THE LAST DAYS by Joel C Rosenberg

Author:Joel C Rosenberg [Rosenberg, Joel C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

It was 11:17 p.m. in D.C., 6:17 a.m. in Israel and the territories.

All the key principals were present and accounted for. Joining from Gaza Station were Jake Ziegler, Erin McCoy, and Bennett.

"OK, let's go, what have we got?" the president began, taking a sip of fresh coffee and anxious to get moving.

"Mr. President," Kirkpatrick began, "over the last few hours, we have seen the crisis in the Middle East take a serious turn for the worse."

She walked the president through an executive summary of each suicide bombing, the fact that no Palestinian group had yet taken credit, and an overall casualty count.

"How many Americans?" the president demanded.

"At last count, we're looking at forty-one Americans dead."

MacPherson couldn't speak.

"All of them were students at Tel Aviv University, Mr. President—part of the Overseas Student Program, some for one semester, some for two."

The room was silent.

"So far, fifty-two Israelis are dead, and three Canadians," Kirkpatrick continued. "Israelis wounded at this point—let's see, it looks like two hundred and thirteen. An American family of six were also wounded at the bus station in Haifa."

It was the first Bennett had heard of the attacks. He hadn't had time to be briefed by McCoy or Ziegler, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. A gasp rippled through the NSC team, as well. They were all professionals. They'd all seen civilian carnage before. But the images on the screens were

unreal, as were their political implications. The dynamic was changing, rap

idly.

"Sir, unfortunately, that's not all. In the last few minutes, an obscure

Jewish extremist group—"

"Terrorist group," interjected the CIA Director.

"—terrorist group known as the Temple Mount Battalion launched a

series of attacks against the Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa mosque,

armed with over a hundred pounds of C4 plastic explosives, about thirty or

forty grenades, light arms and several thousand rounds of ammunition."

"Oh, my God," said the president. "Please don't tell me they succeeded."

Kirkpatrick dialed up a live video image from a billion-dollar, American-made Keyhole spy satellite orbiting over Jerusalem, cross-linked from the

National Reconnaissance Office in Chantilly, Virginia.

"Almost, sir—but not quite."

"How many were there?"

"We're monitoring all Israeli police and Border Patrol radio traffic. Best

we can tell so far is that there were somewhere between ten to fifteen ter rorists. Most are dead. It seems as though the Israelis have at least two of the attackers in custody, wounded but likely to survive." "Jack, what do you think the Israelis will do?" the president asked. The president considered Jack Mitchell a close friend and a first-rate spy, a man whose judgment he could trust, a rare commodity in a town like Washington.

"I know for a fact Doron is meeting with his Security Cabinet right now," said Jack Mitchell. "My sense is that in the next fifteen or twenty minutes, they're going to come out of there ready to unleash everything they've got against the Palestinians."

"Should they?" asked the president.

"If they don't, they're inviting more Jewish terrorists to take matters into

their own hands. I'd recommend, sir, that you call Doron and give him the

green light immediately.

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