The Einstein Papers (35 page)

Crown Prince Amin sat upright. “As you know, I have been in Switzerland and only just returned when I was telephoned to attend this meeting. Because of that, I know little about what has transpired. My question is, how do we know the radical Israelis are actually behind the poisoning of our oil fields?”

“A letter was received at the palace in Riyadh. The letter claims the poisoning was the work of a group calling itself the Jewish Front for Recognition.”

The head of intelligence for the Saudi Arabian National Guard glanced at the king and nodded.

“You wish to add something, Yousef?’ the king asked.

“Yes, King Abdullah. My organization has conducted a detailed search for information about a group called the Jewish Front for Recognition but we have turned up nothing.”

Crown Prince Mashoud turned to Yousef. “How many Israeli groups does your agency follow?”

“At any one time as many as two hundred,” Yousef admitted.

“And new groups are constantly being formed as other groups disband, is that not true?” Mashoud said.

“That is true, Crown Prince, but it is the other research we have done that is more distressing,” Yousef said.

“What might that be, Yousef?” the king asked.

“The letter bore a postmark from Egypt,” Yousef noted.

Crown Prince Mashoud leaned forward, motioning with his hands. “That is easily explained. The Israelis know we search every letter or package coming from their country for messages that might incite our citizens.”

“But,” Yousef continued, “we tested the paper the threat was written on and found it unusual.”

“What was unusual?” the king asked.

“The paper they used is unavailable in the Middle East.”

“Where does the paper come from?” the king inquired.

“It took us a great deal of work but we feel we now know the answer to that question,” Yousef said. “After careful analysis we found traces of rice husks in the paper. Assuming that meant the paper was from somewhere in Asia, we requested samples of paper used in conjunction with the kingdom s oil contracts.”

“Did you find a match?” the king asked.

“We did,” Yousef said. “The paper was a direct match to a preliminary contract that was sent to us by the Chinese government”

In the office of the Israeli prime minister, the head of the Mossad, the Israeli intelligence arm, was placing a disarmed detonator cap on the desk.

“It’s definitely of Chinese manufacture, sir.”

The prime minister reached for the blasting cap and turned it over in his hand. “You took this off a bomb that was disarmed before exploding?”

“The Americans found it outside their embassy and disarmed the weapon, then loaned it to me to show to you.”

“What about this group called Islamic Sword?” the prime minister asked.

“We have no record of such a group,” the Mossad chief noted.

“What is your current theory as to who is behind the bombings?”

“As yet we are still unsure.”

“May I suggest you find out quickly?” the prime minister said. “Members of the Knesset are calling for my ouster, while my military advisors are seeking approval for a first strike against Saudi Arabia.”

The head of the Mossad nodded grimly. “We will get to the bottom of this.”

Yanni Arimen downshifted his British-made Ford as he weaved his way up the asphalt road leading ever higher up the mountain. He reached over and touched the flight bag on the seat next to him, something he had done five times already since leaving his home. Rounding a tight turn, he slowed as he noticed the fence and the guard shack ahead.

Pulling to a stop, he turned the car off, set the parking brake, then climbed from the car. Strangely enough, a guard walked toward him leading a beagle. While a second guard examined his identity card, the beagle climbed inside the car and sniffed around. Finding nothing of interest, the dog climbed from Arimen’s Ford, wagged its tail a few times, then sauntered over and urinated on the car’s front tire.

“Everything checks out, Major Arimen. Sorry about the delay,” the guard said, handing back Arimen’s identification.

Arimen nodded and climbed back in the car. He started his engine and waited until the gate slid to the side, then put his car in gear and drove into the compound. Following the road, he entered an underground parking lot. When he found a parking spot, he glanced around. The lot was nearly full, something Arimen hadn’t seen since the Persian Gulf War almost nine years before. Arimen had just graduated from flight school when the war ended, but he remembered studying the American air war in great detail. Decisive air power proved the key to the Gulf War, Arimen knew.

As he grabbed his flight bag from the passenger seat, he wondered if his superiors felt the same way about the coming war.

Royal Saudi Army tank driver Saud Al-Sheik peered intently through his viewer as he steered his American-made M-l tank up a gully under a cloudy, pitch-black night. The remote camera mounted on the turret of his tank beamed an image onto a screen inside the cockpit. Since it was night, Al-Sheik had switched on the camera’s night-vision capability. The terrain flashed onto the screen with an eerie green glow.

Al-Sheik’s journey would eventually take him near the Saudi Arabian town of Magna, but his immediate problem was locating a tanker truck so he could refuel. The massive engines of the M-l burned fuel like it was being poured on a fire. Al-Sheik turned to his radioman.

“Send a coded message asking for the location of the tanker trucks,” he said, turning back to the viewer.

“Do you want the location by map coordinates or GPS?” the radioman asked.

“Both,” Al-Sheik said. The fuel gauge was reading one-quarter, and that was beginning to make Al-Sheik nervous.

Al-Sheik continued to steer up the gully. The tank was moving at only twenty-five miles per hour to conserve fuel. On open stretches, where the fuel burn rate was not a consideration, the M-l was easily capable of fifty. Movement at the corner of the viewer screen caught Al-Sheik’s eye. Instinctively trained to fear the worst, he moved his hand atop the fire control button.

A pair of desert deer ran down the side of the ravine. They darted back and forth across the path of the tank as it drew closer. When the M-l was almost upon them the larger of the two, the buck, broke hard to the far side of the ravine. Leaping free, it raced up the side of the ravine.

The second deer, the doe, was not so lucky. Attempting to follow her mate she leapt a second too late. Crushed under the tracks of the tank her mangled body was unceremoniously tossed from the rear of the tank.

As the tank disappeared in the distance, the buck carefully approached. His mate had been flattened. She was little more than a deerskin pelt filled with crushed bones and viscera. Later that night the hyenas would come to feast. In the morning the buzzards would come calling.

“Commander Al-Sheik, I have the coordinates for the tanker,” the radioman said.

Al-Sheik scanned the terrain. Finding what he felt was a safe place to stop, he steered to the edge of the ravine. After examining the coordinates on the sheet of paper he punched the numbers into a computer. The screen lit up with a map of the sector around them as well as a suggested route to reach the tanker. The fastest route to the tanker would take them into open desert, and that bothered Al-Sheik slightly. Still, it was night. If the Israeli jets came, Al-Sheik reasoned, it would be by morning light.

Pushing forward on the throttle, he steered his tank toward the fueling station.

In the headquarters of the combined Israeli military forces, the attack planning was entering its final stage. It had been decided that if an attack against Saudi Arabia was to happen, it would be best if the Israeli troops, airplanes, and armored divisions avoided crossing over Jordan on their way to Saudi Arabia.

The Royal Jordanian Air Force would certainly try to defend their airspace, and that could hamper the Israeli efforts to strike first and hard. It was rumored that most of the southern tip of Jordan was littered with defensive installations. The mountain passes were protected by artillery, in addition to being rigged with explosive charges designed to eradicate the road as well as trigger landslides.

The Israeli high command had decided that the war would be led by the air force. Every squadron that was operational would fly over the southern tip of Israel across the Red Sea, then enter Saudi airspace just south of its border with Jordan. The troops and armored divisions would be ferried by ship. An amphibious landing would be attempted below Aqaba. The Israeli goal was to gain control of Saudi Arabia from the Tropic of Cancer north, including the capital city of Riyadh, within seven days.

It was an ambitious plan.

King Abdullah pointed down at the scale model of his country the Saudi military leaders were using for war planning.

“Make sure Mecca is protected at all costs,” the king said firmly. “We are the custodians of the holy site for the entire Muslim world.”

Major General Mohammed Hakim grabbed a pointer from the side of the table. “We have the town ringed with antiaircraft guns. A division of troops, along with a helicopter squadron, is stationed nearby. In the desert to the north of Mecca we have just completed the placement of an extensive number of mines. Mecca will be held, no matter what.”

General Ali Mustach pointed to the northern part of the country. “Our armored divisions stand ready to attack through Jordan. We believe that as a fellow Arab nation the Jordanian government will support our efforts and allow our troops passage.”

“The air force is ready to assume either an offensive or defensive posture,” General Sultan Saud added. “We have prepared for both.”

King Abdullah raised his hand and moved it in an arc around the table. “All of you should heed what Sultan Saud has said. I want your preparations to include every possible contingency.” And with that he left the room, followed by his entourage.

National Security Advisor Robert Lakeland brushed the stack of photographs back into a pile and placed them in a folder. The light in the Oval Office was dim except around the president’s desk, where a lamp burned brightly.

“That’s the latest intelligence?” the president asked Lakeland.

“Only a few hours old, sir,” Lakeland noted.

“Troops massing at the borders. Our AWACS planes are showing greatly increased air traffic. Satellite surveillance is detecting the movement of nuclear weapons. This looks ugly,” the president said.

“A war will happen unless we act,” Lakeland said, “and act now.”

“What can we do to prevent this?” the president asked.

“We need to have the Secretary of State visit each country immediately and explain to their leaders everything we know.”

“That might compromise the safety of Taiwan. If news leaked out that we knew of the plans, the Chinese might move early. With our limited military presence in that area right now, Taiwan could be lost for good,” the president said wisely.

“What other option do we have?” Lakeland asked.

“Brute force,” the president said. “Have the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff come in here.”

“What’s your plan?” Lakeland asked.

“I’m going to position a squadron of B-52s loaded with nuclear cruise missiles over both the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea.”

“And the message?” Lakeland asked.

“One that you are going to deliver in person,” the president said. “First, negotiate, tell them some of what we know. Then, if that doesn’t work, explain to them that whoever attacks the other side first will suffer immediate retaliation from the United States.”

Lakeland rose to leave. “I should begin packing.”

“I’ll have Air Force One made ready to transport you,” the president said as he rose from his chair and looked out the window. “And one more thing, Robert. Just between you and me, I’m not bluffing. It’s your job to make that clear to both sides.”

“I’ll do the best I can, sir.”

“I just need you to buy me a few more days, Robert,” the president said wearily.

As Air Force One streaked east, Robert Lakeland read a Defense Department report that analyzed Israeli and Saudi deployments at their borders. The border was cluttered with fighter jets, transport planes, tanks, artillery, ground troops, and missile batteries.

In the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea, both nations had their navies on alert. A pair of Israeli submarines stationed in the Persian Gulf were being quietly tracked by a Saudi AWACS jet. The plane then relayed the information to six Saudi submarine chasers that stood ready to attack the subs if ordered. Surface ships of both nations were passing close enough to one another for crew faces to be visible.

Lakeland closed the folder containing the report, then removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. With his eyes still closed he leaned back in his leather seat and rubbed his stiff neck. He was trying to will his body to relax when the air force steward walked over.

“Sir, we have a bed made up in the back of the plane for you. It’s nice and quiet back there.”

Lakeland opened his eyes and smiled. “That sounds good, Sergeant.”

“Would you care for something before you sleep? Perhaps some hot chicken broth or hot chocolate?”

Lakeland rose from the seat. “Some hot chocolate would be nice.”

“If you will follow me back to your cabin,” the sergeant said, “I’ll get you situated, then return with the hot chocolate and some of the chef’s homemade oatmeal cookies.”

Lakeland followed the steward to his cabin. Fifteen minutes later, when the steward returned to remove the empty dishes, Lakeland was fast asleep atop the bed. The steward covered him with a blanket and informed the guard at the end of the passageway not to disturb him.

Air Force One was crossing into Saudi Arabian airspace before Lakeland awoke. He had just shaved and showered as the plane set down at the airport in Riyadh. As soon as Air Force One rolled to a stop it was directed to a giant air-conditioned hangar off to one side of the airfield.