Only eighty-six. “What is the destination port?”
He looked away from me, not wanting to give me the information – knowing he must not give me the information.
I hit him again, but at the nerve in the other arm.
His back arched. I grabbed him behind his neck and cupped his mouth with my other hand. Then I placed him back on the dirt floor. I waited for his eyes to focus on me.
“What is the destination port, Omar?”
Despite the pain, he hesitated.
“Omar, I can cause you even greater and longer pain. If you tell me, I will not do that and I will let you live. You have my word.”
Still, he hesitated. “Your word? What does that mean to me?” He spat at me again.
I needed to be more certain than the Machine’s 86 percent probability that we had identified the correct vessel. All our future actions were based on this one bit of information. If I got it wrong, I could take us off on a wild goose chase, while the real action was taking place on the other side of the planet. With distaste at what I was going to do, I grabbed his right arm again, twisting it inward. He winced in pain and reached across with what strength and wit he still had left and tried to cover the nerve area with his left hand. I let him do that. He glared at me. I broke his right wrist.
Again, his back arched. Again, I grabbed him behind his neck and cupped his mouth with my other hand to prevent his scream of agony from being heard.
I looked into his eyes – eight inches away from mine. “You have my word.”
He held my gaze, tears of pain streaming from his eyes. He nodded.
I removed my hand. He mumbled, “Mexico, Veracruz.”
“Probability of correct vessel identification is now 96.4 percent.”
“We are almost finished, Omar. (pause) Only a few more questions. (pause) Then I will give you something for the pain.”
He opened his eyes and nodded his head slowly. His right arm lay immobile at his side, the wrist lying at an unnatural angle.
“Who will meet Khan (pause) and the others in Mexico, in Veracruz?”
“A cartel.” I could hardly hear the words.
“Which cartel?”
“I do not know. Please – believe me.” His eyes were large and fixed on mine. He did not want the pain to come back.
“Does Khan have (pause) the atomic weapon with him?”
He began to wretch again, stopped. “Yes.”
I tapped instructions to the Machine.
“What is the name of the ISI officer (pause) you met in Al Hodeidah?”
He simply stared at me.
I looked from his eyes to his other wrist.
He closed his eyes and began to tremble. “Colonel Amir Trak.”
“Name match. Probability of correct vessel identification is now 98.8 percent. Sufficient, I believe.”
The sound of distant voices continued, and now the sound of vehicles arriving, probably to fight the fire in the building. Omar lay still on the floor, wrapped in the inner turmoil of his betrayal. He glared at me through the tears of his pain. I looked down at him, considering. I thought of his statement that he had attempted to dissuade Khan from committing atrocities on his wife. I thought of what he had been willing – in the end - to allow to be done to her. I thought of what he and his brother intended with the atomic weapon and that he was a key member of Khan’s group. I thought of the Grid’s security requirements. I thought of the Machine’s satisfaction with a 98.8 percent solution.
I considered all of these things, then tapped instructions to the Machine.
I moved closer to Omar and bent over him. “Let me give you (pause) something now for the pain.” A fly landed on his neck, on the carotid, and bit him, twice. He did not seem to notice. His eyes closed. The first injection from the fly would put him into a state similar to an induced coma. The second tagged him. All things considered, I thought we might need him again. 98.8 percent, after all, is not 100, despite what the Machines think.
As I left the shed, the fly moved to Omar’s tunic and worked its way underneath.
CHAPTER 11 – Veracruz: Surveillance
“Jamirez! Stop! I have told you to be careful with that crate! It is delicate equipment. I told you this. It is very important to the Patron. If you bang it again - against anything - I will leave you here in Veracruz, where you can be a simple thug again. Do you not understand my words, Jamirez?”
“Yes, Jefe. Yes, I understand. I am sorry. I will not do it again. I promise, Jefe.”
Good, Jamirez. I love you like my brother. But this is important.”
“Yes, Jefe.”
I watched this exchange on my Tablet. The two men – Jamirez and El Jefe – were speaking in Spanish. I followed their conversation fluently.
The Grid had found the Santa Ana a little more than two hours after my discussion with Omar. It had found it in the Gulf of Aden off the southern coast of Yemen, before it rounded the Bab-Al-Mandab and steamed north up the Red Sea to the Suez Canal and the Mediterranean beyond. Fifty-seven minutes later, at night, the Grid had flown a Hypersonic with full sensor array over the vessel and detected the low radiation signature that would be given off by an atomic warhead of the type possessed by Pakistan. While this significantly increased the Grid’s assessment to near certainty that it had identified the correct vessel, we still hadn’t actually seen the atomic weapon - to be 100 percent certain.
Concurrently, the Grid kept track of Omar. It knew that he had been found unconscious in the shed the day following its attack on the building in Ghal Tar and been moved to a hospital in the town of Gwadar. It knew on which floor of the hospital, and in which room and on which bed he slept. It knew that he remained unconscious.
The attack on the building had made local and international news. Pakistani officials said they were investigating, while speculating publicly that it may have been a U.S. military drone strike. The U.S. Departments of State and Defense denied any U.S. involvement.
The Grid had tracked the Santa Ana westward through the Mediterranean and the Straits of Gibraltar, then into and across the open seas of the Atlantic to Veracruz, never once losing sight of it, day or night.
The discovery of the Mexican vessel had given me six-plus days to refine the operational plan with the Machine and with the sporadic input of the Controller. I had done this while moving from Pakistan to Mexico. Waste not, want not. The Grid had arranged the delivery of the equipment the Machine and I thought I would need through four of the hundreds of companies belonging to the Founders. The equipment had been delivered to Veracruz by air. It included a quantity of Devices of various capabilities.
When the Santa Ana arrived at the port this morning, I watched it dock. Shortly after the vessel was secured, one man in a port authority uniform boarded, accompanied by another man in dark civilian clothing. Once they were on board, I watched the two men be escorted to the vessel’s dining room by an individual who appeared to be the Santa Ana’s Captain. He showed them into the room and then departed. Nine men had been present in the dining room, each wearing Western-style clothes. All of them were turned away from the two men who had just entered. None of them turned around out of curiosity. From close-up views of their faces, I thought the ten men looked to be from the East. Eight of them had weathered and hardened features. The ninth wore glasses and did not appear to be cut from the same cloth as the others. The individual in dark civilian clothing briefly looked in the direction of the nine men, then talked to the port authority official. After a short discussion, the man in dark clothing handed the official a stack of passports that had been laying on a nearby table. The official took out a stamp pad and stamp and proceeded to make entry markings in each of them. When this was completed, the official and the man in dark clothing stepped farther away from the nine men. The man in dark clothing put his hand on the official’s shoulder, canted his head to look down into his eyes and shook his hand, saying, “The Patron asked me to personally thank you for your assista
nce. He will not forget.”
The official had curtly nodded and stammered, “Thank you, Jefe.”
The man in black continued to look at him and said, “Go now.”
The official had turned, left the dining room, walked back up the dimly lit corridor, back out into the harsh morning sunlight, and left the ship.
The man in black had turned and walked toward the group of nine men. “Welcome, my friends. Welcome to Mexico. You have traveled far to be with us. We are honored you are here.” He said these words in English with a heavy Spanish accent.
One of the nine men turned around first, one of those with a hard face. Only then did the others turn.
The man in black approached the man who had turned first. He smiled a broad smile and said, “Welcome, Khan.”
The Grid would be very pleased, I thought.
El Jefe had then reached into an outside pocket of his black jacket and took out a large semi-automatic handgun. Seven of the men started to move forward very quickly, some of them pulling pistols or revolvers of their own from under their clothing. Khan held up his hand. His men stopped instantly. I admired the discipline. The man in black had offered the pistol to Khan, butt first, never taking his eyes away from the other man’s. Khan had taken the pistol, ejected the magazine, examined the handgun, reinserted the magazine, chambered a round, and then activated the safety.
In English, he said, “According to our agreement. That is good, Miguel.”
“According to your agreement with the Patron. I have come alone onto the ship and you have my only weapon. I am at your mercy, Khan – to prove to you that you and your men are safe with us – as agreed.”
Khan continued to gaze at him, a poker look on his face. Then he smiled a thin smile and slightly, slowly nodded his head. “Yes Miguel, as agreed.”
Miguel looked at the eight other men. “You had told us that you were bringing nine men. I see only eight.”
“The ninth man is with the weapon, watching over it.”
“Only one man, Khan?”
“If I needed more than one man, you and I would have a serious problem. Do you not agree, Miguel? He is there simply to prohibit the curiosity of the crew from looking too closely.”
“The ship and the crew belong to the Patron, Khan. You need not fear their curiosity. The crew was instructed to leave you and your cargo alone – completely. They know that, should they not obey the Patron’s wishes, harm would come to them.”
“Still, Miguel, it is best to be certain. You may tell your Patron that the crew obeyed his wishes.”
“I will tell him. We should unload the cargo now. For as long as you are the recipients of the Patron’s hospitality here in Mexico, I will stay near you and my gun, Khan – as agreed.”
Khan took his eyes off Miguel and had turned to face two of his men. “Remember my instructions. Stay with him always. Do not let him out of your sight.” As he said these last words, he pointed at one of his men, the one cut from another cloth. “Salim, remember your family.”
The Machine informed me that the Grid had no matches to independently identify Khan or the other eight men.
I watched them and Miguel leave the dining room. A fly followed them.
Jamirez continued to maneuver the forklift to place the crate on the floor at the rear of the warehouse, near a set of large sliding doors opposite those that gave access to the docks. My senses told me of heat and the smell of machinery in the warehouse. There was no air-conditioning system that I could see. Several of Khan’s men had earlier unpacked the first crate, taking out Kalashnikov assault rifles, cartons of ammunition, and man-portable air defense and light anti-tank missiles. They were not lacking for firepower. With their assault rifles, they now provided a perimeter of interior security for the weapon.
Most of Miguel’s men had remained outside the dockside warehouse into which the weapon was now being delivered. There were two dozen of them, at least, stationed on both sides of the warehouse. But all of them were in the shadows or in doorways or vehicles – not obvious to the passerby. The Patron ran a tight ship.
Khan and Miguel stood to the side, watching Jamirez do his best with the forklift. Salim and two of Khan’s men – the same two he had spoken to in the dining room of the Santa Ana - stood behind. Jamirez gently deposited the second crate on the warehouse floor, nearly soundlessly. Jamirez looked back at Miguel, a smile on his face, eyes wide, anticipating approval. Miguel gave him a thumbs up and gestured for him to leave. Jamirez turned off the forklift’s motor, got up from the small vehicle and departed the warehouse by an exit to the left of the large sliding doors.
I watched all of this on my Tablet from my hotel room that gave me a view of the docks. The hotel was located just outside the dock area. It was frequented by sailors of visiting vessels and by other visitors to the larger harbor. Many people, always coming and going. A gentle breeze blew off the Gulf of Mexico into the hotel room, fluttering the curtains. I watched the image provided on the Tablet of the men drinking water, wiping the perspiration from their faces, all standing watch over what the Grid believed was a weapon of mass destruction.
Khan, Miguel, Salim and his two guardians approached the second crate. Salim looked at Khan. He nodded. Salim took a crowbar provided by one of his two companions and began to open the crate, marked “Construction Tools and Spare Parts.” He levered open the side facing him, the wood creaking and groaning in protest, then the top. His two guardians helped him lift the top off the crate and lower it to the floor. He then lowered the other three sides, each equally vocal in their resistance. Khan and Miguel walked closer to the heavy wood planking now on the floor to gain a better look at the large metal container that it revealed - matte brown in color, with white stenciling.
Salim walked to the metal container, appeared to think momentarily, and then operated seven security latches and lifted its cover. He beckoned the others to come nearer. A fly accompanied them.
“The Device visually confirms the presence of an apparent atomic warhead from a Pakistani intermediate range ballistic missile. Yield: 1 megaton. It has also acquired the same radiation trace detected by the Hypersonic four days ago. The serial number on the warhead matches the archive records of the Pakistani Atomic Weapons Department of the Pakistani Ministry of Defense.” The fly settled down onto the atomic warhead, out of sight from the humans.
Now we knew – no more percentages.
Khan and Miguel looked down at the atomic weapon.
“You must have your specialist examine it. To satisfy yourself – as agreed,” said Khan.
Miguel took his smartphone from his jacket pocket, punched in a number and spoke briefly. A few moments later, a man entered the warehouse from the same door through which Jamirez had departed. The man looked at Miguel, who gestured to him to approach. He said, “The Patron is waiting for me to confirm that this is the weapon that he has been expecting. Please.” He extended his arm toward the weapon.
The man approached it slowly. Hesitantly, he held out a small apparatus and passed it over the warhead, looking down at the apparatus. It appeared to be a Geiger counter. He then examined the markings on the weapon, and then looked more closely at the warhead itself. He rested his hand on it. Afterwards, he turned toward Miguel. “Jefe, I believe it is the weapon that the Patron is expecting.”
“You believe?”
“Jefe, the radiation readings are what I would expect and it is warm to the touch. It has appropriate markings and appears to be what such a weapon would look like.”
“Thank you for your excellent opinion. You may leave.”
The man did not say a word as he turned and departed by the same door through which he had entered.
Miguel looked down at the ground and then at Khan. “It seems that we have mostly your word that this is the weapon the Patron expects.”
“Given that many of my men are prepared to martyr themselves to ensure that this warhead operates correctly, I believe, Miguel, that you can f
eel safe with my word.”
Miguel stared at him, measuring. “I find I must agree with you.”
“Miguel, I must ask you about the man who just examined the weapon. Was it safe to allow him to do so? He did not appear to be – shall I say – one of your trusted inner circle.”
“Khan, do not worry. You must learn to trust me - as I you. That man will not speak of this warehouse – or anything else - to anyone.”
Miguel lifted a smartphone from his outside jacket pocket, opened it and pressed a button. He waited with the phone to his ear. “Patron, it is here. I confirm it to you.” He stood there listening. “Yes, Patron. I will have him with you, as you say.” He ended the communication. Precise and quick. Another indicator of how the Patron ran his affairs.
“With your agreement, the Patron offers the hospitality of his villa and wishes to meet with you in two days, after we have taken the warhead to its final destination in Mexico City.”
“I am honored, of course, as always. I would like Salim and his two companions to accompany me.”
“I am certain the Patron will have no objections.”
“The cell phone number called by Miguel belonged to a used car salesman living in San Diego, California. We have no audio records that match that of the Patron’s voice, as spoken during the call. The voice was muffled. We have matches for the faces of several of Miguel’s men, but none that are related to a Mexican cartel. We have identified Miguel or Jefe as Miguel Carlos Hernandez. He is known by the Mexican authorities to be the right-hand man of Rodrigo Gomez Alfonso Soares, the leader of El Centro. I believe you are familiar with this drug cartel. It controls a sizeable amount of the narco-trafficking into and out of Mexico, as well as portions of Mexico City. It seeks to continue to improve its position to challenge the Mexican government for outright control of the State. Grid Actual has asked me to communicate to you the negative significance of this information and to tell you that a relationship between the Khan group and El Centro that revolves around an atomic weapon is of the greatest interest to the Grid. Confirming and understanding that relationship and – should it prove necessary – confronting it is now your first priority.”
The Grid Page 11