Now, hours later, Khalif had caught up with his prize. He was at the Sebha facility, isolated in the far southern reaches of the Libyan Desert. Or rather beneath it. He and Al-Quatan were presently underground, riding an electric golf cart through a tunnel that seemed to have no end. This was the place they had heard about, where important work was done and great secrets kept. It was bigger than Khalif had imagined. Above ground lay a small city — buildings and machinery, all encircled by fences and concertina wire, with guard towers every hundred meters. And then there were the soldiers. Everywhere soldiers. To get this far they’d gone through three security checkpoints. Al-Quatan had been forced to surrender his sidearm at the first. The last had included a full-body scan by some type of walk-through machine, like those in the airports, only bigger.
Then the elevator had taken them down. When it opened, the first thing Khalif noticed was the air. It was stagnant and damp, smelling of sulfur like the water that came from the very deep drinking wells back in Palestine. Then they were guided through a maze of corridors. There were offices, laboratories, and more elevators. Strangest of all was the tunnel through which they now passed. It was big, both wide and tall enough that a good-sized truck could make use of it. Overhead was a continuous, neatly carved arch of rock with a string of lights at the crest. Occasionally, the earthen ceiling above glistened as the naked bulbs illuminated damp areas where moisture somehow seeped into the long cavern. This concerned Khalif, who thought it unnatural and certainly unsafe, but he kept the thought to himself.
The golf cart made a whirring noise as it scooted ahead, the sound accentuated by a constant echo. At the wheel was Dr. Aseem, the Director of the facility. Next to him was a pock-marked man with a submachine gun in his lap. The two visitors sat on a padded bench at the back. The ride had so far lasted ten minutes, probably over a mile.
“Are we getting close?” Khalif asked.
Dr. Aseem smiled. “We are nearly there.”
“The tunnel is so long,” Al-Quatan remarked.
“I know what you are wondering,” Dr. Aseem said. “In fact, I cannot even tell you how long. Not exactly. No one knows. It is a matter of great secrecy. I also cannot tell you what direction it is from the main complex. You see, the Americans have bombs that can go very deep, so the most sensitive parts of Sebha are some distance from the main buildings. And of course, the main facility itself has been largely deactivated. We had to convince our western friends that we are a peace-loving people.”
Khalif smiled, encouraged to see that the infidel Americans could be outsmarted. The tunnel came to a curve, then passed through a formidable set of steel doors. There, they entered a wide chamber full of equipment, including a small Toyota pickup and a forklift. Dr. Aseem stopped the cart and led his little group to a well-lit door.
Passing through, Khalif was immediately struck by the brightness of the lights. It was clearly a type of laboratory. There were pipes and flasks, workers in white coats, all of it very antiseptic in appearance. He also noticed how much fresher the air seemed here. Dr. Aseem led them down a hallway and eventually stopped in front of a long window. There, slightly below, and behind a thick pane of glass, was the weapon. It sat still and cold, resting on a metal cart as two men presided over it. They looked like surgeons dressed in scrubs, and each had a mask covering his nose and mouth. Something similar to a dentist’s X-ray machine hovered over the shiny steel cylinder.
Khalif felt pride well up from within. It was the first time he had seen it. He now remembered what Al-Quatan had said, about his surprise that it was not bigger or more complex in appearance. But as the truth of what lay before him settled in, he decided that the polished steel cylinder was made even more menacing by its outward simplicity.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
“Seeing what we have,” Aseem replied.
“But it is real!” Al Quatan insisted.
“Oh yes, we have already determined that. It contains nuclear material. But we must learn how the rest of it works. There are many ways to design such a thing.”
The two technicians were pulling fasteners from a plate near the back of the device.
Khalif said, “I am sorry we did not provide you with the technical data. It was promised us, but the devil who sold us this thing did not complete his end of the bargain.” Khalif made no mention of the fact that he himself had only paid half the agreed upon price. He wondered briefly if Roth might be holding back the technical information in order to get full price. Watching the two men work, slowly and deliberately, he realized it wouldn’t matter. It would only take a little longer. These were true scientists, the sort of people who could build a place like this underground city.
Aseem beamed toward his guests, “The Great One himself will be here this afternoon. He is very pleased. You have done a great service to your Arab brothers.”
The two engineers gently removed the metal plate from the device.
Khalif and Al-Quatan looked proudly through the window, two parents in the maternity ward admiring their offspring. Suddenly, the technicians seemed immobile. The men’s faces were largely obscured by the masks, yet their eyes were not. They stared into the thing, at the place where they had just removed the metal cover. Khalif thought they must be in awe, struck to inaction by the magnificent power within. But then one of the men stood back. He ripped off his mask, and it was not amazement encompassing his every feature — it was fear. He yelled, but Khalif could hear nothing through the heavy glass. The man threw his mask down and hurtled through the door that connected to the viewing area. Without a word, he bolted toward the laboratory.
“What?” Aseem demanded. “What is wrong?”
The man was gone. His partner came through moments later, and Aseem grabbed him by the arm. “Tell me!”
“Run!” the engineer screamed, tearing free and racing after his friend. There was shouting from the technicians and scientists in the laboratory. Feet scrambled and doors slammed. Khalif heard an engine start — the small pickup truck out in the tunnel.
Dr. Aseem looked through the window at the silvery object, regarding it as though it held all the world’s evil.
Khalif whirled to face him, “What is happening?”
Aseem began backing slowly toward the door, then turned and ran to join the others.
Only Khalif and Al-Quatan remained. It was the colonel who succumbed. He ran.
“Wait!” Khalif ordered.
Al-Quatan paused at the command, but with a desperate glance at his superior, he disappeared as well.
Moustafa Khalif felt more rage than fear. After a lifetime of struggle, victory was his. But what? Suppressing his anger, he pushed through the door and into the working area. At the entrance, he kicked aside the mask that had been dropped by the engineer. When the door closed behind him, all the noise and commotion outside disappeared. His world was enveloped by an overwhelming silence.
He went to it and slowly put out a hand as he approached. Khalif was not a man of science, but he knew such things were dangerous, in silent, hidden ways. They held invisible energy that could destroy a man. His fingertips made contact and he drew a quick gasp — the shiny steel case was cold to his touch. Khalif moved around to where the scientists had been and he saw the opening, no bigger than a man’s open hand. He looked inside and saw what they had, now understanding.