Francesco Mazzotta - Cellular Activity

Keep the words of an old man well in mind.”

The boy wished to reply, to ask more questions, but the elder Mohamed raised a hand, telling everyone to stay silent. “No more talk now. Close your eyes. It’s a beautiful moonlit night, and if you listen carefully you can always hear those sounds… Al azif, the voices of the djinn who wander in the wilderness…”

The man stopped talking. An unnatural silence had fallen, and seemed also to cover the low crackling of the fire.

The boy closed his eyes, concentrating on the sounds around him. His breath… the sound of invisible insects… the cry of a newborn in the distance…

Then suddenly one of the donkeys issued a long and loud fart.

“That, boy”, the old Mohamed exclaimed. “That is certainly a nasty evil djinn that lets its voice heard.”

The men laughed, passing the hookah. Ahmed also smiled, in their wake, but with the feeling that the old man was making fun of him .

Ironside updates Thompson about his conversation with Leonidovich. His superior gives a slight smile, producing a snap with a corner of his mouth. His eyes remain as sharp as ever. “Your intuition was correct, John. The Russians know that we have hidden bases in the desert. They have come to our own conclusion too. It’s safer to handle this in an isolated place, surrounded by miles of sand and arid expanses without a living soul. With a little luck we might be able to land the plane, get rid of Zaytsev’s accomplice, check passengers and crew, and eventually make their trip go on as if nothing happened. We may justify the landing as a mechanical issue.”

“I hope everything goes well, Richard, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the field, it’s that luck hardly occurs in these cases.”

“I know, John, I know. This is why I ask you to join Dr. Moore as supervisor of operations on the spot.”

Ironside’s eyes don’t betray any emotion, while the other continues.

“You’re the only one I really trust. You’re a former Marine, and your experience may be a determining factor, if events were to take a different course from what we planned. We will also send a reinforcement marines team with you and I will make sure that you have full cooperation from everyone.”

Ironside nods, Thompson staring into his eyes. “Taisha and Darla won’t like this at all…”

“I realize it, but I’m sure it would be better to not make your wife aware of this operation, at least until it will be all over. I promise you that when this thing is resolved, I will ensure that you may spend more time with your family.”

Ironside smiles. “This won’t happen anytime soon, Richard. Duty is duty, we’ll have to wait for retirement for this, even though right now I wonder if we will ever get there.”

The voice of Janet, comes to life in Thompson’s headset communication system. “Sir, we have the confidential file about Alexander Ivanov. I’ve just sent it to workstation 18.”

“I love you Janet”, echoes Thompson, as he leans on the display. “Okay John, let’s see what else does the Kremlin have for us.”

The two read a series of data and a few lines of information. It’s Ironside talking while Thompson seems concentrated to reread the only page of Ivanov’s file. “I’m not convinced about it, Richard. Apparently Ivanov was the most brilliant Russian scientist in the field of research on biological weapons. This one isn’t an expert on Ebola, he could very well be the one who created it. Since 1983 we don’t know anything about him. Zero, absolute darkness. And then he reappears, right now, and the Russian government sends him straight to us? There’s something smelling bad here…”

Thompson turns, just a hint of concern on his face. “I was also in the trenches, like you, John. I recognize the smell of incoming trouble. My friend, keep your eyes open when you get there.”

“Richard”, Ironside asks. “What did the President tell you?”

Thompson’s look is that of those who have to take hard decisions. “He said that we can’t allow anyone to bring a dangerous pathogen on American soil. If the people on board won’t respond to our communications, I’m afraid that we’re left with just one option. The Russians have foreseen all this, and it’s for this reason that they sent their expert to Algeria and not here in America. Get ready now, your jet will take off soon.” Then, to the operator in the intercom, “Janet, put me into contact with the pilots of the F14 after Zaytsev.”

“Yes sir”, replies the woman. After a moment she adds: “Captain Hawking on line.”

“Captain Hawking, I’m Secretary Thompson, do you copy?”

“The signal is slightly disturbed, sir, but I hear you.”

“What’s the situation?”

“We’re after the jet, sir, waiting instructions.”

“Can you see the pilots?”

“Negative sir, the windows of the cockpit are obscured and I can’t see anyone through those of the passengers compartment.”

They spend a few seconds, while Thompson thinks of possible alternatives. Then he firmly communicates to the pilots. “Captain Hawking, you’re authorized to proceed with the target.”

The pilot’s voice is cold and faded from the background noise. “Sir, please repeat. Do you confirm the orders to shoot down the jet?”

“Yes, Hawking, kill that son of a bitch, and make sure that no traces of that plane will be left.”

“Roger”, the pilot’s answer.

A small group of technicians and soldiers has meanwhile approached the display in front of Thompson. They look at the trio of bright dots, while one of the two green lights runs in a divergent route, and the other seems to slow down, arranging itself behind the red dot. The men hold their breath for long moments, after which the red light goes off.

Thompson’s voice is the only sound that breaks the following silence. “Captain Hawking, report!”

“It’s gone down, sir, target shot down.”

“Thank you, Captain, take a couple of flybys to verify that the job is clean, then go back to your base. Janet, please get me in contact with the commander of the Boeing.”

Tension hovers in the room, while a few long seconds go by.

“He’s online, sir.”

“Commander, do you copy? This is Richard Thompson, Department of Defense of the United States.”

“This is Commander Charles Green, sir, the communication isn’t that great, but we copy.”

“Please, listen to me carefully, Commander. There is a very critical situation to manage on your plane.”

“I’m listening, sir.”

“One, or more, of your passengers may be a terrorist carrying a bacteriological weapon.”

Noises of electrostatic discharge in reply.

“Commander, can you hear me?”

Long moments of silence.

“Yes sir. Any suggestion about how to manage the situation?”

“Commander, first of all, I require the utmost discretion. Just follow my instructions and everything will work out in the best possible way. We are sending you a picture of the face of one of the alleged suspects. Warn your crew and start immediately the anti-hijacking procedures. Seal the cockpit and head the plane to the coordinates that we are sending. You’ll have to make an emergency landing on a military runway in the Algerian desert. You will wait there for our intervention team. Please, do you confirm you understand the instructions?”

“Confirmed, sir.”

“One last thing, Commander. Two of our F14 will join and escort you to your destination. Don’t be alarmed, it’s just a standard measure. Good luck!”

“Thank you sir.”

Following a gesture of Thompson, the operator turns off the contact with the Boeing.