Fuse of Armageddon (22 page)

“Sure,” Quinn said, “if you want the gateway provider to
give
it to you. You didn’t ask if there was a way to
get
it from the providers.”

“Legally?” Kate asked.

“If that’s a concern for you,” Quinn told her, “you might want to step outside of the room while this conversation continues.”

“You’re in custody. That would be dereliction of duty.”

“What’s his name . . . ? Kevin, your IT guy, is going to hack the gateway provider?” Hamer said.

“Not as easy as hacking Safady’s computer. But yes. I’ll let you know when.”

“Fair enough,” Hamer said. “I’ll go back out there and call—”

Hamer’s cell phone rang. He looked at it in disbelief, then looked at Quinn. “What about the buffering? the hidden scrambling device or whatever you called it? the reason you knew I hadn’t called the prime minister?”

“Rule number one in negotiating: know when to bluff. You were talking on it when you first walked into my office. Not my fault you forgot.”

“What if I had called your bluff?” Hamer asked. “Or remembered that my cell phone worked before? Then you’d look stupid.”

“No,” Quinn said. “Then I’d have told you I forgot to turn on the scrambler.”

Hamer scowled and flipped open the cell phone. Almost immediately he lost his scowl. When he hung up, he spoke to Quinn and Kate in a quiet voice. “Television. CNN. They’re playing a new video showing Jonathan Silver.”

18

CCTI Headquarters, Tel Aviv • 9:18 GMT


Brad Silver burst into the office. Hamer, Quinn, and Kate were still watching CNN.

“Did you guys release the new video?” Brad shouted. “I didn’t make it back to my hotel before my cell phone went crazy with calls. I want to know exactly what’s happening!”

Quinn paused the satellite feed, freezing the image on the screen.

“Then shut up and watch,” Hamer said. “You’ll know as much as we do.”

Brad’s mouth opened and closed as if he’d considered then rejected the notion of protesting Hamer’s lack of manners. It was either that, Quinn thought, or instant curiosity. The plasma screen showed a CNN talking head with a background photo of Jonathan Silver standing in front of a Freedom Christian University banner.

Brad took a spot beside Quinn.

Quinn used the remote to start the video, and the CNN talking head went through the breaking news, yada, yada spiel, explaining that they had an update on the bus tour of American tourists in Israel.

The clip cut to Jonathan Silver, looking haggard and dispirited, speaking into a video camera in short sound bites. The editing was poor, with quick shifting from one declaration to another. This clip had already been shown a half dozen times in the half hour that Quinn had been watching with Kate and Hamer.

“It is true I am a Christian.”
Shift
. “I have raised money to support Israel, a land with a vibrant economy and a high standard of living.”
Shift
. “I have not raised any money to help Palestinians badly in need of hospitals or schools.”
Shift
. The background changed. Now Silver was in front of a podium. Unafraid. The clip was obviously from one of his television sermons. “The Palestinians are a tainted and brainwashed people.”

Brad screamed at the television. “Enough!”

The television didn’t listen.

The video cut to a hooded man who spoke directly into the camera. “The Americans are hostages of Red September. It is time for America to make up for decades of injustice and help the Palestinian people. We want $650 million to release them. The same amount evangelicals have raised for Israel.”

The news clip cut back to the talking head. “It was a difficult decision to air this, but as we said at the beginning of this segment, Brad Silver, son of the prominent evangelical Jonathan Silver, confirmed that his father and a busload of tourists were captured and have gone missing. This video clip is from a Web site apparently set up by the kidnappers.”

A Web address appeared on the screen.

“Keep in mind this is from a terrorist group that claims to be Muslim,” the announcer said. “Among other things, it accuses American right-wing evangelicals of being the X factor in U.S.-Mideast policy. In the time since this story broke, we’ve had a chance to ask American Christian theologians to review some of the points on the Web site, and they all agree the depth of the apparently Muslim kidnappers’ knowledge of evangelical Rapture theology is surprising. We’ll be back with more on these startling accusations against Jonathan Silver and his followers after the break.”

Quinn muted the television.

Hamer snorted. “It’ll be a media frenzy. Whoever is behind this knows media. Controversy sells. The talking heads will get all points of view going here. And isn’t Rapture theology some kind of sacred cow with evangelicals?”

“Misplaced metaphor,” Quinn said with the barest hint of a smile. “Cows are sacred to Hindus. But point taken. There is a large force of evangelical believers in the U.S. who won’t take kindly to this. It’s a viewpoint on the end times called dispensationalism, and—”

“Won’t take kindly?” Brad exploded. “Questioning dispensationalism is heresy!”

“Case in point,” Quinn said to Hamer. Then he addressed Brad. “This isn’t the time to go into it. Get Kevin, our tech guy, to help you download all the Web site information, then review it with us so that we can understand more about Safady’s motivation.”

“Who’s got time for that?” Brad pulled out his cell phone. “You saw how much the liberal media loved the story. Any excuse to attack Christians. I need to do some serious damage control.”

“Good media spin is better than a dead father?” Kate asked him.

“Spin I can control,” Brad snapped. “At least I’m taking action, unlike the rest of you.” He began to dial a number.

“Hamer,” Quinn said, “tell him about the scrambling device in my office.”

“Shut the power off,” Hamer said. “He’s got some high-tech thing that blocks cell reception. He hits a button, and you can’t make or take calls.”

Brad glanced back and forth between them. Quinn shrugged. Brad powered down the cell. He missed the small grin on Hamer’s face.

Quinn stood. “Can you get someone in Mossad to find out how CNN was alerted to the Web site?” he asked Hamer. “After Kevin has downloaded everything, my advice is to shut down the server immediately. It’s probably already had a million hits, but Safady would like another ten million, I’m sure.”

Hamer nodded.

“Brad,” Quinn said, “the sooner you do this the better. We’re going to need your help reviewing it.”

“See?” Brad’s voice rose. “One minute of CNN coverage and you’re ready to believe all those accusations. I need to get out of here and make some calls, get our people started on a countercampaign.”

“Take a deep breath,” Quinn said. “Those accusations are coming from a Muslim terrorist. Our first reaction is skepticism. What we really need to know is how Safady thinks the Web site is going to help him. And if it is helping him, we need to know the best way to counter that.”

Brad stopped pacing.

“Besides,” Quinn said, “if you want to defend the accusations, you need to know exactly what they are. I’ll go to the Web site, and you walk me through it and tell me where it’s wrong.”

“Half an hour,” Brad said. “Then give me an office down the hall where I can make some outgoing calls. Or shut off that scrambling thing and let me make some calls in here from my cell.”

“Sure,” Quinn said. “I can shut off the scrambler. No problem.”

Khan Yunis, Gaza Strip • 9:25 GMT


“You’re trying to make a point by forcing us to eat with the children,” Silver said to Esther. “I find it childish.”

He stood in front of her, a dull and warped plate in one hand, a cup of milk in the other. He’d just stood in line cafeteria-style with the other Americans, who’d been forced to wait until all the Palestinian orphans had received lunch.

Silver’s plate held what looked like rice, but he wasn’t sure. There were dark spots and lighter spots in the mixture, and he wasn’t about to taste to see which were meat and which weren’t. He’d glanced at the kitchen and half suspected the protein in the rice might be flies or the shelled insects that seemed clustered everywhere in the orphanage.

“Remind me what that point might be,” Esther said. “I suspect we have different perspectives on the definition of
childish
.”

“Surely you have good food that you save for the administrators here. A place you eat privately. That’s where we should be.”

“I’m the only administrator,” she said. “We’re not much into upper management here.”

“You can’t get me to believe you eat like this every day. That you don’t give yourself better treatment than what you want us to endure.”

“I eat like this every day.”

“Sure, Miss High-and-Mighty,” he said, “like you’d drink this milk. I tried some in line. It tastes off. It’s obviously been warm too long and has gone so bad it has little lumps in it.”

Esther looked closely. “Those lumps are bits of powder. Sometimes the children don’t stir it long enough before we serve.”

“Powder?”

“Mr. Silver, you may take refrigeration for granted, but it’s a luxury here. So is real milk. Powder is much less expensive and keeps indefinitely. Even so, we have to strictly ration the powder. Each child only gets two cups a day. It’s the only kind of milk they’ve tasted, and it breaks my heart how much they love it.”

“It’s obvious to me that you enjoy lording this poverty thing over me like a badge of honor. As if it makes you a better person to be stuck in this miserable little prison.”

“I hate this poverty with a depth you’ll never understand,” she said.

“You’re an American citizen, right? No one forces you to stay here.”

“I hate this poverty for these children. I remember my childhood—Christmas gifts, first bicycle, Fourth of July parades . . . My biggest security concern was what might happen if I turned in an overdue library book. They can’t comprehend such a carefree, idyllic life. Don’t you feel any compassion for them?”

“I founded and built a Christian ministry,” he said. “You’re helping twenty or thirty kids from month to month. That’s nice, of course, but I’ve used my time and gifts to help thousands, if not hundreds of thousands.”

“How many of them do you know?”

“My office gets bags of letters every day from grateful people.”

“How many of them do you
know
?”

“The body of Christ has many members serving different capacities,” Silver said, feeling heat. “Some visit the sick and feed the hungry. Me—I make it possible for others to do that. For that matter, I’m in a position to make sure that funds reach your little orphanage. If you were smart enough to realize that, you’d give better treatment to me and the rest of us.”

“The Jesus I serve,” she said, “cares for all His children and commands His followers to do the same.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When you figure it out, you tell me.”

“What I’ve figured out is that your attitude makes this place more miserable than the food you serve. Here’s what I think of both.” Silver dropped his plate and glass. Made of plastic, neither shattered, but the rice mixture scattered across the tile floor and the milk spread in rivulets.

Esther knelt and scooped as much rice as possible onto the plate. From the floor, looking upward, she stared at him hard. “To make sure that you and your friends don’t go hungry, we’ve had to cut in half what we normally give these children. The least you could have done was give that glass of milk to one of them.”

Jonathan Silver stared back just as hard. Although he knew she was right and he felt shame for his impulsiveness, pride stopped him from apologizing.

The silence was broken by Alyiah’s voice.

“
Seel-ver
,” she said. She was moving awkwardly toward them on one crutch, more slowly than usual because she was using her free hand to carry a glass of milk.

Alyiah spoke Arabic to Esther, then looked at Silver again.

“She asks me,” Esther translated, “if it is all right for her to give you her milk. She feels horrible that you have lost yours.”

19

CCTI Headquarters, Tel Aviv • 9:38 GMT


Brad and Kate and Quinn sat in the conference chairs in the corner of Quinn’s office. Kevin had created a mirror of Safady’s Web site on a CCTI server so they could thoroughly review it, then had worked his magic to disable the live Web site. Quinn had printed off the first several pages so that all of them could have copies. It was easier than standing in front of the monitor. But Quinn didn’t want them distracted by the Web site material yet.

“Brad,” Quinn said, “for expediency, let me give Kate the quick overview of a dispensational viewpoint, and you tell me if I’m wrong or missed anything of importance.”

Brad squinted. “Why would you know about this?”

“It’s been rough since I lost my family,” Quinn answered. “I’m not sure I could have made it without faith. But it’s been rough on my faith, too. I’ve had lots of questions. I’ve spent lots of time in the Bible. And I’ve done plenty of digging to understand if everything I was taught as a child is accurate. Including dispensational eschatology. You’re not going to like to hear this, but some nights I wonder how different the Middle East would be without it. Wonder if my wife and girl might still be alive.”

“Outrageous!” Brad said. “It’s a theology that—”

“—has led to skewed geopolitics,” Quinn interrupted. “It’s a theology that’s become a huge backroom player in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Not many people are aware of its influence.”

He smiled, almost apologetically. “Given the tribal hierarchy of the Palestinians and the security issues faced by our firm, you’d be surprised how often it’s been helpful to have a grounding in the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I’ve become the in-house guru. So, aside from personal faith issues, professionally I’m well aware of the huge impact that money and lobbying by American evangelicals have had on the geopolitics here. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken so long for terrorists to pick a target like your father.”