Scimitar SL-2

as if you are leaving. But what you are really doing is getting a great battle fleet into operation in the Atlantic in order to find and destroy the submarine, or intercept the missile as it flies into La Palma?”

“How the hell do you know they’re in a submarine?”

“Please, Arnold, give us some credit. We know about the missing Barracuda s. We know you found one of them, already scuttled. And we know the other one is on the loose. There is plainly no other way to hit the volcano except with a submarine-launched missile. An aircraft is out of the question, so is a surface ship, and a blast from the mainland of black North Africa would be to invite instant detection by the U.S. satellites.

“No, Arnold. They have informed you what they plan to do. And quite obviously, they are going to launch their missile attack from a submarine creeping around, deep, somewhere in the North Atlantic, somewhere off the coast of Africa. And since that Barracuda is the only suspect…the rest is academic.”

“Correct. And if I am not able to demonstrate that the nation of Israel is prepared to acquiesce to our instructions, I guess Hamas will open fire, and we’ll just have to see if we can stop ’em. I should warn you, however, that if that little scenario should occur, the Knesset ought not to hold its breath for any more help from the U.S.A…. finance or weapons.”

“I do realize that,” said General Gavron. “And quite honestly, I have tried to stay out of the talks. I know there has been nothing formal yet, but these things get around fast. And we are aware that sooner or later we will have to answer a very serious question from the United States.”

Admiral Morgan poured them both more coffee. He stood up and walked a few paces, then retraced his steps. “David,” he said, “what is your personal reaction to the Hamas demand for immediate recognition of the Independent, Democratic, and Sovereign State of Palestine based on the territories on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip…as they say, ‘occupied by the forces of Israel since June 4, 1967’?

“I guess you know that they want all Israeli troops out of these territories, right away?”

“That’s what they always demand, Arnold. But they are asking the rulers of Israel to commit political suicide. And you know what your great hero Sir Winston Churchill said about that?”

“Not offhand. What was it?”

“The trouble with committing political suicide is you usually live to regret it…”

Arnold Morgan laughed, despite the seriousness of the conversation. He sat back and sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

“Arnold,” Gavron said, “there are thousands of families whose relatives died for those new Israeli lands, died defending them against the Arab aggressor. My grandfather was killed in the Sinai in 1967, my beloved and brave grandmother died on a human ammunition line, passing shells up to our tanks on the Golan Heights in 1967. My father’s two brothers were killed in the battle for the Sinai in 1967, and my niece, age eleven, was killed by a Palestinian bomb in a supermarket twelve years ago.

“I’m sorry, Arnold, I could never agree to a Palestinian State within our borders. Not one that causes us to surrender the lands we fought for, against overwhelming aggression from the Arab nations. My government might agree if America were to get very rough with us. But would I? Never.”

Arnold smiled a rueful smile at the old warrior from the Holy Land. “But what about us, David?” he said. “We, who have done so much to keep your nation secure. What about us, in our hour of real need?”

“Well, the East Coast of America is a very long way from Israel. More than 5,000 miles. And just for once, we are not the ones being threatened by an armed enemy.

“In my country, there are vast numbers of young Israelis who were not even born when Egypt split the Bar- Lev line and attacked us on our most holy day of the year. We’d be asking them to support their government giving away great slabs of the only land they have ever known…to the Palestinians. Well, Arnold, that’s what civil wars are made of…”

“You mean Israel is never going to agree to the creation of a Democratic Palestinian State, never going to withdraw from the occupied territories?”

“No, I don’t mean that. I don’t mean never. But probably not in the next five weeks. That’s just asking the utterly impossible. For a problem that is not even ours. Remember, it’s the U.S.A. under threat. Not Israel.”

“For an officer and a diplomat, that’s a rather shortsighted answer,” replied Admiral Morgan.

“Not really. The U.S.A. would find it very difficult to get rough with us. No American President is going to risk losing the massive Jewish vote in New York.”

“I was not referring to the U.S.A. getting rough,” said Arnold.

“Oh…what were you implying…?”

“I was suggesting that if we get jackhammered by this tidal wave, that will somewhat preoccupy us for a while. And since you did nothing to assist us, you’ll probably find us too busy to help you.”

“But we don’t need help, Arnold. We’re not threatened.”

“If the U.S. Navy and Military are effectively disabled on the East Coast for a period of several months, how long do you think it will take Hamas to turn their thwarted anger on Israel?”

David Gavron was thoughtful. He said nothing for a few moments and then replied, “They are essentially a hit-and-run organization. Terrorists. They do not have our training, our combat readiness. They have no answers to heavy artillery. And we can withstand terrorism. We always have. The Hamas are simply not a big enough force to take down a nation like ours.”

“That may have been so three years ago,” said Arnold. “But it’s not so now. They have a general as accomplished in the field as anyone we’ve seen for years…”

“This damn Kerman character?”

“That’s the man, David. That’s the man.”

1530 (Local), Monday, September 21

The Atlantic Ocean, 14.43N 17.30W

Speed 5, Course Unconfirmed, PD.

The Barracuda cruised in warm waters out among the blue-fin tunas just below the surface, less than 10 miles off the most westerly port in Africa. Dakar, capital city of the old French colony of Senegal, was in the middle of its rainy season, and warm tropical rain lashed the calm waters of the deep Atlantic way out to sea.

They’d been waiting for almost four hours now, and the rain had not let up. Every fifteen minutes, Ben Badr ordered his mast up and scanned the surface picture, looking in vain for the patrol boat from the Senegal Navy, which had been due to arrive at around midday.

When it finally did show up, shortly before 1600, both he and Ravi became extremely jumpy. Running this close to the surface, even in waters in which the U.S. Navy had zero interest, it was still unnerving. Just knowing the U.S. satellites, if correctly focused, could pick them up in moments.

The unrelenting rain reduced visibility, and the Senegalese were more than a mile away when Admiral Badr saw them. Immediately he ordered the Barracuda to the surface. With a blast of emptying ballast and an increased hum of the accelerating turbines, the Barracuda surged up into the fresh air for the first time for ten weeks. It was the first daylight they had seen since the submarine went deep, just south of the Japanese island of Yakushima, and headed out into the north Pacific.

The great underwater warship shouldered aside the blue waters of the eastern Atlantic, and the helmsman brought her almost to a halt on the surface, facing south awaiting the Senegalese patrol ship that would pull alongside.

The seas were otherwise deserted and the Barracuda’s deck crew waved the incoming ship into position on the starboard side of the hull. They could already see a special long gangway out on the scruffy-looking deck, and they sent over lines to help the two Senegalese crewmen to shove it out between the two ships.

General Ravi, standing on deck with Shakira, gazed in some distaste at the condition of the patrol boat, a U.S. — built Peterson Mark-4 Class 22-tonner, almost twenty years old, black-hulled and in dire need of a coat of paint. The once-white deck was rusted, and further rust marks stained the hull. A couple of black tires were leaned against the superstructure. As a Navy ship, it looked like a Third World fishing smack. But it was the only way to leave unnoticed, and the Senegalese, sharing their Muslim faith, had been willing to help, although Ravi guessed his colleagues in Bandar Abbas had paid expensively for this short Inter-Navy 10-mile voyage, probably as much as the