it's still the main Palestinian fundamentalist political movement out there. The whole organization grew out of that Muslim Brothers outfit down on the Gaza Strip — every time we conduct a search for terrorist action in Israel it always leads to Hamas.'
'Remind me, Scotty. Who runs it?' 'That's hard to know. The main leader was old Sheik Ahmed Yassin, but the Israelis popped him in the slammer ten years ago. Since then Hamas has been responsible for building a lot of Palestinian schools and hospitals, but every now and then they break cover and do something insane.
'My department thinks that since the various peace initiatives have broken down, Hamas has become a bigger and bigger player, challenging the PLO for pole position. Just about every big bang in downtown Jerusalem and Tel Aviv in the last few years has been directly linked to Hamas.'
'Who funds them?'
'Dunno, sir. They seem to be pretty damn good at funding themselves. And in my view they better be. Hamas is committed to the total liberation of Palestine and the creation of an Islamic state.'
Admiral Morris was pensive for almost a minute. Then he said carefully, 'If this Major Kerman hopped around the wall in Hebron, there must have been an element of impulsiveness to his actions. Because the Palestinians had not staged, or even caused, a riot. It was the Israelis on the attack, the Arabs were kind of defending. They had planned nothing.'
'That's true, sir. But the military documents were very clear. Once the fight broke out, the Palestinians organized themselves very quickly. They brought up rockets and grenades and several machine guns. That's Hamas, trust me. No one else could have pulled that off.'
'They got any known strength in Hebron?'
'Hell, yes, Admiral. They have, all through the Negev Desert, every town from Beersheba to Bethlehem and Jerusalem. The whole place is a tinderbox of Hamas armaments and enclaves. The Gaza Strip is worse. I'm telling you, the ole Hebrews have got their goddamned hands full down there.'
'Look, Scotty, it's been several months since Major Kerman made an apparent rush for the desert. Has anything happened in that time to suggest Hamas has come under some inspired frontline leadership?'
'I don't think so, sir. Just the usual rash of bombs and stuff. No firm evidence of anything unusual.'
'Well, I'll tell you what. Someone is supplying these guys with heavy cash. Can you run a quick check and see if there's been any big robberies in any of the Israeli cities. You know, Hamas may not even have been suspected. But ever since we've crippled their financing schemes these terror groups have had to turn to regular crime for funds, and the SAS are probably the best break-in guys in the world.'
'Sir, I'll have to go check that in Security Ops. They got a very bright young Navy guy in there called Jimmy Ramshawe. He's new, and he's on duty tonight. I'll get him buzzing on it. You know, there's very few robberies in urban Israel. But if anything's happened, Jimmy'll pick it up.'
'See you back here in a half hour.'
'You got it, sir.'
One hour later, the two men were still waiting, up there in the quiet of the eighth floor, for the appearance of Lieutenant Ramshawe when the guard on duty outside tapped on the door, opened it, and said, 'Lieutenant Ramshawe would like Captain Wade to go down to his office.'
'Guess I'll get another cup of coffee, Scotty. Keep me awake if we're going to be another hour.'
'Sir, I won't be long. Fifteen, max.'
Admiral Morris already knew all about Lieutenant Ramshawe. In fact, he'd known his father, an Admiral from New South Wales who had ended up Military Attach^ at the Australian Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, D.C.
Young Jimmy had been born in America, but, surrounded by Aussies all his life, he still carried a distinct inflection of Australia in his speech. He could hardly have been more American. Schooled in Connecticut, he was an outstanding baseball pitcher, and had attended the Naval Academy at Annapolis, thus following his father into a career in dark blue.
At the Academy, he had excelled, demonstrating a brilliant IQ, and a capacity for infinitesimal detail. A tall, lanky, athletic boy, he also showed many of the qualities necessary to command a warship. He was tough, shrewd, and relentless in achieving his objectives.
It was his brain that set him apart, and his brain that tied him up. One of his instructors once expostulated, 'Ramshawe! Jesus Christ, he could end up a second Captain Queeg, counting the fucking strawberries when all hell was breaking loose.'
But the U.S. Navy is expert at channeling talented people. And they quickly spotted the meticulous and tireless Ramshawe as possibly a natural-born Intelligence Officer. Which, unhappily was the last thing on Jimmy's mind.
'Christ,' he said. 'You mean all these bloody jokers in my class are going off to join warships, and leaving me behind in an office somewhere in that bloody Kremlin in the middle of Maryland? Get outta here.'
But the Navy was not joking. The Selection Boards got their way, offering the Lieutenant Commander a rare three-year tour of duty in the NSA, with a gilt-edged promise that if he really did not fit in, his career would be reviewed, with the intention of sending him to sea.
Lieutenant Ramshawe, urged by his father, agreed, and duly reported to Fort Meade, where he instantly made an impression for his watchfulness and ability to become accomplished at many tasks, all of which required weeks and weeks of study. He had been in the Security Ops Center just a few weeks, but already officers like Captain Wade knew all about him and his ability to pull up truly obscure information and make sense of it.
Fifteen minutes later, Captain Wade returned to the office of the Director. It was now well after midnight, and Admiral Morris was surprised to hear a real edge to Scotty's voice.
'Ramshawe's onto something,' he said. 'Right now you can't even open the door to his office because he's working in the middle of about four tons of paper. But he's located a couple of bank robberies in Israel, totally different in character, totally separate dates, separate cities, separate methods of entry and completely different circumstances. He says they're the same, though, and he'll be here to explain himself in the next ten minutes.'
Right on cue, ten minutes later the door opened and the duty guard ushered Lieutenant Ramshawe inside.
'G'day, Admiral,' he said, issuing the perennial Aussie greeting, and heaving a pile of maps and papers onto the Admiral's conference table.
George Morris chuckled. 'Hello, Lieutenant. They working you so hard you can no longer tell the difference between day and night?' he said.
'Matter of fact, yes,' said Jimmy. 'But I can't walk around saying 'G'night, Admiral,' can I?'
'Well, I guess not. How about 'G'd evening'?'
'Nah. I'd sound like a bloody poofter.' All three of them laughed at this interlude from the outback. George Morris found that lopsided Aussie directness engaging, political correctness being hurled to the four winds, in the renowned idiom of Arnold Morgan himself.
'Okay, sir. I expect Scotty here has told you I've found two bank robberies committed in Israel during the last six days of this past year. I'd prefer to go through them one at a time, that way you can see the similarities when they arise while I'm going through the second one.'
Admiral Morris nodded. And Jimmy spread before him a map of Jerusalem. In red pen he had marked off an area off Jaffa Road, a half mile northeast of the Old City Gate. 'Right here, Admiral, in this high-rise, is the biggest U.S. bank in Israel, New York and Beirut Savings. It acts as a dollar clearinghouse.
'I'm not dead sure how it works, but every day millions and millions of U.S. dollars come into the country via the tourists, and somehow or another they all end up in New York and Beirut. I imagine this huge dollar amount is then wire-transferred back to the New York and Beirut headquarters in Manhattan. Then they systematically destroy the old currency bills, which saves them the trouble and headache of shipping them halfway around the world. Anyhow, at various times of the month there's a bloody great stack of cash hanging around Jaffa Road.'
Captain Wade and the Admiral were silent, as Lieutenant Ramshawe outlined the robbery.
'Okay, it's Christmas Day, a Saturday, the holiday being observed by most people but not everyone. Even in the Holy Land, where Christ is regarded only as a prophet, there's nothing open because it's the Sabbath on Jaffa Road.
'At around 1530, would you believe, a bloody riot breaks out over a car accident. It quickly escalates and before anyone knows it there are twenty police cars and the IDF moving in to try and stop it. Right now we're
