Newton’s Fire

FORTY-SIX
I

‘So the Messiah is about to arrive on a plane from London,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘I’m telling you that these people didn’t take down the Golden Gate on a whim,’ said the Chief of the General Staff. ‘Predator missiles are costly and hard to get hold of. To use so many on a single target …’

‘Let’s send up fighters,’ said Interior. ‘Let’s shoot them down before they land.’

‘What if he really is the Messiah?’ muttered Foreign Affairs.

The Prime Minister silenced the snickering with a glare. ‘If Kohen and Croke are together on this, they’re bound to be in contact. What if they take the Dome down in revenge?’

‘And kill themselves in the process?’

‘If they have to.’ But the question made her think. ‘Kohen and his friends inside the Dome, they’ll want to get out alive, right?’

‘So one would imagine.’

‘Which means they’ll have to leave the Dome before they blow it.’ She slapped the table. ‘That’s what this list is for. We get the prisoners released; they say thank you and give themselves up. And then, while we’re escorting them away …’

Silence greeted this analysis. It sounded too horribly plausible. ‘What do we do?’ asked Finance. But no one answered.

Intelligence had left his seat to take a call. Now he returned. ‘Forgive me, Prime Minister,’ he said, holding out the phone.

‘What is it?’

‘Maybe nothing. But we found a letter in Kohen’s house. A hospital appointment. This is his doctor now. He won’t tell me what the appointment was about. Patient confidentiality. But he says he’ll tell you, if you assure him it’s a matter of national security.’

She nodded and took the phone. ‘This is the Prime Minister,’ she said. ‘This is a matter of extreme national security. Tell me about Kohen.’ She felt the blood draining as he talked, but she thanked him when he’d finished, passed back the phone. ‘Kohen’s dying,’ she announced flatly. ‘Two days ago, he found out he was dying.’

‘He’s Samson,’ murmured Foreign Affairs. ‘He’s bringing the temple down on himself.’

‘What do we do?’ asked Finance again.

The Prime Minister glanced sharply at him. For all his reputation as a hawk, this crisis had exposed him as bewildered and feeble. If they survived tonight, she was going to need someone tougher. She turned to Foreign Affairs. ‘Misdirection works both ways,’ she said. ‘Have your people contact the foreign and interior ministries of everyone holding these prisoners. Plead with them. Haggle. Make offers. Brief reporters. Give interviews. We have to assume that Kohen will be monitoring your efforts, so do everything you can to convince him that we’ve fallen for his plan.’

‘Yes, Prime Minister.’

‘They’re waiting for this man Croke,’ she told Interior. ‘We need to delay his arrival. Stack him. Make him circle. Just buy us time.’

He nodded and rose to his feet. ‘I’ll get on it now, Prime Minister.’

‘Nothing obvious. We don’t want them knowing we’re on to him.’

‘No, Prime Minister.’

She turned to her Chief of the General Staff. ‘We can’t risk waiting,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have to storm the Dome.’

He gave a grimace. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he warned. ‘It’s surrounded by wide-open spaces. They have line of sight from doors and windows. They appear to be well-armed, well-trained, and they’re certain to be anticipating some kind of action.’

‘What if we drop in from above?’

‘That would mean helicopters. They’d be sure to hear them.’

‘The TV stations have been clamouring for us to let them put their choppers up,’ said Interior, pausing at the door. ‘We’ve told them no so far. If we gave them permission, would their noise cover ours?’

‘What if one of them broadcasts us doing the drop?’ asked Finance.

‘Then they’ll lose all future use of their testicles,’ said the Prime Minister curtly. She turned to General Staff. ‘Well? Could you make it work?’

‘This kind of operation,’ he said unhappily, ‘it takes precise intelligence. It takes planning. It takes training.’

‘I know it does. But we don’t have time. It’ll start getting light soon. Your men need to be in place before then.’

‘Yes, Prime Minister. I’ll set it up now.’

‘Thank you. And General …’

‘Yes?’

‘Your best people. Your very best. Let them know that these fanatics want to start a war that could mean the end of Israel. Our nation’s survival depends upon them. So they have my authority to do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. If they see even a glimmer of an opportunity, any glimmer, they’re to take it.’

He nodded soberly. ‘Yes, Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘I’ll let them know.’