None of them had ever seen a bomb this big. This long. It was almost 20 feet long and smooth, almost polished smooth. It looked just like it should — an eight-inch Howitzer gun barrel. Eight inches of course being the size of the shell that could pass through it. The barrel itself was ten inches in diameter. The ordnancemen were impressed. The bomb was painted a flat, dark, olive green, as most bombs were, but the surface was smooth, unlike most bombs which were rough. It was high-quality steel and all business. The ordies at Sigonella had put the wings on the bomb — the airfoil group, as well as the CCG, the Computer Control Group — the guidance in the nose, as well as the strong back, the part that allowed it to be connected to the airplane.
The Gunner studied the wheels of each dolly with his flashlight, measuring the numerous nylon straps with his eyes. After assuring himself that they wouldn’t roll, he ordered his men to break it down. The Gunner yelled to leave no doubt about what he had said.
Four of the Gunner’s ordnancemen grabbed each MHU-191 skid on which each bomb rested and began carefully moving the bombs out of the plane, tying one down to the flight deck with steel chains. The ordnancemen gathered around the other bomb, pushing the massive weapon slowly down the rolling flight deck to the waiting F-14.
Everyone on the task force agreed Kinkaid was worn out. He hadn’t slept in three days. He stared at the computer screens in the task force’s room, but saw nothing. They had made no progress toward finding the men responsible for the open murders of Americans in Italy, Washington, Paris, London, and Naples and Kinkaid was disappointed with their performance. The murder in Washington had officially been handed over to the FBI, but the unit assigned was based at Langley, a rare example, though more common now than ten years before, of coordination between two services who had a history of rivalry.
But all the fusion, all the cross comparison of data from numerous sources had come up empty. They had no idea who the murderers were. At least as individuals.
“Joe. Phone.”
Kinkaid took the handset. “Kinkaid.”
“It is Efraim.”
Kinkaid recognized his voice before he heard the name. “Efraim, how are you? What’s the answer?”
“Right to business, is it?” Efraim asked, sounding disappointed. “Answer to what?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I’ve been working on your behalf only to be greeted by unfriendliness?”
Kinkaid sighed. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”
“War can do that to you. It makes many people tired. I too, am tired.”
“So, what’s the answer?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said, or what your young Turk has implied. I’m troubled. But it has made me wonder. What if the United States is getting Israel to do its dirty work?”
“Oh, hell, Efraim. What are you talking about? I don’t have time for this.”
“Maybe the United States does not want to risk its counterterrorist Special Forces operatives. Maybe it wants to risk Israel’s, instead. Is that possible?”
“No. It’s not possible. It’s stupid. If we need do it ourselves, we will. I thought it would be the best way, in fact. As I recall, you are the one who discouraged me from sending one of our people.”
“Yes, I expressed my concerns. I fear I am becoming as paranoid as you, my friend.”
Kinkaid waited for Efraim to go on. He wasn’t going to beg.
“We’ll do it, but it has to be on our schedule,” Efraim finally said.
“What is the schedule?”
“Tonight.”
“We’re going to have to work fast.”
“It must occur at four local time. When there is no moon.”
“Local, meaning at the site of the target?”
“Yes.”
“What is that Zulu time?”
“Three hours ahead of London.”
“How will our pilots know if your man is in fact designating the target?”
“They will know.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“He’s already there.”
“Thank you, Efraim.” Kinkaid was in fact grateful, but he was also uneasy. Too many unknowns.
“You are very welcome. Consider it a payment for the tragedy that befell your pilot in Israel. Our chance to give you your vengeance. An eye for an eye.”
“Tell your person to do as described unless I contact you. Can I reach you at this number for the rest of the evening?”
“Yes. I will be here all night.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he said, hanging up. Kinkaid looked at Sami, who was listening very carefully. “Maybe we’ve earned our keep after all.”
Sami nodded. “If he’s really there.”
The sun was just setting west of the fortress at Alamut. It was a day like so many before in the mountains of northwestern Iran. The men who followed the Sheikh were doing as he had demanded, searching far and wide for any hint of those who would do them harm or to find the first indication that the Americans were on their way. The Sheikh knew the Americans would come. It was a question only of how and when.
Farouk and the squad of Assassins in their black head gear and flowing robes worked their way over the hills five miles from Alamut, across the valley floor. They had climbed over these rocks thousands of times as boys, and now as young men. They knew these hills intimately.
They were fatigued from the month of turmoil that they had been through. They had intended to stir things up, but hadn’t expected to generate a war. They fought their fatigue and tried to maintain their intense focus during their search, but they knew there was no one here. They would have seen them approach. There was no place for an army unit to hide in this rocky terrain. Farouk slid down an enormous boulder and landed at its base. He looked around carefully, his AK-47 slung over his shoulder.
The second squad member slid down the same way, and the rest followed. The last man slid down the huge rock face slightly more to the left than the others had. As he neared the bottom his boot scraped against the rock next to the boulder and he heard a different sound. Farouk noticed it too. He looked at Farouk, who nodded. Farouk watched him unsling his AK-47 and point it at the second rock. Farouk motioned for the remainder of the squad to spread out while the eager young Assassin walked carefully toward the rock and touched it with his hand. It was cloth. Amazingly rock-likelooking cloth, but cloth nonetheless. The man pressed it and the cloth bent under his pressure. Whoever had somehow constructed a fake rock out of cloth, it wasn’t a friend.
Farouk motioned for his men to stand back and fired at the rock. The bullets tore through, leaving small black holes where they had passed through the thin cloth. He waited. Nothing happened. One of the Assassins went forward and placed his face against the cloth trying to see through one of the bullet holes. He was thrown back from the cloth as several M-16 bullets struck him in the face.
Bullets tore through the fake boulder in both directions as the Assassins returned fire at the unseen enemy. Another Assassin fell to the ground screaming in agony from a bullet that had torn through his jaw, the others continued to fire wildly at the boulder.
Inside the man changed clips on his M-16 and waited for them to come closer, listening to the cautious footsteps. He knew he had no hope of escape, but he also had decided long before coming on the mission that he wasn’t going to be taken alive.
Farouk knew he had to be aggressive. He indicated to the other squad members that they prepare to fire together. They all pointed their rifles at the boulder and Farouk gave them the sign.