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  The attractive African American woman pulled her glasses from her nose and gently laid them on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Mr. President,” she said in her crisp cadence. “As you know, we received a second ultimatum from The Brotherhood of One Nation, which has since been verified by the CIA as genuine. They are demanding a complete withdrawal of our military from all countries which they deem ‘Islamic lands’ in three days—or to be precise, sixty hours from now.”

  “When pigs fly,” Secretary Whitaker grumbled half to himself.

  Home glanced at the Defense Secretary, but continued in her same dry tone. “General Fischer can elaborate, but it is doubtful we could achieve anywhere close to the sort of timetable they have imposed upon us. And even if logistically we could pull our troops back, the potential for destabilization in the regions—especially the Middle East—is difficult to conceive.”

  Katherine Thomason leaned forward in her chair. “Leaving us where, Dr. Horne?” she asked.

  Home nodded to the Secretary, showing far more patience for her interjection than Whitaker’s. “Before we go there, Madam Secretary, we should hear from our colleagues at the CIA. They have other news.” She turned and raised a hand toward the end of the table. “Director Daley?”

  Jackson Daley leaned forward in his seat. “I think our DDO, Alex Clayton, has prepared something for the members of the NSC.”

  Clayton rose and buttoned up his suit jacket. “Thank you.” He stepped away from his chair and walked to the far end of the table, standing just to Haldane’s left and close enough that Noah could smell his expensive cologne.

  Clayton pushed a button on the remote in his hand, and the same map of Somalia from his office appeared on the screen beside him. “Late last night, we heard from our field agents in northern Somalia that they think they have located The Brotherhood of One Nation’s operations base. ”

  Murmurs erupted around the table. And Andrea Home tapped the tabletop to quiet the group. “Please go on, Mr. Clayton,” she said.

  “Our operatives spoke to two men, both local militia members, in the town of Hargeysa. Independently, the two locals confirmed the existence of a base ten miles northwest of the city.”

  Clayton used a laser pointer to circle Hargeysa on the color map. He moved the red point in a diagonal line up from the city. “Here, at the foot of the Karkaar Mountains, there is an abandoned military complex, including an old hospital. Our informants tell us that starting five or six weeks ago several Arab men began to move supplies into this base. The informants were paid as drivers and guards for these men, but they were never allowed within half a mile of the compound itself. They assumed it was used for drug trafficking.”

  “Why?” Ted Hart asked him, clicking his pen as if it were a lighter.

  “For starters,” Clayton said, “there is no other reason to set up a base in this remote region. No legitimate one, anyway. They used similar trucks and followed similar supply routes from Mogadishu as do the smugglers and traffickers, but we believe this was a deliberate ruse to throw off our satellites. Most convincingly, one of the informants peeked under the tarps in one of the trucks. He saw animal cages and lab-type equipment, which he assumed belonged to a drug lab. Several of the other boxes were postmarked for Algeria. And we know a shipment of scientific supplies went missing from Algeria around the same time.”

  Clayton clicked his remote and the Somali map gave way to topographical photographs that Haldane recognized as satellite images. “We have reviewed the surveillance photos.” Clayton continued to click the remote, and scattered dots over the arid savannah gave way to the distinct images of a dirt road and a building. As he clicked, the lens zoomed in on the building until it filled most of the screen. Two trucks and four Jeeps were parked behind it. Two people stood out front. The photo only captured the tops of their covered heads, but both men wore fatigues and had rifles slung over their shoulders. “This base is protected from the north and west by the Karkar Mountains. It is heavily guarded in the other direction.” He flashed through a series of photographs, which showed what looked like fields of barbed wire and sentry posts scattered across the terrain. In other shots, armed soldiers stood at their posts with weapons readied.

  Ted Hart coughed. “Alex, how do you know this doesn’t house some kind of other illegal operation—drug traffickers, smugglers, and so on?”

  Clayton nodded respectfully. “Because, Mr. Secretary, according to our informers, the men they met are all ex-Egyptians. And they are all devout Muslims who roll out prayer mats five times a day.” Clayton tapped a button in his hand, and the screen filled with the satellite snapshot of a soldier bowing prostrated over a mat. “Not consistent with typical drug smugglers. As well, their sporadic movement suggests that they do not transport anything of significance.” He corrected himself. “Aside from infected terrorists.”

  Clayton hit a button and the screen went blank. “The pieces all fit.” He listed the points with his fingers. “Missing lab supplies from Algeria. Egyptian soldiers in Somalia. And a fortified hospital lab at the foot of a mountain range.” He nodded confidently. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is The Brotherhood of One Nation’s lair.”

  “Are you certain all the terrorists are still in there, though?” Secretary Thomason asked with a disarming smile.

  Clayton’s head dropped slightly. “All of them, ma’am?” He shook his head. “We can’t know that.”

  Andrea Home stood up from her chair. “If we are going to act upon this intelligence, every moment we wait adds to the risk,” Home said, putting her half-frame glasses back on, though she had nothing to read. “I would like to turn the floor to General Fischer who will now share the military options.”

  Up to this point, Haldane noticed that the white-haired, well-decorated army general, and chairman of the Joint Chiefs, had sat perfectly still for the discussion. He rose unhurriedly to his feet, reaching no higher than five feet eight inches when standing. “Well, folks,” General Fischer said in his homespun Texan drawl, “we had about an hour to come up with an operational plan, so you’ll forgive me if the presentation is not as polished as that of our good friends from the CIA.” He turned to one of the other generals at the table. “General Osborne, would you be so kind as to get the clicker for me? Thank you, sir.”

  Clayton passed the remote down the table until it reached General Osborne. He pressed two buttons and a map showing East Africa, the Middle East, and the Indian Ocean between them replaced the satellite imagery.

  General Fischer pointed a stubby finger at the screen. “The most expeditious choice would have been a precision air strike on the compound, but as we understand it visual confirmation of the site contents is vital.” He chuckled. “Tough to count terrorists and germs after a bunker buster has dropped in on them.

  “So the question becomes: how do we get our special ops forces to the site in one lightning strike. General Osborne...” On the map two upside down Vs appeared in the Indian Ocean. “We have two aircraft carriers, the Lincoln and the Eisenhower, in the region now. The Eisenhower, in particular, is in spitting distance of the coast of Somalia.”

  Though Haldane maintained a healthy suspicion of military people, he warmed to the soft-spoken general who was nothing like the humorless robot he had expected. He found Fischer’s presentation strangely reassuring, realizing the nation wasn’t quite as impotent as she had earlier seemed.

  “We also have a base in Yemen, just outside Aden at the tip of the Arabian Peninsula.” Fischer accentuated each vowel in “peninsula.” “It’s less than three hundred miles from there to our target. And as luck would have it, our elite Delta Force is stationed nearby. We can easily fly the boys across the Gulf of Aden to Hargeysa. With F16s from the Lincoln and Eisenhower flying support, we can transport them over in C-17s along with long-range assault helicopters. The other chiefs and I agree this is the best option. Really, the only option. General...”

  A dotted line took off from the tip of Yemen, arc
ed over the Gulf of Aden, and continued inland a few miles over the Karkar Mountains, stopping just short of Hargeysa. The compact, white-haired general again shook his finger at the map. “There’s an airfield west of Hargeysa, which we will secure first to bring in supplies and ground forces. However” he emphasized in a slow drawl. “We cannot afford so much as one infected terrorist sneaking off their base. So the original assault has to be carried out with stealth and lightning speed. General ...”

  Fischer waited while the slide changed on the screen to a more detailed map centered on the hospital base. A dotted red line formed around the base. “The air force and navy fighters will establish a kill zone from the air within a three-mile radius of the base.” Several Xs appeared south and west of the base. “An advance team of paratroopers will land and secure the perimeter. From the western airstrip, the rest of the ground troops—Army Rangers, Delta Force, and other special ops forces—will join them. Once in position, they will execute a three-pronged assault on the compound from the east, west, and south.” The old man’s lips cracked into a smile. “We’re calling it: Operation Antiseptic.”

  “What size force will we required?” Secretary Whitaker asked gruffly,

  “The operation will involve 200 paratroopers, 800 other ground troops, and 150 aircraft, give or take.”

  “And the time needed to secure the base?” Whitaker demanded.

  Fischer nodded. “From the moment we leave Yemen, the plan is to secure the compound within ninety minutes. One-twenty tops.”

  The President leaned forward in his chair. “When will you be ready, General?”

  “We can be ready in twelve hours, sir, which would make it roughly 0200 in Somalia.”

  A senator, whose name escaped Haldane, spoke up. “And what if one or two of the terrorists sneak out of the compound with the virus?”

  “As I said, Senator,” Fischer said. “If something so much as twitches in the desert, we’re going to know about it. Any unauthorized personnel outside of the compound will be neutralized.”

  Secretary Thomason touched the base of her pen to her lips. “General Fischer, this is a very well thought out plan.” She smiled gracefully. “But it does not address the very likely possibility that some of the terrorists may have already left the base with their virus.”

  Fischer turned to National Secretary Advisor Home with a shrug.

  “A valid point, Madam Secretary.” Horne nodded. “That is why we have invited our counter-bioterrorism experts to the meeting.” She looked over at Gwen. “Dr. Savard, can you bring us up to speed on the state of our preparedness in the event of a viral assault.”

  Savard nodded and rose from her chair. “We have already enacted our Emergency Response Plan to Biological Attack, or ERPBA, in every urban center.” With the confident poise Haldane had come to expect from her, Gwen outlined the specifics of the plan for the members of the NSC. She spoke of the country’s readiness to face mass casualties, but emphasized the possibility that resources could be overwhelmed, especially if the virus spread to health-care workers. She paused to take a deep breath, and then looked directly at the President. “There is one other potential breakthrough. We have an experimental drug that is showing promise in early testing with the Gansu Flu. As I speak, arrangements are being made to manufacture the drug on a mass scale. We should have a reasonable stockpile in one week.”

  “Are you certain this drug will work?” Thomason asked.

  “No, we are not, Madam Secretary,” Gwen said unflinchingly.

  Home looked at Noah with a quizzical frown. “Dr. Haldane, do you have anything to add?”

  He swallowed. “I think Dr. Savard’s team has done wonders in preparing the country as well as can be expected.” He shrugged. “And I think CNN has done a commendable job in scaring the bejesus out of most Americans.”

  There was a scattering of laughter.

  “Fear is an advantage in this situation, as it will keep many people behind closed doors and help diminish spread.” Haldane looked down at the table. “But without knowing the size and methods of their ‘army of martyrs,’ it is impossible to predict the outcome. Despite the best of preparations, the human toll could still be catastrophic.”

  Owen spoke up. “Mr. President, there is one other security measure that might be worth considering.” She looked to her boss, Ted Hart, who nodded approval. “If the operation goes ahead, I think we should temporarily suspend all flights into and out of the U.S., like we did after 9/11. And the same goes for the ports and borders.”

  “To all travelers?” the President asked, but he didn’t seem too surprised by the suggestion.

  “All but official ones,” Savard said.

  “And I think we need to convince Canada to do the same,” Ted Hart weighed in. “As you know, much of our four-thousand mile shared border is unprotected, so we need the Canadians on board, here.”

  The President nodded. “I will talk to the Prime Minister.”

  By raising her pen in front of her, Secretary Thomason caught the President’s eye. “Sir, this is all good and well, but if one single detail goes wrong with Operation Antiseptic, we will provoke an attack on the country of a scale which we have never before seen.”

  The President viewed her for a long time before responding. “Katherine, we have not provoked anyone.” His eyes fell to the table, and his voice dropped an octave. “I believe with my heart and soul that these terrorists are looking for an excuse to attack us.”

  Several nods and murmurs rose from around the table.

  “I don’t disagree,” Thomason said. “But it seems to me we have another option.”

  “Which is?” Whitaker snapped.

  “Their ultimatum doesn’t expire for two more days. Why not carry out reconnaissance on the base for the next twenty-four hours. We could stop anyone from coming or going. And in the meantime, we would have more time to establish whether this indeed is The Brotherhood’s base. And to ensure they are still there. By tomorrow, we would be better prepared to mount the assault.”

  Haldane found himself nodding along with some of the others.

  “Doubtful we’ll know any more in twenty-four hours than we do right now,” Whitaker grunted and pounded the table once with his fist “What we might end up doing is forfeiting our only advantage---the element of surprise.”

  General Fischer smiled benignly at Thomason. “Got to agree with Mr. Whitaker there. Wait till tomorrow, and we might find we’re closing the barn door once the horses have already left.”

  “If they haven’t already left now,” Thomason said quiedy.

  The table stilled, as if collectively realizing there was no more point in debating the issue. Only one person could make the decision.

  Haldane, along with everyone else at the table, turned his eyes to the President.

  CHAPTER 33

  HARGEYSA SOMALIA

  Hazzir Kabaal had not checked the Internet since before dinner. Up until then he had checked every five minutes, anticipating some kind of response from the Americans to The Brotherhood’s latest ultimatum. But during evening prayers. it came to him in the visceral form of a premonition that he was not going to hear an answer, at least not via the TV or Internet.

  Turning away from his computer, Kabaal sat at his desk and read from volume six of the mammoth masterpiece In the Shadow of the Koran, written by Sayyid Qutb. Qutb was the father of the modern Islamist movement. His written words, as much as those spoken by Sheikh Hassan, had moved Hazzir Kabaal toward his current course of action. Lately Kabaal found less solace than before in Qutb’s text One quote from the second chapter of the Koran troubled him in particular. It read: “Fight in the cause of God those who fight you, but do not transgress limits. For God loveth not transgressors.” If they had not yet transgressed the limits, Kabaal thought glumly, then surely Aziz’s supervirus would constitute such a transgression.

  After knocking at his open door, the white-coated Dr. Anwar Aziz walked in followed by Abdul Sabri
in military fatigues. In addition to his handgun, he now carried a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  Kabaal slipped the Qutb book into his desk and nodded to the two men. “Anwar, Abdul, welcome.”

  They walked up to his desk, but neither sat in the chairs in front. With eyes darting about, Aziz appeared more skittish than usual. Sabri’s face was as inexpressive as ever, though he seemed somehow frostier in disposition.

  “Your new virus, Dr. Aziz,” Kabaal said to the scientist, “it is ready for transport?”

  Aziz glanced nervously at Sabri before answering. “I believe so. We have inoculated eggs and several primate blood samples in which to carry it. Of course, I would have preferred more time and to have human serum samples but .. ” His voice trailed off.

  “They’re here, Hazzir,” Sabri said almost casually as he unshouldered his rifle and rested it against Kabaal’s antique oak desk.

  Kabaal squinted at Sabri. “Who is where?”

  “The Americans are in Hargeysa.” Sabri shrugged. “CIA, I imagine.”

  Kabaal sat up straighter. “How do you know this?”

  “Two strangers were asking questions of the men in the bars in town,” Sabri said. “They were trading drinks for information about us and our base. Who else would they be?”

  Kabaal nodded. “And you think they know where we are?”

  Sabri frowned as if the question struck him as idiotic. “Of course, they know.”

  Rather than alarm, the news brought a sense of calm to Kabaal like a feared prophecy whose realization could not match the terror of its anticipation. “But there were only two of them in Hargeysa?” Kabaal asked.

  Sabri shook his head and rolled his eyes contemptuously. “It starts with two spies, and ends with the entire might of the American army falling upon us.”

  Kabaal folded his arms across his chest. “What are you proposing we do, Major?”

  “I am not proposing anything, Hazzir,” he said unemotionally, but his pale blue eyes were ice. “I am telling you that we are leaving. Now.”