Murray McDonald - Critical Error

He picked up his briefcase and walked towards the exit. One lone guard waited for him. He nodded and shut the door behind Ben. Ben didn’t look back. The image of all that he had achieved in building the State of Israel was captured within that building. He didn’t want to remember it dark and desolate. His memories were of life and vitality. Ben’s car and driver awaited his arrival. The driver had no intention of hanging around and as soon as Ben closed the door, he pulled away. The drive to the airport initially confused Ben until he realized they were going to the new airport, a global hub for a new Jerusalem. That was the plan. Jerusalem was not meant to die. That had never been envisioned. Ararat had planned to place Jerusalem at the center of the world. The buildings that would spark a new life into one of the world’s most important and ancient cities sat empty. Ben could have cried as he sped past. His driver was unaware of Ararat, unaware of the greatness it would bring to Jerusalem. His driver was only aware of the danger that was upon them, the devastation that was scheduled to arrive just three short hours away.

As they neared the airport, Ben willed his cell phone to ring. The more he willed it, the more dead it seemed. He checked the signal, it was fine. Ahmed Hameed had obviously seen the past and not the future. Ben walked through the airport. Airplanes that had never touched Israeli soil queued to ferry his people away from danger. Emirates and Qatari jets joined Singapore and Thai Jets, Qantas, All Nippon and LAN Airways. Almost every country in the world had supplied their fleets, although unknowingly, to Israel. The solar flare was a story used to ground the airlines and free up the world’s jets for hire. How else could they move so many people so quickly? For months, Israeli Air Force pilots had retrained to fly the commercial aircraft of the world, Boeing 747’s, 777’s and every other type of Boeing, Airbuses, A380 to the A320. Every plane of any size that could be found had been leased, resurrected from mothballing and generally put to use. Over 2,000 aircraft had flown non-stop for the last two days from pretty much every strip of land capable of handling a jet.

Another ten jets were filled before the last jet pulled up to the gate. Ben and a few stragglers boarded. Many tears were shed as the plane, an EL AL Boeing 747, lifted off. It was the last plane of the night and Ben’s phone still remained silent.

“I’ve got it!” screamed Sam.

“The name?” asked Charles hopefully.

“No, the link to Russia!”

“Oh,” the disappointment was loud and clear.

“No, I know who he called, we’re getting there!”

The Senator looked at the clock. There were less than three hours until midnight in Israel, 6pm EST. The time at which the bomb would go off. Even if they got the name of the boat, the chances of finding it now were almost nil.

Sam dialed the number and as he waited for an answer, he updated his brother. “It seems that the Russian Port of ArchangelSK had an RAF maintenance base. The comic book showed a British convoy heading to Russia and it seems that’s where they found some old equipment. The RAF guy reckons if there’s any old kit around, that’s where you’d find it. After the war, things did sour a little with our Russian allies!”

The phone eventually answered. “Da?”

“Hi…?” replied Sam before being interrupted.

“Don’t hang up this time! I got name you ask for,” replied the Russian shipyard owner.

Sam couldn’t believe his luck, the Russian thought he was James Murphy calling back.

“It’s the Sergey Vazlaz. Goodnight!” The Russian hung up, it was almost midnight in ArchangelSK.

Sam turned to his brother. “The Sergey Vazlav.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

“Nope, just the name.”

“Can you track ships?” asked the Senator.

“I have no idea but I know a woman who might!” Sam leaned out the window and called Rebecca in, bringing her up to speed.

“The answer is, in theory, yes. As long as they have a transponder, it’s just like aircraft really, they send a signal out and tell others where they are.”

Both knew about aircraft transponders. Aircraft send out a signal that air traffic controllers use to accurately plot specific aircraft positions.

“Do all boats have to have one?”

“Don’t think so. I think it’s just bigger boats but I’m not sure if our guys would have one transmitting.”

“Oh, they will,” replied Sam. “These guys have fooled everybody, they wouldn’t make a simple mistake like not transponding if they have to. They’d be shining a big spotlight on themselves.”

“OK, well, we just need a computer then.”

“We can do it ourselves?” asked the Senator.

Rebecca was already half way out of the room as the others struggled to catch up. The manager was kindly asked if his computer could be borrowed. Faced with the three very anxious faces of Sam, Charles and Rebecca, he had little choice. He left them to his office and went for a break.

“You’ve done this before,” stated the Senator.

“A few times,” replied Rebecca with a smile as she logged onto marinetraffic.com and waited for the map to load.

“OK, I presume we want the East coast?”

“Definitely,” replied Sam as a number of boxes appeared on the map next to America, each with a number in the box, signifying how many ships there were in each sector.

“Jesus, there are hundreds, it’ll take us hours.”

Rebecca shook her head and selected the ‘Vessel’ tab.

“What’s the name?”

Rebecca typed in Sergey Vazlav and the details instantly appeared.

“Gulf of St Lawrence, Canada.”

“Holy shit, we did it!”

“How far are they from New York?” asked Sam, suddenly realizing that was the nearest city.

“Just over six hundred miles, give or take,” replied Rebecca, roughly working it out.

“Jesus, they’re just about in range and they’ll come in over land, not from the sea.”

“I need to use your phone!” The Senator put his hand out to Rebecca. She had assured them earlier that her phone could not be traced or tracked.

Senator Charles Baker made a phone call that made his stomach churn.

“I need to speak with the President urgently!” he said as the White House picked up his call.

As they were retrieving the name of the ship, Akram Rayyan was in the process of making the information irrelevant. They had sailed into the Gulf of St Lawrence and as they approached Prince Edward Island, he had called on his men to make the preparations.

The World War Two equipment was unloaded and the scaffolding blocks were bolted onto the deck as they had been during all their previous test runs. This time was for real. The empty containers which had blocked the outside world’s view were thrown overboard. They were now redundant. The scaffolding ran for sixty feet along the deck and protruded over the water below. While half the crew prepared the catapult, the other half prepared the aircraft. Two wings were removed from one container while the main body of the aircraft came from another. The Second World War fighter came to life as the wings were bolted on. The weapon had already been stored within the fuselage of the aircraft. What had been a deadly fighter in its day seventy years earlier had become the deadliest aircraft ever made seventy years later.

The Hawker Sea Hurricane had been devised as a fighter of last resort to protect the vital convoys plying the seas between America, Britain and Russia. It afforded protection to convoys against the marauding Focke-Wulf of the German Luftwaffe. The Hurricanes were flown by very brave pilots who knew there was nowhere to land once they were propelled into the sky. The Allies, without enough ships to launch aircraft, devised the catapult system, similar to the systems used on modern aircraft carriers. Rockets would fire the aircraft from standing to flight speed almost instantly.