us “But you, O mountains of Israel, you will put forth your branches and bear your fruit for my people Israel, for they will soon come. I will cause you to be inhabited as you were formerly”. God has also warned us that in the last days, Mr President, just before the return of Christ, the Muslims will try and destroy Israel and Jerusalem.’
President Harrison looked thoughtful.
‘The Bible is quite clear, Mr President,’ Jerry Buffett pressed on. ‘Attacks on the United States by Islamic terrorists are predicted in both the Old and the New Testaments. What we’re seeing is the beginning of the end times that herald the return of Jesus himself, and I very much fear that Khalid Kadeer will carry out his threats, exactly as it’s been laid out for us in the Bible.’
Dan Esposito was sitting at the opposite end of the President’s couch and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. First that little shit O’Connor from the CIA and now this meddlesome preacher, both espousing the view that the threats from Kadeer were genuine. It was not a line that he wanted aired in public but for the moment he said nothing. Esposito knew that, for now, he needed Buffett to galvanise the voters in the southern bible-belt and in the swing states like Ohio. If Buffett’s preachers urged them to vote for a godfearing President who took his guidance from the Lord, they would turn out in droves.
The Reverend Buffett reached inside his soft leather briefcase and pulled out his well-thumbed Bible. ‘God has told me that the Muslim nations are preparing to strike our nation, Mr President, and our Lord revealed how they would do this when he spoke with John on the Greek island of Patmos.’ Jerry Buffett turned to the Revelation to John. ‘“And I saw a pale horse and its rider’s name was Death.” The Greek for pale is chloros, which stands for disease. The Bible could not be more clear, Mr President. It’s there in Daniel, in Matthew and in Revelations. I have no doubt that these Muslims are planning to launch an attack that spreads disease and that can only be a biological attack.’
‘The State Department and our Intelligence agencies don’t think they’ve developed that capability yet,’ the President said, glancing over at Esposito.
‘Our State Department and our Intelligence agencies all do an excellent job, Mr President, no doubt about it, but unlike you, they don’t have a direct line to a higher authority. Like Hitler, Kadeer speaks of a final solution. As God’s man in the White House, Mr President, you’re privy to the greatest source of intelligence there is. There can be no higher authority than the word of the Lord and the Holy Book. We not only need to prepare this country against a devastating Islamic biological attack, Mr President, we need to deter them from even thinking about launching one. The only thing that prevented the Soviet Union from launching a nuclear attack during the Cuban missile crisis was our own nuclear capability. Khrushchev knew that if he attacked, his own country would be annihilated. We need to develop our own biological weapons, Mr President, and leave the Muslims in no doubt that if they attack us we not only have the means to destroy them, but we will not hesitate to use them.’
‘I hear you, Jerry,’ President Harrison replied, his mind wavering, ‘I hear you, but it would be a very big step to re-introduce that research.’
‘These are desperate last days, Mr President, and you need to get yourself into a position to strike first. If you strike in the name of the Lord you can rest assured that God will be on your side.’
The Reverend Buffett was using the same persuasive bible-based rhetoric he used on his centre’s big stage back in Atlanta; skills he had spent a lifetime perfecting. After pausing for more thought, the President nodded in agreement, as he reflected that the urgings of the Vice President and the Secretary of Defense may well have been God’s way of getting his message through; a message that was now being confirmed by his spiritual advisor.
Before he left, Jerry Buffett joined hands with the other two men and led them in prayer. ‘Lord Jesus, we thank you for this godfearing President that you have placed in the White House, that your will might be done here on earth. We ask that you continue to protect this President, that he might overcome the Islamic forces of evil in this world. We ask that you will guide all those who are tasked with the preparations for our defense, that your light might shine forth from this nation to illuminate the world. We ask this in Jesus’ name, Amen.’
Earlier in the day, and some 900 kilometres to the south, evil of a more sinister nature had been gathering strength.
CHAPTER 26
D r Richard Halliwell waited impatiently for the man from the City Pound. It was not yet 6.30 a.m. and apart from the occasional jogger, the park in downtown Atlanta was deserted, or at least Halliwell thought it was. This was a meeting that, if the worst happened, had to be deniable and could not be delegated. Halliwell smiled to himself. It appealed to his sense of justice that he might employ someone from the City Pound. They were, after all, no better than mangy dogs.
Halliwell thrust his gloved hands into the pockets of his expensive cashmere overcoat and tapped his Italian leather shoes in frustration. He was not a man who was accustomed to being kept waiting. His planning was, as usual, meticulous. The previous month he had tasked his long-time private investigator to report on several of the city’s employees. His private detective had understood the sensitivity of the task perfectly. As he always did, Halliwell had insisted on a verbal briefing and payment was in cash, which meant there was no paper trail. Halliwell had decided on a Mexican illegal immigrant. Married to a fiery wife, with two children, the man was a regular visitor to one of the city’s seedier bars where he was often seen in the company of equally dubious women. Why anyone would bother with him was beyond Dr Halliwell’s imagination as he watched the fat, dark-haired little Mexican make his way furtively across the park. Some women obviously had no taste, he thought, but in the end, the more disgusting his private life the better. Richard Halliwell liked to have control over people. When the man was 45 metres away, Halliwell slipped a thin balaclava over his face.
‘You took your time,’ Halliwell challenged.
The Mexican jumped, a startled look on his face.
‘In here,’ Halliwell commanded, appearing from behind the hedge that encircled a small private area of the park.
‘Why all the secrecy?’ the Mexican asked.
‘Because that’s the way I like it,’ Halliwell responded curtly. Leaving his fine leather gloves on, he withdrew a plain envelope from his cashmere coat. ‘Inside there is a thousand dollars cash. There will be a lot more where that came from, provided you cooperate.’
‘And if I don’t?’ The Mexican was now very wary of the tall, well-dressed man behind the mask, but he sensed he had the upper hand and his coal-like eyes gleamed with greed. Whatever he was about to be asked to do was important enough to be cloaked in extraordinary secrecy. His sense of the upper hand did not last long.
‘If you decide not to take the task on, this meeting never took place and you don’t get your thousand dollars. If you do take the task on, which is a relatively simple one, you will be very handsomely rewarded. Either way you keep your trap shut. There are some photographs in the envelope as well. Taken in the motel behind Hungry Jacks. They are copies. If you don’t remain silent the originals of the photographs will be delivered to your wife.’
The man’s dark face went pale. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he rasped.
‘That’s none of your concern. Do you want the money?’
‘Depends on what you want me to do,’ the man replied glancing around, like a large rat cornered at the end of a sewer and looking for a way out.
Richard Halliwell gave the man a quick outline of what was required.
The man paused, as if something was bothering him, as well it might. ‘$5000 a delivery?’ he asked.
‘Cash.’
Again he paused before answering. $5000 dollars would buy a lot of women and a lot of hooch, and it would keep that bitch he married in order too, he thought hungrily.
‘No skin off my nose,’ he said finally. ‘When do you want your first delivery?’
‘The barman will give you a message to contact your uncle. That will be the signal for you to come here. Your instructions will be in purple ink on a piece of paper at the bottom of that bin.’ Halliwell pointed to the refuse bin he had chosen as the dead-letter drop. ‘There is an entrance to the laboratory compound that is normally kept locked. You will be given the time for delivery and you are to stick to it exactly.’
