Jericho 3 (36 page)

And then there was Iran. They refused to sell anymore oil to the United Kingdom or France in a pre-emptive move as European Union nations prepared to punish Iran with crippling sanctions. Iran tried to sell their over-production to fossil-fuel-hungry India until Turkish refineries stepped in and rejected Iranian crude. Saudi Arabia increased oil production and supply, but OPEC prices per barrel spiked and jumped on a trajectory that might not level off. The economic boom in China created what most had doubted would ever happen: a burgeoning middle class of more than 300 million Chinese to go along with one billion other peasants and aristocrats. As the middle class expanded, the taste for luxury, automobiles, modern appliances and food with animal protein skyrocketed. The entire world coveted energy, massive amounts of energy, and the world was just beginning to realize what the residents from Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania already knew. There wasn’t enough supply to meet the demand. There weren’t enough jobs to pay for that demand and not enough pay to satisfy the bankers who demanded that mortgages be satisfied.

But the world had one commodity that was in abundant supply: uncertainty.

Ruth thought about all of it. The more she thought, the faster her crochet hook moved.

Sea Bee picked up the crossword puzzle book then set it down. He wasn’t thinking at all.

“And from Brussels today,”
the CBS News anchorman reported as Ruth looked up and Sea Bee stared straight ahead, “
the Secretary of Defense is speculating that Israel may launch a pre-emptive first strike on Iran soon. The leak by the Defense Secretary is widely seen as an attempt to publicly pressure Israel to give sanctions and diplomacy more time to work. Israel, on the other hand, may be concluding that the window of first strike opportunity is rapidly closing. Experts fear that the Iranians may have stored enough enriched uranium in underground facilities to make as many as six nuclear weapons.
”

“This is a real mess,” Ruth said as she watched the news and talked back to the television.

“
Israel, meanwhile, is testing their ‘iron dome’ anti-ballistic missile defense system over Tel Aviv. With longer range rockets being produced by Iran and supplied to militants in the Gaza Strip, Tel Aviv is now within rocket range. Israel Defense Forces claim they could have a 75-percent kill rate of incoming Iranian rockets.
”

“Junior’s over there somewhere, you know,” Ruth said to Sea Bee who did not respond.

“
According to senior Israeli government officials, more than 200,000 rockets and missiles are pointed at Israel by enemy countries every day,
” the news continued.

“They’re gonna just blow that place up, aren’t they?” Ruth said.

“
While UN sanctions are starting to sting within the increasingly isolated Iranian regime, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs told a press briefing at the Pentagon today that he believes Iran is still a rational actor and will eventually get in line with the will of the world community.
”

“Who told him to say that?” Ruth spouted at the TV screen as CBS News went to a commercial break.

Sea Bee picked up the crossword puzzle book, gave it a look, and set it back down, right next to a bowl of ice milk on the metal TV tray.

Queen Alia International Airport

Amman, Jordan

T
he Royal Jordanian jetliner arriving from Lyon, France taxied to the terminal as US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell and Billy Finn, dressed in 5.11 tactical khakis, desert boots and casual polos, stood in the exit queue on the plane.

The terminal emptied out into the customs bay where Camp and Finn exchanged a wad of Euros for Jordanian Dinars. They presented blue-jacket American tourist passports and told the customs official they were visiting for pleasure, planning a three-day trip to see Petra and other famous sites in Jordan.

They got into the backseat of the taxi for the 18- mile ride to the Four Seasons hotel in Amman, the capital city of Jordan. It was dusk, and campfires were blazing on both sides of the highway as people parked their cars, trucks and camels for evening picnics. Camp looked out the window and saw a blonde woman, maybe 25 years old, dressed in a pink shirt, and riding atop a camel as the owner made a few tourist dollars from a passing taxi.

“Finn, care for a camel ride before we get to the hotel?” Camp asked.

“I’m good,” Finn said shaking his head.

The taxi pulled through the wealthy Al Sweifiyah residential neighborhood at the outskirts of the Al Shmeisani financial district and into the Four Seasons pull-through driveway. The hotel was impressive, a crown jewel, sitting atop the hills overlooking Amman.

The bell captain put their two small backpacks on an enormous polished brass luggage cart and took them into the first security checkpoint. The bags were run through a security scanner. A walk-through metal detector greeted Camp and Finn followed by a full body pat down.

The Jordanians had grown intolerant of suicide bombers at the hotels and resorts that attracted international tourists of every language and culture.

With room keys in hand, Camp and Finn found the Square Bar just off the lobby galleria and grabbed two chairs away from other patrons.

Arabs, Americans, Asians, Europeans and Africans were all enjoying cocktails and snacks, in the middle of the bar, in the middle of the capital city, in the middle of a progressive and moderate Islamic country.

“So what’s the plan?” Finn asked as his Amstel Light was delivered.

Camp spoke in hushed and subdued tones.

“He said he was coming in from Islamabad through Istanbul.”

“Probably on a Pakistani passport,” Finn speculated.

“Didn’t ask. Wants us to rent a car from the hotel. Doesn’t want his credit card used or anything else to track him.”

“Is he staying here?”

“Don’t know. I assume so. This is where he said we’d meet tonight.”

“When?” Finn asked.

“Nine tonight. He said they have a spa, a steam sauna. Guess we’re going to strike up a casual conversation while we’re naked in the sauna.”

“And if you’re not alone?”

“Don’t know that either.”

“What about your Molly Bloom friend?”

“I told him to contact me tonight.”

“Does he know where we are?”

“Yes.”

LyonBio

Lyon, France

R
aines watched the wall clock in her lab move closer to 8:00pm in Lyon. The days on the calendar seemed to be moving faster than the hands on the clock.

Raines thought back to her break-through moment at Fort Detrick. It was the adjuvants. Adjuvants helped her boost the immune response to the tularemia which ultimately prevented the monkeys from dying.

A vaccine adjuvant was a substance added to a vaccine to increase the body’s immune response to the toxin. Aluminum gels and aluminum salts were the only approved adjuvants licensed for use in the United States. Small amounts of aluminum helped stimulate a better immune response.

Raines needed to move beyond alum adjuvants and felt constrained by US rules. That’s when LyonBio moved to the forefront, as well as an adjuvant called squalene.

In early drug discovery, vaccines contained a weakened, or even dead, pathogen of the same disease the vaccine was supposed to prevent. The pathogen itself forced the body to fight off further infection and therefore became a natural immune booster. Modern vaccines used proteins, or protein fragments from the pathogen, which made them more pure, safer and quicker to produce.

During Raines’ first attempts at producing a new tularemia vaccine, the protein fragments she used – instead of weakened or dead complete pathogens – left too many holes missing from the whole bacteria. The missing parts caused an insufficient immune response.

The adjuvants provided the boost she needed. But she didn’t use aluminum. Dr. Groenwald recommended she try squalene.

Squalene was a natural organic compound found in both shark liver oil as well as plant-based oils like rice bran, wheat germ and olives. Squalene was one of the key components of the Mediterranean diet and was found naturally in animals, plants and humans. By using the oil-in-water emulsions of squalene, Raines would not only be able to boost the immune response, but she hoped she could produce four-times as many doses from the same amount of protein fragments.

Squalene was the greatest weapon in her biomedical arsenal. She prayed that it would be faster, more effective and much more powerful than bio-weapons, nuclear bombs and intercontinental ballistic missiles, at least in the short-term.

In the temporary French laboratory that belonged to Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines, the only thing that stood between the mutual annihilation of two countries was olives, wheat germ and shark liver oil.

As two long-time enemies stared each other down with bio-weapons and the threat of nuclear destruction, one biomedical researcher prepared to out-maneuver them both with shark liver oil. It was all on Leslie Raines’ shoulders.

Four Seasons Hotel

Amman, Jordan

C
amp got his locker key and was issued a large white, Turkish towel from the spa attendant and quickly got undressed. The hiss and whoosh sounds of the nearby steam sauna already felt good on Camp’s deep tension.

The sounds of another man in the locker room were distinct and clear. He wasn’t alone.

For a split second, Camp thought about the defensive moves he’d take if the man was in fact Omid, and if Omid had arranged this elaborate meeting scheme just to eliminate a man who knew too much.

No one emerged from the other aisle of lockers. No knife appeared from around the corner. Camp covered himself with the towel, walked over to the steam sauna and pulled on the glass door.

He stepped up to the tiled upper level of the sauna and moved to the corner of the intersecting walls. He was at the farthest point away from the only door, his only avenue of escape. And he was all alone.

Camp’s mind wandered off as tension and fatigue began to melt away. His nostrils and airwaves opened up magically as the eucalyptus penetrated his every pore.

The glass door opened, sucking the humidity and relaxation out before restoring them both on closing.

Camp never opened his eyes. His face was clearly visible. If this was Omid, he would recognize Camp. If it wasn’t, he didn’t really need to gaze at a naked man covered in a white Turkish towel anyway.

Several minutes passed. Eyes were closed. Hiss. Whoosh. Hiss. Whoosh.

“You shaved your beard.”

Camp smiled. It was Omid.

“I wanted to get pretty again.”

“Nice hotel, isn't it?” Omid asked.

“It is. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Do you eat breakfast?”

“Occasionally.”

The door opened, and two more men walked into the steam sauna. They passed Omid who was sitting next to the door and sat on the upper tiled bench between Camp and the wall. They spoke to each other in German.

“Then you really should try Caffe Mokka on Al-Qahira Street. Incredible patisseries, and they start serving sweet cakes at eight in the morning.”

“Thanks for the idea. I may give it a try.”

Camp and Omid remained silent for another 20 minutes as the Germans continued to talk and laugh. Camp stepped down off the tile bench first and out through the glass door. He changed in the locker room, returned his key, and rode the elevator up to the ninth floor where he called Billy Finn.

Camp was soon sound asleep when his cell phone rang at nearly three in the morning.

“Yes?”

“Shepherd’s Pie?”

Camp sat up fully awake with an instant jolt of electricity.

“Hello Molly Bloom.”

“What did you want to order from the menu today?”

“Three orders of Gesher, to go, right about noon.”

“Three?”

“I’m hungry.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong Molly Bloom. It’s very possible. Three orders of Gesher, to go, around noon. I’m very hungry and I’ll do anything to have this meal. I said…anything…I’ll call the waitress as we’re pulling up.”

Camp closed his phone and threw a pillow over his head.

Caffe Mokka

Amman, Jordan

B
illy Finn drove the car that he and Camp rented from the Four Seasons Hotel. Within 30 minutes, they had navigated morning rush hour traffic and pulled curbside in front of the Caffe Mokka restaurant.

Through the restaurant windows they could see many customers seated and eating. School children passed by on the sidewalks as the elderly and several women in full burka’s stopped and chatted with each other.

“So are we going in or what?” Finn asked.

“I don’t know…he didn’t say…let’s wait here a few minutes.”

A woman in a black burka, leaning against the wall of the Caffe Mokka, walked toward the car carrying a vegetable bag. She grabbed the backdoor car handle, opened it and got into the backseat behind Finn and Camp.

“Drive,” the male voice said from beneath the burka.

Finn put the car in gear and followed the second set of GPS coordinates that Camp had entered at the hotel. Twenty miles past Naour and heading southwest on Highway 40, Finn turned north on Highway 65.

“We’re out of the city,” Camp said to his backseat passenger.

Omid pulled the burka up and over his head, straightened his hair and put the sunglasses and a New York Yankees baseball cap on that were inside his vegetable bag.

“You can pull over anywhere along here. We should be good,” Omid said.

“We’re gonna drive for another hour…just to make sure,” Finn said as he looked into the rearview mirror. “Nice to see you again, Omid.”

“Good morning, Mr. Finn. I hope you didn’t mind that I contacted Susan Francis. I had no other way.”

“Susan is the best. She uses the utmost discretion as I’m sure you already know.”

“I do. Thank you.”

“So what’s this all about, Omid? You looking for some more freelance business and thought you’d try your two favorite Americans first?” Camp asked.