledged his order.

“I want everyone to focus on the truck. They are the ones who killed Kadar and our comrades. It is time for revenge.”

March 18
Tel Aviv, Israel

P
oint of no return!

Jack glanced at Marc Perlman as they stood on the helipad, watching the chopper leave with Prime Minister Shalev and President Chambers aboard. Frank agreed to fly with the president while Perlman and Jack stayed behind to coordinate the operation.

The two men retraced their steps. “Come on, Jack. We’ll continue this in the
Bor,
the pit.” The belowground command center in Kirya’s military complex was slated to be replaced by a new center, currently under construction. But today, they’d work out of the old center that had been crammed to the maximum with technology, equipment, and sweaty bodies.

After clearing security, the two men made their way to one corner of the comm center that had been set up for this operation. Several ranking officers from the Israeli Air Force manned two consoles with their staff, looking at satellite images of Damascus International Airport. On an adjacent screen, Jack saw the gridded map he had become familiar with over the last few weeks. Blinking red dots on the screen represented his people on the ground, one single dot marked the laptop carried by the American scientist, and the other single red dot marked the location of the An-26 aircraft they intended to wipe out.

Sitting next to Perlman, Jack watched as those around him prepared for the launch. He saw on another screen the location of the helicopter carrying the president and prime minister. He followed their path for a few minutes. They would be reaching their destination a little ahead of schedule.

Perlman watched him. “Jack, we can’t wait any longer. Plan A will be activated when we hear from our team on the ground that we can launch the e-attack. Otherwise, Plan B goes into effect and we take out everything—planes, buildings…and people. We are going to put our planes in the air the moment the chopper nears the Golan Heights. After that, they will be over the target in less than twenty minutes. Once they reach the target, they have instructions to initiate Plan B— wipe out every plane on that military ramp and any aircraft they deem a threat that might be in the air. They are to leave nothing to chance.”

Jack nodded, turning his attention back to the screens. He saw two blips at the farmhouse—Alena and Shakeela. Switching to Gerrit and his people, he watched the markers, all bunched up heading for the airport.
Come on guys. Send us word in time.
He saw the path they were taking, straight into the target area that would be leveled by the Israeli jets if something didn’t change soon.