NanoStrike (25 page)

While the driver opened the rear door and pulled out the backpack, Abdul waited. “Okay, come.” He followed the man to the office. Stinky dumped the backpack on the desk in front of Ghazi, who opened the straps and pulled out a brick of hundred-dollar bills. For the first time, Ghazi smiled.

“You have done well, Abdul.”

“Now fulfill your obligation,” Abdul tried to speak with authority, although he was unsure whether Ghazi would indeed deliver.

“First, I need your passport for one more night. Tomorrow we will facilitate your release. Just one more night, Abdul-Haqq. I promise. We must make arrangements so Allah’s Revenge will not be compromised.”

Abdul handed over his passport. “Tomorrow, then. May I see Adiba now?”

“Go.” Ghazi pointed to the stairwell door. Abdul walked up the stairs and into Adiba’s unlocked room without a guard; a small difference, but one that increased his confidence that Ghazi would fulfill his end of the bargain.

Chapter 30

As Quinn sat in Hassan’s car and observed the medical building, he opened the wrapper of a Subway sandwich, bought that morning in Jaffa. He savored a large bite, the first food since breakfast, and it was 4:30 p.m. Hassan’s Datsun, a piece of junk, made a perfect stakeout vehicle. His position, two blocks from the building, provided a clear view of the rear entrance Abdul had used when he returned from Jaffa.

When Quinn phoned Keisha from Hassan’s home that morning, she had directed him to collect a backpack from a tourist information booth in Jaffa. A note in the side pocket described the exchange procedure and told him in which direction to walk away from the church. Not until he rounded a corner, three blocks from the church, did he understand how the transaction would be completed. Mufeed, Nazar’s driver from Eilat, waited on the sidewalk next to Nazar’s black Mercedes.

“Hello again, Mr. Quinn. Is that for me?”

Quinn handed the bag to the driver.

“Just a moment.” Mufeed opened the trunk, lifted a false floor, placed the backpack inside, and grabbed a small parcel, which he handed to Quinn.

Once Mufeed left, Quinn checked the street—empty. The package was about an inch thick. He tore enough paper to see a bundle of hundred-dollar bills. After slipping the cash in his pocket, Quinn returned to the corner and watched the church entrance. When Abdul came out, he followed.

It had taken all his willpower not to tap Abdul on the shoulder in the church. But he didn’t know who might be watching, and Abdul was there under duress; at least so Quinn hoped. No wonder the authorities thought Abdul had joined Allah’s Revenge. You’d have to know the boy to believe how naive he was and how much Adiba meant to him.

As darkness fell, Quinn settled down in the driver’s seat, and prepared for a long, uncomfortable night.

Quinn wasn’t the only one watching Allah’s Revenge’s headquarters. Two hundred miles above him, high-resolution cameras on a US-military fixed-orbit satellite focused on the medical building and beamed the pictures to Vandenberg Air Force Base. The location had been under surveillance since Firman had revealed the address two days earlier in Aruba.

Chapter 31

The President of the United States arrived ten minutes late for the meeting. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff stood. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“What do you have for me, Frances?” The president gestured, and they sat side by side at a small conference table.

“The location of the terrorist group, Allah’s Revenge.”

“What about the weapon?”

“We have eyes on their HQ. Their leader, Abdul Ahmed is in the building. We believe the weapon is with him, sir.”

“Excellent work. Can we retrieve it?”

The old soldier sighed, and spread his hands on the table. “The location is Jerusalem. Should we contact the Israelis?”

“Who owns the information?”

“We have sole ownership, sir.” A hint of pride leaked into his voice.

“Can you execute an extraction?”

“We have the capability, sir.” His voice was strong, certain.

“Well, Frances, sometimes it’s better to apologize than to ask permission.” The president stood and slapped the leader of his armed forces on the shoulder.

“Yes, sir.”

The president, smile gone, looked down on the old soldier. “Make it fast. Make it clean. But secure that weapon.”

“Understood, Mr. President.”

They shook hands and the president left.

The old soldier pressed a speed dial on his Blackberry and gave the order.

Chapter 32

Scott buzzed Rafiq up to his office, signaled for him to sit, and handed him a press release just received from the Israeli Government’s press office.

“Today, The State of Israel will free a number of West Bank citizens who have been helping the Israeli authorities with their inquiries. This action is intended as a goodwill gesture, confirmation of Israel’s desire to forge a deep and lasting peace with its Palestinian neighbors.”

Rafiq finished reading and stared, open-mouthed at his boss.

“What do you think?” Scott asked.

“The Israelis must be under severe American pressure.”

“Quite likely: the Yanks lost their VP in Seoul.”

Rafiq scanned the release again. “Did they announce the prisoners' names?”

“No, but you can bet the farm they’re on the list Allah’s Revenge e-mailed to Abdul.” Scott stalked back and forth in front of his window. He had a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Rafiq, this is one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever faced.”

Rafiq waited.

“If we don’t call them on this, we’re not doing our job, but if we create a stink we might be putting Abdul at risk. Well, more at risk than he already is.”

Rafiq stood and joined Scott at the window. He laid a hand on his boss’s shoulder. “You can’t take this personally. If we don’t cry foul, we’ll be the only news outlet that doesn’t. The shit is going to hit the fan no matter what. You won’t put Abdul in more danger by following through.”

“I hope you’re right. This prisoner release represents a seismic shift in the world’s power structure. Don’t the Americans understand this will make things worse? The terrorists' next demand will be for more than the release of a bunch of thugs from prison. Why’d they give in?”

“Buying time?” Rafiq said.

Scott hadn’t considered that angle. Perhaps this wasn’t capitulation, but a ploy. “You may be right. In that case, they’re hoping to get Ghazi before the next attack.”

“Perhaps the Israelis have planted a mole in the prisoner group,” Rafiq dropped his hand and stepped back a pace from his boss. “Any news from Quinn?”

Scott shook his head. “Nothing.”

Chapter 33

Keisha waited at the bottom of the airplane’s steps for Mufeed to arrive. Even though Jaffa was a five-hour drive, Nazar had insisted she depart from Aqaba. He feared the Israelis would prevent her from taking off from Ben Gurion.

She wore a loose-fitting jumpsuit. With Nazar still in Arizona, there was no need to dress up. Mufeed arrived, slid the car alongside the plane, and lifted the backpack from the trunk. When he handed it to her, he held on for a second too long, so she yanked the bag from him. He flashed tobacco-stained teeth as he released the strap.

She unzipped the backpack and checked inside. The vacuum flask Nazar had told her to expect nestled in the bottom. Without speaking to the driver, she climbed the steps, feeling his eyes on her. The hairs on her arms prickled to attention; Mufeed gave her the creeps.

With one stop for refueling, Keisha flew directly to Arizona. She carried the bag on the helicopter. This being her first visit to the plant, the pilot described the scale of the project and the benefits to the local economy; what an amazing concept, to make gas from garbage. Keisha hadn’t considered the technology before. Her focus was tightly centered on Nazar’s needs. But she agreed with Samuel. Her muse was indeed a brilliant and powerful man.

When they reached the prototype building, Sam helped her from the chopper. He averted his eyes from the tiny skirt she had changed into for her meeting with Nazar, and she appreciated his manners.

A woman wearing a white lab coat collected her in a golf cart. Inside the prototype building, they passed through a hallway to a laboratory. Nazar stood at the center of the room with three men.

She handed Nazar the backpack, and he passed it to the tallest of the group, Professor Farjohn, whom she recognized from publicity pictures. The man looked gaunt. His hand trembled as he pulled the thermos from the bag. The flask hissed when opened, and vapor misted out of the top.

One of the men extracted a thin glass tube from the flask and placed it into a receptacle in the center of a clear plastic box sitting on the table. He keyed into a computer. A pump came on, and red light filled the box.

Nobody spoke as they stared at the monitor. Their bodies blocked her view, so she moved around the semicircle of white coats and found a gap to peer through.

“Yes!” the professor said.

Keisha read the screen:

Target –          C2H5OH (Ethanol)

Inhibitor –      C2H5OH*30% (Ethanol)

Feedstock –    Bio

Catalyst –       Photon

                        ss:mm:hh:dd:mm

Activate -        00:00:00:00:00

Terminate –    59:59:23:14:08

One of the scientists slapped the professor on the back. They were all grinning.

“The nanobots are extended until midnight, August fourteenth. We bought two weeks,” Nazar said. “Well done, Keisha.” He stroked her hair and she leaned into him. “You must return to Aqaba immediately. I expect further transactions.”

Keisha didn’t understand what had happened with the thermos, but she tingled with pride because she had pleased him.

Nazar had hoped to receive unprogrammed virginbots, but two weeks bought him breathing space. Given time, he could negotiate a better deal. Worst-case scenario, a half-million dollars a week was manageable.

Chapter 34

The sound of a vehicle passing at speed woke Quinn. An unmarked white van skidded into the service entrance of the medical building. The rear doors sprang open and six men, all in black, jumped out and flattened against the wall.

They wore night-vision goggles, and carried automatic weapons.

Quinn checked his wristwatch, 4:00 a.m., not a courtesy call; he shook water from his bottle onto a handkerchief and wiped his face.

One of the men went to the same door Abdul had gone through earlier. He seemed to try the handle, then ran back and took his place beside his team. A startling flash of light made Quinn turn away a fraction of a second before the explosion rattled his car window.

The men charged through the blown door. Quinn heard gunfire. Pulling his Glock, he chambered a shell then patted his pocket, checking for the spare magazine. He could only watch and wait; he was no match for what had smashed into the building.

Keep your head down, Abdul
.