“Arrival time, following commitment - the same?”
“Give or take 1.5 seconds – the winds.”
“How far from the target building is that storage shed in the back alley – distance and time?” The Grid always plans for contingencies - always.
“72 meters. Normal walking time – 47 seconds.”
“Encumbered?”
“Weight?”
“Fifty-five kilos.”
“Double the time.”
I moved down stairs, beginning my descent through the building. “Estimate my time of arrival from now on foot at the target building’s outer wall door.” I knew the Machine was repositioning most of the Devices out in front of me, covering my advance – to give me forewarning of danger.
“6 minutes, 34 seconds.”
One voice spoke up among the others. “Yes. I will honor my oath to Khan. I see that his path is the right one.” Silence, then more voices raised, expressing their loyalty to the leader of the coming Caliphate.
“Omar is looking at the men standing in front of him. He seems to be gauging whether their expressions of loyalty are universal.”
“Thank you, my brothers. Our leader will be pleased. Now sit and partake of his hospitality of warm drink and food that we have had brought here for you. I know that you are tired and need nourishment. Sit and eat among friends. We are alone. Later, we will depart, as we arrived. You are safe here now.”
I continued my descent down the stairways of the building, encountering no one at this hour. “The target building - how many guards and where?”
“Two at the main building door outside the building in the inner courtyard. Two guarding the outer wall door, but standing in the inner courtyard.”
“How was the quality of the recording of the telephone conversation between Omar and Khan?”
“Excellent.”
“When I am at the appropriate distance from the outer wall door, call Omar. Impersonate Khan’s voice and tell him to go to the outer wall door and speak with the person he will meet there. Tell him that the person will have an urgent message for him – not one to be given over the telephone – concerning Khan’s wife. Tell him that the person will mention her name as a means to introduce himself. Tell him that this information is only for him.”
I was walking now through the streets toward the target building. My clothing masked me as a local to the few persons – all men – that I passed.
“The Controller asks for your resolution.”
“I intend to capture and interrogate Omar. I want the target building to be destroyed immediately upon beginning my discussion with Omar. If he does not believe your call and does not move to the outer wall door to meet me, abort the strike. Your timing will need to be impeccable. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged.”
Tone – the Controller. “Strike authorized – at your command. Triple 3, squash, 452 to the 12th, Shirley. Acknowledge.” At the sound of her voice, her face appeared in my mind. Her beauty has that effect.
“Acknowledged. Lens, tempest, quadruple 12, squander. Commit.”
“Acknowledged.”
The ringing of a telephone, several times. Finally, a voice, Omar’s, speaking in Pashto. The sound of many voices in the background. The sound of cutlery and tableware.
“Yes?”
“Brother, do you recognize my voice? Do not speak my name.”
“He looks very surprised. He is turning away from the others.”
“Yes. Is it safe for us to talk like this?”
“It is necessary.”
“I thought you were …”
“Stop brother.” The Machine’s impersonation of Khan’s voice was abrupt and commanding. “Do not talk of such things. Listen to me. It is urgent.”
“Yes.”
“I have news of my wife. Important news of her whereabouts and of what happened in the Yemen.”
“Yes?”
“It is too important and sensitive for me to talk on the telephone. Yesterday, before I departed, I sent a man to you with the information. He tells me that he is now nearing where you are. Go to meet him - away from the others – at the door of the outer wall. No one else must hear what he tells you. He knows your face and will say my wife’s name so you know he is from me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Kh …”
“Stop.”
“Yes.”
“You must act on his information. It is vital to our success in what we are doing. You will know what to do. He is nearly there. Go now and help me. Go.”
“Yes.” A moment’s hesitation, then, “I will go.”
“You are a good brother.”
The line went dead.
“Omar is now saying something to Kasim. He is turning and walking to the back door of the room.” Several seconds passed. “He is leaving the room.”
“I’ll need low altitude, identifiable images of the strike from above and images from inside the meeting room and from outside in the courtyard at the time of the strike.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Status?”
“Inbound. TOT – 2 minutes, 4 seconds, plus or minus 1.6 seconds.”
Upon commitment, the Hypersonic had veered away from its loitering field some hundreds of miles out over the Indian Ocean - at very low altitude – and powered up its engines, propelling it at phenomenal velocity in the night toward the walled building that I was approaching. The aircraft’s sonic boom disrupted into a series of sounds like distant, rumbling thunder. While the Grid cannot change the laws of physics, it can bend them. The Machine controlled the aircraft’s every movement. The Grid had agreed to position it there – out over the Indian Ocean - earlier in the evening in the belief that, given the importance of the gathering in the building, its capabilities in some fashion would be required.
“You know what we need from him when I have him alone: location of atomic weapon, point of departure, name of ship, destination, estimated arrival time at destination, contact at destination – at a minimum.”
“Yes. I’m confident I can handle the verbal aspects. Omar is now leaving the building, speaking with the two guards there at the main door, and lighting a cigarette. You should accelerate your pace moderately.”
I did so.
I could see the wall of the target building about 60 meters in front of me.
“Probability of death from the strike of the two guards at the door to the building?”
Very brief pause. “98.7 percent.”
“One Device each on the two guards at the outer wall door, immediately upon strike. Terminal.”
“Acknowledged. Omar is now crossing the courtyard and approaching the two guards at the outer wall. He is waving at them. They are acknowledging.”
I was thirty meters from the wall.
“Countdown.”
“32 seconds.”
I had passed very few persons during my walk. I saw no one near me now. It was quiet and dark. The moon provided the only overhead illumination. I was ten meters from the wall. Two Devices lifted from my camera bag and flew off in the direction of the outer wall door.
“Omar is now arriving at the outer wall door. He is speaking with them, gesturing to the door and the other side of the wall. One of the guards is opening the door. He is exiting alone. The two guards are remaining by the door, keeping it open, watching him. There is no one outside the walls within 65 meters of you. 18 seconds.”
I knew that the Machine’s computations and control of the Hypersonic had caused the craft to select and release a gravity bomb at precisely the correct location and time as it performed a 180 degree turn, using its great speed to sling the weapon from its underbelly at the target still some distance away. The craft was now racing back across Pakistan on its return flight to the Indian Ocean and international airspace at a speed in excess of 15,000 kilometers per hour. Even if Pakistan’s air defense forces detected its stealth technology at the low altitude of its egress route, they had no chanc
e of identifying or intercepting it – another of those UFOs.
I was now standing, facing the outer wall entrance, but five meters distant from it. I waited there.
Omar looked right and then left as he came out of the entrance and saw me. I raised my hand and let my arms drop to my side – my hands empty. Omar walked toward me.
“5.”
His right hand was under his coarse woolen cloak, holding something.
“4.”
He started to bring it out from under the cloak.
“3.”
He was holding a revolver, pointing it at my chest.
“2.”
I bowed slightly and said, “Jamila.”
“1.”
He smiled and began to lower the weapon.
“0.”
There was a momentary, dull flash of light that came over the wall from the courtyard on the other side, followed immediately by a heavy kkrrump sound. The ground shook briefly and there were sounds of things hitting and bouncing off the interior side of the outer wall. One of the guards at the outer wall entrance fell to the ground, one hand held to the left side of his head. Omar turned instinctively away from me toward the light and sound.
I moved, as did the two flies.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Building destroyed. All persons present in it are dead. The two building guards were killed by debris and over-blast. The two outer wall guards were terminated. There is no one in your immediate vicinity, within 27 meters of your location. No one has approached your location or appears to show interest in it. Everyone outside in your general vicinity is attentive to the remains of the target building. Remember the loose boarding at the back of the shed should you need to exit hastily. This leads to a nearby wall 2.4 meters high, over which you can move easily. There are no over-watching windows.”
“Omar, do you hear me?”
No movement. I had only dazed him with a weak knuckle strike as he had turned toward the wall. I leaned down and slapped his face, then again. He stirred. His hands came up to his head, feeling his temple. He opened his eyes slowly, then his mind began taking in my shadowed face and the dark interior of the storage shed – pieces of furniture, brooms and gardening tools haphazardly stacked and leaning against the walls or lying on the dirt floor - certainly wondering where he was and what had happened. Disoriented. I would have thought and felt the same.
The distant sound of harried voices – from the direction of the target building. Omar stared at me.
“Who are you? Why am I here? What happened? Are you the man sent by my brother?” His voice was low, fragile, but demanding. The Machine translated his words.
I continued to look at him, perhaps as if searching for the answer. In fact, the cause for my delay was the need to wait for the machine to provide me the words that I would say to Omar in Pashto. The Machine quickly explained each sentence to me in my own language and then gave it to me - in short phrases - in Pashto. I was simply the Machine’s puppet, speaking the words it would choose for me to say. It takes a good deal of practice to do it effectively. Essentially, the Machine was interrogating Omar through me. If necessary, the Grid and I could provide input to the Machine to amend or guide its path of questioning. But usually, in such restricted circumstances and when the Operator did not know the target language, it was most efficient to let the Machine proceed un-tethered. You begin to get a glimpse – do you not – of the confidence the Grid places in its technology.
“I am the man (pause) who met you at the wall. (pause) But I am not from your brother. (pause). I am the man (pause) who placed Rashid’s head (pause) on the table in the warehouse in the Yemen.”
His eyes went wide and his body stiffened, then he jerked back away from me and moved quite quickly to his left, scurrying toward the door.
I grabbed him by his right arm and jerked him to a stop and then dragged him back away from the shed door.
He started to yell and reach toward his left boot for something inside.
I struck him lightly in the throat to silence his voice and then trapped his hand as he brought it away from his boot, holding a dagger. For a second, it glinted in a shaft of moonlight that had found its way into the shed through a small opening between two boards high up on the shed wall. I bent his wrist and took the knife. He gasped. He was gawking at me, a hand at his throat, his eyes wide with a little pain and fear.
I again remembered his shyness from attending the beating, murder, and mutilation of Jamila, and, now, looking at him, I was more certain my plan would work. I put a finger to my lips and made the sound, “shhh.”
“I will not hurt you further, Omar. (pause) I need only to talk to you, (pause) to ask you some questions.”
He shook his head, defiantly. In a strangled, low voice, he said, “My men will find me soon. They will search house-to-house, every room. You could not have brought me far. Then we will see who will ask the questions.” He was used to getting his way.
I took the Tablet from my camera bag. “First, the overhead shot of the incoming warhead. Stop at 75 meters,” I tapped.
I held up the Tablet in front of him. I needed to break down his belief system - of always getting his way.
He shifted his gaze to the Tablet and watched the images from the nose camera of the warhead as it approached the lights of the village from above, descending in the darkness at great speed in free fall toward the target building, illuminated by the lights in its courtyard. When the warhead was precisely seventy-five meters above the building, the image froze.
“Do you recognize (pause) this building, Omar?” (pause) Do you see (pause) the wall around it? (pause) Do you see (pause) the trees here? Do you see your men (pause) standing guard there and there?”
He looked up at me, bewilderment in his mind.
“Continue, one-fifth speed,” I tapped.
The image on the Tablet moved forward, but more slowly. The image of the building became larger and larger until the warhead impacted and started to break through the roof.
The image blacked out, to be replaced by another from inside the meeting room. The image was frozen. The people in it – including Omar - did not move. I admired the Machine’s editing.
“Do you see yourself (pause) in this picture?”
The image fast-forwarded at 2X. It showed Omar talking to Kasim, then leaving him and heading toward and exiting through the back door of the room.
Omar was incredulous, leaning forward, gawking involuntarily, eyes wide open to get a closer look.
“Watch the fate (pause) of your men (pause) who will come shortly (pause) to rescue you.”
The image had changed its speed back to normal now. The position of the men remaining in the room had altered as they moved about to eat and drink and talk with each other, comfortable and secure in the room behind armed guards and high walls. It was clear that it was the same room and the same men. Omar’s eyes were glued to the Tablet screen.
The speed of the image slowed. The movements of the men were now in slow motion. The ceiling of the room – a little left of image center – began to open. The heads of most of the men started to turn in that direction. You could make out the blur of an object appearing from the opening in the ceiling. Then a blinding flash of light. The Tablet screen went black.
It lit again immediately. Omar remained transfixed.
The next image was from outside the building, in the courtyard near the outer wall entrance. You could see one of the two guards at that entrance, the building and the two guards standing at the building’s main door. The image appeared to be running in normal time. Suddenly, a blur appeared from the upper right of the image, impacting the roof, then less than one-half of a second later, a light emanated from inside the building, and the walls of the ground floor exploded violently outward, the upper floor collapsing, debris flying everywhere, some of it reaching as far as the outer wall.
�
��You remember the light, (pause) the sound of an explosion, (pause) the ground trembling. (pause) Your men are not coming (pause) to your rescue tonight. (pause) No one is coming – ever.”
I placed the Tablet back in my camera bag.
Omar stared at me, the look on his face a mixture, I thought, of great indignation and terror.
“Where is Khan?”
With those emotions in his eyes, he spat at me, a gesture of defiance. I admired him for that. “I will not …”
I hit him in the throat again, then twisted his left arm inward and struck the nerve – hard. He gagged with the pain.
I waited ten or fifteen seconds for him to regain his composure.
“Where is Khan (pause) and where is the atomic weapon?”
In a strangled voice, he muttered, “I will not …”
I hit the nerve again, but not as hard. I didn’t want him unconscious.
He gagged and then vomited onto the floor. I knew from experience that he was in temporary but extreme pain.
I waited briefly again.
“Where is Khan (pause) and where is the atomic weapon?”
He looked up at me. His eyes were dulled but now full of hatred. Spittle dripped from his mouth.
I reached again for his arm.
He gave a guttural, strangled sound and said, “Boat.”
“Which boat – name?”
“I do not know the name,” he muttered.
“This is probable. Khan would not likely give him the name of the vessel, for security reasons.”
“From which port (pause) did the boat sail?”
He looked at me, thinking that he was trying to save his life with his information – perhaps gain time, maybe not all of his men had been killed in the strike that he had witnessed on the Tablet. These were thoughts I believed might be running through his mind, as he lay there looking at me – considering. “Gwadar.”
“Searching.”
“Regain your strength now, Omar.”
He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He would be thinking that many vessels sailed from Gwadar; that I could not possibly find the ship based solely on this information; that he was not betraying Khan.
“Based on shipping records from the port of Gwadar, there was a vessel, the Santa Ana – Mexican flagged - that sailed yesterday for Mexico, to the port of Veracruz. The manifest shows a crew of 15, including the Captain, and ten passengers, all male. The manifest also shows two crates brought on board belonging to the passengers. The listed gross weight of one of the crates could match closely that of a Pakistani atomic weapon in transport configuration. The vessel is to arrive in Veracruz in eight days. It could be a coincidence, but unlikely. There are no intermediate stops. Omar stated that Khan departed with eight individuals, not nine, therefore I assess this information as 86% accurate.”
The Grid Page 10