Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (60 page)

            Ten
days earlier a select team of fewer people convened.  Its agenda was:

“A
nuclear Iran and the threat of nuclear missiles.”

            The
meeting was called after reliably informed reports were received about a huge
underground arms depot near the Bushehr reactors. These reports came from
Salamas, the ‘Mossad’ agent, who had managed to work his way into the Iranian
army to a high rank and get himself placed with the warehouse workforce.

            San
said:

           
“
I’d
like to quote something, so listen,”  He said, looking at them with his one
eye.

“Long
range strategic missiles with nuclear warheads are produced at this location.”

            Zaguri
argued:

            “It
sounds totally unfounded and inaccurate.  Where did you get that story?”

            “From
an eye-witness report.”

            “Okay,
then it must be a mistake,” Zaguri insisted.  “They say that the Iranians have
not yet reached a level of enrichment that would make the production of a
warhead like that possible.”

            “They
say?  Who says?  I’m talking about an eye-witness report and you’re relying
on…”

            “What
are you talking about when you say, ‘Who says?’ The American Institute for
Science and International Security, ISIS.  That’s who says! And they estimate
that only in another two to four months will Iran produce enough uranium to
produce a nuclear device.”

            ”Zaguri,
you drive me nuts, sometimes,” San said.  "Do you find this evaluation more
soothing than the report we received?  Believe me, I also read exactly the same
item as you in the ‘Washington Post” that quoted what someone at ISIS said.”

            "Oh,
come on, really!  If we don’t believe that they are speaking on the basis of
reliable checks, what is the point of continuing to take note of their
evaluations?”

            “If
we assume that the reports we received are accurate," said Barak, "how
can we estimate the time Teheran requires to produce a prototype of a nuclear
warhead?”

            ”Yes,
there is one, but they claim that they need many more months.  I would neither
rely nor bet on that, especially since I live here, in Israel.”

            “Good,
so let’s focus on what we received – information I’m prepared to bet on more
readily than the results of the American Institute’s inspections.”

            Foxy
looked around the room and said:

            “Let’s
send one of our people there to locate this warehouse and we will present the
facts.”

            Barak glanced at San, who
was surly and seemed to be deep in thought because he heard him say:

            “Right,
our Lucy.”

            “What
about her?” Barak raised his head and looked at him.

            “I
suggest we send Lucy there,” San said.

            “Why
not?!”  Barak exploded, "Why don’t you just send someone there to kill
her, that’s all.”

            He
lowered his voice and hissed:

            “I
think if I remind you of the “Water” operation that she is working on, you will
let her off going in search of that arms’ warehouse.”

            Michael
interrupted.

            “Listen,
all of you, I know where she is operating right now and I estimate that
warehouse is close to her present location,” and Barak groaned as he said.

            “We
are talking about two assignments that are just too big for her to take on
alone…”

            San
nodded and looked at him as he said:

            “I
have an idea.  After all, we have a great agent working there at the very heart
of things.”  He didn’t mention Salamas’ name on purpose. 

            “We
only have to contact him to get them to cooperate,” and when he saw that Barak
was about to respond, he added:

            “And
I suggest we end this discussion right now because it’s becoming too personal
and is digressing from the point.”

            When
the others dispersed, Barak spoke, without looking at San:

            "She
is going to give birth, as I recall, in another four months and after the assignment
I am going to arrange for her to fly home.”

            “You
mean both of them,” San replied.

            “I
don’t believe that she will survive both of them.  We are overdoing it.”

            “Hey,
cool it. Let’s be positive rather than negative.”

            “How
did I express it?  When she disappears from the screens – our systems prepare
for an attack.”  He said.

            Barak
tried to speak dispassionately about the smiling agent with the dimples, the
one that stole his heart a long time ago.

            “So
what, should you be angry with her that she disappeared without your
permission?” San asked, and saw how Barak cringed.  He could imagine what was
going through his mind and spoke gently:

            “Okay,
I understand, but when she returns – marry her and get off our backs, ha?”

*
* *

            Dawn
broke slowly and illuminated the solitary figure lying on the ground, lost in
the enormous expanse of the wilderness.

            Noise
overhead made her open her eyes and she saw two helicopters flying in the
direction of the reactors.  Abigail looked back and saw the great distance she
had covered at night. She thought that even if they found her here, it would
not occur to anyone that just a few hours earlier, she had been in the cooling
chamber of reactor number 1.

            Not
for even a minute did she imagine that they had noticed her from afar and were
waiting for her.

            The
damage in the number 1 reactor, where she had operated, was huge because the
temperature in the core of the reactor had already risen to a level that could
not be cooled down.

            Initially,
they tried to connect the failed power system to the giant generators and make
coolant water flow to the boiling core of the reactor.  When, for a moment, it
appeared that they had succeeded in connecting them, they noticed that the
coolant was not flowing because of the damage no one knew about. The engineers simply
lost any control of the procedures.

            In
the minutes that followed, a chain reaction began to build up in the core.  The
temperature continued to rise and led to the unavoidable explosion, which was
so great that it shattered what was left standing after the earthquake.  As a
result of the explosion bricks and segments of the building flew in the air,
were flung in every direction and hit the adjacent buildings.

            A
fire broke out in the boiling core of reactor number 3, which was made of
graphite and the fire caused it to melt.  This core melted first and was
followed by damage to reactor number 5.

            The
temperature in the remaining reactors continued to climb, and in a last attempt
to control them, an order was given to bring in water from the Caspian Sea. 
Containers hanging from below giant helicopters siphoned water from the sea,
but even the large quantity of water was unable to cool the reactors or prevent
their overheating because of its mineral content and their salinity.

            In
the pools containing the nuclear fuel rods, the water level fell below the red
line.  Flames began to lick the building and rise from the reactors.  Further
explosions were heard from all over the place until the order to abandon the
premises was given.

            In
the minutes that followed two trucks arrived and people were evacuated from the
building and quickly disappeared into them.  A half-hour later helicopters
landed near the reactors.  The wounded were laid on doors that had fallen from
their hinges and were used as stretchers to load them onto the helicopters that
flew off.  By one hour after midnight, the nuclear structure was empty.  Only
the crackle of fire consuming the surroundings illuminated the ruins in shades
of red and orange.

            Nothing
about the meltdown of the reactors at Bushehr was published at first.  Then,
stories that began to appear in the world press were denied.  The authorities
in Iran pretended nothing of any importance had occurred.  Afterward, they grudgingly
began to admit the reactor buildings had been cracked or damaged.  They claimed
it was caused by the earthquake and blamed this force majeure, but  the
disaster was so severe that they could no longer suppress or deny it.     

A week later an official announcement
was made informing of an explosion at the six Bushehr nuclear reactors, which were
entirely put out of action.  No one thought that in spite of succeeding in
connecting the generators, no coolant could chill the terrible heat because of the
narrow tubes that had been sabotaged in reactor number 1.

The stench of smoke and burnt metal
filled the air and Abigail curled up on the ground, trembling with cold. At the
break of dawn, she strained her eyes to see into the distance and check out her
location, but she only saw empty desert sands.

            Beneath
her, she felt a rhythmic beat, like galloping horses and when she shaded her
eyes with her hand, she could discern horses’ ears bobbing far away just above
the horizon.  Later, their dancing heads were visible, followed by a cloud of
dust and, finally, as they galloped closer the figure of Ali Akhbar appeared
standing on the cart and holding the reins.

            When
he reached her, he reined in the horses and they stopped, shaking their bridles
and snorting.  He looked at her from above and declared proudly:

            “We
promised, and here we are.”

He
extended his arm and helped her climb up the wooden steps to the seat.

            Abigail
was exhausted and paid no attention to his remarks.  She just stared at the
rear of the horses galloping ahead of her and the dust their hooves were
kicking up.  She raised the flap of her hijab to cover her mouth and nose and
didn’t hear the clatter of the cart behind her.

            Akhbar
turned back to the wagon, picked up a sack and laid it on her knees.  Abigail
stared at the bag and at the man. The aroma of bread brought a smile to her
face.  Only now, did she feel how hungry she was but, when she felt inside the
sack, her fingers touched a smooth greasy lump that could be squeezed like
plasticine.  She peeked inside, saw the brown paper wrapping around the lump
and looked up in surprise at the cart driver alongside her.  Abigail grimaced,
knowing that what she had just seen was an explosive device, but he turned to
look at the road and just said:

            “Yes,
you can also eat some bread.”

            Abigail
cupped the bread and tore off a piece with her hands, and saw a silvery tube peeped
out of it. She removed the dough on top of it and saw a small opening through
which a yellowish liquid appeared. She recognized that it was a detonator, but
on this moment she became aware of something else and murmured.

            “Just
a minute, you…you came after the accident at the big Urmia intersection,
right?”

            All
at once, she connected all the details of what had transpired.  The gray car
that arrived after the accident on the sidewalk, the keys that were left in the
ignition of the idling car and also, Salamas, who drove for hours to take her
to Baku.  Her fatigued brain caught on that she was not alone in this
assignment but surrounded by people from the organization, who appear at different
stages.

            “Eat,”
he told her, “that’s real bread and there is also butter and a washed pear, not
like the one
that rolled about in the cart.”

            “Where
are we going now?” she asked, holding the bread but unable to eat it.  Akhbar
didn’t respond because he didn’t know.

            He
had been told no more than to come and take her out of this enormous wilderness
and he had no idea what she had done before then.  Ali Akhbar served as another
lone link in the chain from there to Ramat Gan in Israel.

            Abigail
pulled the lump of plasticine out of the sack, peered at the man beside her and
made sure that his eyes were on the road. She turned her back to him, pushed
the device against her skin, under the silvery protective dress and pressed and
flattened it forcefully.  Then she connected the tube she had removed from the
loaf of bread and pulled it all under her bra.

            The
tops of palm trees and palm fronds peeped out in the distance, followed by the
domes of mosques.  Here and there straggly bushes successfully persisted and pushed
their stems up out of the sand.  Suddenly, she saw a mound of sand, somewhat
different in color from the rest of the area.  It was a hill that did not match
the vast plateau and Abigail blinked with surprise.

            They
passed close to the hill when in a sudden there was heard a single shot. Ali
Akhbar pushed Abigail back and the speed with which he drew his weapon was very
surprising.  An orange flash burst out of his revolver but missed and hit one
of his horses, which neighed and collapsed on the spot.  The cart continued its
progress, dragging the injured animal on the sand and capsized onto its side. 
The second horse rose in the air, kicking its front legs, and uttered cries of
fear.  The reins slipped and went under the overturned cart and stretched like
taut strings from the horse’s mouth.

            Someone
ran and aimed a gun at them, but Abigail was no longer on the wagon.  She had
climbed below it, pulled out her tiny knife and waited.  The man came right up
to the overturned cart and scoured every yard around it in his search.  As soon
as he stood under the raised belly of the neighing horse, Abigail cut the reins
that were stretched like rubber.  The horse that weighed several hundred pounds
dropped on top of the man and crushed him.

            She
heard Ali Akhbar yell:

            “Run,
escape, he’s not alone!”  And when she looked at him, she saw that he was
wounded and heard him say something and understood that he was talking to her
in Hebrew:

            “A
helicopter will await you at Baku, at seven o’clock in the hospital courtyard.”

            The
shot that followed hit Ali Akhbar in his forehead.  His head recoiled and he
fell.  The gunman stood over him and turned slowly with his smoking gun to
Abigail, taking aim with steady hands.  Someone shouted and called his name and
he turned his head towards two other men, who appeared from behind the hill,
but continued aiming his gun at her head.

            Abigail
remained facing them, her back to the capsized cart, and wondered how she could
cope with three people in such a barren place with nowhere to hide.  They came
closer and she almost screamed, because she recognized that one of them was
Salamas, the man with the short beard, who had driven her to Naka.

            A
funny thought went through her head. Perhaps, she might even make it to the
hospital courtyard in Baku by seven o’clock but, just then, Salamas lunged at
her and she froze in disbelief and did not resist.  Roughly, he pulled her arms
behind her and tied them together, then placed a black scarf around her head
and covered her eyes.  While he was busy with the scarf, she heard him whisper
into her hair, from behind:

            “Don’t
put up a fight, we’ll get you out of this.”

            The
truth was that the people there had been waiting for Abigail for many hours and
had been following her tensely the whole night.

            It
began the night before at midnight and started with the explosions at the
nuclear reactor located some fifteen kilometers from them. The guards had
surveyed the area between them and the burning reactors through binoculars by
the light of the stars, that shine very brightly in the total darkness.  They
were able to see the figure of Abigail, walking alone across the endless
wilderness.

            “Someone
survived the explosions!” Nabil yelled, “Wait, it’s a woman.”

            “Another
guard arrived, also looked through the binoculars and shouted:

            “Oh
wow, she came out of there alone.  I think we should shoot her.”

            “I
have a better idea.  Instead of killing her now, let’s wait for her here and
we’ll see when she gets here.  Where can she go from here?  She has to pass
this way.”

            The
binoculars were fixed in a short concrete tunnel, through which they followed
what was happening outside. Nabil sat there and kept in touch with the only
person walking in front of them.  Two armed guards walked around the hill,
ready to receive information that might indicate a change in the survivor’s
route.

            At five o’clock, when dawn
was about to break, one of the guards yelled that a cart and horses had come
from the direction of the city and the woman had climbed on it.  Nabil ran out
immediately and pressed against the right side of the hill, his weapon drawn in
his hand, ready to shoot them the moment they were facing them.  Salamas joined
him quickly, knowing very well who was in the cart.  He hoped to rescue the
woman, as he had been asked to do in an urgent communication he received a day
earlier.

            Now,
when he finished tying the scarf over her eyes, he pushed her from behind and
steered her forward, into the tunnel opening.  Abigail sensed the heat
surrounding her and from the musty smell of mold she realized she was in a
place that sunlight never reached.  Someone threw her on the ground and she
heard footsteps moving away.  Her thoughts raced crazily.  She recalled they
had traveled through an uninhabited wasteland without even a single wall and
this morning, a hill suddenly appeared in this desert terrain. It must have
risen here only to hide or disguise something beneath it.

            Abigail
shook her hands that were tied behind her back and discovered that the tie was
loose, understood that Salamas had failed to strengthen it on purpose.  She
freed her hand, pulled the scarf down exposing one eye and saw she was sitting on
the sand, surrounded by metal parts and large missile cones, arranged on
pallets – each on a separate pallet.  She stared at the weapons in terror,
because she recognized the symbols on them that signified they had nuclear
warheads and understood they were, to all intents and purposes, nuclear bombs.