The Caliphate by André Gallo (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

that Israel can and will defend itself. The current policy of keeping this weapon secret until after you’re attacked makes no sense. Don’t you agree that its main use is as a deterrent to war?”

     “Why would you want to do something that would help Israel?” she asked in a tight voice.

     “Because it will also help me. Think about it. We are against some of these Arab regimes, and against the Shiite resurgence flowing out of Iran, just as much as you are. I would like you to show me how your creation works. Your husband told me a great deal about the laser, and he said you would give me the rest, which are the operational directions.”

     She didn’t respond, apparently mulling over and answer.

     “The use of the weapon will strengthen Israel,” he said. “And your name will become a household word in all of academia.”

     The guard came in holding something in his fingers. He showed it to the Israeli and she gasped. Habib drew closer and saw that it was a finger, freshly cut and still bleeding.

     “I knew it. You are butchers!” she cried.

     “Be that as it may, that finger is simply a small example of the alternative to your becoming famous. Do we have a deal?”

     She nodded solemnly. Her jaw muscles bulged out.

09:30

His arm still throbbing from being shot, Marshall had floated with the current, which had brought him to the jetty. He held on and, hiding behind a pylon, he witnessed Hussein’s men unload the cache at the foot of the Tower of the Hospitallers. One man, apparently on a random basis, would open one of the boxes and take out a rifle or a Rocket Propelled Grenade round and examine it briefly before replacing it and allowing the wooden crate to be carried away.

     After the men left, Marshall pulled himself painfully toward the beach. His feet touched bottom and he stumbled out of the water. He followed the beach rather than returning through the parking lot, aware that some of the men might still be there. Eventually he reached his hotel room, took off his clothes to let them dry during the night. He bound his wound—the bullet had passed through a muscle—and tried to get some sleep. The next day, after putting his arm in a sling, he rented another car and drove to Tel Aviv, to the American Embassy.

***

Following his conversation with al Khalil, Ambassador Hastings immediately called his wife Alexandra to convey the news about Kella. He then asked his secretary to tell Jack Horton to meet him in the acoustic conference room.

     Hastings had relatively little experience in the care and feeding of CIA station chiefs. His previous two postings had been as deputy chief of mission and he therefore had not been in the loop; station chiefs normally reported directly to the ambassador. He had heard horror stories of promising diplomatic careers broken by CIA “flaps,” operations gone awry. There was a time, he knew, when, starting under President Kennedy, “treaties” were periodically negotiated between the State Department and the CIA. Nevertheless, most ambassadors felt vulnerable to the presence of a U.S. government agency in his domain whose role, by and large, was to carry out activities considered illegal by the host country.

     Hastings and his COS, Jack Horton, had a good professional relationship, however. Horton briefed the ambassador once a week in the acoustic conference room, known informally as the ACR, the clear-plastic room-within-a-room, where all classified discussions were supposed to be held—country team meetings in particular.

     Within the limits of “need-to-know,” Ambassador Hastings was well informed of the CIA station’s activities. Horton had told Hastings he would keep him informed at least to the extent of avoiding unpleasant surprises and to give the ambassador a heads-up prior to particularly risky activities with a high potential of political blowback.

     Tall, with brown hair and rimless glasses, Jack Horton reached the ACR when Hastings’ secretary was opening the door to the vault that enclosed it. He walked in and opened the lever that held the plastic door closed. A minute later, Hastings joined him.

     “Do you have an officer missing?” Hastings asked. “Steve Church? Is there something I should know?”

     “I have heard of Marshall Church. He was a senior clandestine service officer and one of my predecessors here. But, as far as I know, he’s retired. I don’t know a Steve Church.”

     “Steve is his son,” Hastings replied. “You don’t know anything about his visit to Israel? My daughter knows him. She told me he was here, or was coming. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

     Hastings proceeded to tell the Horton about the phone call.

     “Do you want me to talk to Shin Beth?” Horton asked. “Or are you going to have the regional security officer handle this?”

     “You better handle it. If I thought it was simply a criminal issue, somebody trying to extort money, I’d give it to the security officer. But I’m sure Kella’s kidnapping is politically motivated. Kella would not have been kidnapped if she were not my daughter. She has become the shield against an Israeli takedown. But inform your Shin Beth contact quickly. The caller said there was an attack under way. The Israelis have to know immediately that my daughter is in the hands of the terrorists.”

     At that moment, Hastings’ secretary peered in and said, “Mr. Ambassador, there’s a man named Marshall Church here to see you. He said it was important.”

     “Jack, you better get in touch with Shin Beth immediately. And then come back and join us in my office.”

     Marshall walked in just as Hastings was hanging up the phone after briefing the Israeli prime minister. Against all probability in this time of crisis,