yet, but Georgia doesn’t export much to the US, and it’s usually in violation of the ITAR (International Trade and Arms Regulation). By the way, this is Rachael Aston from the Defense Department. Her office tries to counteract Nuclear Proliferation.”
Aston spoke for herself, “Actually Agent Gallagher, we are technically interested in all forms of weapons of mass destruction; chemical, biological and nuclear. Georgia occasionally exports wooden and agricultural products, and these shipments sometimes cover up illegal stuff. The local mafia controls the Government there, and we have to watch for WMDs.”
Luke was standing, “Well, actually, we haven’t found anything yet. Our theory is that something could have passed by US Customs inspections with the help of this guy Curran, but we’re not close to proving anything.”
The Secret Service man spoke. “Agent Gallagher, we want you and everyone involved to know that we have information that there may be smuggling of WMDs going on through Georgian ports. By the way, here’s my card.” His business card read: Stephan Lawrence, Special Advisor to the Secretary of Homeland Security.
Luke had not been expecting this. “Well, sounds like we need to be extra careful.”
Graves responded, “More than that, you have to be quick.”
Luke was annoyed, “Okay, will someone please tell us what’s going on? Why are so many Washington suits interested?”
Graves answered, “I’m afraid we can’t tell you more Agent until you get the correct security clearance.
“What! You tell me to make haste, but you can’t, tell me why?”
Sam interjected, “That will be all Luke, go back to your work and I’ll handle it from here.”
Luke was upset, but Sam reiterated, “Go back to your work Agent Gallagher, it’s not meant to be an insult, but we have to obey the law, and there are higher classified issues here. I’ll try to sanitize it for you later, if I can.” Luke said goodbye and walked back to his cubicle.
He was miffed at the rebuke and thinking about what he’d NOT learned.
Later that evening, the SAC called Luke back into his office with a stern look on his face, He asked Luke to close the door.
Sam said, “All right, there isn’t much detail I can give you about this, but I’ll try to make forty-thousand feet work. Luke, I’ve requested an upgrade to your clearance. In a few weeks, you should hear about it.”
“Sam, Angela is into this thing knee deep with me, she needs clearance also.”
“Luke, I’ll make the request. I hope she didn’t get busted for pot smoking or freshman hazing in college.”
“Okay chief, that sounds fair, and I don’t think she did anything as serious as you or I in school.”
“Look Luke, here’s what I can tell you. The truth is that there’s concern that nuclear weapons have entered the country. It could be highly speculative, or it could be hard facts, and I don’t think I’m cleared high enough to know for sure.
Luke said, “Nukes? Are they serious? What about drugs? Are they sure?”
“We may never know.”
To make matters worse, when he returned to his desk, there was a message from Officer Ruiz that a circuit court judge in McHenry County had ordered the release of the gunman.
Deception
Weeks earlier, it had been late when Hasan Abdul-Razzaq drove the old Peugeot 504 Diesel from a parking lot below the Hezbollah Security Headquarters in Beirut. The car was loud and belched smoke badly, and the clutch slipped. The steering rack was worn out and the brakes needed to be pumped to stop, but it was the only vehicle provided to him. It was unlicensed and probably stolen from along one of the battered streets. The owner was either dead, or the car was of such insignificant value that no one would even bother to look for it. He was alone and the condition of the car matched his driving skills. There were no cars when he was growing up, and he’d only driven a few times as an adult. He did not have a driver’s license.
It was much later than usual, past three in the morning. Despite his displeasure at transporting himself in dangerous streets, he felt good. He was confident of his rising stature within the militant organization. Tonight, the details of a daring raid into Northern Israel had come together nicely, following his plan. Using the extensive network of tunnels constructed beneath the Golan Heights border region in Northern Israel, it was possible to overwhelm an outpost near the Sea of Galilee and capture, rather than kill Israeli soldiers. In the bargaining that followed any capture of Israeli youths, hundreds of Palestinians could be freed. He had defined the objectives of the operation, which would carry his name. He smiled. Truly, Allah was smiling back on him. But, an even larger plan was underway against the Great Satan that would require his personal leadership. He was alone in the dark, but felt safe in the womb of the Muslim-controlled sector of the great city, the “Paris of the Middle East.”
One block away, two men had been sitting in a car, waiting impatiently. Mossad is the secret Israeli intelligence agency, respected and feared throughout the world. They had planned this mission carefully and executed with precise timing.
As Razzaq exited the garage, he turned left onto the street. There were no streetlights anywhere as he turned right, into a canyon between rows of buildings. Several vehicles converged, forming a roadblock on the deserted street. He saw the ambush developing and fear gripped him as his heart raced. Before he could react, another car slammed into the back hard enough to break the headrest. Stunned, he was immobile when the door glass was smashed. He wasn’t afraid to die, but before he could react, a needle punctured his aorta without sensation.
Hours later, he awoke in a large darkened building. He could have been anywhere. His head was spinning and throbbed dreadfully. He vaguely realized that he was in a hospital style bed with side rails. There were IV bags above him. Consciousness ebbed and flowed. He had no way to gauge time. During one lucid moment, he tried to lift his upper body, generating pain in his neck and extremities. He remembered the car wreck, but nothing afterward.
He slept lightly with a dim recollection of several people pulling him from the car and dragging him. Through semi-conscious delirium in the bed, he could see two people nearby. They were not dressed like medical people, and did not seem interested in him. Lying still, he could hear some of their dialogue, spoken in low tones--Hebrew! They were Israelis! He knew that they were not interested in his well-being. They would torture him! He knew that there would be no mercy. He remained motionless in the bed, assessing his physical condition. His cheek was bandaged and he could feel the itchy tightness of sutures closing different wounds.
One of his captors sounded frustrated. The man came over and gruffly pushed his left arm, which radiated pain from a large bruise. Razzaq grimaced but did not open his eyes. He rolled his head slightly and let out a groan, but not enough to indicate total consciousness. In Hebrew, he heard the man say he was removing the IVs presumably to stop sedatives or antibiotics. They wanted to begin their grim task. He assumed it was nighttime judging by the few windows he could see. No daylight. The building had the appearance of a large warehouse with a high ceiling, empty except for his bed and the table and chairs where his captors sat with a kerosene lantern.
Through the dim light, he overheard a brief discussion as the Israelis decided to take the lantern outside for more fuel. One said they needed to do it quickly before he woke. Razzaq knew he would only have this one chance to escape. As they moved away into the darkness, he rolled painfully to his left side, thankful that there were no restraints. Muscles ached as he sat upright. He could feel wounds on his arms, legs, torso and back that seemed to have been treated. He found it difficult to stand and needed a few seconds to steady himself with the IV stand. With only his underwear and a blanket, he made his way through the dark. In took several seconds to reach the back of the building. His eyes were able to adjust to the darkness, but he could barely see a window frame at eye level about ten feet to his
right. He used a chair to climb onto the sill. The window was hinged at the top and there was a handle allowing him to open it part way. At that moment, turning the handle, he was expecting to feel the searing pain of bullets in his back. But, nothing happened. He turned the handle and leaned over the sill, falling onto the alleyway behind the building.
The narrow ally was lined with other darkened buildings. The area seemed disserted. He stumbled along the wall of a building across the drive for about fifty feet until he found an unlocked doorway. Slipping inside, he crept ahead cautiously in the dark hurting his feet on shards and other unseen trash on the floor. It was cluttered with rubble and he could only navigate by feel. He moved deeper into the building to a place where he felt safe to hide until dawn. The Israelis would not want to be noticed in the city, daylight could mean safety for him.
National Security
The day after the meeting with Sam Lee, Rachael Aston returned to the FBI field office. Luke was at his desk early when Sam invited him in to meet with her again.
After greetings, she said, “Luke, I’m with the Office of Army Intelligence, working on a project with other agencies engaged in counter-terrorism.” He was listening intently.
“Our team is working