Sword of God paj-3

by Chris Kuzneski

  Instincts told him he had nothing to fear, that Schmidt and his men wouldn't be sitting in the dark, waiting to strike. Manpower was too valuable. So Payne slid his hand along the wall until he found a switch. One flick of his finger and the room filled with fluorescent light.

  Gun in hand, he eased down the stairs, step by step, scanning his path for booby traps. From there, he shifted his focus to the room itself. Equipment and supplies were scattered along the perimeter wall, nothing that posed a threat or seemed out of place. Then, and only then, did he turn his attention inward, focusing on the object that dominated the center of the room.

  The water tank was the size of a small bus. Supported by steel cables attached to the building's frame, it appeared to hover in space. Payne was familiar with the basic principles of tuned mass dampers-skyscrapers sometimes swayed several feet in the wind, and TMDs were designed to counteract that, acting like a pendulum-but he had never seen one like this.

  If Schmidt had filled one of these with jet fuel, an explosion would be catastrophic. Not only from the force of the blast, but also the lingering effects of the burning fuel, which would pour over the roof like a waterfall of fire, dousing millions of pilgrims, literally melting them in the streets. The prolonged heat would be so intense that the steel columns in the tower would start to melt and buckle. Couple that with the added sway from the disabled TMD and a pancake effect would occur. One floor would fall upon the next, which would fall upon the next, until the whole building collapsed in a pile of rubble. Just like the World Trade Center.

  The impact and the debris and the panic and the fire would turn the Great Mosque into a war zone. No one would be safe. No one would be protected. Chaos would run rampant in the city.

  It would be the worst man-made disaster in history.

  Payne tried to block those thoughts from his mind as he searched the room for explosives. It didn't take long to find one. Made out of C-4, it was molded to the northern side of the tank and armed with a timed detonator. At first glance it appeared to be a simple design, one he could disarm by separating the explosive from the device, but Payne knew things weren't always as they seemed, especially in the world of munitions.

  Who knew what kind of trigger was concealed?

  Just to be safe, he decided to get a second opinion.

  "Device located. I repeat, device located in building two."

  There was a slight delay before Jones's voice filled his earpiece. "Location?"

  "Attached to a water tank in the mechanical penthouse."

  A crackle of updates filled his ear as the remaining soldiers scrambled to check the penthouse tanks in their assigned buildings. Once things calmed down, Jones spoke again.

  "Type of device?"

  "C-four. Armed with a timed detonator."

  "How much time?"

  Payne stared at the mechanism. "Good question. The timer is covered in the housing."

  "Any triggers?"

  "You tell me."

  Jones paused. "Sorry, I can't see any from here."

  "No shit. I meant, what should I be looking for?"

  "You're in the penthouse, right? Don't worry about mercury switches or tilt detonators. There's too much sway up (here to risk it."

  "What would you use?"

  "A hidden tripwire. I'd attach it to the water tank from the back of the casing. That way, if someone removed the device, it would detonate."

  Payne looked closer and spotted everything that Jones had described. A thin green wire dangled out of the device, affixed to the tank with some kind of epoxy. "Okay. I found one."

  "You did? Then you owe me lunch because I just saved your ass."

  "Not a problem. Tell me what to do and the falafel are (in me."

  "Do you have any tools? A screwdriver? Anything like I hat?"

  Payne smiled. He reached up his sleeve and pulled a blade from its sheath. "I have a knife."

  "Of course you do," Jones said with a laugh, well aware of Payne's fascination with knives. "With one hand, hold the wire steady against the casing. Do not let it pull away."

  "Okay."

  "With your other hand, use die knife to pry the wire off of the tank."

  "That's it?"

  "But don't cut the wire."

  "I won't."

  "Or let it pull away from the casing."

  "You already said that."

  "I know, but I really want to get a falafel."

  Payne smiled, thankful for die tension breaker. "Is there anything else?"

  "Nope, that's everything. Just do what I said and you'll be fine."

  He nodded, taking a deep breath. "In that case, get back to work. I need to get this done and you need to search your tower."

  47

  I'nyne held the knife like a surgeon-confident, yet with the utmost care.

  His left hand secured the green wire against the casing while his right hand guided the blade, sliding the tip along I he edge of the water tank until he felt residue from the qioxy. He knew different formulas produced different strengths. Some were weaker than modeling glue; others were used in aerospace construction. Obviously, he was hoping for the former.

  With a hint of pressure, he inched his knife into the resin, uying to pry the wire loose. It quivered slightly, moving with his effort as he slowly broke the bond that held it secure.

  First a chip. Then a crack. Then a huge sigh of relief as the wire popped free from the tank but stayed imbedded in I lie detonator. Just like Jones had promised.

  Shit. I owe him afalafel.

  Payne smiled at the thought, realizing it was a debt he'd gladly pay if he managed to get out of the city alive. Unfortunately, he wasn't ready yet. Not even close. The

  tripwire was one thing; the bomb itself was another. Not only did he have to disarm the timer mechanism, he also had to figure out what to do with the C-4 so it wasn't used by someone else. Whether that be Schmidt. Or the Saudis. Or some terrorist group that operated out of the area.

  Which meant he had to do more than disarm the bomb.

  He had to take the damn thing with him.

  Jones finished his search of building three but came up empty. Literally.

  The mechanical penthouse did have a water tank, just like Payne had described in building two, but there was no liquid inside. The massive tank was bone dry, not a drop of water or jet fuel to be found. When he tapped on its side, it sounded like a hollow drum.

  "Three is clear," he announced.

  Jones hustled back across the roof and into the construction elevator. Due to the death of his soldiers, there were still two more towers to inspect. Building five (Sarah) sat to his west, in the back corner of the complex. Strategically, it would be the least likely target, since it posed the smallest threat. On the other hand, building seven (Safa) was right up front, overlooking the main road that would soon be filled with pilgrims. In his mind, that made it a probable target until he stared down at it from the elevator and saw that the top floor was still being built. There was no water tank or mechanical penthouse. There wasn't even a roof. That meant unless Schmidt found some other weakness on the lower floors, the odds were against its attack.

  To Jones, the building that seemed most vulnerable was building six (Marwah). It was closest to the Great Mosque, sitting just north of Payne's tower, and its construction seemed to be the farthest along. He saw windows. And stonework. And painting. All the little details that get takencare of after the big stuff was finished. Including the installation of pipes and water tanks.

  "Building six, what's your status?"

  There was a slight delay. "The elevator is broke, so I'm hooting it to the penthouse."

  "Current location?"

  "Floor nine."

  "Nine? What's the holdup?"

  "There's scaffolding everywhere, and I keep tripping on my goddamn dress."

  Payne heard the transmission and nearly burst out laughing; the only thing that prevented it was the severity of the situation. "If Nancy needs my
help, I'm available."

  Jones smiled, glad that Payne was still alive. "Is two clear?"

  "Two is finally clear."

  "Glad to hear it."

  Payne continued. "I spotted a walkway that connects my building with six. I can get to the penthouse before he can."

  "Where do you want him?"

  "Send him to one of the remaining towers. Whichever is closest to the mosque."

  "Sending him to seven."

  "Where are you headed?"

  "I'm going to …" Jones stopped, breaking off his response in midthought. Several seconds passed before he spoke again. "I think I see the sniper."

  The soldiers known as Matthew and Mark were getting frustrated. According to their watches, they should have hccn heading toward their rendezvous point, not dicking around with the detonator in building six. The explosive had been placed, and fuel was in the tank. Just as it should be. Unfortunately, when Mark tried to set the timer on the device, it wouldn't start. Either it was defective or broken or its battery was lacking juice.

  Whatever the case, the damn thing didn't work.

  At this point, they didn't have many options. The other device was set to go off in less than twenty minutes, and when it did, they didn't want to be anywhere near the complex.

  The clock was ticking and the pressure was building.

  They couldn't afford any more delays.

  Spotting the sniper was nothing more than a lucky break. Jones was in the construction elevator in building three, studying the layout of the complex. While he spoke to Payne, he saw a flash of movement in building one. The Hotel Tower would eventually be twice as tall as the others; however, right now it was just a partial shell, a third of its eventual height.

  Jones slowed the elevator for a better look and confirmed his initial sighting. There was a man with a rifle positioned near the northeastern corner. He was gathering his things, getting ready to leave. Maybe to find a better spot. More likely to evacuate the site. Whichever the case, Jones knew this was his best chance to stop him.

  Payne had mentioned a walkway between two and six, and Jones knew the same thing existed between one and three. In fact, all of the buildings were interconnected with a series of bridges and corridors. Two connected with four and six. Three connected with five and seven. And one connected with two and three.

  Seven buildings, but no need to walk through the lobby to move between towers.

  At least that's how it would be when the complex was done. Right now, the only ming connecting one and three was a series of long steel beams separated by the width of a car. No floor. No ceiling. No windows. Just a lot of open air and five hundred feet to fall if he took a misstep or a strong gust of wind decided to knock him off. If so, he would land in the central plaza, creating a much bigger mess than the two soldiers who were killed by the sniper.

  Screw it, he thought. This guy is mine.

  Jones exited the elevator and walked to the edge of the steel frame. In his mind, the key to staying calm was getting things over with before he had a chance to get nervous, so he pulled his thobe above his knees-not wanting to trip- took a deep breath, and stepped onto the narrow beam. It felt solid underneath his feet, like walking on a curb.

  Step after careful step, he moved at a steady speed. Never looking down. Always focusing on a point five feet in front of him. Make it there, then move to the next. Nothing but small segments. Never large. It was the best way to avoid being overwhelmed.

  The entire trip took thirty seconds. By the end, his heart was pounding and his left hand was quivering from all the adrenaline. He flexed the hand a few times, took a deep breath, then continued forward. Refusing to look back at what he had conquered.

  More concerned with the perils that waited around the corner.

  Payne crept along the outer wall of the mechanical penthouse. Voices could be heard within. Shouting of some kind. He couldn't make out the words-the wind was whistling, and someone was giving him an update on building seven- but it was definitely an argument.

  Something to be taken advantage of.

  With gun in hand, he opened the metal hatch and slipped inside. Angry words were being exchanged. Two men shouting about their responsibilities. One man said they must finish the job; the other disagreed. The detonator was broken and couldn't be fixed in the next fifteen minutes. They didn't have the tools or the extra parts.

  It was music to Payne's ears.

  He crouched on the stairs, listening to what was being said, hoping to get as much intel as he could. Neither of the voices belonged to Schmidt-that was too much to hope for-but this was half his squad. Two of the men responsible for the violence in the cave. The murders in the village. The plot to blow up Mecca.

  He'd listen for as long as possible before he made his move.

  And when he did, they'd pay for their transgressions.

  48

  When Jones arrived in the northeastern corner, the sniper was no longer there. He had packed his things and abandoned his position less than a minute before.

  Unfortunately, that was the problem with snipers. They were slippery bastards.

  Jones cursed under his breath and scanned the area for exit points. At this height, elevators were the main option. As far as he could tell, one had been built on each side of l he Hotel Tower. The front shaft was clearly visible from I he plaza, something the shooter would want to avoid. His goal would be to eliminate exposure time. Less exposure meant fewer witnesses.

  The other three were all hidden from the main street, the closest being on the eastern face of the tower. It was par-lially concealed by building two and less than thirty seconds away. Jones took a chance and sprinted as fast as he could, darting through the equipment and supplies that cluttered the massive space. The squeaking of cables greeted his arrival as the platform dipped below floor level. With no time to waste, Jones squeezed through the bars of the metal tube and jumped into the open shaft, plummeting several feet before landing on top of the elevator.

  Until then, the sniper had been oblivious to Jones's pursuit. More concerned with the targets below than anyone lurking above. Now, suddenly, he was face-to-face with a black superhero. At least that's what Jones looked like as he stood on the plummeting steel cage, his white robe fluttering in the breeze like he was in midflight.

  The sniper screamed one word-FUCK-before Jones pulled his trigger.

  The mutaween were feared throughout Saudi Arabia, where they were empowered to enforce Sharia, a system of strict religious laws based on the Qur'an.

  Unlike normal police, the mutaween were given discretionary power to enter homes, interrogate suspects, and punish violators on the spot. Sometimes these punishments were as simple as a warning; at other times they were much more severe. According to Sharia law, the penalty for adultery was death by stoning. If neither of the participants was married, they got off easy: a hundred lashes in a public flogging. Thieves were typically imprisoned for a first-time offense (if the stolen item was inexpensive), but repeat offenders were punished with the amputation of hands or feet. Then again, a more vital body part was cut off if a man or a woman was seen performing a same-sex sexual act. And anyone who was caught campaigning for gay rights was beheaded in a public ceremony.

  However, on such an important religious holiday, the mutaween weren't searching for grievous offenses such as these as they patrolled the streets around the Great Mosque. They were more concerned with the mundane violations that seemed to increase when Mecca was flooded with Westerners. Dress code infractions. Consumption of alcohol. Possession of un-Islamic items such as American movies or CDs.

  The last thing they were expecting was the sound of gunfire.

  And it came from the Abraj Al Bait complex.

  Covered in blood, Payne left the mechanical penthouse carrying two bags, one over each shoulder. Gun still in hand, he walked to the northern edge of the roof and peered over the thick wall that separated him from an eight-hundred-foot fall.

 
This was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

  The Great Mosque stretched before him, a series of arches and columns built from gray stones found in the local hills. Several towers, trimmed in green and topped with golden spires shaped like crescent moons, rose toward the heavens, casting shadows on the pilgrims who stood in line outside the main gates, patiently waiting to get inside, where they could fulfill their hajj duties. Shifting his focus to the center of the open courtyard, Payne spotted the Kaaba, draped in black cloth, the holy cube that was honored by all Muslims. From this height, he couldn't see the Black Stone, the focus of so much attention during the past few days, but he knew it was down there, set in the eastern corner of the shrine.

  Thanks to him, it was temporarily safe from peril.

  "Six is clear," he said as he hustled over to the construction elevator that was supposed to be broken-at least according to his men. In actuality, Schmidt's crew had turned off the controls so it remained at the penthouse while they went about their work. A smart move on their part, but one that would benefit Payne. With a flick of a switch, it was operational again, and he was able to ride it all the way to the plaza.

  Trevor Schmidt sensed trouble when the rendezvous point was empty. His men were always punctual-trained to be on time, every time-especially in situations like this. The clock was ticking, and their escape depended on a precise schedule.

  He glanced at his watch. The bombs would be going off in less than ten minutes.

  They needed to get to the tunnel soon.

  Scanning the plaza, Schmidt saw the two dead guards that Luke had gunned down. They were dressed in Arab clothes and laid in puddles of blood that matched the color of the towel on the one guy's head. Schmidt smiled at the image. According to his source, patrols weren't expected inside the complex, but he always planned for contingencies. That's why he put his best sniper in the Hotel Tower. He protected the unit while they went about their business.