When his cover is blown and his wife is kidnapped in Jerusalem, Lt Col Peter Newman realises he may have to pay a catastrophic price for his participation in a secret government mission to uncover Iraqi nuclear weapons. Newman has always been willing to put his life on the line for his country. As concern that Iraq may already possess nuclear weapons grows, he once again puts America first and agrees to undertake a clandestine mission to uncover the weapons. But when his cover is blown and his wife is kidnapped in Jerusalem, Newman discovers that his courage has put more than just his own life at risk. Matters become even more complicated when Israel discovers that Iraq has nukes, and plans a pre-emptive strike on Baghdad with Jericho missiles - an event that could have unprecedented consequences. Newman is the only man who knows all of the pieces to the puzzle, and the only one experienced and brave enough to prevent full-scale nuclear war. But as time ticks away, will he be able to both save his wife and prevent Armageddon, or will he have to make a terrible choice?

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The Jericho Sanction

Chapter One

Tracked Down!

Café Al-Rabat Bayram
63 Al-Wad Street
Old City of Jerusalem
Saturday, 7 March 1998
0730 Hours, Local

"How did you find me?" the startled, bearded manasked. He had just stepped out of the little Arab coffeeshop onto the narrow, cobblestoned street calledAl-Wad when the athletic black man emerged fromthe long, gray, early morning shadows. The beardedman was clearly wary and, for just an instant, thefight-or-flight reaction of his adrenal cortex was evidentin his eyes.

Sensing the man's alarm, the younger black manreplied in a voice barely more than a whisper, "Icame here to find you and was told where to look,sir." Though a Chicago Cubs baseball cap coveredhis completely shaved head and shadowed his eyes inthe colorless dawn, it couldn't hide his wide, whitesmile. He wore a black T-shirt, khaki slacks, Nike sneakers, and a lightweight gray-green jacket with noinsignia of any kind on it. Now that he was closer,the bearded man could see it was a U.S. Marine-issuewindbreaker.

For an awkward moment, the two men stood inthe open doorway of the shop, just out of earshot ofthe two Arab men inside. Above their heads, RabatBayram was printed in Arabic, Hebrew, and Englishon a battered Coca-Cola sign. In the bearded man'sright hand was a brass tray with two glasses ofboiling-hot, rich, black Turkish coffee and two glassesof water, in the custom of the region. In his left handhe had hot rolls, wrapped in paper and smelling ofyeast, almond paste, and anise. The coffee and breadwere steaming in the early morning chill, and thearoma of both surrounded the two men.

When the man made no reply, the black manreached out with his left hand, took the coffee trayout of the bearded man's right hand, and then grippedit firmly in his own right hand, leaned forward andwhispered, "It's good to see you again, LieutenantColonel Newman."

Newman smiled for the first time and just as quietlyresponded, "It's good to see you again, too, StaffSergeant Skillings."

"Yes, sir ... except now it's Gunnery SergeantSkillings. You've been gone a long time, Colonel."

At this reminder, Newman stepped back as if suddenlyremembering where he was, that there werephotos of his clean-shaven face on Interpol BOLOposters all over the world. He quickly scanned thestreet, inspecting not just the sidewalk level but thewindows and tiny balconies above as well; they were decorated with clothing, bed sheets, and carpets ofevery color and description -- and he saw the ubiquitoussurveillance cameras of the Israeli security service.

Had it not been the Jewish Sabbath, the narrowavenue would have been crowded with pedestrians,even at this hour. As it was, the two men were aloneon the shaded byway, and Newman could see a videocamera in its protective casing, mounted on an electricutility pole, pointed directly at the intersectionwhere they stood. He suspected that somewherewithin an Israeli police station a digital record wasbeing made of this unusual meeting between twomen who were obviously neither Israeli nor Arab.

"Come on, we can't talk here. I live just a blockaway," he whispered to Skillings, pointing up thestreet Arabs call Al-Wad and Jews refer to as Haggai.

"I know."

Shin Bet Sector HQ
44 Patriarchate Street
Armenian Quarter, Old City of Jerusalem
Saturday, 7 March 1998
0735 Hours, Local

Police Sergeant Ephraim Lev was bored. He hadbeen on duty since midnight, staring at the threebanks of television monitors mounted on racksabove the duty officer's console. The screen of eachmonitor carried four different images, transmitted bysecurity cameras mounted on buildings, utility poles,and rooftops throughout this sector of the OldCity -- all part of the most sophisticated integrated law enforcement, security, and intelligence system inthe world.

As Sergeant Lev drank his fifth cup of coffee onthis watch, more than a hundred cameras fed imagesinto this command center. The digital signals hadbeen multiplexed into video distribution amplifiersand sorted by subsectors within the fifteen cityblocks that were his area of responsibility. With theuse of a device that looked much like a TV remote,he could transfer any of the images to a thirty-six-inchSony flat screen monitor and zoom in on anyscene that he deemed in need of closer scrutiny. A fewstrokes on the computer keyboard in front of himwould instantly record any of the images onto aDVD disc, information then sent to the Shin Betheadquarters on Helini Hamalka Street, about akilometer outside the ancient walls of the Old City.

Sergeant Lev stood up, stretched, and glanced atthe digital clock mounted on the console. Thetwenty-six-year-old Israeli Defense Forces veteranwas looking forward to going off duty in less thanhalf an hour. It had been a quiet night, one of themost tranquil since the Intifada had started again inFebruary. Ever since the rock throwing, looting, andtire burning had begun, he had been wonderingabout his decision two years ago to join the policeafter six years in the IDF. He had considered makinga career in the army, but his wife had convinced himthat the Shin Bet offered less danger to the father oftwo young children.

Perhaps she was right about this job's safety, hemused. At 0700 he had made an entry in the duty officer'scomputerized log that the Israeli government curfew was working -- at least in his sector, the Arab quarter ...

Excerpted from The Jericho Sanction by Oliver North, Joe Musser
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.