“Done deal. Tell me when we’re close.”
47
Ghadab managed to complete the itineraries before his concentration finally gave way. He locked down his computer and left the bunker, nodding to the lone guard as he walked out to wait for his car.
The vehicle was a concession to the African, who was right about the distance to the city — it was too far to walk on any but the most leisurely days. But he insisted it stay back in Palmyra: it would be easily spotted from above, drawing attention to the bunker.
The night was warm but not unpleasant; Ghadab examined the landscape, admiring how far it stretched, knowing that the vastness could only have been created by the one true God, whose word had been revealed by the Prophet, blessed be his name.
Shadaa snuck into his thoughts. She would be waiting for him at the door. She would help him undress, and then he would have her undress herself.
She was beautiful, and she was his, his entirely. His body ached for the gentleness of a woman’s hand.
The sound of an engine rose over the desert. The car coming for him traveled without lights, and it took a moment to pick out its shadow against the terrain.
Soon I will rest, he thought, waiting for it to arrive.
48
Chelsea watched the screen as the vehicle left.
“There’s still at least one person inside the bunker,” she told Johnny.
“Understood.”
“Don’t take unnecessary risks.”
A foolish thing to say, she realized: the entire mission was a risk, and there was no way to know where the dividing line was between necessary and unnecessary.
Krista, sitting next to her, waved Johansen over. She was monitoring communication as well as liaising with the Air Force pilots supplying the Global Hawk feeds.
“Russian planes flying toward Palmyra,” she said. “Su-27s. Air Force AWACS tracking them.”
“Where’s the Destiny drone?” Johansen asked. Even though they were outfitted for ground strikes, the Russian planes were potent air combat fighters and would have no trouble destroying a UAV.
“Grid Two.”
“Bring it farther north, away from them.”
“Nightbird?” asked Johansen.
“Two klicks north of the bunker.”
“Take it low so the Russians miss it,” Johansen told Chelsea.
“Right.”
Chelsea put the aircraft into a sharp descent, finally leveling into a figure eight at ninety feet above ground level.
“Are those Su-27s still coming?” she asked Krista.
“No change. Ten miles.”
Chelsea brought the UAV down to fifty feet.
“Russians are turning,” said Krista. “Stand by.”
The aircraft headed in the direction of an arms depot southwest of the city: a depot U.S. intelligence said had been emptied two days before.
Not that they were going to tell the Russians now.
“Clear,” said Krista.
Chelsea waited two more minutes, making sure that the planes were gone, then pushed the UAV into a rapid climb.
“Johnny, can we get a sitrep?” she asked.
“Bug is placed. We’re leaving.”
Thank God!
“Good, copy,” she said, suppressing her relief. “See you at home.”
49
Shadaa was waiting for Ghadab when he returned. It was exactly as he had foreseen. She eased his shirt off and undid his pants. She stepped back and at his gesture removed her own clothes. She looked at the floor, ashamed of her own beauty.
“Here,” he told her. And he took her to bed.
Ghadab slept as he had never slept before, through the rest of the night, well into the next day. He missed his prayers. When he woke, he found Shadaa by the door, standing where she always stood, watching him.
God’s Wrath sat up slowly, unsure what to say.
There was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” he snapped.
“Brother, we must talk,” said the African. “Downstairs.”
Ghadab started to get out of bed, then realized he was naked. He looked over at Shadaa, who was watching him expectantly.
“Turn,” he said, signaling with his finger.
She turned toward the wall. He got out of bed and pulled on his clothes.
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
“Wait for me. I will be up presently.”
The restaurant was empty, save for the African and a waiter. Two cups of sweet Turkish coffee waited at the table.
“Take your coffee,” the African said, rising. “We will be more comfortable outside.”
Ghadab followed, understanding that the African’s real purpose was to avoid the waiter’s ears.
“You carried out an exercise,” said the African, leaning against the wall. Songbirds with a nest nearby warbled at each other, marking their territory in song.
“My crew needed a reminder of why they were fighting,” said Ghadab.
“Our situation here is complicated. That makes your situation complicated as well.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are a hero to some and a threat to others.” The African sipped his coffee. “Everything you do is watched.”
Neither spoke for a few moments.
“Thank you for your warning,” Ghadab said finally. He started to rise.
“The Caliph wishes to see you in Raqqa, the day after tomorrow,” said the African. “You have no option. You must go.”
“Of course I would go.”
“By yourself.”
“I would not think otherwise.”
“Enjoy the day.”
“As God has given it to us,” said Ghadab.
50
“This bunker was abandoned before the war,” said Johansen, his laser pointer circling it on the map. “Now there are computers there. Men come in and out, taken up from Palmyra by drivers.”
The slide advanced to a diagram. “We’re getting a U2 with side-penetrating radar to do an overflight. This is a schematic from a bunker with a similar profile. It’s not huge, but it would be perfect for a planning cell, if that’s where Ghadab is holed up.”
“When do we go in?” asked Turk.
“When we know he’s there.” He looked over at Chelsea.
“If he goes in,” she said, “the video will catch him. It has a good view.”
“In the meantime, we have some possible sightings in the city,” continued Johansen. “This may or may not be Ghadab.”
He clicked through a sequence of shots taken by the sensors and the UAVs. There were only two partial images of a face. The recognition system believed it was him — but with only a 40 percent level of surety, not enough to order an attack.
“He’s gone in and out of this building,” said Johansen, showing an overhead of a restaurant surrounded by a park. “The Arab name is ‘the inn in the park.’ Which as you can see, pretty much describes what it is.”
Johansen’s orders did not specifically direct him to kill Ghadab. In fact, even in conversation, no one had actually told him to assassinate the man. It was just understood.
But the more he studied the situation, the more he fantasized about taking Ghadab alive: bring the prick back and make him stand trial. Make a real example out of him. Show the world what the face of terror really looked like.