Al Andalus

Although I had agreed with Ginny's assessment, I'd been somewhat surprised at her vehement reaction. But at least I was reassured about my own marriage because it was obvious that Ginny would never cheat on me. "What a fool you were!" I cursed myself. "What a hypocrite she is!"

December 28

After breakfast I was scheduled to take a tour of the Y-12 Complex. That, of course, is where they made "the bomb," and it's in a different area of the reservation. I never realized how big the Oak Ridge Reservation is. Henry drove me through rolling hills and woodlands that were uninhabited, and suddenly we came upon an industrial complex the size of a small town.

At Building 5300, I was among people from my own agency, and we could "talk shop." At Y-12 I was just another visiting fireman, and it didn't take long for me to see that my guide thought I was a waste of his time. For that matter, I felt the same way. I understood that my boss wanted me out of the way so I wouldn't tip off Ginny and Ameer that we were onto them. But surely I could be doing something more interesting than wandering around a highly classified nuclear weapons manufacturing facility. Besides, I hated nukes and didn't want to be any nearer to them than was absolutely necessary.

So when noon rolled around, I sidled over to Henry and asked him if there wasn't something else we could do rather than traipse after my bored tour guide. Henry's face actually reconfigured itself into an expression I thought might be a smile. We made our excuses to my guide and Henry led me out to the car and off to another local eatery outside the reservation.

Over lunch I asked him if there was anything to see in the area. "For sure," he said. "There's some might pretty country about a half-hour drive from here, if you're willing to get off the main roads."

That sounded good to me - at that point almost anything would have - so I eagerly agreed. Accordingly, after lunch I found myself going west northwest from Oak Ridge to Frozen Head State Park. When I asked Henry about the odd name, he told me it came from the main peak, which was often snow-covered in the colder months of the year.

We were already traveling on an old state highway when we turned north toward the little town of Petros, where the park entrance is located. Once we got to the park our car started climbing as the highway turned into a series of curves and switchbacks snaking their way up the side of Fork Mountain. The posted speed limit was 10 mph, and given the icy conditions and the sharp curves, I thought even that was excessive.

The park was mostly filled with deciduous trees, and with no foliage to block the view, the vistas were impressive. Henry kept pointing them out to me every time we came to an overlook, so perhaps that was why he didn't spot the SUV that overtook us and started to pass.

Only it didn't pass us, it suddenly rammed into the side of our car. "Sunovabitch!" Henry yelled and yanked the wheel to the right, but the other vehicle came right with us and slammed into us again. As our tires went off the pavement, Henry fought the wheel, and for a second I thought he was going to regain control. Then the world turned topsy-turvy as our car flipped and rolled.

When the view through the windshield finally stabilized, we were on our back like a stranded turtle and I was groggily hanging upside down, held in place by my seatbelt. Movement in front of us caught my eye, and I struggled to make sense of the upside-down view. After a moment I saw the SUV that had sideswiped us pull into the entrance of a jeep trail up ahead, then back up and turn around. "He's coming back to finish us off," I yelled. Henry was still cursing and struggling to free the big automatic he carried.

Then as the SUV began to gather momentum towards us, a second car flashed passed us like some crazed moonshiner and barreled straight for the SUV. Instinctively I closed my eyes, waiting for the terrible crash, but at the last minute the SUV driver must have chickened out and wrenched the wheel away from the impending collision. I guess he lost control because the SUV flipped and rolled over the edge and down a ravine. I couldn't see what happened, but I could hear the noise as the car grated against the rocks and then smashed into the huge old-growth trees below.

The second car had skidded to a halt beside the point where the SUV had gone over. Then a figure came running towards us, and to my surprise I realized it was a woman. She was wearing jeans, a leather jacket and tall boots, and her dark hair was cut short and combed straight back on her head. But I stopped admiring her when I noticed the vicious-looking combat knife in her hand. "Now she's coming after us!" I thought and resumed struggling to free myself.

The woman ran up to Henry's side of the car, knelt down and reached through the shattered window to cut the straps to his seat belt. As Henry wriggled his way out through the window, she came around to my side and prepared to cut me free as well. "Better grab onto something," she said in a voice with just a hint of an accent, "otherwise you're going to fall on your head."

I reached down (up?) and grabbed the car seat, but I still landed awkwardly when she sawed through my seatbelt. She started to pull me out of the car, but suddenly jerked away as she spotted something. I looked up to see Henry's head disappear as he clambered down the bank where the SUV had crashed.

"No, come back!" the woman yelled, and started after Henry. "Get away from there," she cried out, trying desperately to attract Henry's attention. Just as she neared the ravine, I heard a strange voice yell something that sounded like "Los Angeles!" Then there was a deafening explosion, and the mystery woman was knocked down by the blast.

I managed to scramble out of the car and ran to her side. While I helped her to her feet, I asked, "What the hell was that?"

She had a grim look on her face. "They call it a martyr's vest. They're all wearing them now."

I wasn't sure what she meant, but I suddenly remembered my companion. "Henry!" I shouted, and started for the ravine, but the woman reached out and grabbed my arm. "Unless you've had some heavy duty combat experience, you don't want to go down there and see that. I'm sorry but your friend is gone." She shook her head angrily. "Aren't you people even briefing your agents on what to expect?"

I still didn't know what she was talking about, but when she pulled on my arm I dutifully followed her back to her car. "What do we do about Henry?" I asked as she started the engine. "I need to let somebody know what's happened to him."

She shook her head angrily. "The only thing we need to do now is to get out of here. They may have sent a second team."

"Who sent a second team?" I asked, nevertheless fastening my seatbelt.

"ISIS, Al Qaeda, whoever. As far as we're concerned, the distinctions don't matter right now. They want to kill you, and I need to make sure that doesn't happen."

Involuntarily I looked over my shoulder, but no one was following us.

When I looked forward I noticed a chunk of something red and oozing that had run down on the windshield. The woman turned on the wipers and the windshield cleaner and washed it away. "That was part of Henry!" I thought sickly. Then it struck me that Henry and the woman must have been working as a team. I turned to her and said, "I'm sorry about your partner."

"What partner?" she asked in puzzlement.

"Henry - the guy back there who got blown up."

"He wasn't my partner; I'm not with the FBI."

Now I was really confused. "But if you're not FBI, who are you with?"

She glanced over at me for a moment before returning her eyes to the road. "I'm with the Mossad," she said quietly.

I gaped at her. "The Israeli intelligence agency? What does the Mossad want with me?" I demanded.

Her lips pursed into a tight, straight line. "Right now we're trying to save your ass," she shot back as the car slid around a tight downhill turn.

I slumped back in my seat in confusion, unable to comprehend what was happening to me. As I sat there trying to make sense of what was happening, I noticed that we were out of the park and appeared to be heading back toward I-40. Now that we weren't careening through hairpin turns, I thought it might be safe to try to get some answers.

"Ok, well I do appreciate your saving my life back there, uh . . . I don't even know your name."

She looked over at me again and there was a little smile on her face. "I'm Esther Freeman," she said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Thomas Selfridge."

We were now back on the interstate headed east toward Oak Ridge. I watched as she set the cruise control for five miles above the speed limit.

The shock of what had happened was beginning to wear off, but it left behind only confusion. Why were Arab terrorists trying to kill me? Why was a Mossad agent protecting me? What was I supposed to do now? What the hell was going on?

I looked at her querulously. "I guess I don't understand. Shouldn't we call the police or the FBI and let them know what happened back there?" I asked.

She gave me a grim look. "You still don't get it, do you? Why do you think that guy was waiting for you?"

"I don't know," I said helplessly. "Only two days I was in Fort, um, I mean Washington, and then I got ordered to come down here to Oak Ridge. I don't know how they knew I was here or why they want to kill me."

"You don't have to be coy around me," she said. "I know you work for the NSA. I also know the reason why your boss ordered you to fly down here on such short notice."

I stiffened, "You mean you know about Ginny and . . ."

She nodded. "We've known about her little liaison with Ameer for a while. I've listened to the tape of your wife's conversation, and several others as well."

I grimaced in spite of myself. It's bad enough when your wife is cheating on you; it's infinitely worse when you learn that everyone else knows all about it. Angrily I snapped, "That still doesn't explain why I was ambushed like that."

She took a deep breath. "Didn't you think it was odd that your boss would send you out of town like that?" she asked. "Didn't you think it was strange that they would want you to tell Ginny where you were going?"

"They were trying to keep me from having to confront her," I said hotly.

She shook her head like I was a slow child in her classroom. "They were trying to use you as bait to lure Ameer away from Fort Meade," she said. "They wanted him to follow you. They didn't know what he was up to and they wanted him as far away from the NSA as they could get him. They probably also thought that if he went after you, Henry could take him out. But Henry got careless when he drove you up to Frozen Head, and he managed to get himself killed in the process."

"They were using me for bait?" I asked, growing angrier by the second at the thought. But before I think about it further, I noticed the first Oak Ridge exit flash by. "Weren't we supposed to get off there?" I asked.

She shook her head. "That's the last place we want to go now. We've got to get you back to Fort Meade."

I tried to digest that thought. "Are we going to catch a flight out of Knoxville?"

She shook her head. "No planes, no credit cards, no cellphone calls. I can't take the risk of another interception attempt. We're going off the grid."

"We're going to drive all the way back to Washington?" I asked in disbelief. She merely nodded.

We hit rush hour traffic in Knoxville just then, and I kept quiet while Esther maneuvered through the congestion. But once we were past and speeding toward the Virginia border, I couldn't hold my questions any longer.

"You never told me why the Mossad has been following me," I complained. "For that matter, you haven't told me why Al Qaeda or whoever Ameer is with is trying to kill me." Suddenly a not unpleasant thought struck me. "Wait, was that Ameer who blew himself up along with Henry?"

She shook her head. "No such luck. That was actually Ameer's brother, Hassan. He's another bad one, and I'm not sad he's gone, but Ameer is the one we really want, preferably alive."

Considering that Ameer was the one sleeping with my wife, I wouldn't have minded if he were in pieces back there. "So who is this Ameer guy, and why does he have it in for me?"

She took on a distinctly uncomfortable expression. "Actually, that may have been partly our fault. You know that computer virus you've been working on for the past few weeks? Well, we were the ones who sent it to the NSA."

I was appalled that she would know about that. Wasn't anything secret anymore?

"One of our people found it attached to a communication we intercepted in Tel Aviv. We haven't been able to figure out what it is or what it's supposed to do, but we think its target is something in the State of Israel. The only clue we have is what appears to be the name for the virus: "Al Andalus".

This was the first I'd heard about any name. "What is 'Al Andalus'?" I asked. "Is it some kind of code or someone's name?"

"No, it's a name out of history. Back in the 700s, the Moors invaded Europe from North Africa. Over time they managed to conquer Portugal, most of Spain and even part of France. They named the region Al Andalus, and various caliphates and emirates ruled it for much of the next seven centuries."

I stared at her dumbfounded. "All this is about something that happened 1300 years ago?"

She nodded grimly. "I know it's hard to believe, but ISIS wants to re-establish the caliphate and restore Muslim rule over Al Andalus."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!" I exclaimed. "How can they possibly hope to do that? And anyway, that has nothing to do with me. I don't have any Spanish blood in me - I've never even been to Spain."

"You're looking at this from a Western perspective, not from theirs," she said calmly. "To ISIS, the loss of Al Andalus was a humiliation that must be avenged, and they are prepared for a struggle that could last a century or more. They know they need the support of other Arabic countries, so their plan is to unite them by attacking the State of Israel. We think the Al Andalus virus is the opening salvo in that campaign. Our experts believe this virus is some kind of highly sophisticated cyber-attack on our defenses. But we couldn't crack it, so we passed it along to you."

"Why me? I'm just another hacker; I'm nothing special," I said.

"Don't sell yourself short," Esther said. "We've been following your work and we know what you're capable of. More importantly, ISIS knows it too, and they're desperate to make sure nobody figures out a way to neutralize it. Why do you think they tried to get to you through Ginny? Why do you think Ameer sent his brother after you when you were suddenly sent to the biggest, fastest computer system in the country?"

"My boss never said anything about any of this," I protested.

She shook her head in disgust. "The NSA brass was never convinced the Al Andalus virus was all that important," she said. "We had to push hard to get them to assign it to you."

Suddenly a memory hit me. "Just before that guy blew himself up, he shouted something that I didn't understand."

She was right there with me. "Yes, he shouted 'Al Andalus.' Now do you believe me?"

I sat back in my seat and tried to take in everything I'd just learned. Another question came to mind, but before I could ask it Esther abruptly turned off on the exit toward Johnson City. "Where are you going?" I asked, but instead of answering she pulled off on the shoulder of the road and shut off the engine. Then her head slumped back against the seat rest. "I don't think I can make it any farther," she said, and then to my horror she passed out.

I guess I panicked a little because I yelled at her and shook her but she didn't wake up. I got out of the car, ran around to the driver's side and pulled open the door. Then I saw the problem. The left shoulder of the leather jacket she was wearing had a jagged tear in it. I put my fingers inside, and when I pulled them out they were covered in blood.

I pulled her out from behind the wheel and managed to slide her into the back seat. Now what? In the distance I could see a sign for a motel, and, not knowing what else to do, I drove down to it. An old man was working behind what passed for the reception desk, and, remembering what Esther had said, I paid cash for a room for the night.

When I went back to the car, I found Esther sitting up in the back seat. She nodded approvingly at me when she saw the room key, so I felt better. I pulled the car in front of the room and gently helped her inside and onto the double bed. She gasped as she flopped down, but otherwise she was as stoic as a Spartan.

Once I'd turned on the bedside lamp she looked up at me. "You're going to have to help me get this jacket off," she said. I nodded and helped her slide her good arm out of the sleeve, then carefully slipped her wounded arm free. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. "Okay, now we need to get the sweater off."

I gulped because the knit was tight and I knew it wouldn't slip off nearly as easily as her jacket. Carefully I pulled the ripped arm of the sweater off of her, and she gave a little sob as her arm pulled free.

I gasped when I saw the bloody wound in her upper arm. I also tried hard not to stare at her torso, but that wasn't easy either. She had an athlete's body with well-defined abdominal muscles and virtually no fat. She was wearing some sort of athletic bra, but it was still obvious that she was well endowed.

I glanced up to see a little smile on her lips. "A girl always appreciates a look from a guy," she said as I blushed. Then her smile vanished and she was all business. "You need to see if there's a drugstore around here. If you can find one, try to get ibuprofen, some isopropyl alcohol, a tube of antibiotic cream and some gauze bandages and adhesive tape. Oh, and get one of those pocket sewing kits, if they have it."

I scurried out to the car, eager not to be caught staring at Esther any more. There was a little strip shopping center about a mile down the road, and I was able to purchase the things Esther needed. I remembered to pay cash for everything.

When I got back to the room, Esther was sitting up in the bed. Evidently she's managed to rinse her arm off in the bathroom, but it was still oozing blood into the towel she'd brought with her. She took a couple of the ibuprofen tablets first, then had me clean and rinse off the wound with the alcohol. I knew that had to hurt, but she didn't make a sound.

When I had cleaned it out as best I could, she looked up at me and said, "Hand me my knife." I couldn't figure out why she wanted her combat knife, but I fished it out of her pocket and gave it to her anyway. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath, "now I need you to stitch up the wound."

"Wait a minute," I protested. "I've never done anything like that. I don't know how."

She looked at me grimly. "If you don't sew it up, it's going to continue to bleed and I could go into shock. Don't worry, I'll walk you through it."

Reluctantly I threaded the needle and knotted the thread at the end. When I was ready she picked up her knife, put the handle in her mouth and bit down on the rubberized grip. With a gulp I started trying to sew up the wound.

I heard her gasp and whimper around the knife, and once she took it out of her mouth to tell me to pull the stitches tighter. Several times I thought I was going to be sick, but seeing her courage shamed me into pressing on until the job was finished.

When I'd tied off the thread, I smeared the antibiotic cream all over the wound. She spat out the knife and looked down at my makeshift surgery. "Not bad for an amateur," she said, and then fainted. That frightened me, but her breathing and pulse seemed normal. I propped her on her back and used a spare pillow to elevate her feet. Then I covered her up with a blanket and waited.