“Then what will you use? RDX? PETN?”
“Potassium chlorate,” Al-Aran replied. “At one thousand meters per second, it cannot match the detonation velocities of other high explosives, yet it will still produce enormous damage. But more important, it will quickly dissolve in water, making the spent residue virtually untraceable. And that is key. The first aircraft explosion must be bathed in uncertainty. Deciding how to acquire and transport potassium chlorate is a nonissue. We can make it ourselves with no worries of sabotage or compromised supplies. The way to defeat American airport security is to avoid it entirely. Let them search forever and waste time and resources scanning passengers and protecting an aircraft’s interior. I will attack the exterior. If Allah once allowed us to successfully carry chemicals through airports, he will bless my plans.”
Naimi removed his pipe. “The travel routes for your students are safe?”
“Foolproof,” Al-Aran replied. “Some of my best have come through our new northern crossing. They rent fishing boats on a Canadian border lake and drift to isolated points on the American shoreline. Not one has been challenged or even approached. They reach Minneapolis without the slightest concern. America’s Homeland Security demonstrates the height of its ignorance, from senior management to the lowest levels. Unqualified employees in key positions are rarely fired for even the gravest incompetence. I know a middle-aged woman who worked for our campus payroll administration in Atlanta — a scatterbrained peahen. Now she parades back and forth as a TSA supervisor in baggage and x-ray security at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. Hired to meet a gender quota. America’s border is a wineskin with gaping holes. Think of it — a country’s security entrusted to peahens! There is continual chaos in US immigration. Even the American Congress continues to avoid the issue for fear of offending Latino voters. And now, thanks to Cale Warren and his amnesty, Allah has opened a window of opportunity.”
“The American president is not stupid,” Naimi countered. “He boasts that he can place an agent every thousand feet on their borders. He would not propose something as foolish as amnesty without recourse. Perhaps it is an elaborate trap?”
Al-Aran scoffed. “Ten thousand miles of trap? I could personally drive a herd of camels from Mexico into Arizona and the immigration patrols would tip their hats and point me to water.” Al-Aran smiled, but then frowned at Naimi. “Why are you laughing?”
“I am sorry, Faiz, but that is a sight I would pay to see: my best strategic planner high on a camel, clutching the cantle horn, a quiet voice singing in the moonlight.”
“The voice you hear will neither be mine nor the Bedouin,” Al-Aran warned. “It will be the voice of the American economy in its death throes.”
“Al Jazeera made a television report on this Arizona,” Naimi recalled. “The US government will acquire and uplift its own fleet of drones. Do you know for what? Aerial surveillance of endangered sheep.”
“Praise Allah for their environmental priorities.”
“So you have the explosives and the tactics,” Naimi said. “Who will operate this drone?”
“Akil Doroudian,” Al-Aran answered. “Born and raised in Montreal. His father, Reza, and I served together in the People’s Mujahedin during the revolution. Reza was wounded on Black Friday and fled to Canada.”
The Iranian Revolution of 1979 deposed the Shah of Iran, a secular, lavish, and brutal dictator widely viewed as a puppet of the United States. Black Friday was named after the protests that occurred on September 8, 1978, in Zhaleh Square in Tehran. Government tanks and helicopter gunships killed eighty-nine demonstrators, including three women.
“Even in difficult times, our victories have been great,” Naimi announced. “Do you trust this Akil?”
“Akil’s parents are dead, but they left a child of Allah,” Al-Aran said. “He is young but disciplined. Unknown, with an average face. He blends well. A typical Western youth. He will not draw attention.”
“Akil… one who uses reason,” Naimi translated the Sunni name. “Where is he now?”
“Posing as a university student in a city in Midwestern America.”
“He has adequate resources?”
Al-Aran smiled slyly. “You forget that I am a tenured professor who travels. I have a healthy expense budget. We have safe arrangements.”
Naimi fondled his pipe bowl. “Discipline is a fine quality, but is Akil committed to our success?”
Al-Aran folded his arms. The skin below his left eye twitched. It always did that whenever someone questioned his judgment. “A difficult term.”
“Commitment or discipline?”
“Akil is the most cunning soldier I have ever trained,” Al-Aran said. “I wish I had ten thousand like him. His tongue is smooth, and his ability to think on his feet is quite remarkable. He is resourceful and intelligent, with a clean identity and background. His mind constantly searches for opportunities. His talent with electronics is excellent, and he is also a chemical genius. He will not make a fool of himself like that idiot Jdey.”
The FBI had recently posted a video on its website of Abderouf Jdey, a Saudi National from Yemen, performing a maniacal machine gun dance and screaming death to infidels. He was widely suspected of providing the explosives for the 2009 Christmas Day bombing (Amsterdam to Detroit), the October 29, 2010, cargo plane bomb plot (Yemen to the United States), and the May 8, 2012, passenger plane suicide bomber plot (Yemen to the United States). The FBI also believed that he fashioned and delivered the materials used in the Boston Marathon bombing, an action that was unsanctioned by Naimi’s council.
“Chemical knowledge is an ugly skill,” Naimi said. “But one that all of our soldiers must learn and exploit. Jdey is an excellent technician who can design anything. Unfortunately, he has become, shall we say, an exuberant liability. He is established in New York City. You may use him as you see fit.”
Al-Aran knew what that meant. Jdey was a carryover from another age and time, a lone-wolf jihadist who thrived on brute force — and lots of it. The US military prison at Guantanamo Bay was filled with them. Jdey routinely balked at organizational planning and tact. Naimi believed he had become uncontrollable.
“Akil knows this drone?” Naimi asked pointedly.
“He has studied the design.”
“Studied but never operated?”
“The training will come easily,” Al-Aran said. “In that respect, it is a toy.”
Naimi frowned at that. “Dispersing a liquid or powdered chemical into a lake or a city street, yes. Flying a remote-controlled toy in a straight line is not difficult. But for your airline operation… we are not speaking of a straight line.”
“The drone is easy to fly and maneuver. There are many vulnerable areas on an aircraft wing, especially near the inboard ailerons and flaps. It should work.”
Naimi narrowed his eyes “We have known each other too long, Faiz. You are not confident. Why?”
Al-Aran drew in a breath, then let it out. “I cannot guarantee success. Even a large hole in a wing might not destabilize a plane. The bond of airfoil and fuselage is simply too strong. The timing for pilots to complete their preflight checklists is also unpredictable. Sneaking the drone onto a runway and then chasing after a moving aircraft may indeed be too difficult. I am sorry, Ali. I may have to rethink the tactics.”
“Neither of us is perfect,” Naimi said, brushing the apology aside. “We all must rethink from time to time. What sets Allah’s people apart is our ability to adapt and survive under adversity. Allah gave you a mind that easily marries technology to strategy. I have no such skill. You told me that this drone can follow coordinates to a general area and then be delicately guided to its target by a distant soldier. I believe you, and I trust you. If you have discovered an opportunity with aircraft landing gear, then I will support it. And you seem to have everything in hand,” Naimi continued. “I understand the drone is a finalist in a science competition in Rome. If it wins, then the entire world will notice.”