I verbally acknowledged the Machine’s words, while visualizing an ever-deepening rabbit hole into which I was descending. I remembered the Controller’s words in Lisbon that there could be demons down there. A shallow smile came to my face, unbidden. I gave the Machine additional instructions.
Three of the fifteen Devices deployed in and around the warehouse landed – one each – on Miguel, Khan and Salim. They worked their way, unnoticed, under shirt collars, into pockets and pant cuffs.
CHAPTER 12 – Mexico City: The Plan
That afternoon, they had repacked the weapon and begun the ground movement that delivered it to Mexico City – to the tenth floor of a building under construction, largely completed, in the heart of the city. The movement had taken 45 hours. The weapon and four of Khan’s men and four of Miguel’s had been moved in the covered cargo area of a large transport truck, with the lettering “Zola and Sons – Construction Tools and Spare Parts” on its sides and rear. One of Miguel’s men drove the large truck, with another of his men beside him. The second of Khan’s crates, containing his small arsenal, was also in the cargo bed of the truck. Miguel, Khan and the remainder of his men rode in two other vehicles, an SUV and a van, both with smoked glass windows. Three of Khan’s men rode in the SUV. Miguel, Khan, Salim and Khan’s last man were in the van. Two of Miguel’s men rode in both the SUV and the van – one driving and the other in the front passenger seat. The SUV proceeded in front of the transport truck, the van behind. Preceding and following this 3-vehicle convoy were four other vehicles of differing type, make and color, carrying the remainder of Miguel’s men. I imagined all of them to be heavily armed in case they had to fight their way out of anything to retain the weapon. The outer escort vehicles transporting Miguel’s men moved back and forth, sometimes in front of the other three vehicles, sometimes behind – to break the pattern and the image. Five additional, nondescript vehicles patrolled to the front and sides of this seven-vehicle convoy, ensuring it avoided any police or army checkpoints, large towns and obstructions to the roads. Rest breaks – the few that were made – took place in open areas, away from towns. The SUV and van always stayed near the transport truck. The vehicles providing outer security always kept moving or stopped a distance away. Miguel’s men exchanged information and coordinated their movements via encrypted cell phones. When some of them exited their vehicles during rest stops, I could see that they appeared alert and moved athletically, always looking to the outside, scanning the sky or the terrain in the distance. Probably the Patron’s first team. Not the fumbling type – like the beloved Jamirez.
The dedicated OGS captured all of this as the Machine listened to the quick cell phone exchanges between Miguel’s men and tracked the twelve-vehicle convey from Veracruz to Mexico City, to the building under construction, near the center of town.
I traveled by rental car, some distance behind. The Machine guided my route – telling me when to stop, when to move, when to turn this way or that - to keep me on the convoy’s track and unseen. We were all moving, as Miguel had said, toward the final destination.
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An exquisitely adorned room of polished wood, marble floors, overstuffed canapés and chairs, tasteful sculpture and paintings. Subdued lighting. Sunlight streaming in through large, chiseled, tinted and armored frames of glass, providing a sense of tranquility and shade from reality’s elements. As I witnessed this, my first thoughts were of power and great wealth.
A very attractive woman, wearing a black skirt, black jacket, high heels, and white blouse – the top two buttons undone – approached Khan and Miguel. I could hear the sound of the silk stockings covering her thighs brushing past each other as she walked toward them, then stopped. She looked down at Khan. “Please sir, follow me. Senor Soares is looking forward to welcoming you.”
Khan looked at the woman – from head to foot. He smiled, nodded and stood. He straightened his tan jacket. Miguel stood, inclined his head and gestured for Khan to precede him. The woman turned and began walking toward a pair of high, ornately engraved wooden doors, ten meters distant. Khan watched, then followed.
I watched them walk to those high, ornately engraved doors. My view was from behind and slightly above and to the left of Miguel’s left shoulder.
The woman opened the two doors, pushing them silently inward, stepped aside and gestured for Khan to enter. He nodded to her and walked into the Patron’s private office. Miguel and two flies followed. “Maria, please ensure that my guest and I are not disturbed.” English.
Soares. I was seeing him for the first time. A large man – perhaps two meters tall, broad at the shoulder. He looked fit for his age – late fifties. Deep tan, well-groomed silver-white hair, impeccable suit, highly polished shoes, brilliantly white teeth.
“Certainly, Senor.” Maria smiled and retreated, stepping back and silently closing the doors.
While the waiting room had been opulent – sufficient to impress nearly any visitor – Soares’ private office was immense and decadent in a highly understated way, beyond nearly any compare. I could only admire the panorama the Devices provided. Truly, I was impressed – as was Soares’ intention for anyone having the honor to visit his inner sanctum.
My senses advised me that this was a serious man doing serious business; that I must not underestimate a person like this – I would do so at my peril.
Soares nodded at Miguel and walked toward Khan, arms outstretched. “My dearest friend, it is wonderful to see you again.” A smile as broad as the sun lit his tanned, mustached face, a face that communicated warmth, welcome, and generosity – as well as accomplishment and great confidence – to the recipient of its gaze. I recognized and appreciated the significant personality that he presented. Yes – at my peril. I felt an internal gleam fill my eyes at this thought. I’ve always relished challenge. It is one of my faults. I know you understand what I am saying. The Grid always has.
Letting go of Khan’s upper arms, Soares stepped back and looked him up and down. “You look well - very well. I trust the ocean voyage was not difficult and that my crew was respectful.”
“The voyage was comfortable enough. Thank you, Gomez. Your crew did its job.”
Soares raised his eyebrows at this, then nodded. “Good. Before we talk further, Khan, may I offer you some refreshment? Anything. Anything at all.”
“Coffee, strong and black.”
“Of course, my friend.” Soares turned toward Miguel. “And you, Miguel?”
“Nothing, Patron. Thank you.”
Soares bent forward and pressed a small white device on the thick glass tabletop below him to his left. Several seconds later, one of the office doors swung open and the lovely Maria reappeared. “Yes, Senor?”
“Maria, two coffees, bicas, please – for my guest and myself.”
“Certainly, Senor.” She nodded slightly and again retreated, silently closing the office door after her.
Soares motioned to an overstuffed leather chair near the glass-topped table. “I love the Portuguese bica – strong, black coffee. You will like it. Please, my friend, sit and be comfortable. You are at home here. Miguel, please sit next to our friend.”
All three men sat down in identical-looking chairs. The material gave that low, creaking, groaning sound that only good leather can offer. A fourth chair remained empty. The four chairs roughly faced each other over the glass-topped table. A crystal vase holding a small bouquet of white roses sat off-center on the glass tabletop. I thought it was a highly pleasant and refined setting for a private discussion concerning the use of an atomic weapon and the incineration of hundreds of thousands.
Soares spread his arms and gestured about himself at the room in which they sat. “Please allow me to assure you, my friend, that we can talk in detail with each other here. You need have no fear that our discussion is being overheard by anyone other than we three. That is what we agreed and I ca
n guarantee our privacy. This room is swept four times every twenty-four hours with very sophisticated equipment used by very competent men who are fully aware of the price of incompetence.”
Khan, who hadn’t taken his eyes from Soares, nodded his head in acceptance of these statements. Two Devices, one positioned on either side of the room to provide me with simultaneous views of the faces of all three men, watched and listened.
“Miguel, do we have any more details of the explosion in Ghal Tar, in Pakistan?”
“No Patron. Nothing new.”
“This event is disturbing, of course. You are certain, my friend, that the building is the same one that you used there?”
“The outer walls and the surrounding area shown in the news reports that you have shown me are the same. Of course, I could not recognize the building itself. It was completely destroyed.”
“Miguel has discreetly shown the footage of the news reports to some reliable explosives experts and asked for their views on what happened there.” Soares raised his hand toward him. “Miguel?”
A knock on the high, ornately engraved office doors. Miguel, who had begun to lean forward from the mahogany-colored leather back of his chair, stopped. The doors opened and Maria entered with a silver tray that contained two small porcelain coffee cups in the French demitasse style with saucers, matching sugar bowl and creamer, two small silver spoons, and a single white rose floating in a shallow crystal vase. As she walked across the space from the doors to where the three men sat, sunlight filtering in through tinted windows highlighted the sharp, exquisite Hispanic features of her face. Her dark, mysterious eyes glinted in the light. The soft rustling of her silk stockings was the only sound. The eyes of all three men in the room watched her. She appeared to look at each of them in turn, saving her last visual embrace for Soares. It was my impression that she was used to such admiring appraisals. She walked to the glass-topped table between Soares and the other two men. She nodded at Soares. “Senor.”
Soares nodded in return and gestured toward Khan. “Please, Maria.”
She turned toward Khan and placed the silver tray down on the low table. She picked up one of the demitasse cups, placed it on one of the saucers with a silver spoon and offered it to him. “Sir. Sugar or cream?”
“Just one sugar,” he responded.
Maria bent lower to the table to take the sugar bowl and pincer, revealing her open décolletage as the weight of her breasts pushed her blouse further open. I imagined the scent of her perfume. She turned and placed one sugar cube in the coffee cup she had given to Khan. His gaze kept shifting between her face and eyes and her décolletage.
“Thank you,” he said.
Maria smiled in response, “My pleasure, sir.”
She then turned and served Soares, who smiled his appreciation to her. “Thank you, Maria. Ever beautiful and efficient.”
She held his gaze, smiled and inclined her head. “You are always too kind, Senor.” She turned and walked back toward the high, ornately engraved doors. The three men waited. Her silk stockings rustled softly. She left the room, again silently closing the doors.
Soares again gestured to Miguel. “Please go on.”
Miguel again leaned forward in his chair. He cleared his throat. “Patron.” He then faced Khan. “Three of the five people we spoke to individually believed that the destruction of the building was caused by a device detonated inside the building – not from an external attack. They believed this because of the apparent outward expansion of the building’s walls that caused the upper floors and roof to collapse, the apparent state of the roof – that is, essentially intact but fragmented in large pieces – and the minimum damage apparently done to the outside wall surrounding the building. The other two believed that perhaps it could also have been caused by an external missile strike, but with a weapon of high sophistication to ensure utter destruction of the inside of the building, while severely limiting damage outside the building itself. They thought perhaps the Americans. But the Pakistani government has now publicly stated that it does not believe the Americans were involved; that metal fragments found in the debris of the building were inconclusive as to the type of explosive device; that they had detected no foreign aircraft – manned or unmanned – in Pakistani airspace around the time of the explosion; that they believe the explosion was caused by some other type of device detonated inside the building by one or more of the occupants.”
“My initial reaction is that this is a ridiculous idea,” Khan said. “All of those men were sworn to me. But – Miguel has told me that the news reports have stated that 21 bodies were recovered from the building wreckage and the courtyard around it. I know that there were 22 of my men at that building on that night. One body is missing.”
Soares and Miguel exchanged a look, as Khan continued to speak.
“If this is so, then I will allow myself to consider the ridiculous. Still, there is only one person in my group, other than those with me here, who knew that my destination was Mexico. That person is my brother Omar. I cannot believe that it was he who may have detonated a device inside the building. If it was someone else and that person survived, he does not know where I am or what I am doing. Therefore, if the explosion that destroyed the building was detonated by someone in my group, there is still no danger to us and what we are about to accomplish.”
Soares and Miguel exchanged looks. Miguel nodded. Soares looked back to Khan.
“It strikes me that there are two other possibilities, my friend. First, that the Americans or someone else who is capable did indeed strike the building - either by air or on the ground. If a government conducted a commando raid to attack the building, they could have caused this same damage, as well as kidnapped the person you say may be missing. What if that person is your brother, my friend?”
Khan leaned forward in his chair. He looked directly into Soares’ eyes. “Even if what you suggest did take place and my brother was kidnapped, he would never talk, no matter the methods used to force him to speak of what he knows. He is my brother.”
A hardness came over Soares’ face, though his voice remained soft. “Skilled and forceful interrogators can be convincing, my friend. Believe me.”
Khan shifted his gaze to Miguel. He then looked down, then back at Soares. “I will tell you that to ensure he would not speak of our secrets in such circumstances, I assigned one of my best men to be his companion, his bodyguard. This man had one ultimate task: personally kill my brother should it appear that he would fall into the hands of anyone who appeared to be our enemy. If such a commando attack took place, this man would have shot my brother in the head – without hesitation – killing him instantly, as soon as the attack began.”
Soares’ gaze did not soften. His voice remained inviting. “I believe the Americans, the British and the Israelis have highly skilled commandos that might have been able to prevent this man from executing his final task - perhaps. Tell me, my friend, has anything occurred anywhere since we first spoke of our plan that could suggest – if even only slightly – that our enemies have discovered us? Please, my friend, think carefully.” Surely Khan could sense the eggshells underfoot.
Of course, something had occurred - in the Yemen. But very early the morning following the event, Omar and the remainder of his men there had discovered and cleaned up the bloody mess in the warehouse and removed the bodies of Rashid and his men from inside and around it. The OSG had witnessed clear evidence of this taking place. Khan would not want the carnage to become known to the Yemeni authorities. It would raise an inquiry, perhaps even make the international news. Soares’ question told me that Khan had not yet shared with him the unexpected events that had taken place on the outskirts of Al Hodeidah.
Khan responded without hesitation. I admired his conviction. He spoke slowly, evenly. “This undertaking that we have embarked on together is far too important. If something had happened, Gomez, I would have told you - when it occurred.” He leaned slowly back into the co
mfort of his chair.
Neither trusted the other completely. But how could you expect them to give that kind of trust? Both of these men would, in their own ways, be hedging their bets – their loyalty to the other. They had no real choice.
Soares slowly nodded. “I am certain you would have, my friend. As you say, it is far too important to you - and me.” He turned to Miguel. “What are our sources in the government and in the intelligence and security services telling us?”
Miguel cleared his throat. “Patron, there has been no information from any of the relevant sources at the highest and deepest levels of the Mexican State that suggest any awareness of our actions with Khan. There has been nothing, absolutely nothing, regarding the arrival of Khan and his men; nothing regarding the atomic warhead, its movement here or its present location; no new, different, or unusual activity by the State or your competitors related to you or our organization. We are paying special attention, watching as closely as we can. So far, there is nothing. Mendoza will, of course, alert you immediately should that change.”
The Grid, of course, had been monitoring the activities and communications, as best it could, of all governments and intelligence and security services for precisely the same reason: to determine if any of them had become aware – in any fashion – of any thread that would lead to Soares and Khan and their possession and intended use of an atomic weapon in the heart of Mexico City; any thread that would lead them to the Grid. To date, the Grid had found nothing. The Machine would alert me immediately should that change. At present, it appeared that governments and other outside agencies were unaware that an atomic weapon was loose in the world. Soares and Khan intended to change that in a few days. But then, so did the Grid.
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