American team. They have a Hezbollah officer who claims he has hidden a suitcase bomb.”
“Where?”
“Eight kilometers over the border, on the fringe of the detonation zone.”
Livni absorbed that message, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Well, he’s not going to give it to us for the asking. What does he want? Money? Asylum?”
The captain nodded. “Correct on both counts. Two million American dollars, a new identity, and a passport to anywhere on the planet.”
“Well, I can’t make that promise, and even if I did, he wouldn’t believe it. So what does this man expect? We can’t have him and the Americans standing around in the dark while Tel Aviv sends diplomats into the Lebanese countryside.”
“The American scientist, Dr. Langevin, suggests that he and the head of the team come here with the Hezbollah man. We can keep them safe until Tel Aviv figures out what to do.”
Livni rubbed his neck. “Meanwhile, what about the weapon? Anybody could find it and take it.”
“Yes sir. That’s why this Esmaili suggests that we make a deal— fast.”
“All right. Bring them in. And see if the other Americans need a flight to El-Arian.”
The aide raised a hand. “But, sir, what about approval to enter Lebanese airspace?”
For once, Livni actually smiled. “When I was in Washington I learned a wonderful philosophy: it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Derringer took the call from Nissen. “Yes, Chris! Talk to me!”
“Admiral, I figure you could stand some good news. Our guys found a Hezbollah operative who had another bomb. Evidently this guy snuffed his teammates and stashed the nuke. He wants to sell it. Now he’s in Israel with Dr. Mohammed and Dr. Langevin. They’ll stay with him until the Israelis figure what they’re gonna do.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“Ah, nosir. For a change.”
“What about the rest of the team?
Nissen chuckled. “They’re back here, enjoying some MREs and local wine. Things have calmed down here, but with nukes in the picture, I think the Lebanese Army will kick the Hezzies out of Amasha.”
Derringer forced the nuclear concern to the back of his mind. “So there’s nothing new about Frank and the others?”
“Ah, nosir.” After a pause, Nissen added, “I just don’t think they made it, Admiral.”
“Very well. I want everybody to sit tight. Don’t leave the village, Chris. We’re going to see about terminating the contract and bringing everybody home.”
“Works for me, sir.”
Derringer hung up and turned to the staffers who had been waiting for the call. He focused on Corin Pilong. “What do you think, Corin? Can we get out of the remainder of the contract?”
The Filipina’s huge brown eyes gleamed in response. “Admiral, the first thing I learned is that it takes two willing parties to write a contract but only one of them to end it. Without mutual consent there’s little prospect for getting through the term of the agreement.”
“Barring litigation, of course.”
“Well, ordinarily I would agree. But if ever there were unusual circumstances, this is it, sir. After all, a nuclear device has exploded in our client’s area — the venue, if you will — and there is a clause providing for discussion of termination owing to acts of God and extenuating circumstances and—”
“And yadda-yadda. Et cetera, et cetera.”
The icy brain behind the baby-doll face caught her employer’s mood. “Ditto, ditto. And so on and so on…”
Marshall Wilmont could stand only so much sitcom banter. “If I might interject, it seems that with the Lebanese Army and the U.N. and just about everybody else in the region swarming through that area, a temporary peace is about to break out.”
“Concur,” Carmichael added. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? A small nuke goes off, and suddenly everyone wants to get along. Even the Israelis and Iranians are talking, though of course neither side is going to admit it.”
Derringer leaned back in his overstuffed chair, hands behind his head. “You know, it could be that Hezbollah will be the big loser, once the damage is fully assessed and the bodies are buried. Nobody with an ounce of objectivity thinks anyone but Hezbollah was behind the nuke, and those who claim otherwise are just going to look damned silly.”
Wilmont cocked his head. “So you think that Iran and Syria will try to put a happy face on their role in this?”
“Guarandamntee it, Marsh.”
“Well, the Lebanese and the Israelis aren’t going to buy it.” When Derringer made no reply, Wilmont added, “Are they?”
The president of SSI abruptly brought both hands down on his desk, loudly. “No, they’re not going to believe it, but I’d bet my retirement that they’re going to pretend that they do.”
Wilmont’s bleary eyes widened in recognition. “Big-picture considerations. Regional politics and foreign aid; that sort of thing.”
“Yadda, yadda,” Derringer rejoined. “And ditto ditto.”
49
Omar Mohammed and Bernard Langevin watched the IDF limousine depart Northern Command headquarters. They waited until it turned the corner before either spoke.
“Do you think he’ll get his full payment?” Mohammed asked.
“Well, he has so far. His nuke is the real deal. Without the documentation I can’t tell the remaining shelf life but it looked good enough to scare me out of my knickers. You know, it was smart to hide the bomb inside the blast zone. The ambient radiation would cover any trace of the weapon, assuming there was any, and not many people would spend much time looking there.”
Mohammed pivoted on a heel to return to the headquarters’ air-conditioned comfort. His Banana Republic attire was beginning to show unseemly perspiration stains. “Tell me, Bernard. Do you think he really killed his compatriots?”
“I don’t know. Not that it really matters. Either he’s a murderer or an opportunist. Maybe both. In any case, he prevented another nuclear detonation, and whatever else he’s done in his life, that’s a plus.” Langevin thought for a moment. “Omar, what do you think or the guy? Personally.”
“I believe he is who and what he says. Our Israeli friends may have a file on him, but in any case they will know the facts soon enough.
“So why’d he turn? I mean, he spent his whole life fighting. It looked like he had a clear shot at a worthwhile target on this side or the border. Presumably he could have set the timer and scooted for safety if he wasn’t into self-immolation. So why does somebody like that suddenly get greedy for money?”
Mohammed cocked his head and stroked his goatee. “Bernie, this is an interesting man. As a case study, that is.” The native Iranian pulled a notepad from his jacket. “Esmaili has a world of experience. Revolutionary guards, the Iraq war, special operations, cooperation with Hamas and the Palestinians, and the last two or three Lebanon conflicts.” He looked up. “He’s in his early forties and he’s been at war for almost thirty years. My reading is that he simply got sick and tired of the constant fighting. He seems to think that he has earned a rest.”
Langevin was unconvinced. “I’m not so sure, Omar. I mean, that could be true, but to what extent can we really know? After all, he could have simply set the timer and disappeared after the explosion.”
Mohammed placed a fraternal hand on Langevin’s shoulder. “My friend, I think that he did not want to be used anymore. Twice he told me that the imams and the hierarchy used up a generation of naive young patriots and religious zealots. But the old men who sent them out to die always remained safely behind. Always.” He shrugged.
