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  “Yes, indeed, my friend,” Nasrallah said smiling, as he wiped his face, making certain that no trace of the meal lingered there. “I am very curious why you have summoned me here to your lovely palace.” They spoke in Farsi, a language natural for both men.

  “We have a singular opportunity to deal a telling blow against our enemy, the Jew.” The Iranian paused to let his Lebanese guest get the full power of his next words. Seeing he had his Nasrallah’s complete attention, he continued. “You know that any strike we make against the United States in the name of Allah will strain their sympathy for Israel.” He wiped his mouth after each word, as if he could remove that nation as easily as a lingering bit of grease. “For example, do you recall how our ally, Russia, was able to publicly remove one of its most vocal critics from the land of the living?” He said this last with a proud smirk; the Russians knew how to handle their enemies.

  Nasrallah thought for only a moment: “Do you mean Alexander Litvinenko?”

  “Very good, my friend! You knew instantly what I’m talking about.”

  “If I remember correctly, he was assassinated in England. By a dose of poison.”

  “Your memory is sound. But exactly what poison, do you recall?”

  “Not completely. However, it seems like it was a tiny amount of poison the assassins deposited in his tea, while in some sort of public place . . .” Nasrallah was intrigued, totally captivated by this tale.

  “You astonish me with your accurate recollection, my friend,” the Iranian said with an earnest grin. “But it was not just any poison. It was a highly toxic bit of radioactive material—polonium.”

  “Do you mean plutonium, the nuclear fuel?”

  “No,” the Iranian said gently, “polonium is an element that does not have any value in that regard, but it is produced in a nuclear reactor. In fact, that is the only way it can be produced. It is sort of a side product in the operation of such reactors.”

  “What use does it have, then, if not for bombs or nuclear energy?”

  “It has limited use in the laboratory, that’s all. But it must be used with the utmost caution. You see, as I understand it, it releases a most vicious form of radiation called alpha rays. They are not very penetrating; they cannot even pierce a piece of paper or human skin.”

  Nasrallah was mesmerized. “What, then, is the danger?”

  “None, if handled properly. But once inside the body, it causes irreparable damage to the vital organs. Death is nearly guaranteed.”

  His guest was about to interrupt, but the Iranian president stopped him with a quick wave of his hand. “What is even more amazing is the tiny amount necessary to bring about this death. You know, of course, the deadly nature of cyanide.”

  Nasrallah nodded slowly.

  “Well, polonium is more than a billion times more lethal. In fact, a piece the size of this dot on the paper here”—he pointed at a note that lay on the table— “could kill nearly a thousand people!”

  That was too much for the Hezbollah leader. “How is that even remotely possible? Why isn’t the whole world dead by now?”

  “That was my first reaction when hearing of this from our Russian friends. They told me it is because the lifetime of the material is so limited. It decays to a different, harmless element within days of its production. And as I said, it can be produced only in a nuclear reactor specially designed for it. It is nonexistent in nature. The Russians have the only known reactor, and its production is carefully monitored.”

  “I see. And they are willing to let us have some?” Nasrallah was practically salivating at the thought of using some of this magic on his enemies.

  “Not quite. You notice I said ‘known’ reactor. But the Americans were kind enough to let us proceed, for a while at least, with our ‘peaceful’ nuclear program.” His evil grin was contagious. Nasrallah could see where this was going. “Our brilliant scientists, schooled in the United States, were able, with the help of the Russians, to build such a reactor, hidden here in the mountains. It is relatively small and requires only a small amount of fuel.”

  “How small is ‘small’?” Nasrallah was nothing if not curious.

  “Those kinds of facts I cannot tell even you, my friend,” the Iranian said, smiling. “But the shielding itself occupies most of a laboratory. It’s located near here, where we can keep an eye on it.” He winked conspiratorially.

  “And you can supply my men with all they need of this astonishing material?” The terrorist’s heart was beating wildly at the idea. He had not even heard the plans for the use of this terrible poison, and he was already fully invested.

  Chapter 4

  Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah had barely arrived home in Beirut before he assembled his chief lieutenants. These were the warriors who would lead the terrible raid they were about to execute against the ultimate Satan, the protector of the Israelis. And in one of the densest pockets of the American Jew, Los Angeles.

  They gathered in the war room of the infamous sheikh, located in the basement of a large apartment building in the Haret Hreik neighborhood of South Beirut. Ten faithful acolytes of the most blessed sheikh sat mesmerized as Nasrallah projected on the large screen in front of them an aerial view of the famous Los Angeles Aqueduct. This enormous channel brought no less than three hundred million gallons of fresh water each day from the mountains in the north to the sun-dried desert called Los Angeles. Without it, the depraved denizens of that evil hellhole would die of thirst; there was no other adequate supply of the precious fluid.

  The smell of nervous perspiration saturated the crowded room as the sheikh carefully unveiled the plan as set out for him by his Iranian benefactor. The select group of assassins drooled like a pack of hungry dogs at the start of a foxhunt as they learned the details. “There is this deadly material called polonium,” he told them. “With it, our friends the Soviets; that is, the Russians, were able to eliminate one of their enemies from inside the apparent safety of London and never suffer the consequences.” He beamed at the upturned faces in front of him as he went into the plan in more detail.

  “The amount of this poison needed to kill a man is so small that a speck smaller than a pea could massacre a full stadium.” He wasn’t exactly certain of the magnitude of this slaughter, but it seemed within keeping of what he had heard from the Iranian president. In any case, it had the intended effect on his audience. They were captivated at the thought of such carnage within the bounds of the United States.

  Now for the details, thought the chubby sheikh. “We will be supplied with a sufficient quantity of this deadly material by our Iranian friends. It is up to us to deliver it into the aqueduct so that it reaches all through the city of Los Angeles before the authorities know what hit them.” He paused and waited for the anticipated flurry of questions.

  “If this stuff is so poisonous, how can we carry it without dying ourselves?”

  Luckily, he was ready for this one; it had occurred to him as well.

  “It’s only poisonous if you ingest or inhale it. The deadly rays won’t pass through your skin.” That seemed to mollify the gathering only slightly.

  “How does it kill you, then?” came the next logical question.

  “What I understand is that once inside the body, these deadly rays lay waste to the internal organs by generating intense localized heat, up to five hundred degrees! Have you seen pictures of that traitor Alexander Litvinenko?” He fiddled with his PowerPoint projector until he found the ghastly images of the man, slowly being torn apart from the inside. His skin had peeled away, mirroring the internal destruction. He died a horrible death within days.

  The gravity of what they were about to do had an immediate quieting effect, even on these hardened gangsters. There was silence in the room as they visualized it. But before they could back down, Nasrallah quickly reminded them of the monsters they were about to terminate. “These are American Jews, remember. These are the people who fund the Israelis in their quest to destroy us! Without the
m, there would be no Israel. There would be only Palestine, our Muslim country! Islam would once again rule this entire subcontinent, as it did for a thousand years.”

  That did it. All doubt evaporated from the room. They were about to be heroes, venerated forever in all Islam!

  Nasrallah then went into the details of their plan of terror and murder. These ten lieutenants and their men, perhaps more, would travel legally to the United States under the guise of student visas. There were fifteen or more universities in southern California eager for trained chemists and other scientists to help with their research programs. Each of the men, and only men, would be supplied with outstanding credentials from friendly faculty in Egypt, Jordan, and other Islamic countries, as well as the United States itself. The reservoirs of help for jihad were boundless.

  Seeing that his troops were eager for even more information, he supplied them. “Once in Los Angeles, it will be a simple matter to find your way up the highway to a little town called Sylmar.” He pointed to a location twenty or so miles north of downtown Los Angeles. “The water flows down the aqueduct from the north to a treatment station here, where the last testing is done. From there, it heads into a reservoir that delivers it to the rich, populated areas like Beverly Hills and Hollywood, full of Jews.”

  “How do we get the poison into the water? Isn’t it guarded?” One of the most experienced of his men was already considering the details; that was a good sign.

  “Not as guarded as you might think. You see, at that last treatment plant, they constantly check the water for contamination. If necessary, they can capture any foreign substance before it reaches the population.”

  “Then what happens when they see this—what did you call it?”

  “Polonium,” the sheikh answered promptly. This man, Rashad, is quick and bright, he thought; he will be useful. “But, you see, it is so rare, they are not equipped to test for it. In any case, the concentration will be so miniscule that by the time they figure out that something is amiss, the water will already be to the consumers. By then, it will be too late.”

  The potential attackers were spellbound. They could already imagine the Americans in their death throes.

  Another jihadi had a question. Jamal was a chemistry student, Nasrallah knew. His parents had been killed during the last war with the Israelis as they exited a tunnel into the Galilee, on their way to murder a small farm family. It was their bad luck that an enemy patrol had happened upon them just as they’d emerged from underground. “Just how much polonium is needed to cause death?”

  “Good question, Jamal.” The boy beamed at this approval from his master. “The Iranian chemists have gone through all the details. I wish I could give you a more precise answer. But they tell me that if we can get even a hundred grams into that open ditch called the aqueduct, it will be sufficient to wipe out a sizeable fraction of the city.”

  An excited buzz ran through the attendees. “How is that possible, that small an amount in that huge stream of water?” Aram, another of the more experienced men, was skeptical; he knew all too well how difficult it could be to kill a man, or even a child. He had done just that a number of times already.

  “I know it is hard to believe. But remember, the poison in the tea that killed Litvinenko could not even be found; it was nearly immeasurable. As I told you, a pea could kill tens of thousands.”

  “Then why hasn’t it been used more often, if it’s that easy?” Aram was not easily convinced. Good for him, the sheikh thought to himself.

  “You must remember, this material is nearly nonexistent in nature. All of the world’s supply comes from the Russian reactor and is closely monitored. It is only because of the hidden Iranian reactor that we have been able to get our hands on some.”

  A low murmur went through the assembly. There were still questions the sheikh must answer. They wanted details. “I have with me nearly two kilograms of this powerful poison! It is almost a full year’s production from the Iranian reactor.”

  That statement set off a cry of astonishment through the gathering.

  “Two kilograms!” Jamal clapped his hand to his head. “How . . . where . . .”

  “Relax, everyone. You are all perfectly safe. The powder, in the chloride form—that is, polonium chloride—is safely stored in airtight bags. It looks like yellow sugar, if seen. Your job—our job—is to deliver these bags into the Los Angeles Aqueduct upstream of the Sylmar plant. The bags will dissolve slowly, just fast enough to completely poison the entire Los Angeles water supply!”

  There was a moment of absolute silence; then a roar of excitement and anticipation flooded the small basement room. The men shouted and congratulated each other on their coming adventure and, no doubt, martyrdom and Paradise.

  It took a few minutes for the room to resume some semblance of order. Then the sheikh got back to business: “We have to deliver the poison into the aqueduct before the water reaches Sylmar. That way, there is little to no chance of detection. There are a few bridges over the long aqueduct on its way down from the mountains; we have chosen one that crosses the waterway about twenty miles upstream from the plant. You will be safe from detection in the surrounding rural desert area.

  “You will take the packages of poison, which are already in these dissolving bags, into the United States by hiding them in white athletic socks that will be in your carry-on luggage. Don’t worry,” he added, as he noted a few furrowed brows among the faithful. “The polonium will not set off any sensors. The radiation it emits will not even pass through the plastic bags.

  “Each team will drive a rental car from Los Angeles International Airport to the spot marked on your maps. Memorize the directions and destroy the maps before you board the planes that will take you out of our country. That’s right, I said ‘planes.’ Once we part here in Lebanon, we won’t see each other until the task is concluded.” There was a slight rustle of concern among the younger men. “We must succeed! Even if all of us do not complete the mission, there will be enough poison in the water to kill hundreds of thousands of infidels!”

  After a few moments, the restlessness abated, and the sheikh once again had their attention. “You will drive to the bridge shown on your map and, between two and four a.m., stop on the bridge. There should be absolutely no traffic at that time of night. If there is, merely drive on and come back in fifteen minutes. The driver will stop at the ramp leading onto the bridge, and his partner will take the bag of poison and drop it from the bridge directly into the flowing water.” He checked to make sure he had all their attention. There was no need; they were transfixed. “Then both get back into the car and continue on to your destination in Los Angeles. Your job is done.

  “If anyone does see you stopped on the bridge, put on your emergency lights. If they stop, you tell them there is something wrong with the engine, but help is coming. Gently refuse any assistance. Hopefully, this won’t happen at that time of night in this near-desert locale.

  “The poisoned water will flow from there directly to the Sylmar filtration plant, where it will be examined and treated before going into a large reservoir. Our engineers tell me it will take some time, perhaps a day or two, to get the poison fully into the water supply. Even diluted by all the water in the reservoir, the concentration of the polonium will still be well above the lethal level. But there is no chance of detection. The staff at the plant have never even heard of polonium, let alone know how to take care of the problem.”

  There was a slight murmur of relief as the sheikh concluded this lecture. It sounded simple enough; and was certainly thought out well. The invigorated group headed for the dormitory. As they left, Nasrallah shouted to them, “Inshallah, we will succeed! And remember, don’t drink the water.” They all laughed merrily at this standard caution given to tourists and headed out with high spirits.

  * * *

  Aram looked out the window as the jumbo jet glided toward Los Angeles. He took a quick look over at his partner, Jamal, across the aisle. H
e, too, was enchanted by the huge urban landscape unfolding beneath them. Darkness was approaching, and long shadows passed under the plane. Several groups of tall buildings passed by as they hurtled toward the airport. He could imagine Jamal’s amazement at the vastness of the city. He knew the young student had never before even been on an airplane.

  Even Aram, who had traveled a bit, had never seen anything like the astonishing number of small blue patches of water, reflecting flashes of light into the evening sky. Every home here must have its own swimming pool! he thought. What grotesque decadence. The ground grew steadily closer, with still no sign of the Pacific Ocean, when there was a sudden jolt as the plane touched the runway.

  “Welcome to Los Angeles,” the flight attendant greeted them. “Please keep your seatbelt . . . ” As she continued with the absurd announcement while they taxied to their gate, Aram felt a surge of adrenaline that came with the realization that they were actually here, the center of Western debauchery. The infidels would soon learn a cataclysmic lesson. The woman in the middle seat, next to him, smiled knowingly at the excited foreigner. She must see me as some sort of yokel, thrilled to be in the big city, he thought. He returned her smile. “Remember,” Nasrallah had told them, “Americans are terrified of anyone with a Middle Eastern appearance. So be friendly whenever possible.”

  In no time at all, the plane was at the gate, and the sleepy passengers were already eager to escape their confinement, searching for their belongings. The flight attendant continued with her script, completely ignored by the restless travelers. They had been on this crowded plane for more than twelve hours and were more than ready to leave it. Aram resisted the urge to look at Jamal. They had been told to look like strangers, not colleagues, for as long as possible. Americans were warned to report any “suspicious behavior.”

  When they finally filed into the airport and headed to the line for US Customs, Aram nodded briefly to his mate. This reassured the younger man, who was worried about the upcoming baggage check. However, it went easily, with the agents merely poking casually through their clothing and toiletries. When asked the purpose of their stay, both men answered as taught: to visit several college campuses in the area. They held their breath as they presented their visas and their bags went through the X-ray scanner. As they hoped, nothing metallic showed up. They headed to the rental car counter, very much relaxed.