As he waited momentarily for the men to pass safely from view, Jopprie suddenly noticed a third man directly above him. He was thirty feet away and heading straight towards him! His heart surged with a new rush of adrenaline. Had he been spotted? The slow and systematic approach of the man, carefully scanning the terrain from side to side as he walked, indicated his position had not yet been compromised. But it was only a matter of time before the man would inevitably be upon him. Jopprie could see the terrorist held an assault rifle at the ready, poised to strike at any moment. He was not far away, and with each passing second was inching his way closer.
The young African knew it was too late to run. He would be spotted and gunned down. Jopprie crouched even lower, hoping somehow he could stay hidden behind the frail tree under which he was perched. But his pursuer’s methodical progress soon brought a painful realization – there was no way to avoid being seen. Eventually, he would have to stand and fight. It was a predicament Jopprie was quick to digest and accept.
Jopprie quietly reached under his robes and removed his knife. The hand that held the blade shook ever so slightly, and it took some effort to quiet the nervous fasciculations of his excitable muscles. He ventured another peek around the trunk of the tree, and saw that the terrorist had closed to within striking distance. One large leap and he would be able to reach him with the point of his blade.
Jopprie could feel the mounting tension in his legs, which remained taut and ready for the bold and audacious strike. But when the moment arrived, Jopprie found he could not move, his body paralyzed by fright. While his mind delivered the requisite commands, his muscles would simply not comply. With the nexus of his life swiftly approaching, he simply could not budge, frozen in place like the tree beside him. Another moment and it would be too late…
And then Jopprie’s eyes registered the worst. The terrorist above was now staring right at him, a snicker making its way onto the man’s sinister face. The youngster remained silent. The barrel of the Russian-made assault rifle quickly swung in his direction. Jopprie looked down and braced for the impact of gunfire. He knew the inevitability of what was to come next, and accepted his fate. Jopprie would meet his death on this cold and desolate slope.
But no shots sounded. The youngster heard a muffled cry, and lifted his head just in time to see a knife embedded in the center of his assailant’s torso. The weapon must have been hurled from some distance away by someone with tremendous skill and accuracy. Before the terrorist could utter another sound, a second man stood over him, and then there was only silence.
It all happened so fast, Jopprie could barely recognize the person who had saved his life until after he had retrieved the blade. The open gash left in the Arab’s torso told of what had occurred after the initial strike – the knife driven upwards in a smooth, expertly carved arc. The point of the weapon was lethally manipulated, piercing the upper extreme of the terrorist’s abdomen and diaphragm, and into the left ventricle of the heart perched just above. Death came quickly, and the surprised Udeen terrorist had not even the chance to pull the trigger of his automatic, let alone signal for help. It was a brilliant piece of combat, the kill coming quickly, efficiently, and above all silently.
C.J. retrieved the blade, turned around, and looked at the youngster hovering beside the trunk of a tree. He quickly put a finger to his lips, motioning for the African to keep quiet. Nothing else was communicated as C.J. immediately scampered off, leaving Jopprie to wonder at the man who had saved his life.
As the shock of this most fortuitous series of events wore off, Jopprie realized he was still not out of harm’s way. The youngster had the presence of mind to grab the rifle from his downed enemy, and quickly made his way Westward to safety. As he entered his village, he was greeted by his mother and siblings, whose admonishing stares at the weapon slung across his torso immediately changed to one of concern as they saw the numerous cuts and scrapes that riddled his body. After his wounds were expertly tended to, Jopprie would obviously have a lot of explaining to do.
Ra’ed entered the communications center where his most trusted officers had assembled. Instead of delivering an address and shoring up some final preparations, however, Ra’ed was greeted by disturbing news.
“Sayid, I am sorry to have to inform you, but the American…”
“What of the American?” Ra’ed asked, as if daring the subordinate to have the gall to deliver the inauspicious news. Bravely, the man replied: “he has escaped.”
“What!” Ra’ed fumed. “Who was watching him…Azeez? I will kill him myself!”
“Sayid, Azeez says he could not have gotten far. He insists he will track down this American and capture or kill him”
“No, he must not!” It was Faarooq who now spoke. “I know this man. He is trained for such warfare, out in the wilds of the rugged mountains and plains. Neither Azeez nor anyone else stands a chance against him. Only I can bring him to us.”
“Oh?” Ra’ed asked incredulously. “You wish to go after this man?”
“Yes. Do not forget, I know how this operative was trained. I know how he thinks. I am the only one who can capture him.”
“Very well. Aasim, send your best fighters to assist…”
“No brother, I must work alone. It is best”.
A muffled, awed gasp arose from the room. No one interrupted the mighty Ra’ed like this. Faarooq obviously held a unique, special relationship visa vie their leader.
The two brothers now locked on to one another, with Ra’ed finally nodding in assent.
“Tell me where this man was last spotted”, Faarooq ordered of the intelligence brass. The sibling was beginning to assert himself around the Udeen loyalists after his long hiatus with the American CIA apparatus.
After getting the requisite information, Faarooq exited the chamber and immediately set off to track and hunt down his former colleague and friend, leaving Ra’ed and the others alone. “Send an assassin after the American anyway” Ra’ed ordered his intelligence chief.
“And what of Faarooq?”
“I can not send him alone to capture the American. We must have others prepared just in case.”
“Sayid, if I may ask, why do you care so much about this American. He is nothing to us – he can not get in our way…”
“I don’t care!” Ra’ed interrupted vehemently. “This Kafir is a dead man, you hear me?” There was more at stake here then just the master plan; Ra’ed would not stand to be bested by anyone. And his hatred for the Americans, particularly those associated with Kelly’s CIA, was particularly pronounced. C.J. was a trophy, but now his demise was a matter of pride. But would that pride get in the way of the more salient issues at hand? This very issue concerned those around the Udeen leader as the intelligence chief gingerly prodded his boss.
“Sayid, you wish us to hold off until the American is captured?” They had yet to give the order to deploy the dispersal bombs. Everything was in place, and it seemed Udeen could ill afford to dally. But what of this rogue American so close to their base of operations?
“No, our plans must proceed on schedule. Use the back channels to signal our capabilities to the intelligence services of the Americans. And get a hold of Yuri and the others. It is time.”
Ra’ed had waited a lifetime to utter those words…’It is time’. It was time to give the final order; time to change the world. The countdown had officially begun.
Back at CIA headquarters, Bill Kelly and Ben Goldberg sat huddled over the screen. Images were coming in real-time from the predator drone flying at 20 thousand feet over Burkina Faso in Northwest Africa. The medium altitude unmanned drone, the vehicle made famous by the agency some years back in the war in Afghanistan, was a flying machine over which Kelly and his men had total control. Initially used solely for surveillance, the latest versions had evolved and were now capable of a variety of tasks from delivering precision munitions to detecting sophisticated weaponry. In this particular case, aerosolized particles from th
e upper atmosphere had been trapped through a special filter and analyzed for radioactivity by traditional means. Results from the first flyby had just arrived, and Ben was keeping Kelly abreast of the developments as they unfolded.
"There, you see", said Ben, pointing to the screen. "Alpha radiation - typical of 94. Just like we thought, as soon as it hits the atmosphere…" The drone had picked up the telltale signal, confirming their worst fears.
“Ben, you don’t have to convince me here. I know exactly what’s out there. This analysis is…” Kelly paused to clear his throat, and never finished the sentence.
“This analysis is what, Bill?” Ben finally asked. The testimony of the seismologist, along with satellite surveillance, merited confirmation, which was exactly what the analyst had been laboring to do.
“Sorry Ben, but I came here to brief you, not the other way around.”
“What is it Bill?” Ben could tell the news was not reassuring from the grave tone in Kelly’s voice.
“Sayf Udeen; they declared themselves a nuclear power just moments ago. The President’s calling an emergency session at noon.” That was less than an hour away.
Ben’s jaw hung low, an expression of shock on his face. The analyst suspected as much from the intelligence at his disposal, but that Udeen would be so bold as to announce such a turn of events took him by surprise.
“Did they mention anything about the three missing devices? Any blackmail attempts, anything?”
“No, they didn’t. That’s what’s scaring me. They just might be bold enough to set them off. Ben, I think we’ve got to brace ourselves for the worst here.”
“Brace ourselves? …How the hell does one brace themselves for a nuclear strike?” Ben’s voice had risen several decibels as his mind contemplated the worst.
“Easy now, they can’t have a working explosive-type device on our soil. We’ve been over that. No one in intel has any evidence to suggest as much. For Christ sake, this is the first evidence of any test blast with 94.”
“So what imminent concern do you have?”
“Well, I can’t be certain, but something just doesn’t make much sense. Now Udeen has the raw material on our soil, that much we know. But could they have smuggled an intact explosive device as well?”
“If they did, then what the hell were they doing with the raw material?”
“Ben, any chance they’re weaponizing it here?”
“No. That would take significant expertise, facilities, labor…”
“Well what do we know about the Udeen scientists. Any of them overseas? Could any have made their way here?”
“Highly doubtful. We’ve been able to track down with a high degree of probability all their top scientists. If any had popped their heads through our borders, I’d have known about it.”
“Well it sounds like we have time. There’s no way they can weaponize it, unless…”
“Dispersal” Ben said, finishing Kelly’s thought as he referred to the far simpler dirty bombs that could be designed from a radioactive cache. “It wouldn’t take much effort to just spread the stuff around.”
“Yes, I agree. Do you think that’s why they came out about the nuke?” It was starting to make some sense.
“Yes”
Kelly and Ben were both thinking alike. By announcing their capabilities to the world at this juncture, Udeen hoped to fend off an attack on their power base. But why would they suddenly have to? Why was Udeen anticipating a major military incursion on their base?
There could be only one answer: an attack was imminent, and Udeen wanted to make sure any response was measured, lest it trigger a full-scale nuclear showdown.
“Jesus Bill, we’ve got to find that material.”
Time might have just run out.
Yuri took one last look out the window at the beautiful morning scene unfolding, and returned to the center of the room that housed the weapon. After an excruciating wait, the signal had finally arrived. With the go-ahead from central command established, Yuri made his way to the device and remorselessly set the timer. The clock began counting down from 3:00, 2:59, and so forth. He continued to sit and stare at his work for some time, as if adoring a brilliant piece of artwork.
As the clock read two hours and fifty minutes, the terrorist pulled himself away from the mesmerizing specimen assembled in the tiny brownstone apartment in the southwest district of Dupont circle and prepared to leave. He grabbed his bag, left the apartment, and locked the door. There was now just under three hours before detonation; still plenty of time.
Yuri glanced at his watch, and strode north to the Washington metro. The blue line would bring him to Union station. From there he could catch the 4:40 Metroliner North, and perhaps even arrive at his destination in time to catch a broadcast of the devastation that would soon be unleashed. It would be nice to see his work ubiquitously displayed across the airwaves. The Americans wouldn’t even know what hit them, he thought. By the time the radiation would be discovered, and panic fully seeped into the consciousness of the American government and its inhabitants, Yuri would be long gone. In his wake, the Chechen planned to leave behind a new form of terror, one that would mark a turning point in the war with the West, and one that would change the world forever.
Chapter 12
C.J. had done his part to save the teen that had facilitated his escape, but immediately departed the area in search of the nearest town. He had not bothered to engage the remaining terrorists in the vicinity. There was little doubt he could dispose of Azeez and the others, but revenge was not foremost on the recently freed operative’s mind. All he wanted was a ticket home.
The gravity of the situation was abundantly clear to C.J. Although he was a free man, he was still trapped in a foreign land, halfway across the world, penniless, and running from what was clearly a ruthless and well-funded organization. And there was no doubt they would soon be looking for him.
C.J. figured his best option would be to somehow communicate with his people stateside. The agency’s resources and connections were vast, and hopefully stretched as far as this desolate place. He had to get to whatever urban center he could find and send word of his whereabouts. That was his only chance to make his way from this godforsaken place. It was a calculated risk, for his enemies were sure to be nearby, and there was no telling how far and in what towns their influence extended. But it was a risk he would have to take.
The truth of the matter was that his own team members had already begun casing the area, looking for C.J. and Udeen’s base of operations. Whether they, or his enemies, would find the operative first was anyone’s guess.
C.J slung the assault rifle across his back and scampered off, directed by a keen sense of direction. In short time, the former hostage came upon a sign, indicating the presence of a village some 2 kilometers away. Much to his surprise, the village turned out to be a town of substantial size, and one that was sure to accommodate a communications center of some kind.
As he strolled down the main thoroughfare towards the city, C.J. consciously relaxed his posture, although his mind was anything but. The utter self-confidence he once knew prior to his capture had long since vanished, replaced by a tentative, cautious, and healthy respect for his foe. The enemy had erred egregiously by enabling him to make his escape, but now was sure to be hunting him with determined abandon. And the nearby city would surely be a focal point in the pursuit.
C.J. was suddenly consciously aware of his appearance. In his flight, he had somewhat callously disregarded the first rule of survival in a hostile habitat – blending with his surroundings. His skin was pale by any standard in this land, and a grotesque, blue-black swelling conspicuously adorned his disheveled face. The stares he received from the locals still loitering along the path spoke of the peculiarity of his appearance. Would any report his presence to those who sought to subdue him?
After penetrating the outskirts of town, C.J. soon found himself in what must have been the center of the city. The pla
ce was poor beyond any standard he had previously known, the roads filthy and cracked in disrepair. He was acutely aware of the risk he was now taking. The several-story buildings whose decrepit façade could only underscore the wreckage inside, might easily harbor an enemy gunman with a clear bead on his location. But this was a chance he would have to take. He had to let Kelly know of his status, and that meant access to a radio. The town offered the only potential for long-distance communication; there was simply no other option.
The evening was young despite the fact the sun had set some time ago, and crowds still littered the streets. Several faces turned in thinly veiled glances at the strange, embattled foreigner. C.J. mustered the presence of mind to register the events around him, calculating each and every aspect of his approach, his finger resting on the trigger of the assault rifle slung around his torso. He would be poised to aim and depress the firing mechanism at a moment’s notice.
In the distance he could make out what appeared to be an official building, the largest and comparatively best kept structure in the area. He carefully made his approach, but found the door locked. It was clear the place had shut down for the night. Turning around, C.J. was taken aback by a woman not more than 10 feet away. She was staring intently in his direction, and soon approached, hand held out before her. It was a beggar, C.J. surmised. He shook his head, an international signal indicating he would be able to do nothing for the woman, but she persisted. The feeble, emaciated hand was practically touching him, distracting the operative from the events on the road. As he wordlessly brushed her away, two dark men dressed in Western attire, kaki pants and button-down shirts rolled up at the sleeves approached. They appeared to be unarmed, and after mumbling something incomprehensible in their native tongue, proceeded to address C.J. in a broken, yet effective English.
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