“Hopefully not to rot in some American jail,” said Kumar.
“That will never happen, Kumar. They’ll never put this together. And the cover-up plan is almost complete already.”
“I don’t have a clue if this is going to work,” replied Kumar. “It’s one bizarre looking contraption, though. For all I know, it could be some twisted cosmic joke. I told the crew that it’s a device for communicating with whales, so they wouldn’t ask questions.”
Yousseff laughed. Only in America would engineers create a multimillion-dollar device so that the government could communicate with whales. Only in America. The two of them waited in suspense for the Ark to unload itself from the back of the smaller truck. Kumar activated a lever and a similar, smaller ramp fed itself out of the van and onto the facility floor. He pulled on a second lever, and with a whir of electrical motors, the Ark slowly rolled out of the van and came to rest beside the Pequod.
“It’s amazing,” said Yousseff. “Absolutely stunning.” And indeed it was, until its purpose was considered. It was the shape of a gigantic saddle, 20 feet long, five feet wide, six feet high at each end, and about two feet in height in the middle. More remarkable were its many colors, all polished and machined to an obviously high degree of precision. The ridge of gold running down the center of the saddle was especially prominent, becoming wider and deeper toward the middle of the structure.
Yousseff walked slowly around the Ark, touching its glassy smooth surface at various places, noting his reflection in some of the many metallic alloys that constituted its roof and walls. “She is beautiful, Kumar. Absolutely stunningly beautiful.”
“Well, sure, Youss,” replied Kumar. “A lovely $3 million conversation piece. A housing for a whale communication apparatus.” They both laughed.
“Help me position the gantry over her, Yousseff,” said Kumar. He also motioned to Ted, Sam, Ray, and Hank to help out. “We need to place the lid on its side, so we can fill up the body with the Semtex,” he explained.
Yousseff and the other men moved over to help position the gantry crane. “Assuming the Semtex arrives here soon,” Kumar added darkly.
“It’s Ba’al and Izzy. They will make it, guaranteed. Those two will not let us down, Kumar. There should be no worry there.”
“Let me stretch out some blankets on the floor here,” said Kumar, as the highly machined lid lifted away from the body of the Ark. “If this gets dented or deformed in any way, the device loses its effectiveness.”
It took a few more minutes, but ultimately the lid came to rest beside the base, attached to it by three large, thin titanium hinges. Yousseff ordered the four truckers to return to their vehicles to wait. Kumar and Yousseff headed into the small office of the facility, where Kumar made some coffee in the small Pyrex pot. Massoud and Javeed were already sitting in a small machine shop at the other end of the building, reading the Koran and deeply immersed in prayer. The central working area was left to the gleaming Ark and the flat, space age Pequod sitting next to it. Nothing else could be done until the Semtex arrived. Minutes turned to hours, and the anxious seconds ticked by.
The last leg of the journey, from Cedar City south, along State Highways 14 and 289, was the most difficult. Both Izzy and Ba’al were fatigued to the point of seeing double. They switched from driver to passenger every half hour. Their bodies were swimming with caffeine and sugar, and they were heavy with the junk food they had consumed. The satellite radio was on constantly, tuned to CNN. As they reached the gravel and then the rough dirt roads, the first reports were coming out about the possibility of an imminent terrorist attack on the American homeland. Roadblocks had been set up along the freeways, and specifically on I-15.
Ba’al looked at Izzy and smiled. “Just under the wire,” he said.
Izzy nodded. “Yousseff was right, again.”
It was past midnight local time, on September 3, when they finally reached the PWS testing facility. The two large trucks that Ray, Sam, and their passengers had brought from Los Angeles were pulled over to the side of the parking area. Izzy backed his five-ton truck up to the building, parking it beside the Ford F-350 that had been rented at the Page airport. Ba’al opened the door and almost tripped in his rush to greet Yousseff. They did see each other from time to time, but it was rare for Yousseff, Ba’al, Izzy, and Kumar to find themselves in the same place at the same time. There was the usual exchange of hugs and pleasantries, but all four knew that time was short.
“It was on the radio, Yousseff,” said Ba’al. “The American government knows all about the missing Semtex. They may already suspect that we took it through Devil’s Anvil. There are roadblocks along I-15.”
“Then we must get on with it. I told you they would be right on our tails. America’s billion-dollar security apparatus is, as we speak, trying to sniff us out. We need to move quickly. This stuff,” he said, motioning to the van, “has traveled halfway across the world. Let’s not make a mess of it in the last few miles. Let’s get to work.” He opened the sliding rear door.
“This should make that old bastard in the Sefid Koh smile,” said Izzy. “From the Libyan desert to the heart of America.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Yousseff. “You know the Emir. The goat is incapable of laughter. It’s rumored that he smiled after the last terrorist attack, but then got pissed off because he hadn’t thought of it himself. He’s wanted to outdo bin Laden ever since. Like it’s a contest of some kind.”
“Black and twisted prick, I would say,” said Izzy. “But this has definitely been an interesting scheme.”
“Indeed,” Yousseff answered. “But let’s worry about our side of the deal. There is no telling what’s going on in the Sefid Koh, and it is not our concern.”
Deep in the Sefid Koh, Jennifer pulled over and cut the engine.
“Now what the hell are you doing?” slurred Richard.
“I’m listening for the sounds of their engines,” said Jennifer. They both sat for a moment, listening intently.
“They’re gaining,” said Richard.
“Of course they’re gaining. They know the road. I don’t,” snapped Jennifer. “But at least they don’t have any lights.”
“And whose idea was that? Jen, we have more to think about than just the guys behind us. These guys have immense power. I’m certain that they’re in league with the police. They’ll have specialized communications. There will be some sort of roadblock at the other end of this road. Likely a Jeep or two, at the very least, coming the other way. We’re probably boxed in, here.”
“So what do you want me to do about it, Richard? If we’re boxed in, we’re toast. Those two guys from the cell were mean sons of bitches, and then we whacked them on the head and booted them in the balls. They’re going to be in a truly black mood now. Help me out.”
Richard clutched at the pockets of his jacket, looking for the pill bottle, and found it with a prayer of thanks. He flipped the lid, shook out two pills, and knocked them back. He had mastered the art of taking pills without liquids many years ago.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” swore Jennifer. “If I ever get out of this I’m going to talk to Big Jack personally about getting you into rehab. You’re too valuable to be wasted on drugs.”
Richard ignored the remark. His brain had switched back to rational thought, and he was considering their current situation. “Here’s what we do, and we’ve got maybe five minutes to sort it out. Keep the lights on and go slower,” he said.
“Slower?”