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The sun’s dying embers slipped below the horizon as darkness fell. Candles in the deserted beach shack threw a wavering dimness on proceedings. Mohammed Deif entered the shack and instantly killed off the conversation. His three lieutenants were already in attendance. All four had spent the best part of the day ensuring no tails had tracked them to their remote venue.

It had been a terrible few years for Al Qassam. The retribution by Israel on all groups for the attack on her children had been devastating. Over 80% of the brigade had been captured, tortured and killed. However, the majority of those had been in the previous year. It was no secret that Israel was aware of the nuclear devices the Sheikh had offered Al Qassam. The Sheikh’s spies had uncovered that truth shortly after their meeting a year earlier. Somehow, the Israelis had listened into the whole meeting and knew the plan; the force with which they had responded was overwhelming. The retribution for her children paled into insignificance compared to what the Israelis had unleashed. All non Jews had been expelled instantly from Israel, even Jerusalem; the holy city had been cleansed of all non Jews. The uproar and protest at the Israeli action around the globe was muted by the evidence of the Palestinians’ nuclear ambitions. Her twelve foot walls, erected almost four years earlier, had created the world’s first truly closed state.

Mohammed and his commanders had managed to evade the Israelis through the most primitive actions. Like Osama Bin Laden, they had turned their back on all electrical and electronic equipment. Cell phones, telephones, computers, anything that required an electrical pulse had been ditched and replaced by pen and paper. The meeting that was about to take place had been months in preparation and would see the culmination of Al Qassam’s planning. The Sheikh would hand over the codes that would turn the nuclear warheads from dull pieces of metal into the most lethal devices ever created by man.

Mohammed smiled as he considered the Israelis’ actions. The building of the walls, the expulsion of all non-Jews. None of it had done anything for the safety of her people. The five warheads lay within the Jewish state. It had taken months to infiltrate the Israeli defenses and secure safe passage for the five weapons but it had been done. The five warheads were being slowly positioned, ready to unleash their awesome force and tip the scales towards a Palestinian victory. Palestine would be reborn.

The Sheikh’s small inflatable, its engine hardly registering a decibel, slipped noiselessly ashore. Unlike their previous meeting, he had only one guard. This was not a public meeting and only himself and the Al Qassam commanders were in attendance.

As the Sheikh took his seat and greetings and blessings to Allah were exchanged, the Sheikh quickly brought the meeting to order.

“Is everything on course? Have you selected the targets?”

“Yes, Sheikh, all of the warheads are in Israel and we are in the process of placing them at the targets we’ve selected. We will destroy the Jews once and for all.”

”Show me!” commanded the Sheikh.

Mohammed pulled out a map from a bag and spread it across the table. Of course the map was pre 1947 and was of Palestine. However, the locations of the five weapons were marked in detail. One in Jaffa, the Arab name for Tel Aviv. Two in Haifa, Israel’s major seaport. One in Eilat, her jewel in the Arabian Sea and one in Rishon leZion, Israel’s fourth largest city.

“As you will see, all five weapons are to be placed within Israel, as per your stipulation.”

“But two in Haifa? And none in Jerusalem?” asked the Sheikh looking at the detail on the map.

Mohammed was well prepared for the question. “Haifa is the seaport and lifeblood of Israel. If we destroy that not only psychologically but physically we will break the Zionist back. She needs her seaport more than ever since the walls went up. As for Jerusalem and as a Muslim, I’m sure I do not need to explain why not.”

“Of course not,” agreed the Sheikh quickly. , “But I would have thought two bombs in Tel Aviv would have had more effect than two in Haifa.”

“My Sheikh, they are your weapons and only because of you do we have this opportunity. If you believe we are wrong, please, we will move one from Haifa to Tel Aviv.”

“Mohammed, my friend, please, this is your struggle. You have lived it your whole life. I should not question your plan. You are right, they are my weapons but it is your plan my friend,” the Sheikh reached into his pocket and handed Deif a small piece of paper. “Allahu Akbar, my friend. They are now your weapons. These codes will trigger the devices. I’d advise being at least 10 miles from each of them when they go off. Any idea of when you’ll be ready?”

“Let’s just say we are going to give the Jews a Yom Kippur to remember!”

The Sheikh did not reply other than to nod his head in approval. Yom Kippur was only two weeks away. After a year in the making, their plan was finally coming to fruition. With a shake of hands, the Sheikh stood and exited the shack. Not until he was out of sight did Deif feel comfortable beginning the second part of their meeting. The true destination for the fifth weapon. Haifa was home to two weapons and Mohammed had not lied when he had assured the Sheikh that all weapons were in Israel. However as he had said, Haifa was the largest port in Israel and as such was home to many ships, one of which was carrying a decidedly more deadly cargo than her manifest suggested.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Senator Charles Baker pushed himself back into his seat and relaxed for the first time since they had left the Hart building. For Secret Service Agent Amy Clark, the last thing on her mind was relaxation. She was now in a public location with her protectee who was not only the target of an assassination plot but was also one of the most recognizable faces in US politics. You couldn’t be considered one of two front runners for the top job and not be. Every other day, the Senator’s face was emblazoned across newsstands and every hour, at least one of the news channels would be doing something that would extol the virtues or pronounce their contempt for him, depending on their loyalties. Clark had insisted they take the last rear facing double seat in the carriageway, the Senator by the window while Clark took the aisle seat, offering a clear view back down the carriage. Clark’s eyes continually scanned for threats in a carriage full of passengers.

Clark looked at the Senator as the train began to pick up speed. If he hadn’t been a politician, she was in no doubt he would have been a movie star. He reminded her of Gregory Peck in his later movies. Whatever the case, he was instantly recognizable. From his immaculately styled hair and impeccable dress sense, he turned heads wherever he went. She reached across and much to her surprise, met little resistance when she began to remove his tie and undid his top button. A little more resistance was met when she ran her hand through his hair and slightly ruffled his coiffure.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but let’s not try to give them the exact image you portray day in day out and at least try to look a little less presidential candidate,” she offered as an excuse for her actions.

“Sorry, of course,” he agreed, embarrassed for not thinking it himself and ruffled his hair significantly more than Clark had dared. “Is that better?” he asked proudly, showing Clark the results of his efforts.

“Uncanny, Sir, a complete transformation,” she lied. His coiffure was not for moving. Years of perfection were not going to be overcome with a quick rub. However, it was amazing how just removing the tie and undoing the top button had helped.

“Thank you, said the Senator as he relaxed back into his seat. With twenty years under his belt in politics, Senator Baker had no illusions that Clark was simply humoring him in an attempt to ensure he remained calm. “So, come on, we’ve got two and a half hours to kill until Newark. Tell me about yourself, why the Secret Service?”

Clark watched the other passengers as she answered. “Nothing really to tell. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a Secret Service Agent,” she said, attempting to kill the discussion.

“That’s it? No family connections, you know, my dad was in the service, my uncle...”

“Nope. What about yourself, why President?”

Baker laughed as Clark asked the question half heartedly. Her mind was almost entirely focused on the rest of the carriage and ensuring her protectee stayed alive.

“Agent Clark, please relax, nobody knows we’re on this train. Look around us, none of the other passengers even know we’re here.” Baker lifted his hand as Clark attempted to interrupt. “In just over two hours, we will need to be alert but for now, please relax. We’re in no danger just now but if I know my brother, there is going to be plenty around soon enough to keep you amply amused.”

Baker noticed a slight, almost negligible flinch as Clark appeared to relax. “So, come on, why the Service?” he tried again.

“Seriously, it’s all I ever wanted to do, no great story. I remember the assassination attempt on President Reagan and watching the agents protecting him. That was it. From then on, nothing else would suffice.”

Baker looked more closely at Agent Clark. “You must have been a baby when that happened.”

“Eight,” replied Clark.

Ever the mathematical genius, Baker quickly calculated Clark’s age to be at least five years over his outside guess. She was a stunning specimen of a woman. In her late thirties, her face showed no signs of her advancing years. She had flawless skin, wrinkle free and only wore light make-up. Her blond hair was tied tightly back and flowed down her perfectly cut Armani suit which did nothing but emphasize the lithe and firm body underneath.

“Married?” he asked

“Are you flirting with me Senator?” asked Clark as she appraised Baker’s lingering stare.

“Sorry, no not at all,” he blushed. “Admiring, yes, flirting, no. I’m not ashamed to act my age nor behave my age. I’m old enough to be your father, well just,” he added quickly.

“So what about you, Senator, why politics and why President?” asked Clark, changing the subject to avoid any further embarrassment.

Senator Baker paused as he considered the question, a question she had heard him answer numerous times before on countless news interviews.

“Politics because I felt I could make a difference. The Presidency because I have no choice, I have to make a difference,” he answered from the heart.

“I’ve not heard you say it like that before?”

“That’s because you’ve only ever heard me in public before. The Vice President was almost guaranteed the Presidency at the next election and I just can’t allow them to continue with what they’ve been doing to our country for the last eight years. They’re systematically tearing our democracy apart. Another eight years under Russell would effectively kill the United States as a democratic nation.”

“You make him sound like some sort of dictator. I’ve met him once, he was charming.”

“You, my dear, are a very attractive and unthreatening young woman, I am not in the least surprised you found him to be anything but charming. But let me assure you, once the doors are closed and the private Andrew Russell comes out, there’s no colder soul than that ruthless little shit.”

Silence fell between them as they digested the possibility of the ruthless Russell being the man who had targeted Baker and his brother. Surely not, Baker told himself, but the more the thought played on his mind, the more sense it began to make.

“You don’t think?” Agent Clark broke the silence and paused, the thought too horrific to verbalize.

“I’m thinking the same bloody thing,” replied Baker. “Russell!”

Sam gunned the 425 horses as he exited the ferry and had no intention of letting up until he reached Newark. The car rocketed out of Rockland as Sam considered the route, back roads or main roads. US Route 1 ran through Rockland and would connect him to I95 but that was the most obvious route and would leave Sam seriously exposed for over 50 miles. The back roads, cutting North to pick up the I95 to the North of Rockland, offered a less obvious solution but this meant his journey time would be extended by almost an hour. An hour Sam ventured he didn’t have. So US 1 it was. With no obvious tails being picked up as he sped through Rockland, he felt comfortable that he had at least a couple of hours before he’d have anything to really worry about.

With his route selected, Sam’s mind began to fall back to Goat Island and the family and life that had been wrenched from him. Sam Junior, Goldie and Jane, his wife, slaughtered. Sam knew he should stay focused but the picture of his wife and child torn apart wouldn’t leave him. The adrenalin rush that had helped him overcome the attackers and got him to the mainland was wearing off and the cold light of day was hitting home; he was alone again. During his working life, Sam had remained single. His life had never been one to share. His new life had been though. Sam punched the steering wheel in anger. The resulting horn blast snapped him back. He had to leave Sam Junior, Jane and Goldie behind, not forever, but at least until he had avenged their deaths. He had to remain focused. Every single person who had had a hand in their deaths had to pay and to ensure that, Sam had to keep his mind focused.