“They say it’s your choice.”
“You decide.”
Gabriel laughed. “Anything but Haydn.”
That evening the House of Representatives voted to impeach the president of the United States for a second time. Ten members of his own party, including the chairwoman of the House Republican Conference, Representative Liz Cheney of Wyoming, joined with Democrats in supporting the article,making it the most bipartisan impeachment in American history. One hundred and ninety-seven Republicans voted against removing the president for inciting the insurrection. Many seemed more concerned about the metal detectors that had been placed outside the House chamber, believing the devices interfered with their right to carry firearms in the halls of Congress.
With just a week remaining in the president’s term, a Senate trial appeared unlikely. Of more immediate concern was the upcoming inauguration. The president-elect was determined to take the oath of office in public, on the platform that had been erected on the West Front of the Capitol—the same platform that had been overrun by the insurrectionists on January 6. With Washington on high alert, and extremist Internet sites ablaze with ominous chatter, organizers of the inauguration declared it a National Special Security Event, which placed the Secret Service in command of the preparations.
The threat stream shook experienced professionals to the core. The scenarios included vehicle bombings, snipers, simultaneous active shooters, a direct assault on the inauguration platform, and the occupation of the eighteen-acre White House complex by armed supporters of the outgoing president. Planners were also compelled to contemplate the once unthinkable, that an attacker might wear the uniform of a soldier or a police officer. FBI and Pentagon vetters attempted to root out anyone with extremist ties or sympathies. Twelve members of the National Guard assigned to inauguration security were relieved of duty.
Astonishingly, none of the serious threats emanated fromabroad. All flowed from the violent racist sewer of gunned-up, spun-up America. That changed, however, with the phone call that Gabriel received from Ilan Regev at 3:15 a.m. on Monday, January 18. Ilan was the chief of the cyber-and-technical unit that was scouring the Haydn Group’s computers. He had found something that Gabriel needed to see at once. He declined to characterize the discovery over the phone, only that it was time sensitive.
“Extremely time sensitive, boss.”
It was approaching six a.m. when Gabriel arrived at King Saul Boulevard. Ilan, ghostly pale and thin as a pauper, was waiting in the underground parking garage. He was the cyber equivalent of Mozart. First computer code at five, first hack at eight, first covert op against the Iranian nuclear program at twenty-one. He had worked with the Americans on a malware virus code-named Olympic Games. The rest of the world knew it as Stuxnet.
He thrust a file into Gabriel’s hand as he stepped from the back of his SUV. “We found it on Felix Belov’s hard drive yesterday afternoon, but it took some time to break the encryption. The original was in Russian. The machine translation isn’t great, but it’s good enough.”
Gabriel opened the file. It was an internal Haydn Group memorandum dated September 27, 2020. Ilan had flagged the relevant passage. After reading it, Gabriel looked up with alarm.
“It could be rubbish, boss. But given the current environment...”
“Have you found any of the text messages?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Work harder, Ilan. I need a name.”
Gabriel hurried upstairs and collected a prepacked suitcase with three days’ worth of clothing and kit. Thirty minutes later he carried the bag up the airstair of his Gulfstream jet. It departed Ben Gurion Airport at 7:05 a.m., bound for the flashing red warning light once known as the world’s beacon of democracy.
61
Wilmington, Delaware
Gabriel waited until he was on the ground at New Castle Airport before ringing Jordan Saunders, the president-elect’s designated national security adviser.
“What brings you to town?” he asked.
“I need a word with the boss.”
“The boss isn’t talking to any foreign leaders or officials before the inauguration. For that matter, neither am I. We’ll get together when the prime minister visits the White House.”
“I didn’t know there was a meeting scheduled.”
“There isn’t,” said Saunders, and rang off.
Gabriel called him back. “Don’t hang up, Jordan. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t serious.”
“I’m serious, too, Allon. We’re not communicating with foreign officials. Not after the Flynn fiasco.”
“I’m not the Russian ambassador, Jordan. I’m the director-general of a friendly intelligence service. And I have something I need to share with you and your boss.”
“Why don’t you share it with Langley?”
“Because I’m not confident the information will get into the right hands.”
“What’s the nature of this information? Broadly speaking,” Saunders added hastily.
