“Your MoneyGram is arranged. All you need is a reference number and ID,” Al-Aran said, handing Akil a white envelope. “You’re gaining weight.”
“Nearly ten pounds,” Akil said, tucking the envelope into his jacket and exposing his Qur’an. “Why didn’t you fly? And what’s a lutador?”
“May I?” Al-Aran extended his hand toward the Qur’an. Akil passed him the book, and Al-Aran thumbed the worn pages. “Lutador is a Portuguese word for ‘freedom fighter.’ Flying means airport scanning machines and surveillance cameras — all baggage opened and inspected by security is photographed. No one must see our toys. And no one must see this.” He kissed the Qur’an and handed it back. “The tactics have changed. Have you set the Milwaukee timetable?”
“Yes.”
“And the aircraft selection?”
“As you ordered,” Akil replied. “Delta. MD-90 series. Two fuselage-mounted engines. A morning flight to Atlanta. Changed how?”
“Suffice it to say that you will not have to maneuver underneath or even near the flaps.” Al-Aran started the ignition and turned on the heater. “You will fly the drone to the front of the aircraft and attach it to the vertical shock strut of the nose landing gear. It will be swallowed inside like poison.”
“You mean the main landing gear?”
“The nose,” Al-Aran calmly repeated, seeing the confusion on Akil’s face.
“But there’s no fuel in the nose,” Akil protested. “We should attack the center tank. If we destroy the front wheels, an aircraft can still land safely.”
“There are many vulnerabilities on an aircraft,” Al-Aran said. “The older designs use steel cables and hydraulics to control everything. Aircraft with fly-by-wire systems transmit commands from the cockpit via electric wires to actuators on the control surfaces themselves. You must trust my plan. Tell me about the explosive.”
“I made twenty-four hundred grams,” Akil answered. “Enough to cut each aircraft in half.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” Al-Aran said firmly. “The first plane’s failure must raise doubts about the cause. We need uncertainty. We need the infidels thinking and discussing. I want you to use a measured amount of explosive so that the entire cockpit is not destroyed. How large is each charge?”
“Approximately 150 grams.”
Al-Aran paused to calculate. He knew that just 250 grams of highenergy PETN and Semtex-H destroyed Pan Am 103, a 747 flying over Lockerbie, Scotland, in December 1988. The detonation velocity was nearly five miles per second. That charge was placed in the forward cargo hold and detonated at 32,000 feet. It literally severed the cockpit from the rest of the plane. The pilots were found still strapped in their seats. Potassium chlorate, however, was one-fourth as powerful.
“Use two charges,” Al-Aran ordered.
Both men froze as another vehicle pulled alongside. The Wisconsin State Patrol deputy gave them an unconcerned glance and continued to the restaurant.
“Three hundred grams,” Akil confirmed.
“Everything you need is in that case. Controller, Web access to a training video, and five drones. One drone is expendable. There are two types of plastic cartridges: fuel and catalyst. How long before the Delta explosion?”
“It’ll happen quick,” Akil predicted. “If my timing is right, fifty to sixty seconds after takeoff. I’ll set a longer delay for United’s. How many grams for that?”
“Six hundred,” Al-Aran replied. “A delayed detonation is good. Let it get up to cruising altitude.”
“If the harness fails or falls off, I’ll have to carry the explosive between the drone’s legs. The potassium can’t tolerate friction or pressure above fifty-one pounds per square inch. I need to know the precise grip strength of the legs and also the maximum radio communication distance.”
Al-Aran mused softly to himself. He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “This man was a lead member of the original project team. When you contact him, speak directly on my behalf. Make up whatever you like. He plays an instrument — a guitar — and enjoys music. Have you arranged a field test?”
“There’s a small rock quarry ten minutes away,” Akil answered. “A farmer owns the property and never goes there. If the drone has to grasp and hold onto a vertical landing gear strut, then I have a perfect test target. If we park on the quarry’s access road, no one else can enter.”
“We will not park anywhere,” Al-Aran said. “You will test the drone alone. The risk is great whenever two or more of Allah’s people appear together. I will eat a meal and be on my way. Atlanta is a long ride.”
Akil examined the note. “Why two names?”
“Jdey is a soldier of Allah. I have already contacted him. He knows nothing about this operation except that he is to serve you. Use him at any time and in any manner you choose. He is loyal and completely fearless. I have arranged for him to meet you. He is also a small arms expert. He claims to have valuable information about a federal firearms dealer who has a large weapons cache not far from here.”
Akil’s jaw muscles flexed and his eyes gave off an evil twinkle. “That could be useful when the time is right.”
“We will not speak in person again — only Gmail.”
He paused. “Four days. Allah will bless the tactics.”
Chapter 13
Akil drove his Camry west on Highway 50 to County Highway J and then turned south on Quarry Road for another mile. The site was nothing more than an abandoned dump surrounded by gravel mounds and littered with shredded tires and rusted appliances. Broken glass was everywhere. He parked in the middle of the access road and dialed his cell phone.
“Hello?” a young male voice answered.
“I am attempting to reach a Mr. Kevin Jones, please?” Akil said in an exaggerated Middle-Eastern accent.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Omar Yassin. I am calling from Al Hufuf, Saudi Arabia. Are you hearing me okay?”
Jones was in his San Diego apartment, perched on a stool in a spare room that he’d converted into a makeshift recording studio. He reached over a microphone stand and paused a portable audio recorder. “Yeah, I can hear you fine.”
“Excellent,” Akil replied. “I am engaged in a project with Dr. Faiz Al-Aran. He gave me your name as a knowledgeable contact for the device called the Entomopter drone. I apologize for the interruption, but I have a few technical questions.”
“Not a problem. I was just jam… er, playing some tunes. No big deal.” Jones slid off his guitar strap and shifted the phone. “How can I help?”
“Well, at this time we have three issues. I determined that you might save us time and effort if you’ve already encountered them. The first is environment. Can you give me any insight regarding the machine’s tolerance with airborne particles or debris?
“If you’re talking about a desert environment,” Kevin said, “sand is no problem at all. We logged sixteen hours in a wind tunnel at category three hurricane strength and added silica to the airflow. The wings held up fine.”
“Good! Second, with respect to the legs, do you recall the precise amount of grip pressure exerted when picking up an object? We certainly could calculate it ourselves, but I thought you might save us the trouble.”
“I can’t recall the exact number, but it was no more than forty-four pounds per square inch. The compression springs are completely removable and should retain stable tension for eight months.”
“That’s exactly what I needed to hear,” Akil said.
“What’s the third issue?”
“Oh, yes… maximum distance to receive radio signals from the wireless controller?”
“Line-of-sight signal will degrade at around a thousand meters.”