Murray McDonald - Critical Error

“Have you told the President my name?” he asked again.

“Yes, Mr Meir, the answer I keep getting is that the President is in bed and is not to be disturbed. It is 11.30pm, you know.”

Ben tried his cell phone again but President Russell was not picking up.

“Listen young man,” Ben leant forward towards the guard who had kept watch on the gate for forty years and who recognized Ben very well. “Tell that little shit to let me in or I’ll hold a press conference, on this lawn, right here, in five minutes.”

The guard could of course do no such thing but he could call the President’s office and tell them what Ben Meir had said, which he did.

Four minutes and forty seconds later, a call came back to the gate house.

“Welcome to the White House, Mr Meir,” offered the guard as he opened the gate.

Ben rushed towards the Oval Office and spent the next thirty minutes telling President Andrew Russell more than a few home truths. Russell was apoplectic that anyone dared talk to him in such a manner and promptly had Ben escorted from the White House.

All in all, it had not gone well. Ben was in no position to strong-arm Russell. He needed Russell and Russell knew it. The only one piece of good news was that Russell instantly reacted to the news about the bomb. It seemed he had finally realized the threat was a genuine one.

Ben kicked himself. He could have played it far better. Russell was malleable, you just had to do it carefully. Ben’s temper had not allowed any give. Seeing James Murphy’s almost decapitated body had not brought out the best in him. America would have to wait. He had his own country to save.

Ben hitched a lift back to Israel on the B1-R and made it just in time for the 12.00 deadline. If the nukes hadn’t been found by then, just 36 hours before Yom Kippur, evacuation plans were to be fully implemented with immediate effect.

As he walked into the meeting, he could instantly detect that the weapons had not been found. Their expressions said it all. Ben stood and wished everyone the best of luck. That would be the last full meeting. Of course, they would continue the hunt up until the very last minute but it was time to begin the full-scale evacuation of the cities as a matter of urgency.

Ahmed Hameed had spent the day mulling over the very strange meeting he had had with Ben Meir. A man whom he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t help liking. The parts of Ararat he discussed were mind blowing and could, as Ben had said, make him a hero but if Ben was playing him, he’d die a zero, as many a rapper would have said. Ahmed was a new generation of Palestinian and felt sure that that was the only reason Ben had tried what he had tried. Deif or Akram would have shot him without question. It was another reason why Ahmed liked Ben, Ben got him. Something that not many of his fellow terrorists did. Ahmed looked to the future. Many of the terrorists knew nothing nor wanted anything but the violence. With nothing but Ben’s word to go on, he was going to have to either trust the Jew or not. Trusting Jews was not something he had ever had to worry about before. In his world, you simply didn’t.

Out of interest, he had put his network to work and it seemed Deif had done an exceptional job. Of the four weapons, Ahmed controlled one and as for the other three, nobody knew. It was looking like his chat with Ben was all going to be academic in any event.

As the day progressed, the news did not change, nobody knew. As noon struck, the sound began. A rumble in the sky that didn’t stop. The noise travelled the length and breadth of the city, a constant droning rumble. Ahmed checked his watch. The timing was just as Ben had predicted. Ahmed called his deputies and gave them a message to take to their people. Find the controllers as though your very lives depended on it.

Ahmed began to believe these words were not without merit.

They woke up to the warmth of the Texan sun, welcome respite from the cold of Montana. Sam rolled over and looked out to the crystal blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. It was amazing how the two entirely different vistas could elicit similar emotions. One was flat and blue, the other grey and looming. The small ramshackle beach lodge South East of Corpus Christi was perfect to disappear in.

Ben had insisted they travel with him. He had a plan to sort things out and he needed Charles and Sam in Corpus Christi on Saturday. He dropped them off and travelled to Washington to ‘sort out’ the President, with a view to a meeting with Sam and Charles on Saturday when Ben knew the President would be in the city.

Apparently, it had not gone well. The call had made it clear that they should keep their heads down. No meeting for an easing of the ways on Saturday had been arranged. However, he did have some good news. The President had reacted well to the search for the bomb.

***

The Sheikh had watched as the small platform and arena were built. Zak’s credentials had worked a treat and on seeing his DIA ID, the assumptions that the guy on the phone with him was his partner had worked perfectly. Of course, once the President was in town, there was no way the Secret Service would fall for it but by then, the Sheikh would not need Zak anymore. This was to be a lone mission.

The Sheikh could not believe how lax things were. A sheet with the list of attendees and their seating position sat at the front of the stage. A cursory glance gave him all he needed before heading back to Zak and suggesting that they keep a low profile for the next couple of days. The number of Secret Service agents was growing by the hour.

Zak drove back to their motel and they checked out. The Sheikh wanted to be even more anonymous. A couple of days at the beach, he suggested Port Aransas, would do them good.

As they drove down to the main beach road, the Sheikh sat looking for the perfect hideaway. All the agents back in Bishop had put him on edge. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to make sure he had a clear run on Saturday. They couldn’t know he was coming. As his eyes swept from hotel to hotel, each looked more anonymous than the last. His eyes settled on one and he pointed Zak towards it, the Beach Lodge.

As they pulled up alongside, the beach and the gulf waters lay to their left. Zak whistled quietly to himself as he watched a stunning woman rinse the sand and salt from her body. Her head was thrown back as she let the fresh water rinse her dark hair that shone in the early morning sun. The Sheikh could not help but notice too. She was a true beauty, he thought, very Middle Eastern. Her curves were womanly, not girly like so many Americans. That was a real woman. She rubbed her face and swept her hair back, allowing Zak a look at the babe’s face. He was not disappointed. The Sheikh, however was panicking. He knew he recognized the body. He had seen the face before and almost screamed for Zak to hit the gas.

A non-descript motel in the heart of Corpus Christi it was.

Only two good things had come from his conversation with Ben. Confirmation he could appoint his new Secretary of Defense and a solid lead to track down the bomb. The announcement of the Secretary of Defense’s tragic death and the President’s first appointee, he was delighted to see, was buried amongst the shocking news from Israel and the continuing solar flare problem which had grounded the world’s airlines. The Israeli headline had shocked the world. Four nuclear weapons were believed to be imminently endangering the country that the world had heard so little from in the past months and years. A mass exodus of the cities was apparently underway but the country remained sealed and no foreign news crews were allowed in.