Tsunami Connection (18 page)

March 6, 2012

The space was dark and quieter than
most. Silent, graying men peopled the craft. A Jack Russell terrier sat, his
right eye surrounded by a black spot, under the three dimensional GPS-equipped
navigational table top. On the corner of the course-plotting table, a small
picture of the Mole of Kronstadt, the fortress protecting St. Petersburg, the
capital of 18th century Russia, stared up from under a thick layer of yellowing
tape.

"Why exactly do you need my expertise?" queried
the tall, obviously Teutonic gentleman, speaking with a precision that showed
his background.

"Is there a problem with your contract, Klaus?"

"Not that I know of," replied Klaus, awkwardly
adjusting his monocle, his left hand reaching across to his right eye.

"And I thought I was an anachronism," conjectured
the seated man, his Jack Russell now seated in his lap. "Sit down, Klaus.
I'll give you a little more than your 'need-to-know' permits."

"I see."

"We need to control the time of explosion of these
devices when they are sitting on the bottom."

"These are very sensitive explosives, Admiral."

"We are working for cash now, Klaus, not the
Rodina."

"I never worked for your Rodina, Admiral. Humor me. I
do love the rituals of the past," he added once again, clumsily adjusting
his monocle. "Damn this useless appendage," he added, glaring at his
stroke-immobilized right arm.

"You have the expertise," the Admiral asked, voice
rising to ensure that his listener understood the implied question.

"Da, da, but I noticed where we are on your GPS markers.
I have no quarrel with these people, even if they are Mohammedans. Why
here?"

"Klaus, did you ever hear of the Charge of the Light
Brigade?" questioned the Admiral, his tone betraying a growing impatience.

"Pedantic history lessons seem misplaced here, but now
that you mention it, is that not Tennyson? A staunch post-1919 Russophile like
you and an Anglophile as well. You surprise me more and more. And to think I
took you for a Bolshevik in wolf's clothing, a mere reconstituted KGB man, cum
Mafioso," concluded the ageing, aristocratic looking German.

"Yes, yes. Here's one for you: never judge a book by
its cover. But anyway, it was Tennyson and they all died in the charge. The
relevant part of it goes like this:

'Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.'

I had a lot of time to read during those last few years when
I was the guest of her Majesty, the Queen of England, before some mutual
acquaintances had me, shall we say, released for good conduct. This motley crew
exists to complete the task at hand."

"One last enquiry. Placing weapons such as these on the
ocean floor contravenes many statutes of UN treaties against proliferation of
weapons capable of mass destruction," said Klaus.

"Enough," interrupted the Admiral. "Think of
your share of ten million Euros and get on with it," concluded the man
calling himself the Admiral, as he made a mental note to be sure that this
Teutonic twit be put out in the last torpedo tube with the last augmented depth
charge.

"Augmented charge is a misnomer. We will use a shaped
charge. As you specified, I have brought specially shaped metal cones that we
lined with high explosives in the tube room. These cones will be attached to
the depth charges, and the charges will ignite the high explosive liners of the
cone. This method can produce a jet, in this case moving downward towards the
ocean floor, that will travel close to ten kilometers per second. It is what we
agreed."

"What about the timers?"

"This is a geologically unstable place. The underwater
pressure will crush the timers, making them useless. We will be safe because a
tsunami is barely perceptible under water."

"The shaped charges are already attached and ready to
go?"

"Heil Hitler," shouted Klaus, as he excused
himself for being unable to perform a Nazi salute.

"You are a pig, but a competent one," said the
Admiral. "Where did you learn to make these charges? This technology is
not exactly your epoch, is it?"

"Mien Admiral," jousted the German, knowing how the
Russian found him and all fascists, despicable, "Shaped charges have been
around since, as you call it, The Great Patriotic War, but I learned it in your
old republic of Kazakhstan. It is very common in oil well drilling, something
at which I am somewhat of an expert. Hence, our connection through a mutual
acquaintance, an oligarch for whom I made a lot of money in your new
Russia," added Klaus, somewhat menacingly.

"One more thing, Admiral."

"Why do you pester me? I am short of time. We must now
deposit these devices in a very exacting series on the ocean floor. Leave
me."

"Recognize this person," said the German as he
nonchalantly dropped a photograph onto the surface of the navigation table
between them.

"You were all pigs. Never forget, I was an infant born
just after Leningrad."

"I am not forgetting that little fact. That is why the
young woman in the photo is a guest of our mutual acquaintance, the oligarch.
She will be released when I return, in one piece."

"Leave me," shouted the Admiral, looking at the
photo of his granddaughter and cursing his stupidity. The Jack Russell jumped
toward the German's throat. Klaus parried, swatting the small dog onto the
table and left the command deck.

The tabletop reflected the Admirals mirthless, pasty face
etched with so many tiny wrinkles that he looked like a puzzle, not a person.
His lined face was a maze of creases, leading, like his life, nowhere. Real
turtle jowls jostled to-and-fro under his chin when he paced. In a more
pronounced way than usual, his mouth snapped closed with each new breath. The
Admiral felt a pang. "
Sashunechka
. What have I done?" he
uttered, just before snapping to and calling out, "Here are the settings
and approximate placement trajectories. Be certain, and I mean you personally
verify that the radio detonation devices are in good working order before the
explosives go into the tubes."

"Aye, Admiral," said the second officer, a retired
Commander, adding uncharacteristically, "Money or not, it's for the
Rodina, Sir."

He clicked his heels and conducted an about-face.

"In a way you're right, indirectly, Commander,"
mumbled the ranking officer. He grumbled about not trusting the Nazi to follow
his orders and sighed.

"Sasha. The only person in the whole world that matters
to me and I have placed you in jeopardy," he said to no one in particular,
his fingers tapping '
Dubinushka
', a melodious song from the streets of
the early Russian Revolution.

March 2012

Gema, only 14-year-old daughter of
widower Suprarman, felt under the chicken roost again. This time, she leaned
down as well and looked with her moist, dark eyes.
Unusual
,
there are
no eggs today
. Her white, whole body-covering gown, which left only her face
exposed, caught on a nail under the coop. She praised Allah for having helped
her keep the lower part of her gown from being soiled by the dirt on the floor.
No eggs in hand, Gema left the chicken coop.

Her next task, just before her morning prayers, was to milk
the one cow that the family possessed. For the first time in her life, the cow
did not produce any milk.
What will father think
? The smell of her
father preparing rice and chili peppers, her favorite breakfast, calmed her
somewhat. "Allah Akbar," she added under her breath, fearing of the
possibility of her father's wrath and his reed switch.

Empty-handed, she left the animal enclosure under their
house and climbed the stairs to the front porch. By the time she arrived, her
father was already deep into his morning ritual. When she walked through the
front door, she faced him, as he faced the door and Mecca. He was a
conservative man, but permitted her to pray near him. She settled down behind
him by about one meter. As she passed by him, she remarked proudly, once again,
the redness of his prayer-bruised forehead, a testimony to his devoutness.

"Prayer brings peace, child," he said.

After he finished the rhythm of his prayers, he said,
"Child, you are late today. Your ablutions seem to be incomplete,
sweetness of my life."

Gema tried to explain to her father that she did not have
time for the ritual cleansing, known as ablutions, earlier in the morning.
"Father, I ..."

His right hand rising, he said, "Ablutions and then the
calm sureness that comes from the completion of the seven positions ... ah!
Sometimes I realize that my lack of a son has perhaps clouded my judgment.
Perhaps you are not able to follow my lead and find the true way to Allah after
all, my child. We will give praise be to Allah after your ablutions."

She left the house and went outside to the hand operated
water pump. Her feet went under the cold water easily. She washed and went back
inside. Her father silently watched, humbled by the perfection of her movements
and recitations. "Ah! Would that you were a boy," he sighed.
"What seems to be the problem with our animals today, or do you need the
reminder of the switch due to sloth?"

"No. Father, I arose at the same time as usual. There
are no eggs this day and the cow was dry as well."

"Come, my sweetness, let us verify your conjectures.
Our animals have never before deprived us."

As he preceded her down the stairs of their traditional Aceh
Province home, he looked up when he heard a sound … a deep rumble, and the
swish of water as might be heard on a beach. A vague memory of an experience in
his childhood suddenly haunted him, yet he could not put his finger on the
memory until he heard the sound. "Heart of my heart, come to your father.
Hold me and pray to Allah." The father suddenly remembered the death of
his parents when he was but four years old.

"No eggs, no eggs, no milk, no milk. The water–"
muttered her father.

"What are you saying father? I can't hear you
properly."

"The water–" he said aloud. They turned toward a
growling sound, eyes bulged, and mouths dropped open. The wave was fifteen
meters tall.

1990S

Kefira recognized the look that she
saw in their eyes because it was the same stare she awoke to every morning as
she looked in the mirror in the communal bathroom. Mossad had brought her
fellow students together in one of the oldest settlements in Israel, Kibbutz
Na'an. Normal daily life had occupied the first few years of their time in
Kibbutz Na'an. Though they all knew that they were somehow special, not just
because their teachers told them so on every occasion possible, but because
they were isolated from the other young people as much as possible. It was more
than the fact that all of their parents had died at the hands of terrorists,
both inside and outside Israel.

After a couple of years, students in their classes started
disappearing. The rumor mill circulated all kinds of fantasies, until one day
two people in military uniforms came into the class carrying an ancient looking
spear. They marched to the front of the room, carrying the spear held high.

"There is one among you who will have the honor of
carrying this object, both in reality and metaphorically. Does anyone know what
this spear is or where it comes from?"

Kefira raised her hand and stood after being addressed,
"It conveys the impression of being very old."

"That is correct," said her adoptive parent who
was one of the two officers in front of the group. Kefira knew Yochana would be
in their class today and had been told not to acknowledge her stepmother in
front of the others. A young man that Kefira did not spend much time with
raised his hand next. The other officer took his answer.

"It was carried at Masada," said Zak, also not
acknowledging his stepparent in front of the group.

"Perhaps it was carried in spirit at Masada, but there
is a more positive tale behind this relic. Joshua used it at the tumbling of
the walls of Jericho. It is suggested that he carried the laws given down by
Moses and this spear as the ark of the covenant was carried around the walls
seven times before the horns blew seven times to bring victory to the people.
It is also believed to have been used to guard the ark during the exodus from
Egypt. Please come forward, all of you. Move the desks out of the way."

The students spontaneously formed two concentric circles
around Sam and Yochana, the Generals, and reached into the center to each be
able to hold the spear. There was an air of solemnity in the room. Each of them
somehow understood that they had been brought together for a higher purpose.

Yochana spoke next. "You are the Vanguard. You will be
dispersed over the world and act as the ark acted to protect Jews and Judaism.
One of you will become the spear, the one that holds all the others together in
a single purpose."

"Where have the missing students gone?" asked one
of the group.

"They were judged not to have the strength to continue
in training. They did not possess the potency to serve and protect the State of
Israel in the clandestine manner that is planned for you."

The two ex-IDF Generals started chanting in barely audible
voices. They said two words in Hebrew, meaning 'Vanguard-spear', and began
walking around the spear in the center of them. The young people joined in,
their voices growing as they turned and reversed the direction. Sam and Yochana
broke the trance, speaking urgently:

"Link arms, form two concentric rectangles around the
spear. Maintain the chant. Face outward, remain linked. Silence."

The room was electric with energy. Without a pre-planned
choreography, they had all followed instructions and performed the movements
requested of them.

"You are linked emotionally and chosen to protect Jews
and Judaism throughout the world. Today your individual training begins. You
may never see each other again, but the words 'spear' and 'vanguard' will link
and identify you as you complete your training and are deposited in different
locations all across the globe, but mostly in the United States. You will be
'sleepers' with a purpose as old and holy as the laws that came with the Ark of
the Covenant. Each of you will slowly enter different walks of life based on
your strengths. You will each lead a squad of twenty-one fighters, which you
will train with regularly in the harshest of conditions. One of you will become
the spear and lead the whole group."

The young people were taken out of the Kibbutz Na'an school
system. They met in separate buildings and the nature of their schooling
changed to include
Krav Maga
, a threat neutralization technique that
dates back to the 1930s in Hungary, where its founder taught the methods to
help Jews defend themselves against fascist groups in Bratislava. Most of them
were in their mid-teens, ideally sixteen years of age or older. They spent hours
in language simulators, mostly learning English and multiple dialects of
Arabic. Instructors in
Krav Maga
came from the Mossad. They also
received specialized training in interrogation methods that played on
psychology, using seemingly brutal, though harmless techniques to get
confessions.

All the while, psychologists tested for native skills and
strengths, with the goal of helping the young people choose careers early that
would allow them to travel at will, as it was necessary to their role as
sleepers representing Israel outside her borders. Their targeted role was
terrorist detection and elimination. In every country in which they operated,
the groups had access to false documents, money and weapons equal to their
extensive training.

At age eighteen, they were placed in many different
societies and cast a large web of agents around the globe, all of them having
access to Mossad HUMINT, ELINT, GEOINT, IMINT, SIGINT and MASINT, all acronyms
for the various means of collecting information for the use of espionage
agencies. Despite all of their sophisticated preparation, the clandestine teams
missed the Twin Towers and Al Qaeda. As a result, there were severe budget
cuts, and 2003 saw the disbanding of all of the units except Kefira's
twenty-one. Zak was also retained and moved more permanently to Mossad
Headquarters, making the number of active moles a total of two, attached to
twenty-one specialists, regularly trained in and around Israel.

Once she reached adulthood, Kefira lived in California, but
used her cover as a professional dancer to return as many as three times per
year to Israel to train her group, the sole surviving members of the vanguard.
She had become the spear, a surprising turn of events given that she was not
Sabra
,
first generation, born in Israel. This reality was surprising to anyone who did
not know Kefira's adoptive mother, Yochana, but totally understandable to
anyone who had made the General's acquaintance in security circles. Yochana was
relentlessly persistent and heartless in matters of defense.

In 1994, Kefira had her first chance to prove her
usefulness. Just before dawn on the morning of the Muslim festival
Eid
ul-Adha
, six Mossad agents, disguised as anglers, including Kefira, entered
the port of El Mina, Lebanon, in commandeered fishing vessels. With their catch
displayed in shallow baskets hiding tasers, all six fishmongers strolled toward
their objective just off Port Saide Street. Her team succeeded in their set
task of assassinating a prominent Palestinian leader that they deemed a threat
and a terrorist.