The Assault Begins: The Jerusalem Cycle Trilogy, #3

By André John Haddad

The battle to save Jerusalem—and the world—comes to a nail-biting climax in The Assault Begins, the final installment of André John Haddad's heart-stopping international suspense trilogy, The Jerusalem Cycle.

The U.S. Embassy in Rome receives a call in the early morning hours. The voice on the other end of the line belongs to a ghost among men: he has no affiliation with any country, terrorist cell or religion. What he does have is a plan—one that could change the world forever.

A few hours later, an explosion rockets the western coast of Italy; a warning for the intended target, Jerusalem.

Louise Destrey and Cardinal Zimmer are relentless in their work to stave off the bomber's deadly plans, but time is running out. While Israel decides whether to vacate the city and other nations prepare for war, Destrey and Zimmer are forced to call on unlikely allies in their desperate mission to stop the bomber and his network. They are prepared to break every rule and compromise every value.

The sacrifice is worth it, because if the bomber isn't found soon, Jerusalem will fall in less than forty-eight hours…and the rest of the world won't be far behind.

If you like reading Tom Clancy and Robert Ludlum, you won't be able to put down this thriller until the very last page.

Don't miss out on the other books in The Jerusalem Cycle Trilogy:

- Book One: The Threat Emerges

- Book Two: The Assault Begins
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Imagen Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999385446

Book preview

Part 1: Proof of capability

1

Prime Minister’s Office

Jerusalem

Israel

She understood all too well what he was planning to do. There was no need to explain any further. Nevertheless, he insisted on his daily speech to the PM. Made him feel in control even though he wasn’t. And although he was one of the best and brightest his country had to offer, from time to time he could be such a yutz .

Minutes ago the general had revealed, in agonizing detail, that his Sayeret Matkal detachment was on hold. The Israeli Special Forces unit, one of the most effective counterterrorism forces in the world, waited for a green light from her office.

The office of the Prime Minister of Israel to be precise, he had said, trying to make a point.

The classified special-ops outfit was onboard a Lockheed Martin C-130J Super Hercules transport set to takeoff from the Nevatim Israeli Air Force Base, located southeast of Be’er Sheva, near the town of Nevatim. The destination for the eight member commando team was Ad-Damir, the capital of the River Nile state in the Sudan, located five hundred kilometers from the Red Sea. With a population of twenty thousand, comprised mostly of farmers, the sleepy town was an unlikely target for terrorists or foreign states. The current temperature of forty-six degrees Celsius practically insured an easy deployment for the commando group. There was no possible relief from the Sudanese sun other than to find shelter indoors and as a result, no one would interfere with the mission. It was simply too hot to wander outside.

Moriah Lerner turned away to lean in closer to her chief of staff, close enough for him to smell her mixture of body sweat and perfume. Although he wasn’t particularly fond of her choice of fragrance, Enio Perez secretly enjoyed these special moments of intimacy with his boss, notably when he was close enough to make physical contact with the woman he coveted since he was a kid.

Get me Dorot. She hissed like a cobra when she was about to do her thing. Enio reckoned she’d heard enough from the General. It was time to move on to the next item on her agenda. The PM had questions and needed answers. A few of her key ministers had failed to achieve their most sacred duty: to protect and defend the people of Israel against all enemies, foreign and today, domestic.

Enio Perez left the office to make sure Dorot would be available for the PM’s call, after she finished with the general.

Moriah? he said bluntly.

I heard you the first time General, the PM said without losing a beat. "I said no then, and it’s no now. Which part of no don’t you get?"

Even though she was Israel’s Prime Minister, she often wondered who was actually running the show. Major General Binyamin Sebad could be a real burden on civilians, especially with whom he disagreed, which was almost everyone. The General gave stress a whole new meaning.

We’ve got him now, Bin Laden’s successor, the soldier recited rudely. Not tomorrow but now. Now, Moriah. Before the Americans get wind of this.

"First, I want the sonofabitch alive, in a deep hole, whistling Hava Nagila. I want him alive General! Breathing. In a prison cell. Two, I need the bastard to survive my prison. And three, I most certainly don’t appreciate the tone of your voice."

I don’t care what… the General tried to respond to her criticism as he got to his feet. He was prepared to lash out at the PM without a second thought.

Moriah Lerner knew better than anyone how to deal with a bully. You beat him to the punch, and you make good on your threats.

One more fucking word out of you, General and I’ll replace your sorry ass in a heartbeat, and don’t think for a minute I won’t find a better replacement. So, which is it going to be?

The PM understood what she had to do. Not now, but soon. The general had to go. Like a wild animal, he’d tasted power and shed human blood once too often and now, he was feral. She didn’t like the idea of replacing him. He was the best Israel had to offer, but with the good comes the ugly. He was unmanageable, a thug and a patriot. A combination of features that usually lead to dangerous, unpredictable and rebellious behavior. She couldn’t have that.

The general walked away from the PM’s desk.

You’re not dismissed yet, she said smoothly. It’s just you and me Binyamin, so spare me the theatrics.

Moriah … he started to say something, but decided against it. Nevertheless, the words came out as if he was possessed. You may be the Prime Minister but you’re out of your depth. Profoundly.

Sit down General, she said firmly.

General Binyamin Sebad didn’t care what happened to him. He’d been at odds with Lerner for some time now. A few weeks ago he had decided not to take any more bullshit from the woman. Prime Minister or not, she was clearly dealing with matters she couldn’t possibly fathom. The General believed the PM was in waters too deep to stand, but nevertheless he was also sure she was going to get rid of him. He just needed a little more time to sort out his succession list and an exit strategy worthy of his ambitions. He’d been grooming a number of candidate replacements. One day soon, he would need them to come forward and testify on his behalf, to the Israeli people here and abroad. That day would come when he would bid for the PM’s job.

For this reason, he sat. He relaxed a bit. He’d rehearsed his little speech about Abdul al-Zahwahiri.

On my life, the General said solemnly, I believe him the most dangerous man that walks the face of the earth. He must not become a martyr, nor should anyone believe there’s a chance of seeing him alive ever again. I can capture this piece of shit as easily as I can come into this room. But Israel would be better off with this man dead, blown to bits. He’s dangerous alive because I believe he’s capable of making things happen. He’s ingenious and a visionary. One day soon, his people will worship the ground he walks on. Alive, he’s a Mandela. That’s how dangerous he is.

Lerner thought about it. She had to admit his arguments had some value. Hell, if she was in his shoes, she’d probably execute the bastard herself. He had decimated so many innocents. The numbers were mind-numbing.

Okay General. I’ll meet you half way.

The General knew how quick this woman could be. If this was a trap, he’d shove it right back at her.

What do you have in mind? he asked carefully.

I’d like you to take him alive for me. But make it look as if the bastard died in a car accident. I want the world to see him dead, beyond the shadow of a doubt. With proof. DNA. Bones. Charred skin. I want eyewitnesses. YouTube it if you can. Then find the deepest hole you can dig, and throw him in there, where I can visit the monster at my leisure. Can you live with that Binyamin? Am I still out of my depth General?

I can live with that Prime Minister, he said reluctantly. The woman had a mean streak the size of a bull elephant.

The military will keep him alive, this I can assure you Prime Minister. I won’t let anything happen to him on my watch. This time, they were both on the same page. Nobody wanted to go through another round of assassinations while in custody of the state.

As he left the PM’s office, the General felt somewhat relieved he wasn’t at the receiving end of the stick she’d be wielding in the next few minutes. He understood someone would pay for the murders of the two Turks while in Israeli custody. He also understood more than ever to never, ever, cross this woman unless one was prepared to go all the way for the kill.

The green light to proceed was given willingly. The General left Jerusalem with new orders for his soldiers.

The PM wanted al-Zahwahiri to live a long life. A life where justice would be careful, slow, measured and eternal. None of that swift and sure justice where criminals would be dispatched in days or hours. This PM wanted to personally dispense what would feel like a lifetime of pain, interminable interrogations and reformation. This politician planned to turn al-Zahwahiri. To own him. To set him loose on his own people. And then, when the moment presented itself, she would break him in public, for all to see, on social media.

Politics 3.0.

2

Prime Minister’s Office

Jerusalem, Israel

R eally? Dorot said. There’s a million questions you could ask me and all you can think of is whether or not Shin Bet’s responsible for this mess?

It’s a fair question, the PM said bluntly.

Yes, Madam Prime Minister. You’re absolutely right. We are responsible for that and I fucked up, okay? He said furiously. Are you happy? And before I forget, yes, I didn’t see this one coming. Nobody did. Especially from our own people."

So what the hell is going on? Do you know? she said accusingly.

What the hell do I think is going on? Now that’s a good question. I wish to God I knew. He was ashamed of what happened. Director Isaac Dorot had been caught completely off guard. That had never happened in his lifetime. Unfortunately, this was only the first of more to come.

Our own people murdered two prisoners while in your custody, in cold blood, and you’re telling me you don’t know anything about this fiasco? The PM couldn’t get over the idea that her own police force had done the shameful deed.

"Okay, calm down neshama. Darling, I can at least tell you what I know," Dorot added calmly.

Calm down? How can I? You’re responsible for this fuckup and I… she was losing it. The woman regretted her words. They were said in anger. But then again, she was dead-on. He’d fumbled the ball. Badly.

Can you shut up? he said loudly. She had no right to talk to him that way. No one did.

The Shin Bet Director steadied himself. He didn’t like being confronted by anyone. He thought he was too old or too good to be treated like a child. Unfortunately, it was true that he and Israel’s internal security service had screwed up. Nevertheless, he believed she was disrespectful. No, he didn’t appreciate being chewed out one bit. Even less by a woman almost fifteen years younger. Dorot was old school, conservative to a fault, but to his credit, terribly efficient. He was also the Prime Minister’s sandak, an unofficial godfather. One day he held her in his arms at her simchat bat, a religious ceremony welcoming a baby girl to the world, the next day she’s scolding him as if he was the child.

Listen up, he said barely controlling his emotions. We have two dead bodies on our hands. The same Turks directly involved in the bus bombing. The report said the 402 bus blew up between Jerusalem and Bnei Brak killing one hundred and forty people. The blast destroyed everything and everyone within a radius of one hundred and fifty feet of the bus. The Turks were caught, formally arrested and placed on suicide watch. We were still investigating the bombing when… this crap happened. Both men got their throats cut.

Where did they come from? Can you tell me anything about that? The PM wanted to understand where these murders were leading.

The Turks flew out of Germany with German passports. Dorot was reading from a file provided by his secretary. They came to Israel as tourists. They flew out of Frankfurt to Tel Aviv Yafo. The report says… they went by the names Ace Barðþ and Elmas Temizkanoglu. Barðþ aged twenty-five, the other, whatshisname Temizkanoglu, was forty-two. According to the report, the younger one was in charge. They were clean. No priors, no affiliation with anyone. Ace, the younger one, studied European medieval arts and culture in Frankfurt. The other, the older one, we think the bomb maker, was a mechanic for the RMV, the transit authority in Frankfurt. We’re left without any real leads to follow. I had no choice but to send my people to Germany to investigate.

What about the prison guards? She wanted them in custody.

"Yes, the Ayalon Prison guards. That’s the part that confounds me to no end. As I said, the Turks were executed by our own prison guards. As of yesterday, we know someone got to them, because the guards didn’t plan this on their own. They’re not smart enough nor do they have the imagination for such a plan. They got help. We believe someone else wanted the Turks dead. Someone with a lot of cash. I mean serious money. I’ll tell you something neshama, you need to be filthy rich to have someone killed in an Israeli prison and get away with it. I don’t know who has that kind of cash to waste."

Why do you say it was a waste? she asked curiously. This, she thought, could be important.

"Because the Turks didn’t know squat neshama. Zilch. Nothing. That’s the problem. They told us everything about the other bombs, but they didn’t know much more. Not who sent them or why. Someone wanted us to know he could do this right under our noses. Like he’s saying, pay attention at what I can do. That’s why I’m thinking it’s got to be someone with a lot of money. Someone who wants us to know he’s in charge. He wants our full attention."

Do you think someone in Israel is behind this? she asked.

Yes and no. We believe it’s an outside job. It has to be. Not someone on our payroll. But then, our own people did the dirty work. We don’t know who’s pulling the strings. If it wasn’t for Heckle and Jeckle, I mean Dicter and Mastechi…

I don’t think that’s funny, she said disapprovingly. Although she had never met Dicter or Mastechi, she liked them already.

"No, neshama. I don’t think it’s funny. It’s just what the boys call them."

What are we going to do with Dicter and Mastechi? She wanted his advice.

I don’t know. Maybe detective Dicter and agent Mastechi should get a medal. They did get the guards to talk and they secured the evidence to convict them as well as the warden.

Cowboys, she said to herself.

Yes, that’s true. They don’t care about rules or regulations. Like you, I don’t like it one bit but I have to admit, they did get the job done. No doubt about it. They make a good team.

I’m about to see them in a few minutes.

They’re in your waiting room now? You mean Dicter and Mastechi? he said dumbfounded.

Yeah. I really don’t know whether I should promote them or fire them. Loose cannons, she added as an afterthought.

I’m also afraid of what they can do on their own. May I ask what exactly you’re planning for those two?

It’s not a plan yet, she said hesitantly. But I’m thinking they can be very useful. Maybe they can get to the bottom of this better than your fancy pants agents.

"Excuse me neshama. You cannot be serious. Giving Dicter and Mastechi a free hand is like letting the fox in the henhouse with an Uzi."

You got a better idea? she said gravely.

"No, neshama. I don’t have a better idea, not at this time," he said angrily.

I’m going to tell them they can count on you. You got that? The Prime Minister wasn’t asking.

Yes, yes. No problem. I’ll help.

It’s not a request, I’m telling you. Give them all the support they need. Go out of your way to help. Am I making myself clear?

Yes, I will. I said I would and I will. He wasn’t happy. He had a hard time keeping his temper in check.

Are you angry old man? she said irreverently. Remember your blood pressure.

No, I’m not angry. My blood pressure is fine and thank you very much for the old man wisecrack. She was having fun with her older cousin.

Okay then. Get to the bottom of this, and quick.

We’ll do our best.

I heard that before. It’s not enough, she added seriously.

Yes, I know it’s not enough. Just don’t rub it in.

One more thing I need to understand. Why… Why on earth would they do it? Why kill those two in prison? That part is still a mystery. Dorot was talking in riddles when he said the brains behind the murders wanted our attention. Somehow it didn’t make sense.

I don’t understand what got into those prison guards. They probably thought they were doing us a favor. Morons, he said coldly.

What about the warden, she said angrily. If it was up to me I’d hang him in Zion Square for all to see.

I’ll deal with the warden because I don’t think it’s a good idea for the Prime Minister of Israel to hang the bastard on TV. Murder is still illegal in Israel. More importantly, it’s not ladylike to do that. Let me handle the warden.

Was it money? she said inquisitively.

Yes, probably. Maybe.

Money is the root…

"Yes, Prime Minister. Love of money is the root of all evil. As I’ve said a million times. And don’t forget, neshama, stupidity is also the root of all evil."

What about the Destrey woman? She warned me shit like this would happen. Did I tell you I don’t like her.

"You don’t like her? What’s not to like? She’s only trying to tell us how to govern our own country! I understand you don’t like her, but then again, what if she’s on to something? Remember what I’m trying to tell you neshama. There’s too many clues leading to something big. And, it’s my job to be paranoid. So, anything’s possible. That’s all I can say at this point."

You know, I met her. She gives me the creeps. I felt as if I was a kid and she could read me like a book.

Never met her in person, Prime Minister. I hear she’s intimidating. My people say she can be very unpleasant. But she had a very specific message about where and when, even how. She’s telling us we’ll eventually have to evacuate Jerusalem. How crazy is that? There’s no real intelligence for that kind of scenario. At least not that I know of.

I want to know more about this woman. The PM was ordering Dorot to spy on Destrey.

Okay, I’ll find this Destrey woman and I’ll get to the bottom of this mess. And I’ll be careful. I understand she has leverage all over. And, don’t tell me again, I’m well aware of her attitude.

Remember Isaac, she can see right through you.

As I said Prime Minister, I haven’t met her personally, but I hear you.

Where is she now? Still in Jerusalem?

No. She’s back home in Boston and I hear she’s been invited for a sit-down at Langley. Apparently, they want to know firsthand what she told their President a few months back. I can only guess why, but I think the CIA is taking this woman seriously.

What did she mean by the cycle? she said while thinking back on her encounter with Destrey.

"My people say she named the prediction the Jerusalem Cycle. An end of time prediction. You know we have those every week. It’s as if we had a bug or a sickness. Personally, I think it’s a load of crap."

The PM didn’t respond.

The rest of them are still in Jerusalem. Her client is a Catholic priest, a Cardinal, which if I’m not mistaken, you’ve also met? he said quizzically.

That old geezer was all business. She remembered how cold and utterly German-like the Cardinal behaved, particularly when he insisted they meet. He was upsetting, she added as an afterthought. It’s as if he had God in his pocket.

Upsetting? I’d say that. You have the right to be angry. Who needs to be told by an outsider to be careful? Anyway, I’ll get right on it. Maybe there’s more to this woman and her Cardinal than meets the eye. Then again, perhaps not.

Right. The PM had done her job. She was now sure Isaac Dorot would get to the bottom of these murders.

Right, he said flatly, "and don’t forget to say hello to your ima for me."

The line went dead.

Dorot settled in his armchair and took a deep breath. Although the Prime Minister was upset with everyone involved, she was particularly angry with him. He’d let her down. He’d let everyone down.

Okay then, he muttered silently. He promised himself not to fail the PM. He’d find out everything he could about the Turks’ murder. The Shin Bet Director was well aware what he had to do next. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what would soon destabilize the whole region. In fact, what lay ahead for Israel would change how he would understand his job for the rest of his life.

Still, what troubled him above all things, was the small matter of perception. The Shin Bet Director didn’t know what he didn’t know. Not yet. And that meant his country was vulnerable. His own people were at risk. He was also exposed. The icing on the cake came in the form of a woman called Louise Margoe Destrey who was predicting Jerusalem’s downfall. A woman, an outsider, with no real political or military experience, was telling everyone what was going to happen to his Jerusalem.

He didn’t need a Power Point presentation to tell him he was in trouble and knew sweet fuck-all. At this point in time, he absolutely realized he was as blind as a bat. Clueless, without a shadow of a doubt. There was nothing out there he could point his people to and say with any level of confidence, go get them! Today he certainly couldn’t do that. Perhaps tomorrow. For that reason, he had to find out who was behind the Turks’ murders and especially what this Destrey woman had to say.

Something was up. He was certain of it.

Maybe Destrey was on to something, maybe not. However, he was now sure that someone was indeed in his country planning something big.

Ruthie? he said out loud.

Yeah, she answered a bit annoyed. What?

Get me on a plane to Boston. I need to meet with this Destrey woman.

Right. Will tomorrow do? Ruthie had long ago realized the man could change his mind quickly, on a whim. And accordingly, Isaac Dorot wasn’t worth the aggravation.

No Ruthie. Today Ruthie. Now Ruthie, he said rudely. Call my driver. I want Dave and Abe to join me at the airport.

They’re out of the country.

Do I sound like I care where the hell they are?

I guess not, Mister Director.

Good, good.

I’ll get right on it. Ruthie figured she had time to light another one before calling Transportation.

3

Consulate General of Israel

Boston

W hen did you say she’d be available? he said a bit distracted. He’d had a long flight and he tired easily on these. His bones couldn’t take the long hours at thirty thousand feet as well as they could in the past. His days as a fighter pilot were long gone. For Dorot, jetlag was just another word for an over the hill flyboy.

I was told she wasn’t interested, Ruthie said carefully as she held her breath. The Director was about to blow a fuse.

What the hell are you talking about Ruthie?

I talked to her personal secretary, a Margaret or something. She practically told me to bugger off.

The Shin Bet Director was just about speechless.

Did you tell her who I was?

Yeah…

And…

She said you had your chance months ago. Now, she said, talk is over. Besides, she said, Destrey spoke to your boss, the PM, and those two cops in Jerusalem. Ruthie enjoyed the moment. This passive aggression stuff she’d read about was all she needed to feel good.

She met with Dicter and Mastechi? You can’t be serious!

Yeah, she said cheerfully. "She said why should she waste any time with the likes of you. She told her story to everyone who wanted to listen, and you said no thanks."

Yeah?

Hum, hum. That’s what she said, word, for, word, Ruthie repeated faithfully.

The Shin Bet Director had never been snubbed before. Not by anyone, anywhere and at any time. After all, he was Shin Bet. Head Honcho of the invisible organization. Also known as the Shabak. He was an important man. A young veteran, but still a veteran nonetheless. The Shabak’s directors usually ended up candidates for top Israeli government and business postings.

What do you want me to do Director? she asked vaguely.

He elected to keep his mouth shut. Who knew who was listening in.

Nothing, he said reluctantly. Tell you what, we never had this conversation. Right?

Yeah, right. Never. Ruthie Goldberg didn’t need to be told twice to let it be. She had enough work on her plate.

4

Consulate General of Israel

20 Park Plaza #1026

Boston

The Shin Bet Director was well aware he wasn’t in Israel. The Boston consulate was located in a sovereign land that never hesitated to lock up Israeli agents if and when they went too far. However, this time he had no choice. He’d snatch the Destrey woman if he had to. At least that was the plan taking shape in his mind.

Abe? Dorot said calmly.

Yeah boss.

How do we do this?

She’s heading downtown. Won’t be too difficult to get a few hours of talk time with the lady.

Let’s not do anything rash. I just want to talk to her. Nothing else.

Got it.

The Shin Bet Director was relieved and took another sip of his Aviv 613 Vodka. He felt much better now. Maybe he’d take a stroll in Statler Park before lunch.

Maybe, he thought to himself, I’ll even have time for a lobster and a few Boston Steamers at McCormick & Schmick’s.

Mmmmm.

Did you say anything boss?

No. No, no.

Isaac Dorot was about to take a nap when he reminded himself of the PM’s warning: the woman can see right through you. He closed his eyes and dreamt.

Isaac Dorot woke up an hour later, refreshed and ready for lobster and steamers.

With Boston’s best lobster in his belly, he sauntered back to the Consulate.

Where is she now? he asked Abe.

In there boss. Abe pointed to the door of a secured conference room. She isn’t too happy.

I know Abe. All in a day’s work.

The Shin Bet Director was well aware of Destrey’s penchant for rude behavior. His PM did warn him. But he could live with that. All he wanted to know was what her organization hid from his government. She was a long shot, but who knew. He was well prepared to do what it took to get the job done. He had good reason to believe there was more information to be uncovered. There had to be.

Under no circumstances, Dorot said pontifically, do you open this door. Do you understand me Abe? I mean it. Anything she says, anything you hear from me, anything… You keep this place locked up until I open the door myself. Understood?

Yeah boss.

Abe carefully opened the door and tried not to look at the woman seated at the other end of the conference room.

No eye contact with this one, Abe reminded himself. It’s not safe.

Abe had had a tough time getting her to stop hitting him as he tried to get her in the consular car. She’s a feisty one all right. Fortunately, she wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage. Abe was born the size of a gorilla. Nevertheless, Abe had pity on any man who wanted to get close to her. Destrey’s eyes said everything he needed to know about her.

Avoid eye contact. Stay away. Run for your life. Or else, he said to himself. Because she was evil.

Boss?

The Shin Bet Director turned toward Abe.

What? Dorot said impatiently.

Nothing. Abe thought it would be better if he found out all by his lonesome.

The Director walked towards the woman who sat arms crossed, looking grim and nasty. She followed every step he made. By the time he sat, she had him figured out. They both made eye contact. Curiously, the Director felt a sudden chill. He thought the air conditioning was perhaps too high.

He had, he believed, the upper hand. He believed it would take a few hours to get her talking. Fortunately, he was in no hurry. The lobster in his stomach took care of all of his bodily needs for the rest of the day.

You’re Isaac Dorot, she said effortlessly.

Yes, I am. Dorot was mildly pleased with himself. She had recognized him.

You’re nothing like your grandfather, she said with a sadistic smile.

What?

I said, you’re nothing like your grandfather. Pay attention when I’m talking to you. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t?

Yes, yes of course. Isaac Dorot was indeed related to the great Izi Dorot, the second Shabak director from 1952 to 1953. The elder Dorot eventually managed the Mossad until 1963.

Yes, of course… Madame Destrey, she said emphasizing Madame. It’s Madame Destrey or Doctor Destrey or just plain Doctor if you prefer. Am I making myself clear?

Listen here, you don’t…

You listen, she said condescendingly. And listen carefully. I’ll send you an email tomorrow morning with a date and an exact time. I will task our computer to generate an updated schedule. My people update the time line on a daily basis. It doesn’t change that much. But then, we never know when an incident can precipitate or slow down the event I’ve been warning your people about. Do you follow?

Dorot said nothing.

Nod, if you want me to continue.

Dorot nodded.

As I was saying, when you get my email, you’ll know what only a dozen people on this planet know. On that date, Jerusalem will be destroyed. That’s what I told the President of the United States, that’s what I said to your PM. That’s what I explained to the Pope and to the Saudi King. That’s what I tried to tell you on many occasions, but unfortunately you had no time for me. Now what you need to understand is fairly simple.

Destrey took a deep breath. She was tired, sad and lonely. This was her life. Predicting other people’s tragedies and getting kidnapped.

Dorot could sense she was at the end of her rope.

God knows we did our best. We’ve been at it for more than two years trying to stop it. My life has been hijacked by this discovery. We named it the Jerusalem Cycle. That was clever, she said ironically. One, because as far as we knew, it was perhaps the first urban center on record to exhibit the pattern of war after war since its foundation. With no end in sight, the Cycle’s the only pattern that explained everything. And two, we were in the process of going through a cycle. Our ground zero, Mister Dorot, is Jerusalem.

Again Dorot sat still, silently trying to absorb it all.

Anything? she said rudely.

You can’t be serious? He practically pleaded Destrey to recant her prediction.

There’s hard evidence, she said, not bothering to respond. But then, there’s also common sense. We can all see it, if we want to. We don’t need computers to tell us what’s right there in front of us, staring at us. If we care to look at it, we’ll recognize it. The Cycle’s real, whether we want to believe our own eyes or not. All it takes is perspective.

I’m sorry, but this is nuts.

This is what I know, Dorot. I’m not in the business of end of days scenarios. You’re not happy? Fine. You think I’m crazy? Join the line. But, understand this. I also think it’s nuts. It’s as crazy as Bush on a two dollar bill. You can take it or leave it. It’s your problem and your privilege not to believe a word I’m saying. But, this is what we’ve discovered. We think the Cycle spreads like a virus. It’s patient. It waits for the right conditions to surface. It travels quickly. It elicits negative behaviors from ordinary people: good people, young and old, all colors, races, rich and poor alike. That type of contagion doesn’t discriminate. And the Cycle always ends up triggering the worst possible behaviors. The end result is always bad. Then, when there are no more players left standing, it disappears for days, months or years, until the conditions are ripe again. And because it’s a cycle, it comes back. It’s faithful that way, like a dog or… my horse.

Madame Destrey, with all due respect, this stuff is a bit too… too much. I’m not in the business of working with …

Destrey leaned closer, just enough to face Dorot eye to eye. Find… she said slowly, the nuclear device or, evacuate Jerusalem.

Nuclear… what? he said hesitantly.

Find the bomb or get out. Got that junior?

Isaac Dorot was again speechless. Twice in one day.

You know, you’re nothing like you grandfather, she added cynically.

I… Dorot began to say.

I nothing, she said bluntly. Tell your goon to drive me home. I have a date tonight, and I’m aiming to be there on time.

She stood ready to leave.

Dorot watched her as she walked past him towards the door.

Get up Dorot. It’s time for you to do your homework.

Destrey paused for a moment. She wasn’t finished with him yet.

Oh yes, there’s one more thing. She walked back to where Dorot was still sitting.

Destrey leaned a bit closer, just enough get into Dorot’s horrified face. He was still. Dorot suddenly remembered his mother. She would talk to him that way when she caught him doing something bad. Mother was small but Dorot was deathly afraid of what she could do to him if she got angry.

You kidnapped me. That’s still a crime in the United States. Bad boy, Dorot. So, if I ever see you again, you make sure you cross the street, because, if you don’t, I’ll ask my own goons to fix your clock. They won’t care if you’re Shin Bet’s high priest. They’re Russian and I know for a fact they like beating the crap out of people. That’s their mission in life. Now get up, and walk me to my limo. I’m late. I’m tired. I need a bath and I’m hungry.

Dorot didn’t know what to do or what to think.

Now, young man, before I lose my temper.

Dorot got up, walked to the door, opened it and let her out.

Abe? he said almost in a trance.

Yeah boss.

Please drive the lady home, I mean drive Doctor Destrey to her...

Got it boss.

Before she left the conference room, he turned to Destrey and apologized.

May I call you if I require more information?

Read the email first, she commanded.

Abe was stunned. Dorot had expressed regret.

Now, Abe. Drive the lady home, Dorot said miserably.

Dorot closed the door behind him. He had met the woman. He had listened to her wild story and, unfortunately, he now believed every word.

Nuclear, he said out loud.

Destrey overheard him and had pity on the man. But not for long.

5

Jericho, Israel

City of Palms

He took his first breath as a man. He was complete. Dedicated. Engaged and ready to tackle the world. Unlike so many other mornings in his young life, today was special. A brilliant sun was slowly rising to clear the way for the blue skies of Palestine. Dotted here and there with bright white clouds, the spectacle was humbling. He was in heaven. This is where God led him. Mark Copernikus Hollis was ready to meet his destiny. To work for The Gentleman. Because of him, he’d been reborn into the human race. The Gentleman promised. He said he’d take care of his family. He’d provide proof. Lars, the Gentleman’s number one thug, would show him the video of his detested family, father, mother, brother and sister. The people who had tormented him. They would be taken care of. The Gentleman promised. They would suffer before they died, he promised, and they would know why their time had to come to an end.

Mark Copernikus Hollis was starting afresh. He was strong and healthy, without anyone to remind him of his past. He was avid to work on the device. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the weapon. He was impatient, eager and raring to go.

But, not before frühstück with the boss. A breakfast for a champion. A hearty meal of hash potatoes and ham, with onions and bell peppers, sausage rings, gingerbread waffles and apple hotcakes, plus a heaping bowl of banana nut muesli cereal, topped off with Herr Strauss’ favorite coffee, Jacobs Kronung. The substantial meal suited the German Gentleman and his young physicist recruit.

All is well, he thought to himself, as he observed Hollis attack his food with the delight of a juvenile. The boy was also well suited to work at the Abboud Cement Company. Hidden from prying eyes, he would surely be happy to work underground. Within a few days, the Gentleman was happy to realize the man-boy was well ahead of schedule and seemed in control. The turn of events of the last few days caught the Gentleman by surprise. He didn’t expect Hollis’ amazing about-turn. His astonishment was complete as well as comforting. However, what the Gentleman found in the young man’s heart was troubling. The American was carrying so much hatred for his family. Something like that didn’t make sense and could be difficult to manage in the long run. The Gentleman had doubts about the young man’s dependability. Hollis’ need for revenge could become overwhelming and he didn’t like that one bit.

Alone with Lars Dreede, the Gentleman caught himself saying words that he believed were wise. They came out from nowhere: This strange little creature needs to be supervised, he said thinking out loud. I think… a very short leash is required. I’m not sure about…

About what? asked Lars, as he too had reservations about Hollis’ stability.

I think we’re dealing with an intelligent dog, he answered Lars plainly.

Lars wasn’t surprised to hear that and didn’t try to hide it.

A savant, I grant you, but nonetheless a dog. The animal in question has decided to submit to my demands in exchange for food and money, and of course, revenge. He displayed his submission to me in many ways. And I believe him when he says he will do anything to make me proud of him. But…

Lars wasn’t quite sure whether his boss was actually talking to him. From time to time, the Gentleman would go into deep philosophical thought. On those occasions, Lars would wait until the Gentleman was ready talk to him. Until then, Lars would leave him be with his thoughts.

His submission is a sign, he said half-convinced of his theory. I am certain there is something behind it. I must learn to read him better.

This time, Lars couldn’t have agreed more with the Gentleman. He believed the boy was putting one over on the boss. He was reassured, even glad to see his boss see through Hollis’ game.

He submits to my will, he acknowledges me as the dominant dog and in exchange, I’m expected to keep him alive. This dog will do anything I ask of him, as a symbol of his submission. We could be mistaken and believe it as a sign of devotion or even love. But dogs, my dear Lars, are incapable of love. They either submit or dominate. Only humans are capable of love, self-sacrifice or altruism. Sometimes, I even doubt that about our own species. However, when we fought, and he did try to fight, I knew how the fight would end: either Hollis would die trying or he would signal his submission. As soon as I first laid eyes on him, I was convinced he could not be swayed or influenced. Clearly I was wrong to believe that. For this reason I feel Hollis is a primitive creature. Although highly knowledgeable, his emotional intelligence is negligible.

Lars waited for the Gentleman to continue. The Gentleman’s monologues always sparked his interest.

Did he roll over to expose his belly? he asked Lars, as if a conversation between them was truly taking place.

I think he did, The Gentleman said to himself. "Yes, I can see it clearly now. But, here’s the point I’m trying to make. Just because his submission is real, it doesn’t mean it’s permanent. There will always be a need to become the dominant dog. If the conditions are right, he will want to dominate. For that very reason, his submission must be understood as a strategy to appease me. Hollis’ conciliatory strategy is based on his childhood fears and nightmares. He’s asking me to make him safe from his family. I think he is fundamentally a cowardly child.