Akmal hoped that was true, but certainly wasn’t counting on it. First things first, he thought. I have to try to make it across the border within an hour, which isn’t impossible, but will take some luck.
Aloud he said, “I have to get ready to leave now if I’m not to arrive late for my shift. Today of all days, I don’t want to do anything that might attract suspicion.”
The man nodded approvingly. “Go with God,” he said, and slipped out the door as noiselessly as he’d entered.
Akmal had a large bag he’d carried for years in Jeddah, and now here in Jaizan. In it he had his lunch, a bottle of water, and a complete change of clothes. Before he’d become a supervisor he’d nearly always needed to change at the end of his shift to get access to any bus or taxi to return home, since after a day of scrubbing toilets paying the fare wasn’t enough. Even as a supervisor, sometimes his new maintenance duties left him covered in enough oil and grease that he faced the same problem.
Today the bag was quickly emptied, and its contents replaced with the three bombs, covered with a single shirt. Since becoming a supervisor Akmal had never been searched, though he was still required to go through the metal detector. Though ordinary employees were required to hand over their bags for inspection, as a supervisor Akmal had been told to just hold the bag with him while he walked through the metal detector.
The man had told him that the bombs contained very little metal, and certainly not enough to set off the detector.
Akmal hoped that was true, and at the same moment realized that particular hope was becoming a habit.
He willed himself to calm as the taxi dropped him off at the train station.
Most days he took one of the minivans that in Jaizan passed for the buses Akmal had been used to in Jeddah, but today he really wanted no chance of being late.
It was anticlimactic when the bored guard simply waved him through the metal detector, which as the man had promised remained gratifyingly silent.
Akmal went to his “office,” which was really just an old desk set against the wall at the end of the maintenance corridor. Though Akmal had plenty of paperwork such as time cards, salary worksheets and work orders to deal with, nobody in charge of designing this new station had thought the maintenance supervisor would need an office.
Well, after today he wouldn’t, Akmal thought grimly.
Checking to make sure nobody else was in sight, Akmal swiftly placed nearly all the contents of his large toolbox on his desk, and placed the bombs inside it.
Not for the first time, Akmal thought to himself that the planners behind this bombing knew their business. Each bomb location, like the main transformer junction box routing city power to the station, was designed to not only make the station impossible to operate but time-consuming to repair.
Akmal was certainly glad he wouldn’t be around to deal with the repair work.
As he planted each bomb and carefully set the timer, Akmal wondered idly why the man had insisted on their being placed in color order. The only thing that made sense was that the bombs were different strengths and needed to be matched to a particular target, but to Akmal it looked as though each contained the same explosive charge.
Well, I guess understanding isn’t so important, Akmal sighed as he placed the last charge and set the timer. His last thought as everything around him was filled with white light and a tremendous noise was that he had made a mistake.
In fact, Akmal’s only mistake had been in trusting the men who had designed and provided him with the bombs.
Seconds after the last bomb Akmal had placed detonated, the first two also exploded, as they had been instructed to do by the radio signal sent from the last bomb Akmal had planted. This was why the color order was so important. The clocks were only present to reassure Akmal that he would be able to escape after setting the bombs.
The bombs' designers saw nothing evil or treacherous in what they had done. The man planting the bombs would never be of further use to their cause, and had information about their organization that he would certainly reveal under torture. So, he had to be silenced.
Hundreds of Yemenis were dying of hunger caused indirectly by the Saudi blockade or directly by Saudi bombs and bullets every day. One more Yemeni death was a tiny price to pay to ensure the victory that their Iranian friends promised would come soon, and finally force the Saudis to leave Yemen forever.
Army Commander Prince Ali bin Sultan was starting to feel like a ping-pong ball. Within hours of his return to Yemen, he’d been handed a summons from the Crown Prince to return to Riyadh for another urgent conference.
Adding to his annoyance was that Khaled bin Fahd, the Air Force Commander, had forced him to take the same Bell helicopter back to Yemen that had brought him to Riyadh. He’d said he “had a few errands to run” and that “no aircraft were immediately available” for a flight to the combat area in northern Yemen.
Well, they’d certainly found one for the return flight to Riyadh. Ali had been put in the back seat of an F-15E, piloted by a grim fellow who hadn’t said a word the entire flight. Ali assumed that was because he was in shock, as they all were, at the attacks on the Kingdom by two nuclear weapons.
Ali looked around the conference table and frowned. Where was Khaled?
The Crown Prince strode in, looking even grimmer than the pilot who had brought Ali to Riyadh. Ali once again assumed it was because of the nuclear attacks, but quickly found out there was even more bad news.
Just behind the Crown Prince walked a pilot in a flight suit that looked new. The pilot failed to match his suit, sporting bandages on his neck and right hand, and was clearly exhausted.
As soon as they were both seated, the Crown Prince looked around the table at the assembled high-ranking military officers, and soberly said, “I am sorry to tell you all of the death in action of Air Force Commander Prince Khaled bin Fahd.”
A stunned silence fell over the room.
“I’m sure you’re all thinking that the commander was shot down in Yemen. He wasn’t. His plane was destroyed north of here. Sitting beside me is the only survivor of the three planes that accompanied the commander, Captain Hadi Al-Joud. I will let him tell you what happened, and then you may ask him questions. In view of his condition, I have asked him to remain seated for this briefing.”
Hadi made a visible effort to collect himself, and then quietly and clearly described what had happened when they encountered the SAMs. Once he concluded, Ali asked the first question on all their minds — “Can you tell us anything more about the force you encountered?”
Hadi shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I could see a dust cloud that was caused by the movement of a large force. My guess would be armor, but none of my instruments registered tanks or anything else. I don’t know how the commander got a lock, but like I said I saw him fire on one of the SAM launchers. I didn’t say this before, but I’m pretty sure he hit one.”
A growl of approval went around the room. At least the commander had been able to hurt the enemy before his death.
Ali nodded and asked gently, “What makes you think so?”
Hadi gave an exhausted shrug. “I was trying to regain control of my plane after it was hit by shrapnel from a missile explosion. While I was doing that I’m pretty sure I saw an explosion somewhere in that dust cloud.”
Ali frowned. “I’m no pilot, but couldn’t that have been the missile hitting the ground, or some smaller target?”
Hadi shook his head decisively. “No, sir. For me to see it from my distance it had to be a large explosion, and the only thing I think could account for it would be a SAM launcher and some of its missiles.”