The Babel Conspiracy Page 12

  “It’s not what I want to do, it’s what I have to do. I’ll send Nolan tomorrow. Let him go over what you’ve got. He’ll help you from here on in. That should take some of the pressure off you. And Audra . . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “You did a spectacular job.”

  • • •

  When Joshua floored the gas he was surprised to see Cassy remain calmly flipping radio channels. Most women would be yelling for him to slow down. He had an appetite for speed and drove much too fast. That’s why he had decided to take his rental.

  He wanted to drive.

  He had sent headquarters an encrypted message telling them he was out looking for the new internment camp and that he had taken Cassy. He decided it was best to let them know. In return, he received two curse words in Hebrew.

  That was fine.

  At least they hadn’t ordered him to cease and desist. And at least they knew he was with a civilian, but it still made Joshua uncomfortable.

  Now, he and Cassy were speeding to lower Everman instead of heading west and the open highway. By the time they had gathered their things and readied the car, breaking news of a riot filled the airwaves.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Cassy removed her hand from the radio as a broadcaster talked about the carnage. “You heard the news. Things are getting out of control. People are carrying signs saying ‘Roast the Pigs.’” She jerked her chin toward the radio. “Listen.”

  “Two buildings are now ablaze. One, the Apartment Arms, the other, a large pawn shop. Looters are out in force. And rioters are refusing to let in the fire trucks. If the fire spreads it could be a very incendiary evening, in more ways than one. Already a policeman is down and two rioters have been killed. This is . . . .”

  Cassy lowered the volume. “Joshua, does it seem like there’s a movement going on here in Everman and elsewhere to emasculate the police? You won’t believe it, but the other day I saw a kid reading a comic book where a superhero was punching a policeman, as though he was the villain. And I see it elsewhere, too. Newscasters constantly denigrate the police; disrespecting them and showing them in the worst light possible. I don’t get it. Why do that?”

  “It makes sense if you want to deliberately create anarchy.”

  “But who would want that?”

  “Those who want to initiate a power grab. Chaos and violence are two ingredients capable of making people willing to be controlled. Remember Rahm Emanuel’s famous quote, ‘You never want a serious crisis to go to waste.’? Meaning, it’s an opportunity to do things you couldn’t otherwise do.” Joshua shrugged. “But what do I know? I’m just a computer specialist.” It wouldn’t do to arouse Cassy’s suspicions by sounding like he really had some inside information.

  But Arie’s intel about the riots being deliberately instigated and staged was playing out in real time.

  “Riots are dangerous, you know. Unpredictable.” Cassy fidgeted in her seat.

  “I know.”

  “And you still want to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to take some pictures.”

  “What is it with you and your picture taking? Are you some kind of undercover cop? Sometimes you act like it.”

  “If I was, would you mind?”

  “You bet I would! I’ve sworn off cops. I was going to marry one once . . . until he went and got himself killed.”

  “I’m sorry, Cassy.” He wondered if that was what she meant when she told him at the cocktail party that she was shattered. They never had a chance to discuss it that night. Shortly after her statement, he had been surrounded by people with a barrage of security questions.

  “I know how hard it is to lose someone, especially to violence, but I’m not a cop. And don’t worry. I’ll leave you and the car a safe distance from the action.”

  “That’s what you think! I’m going with you!”

  • • •

  Joshua wanted to kick himself for letting Cassy come. His plan was to take a few pictures, send them to headquarters, and be gone. Now, he had to worry about her safety.

  “Stay close,” he said, weaving through the crowd, his cell in hand.

  If only he could get to higher ground and video the area. He wouldn’t get much here amid the sea of bodies except the backs of some heads.

  Suddenly, he heard cursing and glass splintering as bottles crashed into a convenience store window—Molotov cocktails by the look of the flash and fireball. More glass shattered as Joshua took pictures whenever he could get a clear shot.

  Up ahead, a dozen police in riot gear tried to seal off the street, while a helicopter buzzed overhead, attempting to disperse the crowd. Looters, with grotesque masks or bandanas over their faces, broke down a liquor store door and ransacked the place. A nauseating smell of burning rubber filled the air, and out of the corner of his eye, Joshua saw a car blazing. Nearby, men rocked another car, overturned it, then doused it with kerosene before setting it on fire.

  In response, police fired tear gas and rubber bullets into the crowd.

  Joshua grabbed Cassy’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “What about your pictures?” Cassy coughed and covered her nose to keep from breathing the smoke. Thick, blanket-like smog hovered overhead—fumes from the burning building and torched cars and tear gas. “I can handle this. Do what you came to do.”

  She was wheezing now.

  “No point. I won’t get any decent photos in this muck.” He pulled her through the crowd, then stopped. Not more than fifteen feet away was a dark, sinewy man lobbing flash grenades at a police line.

  Kamal!

  So, he was still here. Joshua fingered the Beretta in his pocket. It would be easy to squeeze off a shot in this crowd and be gone before anyone was the wiser. He had already heard several bursts of gunfire coming from the crowd. He was about to move closer when he glanced at Cassy. She was having trouble breathing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just my asthma acting up. I’ll be fine.”

  He studied her. It was obvious she couldn’t take much more. How could he leave her in this condition to go after Kamal? He cursed himself for not making her stay in the car. He had waited two years for an opportunity like this.

  He removed his hand from the gun and pulled out his phone. The only thing he could do now was let Iliab Nahshon and headquarters know about Kamal. Ignoring the anger knotting his stomach, he grabbed Cassy’s arm, snapped a quick picture, then pushed through the crowd and headed for his car.

  • • •

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.” Joshua helped Cassy into the front seat of his rental.

  She wheezed as she shook her head and fumbled in her purse. “I’ve . . . got this.”

  She held up an inhaler, then inserted it into her mouth, closed her lips around the mouthpiece and pressed on the canister as she breathed in. She repeated this once more before tossing the inhaler back into her purse.

  Only after Joshua saw Cassy rest her head against the seatback and begin breathing normally, did he close the car door and slip behind the wheel.

  “You’re starting to look better, but maybe you should get checked just in case.”

  “Wow! That hasn’t happened in a while. I almost forgot how terrible it feels to be unable to breath. And no, I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine. And I only have trouble when I’m around smoke or if it’s very cold outside, which is one of the reasons I moved to Everman.”

  Joshua pulled out of his parking space and sped down the road trying to put distance between them and the smoking neighborhood. “You still want to do this? Drive five-hundred miles for parts unknown?”

  Cassy nodded. “So what upset you back there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something got to you. You should have
seen your face. If looks could kill . . . someone would be dead now.”

  “What are you talking about? We were in the middle of a riot with guns firing, buildings burning, and you practically turning blue! I think what you saw was a little healthy fear.”

  “Stop acting like just because I spike my hair, I’m brainless. I know what I saw. And for your information, I’ve seen that look before . . . on Chad, my fiancé the cop. Sometimes he’d look like that when talking about a case. And by the way, for a supposed computer nerd you handle yourself well.”

  “Supposed computer nerd?”

  “You weren’t rattled a bit. You surveyed the area, the buildings, the street, the people, assessing it like a cop would. You sure you’re not a cop?”

  “I think you took one too many puffs of that inhaler. I’m a security specialist, remember, and work for Global Icon.”

  “As if cops never go undercover. And just so you know, I could never fall for another cop again. It’s too painful.”

  When Joshua entered the highway he floored the gas. “I’ve already said it, but I’m really sorry about your fiancé, Cassy. I know how hard it is when you lose someone you love.”

  Cassy sighed. “Even so, you seem pretty together. I’m still . . . a mess. How long did it take you to get over losing the woman you loved?”

  Joshua’s hands tightened around the wheel. “Who said I was talking about a woman?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “No . . . I was talking about my two best friends, David Rosen and Benjamin Cohen. We went to college together. David never graduated. Before he could, he ran across five skin-heads who wanted to teach him the finer points of anti-Semitism. They beat him so badly he was unrecognizable. In addition to internal injuries requiring surgery, he lost the sight in both eyes. A week later he died in the hospital. I think he just gave up; decided he didn’t want to live in a world so full of hate.

  “Then my friend, Benjamin, died two years after joining the IDF, the Israel Defense Forces. His parents wanted him to be a lawyer. He would have made a good one, too, with his analytical mind. And he had come from a long line of professionals. His family had immigrated from Russia. Just three generations of Cohens in America produced two medical doctors, one psychiatrist, two lawyers, one judge, and two college professors.

  “He was killed by trying to stop a terrorist from detonating his vest. They say his action gave dozens of people the chance to get clear of the blast, and saved their lives.

  “Is that the reason you identify more with Israel than America?”

  “Only one. When push comes to shove a Jew can only count on another Jew. America, Britain, the rest of Europe, they’ve all let us down; betrayed us at one time or another. And they could do it again.

  “Look at the British and their White Paper. In 1917 the British issued the Balfour Declaration, which favored establishment of a Jewish homeland in Palestine. It was even entered into the canon of international law, and aside from the Arabs, was recognized by the entire world.

  “But then in 1920, when oil was discovered in the Persian Gulf, Britain’s already waning commitment to a Jewish Palestine waned even further. Finally, with the pressures of a world war to contend with, Britain issued their White Paper in 1939 which completely renounced their obligation outlined in the Balfour Declaration.

  “The White Paper called for a phasing out of all Jewish immigration to Palestine and an end to land sales. It froze the size of the existing Jewish population, having in mind an independent Palestine in the future, with an Arab majority.

  “It was politics at its worst. Britain foresaw their involvement in a world war. Jewish opposition to the Nazi regime was certain. But Arab good-will had to be purchased. The White Paper was the price of that good will.”

  “Well . . . thanks for the history lesson.”

  “Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away. It just galls me how much Jewish history has been marked by betrayal.”

  “But things are different, now. Muslim terrorists are attacking the whole world; they are against all nonbelievers, not just Jews.”

  “Yes. At least on the surface. But underneath, it’s often a different matter. Remember it was Russia who fanned the fires of Islamic zeal and hatred for years. Before the collapse of Communism, they used the terrorist activities of the PLO and other groups for their own purposes.

  “After the collapse, and Russia became a federal republic, they realized that five of the fifteen republics were predominantly Muslim. That could mean trouble. Fearing an Iranian backed Muslim insurrection in these republics, Boris Yeltsin made a covenant with Iran. Iran would keep hands off. In return, Russia would back Iran in any future military operations.

  “Additionally, Yeltsin installed nuclear plants in Iran and helped train Iranians in nuclear technology. All this did was embolden Iran and produce an increase in global terrorism.

  “Now, we see Iran on the threshold of becoming a nuclear power and Russia supporting Syria as well as Iran, and trying to get their hands on our oil fields.”

  Cassy’s fingers brushed against Joshua’s arm. “You’re not alone. You have friends who are sympathetic.”

  When he didn’t respond, she turned her gaze to the passing scenery. “So . . . what was her name?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman you loved. The one you avoid mentioning by talking about everything else.”

  “Rachel,” Joshua said, as though the name came out on its own power. It was the first time he had said her name aloud in months. “Her name was Rachel. She was beautiful and funny and smart.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She was killed by Kamal, the head of ISA, the man I saw at the riot today, the man I’ve been tracking for two years.”

  Cassy turned from the window. “I think you’re more shattered than I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I lost someone I loved, but I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  • • •

  When Trisha told Mike about Audra’s news, his first words were, “No overtime today. Tonight we celebrate!” And in spite of all her cautious, almost nervous reminders that Audra’s achievement, while a major breakthrough, was still not a “sure thing,” he whistled and hummed through the rest of the afternoon.

  And that evening, after he sent Trisha to the hotel, he disappeared on a mysterious errand and returned forty-five minutes later carrying a large, brown bag. He knocked on door number twelve and before Trisha could answer, let himself in.

  “Dinner’s on me tonight.” He placed the package on the coffee table, opened the bag, then deposited an assortment of white paper containers on the round table.

  “For the lovely Miss: Wonton delicacies, shrimp toast, and Szechuan scallops. For the handsome gentleman: egg drop soup, spare ribs and lobster Cantonese.”

  Trisha clapped her hands in delight. “Chinese food! Where in the world did you ever find Chinese food?”

  “I cannot divulge my source, madam. But allow me to present my next surprise. An after dinner treat.”

  “Yes?” She was smiling now.

  “An old Laurel and Hardy movie on channel three. I thought it would be a nice way to spend a quiet evening together.”

  He watched the smile fade. “I’ve invited Buck. He’ll be along soon. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Trisha’s smile returned, and Mike hoped she was learning there was more to him than she thought.

  • • •

  “Look how much we’ve done.” Trisha gestured to what resembled a giant whale’s skeleton. Beside the huge rib-like section was the jig, over which would be assembled the fuselage panels. Nearby, men were joining the upper and lower assembly of the flight station, and to the left, several others were completing the radome.

  Mike gestured toward the large, overhead crane and halter used for moving the nos
e section into position for mating with the mid-fuselage. “We should be using that by now!”

  “The forward fuselage will be completed by the end of the week. Things aren’t all that bad.”

  “Oh, yes they are!” returned a deep, masculine voice. The pair turned and watched Buck head toward them, his leathery face twisted by some unknown trouble. “Let’s go over here,” he said, leading the couple to the partitioned coffee area that was somewhat removed from the bustle around it.

  “It’s Nolan,” Buck said, as they settled in their chairs. “He crashed about twenty miles from here. The helicopter is destroyed. The inside badly burned. Nolan was thrown ten feet away. They had to go by the company markings to know who to call. Police contacted PA in Everman and were given my cell number. They’re taking Nolan to the morgue and need someone to ID the body.”

  Mike had agreed with Trisha’s decision and sent Nolan in the helicopter to PA. But before going ahead and building the titanium casing, he had wanted the physicist’s reaction. Nolan was to return this evening with his report. They had been working late, awaiting his arrival.

  “Do you want me to do the ID?” Buck asked.

  “No, go to the crash site. And fast. Not much you can do tonight. But stay over to see nothing is touched until you’ve had a chance to inspect everything, piece by piece.”

  “What are you thinking? More than an accident?”

  Mike’s face darkened. “We can’t afford to overlook any possibility.”

  The recent autoclave explosion proved to be deliberate. As a result, PA security was tighter than ever. New computerized ID badges were issued to all employees. Sophisticated burglar alarms replaced the old ones. Iron grille-work covered all first floor windows while two armed guards were now stationed at every entrance.

  PA was beginning to look like an armed fortress.

  “Well, one thing I already know,” Buck said. “This accident shouldn’t have happened, either. Your helicopter is serviced regularly, and Nolan was a good pilot.”

  Mike remained silent as he pictured the area where Nolan had worked for the past several months. Nolan had been proud of his work; had gone to great lengths to explain to Mike how his large, silver pump forced sea water into a round, metal drum and then from there through small, rubber tubing from which tiny quantities of water were released at regular intervals and subjected to an infrared laser which dissociated the deuterium molecules and deposited them into six-inch-long glass vials.