Dark Rising

FIFTEEN

Rocky Lagudi took a step forward. To Adira, he looked like a man who hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to a woman in a very long time. Though inches shorter than she was, he straightened his back and bounced on his toes to try to look her in the eye. Sam Reid and Hex Winter nodded and said polite ‘hellos’, while Francis O’Riordan simply slow-blinked at her and Zachariah.

Adira stuck to her cover story with the three HAWCs. She knew that she would have to break from it during the mission, but not until the time was right. She had worked with Americans before – they were competitive. Best if these men focused on the mission objective and not a Special Forces rival. She suspected that they’d find out about her soon enough – after all, Alex Hunter now knew the truth.

Adira shifted the attention to Zachariah, encouraging him to talk about the gamma pulse, its dangers, its possible origination point, and also what they suspected was being engineered from within Iran. She guided him in his delivery, skilfully ensuring he gave the men just enough information to inform them as necessary, but changed his course when she thought he was straying into an area where she wasn’t prepared for them to go just yet.

All the men asked good questions, with Sam Reid again displaying a knowledge of particle physics that clearly astonished Zachariah. At times it seemed to Adira that Zach and Sam were speaking a language that was inaccessible to the rest of the room.

The red-headed HAWC, the one they called Irish, tilted his chair back, resting his shoulders and head against the drab green plasterboard wall behind him. ‘But why do you two need to be with us?’ he asked when Zach had finished. ‘No offence, miss, but we can be briefed right here, right now. Or we can get voice comm updates while we’re in the field. He’s a smart kid and you look fit, but you’re just gonna be baggage when the hot rain starts comin’ down.’

The temptation to kick the man’s chair from under him was nearly overwhelming. Adira reined in her irritation and explained as patiently as she could that they had significant knowledge of the language and local customs, and would be making use of an embedded Israeli network that would be vital in getting them in and out safely.

But Irish wasn’t finished. ‘We don’t need you guys there for that. Just give us your logistics and we’ll take over. Besides, we’ve got our own networks in place. Bottom line, missy, you science types ain’t cut out for this type of field work.’

Missy? Adira felt a spot of anger start to burn deep in her stomach. She exhaled slowly through her nose – she needed the HAWCs onside. Her tone was a little more authoritative this time. ‘Your own networks? Lieutenant, your networks are paid informants who despise you. They would gladly sell you all for another handful of American dollars. You will need us, and the Israeli spy infrastructure, to complete your mission safely, and we are going to be there. We are tougher than you think, Second Lieutenant O’Riordan. Besides, I believe it is your superior’s call, and that’s already been made. I’m sorry.’

‘Israelis are gonna make us safe and we need’ em?’ Irish scoffed. ‘Lady, I don’t think so. You guys’ve been draggin’ us into fistfights for twenty years, and, frankly, we’re the only thing stoppin’ you being burned off the map. You reckon you’re tough? How hard can it be to use a tank against kids in rags throwin’ rocks? No wonder them Palestinian mooks hate you. I’d say you need us more’n we need you.’

Adira narrowed her eyes and was about to respond when Zach stepped forward with a face as red as fire and a voice only slightly cracking with nerves.

‘You have the ignorance to question our worth or our spirit? We Israelis die every day for what we believe in. Our country was created in 1948 and since then we have produced more scientific papers than any other nation; we have more museums, have planted more trees, and have the highest living standard in the entire Middle East. And we do all of this without ever knowing a day free from war or terror. Israel has never retreated or lost a war – can you say that? No, I didn’t think so.’

Adira looked briefly at Zach with surprise and admiration. He’s braver than he looks, she thought.

O’Riordan’s clenched hands came down hard in front of him and he started to rock his chair forward. Adira’s hand shot out like a striking snake. There was a thunk, and a blackened sliver of metal stuck out of the plasterboard less than a match-width from O’Riordan’s temple.

‘Kids in rags?’ Adira spat. ‘Jiffa! Your stupidity is matched only by your lack of knowledge about our conflict. We live under a rain of hundreds of rockets per week. Our women and children are torn apart by ball-bearing explosions, and when they lie on the road, broken and in misery, the terrorists hand out sweetmeats while dancing and ululating in their streets. The average Palestinian wants peace with us, but there is a cancerous core that wants eternal conflict. We simply cut out that cancer; like surgeons.’

Before O’Riordan could do something stupid, Hex Winter stepped forward and pulled the thin blade from the wall. ‘Twin-edged, night-blackened blade, vase-shaped handle, foiled grip. Looks like a Fairbairn-Sykes stiletto, but it’s shorter and got no pommel.’

Adira could tell he was trying to defuse the situation. She smiled a thank you, though she kept one eye on O’Riordan as she half-turned to the tall, fair-haired HAWC. ‘It’s our own design – an Israeli wasp throwing spike. You throw it like a spear; it’s not designed to swing in the air, hence no pommel to balance the weight. My brother taught me to throw it.’

Hex hefted the knife, spun it around in his fingers expertly and laid it over the back of his forearm for her to take. ‘You’ll have to show me your throwing technique and concealment one day,’ he said. ‘Or maybe your brother will.’ He winked at her.

Sam Reid stepped forward to take the knife before Adira could. He held it up close to his face. ‘Israeli wasp knife, you say? Seen these before, but it wasn’t in some backyard family knife-throwing competition. It was during a mission in the Indian Ocean, just south of Oman – me and a few Ranger buddies were tasked with intercepting a North Korean ship suspected of carrying yellowcake for delivery to Iraq. By the time we got there it was a ghost ship. No survivors, no bodies and no cargo. Plenty of rads on the Geiger counters though – something hot had been there. Saw a few of these knives stuck in the side of some boxes below deck. We found out later that we’d just missed Operation Goldenbird – one of the Mossad’s little meetand-greet parties. Very clean job.’

Adira took the blade but didn’t respond. Outside of Metsada, missions were never acknowledged. Nevertheless, she sensed the mood in the small room shift from one of tension to professional interest and respect.

Except for the redheaded O’Riordan, of course. He just mumbled, ‘What’s a jiffa?’

Sam spoke again, ignoring Irish’s question. ‘We don’t have to be friends, but there will be military respect. And that’s an order.’ He looked from Irish to Rocky and then across to Adira and Zach.

Adira just nodded. Zachariah shifted uncomfortably and said, ‘Can we start again?’

‘What’s a Jiffa?’ O’Riordan still wasn’t smiling.

*

WOMACK Army Medical Centre, Neuropsychological Unit – Fort Bragg

It was just after midnight. The door to the lab opened and shut with little more than the sound of a breath. A figure dressed in army fatigues moved in the dark to the recessed filing cabinets with a sure-footedness that came from prior knowledge of the room’s interior.

All the cabinets were locked; not by something as simple as a flat key tumbler, but with the latest algorithm-based electronic security. Each drawer was in effect a stand-alone safe, protected by a quarter-inch of toughened steel and a ten-digit keypad.

The figure crouched beside one of the drawers and pulled back the plastic glove on his left hand. Written on his wrist were eight numbers, which he entered into the keypad. A small red light turned green and the drawer popped open half an inch. The figure counted the folders within, stopped at a designated number and withdrew the file. He shone a pencil torch for a second on the title: Arcadian. It was the one.