He threw himself down, gasping for breath. Slade didn’t wait, running up the beach, but made a silent promise, “Never, never again will I swim at night — never again no matter what. The president can take a quick trip to Hell before I do that again!”
Slade made his way off the beach and through the jungle, heading for the hangers. There was a thin stretch of forest between him and the hangers, which were lit up like mid-day. It took five minutes to reach the fence line. There were armed patrols on the inside and on the outside of the fence. It was very well organized, especially for jihadists.
He waited, timing their patrols, until he had a large gap. Then it was a matter of running to the fence and cutting an entry slit close to the ground where the guards wouldn’t notice it. This he accomplish using a battery operated rotary saw with a tungsten blade the size of a small flashlight. In thirty seconds he was through, shoving the loose end of the fence below the thick bladed grass so the gap wouldn’t show. Then he was off to the hangers.
Although the area was well lit, there were plenty of shadows in the heavy moist air. Slade melted into the darkness moving from one hanger to another before he found what he sought. Looking through the window next to a back door he spied an A380, he was guessing the A380, in Singapore livery being attended to by over a hundred jihadists.
It was a well-run operation. The cargo doors for the A380 were open and already a loading truck was driving up to the open bay with the three containers on board. It stopped in front of a loading platform. The first container rolled from the truck onto the platform. Once they were locked into place the scissor lift engaged and raised the container to the level of the cargo compartment. The container was rolled into the compartment and secured. The platform lowered and the same routine ran its course for the second and third containers.
To his consternation the huge aircraft was already hooked up to a tug. It looked as though the jet was ready to go and just waiting for its deadly cargo.
From his vantage point Slade could see the entire operation. Everything was laid out, as behind the aircraft there was an operations center that took up the entire back corner of the hanger. A bank of four big screen LCD’s, large enough for a small stadium were set up like a NASA launch control center. There were mimicking screens set up all over the hanger so that the support personnel and even the military guards could see what was going on. Inset in the screens were a constant stream of clerics and jihadist commanders giving speeches, urging the jihadists forward to the culmination of their cause.
The monitors told Slade everything he needed to know.
One monitor showed the interior of the flight deck where a captain was preflighting the aircraft. It showed three other men wearing jihadist uniforms, presumably his guards.
Another monitor showed the loading of the containers in the cargo hold. The containers were bracketed by wooden pallets holding scores of smaller packing crates; each labelled with three letters: TNT, tons of it. Slade whistled at the dark genius behind the plot. “They’re not usinf the Uranium for a thousand dirty bombs, this thing is one huge dirty bomb; it’s a poor man’s neutron bomb. With the aircraft as a trigger and a few tons of TNT to disperse the Uranium an entire city could be made uninhabitable.”
The next large screen had a flight plan on it. The flight plan looked as though it took off from Singapore and landed in Paris.
Paris was the target!
Slade admitted it was a juicy target. Why not destroy the City of Light and revenge themselves on Charles ‘the Hammer’ Martel for his stopping the jihad at Tours in 732? That was how Islamists thought. The cultural center of modern Western Europe would be a big target, but then again, he thought, wouldn’t Rome be better? The Eternal City was the center of the Islamists biggest religious rival in the world, but then again that would quite possibly unite Catholics and all the Christian world against Islam.
Still, the A380 could reach anywhere in the world. Why not finish off what they started in New York or even take out Washington D.C.? Slade was frustrated and mystified. Strategically, no Western City gained the jihad anything. They’d feel awfully good about themselves but they’d most likely unite the world against them. They’d be annihilated — period.
Were they that stupid? Slade had to admit they were — still, it just didn’t make sense.
He was right. Conveniently, the face of an imam appeared on the inset to the screens. In Arabic, he explained, “It is a glorious day. Today, September 11th we launch a strike at the heart of evil in the world.” A flashing red circle appeared on the flight plan. It wasn’t Paris. The red circle was three quarters of the way along the flight plan, right on the flight path: Israel, specifically Tel Aviv.
Slade understood. “Everyone thinks they’re flying a simple passenger flight from Singapore to Paris — it happens every day at 11:55 pm with Singapore 334—only they’ve rerouted to avoid ISIS airspace — with the cease fire with HAMAS conveniently in effect they can fly over Tel Aviv. Israel isn’t worried about a civilian Singapore jet flying over their airspace. It’s the perfect cover. When they get over Tel Aviv they pull an Egypt Air, put the nose on the Knesset, and boom! Tel Aviv becomes the world’s first radioactive city.”
The imam continued in extreme animation, waving a scimitar over his head and banging the podium with it. “On September 11th, a Holy Day in the new Caliphate, we will strike the head off of Zionism. We will ask the rocks and the trees to deliver up the Jew and they will cry, “Here he is! Come slay him!” We will strike them on the necks even as the Prophet did, sending their heads into the trench of history! First Zion and then the West. We will, by Allah, celebrate our inevitable victory in the White House and spread Islam through the world as the Prophet, the Blessed One, said, Slay the idolaters wherever you find them. Arrest them, besiege them, and lie in ambush everywhere for them.” He slammed his sword upon the podium, shouting in frenzied, maniacal emotion, “Kill them wherever you find them, and turn them out from where they have turned you out. And Al-Fitnah is worse than killing! Fight them until there is no more Fitnah and worship is for Allah alone! Remember the words of our Prophet, Peace be upon Him. Hold them in your hearts and go forward to jihad with joy!”
Slade shuddered, knowing the passages from the Quran, knowing that the “Fitnah” reference included him, Helen, the kids, his friends and his civilization.
He had to get to the aircraft — but how?
Slade needed a miracle, a small one, but a miracle.
It came in the form of an off-key wail that made Slade cringe. “Sounds like a cat with a blow torch up his ass!”
The offending noise came over the loudspeakers of the hanger complex: a call to prayer.
Obviously the operations were behind schedule because they were only halfway complete with loading the Uranium. Despite that the crews stopped what they were doing, climbing down from the loaders, the cargo pits, the fuel trucks — whatever — they proceeded quickly to retrieve their rolled up prayer rugs and gathered at the front quarter of the A380 to pray.
The captain and his guards left the flight deck and climbed down the stairs. Prayer rugs awaited them at the foot of the stairs. The video screens switched from the operations within the hanger to a prayer service.
Slade saw his chance. Shaking his head at the irony of it. He rushed to the door. While the entire jihadist force blinded themselves to his presence, he muttered, “If I get this done and it’s because they had to take time off for prayers; well, I think I’ve got all the answers I’ll ever need. There’s a price to pay for everything, including misplaced piety!”