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At the pinnacle of the Grid’s technological achievements, quantum computing enabled the Grid to use all of the information at its disposal in a meaningful way. There is no such thing as information overload in the Grid. It has access to and is able to collate and, if necessary, manipulate information from every national government and their agencies, public and private companies, banks and private individuals that employ computer technology and the Internet, anywhere. And no one outside of the Grid knows of this. It knows everything that a large percentage of everyone on the planet knows. It knows nearly everything of global importance. And no one knows a thing about the Grid. You can begin to imagine the advantage and power that this gives to it.
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Chapter 7 – The Fate of a Woman
“Stop. It is the large building directly in front of you at 134 meters.” A fly lifted from my camera bag and flew toward the building. “Rashid and the four other men arrived here 32 seconds ago.”
I had tracked Rashid at a distance for the rest of the day. Upon leaving the room where he had met with the younger man, he had moved to another part of the building and remained there for several hours. I didn’t know what he had done there or if he had met and spoken with others. I had instructed the Machine to leave the Device with the younger man – to watch him, to track him, to listen to him. The younger man was my access to his brother. The other Devices I thought I might need myself, later in the night.
I only knew for certain that Rashid was in a specific room in that same building. He did not know of the tag I had given him. He had no reason to suspect it. He could not easily remove it – even should he ever become aware - short of major medical intervention. The Grid would know his whereabouts from this day forward, for as long as it wished. He could never hide from it.
While my principal objective now was to track the younger man, he did not appear ready to take me to his brother until he had finished with his brother’s woman. This bothered me. I had heard of the practice of honor killings, sometimes involving women. What I knew of it, I considered cowardly when it involved a woman. Since the younger man would not take me to his brother before this matter was completed, my focus was now centered on the fate of this woman. I will admit to you that even if he had decided to go to his brother while Rashid and the other men finished with her, I would have sought a way to delay him from going to his brother so I could intervene and still not undermine the mission. Should you tell me – as you should – that creating such a risk to the mission is less than totally professional, I would agree with you. But I am like that.
I had not known where the building was where the woman was being held. The Machine had done a search of the satellite records to find any human track that could help us identify it, without success. So my only chance of helping the woman was to follow Rashid to the building when he went there.
During the time Rashid remained in the building where he had met the younger man, I had been in frequent communication with the Machine, either sub-vocally or via my PI, depending on my location and the presence of others.
I had asked the Machine if the Grid had any information on the identity of the younger man and Rashid. Did they have any connection to the Khan group? Was the younger man’s brother Khan or associated with the group? Were we on the track that the Grid was searching for?
A few minutes after I asked my questions, the Machine had informed me that aside from the photographs taken here by the Chinese intelligence officer and the satellite images captured earlier when the suspect met with the ISI officer, the Grid had no other images of the younger man on which to base his identity. There was no photograph of him in any file of any police force or government or private agency anywhere on the planet. If he were a Pakistani national, as suggested by his language, speech patterns, and demeanor, the absence of any such photo would not be surprising if he had mostly remained in Pakistan, given the under-developed state and non-pervasiveness of its tech. The Machine told me that according to the records of the Chinese State Intelligence Service, it believed the younger man to be a member of Khan’s group, based on the report of a penetration agent it had recruited within the ISI. While noteworthy, the Machine stated that this information was not conclusive in the Grid’s view. Therefore, the Grid did not know if his brother was Khan himself or associated with the radical group. The Grid had no photograph of the leader with which to make any genetics-based comparison. The Grid knew only that the leader was said to refer to himself by the title of Khan. It did not yet know the name of the younger man. The Grid’s information regarding the identity of Rashid was similarly unrewarding. This was due, again, simply to the Pakistani intelligence services’ very limited use of information technology for archiving personnel data.
The Machine had concluded its analysis by stating that - given the information developed by Chinese intelligence, the younger man’s meeting with the ISI officer, the protection of the younger man by a trained bodyguard, the bodyguard’s killing of the Chinese intelligence officer, the stated importance of the unspecified operating instructions, and the reaction of the younger man and Rashid to my encounter with the latter - it was reasonable to believe that I might be dealing with a radical terrorist cell and that I might very well be on the track the Grid wished me to be on.
I believed the Machine’s reasoning was sound. I told it so. I had then commented to it that since Rashid had stated that the receipt of the operating instructions was their main objective in Yemen, it was potentially of great significance - perhaps the “how to assemble and operate” manual for something that went “bang”. I had asked the Machine if the Grid had any images from the contact here between the younger man and the Pakistani ISI officer that gave us any clue as to the subject of the operating instructions. The Machine had told me that there were no available images that gave insight to that matter. The Machine assessed that, given the suspected occupation of the ISI officer and the Grid’s suspicions, I should assume the worst (something that went “bang”) and presume that the younger man likely had them in his possession. It concluded with the observation that I might learn more from the “brother’s woman”, and therefore, my decision to intervene on her behalf was logical. I had smiled at this last comment.
Later, as my thinking was developing, I had asked the Machine if it was knowledgeable of the operating mechanisms of the atomic weapons in Pakistan’s arsenal. It had informed me that the requirements of developing, assembling and maintaining such weapons necessitated the employment of computer technology; that the technology in the domain of Pakistan’s atomic weapons program did not present a completely closed loop; and, therefore, it was knowledgeable of the operating mechanisms.
In the night, after the sun lowered into the still waters of the Bab-Al-Mandab, the Machine had informed me immediately when Rashid had gathered four men and left the building on foot to seal the fate of the woman. The Machine guided me as I followed them, never once coming into visual contact. I never saw them and they never saw me.
The Machine had stopped me in deep shadow.
“There are two armed men outside the building. The first is sitting in darkness on the steps in front of the principal door leading into the building, almost directly in front of you. The second man is patrolling the remainder of the perimeter of the building. He is presently on its west side. It takes the second man about 100 seconds to walk the perimeter. The two men are out of position to support each other for about 85 seconds of that time.”
“Show me the building, all acceptable ground paths to approach it, and your recommended location to intercept the perimeter guard.”
Immediately, my PI showed me the requested information in black light. The real-time image showed me the locations of the two men relative to the building, three lines of approach to the building’s perimeter that provided reasonable cover to approach it in the darkness and its recommended location – a blinking box superimposed on the PI image
– to intercept the perimeter walker.
“Two. Direct me. Quickly - we won’t have much time.” The Machine instantly began to give me directions to lead me along the approach line designated by the number 2 to the interception point with the patrolling guard.
I didn’t know how much time I had to deal with the two guards and then help the woman. I needed to know more. “Have you been able to get the Device into the building?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Give me the audio.”
A woman’s voice. Frightened, yet demanding and forceful - defiant. A person of character, I thought. I quickened my approach.
“Move quietly toward the rock outcropping to your left front. Stay in their shadow. The two guards will not be in line of sight. There are no other apparent persons in your vicinity. Work your way to the left front of the outcropping. Crouch down there and wait.”
“Is the perimeter guard holding a weapon?” I asked.
“No. He has a rifle slung on his right shoulder.”
“Tell me if that changes,” I finished.
“… you will stop plotting with those men in whispers there in the dark and address me, Rashid!” The Machine translated the woman’s words, spoken in Pashto, that were present in the background of its communication. “You and Omar have brought me here aboard that ship and kept me in this place for days. How could you do this to the daughter of Ibn Tarik? He will not stand for this insult!”
The sound of many footfalls crossing a concrete floor, and then stopping.
“The insult was given by your father and you to Khan, your husband,” Rashid’s voice responded in the background.
“Name match.”
I tapped out the communication, “Acknowledged”. We now had some clear evidence that we were tracking the desired quarry. The Grid would be very pleased with this simple piece of information.
“He told me how he met you in the West – in England – where you and your brother and he were studying and how he cared for you among the infidels. His marriage to you was a great honor to your family and to your tribe. Khan is the future leader of the new Caliphate. His vision and heroic will to act – as he intends to do – will make it so. Yes, he did great honor to your tribe. He trusted your father and you. He let you know of his plans.”
“The perimeter guard is approaching from your right at 20 meters.” I removed the knife from the outside pocket of the camera bag. It is difficult to kill someone from behind by hand with sufficient silence to keep the action from being heard by someone a short distance away – from being heard, for example, by the other guard. Surprise and silence were my key allies here.
“But you betrayed your husband by telling your father. Your father offered insult to Khan by confronting him. Khan warned your father that should he tell anyone what you told him, he would slaughter you and his entire family. Khan now believes your father must receive a message stressing the seriousness of this matter.”
No response from the woman. Silence.
“5 meters.”
“Rashid, this plan is folly. You must see this. You must believe me.” Her voice was shaking a little.
“3 meters.” We have done this many times before – the Machine and I.
“Yes, we have all suffered at the hands of the West and their arrogant indifference and might …”
“2, 1, now.” The guard passed in front of and above me.
My leg muscles propelled me like a cat forward and up from the deep shadow of the rock outcropping, not directly at the guard but to his right rear.
“… but to carry out this plan is madness…”
The guard, sensing my presence at the last moment, began to turn to his left. My trajectory kept me directly behind him.
“…will only bring catastrophe to our people…”
As if in slow motion – from my mental-visual perspective – his left hand began to swing up to grasp his Kalashnikov.
“…the West will kill us all…”
My left hand swung around his head and clamped onto his face, covering his mouth and nose, fiercely jerking his head to the rear.
“… if you use this weapon against them…”
I could feel his beard and mustache, his saliva, as my right hand thrust the knife into the back of his neck at the base of his skull, rupturing the medulla oblongata and then severing it from the spinal cord. The guard’s body spasmed once and went slack. Very little noise.
“…you must not. My father pleaded with Khan not to do this. I beg you now.”
I lifted and moved him into the shadow of the rock outcropping and lowered his body to the ground.
“It must be done!” Rashid again. He was yelling now. “It is the only way for the Caliphate to have any chance against them! It must be done! My brother and Khan have given us the means! We must use it!”
I removed the guard’s rifle, headscarf and cloak from him, wiped the blade clean on his shirt, stood and strode off in the direction the guard had been walking.
“Twelve seconds.” The Machine was giving me a time picture. The action to kill the guard had taken twelve seconds. Only twelve seconds had been added to the time the guard would take to make this turn of his perimeter walk from the viewpoint of his colleague standing guard at the front of the building. He would not likely notice the delay. “The other guard has not moved from his position.”
There had been a brief moment of silence from inside the building. The woman, perhaps marshalling her thoughts in her moment of great need, now resumed her verbal assault to undermine Rashid’s beliefs and obedience to his orders - to save her life. “No Rashid. No and no again. A thousand times no!” The strength of her voice was increasing.
I had thrown the cloak about my shoulders and placed the headscarf around my head and let it drape down as I had seen the guard wearing it. It kept most of my face in shadow. It smelled of the dead man’s sweat. The Kalashnikov I slung on my right shoulder. With the fingers of my left hand I held the knife up against the inside of my left forearm. I walked quickly.
“You must see the folly of this action, Rashid. Listen to me!” She was no longer pleading. She was demanding.
I rounded the northeast corner of the building, accelerating my pace.
“You cannot convince me, you witch! If the Caliphate is to have any chance of fighting their might – their arrogance - it must strike in a way that kills millions and changes forever their self-proclaimed path of continued domination. This action will do that!”
“Rashid, they have thousands of these weapons. You have only one. Can you imagine what they will do with their thousands after you use your one weapon? Surely, you must see what they will do. You and my husband will doom us all!” Her voice felt like a beam of light, trying to penetrate Rashid’s belief system. I admired her.
I rounded the last corner of the building that now placed me in line of sight of the other guard. I walked at a normal pace directly toward him. He did not yet shift his attention to me. I imagine that my image in the darkness matched his visual expectation. I was – at this moment – for all intents and purposes, the other guard that lay dead not far from where he sat. I continued to walk toward him, watching him like the proverbial hawk.
“Enough of this! Your husband has directed me to tell you what is to happen to you, so that you will feel and understand the full weight of your treachery, so that your father will have no doubt of what will happen to your family should he further betray Khan!”
I approached the seated guard. He looked up at me, casually. My darkened image – cloak, headscarf, and Kalashnikov – still matched his visual expectation.
Silence from the woman. “First, these men will beat you – to take away your beauty from you. Then, I will shoot you in the head to end your life mercifully. Once we have finished this deed of honor to punish you for your treachery to your husband, we will take your head. We will send it to your father. He will understand the full weight of Khan’s message when he sees you and compreh
ends what has been done to you.”
“Ahlan,” I said to the seated guard. I started to stoop as if to sit on the step to his left. He was watching me now. I had alerted his senses. My image was apparently not quite perfect at this distance – or my voice.
“Rasoul?” he asked, not quite certain it could not be his dead friend. Who else could be here next to him at this place, at this hour? I levered the knife down into my left hand and whipped my left arm around, burying the knife deeply into the front of his throat. Blood spurted over his friend’s cloak. His eyes and mouth went wide. I grasped his head by the hair and forced it deeper onto the knife’s blade and then ripped it to the left and then to the right, ensuring that the windpipe was completely severed.
“At the end before I kill you, you will beg for your life to be spared. We will laugh at you. We will spit on you.”
I wiped the knife blade on the guard’s outer garment and placed it back into the camera bag.
“I will never beg you or these other dogs. I scorn and pity you for what you are. What kind of men are you to do these things to me? You are cowards and I curse you!” Her voice was strained and breaking, as she sought to control it, to show these animals – at the end of her hope - what courage was about.
“Begin with this woman and let us see who is the coward.”
Sounds of several people moving. The woman yelling out, “You will not do this to me! I will not permit it!” The sound of confused footsteps and guttural sounds.
I pulled the hood of my body armor up over my head and down around my face, strode quickly to the door, quietly opened it and stepped inside the building.
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Initial impressions: a cavernous room, dimly lit by three low wattage overhead lamps dangling from electric lines hanging from the ceiling; dust and dirt everywhere; motes of dust moving on the air; wooden crates, boxes, and machinery mostly placed near the walls, but some stacked and placed elsewhere about the room; a large work table near the center of the room with a single lit lamp resting on it, throwing off a yellowish glow; the table surrounded by several chairs, some of which had been scattered by the three men now approaching a strikingly beautiful, black-haired woman, who had her arms thrust out toward them – palms facing them – in a gesture of defiance; the woman’s face expressing deep anger toward these men who were about to violate her; two other men stood a short distance away from this action, watching it; a total of five men; all accounted for and standing in the large open space in the center of this large room - a good thing for what I intended. These were my initial impressions.
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