Local universities and high schools had placed hundreds of signs, most of them written in Arabic that simply said “we want unity, too.” Three colorful Israeli hot air balloons were tethered on the beaches as well. The words on the balloons said “Let’s have this race, not an arms race” in both Hebrew and English for western television audiences.
Yitzhak called his contacts at Palmachim. The Israeli Defense Forces at Palmachim Air Force Base down the coast were watching the balloons on radar as they passed over Israeli territorial waters and close to Israeli airspace. Unmanned aerial drones detected all 50 balloons starting to release their equalizing ballast through a water vapor system as each balloon neared Haifa.
TV cameras fired up and international news channels cut into regular programming with breaking news as the first Unity Festival hot air balloons were visible from the beaches of Tel Aviv. Most were two to three miles out above the sea at almost 3,000 feet. They were far too close to Israel’s shoreline, but the authorities let them race. The colorful balloons against a majestic blue sky and the deep blue sea painted an incredible tapestry of color as six mile per hour winds out of the north gently caressed the faces of thousands of Israelis gathered on the sands to witness Unity.
Millions of homes in the Middle East, Southeast Asia, Europe, Russia, China and North America watched and hoped that Unity would truly come to a very troubled area.
Within minutes all 50 balloons had passed by and were out of sight as they raced toward Port Said. Reuven and Yitzhak watched the balloons disappear from sight, then turned for the quick ride back to their command center.
Casablanca, Morocco
The unexpected and unplanned visit by the King of Saudi Arabia to Morocco for more physical therapy provided a welcomed opportunity for the Shoeib. Sending a Shia assassination force in from al-Awamiya, a town in the Qatif region, was fraught with logistical problems. But an Iranian hit squad in Morocco with access to the Saudi King was a gift from God.
The King had undergone recent surgery in the United States for a debilitating back condition, a herniated disc that required precise surgery, and Morocco was his preferred destination for physical therapy. It was to be his third such visit for physical therapy, rest and recovery.
The King’s motorcade drove through the streets of Casablanca, Morocco with a military escort after his private luxury jet landed and parked at the Executive Terminal at Mohammed V International Airport.
The black Mercedes pulled up to the side entrance of Clinique Zerktouni Orthopedics and Rehab center at Rue 9 Avril.
The King got out and waved to those gathered on the streets as six smiling technicians, doctors and physical therapists waited for him under the entrance awning. It was Thursday, and the entire Clinique Zerktouni staff was still buzzing about the international Unity Festival race and the fact that a team from Morocco had won.
The King’s contingent of bodyguards engulfed him from the front, sides and rear as they walked briskly from the car toward the entrance way under the green awning. None of them noticed the doctor who reached into his white lab coat or the five others who reached for guns inside their blue surgical scrubs.
Gunfire from three high-powered rifles shattered the morning silence as six members of an Iranian hit squad fell dead from precise two-round volleys before the assassins had a chance to fire a single shot.
The King was pushed inside the hospital by bodyguards as the King’s entourage cleared unfired weapons away from the dead “doctors and technicians” lying on the ground by the sidewalk. Saudi bodyguards scanned the adjacent rooftops looking for the shooters just as Reuven’s video link went dark.
Reuven turned his TV monitor off, put a piece of chewing gum in his mouth and left the command center as Yitzhak buried his face in his hands.
Qoms, Iran
When word finally reached the gathering in the Shura Council room, the Shoeib threw his cup of hot tea against the wall. The breaking glass and his unrestrained anger captivated the room.
Ayatollah Yazdi asked for the report on the wind of torment. Qazvin reluctantly began to speak.
“The Zionists are lying, using all of their old tricks of deception. There have been some reports that people are very ill in the northern part of the Gaza Strip. But in the non-existent lands of the Zionists… nothing. Not a word has been mentioned. If they are suffering, we do not know… the world does not know.”
Yazdi was silent. The room was silent.
“Then it is clear. The Age of the Coming is soon, but it is not yet now. May God’s name be praised. We shall continue to wait the return of the Twelfth Imam, the Mahdi, and pray that day will be very soon. But today is not that day.”
Tel Aviv, Israel
Yitzhak followed quickly behind Reuven as they left the command center with full knowledge that the Saudi King was safe.
“Full report?” Reuven asked as they walked.
“More than 400 are in hospitals getting antibiotics and treatments. Most of them elderly or children,” Yitzhak said as he read the Health Minister’s report.
“Fatalities?”
“None… so far,” Yitzhak answered.
“News reports?”
“Nothing. Everyone is talking about the Unity Festival and the flu season. Not a word about tularemia. But there is this.” Yitzhak handed Reuven a Delta Airlines passenger manifest from Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris.
Reuven looked agitated.
45
Walter Reed National Military Hospital
Bethesda, Maryland
US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell stopped for an early cup of coffee at his favorite barista in Old Town Alexandria before making the quick drive to Walter Reed in his Defender 90. It was a beautiful Friday morning. He listened to every news story over the previous two days, and there was nothing about an outbreak of illness in Israel. Nothing could have made him happier.
Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines was scheduled to arrive at Washington Dulles on Sunday, and Camp was excited to see where his new interest in Raines might go.
The Friday “in briefing” was standard procedure. Camp would get a tour, meet his staff, and get a full briefing on his assignment. The real work would start on Monday.
During the Walter Reed tour, Camp’s iPhone started vibrating. The phone indicated “unknown number,” so he let it go to voice mail. Within seconds it vibrated again.
“Ma’am, I need to excuse myself and take this call,” Camp said without waiting for permission. He stepped outside into the sunshine.
“Yes.”
“Shepherd’s Pie?”
A warm smile broke over Camp’s face.
“Brother Bloom… it’s great to hear your voice. I’ve been watching the news, and I’m very happy for you.”
“Maybe that happiness is too soon.”
“Okay.”
“The evil rabbit hunter.”
“I’m tracking… what about him?”
“His name came up on the system. Flew from over here to over there. Got a rental car.”
“Where?”
“His alma mater.”
“Okay…”
“Shepherd’s Pie… tomorrow is what you call… homecoming… alumni day.”
Camp ended the call and sprinted toward the parking lot as his tour guide watched helplessly through the window.
Inside the Defender 90, Camp hit Billy Finn’s speed-dial number. Finn was sitting in General Ferguson’s office when the call came in.
“What’s up, captain? Saving any lives this morning at Walter Reed?”