Our Sacred Honor. Джек Марс

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СКАЧАТЬ case, it’s exactly the kind of thing the new Special Response Team was organized to do. I’ve already talked to my team. We can be ready to leave in a couple of hours.”

      She tried a different tack. “Agent Stone, you’re the director of the Special Response Team. My records indicate that you’re forty-two years old. Wouldn’t this mission be better handled by a more junior operative from your agency? Someone a little younger, say? Someone a little more energetic?”

      “I plan to go in with Ed Newsam,” Luke said. “He’s thirty-five. And anyway, I’m still pretty energetic for an old geezer.”

      “Agent Stone and Agent Newsam both have extensive operations experience in the Middle East,” Tweedledum said. “Both are elite combat veterans, have been deep undercover, and are familiar with Israeli, Arab, and Persian culture. Both have some ability to speak Farsi.”

      Susan ignored him. She glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. They wanted to talk about the design of the mission, she knew. They wanted her to green light it immediately, so they could gather the resources needed, come up with contingencies in case it failed, develop strategies for plausible deniability in case it went public. In their minds, who was going was not even in play anymore – the issue had already been decided.

      “Can you gentlemen give me a few minutes alone with Agent Stone?”

* * *

      “Luke, are you out of your mind?”

      The other men, and all of the Secret Service, had gone.

      “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy on this mission. You’re supposed to parachute into Iran, and then wander around the country with people trying to murder you, until you find nuclear weapons?”

      He smiled. “Well, I hope it’ll be a little better thought out than that.”

      “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

      He stood then, and went to her. He tried to hug her. She was stiff for a moment, then melted into his embrace.

      “Do you know how ridiculous it looks for the President of the United States to be overly worried about the life of one special operative, who’s been doing exactly this type of thing his entire adult life?”

      She shook her head. “I don’t care. This is different. I can’t sign off on a mission where you might get killed. It’s nuts.”

      He looked down at her. “Are you telling me that in order to be with you, I have to give up my job?”

      “No. You’re the head of your own agency. You don’t have to take this on. You don’t have to volunteer for this. Send someone else.”

      “You want me to send someone else even though you think this is a suicide mission?”

      She nodded. “That’s right. Send someone who I don’t love.”

      “Susan, I can’t do that.”

      She turned away then, and abruptly, miserable tears started to flow. “I know. I know that. But for the love of God, please don’t die over there.”

      CHAPTER TEN

      4:45 p.m. Israel Time (9:45 a.m. Eastern Standard Time)

      Samson’s Lair – Deep Underground

      Jerusalem, Israel

      “Tell them to shut up.”

      Yonatan Stern, the Prime Minister of Israel, sat in his customary chair at the head of the conference table in the Israeli crisis command center, his chin in his hand. The room was a cavernous egg-shaped dome. All around him, his military and political advisors were in a state of chaos, shouting, recriminating, jabbing fingers at one another.

      How had it come to this? seemed to be the prevailing question. And the answer upon which most of these brilliant strategic minds had landed was, It’s someone else’s fault.

      “David!” he said, staring at his chief-of-staff, a burly former commando who had been his right-hand man since their military days. David looked back at him, big dark eyes baleful, teeth biting the inside of his cheek, as he did when he was nervous or distracted. Once upon a time, the man would kill enemies with his bare hands, and yet somehow appear apologetic while he did so. He still looked apologetic now.

      “Please,” Yonatan said. “Bring the place to order.”

      David shrugged. He stepped to the conference table and slammed a giant fist down on its surface.

      BOOM!

      He didn’t say a word, but brought his fist down again.

      BOOM!

      And again. And again. And again. Each time the fist landed, the room became a little quieter. Eventually, all the men in the room stood and stared at David Cohn, Yonatan Stern’s organizer and enforcer, a man none of them respected intellectually, but also a man none would ever dare cross.

      He raised his fist one last time, but now the room was silent. It paused in midair, like a hammer. Then it floated slowly back to his side.

      “Thank you, David,” Yonatan said. He looked at the other men in the room. “Gentlemen, I would like to begin this meeting. So please, take your seats and enthrall me with your acumen.”

      He looked around the room. Efraim Shavitz was here, always boyish, much younger than his years. People called him the Model. He was the Director of Mossad. He wore an expensive, custom-tailored suit and Italian black leather shoes with a high polish. He looked like he was heading out to a nightclub in Tel Aviv, and not currently overseeing the destruction of his own people. In a room full of aging military men and frumpy thinkers, Shavitz the dandy looked like some sort of exotic bird.

      Yonatan shook his head. Shavitz was one of his predecessor’s men. Yonatan kept him on because he came well recommended and seemed like he knew what he was doing. Until today.

      “Efraim, your assessment, please.”

      Shavitz nodded. “Of course.”

      He pulled a remote control from his jacket pocket and turned to the large screen at the end of the conference table. Instantly, a video of a missile launch from a drab green mobile platform came on.

      “The Fateh-200 has come to Lebanon. We have suspected this might be the case – ”

      “When did you suspect that?” Yonatan said.

      Shavitz looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

      “When did you suspect that Hezbollah had obtained the Fateh-200 weapon system? When? I have never read such a report, nor has anyone mentioned to me that such a report might be coming. The first I heard of it was when long-range, high-explosive missiles began toppling residential buildings in Tel Aviv.”

      There was a long, drawn-out silence. The other men in the room stared, some at Yonatan Stern, some at Efraim Shavitz, some at the table in front of them.

      “In any event, they have them,” Shavitz said.

      Yonatan nodded. “Yes, they do. Now about Iran… what do they have?”

      Shavitz СКАЧАТЬ