"What?" she asked, confused.
Payne explained. "The guy we're after tortured one of their officials. We weren't sure why, but now it makes sense. He wanted to know about the towers."
44
The entry route was exactly as they had been told. Follow the pipes directly into the subbasement. Take the stairs to access ground level. From there, all seven towers were accessible via ramps and exterior construction elevators. Security would be virtually nonexistent, since most of the guards would be outside, patrolling the plaza, stopping people from entering the work zone. They wouldn't be inside, worried about terrorists.
During the past six months, Schmidt had studied the building plans and surveyed Mecca on three different trips. However, until he was standing inside, staring at the tons of concrete and steel that surrounded him, he never fully grasped how big the complex was.
To build the Abraj Al Bait Towers, a large hole was dug until they hit bedrock, which was less than 100 feet deep in Mecca because its layer was close to the surface. In some projects, such as the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur, workers had to dig 394 feet underground to lay the foundation, a massive undertaking that cost millions of dollars.
Next, footings were anchored in the hole to distribute the weight, much like a pyramid, before concrete was poured over the top, creating the bottom floor. Large cranes inserted vertical support beams and horizontal steel girders, which held the building together, forming a giant frame. Finally, a curtain wall, made of concrete and glass, was attached to the outside, providing water and wind resistance while improving the overall aesthetics of the project.
From there, work was done on the interior. Three thousand miles of electrical wires. Twenty-eight thousand miles of plumbing. Heating and cooling systems. Wood, marble, stone, glass. All of it laid in stages over several years, pieces slowly coming together until the complex was finally done.
Construction began in 2004 and wouldn't be finished until 2009.
But as far as Schmidt was concerned, everything he needed was already in place.
The tunnel was narrow, lined in concrete and filled with massive pipes that seemed to go on forever. With nowhere to hide and no way to spread out, they jogged single file, their footsteps multiplying with every echo. Fluorescent lights, covered in metal screens and bolted to the ceiling, lit their path, but the truth was they were heading into darkness.
No advance recon. No knowledge of the building. Like a black hole of information.
Payne led the way, followed by Jones, then the other two teams. Their pace never slowed from the moment they entered the hatch until they approached the tunnel's end. It opened into a wide expanse, cluttered with equipment, raw materials, and the skeletal foundation of the buildings. The men scattered quickly, searching for architectural plans, schematics, or maps-anything to help them navigate the maze that surrounded them.
Three minutes passed before something was found. It was a simple pamphlet, written in Arabic and English, detailing the future amenities of the towers, including a full-color illustration of the complex upon completion. There were seven buildings in total, all of them facing the Great Mosque. Five were laid out in a giant horseshoe, while the space between was filled with a multistoried mall. The remaining two towers jutted away from the curve in the U- one tower on each side, yet still connected through a series of walkways and bridges.
The showcased building was the one in the center. Simply called the Hotel Tower, it was nearly sixteen hundred feet tall, trimmed in gold, and topped with a crescent moon, an important symbol in the Islamic faith. It was nearly twice the height of the others, whose names and sizes were listed.
1. Hotel Tower 485 m, 1,591 ft.
2. Hajar 260 m, 853 ft.
3. Zamzam 260 m, 853 ft.
4. Qiblah240m,787ft.
5. Sarah 240 m, 787 ft.
6. Marwah 240 m, 787 ft.
7. Safa240m,787ft.
With the exception of the hotel, each of the names had its roots in Islam. Sarah and Hajar were women in the Qur'an. Zamzam was the famous well inside the Great Mosque. Marwah and Safa were the hills that pilgrims travel between seven times. Qiblah was the direction of prayer in Mecca.
According to the pamphlet, each of the buildings was being treated as a separate project. All of them were interconnected, but they would be finished at different intervals. Two of the residential towers would be completed this year; the hotel would take until the end of the decade.
Payne considered this while he planned their next move.
Meanwhile, his men gathered around as if he were a quarterback in the huddle, waiting for him to call the play.
"There are six of us and six exterior buildings," he said. "We don't know where they'll be or what they're doing. For all we know, they're spread throughout the complex. The best way to cover that much ground is by splitting up. Radio frequently. Keep me posted. Concentrate on the structural areas, places where an explosive will do the most damage. We don't have time to go room to room. Just follow your gut and we may get lucky."
He pointed to a man then pointed to a building, each assigned the number in the pamphlet. "You, four. You, five. You, six. You, seven. D.J. and I will take the two towers closest to the hotel. If you see anything, let us know. We'll reassign manpower as needed."
The soldiers dispersed, moving in pairs. Even-numbered buildings were on the left; odd numbers were on the right. The men would travel together until they were forced to split up.
Payne and Jones were the last to leave. They lingered in (he subbasement for an extra minute, looking for something to improve their odds, hoping to find a better map, one with floor plans or mechanical drawings. Anything to point out the weaknesses that Schmidt might have spotted when he did his research.
As it turned out, their biggest break wasn't an object. It was a sound. A simple sound. Nothing more than a drip of liquid falling on concrete. Like a droplet of rain hitting the sidewalk. Jones heard it as he searched for paperwork. On most occasions it would have blended into the outside world and he would have ignored it. But in this case, his senses were in overdrive. Adrenaline was flowing, and everything around him was part of a much bigger puzzle.
A sound could be a footstep. A sound could mean his death.
Drip. Somewhere to his left.
Drip. Back near the maintenance shaft.
Drip. What was that smell?
Suddenly his curiosity was doubled. Not only was there a noise, but there was an odor. A familiar scent that reminded him of his time in the military. Back when he was flying planes and helicopters. Killing time in hangars. Waiting for his next mission to begin.
He took a few steps forward, searching the ceiling and floor for moisture. Finally he saw it. A small puddle underneath the massive water pipe they had followed from the hatch. Curious, he crouched and inspected the liquid. It was clear like water but had a strong chemical smell. He put his nose closer and took a whiff.
"Jon," he called over his shoulder. "Come over here."
Payne spotted him in a catcher's stance, examining a puddle on the ground. He couldn't imagine what his friend was doing. "Please tell me you didn't take a piss."
Jones ignored him. "I think it's fuel."
"What do you mean?"
"I think this pipe is leaking fuel."
"But that's a water pipe."
He nodded. "I know it is. But I'm telling you, this isn't water."
Dubious, Payne leaned closer and breathed in the fumes. An acrid stench filled his nostrils, burning the back of his throat and making him gag.
"Told you it isn't water."
Payne coughed a few times, trying to catch his breath. "What the hell is that?"
But Jones didn't answer. Instead, he took a few steps down the maintenance shaft, trying to figure out what was going on. He glanced back into the subbasement, following the plumbing, then back into the shaft again, the pieces still not fitting together. "Where do those pipes go?"
"To
some private facility in the desert. Shari said the towers were so big they had to pump in their own water."
"But that's not water."
"I know it's not water. I'm still choking." He paused for a second as all the nasty possibilities started to sink in. "Wait. What do you think it is?"
"Aviation fuel."
45
When designing a skyscraper, water pressure is a significant problem that must be overcome. Large pumps in the basement usually service the lower floors. However, it is impractical to pump water directly to a penthouse, several hundred feet in the air. Most buildings are equipped with mechanical floors, every ten floors or so, which are filled with everything from air-conditioning units to ventilation systems. This is where intermediate pumps are stored, used to push water from one stage to the next until the liquid reaches its highest destination.
Unfortunately, this is an inefficient system in the tallest of buildings, always relying on the pump below to send water to the pump above. One mechanical failure and the water stops. This is a huge concern in emergency situations, when sprinkler systems cannot afford to fail because ground-based fire equipment is incapable of shooting water above certain heights.
To remedy this situation, tanks are often installed on the upper floors, where water is stored in case it is needed.
Sometimes the tanks are small, placed on every mechanical lloor in the building. Sometimes they're large, scattered throughout different parts of the system, based on estimated demand. And occasionally, in really big projects such as the Abraj Al Bait Towers, the designers opted for something different.
In the mechanical penthouse, on top of every tower in the seven-building complex, sat a water tank with a capacity of 40,000 gallons. Engineers designed these tanks with a dual purpose in mind. First and foremost, they could supply water to the 65,000 guests who would fill the towers and all the extra people who used the mall, convention center, and prayer halls. Second, the tanks served as tuned mass dampers, absorbing vibrations from high winds and possible earthquakes-not to mention 2.4 million people as they strolled through the Meccan desert during the hajj season-which helped to protect the structural integrity of the building's core.
Ironically, the tanks were installed to keep the towers standing, but they were the very things that might bring them down.
Trevor Schmidt smiled as he placed the charge along the base of the water tank.
It was the perfect choice for the perfect mission.
C-4, an abbreviation for Composition 4, was a military-grade plastic explosive, one that was preferred by the U.S. Special Forces because its velocity of detonation was ideal for metalwork. Not only was it malleable, allowing it to be molded into specific shapes or wedged into the tiniest of spaces, but it was also highly stable. It could be shot, dropped, kicked, or thrown into a fire, but it wasn't going to explode without a detonator. For the past few hours, Schmidt had carried five pounds of it in a shoulder bag and never worried about it blowing up prematurely.
Of course, there were other reasons why he'd selected C-4 for this particular job.
Personal reasons.
Due to its precision, C-4 was frequently used by terrorists, including the bombing of the USS Cole, a guided-missile destroyer refueling in Yemen, and the destruction of the Khobar Towers, a U.S. military housing development in Saudi Arabia where nineteen servicemen were killed. Both of those were horrible tragedies that deserved to be avenged, but in Schmidt's mind, they paled in comparison to the incident at Al-Hada Hospital, where C-4 was used to detonate a fuel truck parked outside the private wing where his men were staying.
That was the attack that fueled his rage.
He thought back to that painful day as he prepared the detonator. For him, it was a simple procedure, one he had done so many times in the past that it was second nature. Like brushing his teeth or tying his shoe. There were no nerves or trepidation. His hands simply did what they were trained to do.
Much like Schmidt himself.
Payne sent the transmission as he and Jones charged up the stairs. "All teams, check in for priority update. Repeat, priority update."
His men responded in turn, waiting to receive the information.
"Jet fuel has been found in the plumbing. Repeat, inside the plumbing. Focus your search on mechanical floors. Tanks and pumps are prime targets. Sweep for explosives."
There was a three-second delay before one of his men spoke. "Are floor numbers known?"
"Negative," Payne answered. "Floor numbers are unknown. But follow pipes when possible. Listen for machinery. Anything to suggest activity."
Jones added, "Maps might be posted in stairs or elevators. Check there before entry."
Payne nodded. It was a good suggestion. "Good luck."
The man they called Luke was positioned high above the central plaza, giving him a bird's-eye view of the entire complex. Up there, he felt like God sitting on his golden throne because he decided who lived and who died.
Staring through his sniper's scope, he made his decision.
Death would come swiftly.
With the ball of his finger, he eased the trigger back, careful not to jerk his rifle. The bullet was discharged at three thousand feet per second and slammed into the base of the target's skull, entering the cerebellum and instantly stopping his motor skills. Pink mist erupted in the lobby as one of Payne's soldiers fell to the floor.
Luke flicked his wrist, ejecting the spent casing before he chambered a new round.
The Arab American never heard the shot. One moment his partner was jogging in front of him, the next he was falling in a violent burst of blood.
Stunned by the development, he reacted the way most people would: he rushed to his friend's side, hoping he could help. Unfortunately, it was a choice that ended his life.
The second shot arrived eight seconds later. Same pinpoint accuracy, same maximum devastation. It punctured iiis red-and-white headdress, entered his skin and skull, then exited the other side, taking chunks of brain with it.
Two dead men in one messy pile.
Payne spotted them across the lobby and shoved Jones behind a thick stone pillar that shielded them from a frontal assault. They peeked around the corner, soaking in the details of the scene, trying to understand what had happened.
"Sniper," guessed Jones, who was familiar with their techniques because he had trained as one before the MANIACs. He scanned the terrain, searching for possible positioning. "Somewhere high, but not too high. Range is too tough to gauge."
Payne listened as he swore under his breath, blaming himself for their deaths.
"Maybe in the hotel. Probably near an exit point."
"What?" Payne asked, trying to focus on what was said. "Which exit?"
Jones pointed toward the tower above them. Of all the buildings, it had the least amount of work done. Nothing more than a steel and concrete skeleton rising five hundred feet into the sky. Not even a third of its intended height. "Up there somewhere."
Payne glanced up. Most of the building was hidden from view, blocked by a large overhang that would eventually support the atrium in the mall. Right now there was no glass, just an empty space that opened to the heavens above. "How'd he get there?"
"Construction elevator. No way he walked it. Snipers need to control their breathing to get a precise shot. That doesn't happen if you're out of breath."
"So he's just sitting up there, waiting to pick us off?"
"Probably."
"Which means he isn't placing a charge."
"Probably not."
"Then we have to leave him," Payne said with regret. "At this point it's all about the math. Bombs can kill a lot more people than the sniper, so we have to focus on the bombs."
Jones nodded in agreement. "Where do you want me?"
"Take building three. I'll warn the men, then slip around back to building two."
Jones turned to leave, then suddenly stopped. "Hey, Jon."
"Yeah?"
&nbs
p; "If you find Schmidt, don't focus on the past. Don't hesitate."
Payne shook his head. "Don't worry. I won't."
46
They surged toward Mecca like a dust storm sweeping in from the desert. It started with a slow trickle, a few hundred people who left Tent City right after their required duties, closely followed by a flood of 2.4 million pilgrims, all of them looking to fulfill their hajj obligations.
Payne saw them in the distance on Pedestrian Road, the main route from Mount Arafat, as he rode up the construction elevator attached to the eastern end of Hajar (building two). The crowd's movement was like a ticking clock, for he knew Schmidt would coordinate his attack with their arrival. Thankfully, they were still a mile away, which gave Payne twenty minutes to find the explosives and render them useless.
Floors whizzed by as the open-air elevator continued to rise. One hand on the remote control and one hand on his gun, Payne slowed his ascent as he approached the top floor, more than eight hundred feet above the plaza. Before exiting, he scanned the rooftop, focusing on the corners, making sure he wasn't walking into an ambush.
"Checking roof two," he whispered.
Every few minutes his earpiece would buzz with the latest update from his squad. So far, no luck in any of the towers. No sightings. No discoveries. No explosives. Nothing but two dead soldiers and nothing to show for it.
Time was running out.
Payne took a deep breath and sprinted across the beige roof, trying to reach the mechanical penthouse as quickly as possible. Although this building was currently the tallest one in Mecca, he was surrounded by eight tower cranes that could easily conceal a sniper. Sliding to a stop behind a stack of decorative stones, he turned back and stared at the closest mast, which rose two hundred feet above him and had a working arm capable of lifting twenty tons. Thankfully, no one was up there, but it was the type of machine that could lift a massive water tank and move it into place.
"Going in," he whispered.
The access door was thick and unlocked. He turned the handle and eased it open six inches, just enough space to glance inside. A set of metal stairs descended into shadows. The only light was the sun, peeking over his shoulder. Time was precious, so he didn't hesitate. He slipped through the gap and closed the door. He was instantly swallowed by darkness.
Sword of God paj-3 Page 21