Rare Earth (16 page)

M
arc was still staring out his window at the blank sunlit landscape twenty minutes later when the sat phone buzzed. “This is Royce.”

“Charles here. You are in Israel?”

Marc debated going outside, in case his room was bugged. Then he decided there was nothing he intended to keep from these people. And every passing minute was one more lost opportunity. Let them listen. “Somewhere south of Tel Aviv.”

“How is it?”

“So far, pretty confusing. What do you have?”

“I remained with the elders while they spoke with your wounded attacker. He was sent by the head of his gang. They were all newcomers. He and his men were told this was a test. You understand?”

“They had to earn the right to belong.”

“Yes, it is so. He has no idea who might have arranged this ambush through the gang. To have even asked such a question would get him killed.”

Marc heard the man's tension magnify his accent. “Is something the matter?”

“Kitra, she has not taken the news of your attack well.”

“Tell her I am fine.”

“She will not listen. She feels responsible for Serge. And now she has led you into peril.”

Marc recalled what her mother had said the previous night. “She didn't send me into the slums, Charles.”

“But you are looking for her answers. Just like Serge. She asks . . .”

“Yes?”

“She asks me to tell you that she prays for your safe return.”

“Tell her I'm with her parents now, and I'll be back as soon as I'm done here. I promise.” Marc thanked the pastor and signed off.

He sat cradling the phone for a time, listening to his heart and the A/C's hushed breath. Wishing she was there to share with him this new world.

Marc phoned Walton. It was before dawn in Washington, but the ambassador answered with the same swift precision as always. Marc remained seated at his narrow desk while he dissected the previous few days, starting with the trip by chopper to the farms. He knew he was repeating himself. But the ambassador never gave a hint that he minded. Walton understood that sometimes the repetition was necessary to achieve clarity. Marc related the events in temporal order. Not trying to connect the dots. Just laying it out.

When he was done, Walton asked, “Do you have a contact number for Crowder?”

Marc read out the number for the colonel's new sat phone. “Maybe I should alert him that you intend to get in touch.”

“No need. I'm not after a debriefing. I just want him to know he's got an ally at this end.”

“You've decided to trust him, then.”

Walton changed the subject. “We've got some preliminary lab results on your samples.”

Marc felt the news press him back in his seat. For Marc's samples to have already been tested meant a second jet must have been standing by in Nairobi, ready to transport the bags to the nearest available lab technicians with security clearance.

Walton demanded, “Are you there?”

“Yes.” All this could only mean one thing. “You knew the significance of what I was bringing before you got the samples.”

To his credit, Walton did not play coy. “We suspected.”

“This is why the intel alert went all the way up to the White House,” Marc said. “You knew all along what the yellow men are after.”

“They are Chinese,” Walton replied. “Your samples confirmed a number of things we have been very worried about.”

“I'm listening.”

“The samples contain elements that fall under the heading of rare earth. Our technicians say the samples were clearly corrupted, as several of the elements are never found together.”

“Some of the sample bags were destroyed in the attack.”

“We assumed as much. All right. We are talking about five different chemical elements.” There was the sound of rustling pages. “Neodymium, a core material for permanent magnets used in mobile phones, computer memory, and lasers. Lanthanum, used in catalytic converters and electric car batteries. Terbium, essential for modern sonar systems. Dysprosium, used in hybrid car motors and nuclear reactors. And Europium, crucial for the production of LCD and LED screens. Okay so far?”

“Yes.”

“The largest sources of all these materials are in northeastern China. For years, the prices have remained at a very steady level, basically twenty percent above cost. According to my in-house experts, extraction and refinement of these materials are not particularly tough. The extraction process can be very polluting. This is not necessarily the case, as new technologies can provide a purification system that creates virtually no toxic waste. But so long as the cost of the refined materials remained low, no one invested in new plants. You follow me?”

Marc said, “The Chinese factories are old and polluting.”

“Extremely so. Back to the raw materials. A few other potential sources have been identified. Some of the five elements have been found in the central Australian desert. Others are in North Dakota. One mine recently opened in the Congo, but the UN issued an embargo because the minerals were fueling the civil war. No one bothered to develop these other areas because the Chinese prices were low and the world got all they needed. You see where this is headed?”

“China decided to up the ante,” Marc surmised.

“Precisely. Last year, China entered into a diplomatic dispute with Japan over ownership of several islands which rest above major oil deposits. In retaliation China cut off all shipments of rare earth. Japan is the largest user of rare earths after the U.S. Suddenly the world woke up to the fact that China has a virtual monopoly. Now here's the interesting thing. The pointy heads around here aren't sure if China ever understood just what a bonanza they had in their backyard. Maybe they did, and used Japan as a test case. Most of our analysts think China was as surprised as the rest of us by what happened next.”

“The markets erupted,” Marc said.

“In the past six months, prices of those elements I mentioned have skyrocketed. Three of the elements are now selling for
twenty-five times
what they brought two years ago.”

Beyond Marc's window, the acres of plastic sheeting glinted hard as metal in the sunlight. Farther away rose desert hills, tan earth and rocks and stunted desert scrub. Long ocher strips ran about midway up the slopes, like a giant's finger painting. “Why wasn't I told about this before being inserted?”

“Because we were certain about none of this. There had never been any indication that the minerals were available in Kenya. Then eight months ago we began receiving reports from African operatives. But these reports did not add up. An increase in the numbers of Chinese scientists visiting Nairobi? So what? China visits African nations for any number of reasons. But the rumors persisted. Finally we put two and two together. Then the UN security chief came by, requesting help with Lodestone, whose name has come up a number of times. We decided it was our best chance to see if our fears were real.”

“China is trying to establish a worldwide monopoly,” Marc guessed. “They want to grab hold of this new source, and keep prices artificially high.”

“That is our assessment.”

Marc stared out the window at the clean-room facility. Just another featureless structure, put together like Lego blocks. “So what does this have to do with a kibbutz in the middle of the Judean desert?”

“That is what you need to determine. And without delay. Walton out.”

M
arc left his quarters and headed for the exit. The empty hallway echoed with his footsteps and the A/C's hum. He pushed through the door and entered the sunlight. The heat was a dry weight that turned the sidewalk and the rocks and the windows into fierce mirrors. He took a deep breath of desert fragrances, sorrel and pine and raw earth. There was no wind.

Marc took his time and walked around the entire compound. Everything was pristine and orderly. The few people who emerged from the featureless buildings scurried through the heat and entered another building, then the doors shut and the silence returned. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No reason for him to feel as he did. That this place was a repository for secrets. That this supposed normality was nothing more than a mask.

The question was, a mask for what?

A bearded man emerged from the mess hall's rear door. He walked to a pair of metal pipes hanging from a wooden arc and hefted a crowbar. He drummed the two pipes, making them ring like gongs. An electronic chime rose from the loudspeakers planted throughout the compound. Doors sighed open and people began heading for the mess hall. Marc stood where he was and let the people move around him. No one met his gaze. He remained standing in the blistering sun long after the others were safely inside. If necessary, he would stay there all day.

His shirt was dark with sweat by the time the mess hall doors opened and Kitra's father emerged. He had a furtive look to his features as he approached. Marc waited until Levi Korban stopped.

Then Marc said, “I know.”

Levi Korban gestured toward the mess hall. “You are wanting to perish? You stay out here too long, the heat will melt your bones.”

“Rare earth minerals. I know about them.”

Levi gripped his arm and pulled. “So you are knowing. Now come.”

“The problem is, I don't know anything at all. I don't know why you are here. I don't know why Kitra is there. Alone.”

“She wasn't alone. Serge was there with her.”

“You sent your two offspring to Africa. Against the Chinese.”

“Sent? You think I
wanted
her to go? I did not. I begged her not to go. I
ordered
her. You see what difference it made, all my words?” He fingered the skullcap, as though the sun made the black silk uncomfortable. “Someday when you have children you will see just how much your words can mean. And now here I stand, waiting for the word to come, and my wife and I will be forced to say Kaddish for my son.”

Marc let Levi take a grip on his arm and pull him forward. The man radiated such strength that he could manage to compress his grief into a small private space, then go on with his duties here. Function almost normally. Marc asked, “What is so important that your daughter would go against her father's express orders? Kitra is not impulsive. Everything about her is deliberate.”

Levi stopped just outside the mess hall doors. The glass reflected the two of them, the iron-hard older man and the taller American. Marc kept talking. It was the only way he could make sense of these half-seen shards of a hidden truth, all of them carrying a force more potent than the heat. “She went down to Africa to search out something that is bigger than any of you. It wasn't the rising value of these minerals. I have never met anyone less interested in money. She was after something bigger. Bigger than her brother's life, even though she feels ravaged by his absence.” Marc stopped talking, though his mind kept moving forward.
Bigger than any relationship she might want to have with me.

Levi Korban began rocking slowly, as though he was back in the chapel with the secret cross. Covered by his prayer shawl. Praying unseen to the invisible God.

Secrets.

He tugged once more on Marc's arm. “Come.”

The cafeteria tables fashioned a broad U around the service counter. The noise was like the constant rush of water in a stream. No one looked at them as they crossed the room. But Marc knew they were all watching. Talking. Wondering. Worrying if he was a foe. Afraid he might be there to take away something else. While they remained trapped by forces he did not comprehend.

The room's chilled air held a biting quality. His drying sweat turned his skin cold. He followed Levi to the far corner, where two tables were isolated from the main room. This side held no windows. The pair of tables offered the cafeteria's only isolation. Kitra's mother sat alone at the table by the wall. She cradled a cup of tea in her hands. She tried to smile as Marc approached. But he could see the worry in her gaze. And the sorrow. And the calm. An impossible mix. As impossible as sterile clean rooms planted in the middle of the Judean wasteland.

Marc seated himself and said once more, “I know about the minerals.”

“You must be hungry. Go. We can wait—”

“Neodymium,” Marc said. “Lanthanum, terbium, dysprosium, and Europium.”

Kitra's parents exchanged a long look. Levi said, “There is a sixth element. Tantalum. It is a crucial component in the manufacture of semiconductors.”

“Tantalum was actually the element that started us down this path,” Sandrine told him. “It was the first rare earth discovered in Africa, in the Congo. The only other mine is in Mongolia. You know about China's near monopoly?”

“A little,” Marc replied. “Not enough.”

“Recently the U.S. Congress passed a law forbidding the use of tantalum from Congo. The tantalum mine, like the diamonds, have become fuel for the civil war. Most other nations have followed America's lead, including Israel. You know what happened next, yes?”

“The price skyrocketed.”

“Ten thousand percent in five months,” Levi confirmed. “Then we heard a rumor. The bearded man over by the window, Moshe. See him there?”

Almost all the men seated beneath the windows wore beards. Most were dressed in disposable lab whites. A few still had their hair covered by the gauze nets. Only one man wore a business suit. He was barrel-chested and gesticulated intensely as he talked.

“Moshe is our salesman. He travels the world, bringing us business.”

Kitra's mother said, “Tell the gentleman what we make.”

“Anything,” Levi Korban replied. “Anything and everything. We specialize in taking technology and building innovative products that are ready for the market. Many of the designs brought to us by Moshe reflect brand-new concepts, but for some reason they do not work as they should. Or they have potential, but are too large. Or they have only been made for a different purpose. We redesign. We shrink. We adapt them to meet emerging needs and markets.”

“All this from nothing,” Sandrine said. “This my husband has built. From the desert. A haven in the wasteland. You understand?”

“Not yet,” Marc replied. “But I'm trying.”

“Moshe there was head of sales for the largest electronics conglomerate in Israel. My husband was vice president of our country's largest maker of defense systems. There at the table in the corner, see those three women? All university professors. Beside them is the head of our farm unit; before now he was also a teacher. In high school. With them, the two men, they were rabbis.”

“We are not all so educated,” Levi inserted.

“Never such a thing did I say, my husband. I was just telling our guest that we are from many different places and many different lives. Levi took these people and gave them a
new
life.”

The shards swirled in the over-cooled air, a great mass of brilliant images and thoughts and emotions. Rushing together. Needing just a few more words to bring them into cohesion and clarity. “You were telling me about Moshe.”

“You are listening. Good. Very good.” Sandrine glanced across the room. “Moshe traveled somewhere, looking for his next deal.”

“Switzerland,” Levi said. “That was where he heard it first. Then Egypt. The University of Cairo.”

“Wherever. Moshe heard that a new source of tantalum had been discovered. At levels of purity far greater than either of the two mines in operation.”

“Kenya,” Marc said. “Below the lake. Where the first villages were pushed off their land.”

“And then came more rumors. Of different elements. And suddenly we realized that there had to be a reality behind these rumors. Not all of them could be false.”

“But why Kitra and Serge? Why
you
?”

Both of them sighed together. Levi studied the white linoleum tabletop. “A question I have asked myself a thousand times. A million.”

The cafeteria emptied out in a quiet rush of footfalls and conversation. Kitchen staff emerged and began clearing away. The bearded man who had banged the pipes started washing down the floor with a long-handled mop. He sang softly as he worked. Marc thought he recognized the tune as a hymn, but the words were in Hebrew. The smell was not unpleasant, an astringent cleanser that fit with the harsh light spilling through the eastern windows.

Kitra's mother said, “All over Israel there is a secret phenomenon. People are discovering the love of Jesus.”

Marc felt a shiver course through his frame. The softly spoken name became the cohesive force. The means through which all these broken shards began pulling together into a mosaic.

“You cannot imagine the response. You would have to be Israeli to understand what is happening. Families who learn one of their own has accepted Jesus as the Messiah are saying Kaddish for their own living relatives. Such is the hold of the Jewish tradition. Can you possibly understand this? No. It is not feasible. You have no idea what power the family has in this land.”

“We have returned to this land because of family,” Levi said. “As a nation we are determined to provide our families a haven. A place to grow in safety and worship our Lord God.”

“And yet these same families are casting out their own loved ones,” Sandrine said. “Can you imagine what that means? Listen carefully to what I am saying. If the family does this, if they are so violently opposed to this idea that Jesus is the
chosen one
, what do you think is the response from their friends? From the place where they work? From their own country?”

“They are cast out,” Marc said, watching everything come into blinding clarity. “They are banned.”

“They have nowhere and they have nothing,” Levi said, the recollected sorrow etched deep into his weathered features. “They have lost everything.”

“For Jesus,” Marc said. Now he was nodding, then rocking. It was not a conscious response. The gathering comprehension pushed him to move. It was either rock, or shout or leap up and race about the room.

“For the Messiah. The risen Lord. They name him, and they pay the price. They become outcast within their own clans. They are the banished ones, even here in their homeland. They are persecuted for accepting the power of eternal love.”

Sandrine did not weep; she simply shed tears. They came in a soft stream. They were not wiped away. She gave a physical sign of the sacrifice her own life contained. “And then my husband had his brilliant idea.”

“There are other kibbutzim for Messianic believers,” he said quietly.

“But they merely survive. This one, Marc, do you see now? Yes, you understand. My husband was not satisfied with surviving. We have incredible minds here, and great passion. We must find a way to do
more
than survive. We must fulfill our roles. Build a place for us within the society that seeks to exclude us. We must find our own path. A new path. One that allows us to grow and build a future for our children and give us hope. Here. In the land that is determined to cast us out.”

The passion was there, even with the tears, even whispered. And the answers Marc had come to find. They were there as well. “Kitra went to Kenya for the same reason your husband started this kibbutz.”

“She is her father's daughter,” Sandrine confirmed. “How could she not hope? How could she not want to build upon what he has started? My brilliant and headstrong child did not go to Africa just to find these elements. She went because she wanted to transform our haven into something so vital, so important to Israeli life, that they would be
forced
to make room for us. To fashion a new and secure place in our society.”

“To make them accept you for what you are,” Marc said. “She wanted a technology so powerful, so rich in potential, that the entire nation would accept your role in the nation's future. And Serge went—”

“Serge,” the father moaned. “My Serge. He went because he had to. Kitra needed him. She could not do this alone.”

Marc said, “Kitra blames herself. For everything.”

Sandrine reached across the table and gripped his arm. “You must tell my beautiful and headstrong daughter, such guilt is not hers to bear. She cannot take responsibility for a dream that has propelled us for two generations. This dream has given us
life
.”

“She did what she felt was right,” Levi agreed. “Serge has a mind. He made his own decision. Not her.”

“My son went with her because he chose to do so,” Sandrine said. “Kitra argued against it. For days they argued. Serge would not let her do this thing alone.”

“Kitra went because she felt she had to,” Levi said. “It was her decision, made against my will. Just as Serge went against
her
will.”

“Tell her that,” Sandrine begged. “Maybe you can make her accept what we cannot.”

Marc rose to his feet. He was done here. And there was a woman and a cause that needed him. He said to the father, “Kitra needs to hear this from you. And so do some others.”

Levi lifted his gaze. “You want me to travel to Kenya?”

“It's either that or let the Asians take it all,” Marc replied. “Go pack a bag. We need to leave immediately.”