Murray McDonald - Critical Error

“Yes?” asked Chaim Goldman, the Prime Minister.

“We do have a slight issue of the Palestinians taking a nuclear weapon to the United States.”

“But we have no confirmation of that, it could be just talk,” argued David. “We have just one woman’s word and let’s face it, she’s hardly stable.”

Ben turned to David and spoke in a tone only Ben could get away with. “That woman has sacrificed more for this country than almost anyone I know. She’s lost her parents, her son and her husband. And she doesn’t sit back and mourn. No, she stands tall and fights back. She, herself, has killed more of the scum that bombed our children than any other team that was tasked with the retaliation. She originally brought us the information that alerted us to the bombs in the first place!” His voice boomed as his anger boiled over. “And you dare question her?!”

“Look, we’re all edgy. It’s a very trying time. Whether it’s confirmed or not, we have to let the Americans know,” said Ehud. “ I will call the President and let him know. Is there anything else I can tell him?”

“That we have our best teams on it and we will find the bomb before it gets to them,” offered the Mossad chief.

“I have sent two of my best operatives to America,” added Ben turning to David and smiling. “Which includes Rebecca Cohen.”

“OK, I’ll tell him that Mossad is on it. I think I’ll leave out your guys, Ben.”

“Are you going to tell him about the threat to us?” asked Chaim.

“I have to,” replied Ehud, matter-of-factly.

“You should also give him the heads up on the blackout,” added Ben.

“Sorry, the blackout?” asked Ehud.

“Project Ararat, two weeks from completion. We’ll have a nationwide blackout, all telecommunications are to be cut off and Martial Law imposed. All our media will be off-stream as of the end of this meeting. You can use the threat as the reason for our disappearance from the world stage. Israel is going back in time. No phones, no radio, no television, no internet. The military will keep the peace and calm on the streets. Only essential military and high level government communications will remain in place.”

“Is all of this quite necessary?” asked Chaim, shaking his head. “It just seems so extreme.”

“Gentlemen,” Ben addressed the room. “We have taken the decision and we are nearing completion. Now is not the time to lessen our resolve. David, you have your work cut out for you. I suggest you get going.”

Observatory circle

Washington

USA

Andrew Russell watched the CNN feed. The President had just phoned and updated him on his call from the Israeli President. The nuclear weapon was nowhere to be found on the news bulletins. In fact, there was only one story of any note: Israel had shut down. Hundreds of people were writing in discussing how telephone calls they had been having with business colleagues and loved ones had simply ended. Emails were bouncing back as if the recipients didn’t exist. It was as though the whole country had just ceased to exist. Andrew grabbed his coat and headed for the door. The President had called a war cabinet and wanted Andrew in the Situation Room asap.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket as he walked towards the waiting limo.

“Hello?” he answered.

“It’s me.”

Andrew recognized the voice instantly.

“We need to see you straight away.”

“I’m on my way to the White House,” he offered as an excuse.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes, don’t be late.” The caller ended the call. Russell looked at his phone for a few seconds before placing it in his pocket and entering the limo.

“The White House, Sir?” enquired his driver.

“No, the Hay Adams, please.” He decided the President would have to wait.

As they pulled up outside of one of Washington’s most renowned hotels, Russell rushed inside and made directly for the elevators and selected the top floor. He walked, rather ironically, beyond the Presidential Suite and knocked gently on the door of the larger and grander Federal Suite.

“Come in,” shouted a voice.

Russell opened the door and walked into a wall of thick cigar smoke, the Cuban stench was unmistakable. Russell was a fitness freak, teetotaler and non-smoker and couldn’t help but cough to try to protect his lungs. The next breath as he walked closer was even heavier than the first. The four men that sat waiting for his arrival were some of the most reclusive and richest men in America. And to those in the know, the four most powerful. Although their names would appear on no shareholding listings, between them and their complex maze of thousands of trusts and charities, they owned majority stakes in just about every major industry in America and controlled almost every piece of news printed or broadcast in the western world. With them, Russell would be king. Without them, he was nothing.

“I can’t be long gentlemen,” suggested Russell as he took the last remaining seat and declined the offer of a scotch or a cigar.

“I really do worry about you Andrew,” said Walter Koch, Russell’s main contact with the elite group. “No alcohol or tobacco. Christ, next we’ll discover you don’t like pussy!”

Everybody but Russell laughed.

Russell rued the day he had ever got involved with the group. It had all been thanks to his girlfriend at Yale, Elizabeth Koch. Through her, he had met Walter. Walter’s eyes had lit up on hearing the Russell family history. Their family credentials were impeccable. New England WASP’s, part of the fabric of America. His family could be traced back to the Pilgrim Fathers.

Walter had informed the group of his daughter’s blue eyed American beau and told them he had found their future President. Andrew’s relationship with Elizabeth had been short-lived. Her father was far more interested in Andrew than she ever was. And with Andrew spending all the time at their house discussing politics with her father, it was not long before her eyes had wandered to other men who were less likely to excite her father.

Russell was introduced to the group of four and they instantly agreed with Walter. Russell was perfect, intelligent, witty, sharp, confident and most importantly for the all important female vote, he was dark and handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and dazzlingly white teeth. The cameras would love him.

From that moment on, Andrew’s life had not been his own. His path was planned and at no point would it be deviated from. He had graduated top of his law class, joined the Navy, then the Boston DA’s office, rocketed through the ranks as the toughest DA in town before winning his first election as Suffolk County District Attorney. From there, he won the Massachusetts State Attorney General’s seat despite being a hard-line Republican. His opponent hadn’t had a chance. Andrew’s campaign outspent his by 10 to 1. After that, the Governor’s mansion and soon after, Senator Russell was sworn in as one of the youngest Senators in US history. The press, under the control of his benefactors, was already calling him the Republican’s JFK.

Initially, things had been like a whirlwind. Andrew had just kept his head down and followed the plan. It was only as he began to gain power that he realized how little he actually had. The four were always there, pulling his strings. Andrew had once joked to himself that the four were like the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse —, Conquest, War, Famine and Death. It took him a few more years to realize it wasn’t a joke.

“So, where are we?” asked Koch, getting back to business. Andrew saw Walter as Conquest. He was the planner in the group and it was Walter who had picked Andrew as their man.