At 0629 hours, following morning prayers, Muhjid met with two men. The first was a comrade in al Qaeda who had fought by Muhjid’s side during the past eighteen months inside Iraq and Syria. The other was a middle-aged man who Muhjid knew only as Mohammed. Archer did not want to know anything more about the man. Experience had taught him that it was easier that way. The three men reviewed the plan. All was ready. Archer turned to Mohammed.
“I envy you. Soon you will know Allah.”
The man smiled. He was as calm and happy as if he was about to embark on vacation. “Allahu Akbar,” he replied.
“Allah guide you this morning.”
The two men embraced and kissed each other on the cheeks.
Abu Muhjid got into the passenger seat of a small four-door sedan. He held a two-way radio. Between his legs, an AK-47 rested with its muzzle on the floor and the pistol grip handle on his lap. Its wire frame butt was folded over and out of the way, allowing him to pull the weapon into a firing position easily. In the small glove compartment he placed a can of bright orange spray paint. He turned to the driver, a young man with a beard who was a local Syrian fundamentalist who had been on a previous operation conducted in Syria under Muhjid’s command. This one was much bigger and bolder than anything the al Qaeda commander had planned before. Muhjid told the man to head out. They had a fifty-minute drive to Palmyra, but they rarely said a word to each other. This sedan was leading a small convoy and Muhjid’s primary job on the drive was to spot any police or army units on the way. If any hint of a roadblock was detected, they would abort the mission and return to As Sukhnah.
Allah was with them this morning. The highway was empty except for an occasional truck that passed by or was passed. They drove at exactly 100 kph, below the posted speed limit of 110 kph. The reason was not to avoid a ticket, it was to set a known pace that everyone who followed could maintain. The timing of the plan was laid out clearly. The shift change at the target building occurred every morning at 0800 hours and the plan was coordinated around that event. The second vehicle in the convoy left As Sukhnah exactly at 0700 hours, twenty-five minutes after Muhjid’s sedan.
At 0727 hours, the sedan passed by the northern edge of Palmyra Air Base as it headed west into Tadmur. A minute later it came to a small roundabout as the two men entered the town. The car wheeled around the roundabout 270 degrees and exited onto the road that led to the base and the target building. But after a short distance, the car turned left onto a side road. They were now in the middle of the housing neighborhood that included eight homes occupied by Russian technicians. Four of the homes were on this street, conveniently located next door to each other.
“Slow down,” Muhjid commanded. He looked at a map he had pulled from his pocket. Homes of Russians were highlighted in yellow and their addresses were written on the map. “Here. Right here,” said the al Qaeda commander as he pointed to a home to the right of the car. The driver pulled over and stopped. Muhjid grabbed the can of spray paint and removed the top, shaking the can violently for a few seconds. He opened his door and sprayed an “X” on the sidewalk in front of the home’s entrance gate. All of the homes on the street had an eight foot high concrete block wall around their property. The wall formed a long barrier adjacent to the sidewalk.
“Go to the next,” Muhjid commanded. The process was repeated — and again two more times in quick succession. Archer looked down at his map. “Now go down and turn right.” The remaining four homes were scattered throughout the small housing section. It took the men another ten minutes to finish the job of marking the homes. These were not scarlet letters — they were much worse. These marks were a death sentence for the occupants of each home. After the last home was marked, the car pulled over and waited for a few minutes. The time seemed to Muhjid to take hours.
At 0755 hours, the car pulled back onto the road leading to the radar network building. Muhjid turned to his driver. “Now we learn if Allah blesses us.”
The car drove slowly toward the target building. Immediately after it left the residential neighborhood, it approached the edge of Palmyra Air Base. Ahead, a guardhouse was built into the middle of the road. The car stopped about ten feet short of the guardhouse. “If I die, grab the gun and kill as many as you can. Allahu Akbar.” Muhjid stepped out of the car, leaving his AK-47 still resting with its muzzle on the floor board of the passenger seat.
Abu Muhjid approached the guardhouse. To his right and a little further on he could see an emplacement lined with sandbags. Inside the emplacement, a large machine gun was pointed at him. His fate would be known in the coming seconds. He figured that if he died, he would never know it until he awoke in heaven. A young Syrian soldier stepped out of the guardhouse and held up his left arm, motioning for Muhjid to stop.
“I am looking for Faraj.” Muhjid could feel his heart beating at a furious pace. He prayed that the guard in front of him did not pick up on it.
The guard had been told by Faraj, a young corporal respected in the squad for his devout beliefs, that a man would show up this morning asking for him. Faraj had spent the last number of weeks quietly preparing his squad for this moment. “Faraj,” the guard yelled in the direction of the machine gun nest.
A young soldier came running out toward Muhjid. He had been wondering for weeks if his recruitment by al Qaeda was real or was some trick being played by Syrian intelligence to test his loyalty. He knew at this moment that it was real. “Allahu Akbar,” yelled Faraj as he approached Muhjid. The yell was a signal to six of the nine men in and around the machine gun nest. They turned their AK-47 assault rifles on the other three men, who were Shiites, and commanded them to raise their arms. Faraj reached Muhjid, grabbed his right hand and raised it to his mouth to kiss it.
“Allahu Akbar,” said Abu Muhjid as he hugged Faraj. They kissed each other on the cheeks. The two men in the guardhouse were with Faraj. “Tell your men to take cover after the truck passes. The fireworks will begin shortly after. And cover your ears.”
“Yes, sir.” Faraj turned to his men and issued orders. The three Shiites were ordered to lie down inside the emplacement. Guns were trained on them to ensure compliance.
Muhjid removed the small radio transmitter tucked into his pocket. He lifted it to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. “We are good to go. Allah be with you.” He turned to get back into the four-door sedan. He paused at the door. “Are you coming?” he asked Faraj.
Faraj ran to get in the back seat behind the driver. The car accelerated down the mile long road to the target building. The road headed due east, roughly paralleling the M20 highway about a half mile to the north. After they were half way down the road, the driver noticed a white van behind them and mentioned it. Faraj turned around. “That is the next shift.”
“Good,” replied Muhjid.
The sedan continued down the road, which curved to the south for the last hundred meters to the target building. The car slowed and continued past the side of the building, continuing south for another two hundred meters onto the empty tarmac of Palmyra Air Base. They reached the taxiway and turned left to head east, toward the radars. Abu Muhjid looked back over his left shoulder toward the guardhouse that was now over a mile away. He saw the headlights of a truck coming in their direction on the road leading to the building. The truck was just passing the guardhouse. “Speed up,” ordered Muhjid to the driver. He knew how much explosive the truck carried.
The driver understood as well and was soon racing along the taxiway at 120 kph, about as fast as its four cylinder engine could get it to.