Resurrection Day (15 page)

The camp was a rabbit-warren of caves in the rocks, a hundred feet below the hilltop, their entrances shaded by camouflaged canopies the same colour as the russet earth. Thousands of years before, a few dozen prehistoric families had lived in these caves. Now they were home to over three hundred well-armed, highly trained Islamic mujahidin fighters. Natural channels that tunnelled deep into the limestone rock had been drilled out at strategic places to provide underground bunkers, a garage workshop, and emergency escape routes.

Cool in daytime, warm at night, the caverns offered basic quarters, with ample room for the camp recruits' stores and equipment. Among them was a doctor, a dentist, several good cooks who could work wonders with lamb and herbs, and a Muslim cleric. Sentries were posted up to five miles away, linked by radio to the camp, and dotted around the hills were machinegun emplacements, a mini-arsenal of antitank rockets and mortars, and Russian-made anti-aircraft guns.

Hasim and his visitor descended the hill until they came to the mouth of one of the caves. Two bearded sentries stood guard outside, brandishing assault rifles. Hasim went past them, his visitor behind. The cave they entered was large, fifteen feet by twenty.

This was Hasim's headquarters. In one corner were several wooden bookshelves containing dozens of hefty Islamic religious tomes, among them a well-worn copy of the Koran. In another was a tattered reed mat that served as a bed, and a scratched metal chest that contained Hasim's sparse wardrobe of clothes and personal belongings. A Kalashnikov assault rifle, spare ammunition clips and a holstered Soviet pistol lay on top. Cushions were placed neatly around a worn Bokkara rug in the centre of the floor.

The lair could have resembled the home of a nomadic Bedouin tribesman, except for the ultramodern technology displayed on the desk: a short-wave radio transmitter with a heavy-duty back-up battery, a Japanese laptop computer, and an Inmarsat satellite communications unit in an aluminium carrying case.

Gorev was seated cross-legged on the rug, drinking coffee from a tiny glass cup. He stood when Hasim entered, and said to Rashid, 'About time. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me.'

Hasim greeted him in the Arab fashion, touching his head, then his heart. 'Forgive me. But Rashid and I had matters to discuss. Please, be seated.' They all sat. On a low wooden table was a small primus stove with a silver Arab teapot and some glass cups, and Hasim filled two more tiny cups, topping up Gorev's. 'You have had great success in Moscow. For this you have our heartfelt gratitude.' Hasim's voice was almost reverent. 'You are a remarkable man, Nikolai Gorev. A truly remarkable man.'

'You have the formula, that's all that matters,' Gorev said dimissively. 'So let's stick to what's important. The next stage of the operation.' Rashid, sipping thick, dark coffee from his cup, set it down before answering. 'Nine weeks after the woman and I have arrived in America, you will join us. By that time the nerve-gas device and other equipment will have been transported secretly to Washington by a safe route. Your Chechen friends will help with the rest of the things we need.'

'You're certain you can do what's expected of you?' Hasim asked.

'Don't worry,' Gorev answered. 'You'll get your pound of flesh. What about safe houses?'

Rashid glared at him, registering the insolence in Gorev's tone, but continued, 'Everything has been well planned. By the time you arrive we will have set up the safe houses we need. One for you and the woman, another for me, both near the American capital. There will be a third, a back-up outside the city, a cottage at a place called Chesapeake, Maryland, should we have need of it and things go wrong. But let's hope not.'

'Where will the chemical be stored?'

'At first, it will be kept a safe distance from the centre of Washington. The Americans will be searching everywhere, of that you can be sure. But it seems logical that at first they will concentrate their search in the city. Later, when it's safe to do so, we will move the chemical near the centre of the capital.'

'I assume we'll have local help?'

Rashid nodded. 'That will be arranged. But for the moment, it is of no concern to you.'

'How do you maintain contact between Washington and here?'

'Two ways,' Rashid answered. 'One is by phone, using simple coded messages, which will be relayed through a special contact phone number in Paris, manned twenty-four hours. The other is by computer, which has a satellite dish, for more urgent signals.'

Rashid explained that he would have a transmitter-receiver which had been expertly built into a harmless-looking laptop computer. A message could be typed into the laptop, then the integrated circuits would work their magic, encrypting the message. When transmitted via a satellite dish, the signal was compressed into a 'burst' lasting no more than a few seconds, or even milliseconds. Once received, the message would be electronically 'slowed' to its normal speed, and decrypted. The transmitting and receiving would only be carried out at certain 'window' times, predetermined periods of the day and night, but varied daily so as not to reveal a pattern.

'Very well.' Gorev stood. 'If that's all, I'll turn in.'

'Of course,' Hasim said. 'You've had a long and difficult trip.'

Gorev stopped at the mouth of the cave. 'One more thing. I presume the operation will need a name, a code word?'

'It will have one, and most suitable. You know the Koran, Nikolai?'

'In the days when I fought against your mujahidin in Afghanistan, I made it my business to acquire more than a passing knowledge. Why?'

'Then perhaps you will know that the Prophet made reference to a day called al-Wakia?'

Gorev nodded. 'The Last Day. The Day of Resurrection, when the evil of this world will come before God and be judged and punished for their sins, and the good and holy will be rewarded. It's a common theme among most religions. Not that I'd put much store by it. I've always had more faith in the kind of judgment that comes from the barrel of a gun.'

'A weapon has its uses, especially one as powerful as ours. It will bring a day of judgment for the Americans, and a day of revival for Islam. And that, Nikolai, is what we will call our plan. al-Wakia. Resurrection Day.'

Darkness had long fallen and the moon was out. Gorev stood outside the cave assigned for his sleeping quarters, idly smoking a cigarette. He heard a noise below him on the rocks and turned. Karla stood ten feet away, her arms folded, staring at him.

'Do you always like to break rules?'

'And what rules are they?'

'Smoking is forbidden in the camp.'

An amused smile crossed Gorev's lips. 'For the mujahidin, maybe. Not for me. I do as I please. Besides, a decent smoke is about the only pleasure that keeps me going these days. So what kept you?'

'I was asleep when the guard woke me and told me you were here.' She smiled, came over, kissed him on the cheek. 'It's good to see you back safely, Nikolai.'

'How have they been treating you while I've been away?'

'Well enough. How did Moscow go?'

He told her everything, and Karla's face darkened. 'Did it trouble you having to kill this man, Novikov?'

'How could it? I had first-hand experience of Novikov when he served in Chechnya. But long before that, we'd crossed paths when I was a fellow officer in Moscow. The colonel was a beast, with a reputation for savagery. He and his men tortured boys as young as thirteen and destroyed more villages than he had cause to, most of them occupied not by rebels but innocent civilians. As for any of my comrades who fell into Novikov's hands, they fared even worse. A bullet was far more humane than the treatment he meted out to most of his victims.' Gorev tapped ash from his cigarette. 'So, the job's done, and everything goes ahead. Another week at most and you and Rashid will be on your way to get everything set up. He's not the best of company to have to endure, but I'll be joining you both later, by a different route.'

Karla Sharif was silent. She went to sit on a rock.

Gorev said, 'What's wrong, Karla?'

She looked over at him. 'That day you came to see me in Tyr. You never told me why you agreed to be part of all this. Perhaps it's time you told me now.'

Gorev shrugged. 'Lots of reasons. But most of all, I have a debt to repay.'

'What kind of debt?'

'Three years ago, after the Russians invaded Grozny, the Chechens had little to fight back with. A few meagre supplies, some stolen Russian weapons. You've no idea what it was like. We were bombarded day and night, hounded through the hills, hunted down like wild dogs. We were desperate. And then Mohamed Rashid and his friends came and offered us everything we needed. Weapons, supplies, the best equipment and training anyone could offer. And we took it.'

'And now the debt is being called in?'

'Something like that.'

'But why you? Why not one of your comrades?'

'Several reasons. I speak reasonable English and don't look Arab, both advantages on a mission like ours.' Gorev tossed away his cigarette. 'And you, Karla. That day in Tyr you seemed so adamant you wanted nothing to do with all this. Why did you change your mind? Was it because of Josef ?'

Karla hesitated. 'Yes, it was because of Josef.'

'You must love him very much.'

'More than you could ever know.' She felt close to tears at that moment, but she hid the pain as she looked back at Gorev. 'You never married, did you, Nikolai?'

Gorev shook his head, smiled. 'Who'd have me? But it must be wonderful to have a son.'

She moved off the rock, tried to overcome her emotion. 'And now I'd better get some sleep.'

Gorev gently touched her arm. 'I just want you to know something, Karla. I never asked for you to be part of all this. In case you think it was I who chose you.'

'Then who?'

'Rashid and his friends. And it's obvious why. There are few Arab women with your qualifications capable of taking part in something as daring as this. Your name was at the top of a very short list. I want you to know that, if it had been up to me, I wouldn't have put you through it all. You understand? It's important to me you know that.'

She nodded, began to turn away, but suddenly looked back. 'Do something for me? Come with me to the airport when I leave, Nikolai.'

'Any particular reason why?'

'None, except I'd like a friend with me to say goodbye. And wish me luck.'

'Are you afraid, Karla?'

'More than I've ever been.' She hesitated, bit her lip. 'And I want you to promise me something. If anything happens to me, if I don't come through, promise me you'll make sure that somehow Josef is looked after.'

'Of course.' Gorev studied her face. 'But is that really why you're afraid?'

She nodded. 'It's troubled me so much lately. The thought that Josef would have no one if I were to die. And I can't bear the thought of that.'

'I told you. We'll walk away from this with no one the wiser. You'll survive, Karla. We both will. And Josef will be free.'

She looked back at him, close to tears. 'I hope you're right, Nikolai. I so hope you're right.'

Gorev smiled, reached out, touched her face to reassure her. 'That I promise you.'

He watched her go down the hill to her quarters, her figure retreating into the darkness until she had disappeared from sight.

He lit another cigarette, heard a noise behind him, the sound of feet on rocks. 'It must be true, the rumours I heard.'

Gorev turned. Mohamed Rashid stood ten feet away, a smirk on his face. 'And what rumours are they?'

'She loved you, but you spurned her, the time you both knew each other in Moscow. But then it was more complex than that, wasn't it? She was engaged to marry her future husband, though from what I heard she was prepared to forsake him for you. All a long time ago, of course. But don't tell me you still have feelings for her, Gorev? Because if you do, that might complicate things. Especially on a mission as important as this.'

Gorev looked at the Arab with distaste. 'Do you always make a habit of listening to other people's conversations?'

'Only if it concerns me. And in this instance it certainly does. If either of you are tempted to renew your old relationship, it might be better to wait until after our mission is over. Don't you think?'

'You know something, Rashid? You're beginning to grate on my nerves. So why don't you keep your nose out of my business.'

Rashid stepped closer, the smirk gone, suddenly replaced by a threatening look. 'You know what your problem is, Gorev? You have no respect. Personally, I thought picking you was a mistake. A decision, unfortunately, out of my hands.' The Egyptian stared at him unflinchingly. 'So for your sake, I hope you don't disappoint those who have put their faith in you, including your Chechen friends. They can only continue their struggle with our support. And the only hope those comrades of yours locked away in Russian cells have of being set free is with our help. Don't ever forget that.'

'I told you, you'll get your pound of flesh.' Gorev glared back, tossed away his cigarette, moved to go, but Rashid grabbed him by the arm, stared into his face. 'What's eating you, Gorev?'

Gorev jerked his arm free of the Arab's grasp. 'Let's just say I have a niggling feeling you've been up to no good.'

'What do you mean?'

'After I spoke with Karla in Tyr, you're sure you didn't have a quiet word? Threaten her, to help change her mind? You know the kind of threat I'm talking about. Embrace the cause or face your wrath. That'd be just up your street, Rashid. The same kind of persuasion you used on me. Except in my case, you'd hang my Chechen comrades out to dry.'

Rashid frowned. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Odd, but I've got a feeling it might be otherwise. However, you'd better be right. Because if I find out differently, you'll have me to answer to, Rashid. Remember that.'

The Arab's face tightened with malice. 'Don't be insolent, Gorev. Remember who helped your comrades when your backs were to the wall. Now it's time to repay that help. And remember, too, who's in charge of this operation. You'll talk to me with respect.'

'You can be sure I will.' Gorev tipped his forehead in a mock salute. 'The moment I think you deserve it.' He began to turn away dismissively. Rashid grabbed his arm once more, and Gorev stared back at the Arab with an infinitely dangerous look. 'I really wouldn't do that again. Or someone's liable to get badly hurt.'

There was a moment of stand-off as both men faced each other, then Rashid's grip relaxed and his face twisted with a look close to hatred. 'Remember something else, Gorev. We have our duty. All of us. I intend doing mine. So see that you do yours. Or I promise you, al-Qaeda's wrath will be unforgiving.'