The commercial flight landed seventeen minutes ahead of time, David Luther had been in the air for almost twenty-four hours. The Prime Minister had called him directly early Thursday morning over the embassy's secure link; having been briefed; he used his diplomatic status to get a flight from El Dorado’s International Airport, in Bogotá to JFK at New York. After this a flight to London for an in depth briefing from Sir James and to pick up his commission papers (credentials), then onto a British Flight to Atarot Airport, Jerusalem. President Pickles would be using Mosad to check everyone out, that was no problem, as his cover had never been broken. At the airport there was a welcoming committee and a car to take him to the World Government HQ. Pickles was making a point of meeting all the Senators as they arrived, and he was especially keen to meet his fellow Brit.
“Welcome to Jerusalem David, have you been here before,” Pickles asked.
“Just the once, I delivered a diplomatic case here when I was a junior, Sir.”
“A wonderful City and a wonderfully warm people, despite all the troubles,” the President told David, “I encourage you to see the sites and get to know the place, please have a seat, coffee?”
“Thank you Sir, I seem to have lost a little sleep. You have a wonderful view from here Mr. President,” David said as he wandered across to the panoramic window and wandered back and forth whilst Pickles pointed out landmarks. Luther's eyes were everywhere, then at the desk end of the office with Pickles still pointing out landmarks, David stood behind him, but David’s eyes were scanning the papers on the desk. David was known also for his extraordinary photographic memory, and a detailed image of that desk-top was now imprinted in Luther's mind. It was a friendly meeting and Pickles revealed nothing of what was in his mind. After twenty-five minutes Pickles sent David on his way to the British Consulate, where his lodging had been arranged.
Luther went directly to the communications room in the basement as soon as he arrived at the Embassy. He typed out a report for Sir James, and encrypted it, and then sent the package over the high speed data-link from the dish antenna on the roof. The message travelled at the speed of light to a satellite, then down to a similar antenna on the roof of Babylon-on-Thames. The night watch was still on duty, it was barely five-thirty in London. The message was decrypted and the duty officer made the decision to contact Sir James and Abe Marks. By seven-thirty the message was on the Prime Minister's desk.