Haim shrugged, "I don't see the point of your story. Let's look at other incidents, more relevant to our discussion. Take 9/11 as a well-known example of failure of imagination. There was intelligence that Arabs, mainly from Saudi Arabia, were training to get civil aviation licenses. There was an ongoing war, fought mainly in Africa and Asia, against Islamic terror organizations, including Bin Laden's Al Qaeda. There were well founded rumors of an imminent attack, on a grand scale, against the United States. There were even more specific pieces of information that the attack could involve airliners. However, no one saw the whole picture and put two and two together. We saw the result."
David said, "This is hindsight, again. There were so many pieces of information, there was so much clutter, that the relevant data was overwhelmed by the noise."
"Let's discuss the paranoia that terror attacks caused. For example, the security measures that are implemented in airports. Passengers often complain that they are herded like cattle and forced through a gauntlet of machines which X-ray their carry-on luggage, then through a metal-detector portal, and finally made to stand in a chamber in which they are imaged so that they appear to be stripped of their clothes and dignity. In addition, in some cases, their hands, laptops and carry-on luggage are swiped by cotton swabs to search for traces of explosives, they are forced to remove their shoes, jackets and belts, as well as their glasses. Sometimes, they are made to stand with their hands spread out like scarecrows while a security person pats them down. If, at least, one could choose the gender of that security person — same-sex or opposite-sex — it could even be enjoyable…"
David said, "Haim, you are getting carried away. What's your point?"
"Simply, all these security measures could perhaps, and I emphasize perhaps, be useful to prevent a terrorist attack of the type that has been carried out in the past. These will not work for inventive terrorists who will find a way to avoid being caught by any of these techniques. They are familiar with them, as every air-traveler is, and they know how to evade them. I fear that the next attack on civil aviation will be by a bomb smuggled on board by the cleaning staff, sabotage by the ground crew, something planted in the food supply carts, a missile launched during take-off or landing, a laser directed at the pilot's eyes, and so on. Something new, that hasn't been tried before."
"I agree that the main effect of these security measures is to provide some assurance to the passengers that things are under control. Purely psychological, with little or no real value to prevent the next terrorist attack."
Chapter 3
The three men walked silently in single file, following the woman who was their leader, Hilde Schmidt. Although they were all in their early twenties and in good physical condition, they could barely keep up with her rapid pace. The moonless night was dark and cold, and the intermittent rain covered whatever sound their rubber soled combat boots made. When she was 20 meters from the barbed wire fence, she kneeled, making sure that she was hidden by the shrubbery from the patrol road on the other side of the fence. The three men followed suit and waited while she appeared to be listening for something. The bitter cold, that was not felt while they were trotting behind Hilde, almost numbed their limbs, and they tried to keep warm by snuggling into their camouflaged battle dresses and sticking their hands deep into their pockets. Moments later the distant sound of a jeep engine could be heard above the sound of the rain. Twin high beam headlights illuminated the patrol road, while the roof mounted projector scanned the fence. Hilde lifted her light machine gun and aimed it at the small gap in the fence. Her three mates imitated her motion and all four held their breath and watched the jeep approach. Hilde whispered, "Don't open fire until I do."
The sergeant who commanded the patrol kept urging the driver to slow down, but the young recruit just wanted to get out of the cold and back to the gatehouse, where a warm stove and a cup of hot coffee were awaiting him. He moaned, "Sergeant, Sir, in any case we cannot see anything through the rain and dirty plastic side window."
The sergeant had to admit that visibility was bad, but looked at the driver and barked, "Shut up and reduce your speed." He didn't realize that the three seconds he took his eyes off the fence to rebuke the driver were critical, and probably saved his life.
Hilde let out her breath. The patrol had not noticed the gap in the fence and the fact that the two lower strands of barbed wire had been severed. As soon as the taillights of the jeep were no longer visible, Hilde rose and started to walk towards the gap. She lay down of her belly and crawled forward holding the gun with one hand and making sure that the third wire didn't snag her clothes. She motioned for her men to follow and one by one they crawled across the fence. She rose and started trotting toward the nearest bunker. The steel door was impressively strong and would probably withstand the blast of an artillery shell or even an explosive charge. Hilde didn't worry about that. She removed a large key from her pocket, slid it into the slot and unlocked the large door as if entering her apartment. Once the door was open, the man behind her drew a flashlight out of his backpack and shone the beam of light over the large space. The light showed a dozen wooden boxes, painted grey, with the familiar markings that left no doubt as to their content. The international sign for radioactive materials was clearly seen. The three men suddenly realized where Hilde had led them — not to a bunker with conventional munitions, as they had expected, but to something much more awesome and perilous. Hilde smiled, "So, the drunk corporal was telling the truth. This bunker is used to store nuclear artillery shells. It's a pity that they are too heavy for us to carry. We'll have to come back with proper lifting equipment."
It was Friday night, and many American servicemen were enjoying the beginning of the weekend by drinking German beer and trying to pick-up local girls. The young crowd became more and more rowdy in direct correlation with the amount of alcohol consumed. Hilde spotted her target — a handsome corporal who stood at the bar and evidently had trouble lifting the large beer mug and bringing it to his mouth. Hilde came to his help, put her left arm around his shoulder, making sure that he could feel the slight pressure of her left breast, and brought her right hand around his chest. She picked up the heavy mug and made sure that it reached his lips. He took a large gulp and managed to thank the gorgeous blonde angel who came like a godsend to his rescue. Before he could pass out right there and then, Hilde helped him off the bar stool and led him to her car.
He woke up the next morning and thought he had died and had gone directly to heaven. The blonde angel, whose face he could barely recall, was lying next to him on the bed. The warm eiderdown covered most of her body, but from the parts he could see, he gathered that she was not wearing anything beyond what was given to her by God himself. He got out of bed and felt his way to the bathroom. After urinating and splashing water over his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit but couldn't wipe the huge smile off his face when he thought of what must have happened the previous night. He had totally forgotten that he chatted about his job in the US Army, and how he took the large key out of his pocket, swung it by its chain and boasted that he had the power to wipe out several cities, and millions of people.
Hilde was woken up by the sound of the water running in the bathroom. She, too, had a large smile on her face, but for a different reason. The handsome corporal was too drunk to give a grand performance in bed the previous night but made up for it in the morning. However, the secrets he revealed while drunk were more satisfying than anything that a man's body could do. She wasn't quite sure that the key he flung around was really anything more than a key to a regular bunker, but nevertheless she took an imprint on putty-dough. When he returned from the bathroom, she lifted the side of the eiderdown and beckoned for him to return to her side.