Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

man in the wheelchair-whatever his opinion of them-might actually have

access to the materials they had come to purchase. And that was all

that mattered.

"Go on," said Jalloud, taking his seat again"Here is the situation as I

see it," said Horn. "As we speak, the world does not even perceive

Libya as a nuclear threshold country. Your requirements, however, paint

a significantly different picture. The need for highly enriched

triggers, and sculpted tubes tells me that you are uranium, building

your own weapon, and that you have probably already obtained all the

necessary components other than those you seek from me. Your request

for an absolute minimum of fifteen kilograms of U-235 or five kilograms

of plutonium suggests that you have procured tamper/reflector technology

and are trying to build the smallest bomb you can-possibly even a

portable weapon. Am, I correct?"

No one disputed him.

Horn turned directly into the lens of the softly humming video camera

that had been forgotten by everyone in the room but him. "I propose

something quite different," he said solemnly. "I am offering you an

aircraft-deliverable nuclear weapon with a forty-kiloton yield,

completely assembled with fissionable core, ready for detonation."

in that moment the air in the conference room seemed to turn to water.

Although the Arabs knew their leader would not view the videotape for

many hours yet, they also knew that the words spoken by the old man in

the wheelchair were for him alone. Their presence had become

irrelevant.

Horn spoke softly to the humming camera. "I can offer you a weapon of

the implosion or the gun-assembly type, and, subject to certain

conditions, I can continue to provide these weapons at the rate of one

every forty days."

Major Karami's black eyes glittered as he fumbled for another cigarette.

At length Jalloud asked softly, "Are you serious, sir?"

Horn's single burning eye was answer enough.

Major Karami regained his composure first. "And what is the price of

this great gift?" he asked warily. "There are only so many billions of

diners in our treasury."

"Not a single piece of gold do I desire," Horn rasped.

"What then?" Jalloud asked, puzzled. "Oil?"

"My price, Herr Prime Minister, is control. I will provide you with a

single weapon. You will not stockpile it and wait for more weapons. You

will use it-and against a target specified by me." Horn raised a

spindly finger. "Only then will more weapons be provided."

"That's ridiculous!" Major Karami exploded. "Why not use it yourself.?

We have our own targets and we'll use our weapons as we see fit! Your

price is too high!"

"One moment, Ilyas," Jalloud cautioned. "What is your target of

preference, Herr Horn?"

"Thank you for asking," Horn said softly. "It so happens that the

target I want destroyed coincides with the one your leader has

unsuccessfully tried for years to destroy-the State of Israel. To be

exact, Tel Aviv."

Ilse let out a short gasp from her chair behind Horn.

"Tel Aviv!" Karami exclaimed, unbelieving. He turned to Jalloud.

"Does he speak the truth?"

"Do you?" the prime minister asked.

"Tel Aviv," Horn murmured. "I want the Jews wiped from the face of the

earth."

"As do we!" Jalloud retorted. "But what good is one weapon to us? If

we have to wait forty days for another, we will be annihilated.

The Zionists have two hundred nuclear bombs."

Horn smiled. "Yes, they do. But think for a moment. I assume you do

not want Palestine rendered permanently unin habitable. You merely wish

the Jews pushed into the sea, yes?

Tel Aviv is the first step on the road to reclaiming Jerusalem.

If skillfully managed, your attack could even be made to appear as an

Israeli nuclear accident."

Major Karami seemed to be debating with himself. "Herr Horn," he said

hesitantly, "Israel's air defenses are the toughest in the world.

Even with the best of luck, it would be difficult to guarantee that a

single plane carrying this warhead could get through to Tel Aviv. And

even if it did, we would have no chance to mask our responsibility for

the attack."

Horn saw that admitting this weakness had cost the Libyan major dearly.

"I appreciate your frankness," he said. "If you would prefer, I could

'arrange to deliver a slightly smaller, warhead-a thirty-kiloton

yield-that could be fitted with a timer and concealed inside a large

crate. It would not be nearly as compact as the American SADM-the

famous "suitcase bomb"-but it could fit easily inside a small truck."

Prime Minister Jalloud started to speak, but Major Karami restrained

him. "I believe we can do business," he said hoarsely, trying to

maintain some semblance of composure.

"Are there any other restrictions?"

"Time," Horn replied. "I want Tel Aviv destroyed within ten days."

Stunned, Major Karami sat back in his chair. Horn's words coursed

through his veins like a powerful narcotic.

After endless years of cowering beneath the Zionist nuclear threat,

Libya would finally possess the means to strike back!

Karami clenched and unclenched his fists in anticipation of wielding the

deadliest sword ever to fall into Muslim hands.

Theti he went still.

"How do we know that you actually have access to such weapons?"

he asked. He was almost afraid to hear the answer-afraid that his heady

dreams of, conquest would disappear like smoke from a tent fire.

Horn smiled. "Because I have one in the basement complex of this house,

ready for Dr. Sabri's inspection. If you gentlemen will follow me ..."

Gasps went up around the table. The Arabs began shaking each other's

hands and talking rapidly among themselves.

The interpreter did not even attempt to translate the effusive

congratulations that filled the room.

s

In the corner behind Horn, Ilse's face had gone slack. After Luhr's

drugs and the horror in the X-ray room, witnessing this nightmarish

conclave had pushed her over the edge of endurance. As the Libyans

filed out of the room behind Horn's motorized chair, she slid awkwardly

to the floor, tiny beads of cold sweat sparkling on her bloodless

forehead.

730 Pm. Burgerspark Hotel, Pretoria

In a small room on the fourth floor of the Burgerspark Hotel, Jonas

Stern reviewed his interception plan with his men.

Gadi Abrams lounged on one of the hotel beds. Professor Natterman sat

in a chair by the window, wearing a bulky bulletproof vest beneath his

tweed jacket. Stern himself sat on the bed opposite Gadi. Yosef Shamir

stood in the lobby four floors below, listening through a hand-held

radio.

"Thirty minutes until the rendezvous," Stern said.

"Where's Aaron?"

Just then they heard a key in the door. The young commando stepped in.

"The elevator control box is in the basement," he said.

"I can stop the elevator wherever you want it."

Stern nodded. "What about the radio?"

Aaron frowned and pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket.

"I could hear you, but there's static. And you were only on the fourth

floor. With eight floors between us, I'm not so sure."

"We'll check it when we get up there." Stern consulted a drawing he had

made on a piece of hotel stationery. "All right, here it is.

I've taken a second room on the eighth floor of this hotel. The closest

I could get to suite 81 I-the room 9 .

where Sergeant Apfel is registered-was 820. It's down the hall, past