Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

Reuven went home, kissed the heads of his sleeping sons and got into bed next to his wife. His eyes stared at the ceiling as the digital clock on his nightstand counted the minutes. He was up in the kitchen pouring his coffee long before his wife or children even stirred.

The Health Minister was not pleased that her morning calendar was cleared by Mossad with just one phone call, but she didn’t mind the inconvenience of an exquisite helicopter ride from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. The news directors played coy and were calculating the angles they could use to beat the other with a scoop on whatever news story was about to break. The two weather forecasters thought they had died and gone to heaven. They were intercepted at their homes by Mossad agents before they could drive to work. Now they were sitting in Reuven’s command center, a secret lair in an unmarked building in the middle of Tel Aviv.

Coastal maps of Israel — from Kfar Rosh HaNikra in the farthest point north, to Haifa, Netanya, Tel Aviv, Ashdod, and the Gaza Strip to the south — were all affixed to the walls in Reuven’s secret post.

“Our discussions today never happened. Everything said in here today shall be denied… nothing said in here today shall ever be repeated or reported.”

Three news directors, two meteorologists and one Minister of Health nodded their agreement.

“Six days from now, we believe our country will be attacked by a bio-weapon. A hybrid tularemia bacterium has been created, a vaccine-resistant tularemia to be precise. But our friends from the west have developed a vaccine that will protect us. We had hoped for a biomedical shield that would protect all of Israel. But due to time constraints, we can now only hope for a biomedical wall. I need precise wind forecasts for next Tuesday morning!” Reuven said as the two weathermen rifled through their charts and laptop programs.

“A storm will pass through on Sunday, but we should be clear on Monday and Tuesday,” said the first.

“Winds out of the north and west, 6 to 10 miles per hour. Pushing to the south and then southwest over Egypt. Typical wind patterns for this time of year,” said the second.

“If a microscopic particle was floating in the air on the coastline, and the winds you describe pushed it inland, how far might it come?” Reuven asked.

“It might not come inland at all. It could be pushed further south,” said the first.

“Worse case?” Reuven pushed.

“Two to three miles… maybe. It’s more of a breeze at that strength. Hardly a wind,” said the second.

“Madam Minister, from Kfar Rosh HaNikra in the north all the way to the Gaza in the south, how many people live and work within three miles of the sea?”

“I can’t answer that right now; I’d need time. I’d need to run some models and create some charts.”

“We don’t have time, Madam Minister. I need your best estimate.”

The Minister of Health looked up at the maps on Reuven’s wall and did some quick calculations in her head.

“Tel Aviv would be the largest number, then Haifa down Highway 2. Rishon LeTsiyon is too far inland, but Ashdod could be in trouble.”

“How many?” Reuven persisted.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shavit. I don’t know for sure. But I’m afraid… I’m afraid that as many as two million people could be at risk.”

The gravity of two million lives weighed heavily on the minds of the three news directors.

“This is another Holocaust,” whispered one under his breath.

“No, it won’t be. But I need your help. The vaccine is sublingual. Three tiny droplets under the tongue, and you get an immune response that prevents sickness from the tularemia. There is only one thing worse than the tularemia itself… fear and panic. So here’s the plan: I need widespread news coverage, calm and matter-of-fact, that flu season is upon us. The health ministry needs to dispatch an army of volunteers from north to south who will start at the coast line and move inland with sublingual vaccines. Set up vaccine tents on the beaches and send others door to door. No mention — anytime or anywhere or under any circumstance — that a bio-weapon has been released. Neither rabbit fever nor tularemia shall ever be mentioned.”

“Are you censoring us?” one of the news directors asked.

“No… I’m begging you,” Reuven said with great humility.

“What if some people start reporting illnesses?”

“Some will. DO NOT REPORT IT. We will get them antibiotics immediately. No one needs to die from tularemia. They may get sick, but they won’t die.”

“What if the weather changes, the winds change?” one of the meteorologists asked.

“Let us all pray that the God of Gideon blows back against the winds of torment. We need wall-to-wall news promos on the flu vaccine program beginning on Friday and up until Sunday morning. We start vaccinating along the coast at 9:00am Sunday morning.”

“I’m going to need thousands of volunteers,” the Minister of Health said.

“We can promote that on TV. Get public service announcements out to radio and ads for the newspapers.”

“Money is not an issue,” Reuven added. “We have funds for bus posters, outdoor signs… whatever you need. Please be clear on this… put a happy face on everything. No underlying concern. We want to have the most flu-free season in the history of Israel.”

ISAF Headquarters

Kabul, Afghanistan

General Ferguson had dismissed his coffee-pouring majors as Billy Finn had requested. For 30 minutes, Finn explained the long conversations in the Hindu Kush with Omid, the abduction of Thierry Gaudin’s son, the secret calls between Camp and Reuven, the flight into Amman, Jordan, the sauna, the burka, and the Gesher checkpoint into Israel. Finn painted the scene of the Christian, the Jew and the Muslim having a picnic in the Valley of Jezreel beneath the ridge of Megiddo. He explained that while Armageddon was a physical place, the metaphorical meaning transcended all cultures and religions. And Finn laid out the plan that was formulated by the Twelvers in Iran, the 8-minute and 53-second annihilation of Israel and the first retaliation missiles that wouldn’t fall in Iran until 10 minutes had ticked off, as one million Iranian soldiers sprinted into Iraq.

Ferguson couldn’t decide if he was angry with Billy Finn and US Navy Captain Campbell, or if they were the best diplomats that America had ever produced.

“What do I need to do Billy? Do we need to send Camp back to Israel?”

Finn didn’t have a great answer.

“I think it’s out of our hands now, general. Raines has created a biomedical shield for Israel. If the tularemia is rendered powerless, if Iran’s proxies can’t get to the King of Saudi Arabia… then maybe… maybe the plan can be stopped.”

“Stopped?” Ferguson asked.

“Delayed… delayed until the next plan is created.”

“I need to contact the SECDEF, probably CIA… they need to know.”

Billy Finn stood up and leaned over Ferguson’s desk and got close to the general’s face.

“You know who you need to contact? 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The next time the people rally in the streets against radical thoughts, radical policies and radical military programs designed… DESIGNED… for mutual annihilation, then maybe we need to worry less about sanctions and more about the people. I can assure you, Jim, there are far more Muslims just like Omid, than the few that are like Kazi. I pray to God that Omid did enough… that Raines did enough… that we all did enough. God save us all if we’re too late.”

Lyon Airport

Lyon, France