‘T he second problem is China,’ President Bolton continued, glaring at his Secretary of State. Like everyone else in the room, the Secretary of State could sense he was on borrowed time and he held his tongue.
‘I want a threat analysis prepared immediately and that’s to include their likely influence in space as well. Space is absolutely vital to the defence of the United States and let there be no doubt, as long as I’m in the White House, we will control it. Any threat to our satellites will be dealt with first and we’ll ask questions later.’ Bolton looked around the room, daring anyone to disagree with him. China had already sent a shot across the bows of the United States’ space program, firing a 40-tonne KT-2 ballistic missile and destroying one of their own satellites 860 kilometres above Xichang, a major Chinese launching pad in the far south of the country. The ageing Feng Yun weather satellite was well past its use-by date, but that was not the point. China was looking very closely at the vulnerability of the satellites of the United States. Used for a myriad of top-secret tasking, the big US satellites were vital for GPS navigation in the military, guidance of smart bombs and for any surveillance the President and his military might order.
‘One of my predecessors had the wisdom to sign an order denying our adversaries the use of space,’ President Bolton declared. ‘We will continue to reserve our right to deny access to space to any country which even looks like being hostile, and that includes the Chinese.’
Not wishing to risk any publicity over his discussions with Richard Halliwell, the President met with him in the now-vacant Vice President’s residence at Number One Observatory Circle later that evening. The heavily guarded, turreted nineteenth century mansion in the grounds of the Naval Observatory in Washington DC overlooked Massachusetts Avenue.
‘Congratulations, Mr President,’ Richard Halliwell offered without sincerity as the two men settled on the couches in the cosy first-floor library. ‘I wish it were under happier circumstances.’
President Bolton took a sip of bourbon before he replied. ‘Are you planning to run, Richard,’ he asked bluntly.
Richard Halliwell smiled deprecatingly. ‘I haven’t decided, Mr President,’ he lied, ‘but if I do, rest assured, you’ll be the first to know.’
‘You’ll be wasting your time,’ Bolton warned, ‘so be it on your own head. More importantly, how are we doing with the Ebolapox research?’
‘I’m due to have another meeting with Dolinsky shortly but getting him onboard has been a masterstroke,’ Halliwell enthused, his coming battle with Bolton and the Republican nomination for the White House temporarily forgotten. ‘He’s confident he’s overcome the last of the technical difficulties with the cutting enzymes, and he’s produced several different combinations of DNA and RNA. Even more pertinent is his work on a vaccine. Several of the monkeys have now been immunised and I’ll let you know the results. If it’s successful we have the means to mass produce the vaccine very rapidly and make it available to our embassies around the globe, but I think we should ensure that our Olympic team and officials are vaccinated well before they leave. I’m still going to need to get the Ebolapox vials into Beijing and the only foolproof way will be through the black bag.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ Bolton replied. ‘When do you think you’ll be ready?’
‘No later than three months before the Games. I met with my planner in Beijing the last time I was there and he’s assured me that any substance can be distributed throughout the city, for a price,’ Halliwell added meaningfully. The well-connected leader of the Sanhehui, the Triad Society, had not come cheaply but getting the vials to the right targets would be crucial.
CHAPTER 81
T he suburb was one of the wealthiest and oldest in the city, its big colonial homes overlooking a meandering river from the sides of a substantial hill. As night fell, another of Kadeer’s cells was at work in a quiet backstreet, gaining access to the ageing hydrant outlet that was connected to the fresh water mains. Their uniforms had been tailored to look like those of the local fire brigade. The specially adapted stand-pipe had been bought through one of the many companies that sold fire-fighting equipment on the internet and the 64-milimetre screw fitting would have fitted perfectly were it not for the appalling condition of the hydrant base and the complete lack of maintenance by the City Council. At least there had been a blue marker in the middle of the road to indicate where the hydrant was, otherwise Kadeer’s men might never have found it. The team leader, Muhammad, used a shovel to clear away the matted grass from the top of the rusted iron plate that was marked FH. As he prised it open, a frog leapt to safety; he reached in to clean the mass of debris from the clogged well.
‘I wonder what they do when there is a real fire, Abdullah,’ Muhammad said, as Abdullah, one of his cell members, wrestled the stand-pipe into the well and locked it onto the two lugs at the bottom.
‘I don’t know but it’s just as you predicted, up here the pressure is poor,’ Abdullah said as the stand-pipe spindle depressed the concave pressure disc in the base of the hydrant and the water flooded up and into the specially fitted pressure gauge. ‘Only 200 Kpa. The compressor will overcome that easily,’ he said, connecting the other side of the T to the pressure vessel containing the caesium chloride. ‘ Allahu Akbar! God is Great!’ Abdullah muttered fiercely as he started the purpose-built compressor and opened the valve. A hundred litres of dissolved caesium chloride was forced into the city’s fresh water mains. Abdullah bent over and vomited in the gutter. The deadly gamma radiation he’d absorbed when he’d dissolved the blue pellets was beginning to have a devastating effect on his body, but both he and Muhammad knew the radiation would not end their lives before they were able to carry out their final mission. Tomorrow, Allah be praised, they would still be able to explode their backpacks of blue powder in the centre of the city. Muhammad would take the lift to Level 9, 79 Adelaide Street and explode his pack in the reception area of the Chinese Consulate. Abdullah and a third cell member would head for the top of a building that overlooked the flame of remembrance in the CBD, an area that was dedicated to those who had fought for their country. Both men knew that the winds would take the fine, deadly powder and distribute it for thousands of metres. The city would become a gravesite.
Nearly 12,000 kilometres away, one of al-Falid’s most important recruits had clocked on shift at the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission water treatment plant in Millbrae. Two years before, the cell member from the Muslim community in the Bay Area of San Francisco had secured a job at the plant. In April 2006, he had reported back to the cell leader that the Commission had installed a tank containing nine bluegill fish. Sophisticated banks of computers had also been installed to monitor the fishes’ breathing. Just as humans coughed to get rid of food or liquid that might have ‘gone down the wrong way’, fish flexed their gills to clear particles of sand and other matter from their breathing passages. This system was designed to monitor the way fish coughed; if any of the bluegills were upset by foreign or toxic matter in the water, the computers could sense which fish was breathing abnormally and trigger a pager and email alarm to those on duty and to senior management. The team leader of Kadeer’s San Francisco cell was not in the least perturbed. By the time the fish sounded the alarm it would be too late.
The ‘Peace Rocks’ concert was a sell-out. 15,000 people had packed around the stage beneath Nelson’s column and for nearly four hours, as rock stars strutted their stuff on the temporary stage, dissolved caesium chloride cascaded from the famous fountains. A strong breeze whipped a fine spray into the air but the frenzied crowd were oblivious to the lethal mist drifting over them. Red, green and yellow strobe lights played over the stage as the bands sent the crowd wild. The water and mists from the cascading fountains glowed a deep and beautiful blue.
The President of the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission, Hank Arkell, was enjoying a round of golf when his beeper warned him that all was not well with one of the bluegills. Passive electrodes in the tank, amplified 10,000 times had picked up the distressed breathing of one of the ‘fish police’. The Vice President and three other Commissioners were also paged but none of them had been unduly alarmed. If one of the fish was breathing erratically, the system was designed to automatically sample and analyse the water for chemical impurities. By the time the analysis had revealed the presence of caesium chloride and gamma radiation, all of the fish were dead.
Mahmood al-Masri’s backpack was faded, matching his jeans and white T-shirt. No one took the slightest
