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  “So how?” asked the President in a whisper, the tone of his voice conveying his utter dismay and fury.

  “It is unconfirmed but…” David paused as he thought about the horror of what he was about to say and whether it really could be true.

  “Yes?” prompted the President regaining some volume.

  “There is speculation that the attack was in fact by suicide bombers. Except that the bombers may have been unaware of their actions. Perhaps the term sacrificial bombers may be more appropriate.”

  David paused. He could see that some understood what he was saying but others were struggling, either because they were slow or more likely, their brains could not comprehend or refused to compute the possibility of what may have happened.

  “Two hundred families have completely disappeared,” he added, seeing more of those in the room piece together the evidence. “We believe they may have been planted here to commit this atrocity.” He paused again as even he could not believe the words he was uttering. “Or more accurately, the bombers were raised within our own communities for the sole purpose of being sacrificed today.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting the bombers were children?” asked the Prime Minister.

  “Yes. It looks like these were children who we believed to be our own but in fact were the sons and daughters of infiltrators, frauds, brought here as supposed Jewish immigrants, destined only to attack us and destroy us from within.”

  “So two hundred families posing as Jews have raised their children within our communities to carry out today’s attack using their six-year-olds, packed with explosives, as bombs??!!” asked the President.

  “It appears so,” confirmed David, looking as though the weight of the world had collapsed on his shoulders.

  With silence descending on the room again, the feint sound of raised voices could be heard through the almost sound-proof Cabinet doors.

  Chaim Goldman got up and opened the door to find his Head of Security tussling with an old man. As the Cabinet watched the bizarre scene, the Prime Minister tried to separate the two men.

  “Avi, get your hands off me!” shouted the old man.

  “I’m sorry, Sir…” replied Avi, with the utmost deference. “But you can’t…”

  “Avi, it’s OK,” said the Prime Minister, recognizing the old man. “Ben,” he said acknowledging Ben Meir, a man known to every Israeli and highly respected. He still had great influence in Israel and was the main reason Chaim and Ehud held the offices they currently held.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked the Prime Minister.

  “Still showing this old bastard I can take him,” he said pointing towards Avi, thirty years his junior and almost twice his size. “I need to talk to you and this was the quickest way.”

  “OK Ben but things are critical right now, we’re just getting our heads around…”

  “I understand but I need to see you, Ehud and David immediately. Whatever you’re doing can wait until we’ve spoken.”

  “But Ben, we need to respond…”

  Ben reached up and took hold of Chaim’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I need to speak to you, Ehud and David, NOW!” he shouted. Ben Meir was not a man who took ‘no’ for an answer. Before Chaim could respond, Ben looked at the Cabinet and motioned for them to leave.

  Despite the fact that Ben Meir had not held office for fifteen years, when he spoke, people listened. Within minutes, he had taken control of events and stood in the Cabinet Office with a Prime Minister, a President and a Defense Minister wondering what the hell had just happened. Ben picked up the phone and barked a number of instructions to whoever was on the other end. The three most powerful men in Israel simply looked on helplessly.

  The room remained silent while Ben’s orders were carried out. Ehud and Chaim had tried to talk but on each occasion a simple “hush” from Ben had stopped them dead.

  Eventually, the door opened and four men entered the room. The Head of Mossad (the Israeli intelligence service), the Head of The Shabak (more commonly known as Shin Bet, the Internal Security Service) and Israel’s two Chief Rabbis.

  Chaim, Ehud and David looked at each other as the four men entered the room. The first two men were not unexpected but the two Chief Rabbis were a surprise. They all knew Ben’s stance on retaliatory attacks — hit fast and hit ten times harder.

  After a quick round of greetings, Ben stood up. This was his Israel and this time, they had gone too far. He reached down to his old attache case, took out a battered old folder and placed it on the table in front of them.

  “Gentlemen,” he began. “Today, the terrorists have gone too far. Above all else, it is our duty to protect the children of Israel.” Ben paused as he let the words reverberate around the room. “Gentlemen, what we discuss here today can never leave this room.” Ben waited for nods from each of the attendees and only then pushed the folder to the center of the table.

  “I give you Project Ararat.”

  Chapter 4

  November 2007

  Ben Meir stood near the summit of Mount Sion, his grandson at his side. It had been two months since the explosions had shaken his country to the core. Two months of long days and interminable nights. He had once again reigned over the country he had helped build. His calls had secured the funding he needed. His calls had made men give whatever was required to their spiritual homeland. Only he could make it happen. This time, the Arabs had gone too far. It was time for Israel to be safe and secure. Its citizens would no longer worry about suicide bombers or crazy gunmen. Ben Meir was going to give the Israelis what they always wanted and what they deserved: a safe and secure homeland.

  The funding and support had been the easiest to secure but it was the Rabbis that had held up the plans. It was not until the previous evening that they had finally come to him with news that agreement had been reached and the plan could go ahead. In less than two hours, the walls would start to go up. The Army and a mass conscription of civilian contractors were ready to move and at 8 a.m., it would begin. Israel was not just tightening her borders, she was closing them down. The twelve-foot structure would encircle the land and close Israel to the outside world. The Arabs were, without exception, to be resettled in Gaza and the West Bank. By nightfall, Jerusalem would once again be completely within Israeli control.

  The Air Force was already circling the skies. The message to any disagreeing neighbors would be decisive and clear. Simply put, overwhelming might would fall upon them. Israel had been pushed too far. In two months, it had not taken vengeance upon those who had orchestrated the cowardly attack on its children but that day would change all that. Israel was going to stand tall.

  Ben smiled down at his grandson, his pride and joy.

  “My son, what do you see?” he asked, pointing towards Jordan.

  “Hmm, nothing,” replied the young boy.

  “Exactly, nothing. Just miles of desert.”

  “Now tell me, what do you see over there?” he asked, pointing towards Israel.

  “Green plants and things.”

  “Exactly. That’s what we did, the Israelis, we made this from that. Life, we gave life to this dead land!” he exclaimed proudly, stopping himself from adding ‘and they tried their best to kill it off again.’

  As the clock ticked nearer to eight a.m., Ben boarded his waiting helicopter and headed back to Jerusalem. The shit was about to hit the fan and he was not going to miss it for anything. As they touched down, he could feel the ground shake. The roar of powerful diesel engines drowned out all other noises. The mass construction army and its machines were on the move. By nightfall, Israel would be secure. Transport ships had been arriving over the last month carrying huge concrete slabs. Massive swathes of ground had been requisitioned for their storage until that day. The whole event had been shrouded in secrecy. No one outside of Israel had any idea of what was about to happen.

  As Ben entered his office in the Knesset, an office usually occupied by the Prime Ministe
r’s Special Adviser, he noticed a young woman sitting next to his desk. As he turned to chastise his assistant for letting her into his personal sanctuary where God knows what could have been left for her to see, the young woman turned and smiled at her Uncle Ben. He had not seen his goddaughter for more than fifteen years but recognized her instantly. Rebecca Cohen looked exactly as her mother had at the same age, stunning.

  “Rebecca,” he rushed and embraced the woman who, fifteen years earlier, had cut him off, blaming him for the death of her parents.

  “Uncle Ben! My God, you don’t look any different! You must be… what…almost eighty?”

  “You’re as old as you feel,” he said. “And just now, looking at you, I feel about thirty five!”

  “I have missed you, you know,” she said with genuine sorrow. “I was young and foolish, please forgive me.”

  “Not at all. I lost two great friends because of my arrogance and a loving goddaughter that I hope I can win back. I should have listened. You told me your parents were in danger and I did nothing. For that, I will be eternally sorry.”

  “Please don’t. That’s the past and now’s the present. I’ve heard you’re planning something in retaliation for the attack?”

  “You hear things?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, I do,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “You will see soon enough. Now tell me, how is that fine son of yours? I hear things too, you know. What’s his name, Josh isn’t it?”

  Rebecca’s eyes dropped and she struggled to maintain control. Josh’s name had not been said out loud since the funeral, almost seven weeks earlier.

  Ben was no fool and read the situation instantly. He embraced Rebecca for the second time in fifteen years. Both stood in silence as Rebecca fought to keep control of her emotions. After a minute, she stood up, resolute and forceful. “I hear you’re planning some kind of retaliation?” she said again. There could be no mistaking the steel in her voice.

  “Yes we are.” The time for games was over.

  “I want in.”

  “It’s been what, seven years since you were active and on your last mission, your husband died,” replied Ben quietly.

  Rebecca did not even justify Ben with a response. She merely gave him a look that suggested he not dare keep her out.

  Ben averted his eyes from Rebecca’s deathly glare. Who was he to deprive Israel of one of its most talented operatives? Particularly one who was so personally motivated?

  “You’re in,” he almost whispered, regretting it as he spoke. He knew he was placing another loved one in a situation of mortal danger. Those words were almost certainly sealing her fate. But Ben had given his heart and soul to Israel since its birth and could not deprive her of a weapon like Rebecca at a time she most needed it.

  Chapter 5

  Mexico

  July 2008

  Sam’s aim was interrupted by the vibration of his cell phone. He glanced at the screen. The name of the CIA’s Director, Johnson, was flashing. The target’s truck was speeding towards him. Only seconds remained to take the shot. He touched the small bluetooth earpiece and accepted the call.

  “Don’t shoot!” commanded Johnson as the call connected.

  Sam stared down the scope, straight into the eyes of the terrorist driving the deadly truck towards America’s border. His finger began to tighten on the trigger. There was no way the truck should be allowed anywhere near America.

  “Do not shoot!” repeated Johnson more forcefully, having received no response.

  Sam continued to track the target, keeping the crosshairs trained on the center of the targets head. The range continued to drop as the truck rushed towards him. His hilltop vantage point allowed a view straight into the truck’s cabin but not for much longer as the truck would soon pass below and any chance of a shot would be lost.

  “Baker! Stand down!” shouted Johnson in his ear. “Stand the fuck down!”

  Sam depressed the trigger. He could feel the hammer moving back. A few more ounces and the hammer would fire into the bullet and expel the small projectile at over 3,000 ft/s into the target’s brain, ending the mission.

  “Baker!!!” screamed Johnson.

  Sam Baker pulled up the rifle and fired in frustration, the muzzle flash startling everyone in the communications room, almost 2,000 miles away, in Langley. Sam threw his rifle to the ground and raised his finger to the MQ-1 Predator he knew was beaming images straight to his boss. Two months earlier he had received a tip. The CNN reporter he had saved in Ahwaz had overheard mention of an attack aimed at America. Learning from her previous mistakes she passed on what she had heard to Sam and had not followed it up herself. Sam had tracked down the terrorist and the weapon, desperate at every turn to stop them but always being stopped by ‘management’ who wanted to uncover the terrorist’s contacts and command structure. Finally, he thought, he was getting the chance to stop the nonsense, only to be stopped at the last second. They were less than twenty miles from the American-Mexican border.

  “Calm down!” commanded Johnson.

  “Calm down?!” repeated Sam, incredulous. “You’re letting a terrorist drive a nuclear bomb into America and I’ve got to calm down!”

  “It’s no longer a CIA operation and no longer your concern…”

  Sam cut the connection. He was in no mood to get into the bullshit that Johnson was about to hit him with. His cell began to buzz but Sam ignored it as he packed up his kit and kick-started the motorbike for the perilous journey back down the trail to the main road. As he reached the road, he contemplated screwing them all and chasing down the truck. He could still catch it before it reached the border. He looked into the sky and knew that Johnson was watching him and was squirming at the thought that Sam may disobey him but Sam was a soldier and an order was an order. No matter how screwed up or how much he disagreed, orders had to be obeyed. He turned right, away from the border and back towards San Fernando. He could almost hear Johnson’s sigh of relief.

  “He’s out of control.”

  Johnson nodded in frustration at the statement made by his second in command. Sam and he had seldom seen eye to eye and over the last two months the tension between them had become unworkable. Sam’s world was black and white, right and wrong. Life wasn’t that simple. He exited the room and retrieved a pre-paid cell from his coat pocket. He typed a quick text and hit ‘Send’. Sam Baker was retiring.

  Yuri Andriev’s phone beeped. He pressed the ‘Accept’ button and a link appeared on the screen. He clicked it and the browser opened to reveal a map. A flashing dot moved quickly across the screen. Yuri zoomed out and the dot’s progress slowed down as Yuri’s own location also appeared on the screen. His target, Sam Baker, was, as promised, less than ten miles away and heading straight towards him. It was going to be a very easy fifty grand.

  Yuri screwed the suppressor onto his USP.45 pistol and waited. He preferred his work to be up-close and personal. He liked to ensure that when he put a target down, they didn’t get back up, as did his clients.

  Yuri heard the motorbike pull into the parking lot. He checked his screen and the small dot flashed less than one hundred yards from where he stood. Yuri closed the phone and waited. The next time he’d need it would be to photograph Sam’s headshot. Two holes in his forehead were all the proof the client would need to release the final payment.

  Sam walked towards his motel room. It really was one of the worst dumps he’d ever had the displeasure to frequent. He had stayed there for over two weeks, waiting for the ship to dock and the truck to appear, only to be stood down at the last second. He had caught God knows what from the bedding. His body was covered in bites and lumps and he had an insatiable itch in his crotch. All for nothing. He was furious. The powers that be had lost it.

  Sam inserted the key and opened the door to his flea pit of a room. The only up-side was that he’d not be spending another night there. He stepped into the room and froze. The door slammed closed.

  S
am wasn’t sure if the day could get any worse, when it did. The silencer pressing into the base of his skull was all the evidence he needed. There were two things to do in the situation. Panic and beg or accept your fate with some dignity. Sam was in no mood for either. Just as the silencer touched his skin, he moved, surprising Yuri who was used to the begging and acceptance routine.

  The speed with which Sam calculated the situation and reacted, caught Yuri off-guard. By the time he pulled the trigger, Sam had already spun out of danger and his hand was already closing in on the large cylindrical silencer, while his other was forming a fist and making its way towards Yuri’s shocked face.

  Yuri had not lasted twenty years in the business for no reason. He regained his composure and managed to evade most of Sam’s punch, knocking him only slightly off balance. As the punch landed, Yuri felt the pistol being twisted from his hand. He needed to regain the upper hand and ejected the magazine before letting go of the pistol.

  As Yuri expected, Sam’s energy was focused on wrestling the pistol from his hand and suddenly releasing it, sent Sam crashing into the wall as his momentum suddenly had no force to restrain it. Yuri went for his knife as Sam threw the bulletless pistol at him and dived across the bed towards his bag.

  Sam grabbed the bag and rolled into the small bathroom, flicking the door closed as he crashed against the bathtub. The door closed just in time to catch the knife that Yuri had thrown, the blade protruding three inches into Sam’s side of the door. Sam reached into his bag for his backup pistol. It wasn’t there.

  Yuri had him. He had checked the room and removed all the weapons. He had even checked the bathroom and the cistern, just in case. Sam was unarmed. Yuri picked up the pistol and re-inserted the magazine. He slammed it home, ensuring Sam heard it.