General Rabin had been turning the complexities of the proposal over in his mind, including the certainty of all out war with their Arab neighbors should they decide to do it. “Let me think,” he said. The bunker was small, but still allowed room enough to pace. Rabin stood up. He lit a cigarette and began walking around the conference table, puffing furiously. Clouds of smoke from the cigarette wafted up toward the intake of the air conditioning vent. When he had smoked the cigarette down so low that the scorched smell of the burning filter was detectable, he sat back down.
“As you say, Yitzhak, we’ll never have a better chance. And Sheila, I have to disagree. The Americans will help. Maybe not publicly, but they’ll see that we have sufficient replacements for munitions and armaments.” He lit another cigarette, got it going good and continued. “There’s the religious factor, too.
Half the people in America already think the Harcourt virus is the work of God, preparing us for the End Times. Those people will applaud us for attacking the non-believers. And despite the anti-Semitism still prevalent there, almost everyone in America would love to see the Arabs get a dose of their own medicine. They’ve been the terrorists too long. Trust me, they’ll help us if we need it. Maybe not with manpower, because they’re tied up at home, but their Air Force will be free to act if we need them. And I know for a fact, they have plenty of munitions stockpiled.”
Goldblatz wrinkled her forehead, trying to imagine why anyone would help them after loosing a virus that might kill a hundred million people—and some of their own citizens as well.
“Don’t bother wrinkling your brain to go with those lines on your face, Sheila. It’s simple. Besides everything else, with the Arabs dead, the oil fields will be up for grabs. Do you think the Americans will let Russia, China, or Japan take them? Or the European powers? Not a chance. They’ll try, though. You name a country with insufficient indigenous supplies and they’ll begin loading their troop transports. The Americans will love it if we get there first.” When he saw that Luria’s Chief of Staff still wasn’t completely convinced he looked at the Prime minister. “Yitzhak, may I?”
“Go ahead.”
“Sheila, The American politicians already have their secret think tanks pinning down scenarios for re- colonizing Africa, and their military planners are working up the contingency plans. They aren’t about to let other countries grab all the oil. But they’re going to be tied down for a while with so many of their citizens dying. This virus will clear out a huge area of oil producing areas. Wherever Mouloukhia is eaten, they’ll die.”
“Oh.” Goldblatz’s frown lines disappeared. She shook her head and said sadly, “Human nature doesn’t change, does it? Well, better we instigate a holocaust this time than be on the receiving end, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we’re superior to the ones who started this. We’re going to be committing genocide, pure and simple. And once the world settles down, we may be tried and executed, even though no country is going to really be sorry to see the blacks and Arabs all dead. However, they’ll need some scapegoats to soothe their sensibilities and we’ll be prime candidates.”
Her statement sobered the prime minister and the general, but the planning went on.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Doug was sorry to see June have to go back to work Monday morning. He held her in his arms while the door to her apartment was still closed. He looked into her eyes and thought about how quickly she had become the epitome of all he held dear. “You’ll call soon as you get off?”
“You know I will, sweet. Or better still, rather than me calling, why don’t you go back and gather whatever you think you’ll need and move in here with me?”
Doug gave her a long kiss, but didn’t let her go. “That might be fine for when I’m off or on the day shift, but I’d disturb you with my coming and going when I started working nights again. This place is pretty small, you know.”
“I don’t care. AT least you’d be here, and don’t forget—sometimes I’ll have to work late, too.”
“I’ll have to bring my guns and cleaning equipment and weapons with me.”
“I still don’t care.”
Doug grinned. “Must be love.”
“It is, stupid man. Now kiss me again and let me leave before I’m late on Amelia’s first day in the Director’s chair.”
Doug did kiss her again, but still didn’t let her go.
“What is it now?”
“A key?”
“Oh. Just a minute.” June ran back to the bedroom and came back a moment later with her spare. “Here.
Make us a nice dinner for tonight. ‘Bye.” She gave him a quick firm peck on the lips and practically ran down the hall toward the elevator.
Nabil Hassan, an Arabic Jew with a false passport, didn’t like to think about what he was doing. He didn’t know for certain that the contents of the little spray bottles of breath freshener he had already carried to three countries were lethal, but he suspected as much. No matter, he would carry out his orders. Wherever he traveled, he dispensed puffs of vapor from the tiny containers into the atmosphere of closed environments. He drove to the Syrian capitol of Damascus first, after the Mossad helped him cross the border and provided him with a car. The first time, he simply dispersed it into the intakes at the air terminal, and then into the bathrooms of the jetliner on the way from Amman, Jordan to Bahrain, the playground of Rich Arabs. From there, he was headed to Cairo, Egypt.
Nabil was only one of several couriers, all agents of the Mossad, the secret service of Israel. Perhaps the Mossad wasn’t quite as efficient as it had been in the past, but this was a relatively simple operation, even though it portended enormous consequences for the future. Within a week, it was done. The only problem had been the increasing disruption of travel as black Africans who could afford it frantically bought and bartered and fought over every available seat that would take them away from the sickness that was consuming their compatriots at an ever increasing rate. Some countries had already barred travel from Africa but others still allowed immigration, particularly people with lighter skins who possessed technical skills.
Although Nabil and the others might have suspected they were spreading a contagious virus similar to
Doug took another bite of the pork roast and complimented June. “You’re a much better cook than me.
This is good.”
It was the week following his time off. June was working late almost every night helping Amelia after she took over the reins of the CDC, but on this Friday night, she had called to tell him Amelia had flown to Washington and that she would be home early enough to prepare a meal herself.
“Thanks. It would be better if supplies weren’t getting scarce. Amelia is talking about having us all eat in the cafeterias when rationing goes into effect next week.”
“It might be just as well,” Doug said, glancing over to where the workday weapons he was keeping in June’s apartment were stashed, his heavy handgun and a rifle/shotgun combo that was just being issued to the security force. “It’s getting a little scary going out to shop. So many blacks have just given up and are either staying home or roving the streets in armed gangs.”
