by Ian Walkley
The hell he would allow Khalid to escape! Mac powered the Sea Scooter back through the space above the grate, heading straight at Ibrahim. Ibrahim ducked behind the propeller and aimed his spear gun. About three body lengths away, Mac released the Sea Scooter and aimed his spear guns. The Sea Scooter deflected off the propeller cage and began to drift down to the seabed. Mac fired the first spear. Missed. He aimed the second spear and fired. Ibrahim raised his arm and knocked the spear aside as though it was a toothpick.
The hatchway began to close. Soon the grate would lower again, and Khalid would be freed.
Ibrahim thrust his spear out. Fired. Mac twisted his body and the spear passed through muscle on his shoulder. Jagged needles of pain railed down his arm and radiated across his chest and neck. Ibrahim jerked the cable, reeling him in for the kill.
Clenching his teeth against the pain, Mac brought his legs up and kicked Ibrahim’s injured leg. Blood clouded from where Scotty had shot him and Ibrahim dropped the spear cable.
Mac retreated down to the floor of the staging area. His arm was numb. But there was no way to extract the spear because of its harpoon tip. He had to get the spears from the other Sea Scooter before Ibrahim freed the sub and resumed his attack.
Mac glanced up as Ibrahim cleared the scuba tank. Khalid tried to reverse the sub. It held fast. But soon the hatchway would close and the grate would lower. The cracks in the hull were growing and jagged fractures began to fan out from the two large cracks like a spiderweb. Mac glimpsed Khalid signalling frantically to Ibrahim as he desperately tried to reverse the machine from the jaws of the grate. But there was nothing further Ibrahim could do to help and he turned back to Mac, who was behind the boulders. Removing a diver’s knife from his ankle sheath, Ibrahim swam down towards him.
The hatchway closed. The grate began to lower.
As he desperately reached out again with the proximity key, Mac’s air supply ran out.
~ * ~
100
Khalid wiped the sweat dripping into his eyes. He couldn’t stop the trembling. He tried not to think about the cracks, but the sound, like brittle twigs breaking, was making him physically sick. He was too fraught to even consider any breathing techniques.
Although Ibrahim had removed the scuba tank that McCloud had used to foul the propeller, Khalid still had to wait for the grate to lower while the submarine cracked like an eggshell. He cursed Ziad for suggesting the use of an undersea tunnel. After this experience, he decided, he would never get into a submarine again.
His shaking hands shoved the throttle to full reverse, but still the grate would not release the submarine. He glanced above him. Now the hatchway was fully closed.
The grate suddenly released the sub. Khalid wasn’t quick enough and it powered backwards, crashing against the rear wall of the staging area. He quickly put the throttle in neutral. Glancing down, he saw Ibrahim heading down to finish off the American. He could watch Ibrahim get rid of the troublemaker, or risk throttling forward, hoping he could get past before McCloud closed the grate on the sub again. He eased the craft forward. Then decided he had better wait.
He began to feel relief. Nothing would stop him now. With two backpacks in the sub, he now had the means to destroy the holy city of Mecca. There was no way the House of Saud could survive that. He watched as Ibrahim moved in for the kill.
~ * ~
101
Ignoring his air problem and the exploding pains in his shoulder, Mac swiped the proximity key. The barrier grate shot up again, trapping the sub inside the staging area. Ibrahim glanced up for a moment, then kept coming. Determined to finish him.
With lungs crying out for oxygen, Mac unhooked the spare tank from the second Sea Scooter. He started the airflow but only had time for two quick breaths before Ibrahim was upon him. He was holding Scotty’s two spear guns in the shadows, and when Ibrahim was almost at arm’s length he fired. Ibrahim stopped, as though surprised, and looked down. The first spear was sticking out his gut.
He slashed out at Mac with the knife, but to no effect. Mac fired the second spear into Ibrahim’s chest. He dropped his knife and grabbed the two spears, struggling wildly to pull them out. Suddenly, Ibrahim seemed to lose strength, and stopped moving. His body drifted down, head first, to the seabed.
Using Ibrahim’s knife, Mac cut the straps of his empty air tank. He put the spare over his good shoulder and slowly swam up to the grate. He shoved the empty air tank into the propeller again. Now Khalid would be going nowhere. But Mac, too, had limited air in his spare tank. As he waited for the hatchway to close again and the grate to lower, Mac glimpsed a flailing, panic-stricken Khalid inside the sub. Eyes bulging, Khalid screamed words that were impossible to hear.
The grate finally lowered and Mac watched as Khalid tried and failed to get the sub to move. Suddenly, a fist-size hole appeared at the centre of the spiderweb of cracks, and water began to fill the cabin. Khalid’s mouth opened in a scream of silent horror as he thrashed his arms and legs about in the rising water. The level quickly rose to Khalid’s face and he pressed his nose and mouth against the top of the hull, sucking in the last remaining bubble of air. The flickering lights in the cabin revealed Khalid’s final terror as he shrieked out his last breath.
Mac quickly swam to the Sea Scooter and powered seaward, leaving Khalid’s lifeless stare in his waterlogged coffin.
~ * ~
102
Mac surfaced half a mile out to sea. He could see activity aboard the Princess Aliya. A fishing trawler was tied up alongside, and armed wetsuit-clad men were escorting cuffed crewmembers along the jetty to the maintenance compound. It was obvious they were Special Forces, but Mac was less clear about whose. Should he make his presence known, or try to get back to the launch?
Problem was, he had no choice. He was out of air, and the Sea Scooter battery was almost dead. The spear in his arm meant he was going nowhere fast, floating shark bait. Fortunately, a man on one of the trawler’s Zodiac rubber boats spotted him. Commandos dragged him aboard and took him to the jetty where a woman holding an old grey cat came over to him. He recognised her as Sheriti.
“You rescued Mai Fanning,” she said. “Tell me, why did you follow me that day at the markets in Dubai? Who are you working for?”
“First, Sheriti, maybe you’d be so kind as to help with this spear?”
Later, he helped Israeli commandos locate the tunnel. They removed the uranium canisters and Khalid’s body. Ibrahim’s body was never found. Around at the resort, behind the sand dunes they discovered unmarked graves with the bodies of nineteen teenage boys and girls. All of the employees and Khalid’s sister Rubi were gone. When Jog and the Rabi returned to collect Mac, the Israelis were well underway removing the treasure from the fortress. During the search, they found documents that linked Danni to the Bangladeshi millionaire, and evidence about the fate of the other captives.
~ * ~
103
“Derek, it’s Lee McCloud.” Closing his eyes, Mac tried to concentrate on his role and put out of his mind the joy he’d witnessed seeing Sophia run to the outstretched arms of Bob and Elena, and Maddie and Wade at Charles De Gaulle airport. The Bennetts were staying at Jog Khoury’s farm until things had been smoothed over.
There was a brief silence, before Wisebaum said: “Can’t talk right now, Mac. Give me a number.”
A few minutes later his cell phone rang.
“Jesus, Mac. Where have you fucking been? We thought you’d been killed on Andaran. Is Tally with you?”
“Tally’s dead. And my friend, Scotty. I’ve been on the mend in Grand Comore hospital.”
“Oh... Shame about Tal.” A long silence. “I guess at least I’ll be able to settle Hannah’s mind. She’s been holding out hope. So what do you want? You don’t work for us anymore.”
“I thought you might want to know where Khalid is.”
“What? You saying he’s not dead? We heard he got killed by pirates. He and one of the wives. Got
a satellite photo of his boat. Bit of a mess.”
“Actually, the main reason I called was that I thought you might be interested in helping arrange something for Tally. A memorial service. Some of her workmates might like to pay their respects...”
“Uh, sure, sure. That’d be appropriate, now that we know. How about we meet to discuss it? Probably best if it’s away from the office. Nothing personal, but people here are still pretty upset with you about her and Rosco. You’re not exactly flavour of the month here, know what I mean?”
The guy’s callousness seemed to know no bounds. Mac forced himself to hold it in, for Scotty’s sake.
“Yeah, well. I don’t feel real good myself. Look, I have to come to Montreal on the eighteenth to sign some papers with Tally’s legal people. She left everything to her sister Benita, but they need to confirm her death with a witness. In person, apparently.”
“Okay, give me a call when you get here. Gotta go.”
Wisebaum disconnected.
Mac turned to look at Tally.
Her face was grim. “The bastard didn’t even ask how I died.”
~ * ~
104
Fluffy clouds drifted across the serene Montreal sky as Mac crossed the bridge and turned onto Chemin Senneville, going over the plan again in his mind. He dialled Wisebaum’s cell.
“Already here,” said Wisebaum in an upbeat tone. “Go past the stables on your right and turn left just after the creek.”
“Gotcha.”
Mac parked next to the only other vehicle, a metallic blue Audi. He tucked the Sig Sauer in his sock. A .38 was in his jacket. The damp ground revealed three sets of footprints heading down to the beach.
“Over here,” Wisebaum said, stepping out from behind the thick trunk of an ancient maple. He had an overly friendly grin on his face as he held out his hand. The sun reflected off his shiny head. The patent shoes were scuffed and his expensive suit seemed out of place on the dark coloured shingle. “You look a bit the worse for wear, Mac?”
Droplets of water showered on him as he brushed against the maple’s low hanging branches. He grasped Wisebaum’s clammy hand. “Broken nose, spear gun in the shoulder. Bullet grazed the leg. Not a purple heart to be seen.”
“Well, I did try to warn you against going back to Andaran.”
“You didn’t seem to be exactly organizing the cavalry.”
“A long story.”
“Love to hear it.”
Mac took off his sunglasses and gazed out across the lake, where a few amateur fishermen were trying their hand on a day as close to perfect as it gets in Montreal. They trudged along, pebbles giving ground and crunching under each footfall. Mac heard some other crunching behind them and turned to see two guys in suits step out of the trees to follow them.
“Secret Service?”
“One never knows where the threats might come from, Mac. I seem to recall you telling me that once.”
“Am I a threat?”
“Are you?”
“If I was, do you think I’d arrange a meet?”
“If you were, you’d dodge the question.”
“I’m a sniper, Derek. That answers the question.”
“You carrying?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“Please.” Wisebaum gestured at the security guys. One took Mac’s two pistols while the other waved a metal detector over him.
“Clean. No wire,” the guy with the wand said impassively.
“Wire? Why would I be wearing a wire?”
“Two pistols?”
Mac shrugged. “SOP “ Standard operating procedure.
They walked. The other two men followed a few paces back. Close enough.
Wisebaum rubbed his goatee beard with the back of his hand. “You wanted to tell me about Khalid.”
“First, I’d like to know why Tally had to die.”
Wisebaum frowned at that. “Not sure what you mean, Mac. Obviously, we’ve all been deeply distressed by what’s happened. Tally was like a daughter to me. Where’s Khalid?”
“The Israelis.”
The shock showed on Wisebaum’s face. “Bullshit. We’d know.”
“Who do you think attacked his boat? It wasn’t pirates. They raided his resort and rescued me. But it was too late for the others. I reckon he’s singing like a proverbial in Tel Aviv. He hates waterboarding, I believe.”
Wisebaum wiped his hand over his shaved dome and began to fidget with his tie. “What are you getting at, Mac?”
Mac picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed one into the water. It skipped once, then ploughed in. “Khalid told me he was expecting us. Unfortunately for him, we had arrived earlier than anticipated. Even so, Scotty was killed. They cut his liver out while he was conscious.” Mac wound up and threw another pebble. This one skipped five times on the smooth water of the lake.
Wisebaum grimaced. “Oh, that’s God-fucking awful. Tally or Rosco must have told him you were coming.”
“Maybe. Khalid knew my real name. That I was Special Ops. He knew that I was hunting Sophia’s kidnappers. He knew a lot more about me than he should have.” He locked eyes with Wisebaum and for an instant thought he could detect a hint of a smile.
“Christ... They must have tortured it out of them.”
“Oh, they did that, all right. They cut off Rosco’s fingers and put out his eyes. You don’t want to know about Tally. We were all sacrificed so you could let Khalid set his bombs. There was never going to be any raid, was there?”
“What bombs? What raid? What the fuck are you talking about, Mac? Are you insane?” Wisebaum must have given a surreptitious signal because the bodyguards moved closer and drew their weapons.
“Of course, I doubt there’s any real proof. Guys like you know how to cover their trail. But Tally and Rosco didn’t know which hospital Mai was in. You see, they were taken before we rescued her. Apart from Scotty and me, only you knew which hospital Mai was taken to.”
“I’m sure Khalid could easily have found that out.”
“Oh sure, but you called him just before Tally and Rosco were taken in Paris, didn’t you? How else would they have known what room they were in?”
Wisebaum shrugged. “How the fuck should I know? You think we’re the only ones with computer experts? Khalid has some very sophisticated websites.”
“But you and Khalid go back a long way, don’t you? Waterboarding in the UAE, back in the day?”
“Qatar, actually.”
“There are no bombs, Derek. The uranium’s in Israeli hands.”
“Oh, Christ.” He let out an audible sigh. “You’ve fucked up everything, Mac. I told you just to observe. Just to fucking observe! If you’d done what you were told, the others would be alive today. This thing is way bigger than you or me. Or ASTA. Way bigger. We’re both bit players in a big man’s game.”
“But you’re doing all right, Derek. With your Italian suits and fancy cars. It’s not just the college fees, is it? Maybe if you’d explained things to me I could have stayed out of the way. There’s plenty of money to pay me off, isn’t there?”
“Oh, sure! With your fucking attitude towards authority. I knew you were trouble from the start. I’d hoped Tally would be able to control you... Apparently not.”
“Khalid told me the oil companies were holding out for a share of the oilfields once the Saudis were replaced with his people. Is that what this is about, Derek? Oil?”
Wisebaum shook his head and laughed so much he had a coughing fit. He took his glasses off and wiped his eyes “Oh, God. You’re so naive. No, Mac, oil is only part of it. This is about the future of civilization as we know it.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Wisebaum turned serious. “How long do you think this war on terror is going to last? Twenty, thirty years?”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe less now that we got Bin Laden.”
“One hundred and forty years. One hundred and forty years! Some influential me
n funded research through the Denton Institute. The best experts in the nation concluded that the Middle East will get more volatile, more Islamist, as the strong men in places like Egypt, Libya, Syria, the UAE, and Saudi Arabia are replaced over the next few years by unworkable democracies. Like Iran. And it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. A lot worse. There’ll be major disruptions in the oil supply. Prolonged financial recession. Another global Depression. Several big cities in the US and Europe will be destroyed. Millions of innocent people are going to die.”
“But how can helping Khalid be the answer?”
“The Denton Institute concluded that peace will only come when all Muslims turn against Al Qaeda and renounce violence. And what would it take to do that, you ask? The answer is, if Al Qaeda destroyed the holiest place for Muslims. Mecca! Khalid is on the public record as saying the Wahhabi mullahs should be removed from Mecca. And with him in possession of the uranium canisters, and Al Qaeda being blamed for exploding dirty bombs in Saudi Arabia, we had the perfect scenario in place. Only you fucked things up by chasing after some teenage girl. Now we’ll have to find another way.”