Game changer, p.43
Game Changer, page 43
Quinn did know. Kovonov was right. It was impossible to miss. Radicalized Muslims cut off heads, burned people alive, and treated women like vermin, even killing them for trying to go to school. But the UN—packed with Islamic countries—spent all of its time condemning Israel for human rights violations, ignoring atrocities committed in Muslim nations hundreds of times worse than any supposed Israeli offenses.
“So my plan goes forward,” shouted Kovonov with absolute conviction. “And you can choose. You can tell the truth, and blame me. Or you can let ISIS take the fall, and let this be a catalyst to eliminate a threat you know has to be stopped before it destroys civilization.”
Quinn was fading fast. Given this turn of events, he was now certain he had no chance to stop the nuke from detonating, no matter what he did. His best bet was to try to at least save Rachel before he collapsed. If he didn’t resolve this soon he and Regev were both dead, and Rachel was lost.
“Okay, you win!” he shouted as the world continued to spin around him. “You’re right. We can’t let Israel take the fall. But here are your choices. We can storm in and fill you with holes, risking that Rachel will be hit in the crossfire. Or you can leave her and your virus behind and exit through the back door. We give our word we won’t follow.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. But it’s the truth. And if you want to live it’s your only choice. We’re breaching in exactly one minute, regardless.”
A minute passed without a response.
It was now or never, Quinn decided. He could well be walking into a curtain of bullets, but he had run out of options. He stumbled through the door, expecting to be cut down like a weed, but no gunfire came.
Kovonov had left through the back door. Rachel was still zip-tied to the chair, her mouth once again sealed with duct tape, but very much healthy and alive. His eyes welled up with tears upon seeing her.
The Land Rover keys were still on the hook by the door, and Quinn noted that the virus container was still on the table. Kovonov had decided to trust that Quinn would honor his word if he stuck to the bargain.
He cut Rachel loose as the last bit of adrenaline he possessed shot into his depleted bloodstream, allowing him to remain conscious for just a few minutes longer.
73
Rachel drove away from the cabin and followed her phone’s directions to the nearest grocery store twenty minutes away, which had closed more than an hour earlier. After Quinn had rescued her, he had managed to help her load Regev into the Land Rover and had seatbelted himself in before finally blacking out.
Kovonov’s stainless steel container was on the floor of the passenger’s seat and she had confirmed that the vial of virus was still snugly inside.
When she hit a main artery that would take her most of the way to her destination she instructed her phone to sync itself to the car’s speaker system and call Cris Coffey’s emergency number. The call went directly to voice mail.
“Cris, call me back immediately!” she said, unable to keep the panic from her voice. “I promise this is the most urgent call you’ve ever gotten.”
Shit, shit, shit, shit!
Two men she cared deeply about were dying beside her and San Francisco was about to be vaporized, and no Cris Coffey. Without him she couldn’t reach the president, and without this there was no hope.
She made it to the grocery store in fifteen minutes, just after eleven. Time zero was in less than an hour.
She pulled into the dark, empty parking lot. Just as she was shutting off the engine the phone rang.
“Rachel, where are you?” blurted out Coffey when she had accepted the call. “I heard you were taken from the island. Are you okay?”
“I’m at the Healthy Foods Grocery on Elm Street,” she replied, relieved that he had finally gotten back to her. “Near Lancaster, Pennsylvania. First things first: Kevin Quinn and Eyal Regev are both with me. Badly injured. Can you scramble a Black medevac helicopter to get these men medical attention and get us out of here?”
“Eyal Regev? What is he doing there? How badly is Kevin wounded?”
“No time for questions, Cris. Can you get us a medevac?”
“Yes. Hold tight. I’ll be back on the line shortly.”
Three minutes later Coffey returned. “Your ride will land in the parking lot in about an hour. It’s the best I could do. It’ll have a doctor on board and will be prepared for incoming wounded.”
“Thanks, Cris. Now I need Davinroy. Immediately! San Francisco is about to be destroyed, but I think I can stop it. Get me through to Davinroy!”
“How do you know about San Francisco?”
“Long story, and we may be out of time already. Get me Davinroy!”
“I can’t. He’s on board a specialized aircraft for use during a nuclear threat. I wasn’t on duty at the time or I’d be up there, but they’ve battened down the hatches. Full-on emergency mode. No way I get through to him now. Last I heard, hours ago, was that he had a call scheduled with the terrorist at 11:30 and was confident he could buy a reprieve. But Davinroy only sees the distorted view of reality he wants to see, so I doubt this is true.”
“You’re right. The attack is going forward no matter what he does. Do you have any contacts who could break through to him?”
“I’m sorry, Rachel, but no power on Earth will get you Davinroy’s ear before midnight.”
“Okay Cris, I’m forced to try plan B. Gotta go.”
“Good luck,” said Cris Coffey solemnly.
Rachel took a deep breath and called the emergency number Regev had given her before they had parted ways in Waltham. It was picked up by a woman on the first ring, answering in Hebrew.
“Do you speak English?” said Rachel.
“Of course. You’ve reached the Jerusalem Trading Company. How can I help you?”
“My name is Rachel Howard. I was told to call this number in an emergency. I need to speak with Avi Wortzman right away.”
“Please hold,” said the woman. She came back on the line only a few seconds later. “Yes, we have you on our list, Dr. Howard. Can you tell me the nature of the emergency? It’s six fifteen in the morning here.”
“I don’t care what time it is! Get me Wortzman! Wake him and get him on the line! I was told I rated top treatment. This is the mother of all emergencies.”
“Please hold for Avi Wortzman,” said the woman evenly.
Two minutes later Wortzman was on the line. “Rachel? Are you okay? Where is Eyal? I’ve been up for hours, waiting to hear from him.”
“He and Quinn are injured, but they got us away from Kovonov.”
“Thank God.”
“Were you aware Kovonov has a puppet about to blow the Korean nuke you left buried in San Francisco?”
“What?” replied Wortzman in dismay. “No,” he mumbled. “I had no idea. This is worse than I feared. Davinroy boarded an E-4B and is in the air, so I knew something big was brewing. But this is unspeakable. What could he be thinking?”
“It’s set to go off at midnight, in about forty-five minutes. His plan is for ISIS to get the blame so the US will wipe them out. I might be able to stop it, but I can’t get through to Davinroy.”
“At this point, even I can’t help you with that.”
“I know. But I believe you can do what I needed Davinroy to do. I need you to take over the US cell phone grid.”
“What makes you think we have this capability?”
“Can you or can’t you? No bullshit. Millions of lives are at stake. Don’t tell me about political fallout, or strained relations. You guys all spy on each other and play stupid games. I’m sure you know how to screw with each others’ electrical and communications grids, even though you’re allies.”
There was a long pause, during which Rachel held her breath.
“Yes,” said Wortzman finally. “I can do that.”
Rachel threw her head back over the car’s headrest in relief, exhaling loudly. “Awesome!” she said to the Land Rover’s ceiling. “How long will it take?”
“Probably under an hour.”
“That’s not good enough. Get it done in thirty minutes. I’m sending a short file to you now. Once you have control of the grid, ramp up the transmission strength to its highest level and broadcast the signals specified in the file right away. Repeat it over and over until just past midnight in Washington DC. Understood?”
“Why?”
“Too long to explain. But there’s a chance it can save San Francisco. Promise me you’ll get it done.”
“I will,” said Wortzman solemnly. “In thirty minutes or less,” he added as he ended the call.
Rachel remained in the parked Land Rover and immediately called Karen Black, waking her from a sound sleep.
“Rachel, are you okay?” she mumbled, the third person in a row who had asked this same question. Her voice strengthened as adrenaline drove her fully awake. “I heard you and Kevin had disappeared. What happened?”
“No time to explain. I need you to get Carmilla and take her to the MRI room. Close it up and stay with her there until 12:15.”
“What?”
“Please! Just do it! Trust me. Get her inside, close the door and don’t let her out for any reason until 12:15. I’ll explain later, but this could not be more critical.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Karen!” she said. “I’ll explain soon,” she added as she ended the call.
With this done, Rachel exited the vehicle and popped the hatch. She opened a recessed compartment and unscrewed a tire iron attached to a spare tire. She approached the glass entrance to the grocery store, using her phone’s flashlight app to light the way, and stood to the side, swinging the tire iron for all she was worth.
The glass was largely shatterproof, but after five or six blows she managed to forge a hole large enough for her to get through. She braced herself for the earsplitting sound of alarms, but none came. Much to her great relief the dark night remained quiet.
Rachel rushed through the store searching for the kitchenware aisle. Being in a grocery that was as dark as a cave was unsettling, but no more so than anything else she’d been through that night.
She found the aisle she was looking for and illuminated the aluminum foil offerings with her phone. She chose the widest roll available—eighteen inches—and noted that it was twenty-five feet long. More than enough for her needs.
Clutching her bounty, Rachel Howard returned to the car, dropped the tire iron to the pavement, and managed to slide Quinn to the ground beside it. She began to wrap aluminum foil over every square inch of his head, lifting it gently when necessary, and continued this process all the way to the bottom of his ribcage, turning his upper half into a silvery mummy. She repeated this procedure a second time for good measure, making sure to provide enough ventilation for him to breathe.
With this completed she sat on the pavement beside a man she was coming to love and stared at the night sky.
How had it come to this? Two men she cared about deeply were dying nearby and all she could do was wait for Armageddon, dependent on the head of the Mossad to seize control of America’s cell phone infrastructure, at her insistence, to have any chance at heading it off.
And she had thought calling her new lab the Anus was surreal.
She broke out laughing from the ridiculousness of it all. She considered checking on Avi Wortzman’s progress, but forced herself to leave him alone, since another call would only cause a further delay. All she could do was sit in a dark parking lot and watch over an aluminum mummy.
A bright light appeared from out of nowhere and blinded her.
“Freeze!” said a male voice.
Rachel almost starting laughing again when she saw it was a young police offer, scared out of his mind, pointing his gun at her. After facing scores of mercenaries with automatic weapons, a baby-faced rural cop who looked to be fresh out of the academy wasn’t all that frightening. She realized that just because she hadn’t heard an alarm when she had broken into the store didn’t mean a silent alarm hadn’t sounded.
She held up her hands.
The cop gestured at the tire iron beside her. “You’re under arrest for breaking and entering,” he said. “You have the right—”
He stopped in mid-sentence when he noticed the wrapped body next to her for the first time.
Alarmed, he swept his flashlight in a broad arc, gasping when he spotted yet another lifeless body in the vehicle. He shined his flashlight through the window, illuminating the blood-covered Israeli in the backseat.
The cop’s naturally pale face whitened further. “Did you kill them?” he asked in dismay.
Rachel sighed. “No. They’re badly injured, but I’m trying to save them.”
“Sure you are. I guess someone else broke into the store and left these bodies and a tire iron next to you, right? This is just an elaborate frame up.”
“No, I admit to breaking into the store. But if you’ll check, the cash register wasn’t touched. I’ll pay for the door and the aluminum foil.”
“Who are you?” he said as if he had come across a unicorn.
“Would you believe a world-renowned neuroscientist?”
The cop shook his head. “You are one sick puppy.”
He gestured to Quinn. “Uncover him. I want to verify that he’s still alive.”
Rachel’s face became panic stricken. “I can’t do that,” she said. “You got me. I destroyed a door and stole some aluminum foil. And I’ll accept the consequences. But just let me leave this foil in place for another few minutes and I’ll do anything you ask. I’m begging you.”
The cop crouched down while still holding a gun on her. “If you won’t do it,” he said, reaching for Quinn’s head, “I’ll do it myself.”
Rachel snatched the tire iron from the pavement and lunged. The young cop’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t get off a shot as the tire iron came crashing down on his right arm, sending his gun flying.
He grunted in pain and reached for his gun, but Rachel kicked it ten yards farther away into the darkness as though the parking lot were a hockey rink. The cop rushed off, frantically searching for the weapon with his flashlight.
Rachel didn’t hesitate. She fell back beside Quinn and removed the gun he had been using from his pants, being careful not to disturb the foil.
She rose from the pavement with her arm extended. “Freeze!” she screamed, unable to believe she was actually doing this. “Take another step and you’re dead! Try to shine that light in my eyes and I’ll shoot!” she added.
The cop stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face her, careful to train his light at her knees, which provided enough illumination to verify that she had a gun pointed at him, one more lethal than his own, which was still five feet away.
“Do what I tell you and you’re in no danger,” said Rachel. “This will be over soon. In about twenty minutes or so a helicopter is going to land in this parking lot. The people inside are going to take me and these two men with them, and you’ll be free to go. You’re perfectly safe. I’m sorry that I hurt you, but I didn’t have a choice.”
The cop’s eyes remained wild, certain he was about to be killed by someone who had escaped from the psychiatric ward at a hospital. “So we’re just waiting for your helicopter?” he said in an obvious attempt to humor her. She could almost hear the word imaginary inserted before the word helicopter.
“You think I’m totally out of my mind, don’t you?”
“Not at all.”
Rachel laughed wildly, which didn’t help her cause. Of course he thought she was crazy. She was holding him at gunpoint in a dark parking lot waiting to see if the world would end.
“Maybe I am crazy,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Either way, we’re both going to find out soon.”
74
Haji Ahmad al-Bilawy was euphoric, a feeling beyond any he thought he might ever experience. He was but minutes away from plunging a knife deep into the eye of the Great Satan. And he had just ended a call with the President of the United States.
Davinroy had been pathetic, and al-Bilawy had strung him along, made him squirm. By the end the president was begging, offering anything al-Bilawy wanted to call it off, or even delay the strike for half a day.
Al-Bilawy had taken great pleasure in teasing Davinroy, toying with him, making him grovel, pushing him into utter embarrassment and beyond, and finally, with ten minutes left on the clock and the United States powerless to stop him, he had cut Davinroy off at the knees. He had figuratively spat in his face, displayed his contempt, and made sure the president knew that this was just the beginning. That Allah had no mercy for the infidel, and this would be but a taste of things to come.
Al-Bilawy had a video ready to go just after midnight, to be sent to YouTube and media outlets around the world. It would show the strength of ISIS, the greatness of Allah, and the weakness of the United States. It would make it clear for all the world to see who had been responsible for this heroic deed, and how Davinroy had pleaded like a little girl. It would be ISIS’s finest hour.
He checked the device that would detonate the bomb and carefully entered the codes that he had committed so firmly to memory they seemed carved into his brain. He waited eagerly to press the button, to send the world into a new age, and the caliphate on its way to a new glory.
Six minutes to go.
He desperately wanted to jump the gun, the wait for the ecstasy to come now seeming eternal. But he owed it to those who had sacrificed to make this happen, who had planned this to perfection, not to deviate from the plan by even an instant.
He had tapped into an atomic clock on his phone so he could be as precise as possible. He would wait until the stroke of midnight in Washington DC, the center of power of this corrupt country, and do what he now knew he had been put on this Earth to do.
“All praise to Allah,” he said aloud in Arabic.
A triumphant smile began to spread across his face but stopped abruptly of its own accord. Just as he realized his face was frozen, an overwhelming smell of burnt rubber assaulted his nostrils. He turned to see what might be causing the pungent odor when his sight stopped working. He blinked several times, but this did nothing to relieve his sudden blindness.
