The Emir grimaced as though he had just swallowed something bitter. It is always about the money, he thought to himself. Always money. He looked at Yousseff, his one good eye blazing. “How much?”
“Twenty-five million American dollars,” Yousseff answered, his face showing no emotion whatsoever. “To be transferred to this account as soon as your messengers can do it.” He handed the Emir a sheet of paper with banking particulars.
“Do it,” the Emir snapped to one of his hirelings. “Get someone to Jalalabad and see that it is done.”
One of the engineers picked up a laptop and sent an email to the lower caves, where a servant received it and scrambled onto a horse for the ride to Jalalabad. As soon as the servant reached the city, he would make the appropriate transfers, through a discrete Caribbean bank. It was as good as done. Yousseff knew that the Emir didn’t care for money. A mistake, he thought. The Emir wanted power. Yet power was money, and money was power.
“It will be done before the sun sets today,” the Emir confirmed.
Yousseff considered for a moment. “I will require details of the engineering plans and of the structure itself,” he said at length.
One of the engineers handed Yousseff a DVD. “Everything is on this,” he said.
Yousseff reached for it and smiled. “Thank you.” He waited silently for a few moments. Then he spoke again. “There is something else I need.”
“What is it?” asked the Emir.
“It is a simple matter, especially for these people and their computers. I need information to start floating about on the Internet. I need the Great Satan to be looking for us elsewhere. I need the Americans looking to the East, when I will be traveling in the West.”
One of the engineers nodded. “We can do this,” he said.
“And can you convince the faithful from other countries to collaborate?” asked Yousseff.
The reply was quick in coming. “Yes, we can.”
“I will need someone with great computer skills. I need to plant false trails when the Americans come. I need the best you have,” added Yousseff, softly stroking his forehead. He had a headache. He needed to relax.
Two of the engineers looked at each other, nodded, and said as one, “Vijay Mahendra. In Rawalpindi.”
“Have him contact me,” replied Yousseff. “He can reach me through Rasta, at the number you already have. There must be no delay. We are already in motion. He must meet me at my Islamabad hangar tomorrow at sunrise.” He intentionally used Marak’s nickname — the only name the Emir and his people had been given. In situations like this it was important for Yousseff and his associates to keep their true identities hidden.
The Emir motioned to one of the young guards who stood on the outside of the chamber. “Go to Jalalabad,” he barked in sharp tones. “Immediately. Go to our people there and contact Vijay by telephone to give him the directions. Tell him it is my command.”
“Yes, Emir,” came the sharp retort, and the young man was gone.
Yousseff was already bidding farewell and readying himself for the long trek back to the Islamabad hangar. He wanted to travel alone and work everything out — it was the only way he would be able to organize his thoughts and go over his plans. A golden opportunity had presented itself. The Emir wanted to destroy, to create chaos for the Great Satan, to wage a jihad. He could give the Emir what he desired, and in the process, he could vastly increase his own wealth and empire. He needed to think, to chase the dragon, to plot things out in the fluidity of opium dreams as he always did when he was faced with a big decision.
“Let the prophet’s words be wings to your feet. And may Allah be with you on this, the most noble of tasks,” the Emir blessed him, smiling in his condescending way.
Yousseff smiled back. He didn’t care for this half-mad old man and his barren religion. Yousseff cared only about one thing — money. It bought power and safety. This particular plan would bring him an avalanche of money. The $25 million was just a small down payment. Maybe the crazy old man knew this. Maybe they were just using each other. Then again, that was how the game was played, wasn’t it?
“And may He also be with you,” he replied.
Yousseff bowed and left the room, the DVD tucked away in an inner pocket of his coat. He thought again of his great battle with Marak so many years ago, and the lesson he had learned. Impossible odds, yes, but with clarity of mind and precise planning he could do this. One shot, and he would be one of the wealthiest and most powerful men on the planet. One shot, one move. And it would not be the move the world was expecting.
The Emir returned to his upper chamber and sat in meditation, his gaze drifting over the unending peaks of the Hindu Kush. He felt a stirring in his soul. Truly, one day of jihad was better than a thousand years of prayer in the mosque. Much better.
Thousands of miles to the east, a string of zeroes flashed across the screen of McMurray’s computer.
5
At zero hour the Dell sent an electronic signal to a series port replicator, which forwarded simultaneous signals to the bank of Amptec timers, which in turn sent instantaneous, but much more powerful, signals to the fusing cables. From there the line went to the archipelago of more or less equidistant blasting caps embedded within the monstrous pile of Semtex, and a chemical reaction took place that, notwithstanding its robust disposition, the Dell would not survive.
The Semtex was an amalgam of two different explosive compounds, PETN and RDX, held together by an oil-based bonding agent. The two chemicals were relatively stable, even combined, and were therefore reasonably safe to handle. The bonding agent gave the material its elasticity, and hence its utility. But when an initial shock such as that provided by the ignition of a blasting cap occurred, the compound became far from stable. The shock would compress the highly explosive material, heating it, and causing dangerous chemical changes. These changes would then release an enormous amount of energy; a process that would sustain and build a shock wave, which would travel at a supersonic velocity, producing rapidly expanding hot gasses in its wake. In that brief instant of detonation, the shock wave would turn out pressures of up to half a million atmospheres, traveling at ten kilometers per second. Temperatures would reach 5,000 degrees Celsius, with power approaching 20 billion watts per square centimeter. Modern science still did not understand all that happened on the edge of such a chemical reaction, which was why a team from Livermore Laboratories was hoping to be present in the desert for the Semtex detonation.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault when the explosion didn’t go as expected. No one could have taken into account McMurray’s positioning of the blasting caps, or the lens-like effect they would have, especially within a pyramid-shaped mass. This was just one of the reasons that Turbee’s calculations on the crater size turned out to be a little off. No one fully appreciated how much explosive 660 tons of Semtex really was. Until now.
The pressure wave, traveling at a little less than six miles per second, arrived at the control area in less than a second. Richard, McMurray, and their men were sheltered behind a small convoy of Humvees. The shock almost lifted the heavy vehicles off the ground, and they were all shoved back a few inches. Cameramen foolhardy enough to be standing in unprotected areas were knocked off their feet. General Minyar’s tent almost became unattached, and received an unwelcome storm of sand in its interior.