The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) (34 page)

Whitestone was to the point. This was no time for personal sentiments.

“I think both Houses are more incensed than I am,” said O’Neill. “I’ve never seen Lords and Commons so single-minded. It may be foolhardy to stand against the Saudis—they seem to have all the cards—but we’re a determined bunch when someone attacks this country. The rest of the EU may crumble, Jon, but Britain stands with you. Our ships are not turning back.”

Admiral Slater pointed to a screen on the right and the prime minister nodded acknowledgment.

“HMS
Valiant
and HMS
Nelson
,” said O’Neill, “are turning away from the flotilla now, Jon, but they are not returning to port. Our boys have put on a little visit to Bandar-e Abbas. Your lot can leave that naval base to us.
Valiant
’s crew specifically asked for this assignment—they have a history, you know.”

Forty-seven sailors from HMS
Valiant
were killed in a 1998 explosion when an Iranian mine detonated against the ship during war games in the gulf. The mines had been laid by Iranian ships from the Bandar-e Abbas naval yard, in anticipation of the war games. Sailors had a long memory.

“I only wish we could bomb Riyadh back to the dust of the desert.” But O’Neill knew his government would never survive military action against an “ally” because of a banking decision. And Saudi Arabia was so overrun with foreign nationals that collateral damage would be catastrophic.

“What else do you hear, Michael?”

The prime minister shook his head in disgust. “Our chaps at the Exchequer never saw this coming … don’t believe any of us could. The Saudis control the national banks of Italy, Portugal, Greece, and Spain, and have ordered the military of all four nations to stand down until further orders. We are keeping the Bank of Ireland afloat, and we will not allow this contagion to go any further in the United Kingdom. I can’t be sure of France. The French banks have taken a massive hit. But, Jon, the worst of it is Germany. I think the Germans may cave. Turns out their hard cash reserves were not as extensive as they led the rest of the world to believe.”

“We’re on our own?”

“That’s what it looks like, Jon.”

Michael O’Neill cursed his luck. Three months in office and now this.

“Well, Mr. Prime Minister, if we can’t bomb the Saudis, we can sure as blazes bomb the Iranians. And we can open the strait again. The
Truman
is close enough to launch air strikes against southern Iran; the Fifth Fleet has been given orders to sink every Iranian vessel afloat in the gulf; and … well … as soon as the strait is open, let’s just say we have joined with an old friend, newly appointed Prime Minister Orhlon, and have a special gift we’re going to deliver to King Abbudin.”

“But what about the banks, Jon? Abbudin is strangling the banking system of the entire EU. We can hit Iran, but the EU is in economic freefall. Abbudin is going to own the entire continent if something isn’t done to stop him. I can keep Britain afloat, but the rest of the EU is sinking fast.”

7:12 a.m., London

Lord Alderson walked into the boardroom in the HSBC Tower in a panic—panic for his nation, his fortune, and his family—perhaps not in that order. These next ten minutes, he believed, would lead to the extinction of all three.

The boardroom could have been lifted out of any number of castles in Europe. In fact, this one had been dismantled and shipped from Bavaria, reconstructed to its former glory, including the paintings of the Bavarian family that once owned such opulence. Its richly ornamented and superbly polished mahogany walls reflected off a shimmering, golden oak floor. At its inlaid teak conference table, large enough to accommodate two dozen, only two men occupied the room—both of them flanking the chair at the head of the table.

Alderson ignored the head chair and stood next to his old friend, Abraham Rothschild. Across the table was Lin Hu Na. They were two of the most powerful financiers in the world.

Why these two men should arrive unannounced—today—was a mystery that only added to Lord Alderson’s growing certainty of disaster. Vultures, ready to strip the bones of the once-powerful EU? Alderson was unsure … even of Rothschild.

Bowing deeply from his waist, Lord Alderson paid homage to the man across the table. “Minister Lin, it is an honor. Your presence is most welcome.” He straightened and turned to Rothschild. “Abraham, you have selected an interesting day for a visit.”

As Lord Alderson eased into the chair next to Rothschild, the old man reached out his left hand and placed it on Alderson’s arm.

“We’re not here for a visit,” said Rothschild. “Last night we met with Secretary of the Treasury Gephart in New York City to whom we suggested a course of action. We told Secretary Gephart, and we are here to commit to you, to the banking industry of the European Union, all the resources of the banking industry of China and the banking industry of Switzerland. You have available all the resources that we have at our disposal.”

Lord Alderson waited for the next sentence. It didn’t come.

“Forgive me, Abraham, but I must ask. For what purpose?”

Rothschild looked stunned. “We are not here for plunder, Albert. We are here to help. No strings. Abbudin has overplayed his hand if he thinks he can bring Europe to its knees under the dominion of the crescent moon. Minister Lin and I had a conversation. It is not in the best interests of the Republic of China to see Islam rise up a new Caliphate. It is certainly not in the best interests of the House of Rothschild. At this moment, Minister Lin and his government have joined with Bern Consortium to make one billion euros available for immediate deposit into the European Central Bank. We wanted to meet with you face-to-face to assure you—so that you may assure your colleagues—that this loan carries no interest, no demands, no time limit. Settle your debts with the Arabs. Let us know if you will need more. Then, together, we will see what needs to be done to permanently secure the future stability of the European Union and to defeat this economic jihad.”

9:22 a.m., Jerusalem

Placing a firm clamp on Joe’s left arm, Deirdre looked up into her husband’s eyes. They only had a moment—Tom and Annie were talking to Reynolds by the door.

“Be careful, Joe … please. I don’t want to have to tell the kids that …”

His fingers brushed her red curls away and settled on her cheek.

“I’ll be back,” he said softly. “I don’t know how, but I just feel … confident. God’s been with Tom through this whole thing. We’ll be okay.”

“Just with Tom?”

Deirdre saw a flash of understanding cross Joe’s face. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been different. Ever since I got here for Kallie’s service, I could see it, feel it, hear it in your voice. You’ve experienced a lot, but something has changed you on the inside.” She waited for his response.

Rodriguez took a deep breath, expanding his chest and throwing back his shoulders. He looked at Deirdre as if he would tell her the secrets of the universe. “I—”

“Let’s go,” said Reynolds. “C’mon. We gotta go if we’re going to catch that plane.”

Rodriguez moved his fingers under Deirdre’s chin. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Maybe then it will make more sense to me. I love you and tell the kids—”

“Let’s go!”

Oskar Tell had one foot on the running board of the weather-beaten nine-passenger van, its factory-applied paint scoured clean from too many excursions through the desert, and the other foot planted firmly on the ground, his left arm held stiff and straight, his hand leaning on the roofline. To any observer, it would appear Tell was the
only
thing keeping the van upright.

The visual was intentional, drawing stark contrast to the gleaming new Dodge Caravan that rested a few feet away in the hands of his cousin Tobias.

Oskar had chosen well from the fleet of vehicles parked outside the commercial hangar where the planes of Krupp Industries emptied their crews and cargo. As the entourage left the apartment house on the Bar Lev Road, the old man had turned left, making a beeline for the spotless new Dodge. Behind him, the beautiful, red-haired woman had stumbled over the threshold coming out of the apartment building, and was leaning heavily on the man in the suit to get her balance, both her weight and her momentum moving them toward the new van on the left.

Tell’s cousin moved quickly to the building doorway, grabbing the two bags the man dropped as he tried to keep the woman upright.

“Those two … that’s right,” she said, looking over her shoulder, her lips close to his ear. When she turned back, the man’s eyes were as bright as a July afternoon in the kibbutz. “Thanks, Sam,” she said. “Without you I would have ended up in the dust.”

They came to the side of the van, and it was clear the man in the suit wanted to help, but wasn’t sure how to … where to …

“Why don’t you get inside,” she said, “and just give me your hand so I can climb in?”

Oskar Tell enjoyed working for Mr. Krupp. The ongoing repairs to Temple Mount—now suspended because of the pillars of fire and smoke that still alternated over the blackened hole that once held the Dome of the Rock—were more interesting than growing bananas on the kibbutz. And now this. A secret mission to outwit the American. Oskar had no idea why he was being asked to help with this subterfuge. But the money in his pocket was more than he made in two months on the kibbutz. Perhaps he could buy that ring for Josephina.

Annie stood in the doorway of the apartment building and watched with growing appreciation as Deirdre skillfully guided Reynolds’s every move.
Joe, you’re lucky the girl loves you so much.

Joe, Tom, and Rizzo left the building and turned toward Tell and the ramshackle van on the right. Annie hefted the duffel bag in her right hand and moved to the right, following the three men. Tell had thrown open the back hatch and was stuffing their bags into the storage space. Annie handed her bag to Tell, waiting for some word or protest from Reynolds. But the challenge never came.

Traveling west on the Ben Gurion Highway, the two vans remained fairly close together for the first ten minutes, driving in the right lane at the same excessive speed as all the other vehicles on the road.

“Where will we separate?” asked Tom.

He was sitting in the front passenger seat—Joe, Rizzo, and Annie in the back. Tell, the driver, pointed into the distance.

“A farther bit, I think, and then I slow a little,” Oskar Tell’s accent was a heavy German-Israeli guttural, “then a little more. Soon, you see, we will have good separation, yah? The closer we get, the cars will all come,” his left arm waved to the right, “and we be lost, fast.

“Don’t be to worry,” said Tell, “when we reach exit, other van will be disappear. Then I call Tobias and tell him I must need petrol. We be fine. No one see.”

Tell turned his full attention to the growing traffic as he guided the van onto the ramp. Rounding the banked curve at speed, the aged van swayed on its creaking springs and seemed ready to lose its adhesion to the concrete roadway. Tell held tightly to the steering wheel until the curve flattened and the van settled back into a more upright posture.