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"Forget the Americans, Avi — we need to get on the offense." Yossi Ben Ramon, the fifty-eight-year-old, take-no-prisoners, chain-smoking head of Israel's internal security forces known as the Shin Bet, was furious. He hadn't slept all night. He and his team had suffered one disas trous failure after another, hour after hour. Scores of Israelis were dead and critically wounded as a result. And then came the crisis on the Temple Mount. Ben Ramon wanted Palestinian heads to roll, not his own. He was pushing for a crushing invasion of the West Bank and Gaza within the hour.
Mossad chief Avi Zadok wasn't so sure. Somehow, they'd been spared the worst-case scenario on the Temple Mount. The Dome and the mosque were intact, effectively untouched and unharmed. It had been a bloody affair. It exposed serious deficiencies in Shin Bet's domestic intelligence gathering and analysis. And it had given them all a terrifying reminder of just how serious an unthwarted Jewish terrorist attack against such revered Islamic religious sites would be. Israel again, somehow, had dodged a bullet. They should be grateful, not foolish. Now was not the time to send fifteen or twenty thousand troops into Palestinian strongholds — certainly not to distract attention from Yossi Ben Ramon's incompetence. Now was the time to sit tight and ride out the storm.
Prime Minister David Doron sat behind the large conference table and listened to his senior aides battle it out. At this point, the room was split. On the pro-invasion side were Ben Ramon and General Uri "the Wolf" Ze'ev, Chief of Staff of the Israeli Defense Forces. On the anti-invasion side were Defense Minister Chaim Modine and Brigadier General Yoni Barak, head of Aman, Israeli military intelligence. The foreign minister and deputy prime minister were both out of the country, in London and Moscow, respectively. The rest of the Security Cabinet members were still on their way.
Doron knew he didn't have much time. Israelis were calling for blood, and understandably so. The past few hours had seen the worst terrorist attacks inside of the Green Line in nearly five years, not counting the "four horsemen" attack on Jon Bennett's team inside Jerusalem the month before.
"Mr. President, I'm afraid we've got something else."
"Can it wait? We need to make a decision and get to the Israelis ASAP."
"I realize that, Mr. President," Kirkpatrick concurred. "But this is an extremely serious development, and it may have bearing on what you decide."
"All right, just make it fast."
Kirkpatrick gave the floor to Defense Secretary Burt Trainor.
"Mr. President, last night one of our patrols operating in Western Iraq intercepted a convoy of three vehicles headed for the Syrian border. The convoy was preparing to fire a surface-to-air missile at one of our Apache helicopters. That vehicle and its occupants were destroyed. The lead vehicle attempted to evade capture. It opened fire on a second Apache. It, too, was neutralized."
"And?" MacPherson pressed, eager to get to the point. "Sir, the middle vehicle was stopped. Its two occupants were captured and taken into custody. For the past twenty-four hours or so, we've been inter rogating the prisoners and trying to confirm their identities. Turns out, we hit the jackpot."
"Who'd you get?" asked the vice president.
"Both are senior members of the fedayeen forces. What's interesting about these two — particularly the one named Daoud Juma — is that they're both Pal estinian. They're both responsible for training Palestinian suicide bombers." "That's about right," Jack Mitchell nodded. "Go on," said the president.
"We believe Juma is the head of the fedayeen forces, responsible for en gineering the deaths of more than four hundred people worldwide, mostly Jews and Christians. One of the reasons he's been so effective and stealthy over the years is that he does much of his terrorist training outside the borders of Iraq, mostly in the Bekaa Valley, along the border of Lebanon and Syria." "OK, I'm with you, Mr. Secretary," said the president with genuine ap apreciation. "But connect the dots here. What's the immediate threat?" "Mr. President, we've been interrogating Daoud Juma pretty intensely over the past day, as well as the other guy we captured with him, a guy who appears to be Juma's senior deputy. A few hours ago, the deputy began to break." "What'd he say?"
"He says a massive new terrorist operation is being planned against the U.S."
The mood throughout the Situation Room and Gaza Station instantly darkened.
"Over the next few days, we're looking at two dozen Palestinian suicide bombers attempting to infiltrate the homeland to attack civilian population centers."
"Oh, my God," gasped the president.
"What kind of targets are we talking about?" asked DHS Secretary James. "Mr. Secretary, the targets we've identified so far include New York, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Los Angeles, Dallas, Atlanta, Miami, and Or-lando. But we must add that there may be targets we don't know about." "Orlando?" Bennett interrupted.
"Disney World would be our guess," the defense secretary responded. "But I can't confirm that. Not yet."
McCoy's stomach tightened. She quickly looked over at Bennett and could read the anxiety on his face. They'd both been trying to call Bennett's mom every few hours to let her know Jon was safe. But neither had gotten through.
Perhaps Ruth Bennett was staying with friends. Perhaps she'd gone to see her sister in Buffalo. There were any number of reasons why she wasn't home, or wasn't answering, and none of them were necessarily bad. But sharp pains again began shooting through Bennett's stomach.
"Go on, Burt," said the president, his anger rising at the thought of a wave of suicide bombers coming to unleash their evil on his country.
"Well, sir, as of this moment we can't confirm many of the operational details. We can confirm the basic outline of the original — and I stress, original— plan. As we understand it, the original plan called for teams to begin slipping out of Iraq and into Syria. We don't know if any operatives have already left. We're working on several angles, and the interrogations continue."
"When are we talking about?" asked FBI director Scott Harris.
"It's sketchy, but I think we're probably looking at New Year's Eve. But again, we must be clear that the attacks may not be linked to any specific day or event at all."
"Mr. President?"
It was Bennett.
"Yes, Jon?"
"Sir, I hate to bother you with this, especially right now, but—"
"What is it, Jon? You don't look so good."
"Mr. President, it's just that… well, sir, my mother lives in Orlando."
"I know. Did you call her like I—"
MacPherson stopped in midsentence. The moment seemed to freeze in time. The president suddenly registered what Bennett was saying.
"Tell me you've been in touch with her, Jon. Tell me you called her."
"I've been calling every few hours. So has Erin. There's been no answer, sir. I'm trying to tell myself there's a reasonable explanation, but now…"
The president turned to Scott Harris and ordered the FBI to work with Orlando P.D. to figure out what was going on. Maybe there was a simple explanation. But everyone now feared the worst. They had a serious crisis brewing, and Orlando might just be the tip of the iceberg.
MacPherson forced himself to stay focused.
"How will they get to the U.S.?" he asked.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs took that one.
"The evidence our teams have pieced together from Daoud Juma's vehicle, laptop and cell phone — together with the interviews with Juma and the driver — suggest the teams will make their way to Canada and Mexico, infiltrate our borders, and prepare to strike," said General Mutschler. "What's not clear is whether they'll link up with sleeper agents here, or operate on their own."