The data moved through cyberspace within the blink of an eye, the information relocating to al-Ghazi’s location and downloaded onto a disc on his end.
And then: “And how are you, Umar?”
“I’m fine,” he answered.
It was here that al-Ghazi would look for particular facial tics on Levine’s face, with certain tics meaning certain things. If the data proved false or doctored, then he would give a subtle wink with his left eye; if under duress, then a wink with his right, two separate gestures with plenty of meaning behind them. Should Levine give off the impression of either, then al-Ghazi would counter with a gesture of his own by blinking his eyes twice, a signal to Levine to use his very particular set of skills to kill Sakharov, ending the concord between the alliances. But his features remained stolid, meaning that Ahmadinejad was, at least for now, complying with the conditions of the agreement. To get this message across that everything was pretty much copasetic, he would then tent his hands in mock prayer and bounce his fingertips off the base of his chin.
Whenever he did this he could see relief fall over al-Ghazi’s face. At least for now, Ahmadinejad was keeping to the agreement that the data should be shared between alliances, even with marginal distrust between them.
“Good,” al-Ghazi said from the other end. “It appears he’s making incredible strides.”
“Sakharov knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s done it before.”
“And you, Umar?”
“I know little of his project,” he told him. “But the techs he’s working with seem to be grasping his theories quite well.”
“How much longer do you think it will take?’
Levine shrugged. “If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say maybe two weeks, three at the most.”
“Excellent. Is that what he told you?”
“In so many words, yes.”
“Al-Sherrod must be pleased.”
“He is. So is President Ahmadinejad.”
“With UN sanctions crippling his nation, he will now have some leverage against Israel should they commit to a military strike against their facilities. But it’s not the nuclear programs they should be worried about, but the program of Doctor Sakharov.”
Levine fell back in his chair. The room was dark all around him with the occasional glow from the monitor screens and blinking lights from the surrounding computer modules. He had to get word to his contacts, that a bunker not within the eyes of his country’s satellite system is developing a weapon of mass destruction far more devastating than a nuclear device.
“Umar?”
He snapped aware. “Yes, al-Ghazi.”
“I will speak with you again tomorrow, same time.”
“Yes, al-Ghazi.”
“And watch over the good doctor, yes?”
“I will.”
From his end al-Ghazi gave him a cursory salute. “Allahu Akbar.”
“Allahu Akbar.”
The monitor winked off.
In a dash of a moment before he stood, he took quick note of the other monitor screens, taking in that they were surveillance monitors of areas within the facility and outside with NVG cameras watching the areas surrounding the MG nests, paths leading to the facility, the helipad, and the banks of fuel cells lining the ridge, the power source for the facility. Fuel cells, he knew, were extremely volatile. Explosions by themselves might not destroy the facility. But coupled with a military strike from Israeli fighter planes, the missiles would certainly cause the bunker to collapse.
Since he was constantly being watched he knew he would have to act sometime before Sakharov finished his project. But if he killed the doctor, then he would have no way to contact his sources since he would no doubt be executed. Worse, the doctor had finished enough of the process for the Iranian scientists to pick up where he left off. Now he had no choice but to compromise his position and order a strike to destroy the bunker and the data, quashing the project and the minds contained within.
And then there was al-Ghazi. He knew where he was and the threat he had become now that he possessed much of the unfinished data.
It was time to make a move. But first he would need to fathom a plan rather than to act hastily.
A rough hand touched down on his shoulder, the hand of a Quds soldier. In Farsi he barked an order. It was time to leave the Comm Center.
Standing, Aryeh Levine knew that his time was limited on this planet. But he also understood that the romance of being an operative was over. He had done his job and done it well. Now it was time to cash out and he would do so in a very large way, in a blaze of fiery glory.
After all, he was saving Israel. More likely other parts of the world, as well.
Therefore Sakharov must not finish.
The bunker cannot stand.
And al-Ghazi cannot survive the week.
Being directed toward the exit by the rough hand of a Quds soldier, Aryeh Levine’s mind was already working.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Before the election the cardinals hear two sermons: one before entering the conclave, the other once they are inside the Sistine Chapel. The sermons are basically intended to spell out the current state of the Church, and to further suggest the qualities necessary for a pope to possess at that particular time.
Over the past few days leading up to the conclave, Cardinal Angullo had worked his silver tongue and once again garnered the favors of those who had once gravitated away from his camp back into his pull, placing himself as a favorite within the Preferiti alongside Cardinal Vessucci.
As the first sermon was coming to an end, Cardinal Angullo viewed Cardinal Vessucci with a long and calculating look. The cardinal was kneeling with his hands tented in prayer with an onyx-beaded rosary and silver crucifix dangling from his fingers, the crucifix reflecting a diamond spangle of light whenever it spun pendulously from side to side.
Closing his eyes and tenting his fingers in his own sense of prayer, Cardinal Angullo went back to his own entreaty to God, his lips moving wordlessly until the final moment of the Eucharist.
At noontime, on a day with a uniform blue sky and white-hot sun, the cardinals gathered in the Pauline Chapel of the Palace of the Vatican, and then proceeded to the Sistine Chapel singing “Veni Creator Spiritus.”
Cardinal Vessucci was at the head of the procession, singing in chorus. Behind him Cardinal Angullo also sang and did so in accord, the overall melody between the cardinals sounding more like a harmonious Gregorian chant.
Once inside the Sistine Chapel, the cardinals took an oath to observe the measures set down by the apostolic constitutions that upon election, should he be elected, understand that his optimum duty was to protect the liberty of the Holy See; disregard the instructions of secular authorities on voting; and above all else, maintain secrecy.
In keeping with age-old practices, the Cardinal Dean, the president of the College of Cardinals, then read the oath out loud in order of precedence, while the other cardinal electors stated — while touching the Gospels — that they promise, pledge and swear to uphold the policies of the Church.
Cardinal Angullo was most vociferous.
After the cardinals had taken the oath, the Master of the Papal Liturgical Celebrations then ordered everyone other than the cardinals and conclave participants to leave the Chapel, a very slow progression as if in mourning, leaving behind the cardinals, the Master of the Papal Liturgical Celebrations, and an ecclesiastic designated by the Congregations prior to the commencement of the election to make a speech concerning the problems facing the Church, and once more on the qualities the new pope needed to possess.