the satellite.
It flashed to Gibraltar. From there, it was cross-linked to the angry skies over Gaza and was instantaneously received by the Trojan Spirit II SATCOM system onboard Predator Six. It was decrypted and fed into the hard drive. Unseen at four thousand feet up and five miles out, the electro-optic, infrared Versatron Skyball 18 immediately engaged its spotter lens, then its zoom lens, then ran a cross-check.
A fraction of a second later, Predator Six put the Jeep squarely in its sights, fired a laser at its engine block, locked on, and fed the image and targeting data back to the ground station on Gibraltar, where it was shot back to Langley. All systems were green.
Tracker made his recommendation. Mitchell concurred.
Â
The AGM-114-C Hellfire launched clean.
Screaming toward its prey at Mach 2, the six-foot-long, $25,000 missile was nearly as big as the men it targeted. It left no trail. It made no sound. It was essentially invisible to the naked eye. Seventeen seconds later, it slammed unannounced through the front windshield and turned the Jeep into a death trap.
The explosion stunned them all.
The Jeep was gone. A moment later, convinced they faced no other immediate threatsâat least for a few momentsâBennett slowed down and pulled the limo over to the side. When they were safely stopped on the shoulder, he turned and stared at the burning remains. He was grateful to be alive, but couldnât speak. It didnât make sense. What had just happened? His enemies had just been consumed by fireâbut how? It was a miracle. Thatâs all he could think of, and he didnât believe in miracles.
Galishnikov also stared out the back window. They were safe, that much he knew. But he badly wanted to be back in Jerusalem, at home with his wife and a good bottle of vodka. Saâid lifted his head. He got up off the floor and sat back on the seat, staring at the fires behind him. He, too, wanted to be home with his wife and four sons. This was more than heâd bargained for. Perhaps heâd made a terrible mistake. Perhaps heâd been wrong to go into business with Galishnikov, or get mixed up in the peace process. He was sure Galishnikov felt that way. Heâd always suspected that just under the surface his Russian Jewish friend despised the Palestinians and thought of them all as terrorists, just as he suspected most Israelis did.
But that really wasnât fair. Galishnikov couldnât have been nicer to him and his family and those who worked for Saâidâs company. But didnât all that was happening just prove the Palestinians couldnât be trusted, that they were a bloodthirsty and barbaric people, that they wouldnât be satisfied until they drove the Jews into the sea?
It didnât prove that at all, of course. This wasnât the work of all Palestinians. It was the work of a few extremists, hell-bent on destroying any prospects for peace. Saâid knew that. He knew it all too well. But did Galishnikov? Did Bennett or McCoy? How could they all have come so far and achieved so little? Actually, it was worse than that. Maybe their vision of Arab-Israeli peace and prosperity was naive, even dangerous. It was now clear to Saâid, theyâd be lucky just to make it through the day.
Â
A cheer went up inside the war room.
Mitchell got back on the line with Kirkpatrick.
âYou see that?â he asked.
âSure did,â said the National Security advisor. âIâve been giving the VP a play-by-play. Heâs on the other lineâabout to call the president and give him the good news. How soon can you get here from Langley?â
âTwenty minutes?â said Mitchell.
âMake it fifteen.â
McCoy glanced at Bennett.
She knew what he was thinking. After all these years, she could read him like a book. And he knew she could, which made him uncomfortable. So she didnât say anything. Heâd talk when he
It flashed to Gibraltar. From there, it was cross-linked to the angry skies over Gaza and was instantaneously received by the Trojan Spirit II SATCOM system onboard Predator Six. It was decrypted and fed into the hard drive. Unseen at four thousand feet up and five miles out, the electro-optic, infrared Versatron Skyball 18 immediately engaged its spotter lens, then its zoom lens, then ran a cross-check.
A fraction of a second later, Predator Six put the Jeep squarely in its sights, fired a laser at its engine block, locked on, and fed the image and targeting data back to the ground station on Gibraltar, where it was shot back to Langley. All systems were green.
Tracker made his recommendation. Mitchell concurred.
Â
The AGM-114-C Hellfire launched clean.
Screaming toward its prey at Mach 2, the six-foot-long, $25,000 missile was nearly as big as the men it targeted. It left no trail. It made no sound. It was essentially invisible to the naked eye. Seventeen seconds later, it slammed unannounced through the front windshield and turned the Jeep into a death trap.
The explosion stunned them all.
The Jeep was gone. A moment later, convinced they faced no other immediate threatsâat least for a few momentsâBennett slowed down and pulled the limo over to the side. When they were safely stopped on the shoulder, he turned and stared at the burning remains. He was grateful to be alive, but couldnât speak. It didnât make sense. What had just happened? His enemies had just been consumed by fireâbut how? It was a miracle. Thatâs all he could think of, and he didnât believe in miracles.
Galishnikov also stared out the back window. They were safe, that much he knew. But he badly wanted to be back in Jerusalem, at home with his wife and a good bottle of vodka. Saâid lifted his head. He got up off the floor and sat back on the seat, staring at the fires behind him. He, too, wanted to be home with his wife and four sons. This was more than heâd bargained for. Perhaps heâd made a terrible mistake. Perhaps heâd been wrong to go into business with Galishnikov, or get mixed up in the peace process. He was sure Galishnikov felt that way. Heâd always suspected that just under the surface his Russian Jewish friend despised the Palestinians and thought of them all as terrorists, just as he suspected most Israelis did.
But that really wasnât fair. Galishnikov couldnât have been nicer to him and his family and those who worked for Saâidâs company. But didnât all that was happening just prove the Palestinians couldnât be trusted, that they were a bloodthirsty and barbaric people, that they wouldnât be satisfied until they drove the Jews into the sea?
It didnât prove that at all, of course. This wasnât the work of all Palestinians. It was the work of a few extremists, hell-bent on destroying any prospects for peace. Saâid knew that. He knew it all too well. But did Galishnikov? Did Bennett or McCoy? How could they all have come so far and achieved so little? Actually, it was worse than that. Maybe their vision of Arab-Israeli peace and prosperity was naive, even dangerous. It was now clear to Saâid, theyâd be lucky just to make it through the day.
Â
A cheer went up inside the war room.
Mitchell got back on the line with Kirkpatrick.
âYou see that?â he asked.
âSure did,â said the National Security advisor. âIâve been giving the VP a play-by-play. Heâs on the other lineâabout to call the president and give him the good news. How soon can you get here from Langley?â
âTwenty minutes?â said Mitchell.
âMake it fifteen.â
McCoy glanced at Bennett.
She knew what he was thinking. After all these years, she could read him like a book. And he knew she could, which made him uncomfortable. So she didnât say anything. Heâd talk when he
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