Massoud and Javeed were still immersed in their meditations. They had remained in the facility, reading the Koran, and in focused and passionate prayer, preparing for their voyage to Paradise. The other eight men were working at moving the pallets of Semtex from the rear of the cube van to the floor beside the Ark. The first pallet had already been moved onto the powered tailgate, and to the floor, and the men were in the process of unwrapping the individual bricks and packing the plastic explosive into the Ark. Yousseff occasionally saw one or another of the men stop to look more closely at the polished surface of the Ark. It appeared to be a multi-colored mirror, reflecting random objects back into the interior of the building. It was a beautiful creation, and could indeed have passed as art in many communities. He knew that the men were probably also thinking about the damage the device would wreak.
“How do we connect it to the PWS-14?” asked Yousseff. “After all, we have more than four tons of explosives, plus the weight of all that metal. Together there’s got to be about five or six tons.” He looked at Kumar expectantly, raising one brow.
“It won’t weigh that much in the water, Youss. We’ve counterbalanced the Pequod. Its tail extends to account for the extra weight. The sub has to be in the water before we set the Ark on top of it. The only moment of concern is when the Ark is actually put on top of the roof assembly you see there. The Pequod will need to be sinking at that moment. If the timing is exactly perfect, everything will be fine. I’ve oiled and lubricated the gantry crane. Did that shortly after the Semtex was hijacked.”
“And if the timing is not perfect?” asked Yousseff.
“I’d rather not talk about that,” said Kumar, nonchalantly.
“And I guess that’s where the two lads come in,” said Yousseff softly in English, motioning toward Massoud and Javeed.
“Yes. They still believe in that Paradise shit. It’s one of the most tragic things I’ve ever seen. The Emir has to find boys to do his dirty work. Traumatized, orphaned children. Because no one over the age of 20, or with any family, would put stock in his bullshit. It’s an ugly business,” said Kumar.
Kumar was right, of course. It troubled Yousseff that these two would die. Usually he was able to remain detached from such issues. He had worked hard to build a wall in his mind, to make sure that emotion was never involved in any of his endeavors. But with these two boys…
He cleared his mind and brought himself back under control. He should know better than to let himself become emotional over such things. He had taken great pains, over the years, to ensure that his world operated in a purely utilitarian manner, and didn’t take moral absolutes into account. In the end, these two children would die, whether he was involved in the equation or not. If not here, and in this manner, it would be in Iraq or Afghanistan, in a suicide bombing or in some mischief on Jerusalem’s West Bank. Although he hated that it was so, the boys’ deaths were a certainty, and just a matter of time. This was all that mattered, in the end.
Hence, Yousseff, with his elegant risk and cost calculus, felt justified in doing what he did. It was his own personal life formula. He often went to great pains to explain to others the difference between him and Marak. Yousseff said that he had a conscience, of sorts. Marak didn’t. He tried not to think about why his path still ran parallel with the other man’s.
While Yousseff reflected on the mission, Kumar was mumbling something under his breath and beginning to pack Semtex farther into the base of the Ark, taking a long time to ensure that the five upwardly angled copper prongs were evenly encased by the explosive. He too was attempting to keep the image of the two teenagers out of his brain.
“Why be so careful with that area?” asked Yousseff.
“These copper spikes will act as detonators. The plans were very strict with respect to the angle, length, and diameter of these rods. If things are not perfectly accurate, the blast may deflect sideways. It could lose its focus very easily. The blast needs to cut, Yousseff, and this object will act like a magnifying lens, narrowing the blast until it is almost completely flat. Anything less than perfection on the angles won’t give us that.”
“I presume that a powerful electrical charge will be flowing through those at the critical moment,” said Yousseff.
“Exactly. The charge will come from the Pequod itself. The underside of the Ark contains a series of indentations that will be connected to copper and gold connectors on the roof of the Pequod. You can see the connectors there,” he said, motioning to the Pequod. “I’ve already checked. They are perfect mirror images of one another. It will be a perfect fit.”
They had been unpacking the Semtex for some time already. Yousseff’s mind was already moving on to the next stage of the plan. “So we will pack this stuff into the Ark, and head back to the airport as rapidly as possible,” he said. “We must move as quickly as we can. Get those two to stop reading the damn Koran and help with this,” he barked at Ba’al. “Time is critical now.”
Ba’al did as he was ordered, and went to Massoud and Javeed to ask them to assist in what would be the final reload. He also had Izzy back the truck up a little further, to minimize the distance between the Ark and the truck, so that the reload would be more efficient.
Izzy hopped into the back of the van again, to bring a second pallet of Semtex down to the unwrapping and packing crew. He looked at Ba’al, who was standing idle, and asked in Urdu, “Did you piss yourself there, old friend? Was the load so heavy that you let your bladder go?”
“Screw off Iz. I did nothing of the sort.” In fact, Ba’al was becoming progressively more troubled by what was occurring. He felt as though he was watching the end of their world, being stacked and organized in the strange metal contraption of Kumar’s. After seeing even this much of the mission, he knew that they would be flying back to Afghanistan, hoping to stay under the wire of the American pursuit. He would never return to the lifestyle he had grown to love in Canada. His wife and children would be forced to find their own way home, for Ba’al would be far away and unable to help them. With this one action, everything in his life would change for good, and against his wishes. Realizing that, he had very suddenly lost his motivation for working toward this mission.
Izzy grabbed Ba’al’s arm, shaking him from his thoughts. Both men jumped to the ground and began to assist the others in unwrapping the bricks and stuffing them into the Ark. Even though the explosive would have to be ignited to cause damage, and was relatively harmless until that happened, no one was inclined to run with it, or be overly hurried or reckless with their movements. Everyone could see that the job would still take a good hour or two, even with ten men working. Yousseff was concerned when Ba’al reported to him that the Semtex story was still dominating the news channels and that the media, and specifically radio stations, were reporting that there was still a danger. The Americans were right on their heels, and one way or another, they would have this sniffed out by morning. Yousseff pushed them on, by example and by chastising them if they were too slow. “You are working slower than a Pashtun great grandmother,” he said to Ba’al at one point. “Move along. Faster.”
The men were intently focused on their work, and none saw the almost imperceptible movement of the canvas tarpaulin. Catherine was peeking through its oily folds, surveying the scene. What she saw frightened her. Ten men, or rather, eight men and two teenagers, were unwrapping the bricks of Semtex, and putting the putty-like substance into a large and peculiar container that was sitting below a sliding gantry crane. Beside the peculiarly shaped container was an even stranger craft — a boat of some kind, with fins and stubby wings, looking like some gigantic mechanized shark.