It was only then — above the noise of the storm, the gunfire, his own labored breathing — that he sensed it.
It was something falling from the sky.
‘MOP One has been released,’ Lt. Colonel Gleason reported matter-of-factly.
‘Roger that,’ Major Harris confirmed, ‘and we’re away.’
The speed of the giant flying wing increased immediately as the first B2 pulled away from the target area, leaving it open for the second bomber to follow.
Gleason tracked the progress of the Massive Ordinance Penetrator on his readouts as it dropped through the sky from 40,000 feet.
Thirty thousand, twenty-five, twenty, fifteen, ten, five…
The B2 Spirit stealth bomber and its crew were already over ten miles away when the weapon finally reached the earth and hit its target.
And Gleason didn’t need his readout to tell him that whatever the 2.4 ton high-explosive warhead had hit would have ceased to exist — completely.
The second MOP launched just behind the first would merely be the icing on the cake.
4
Cole could see the compound from a thousand feet as his chair sailed slowly down to earth.
The view below him was exactly like the satellite photographs he’d been shown back at the CIA safe house, and the more up-to-date aerial surveillance footage from the reconnaissance drones which had been flown over the city.
Cole directed the parachute, trimming it slightly to come around and approach the compound from the rear. He could see that it was a fairly large compound, one main residential building and two smaller subsidiary blocks all surrounded by a high cement wall, all sandwiched away amidst hundreds of other buildings in a quiet area of the city.
It reminded Cole of the Waziristan Haveli, the compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, where Osama bin Laden had been found ten years after the massacre of 9/11. It had been SEAL Team Six which had taken the compound and killed bin Laden; but this was of no comfort to Cole, and he knew he was crazy for taking on such a place alone.
As he looked down at the compound, he realized that if he could see it, then whoever was there would also be able to see him.
But what other choice did he have?
If there was any chance at all that the suicide bombers were still there, then any risk was acceptable.
He realized that his ejection from the aircraft would have been reported, that the authorities would be tracking his descent, that armed teams would be dispersed immediately to his landing point, and welcomed the fact.
Once he had landed, the element of surprise would already be gone and it didn’t matter who told who else; by then it would be too late to make any difference, and Cole would take any help he could get.
He saw the compound draw closer and could see nobody moving around. The courtyard was empty.
Did that mean the bombers had already left?
He prayed that he was wrong, that they were still there, that he still had a chance.
And then he was there, right above the rooftops, and he flared the chute, which filled with air and served to brake his progress even further, and then he felt the rough impact as the chair hit the dusty concrete floor of the compound’s central courtyard.
Cole was up, unbuckled and out of the chair in an instant, ripping off his helmet and flight mask and drawing his concealed Heckler and Koch UPS pistol; scanning the courtyard, the windows, the rooftops for any sign of activity.
But there was none; none whatsoever.
And all of a sudden, Cole realized with a tightness in his stomach that he might already be too late.
Once Cole had cleared the courtyard, he began moving quickly from building to building. There was nobody in the first one, just an empty dormitory block, and Cole found nothing at the larger residential building either. If anybody had ever lived here, then they were long gone, the place wiped clean.
There was just one building left, and as Cole peered through the windows he realized it was a laboratory complex and his pulse quickened.
Could they still be here, could they be in there, being prepared with the bioweapon, injected before their suicidal attack on America?
Pistol held out in front of him, he pried open the door and crept inside.
The control of his heart rate was automatic, his subconscious keeping it low so that he could perform at the high level he knew might be necessary at any second.
He edged through the bare concrete corridors, seeing room after empty room. There was still the paraphernalia of a scientific presence here, but it was clear that this building too had been abandoned.
Cole sighed wearily; he was too late.
He would have to contact Washington and let them know. Airports would have to be closed and HAZMAT teams would have to be brought in all across America. Panic would ensue even before the bombers reached their targets.
A noise caught Cole’s attention then and his head snapped round.
It was the sound of coughing, coming from somewhere nearby, somewhere… below?
Cole looked around frantically, checking doors for a basement staircase, the floors for trapdoors, even the walls for hidden panels.
And then he found it — a secret staircase hidden behind a laboratory counter in one of the side rooms. Opening the door carefully — so very, very carefully — Cole slipped through it onto the descending stairs, his pistol leading the way as if it was an extension of his arm.
Before long he was at the bottom of the stairs, at another door. The cough came again, from the other side. He wished that he had an infrared scanner, or else a fiber optic camera that he could slip under the door to check what lay beyond, but he had nothing. He would just have to rely on his instincts and his training.
And yes, he decided as he kicked at the door, blasting it open and racing through to confront whatever was on the other side, he was also going to have to rely on a little bit of luck.
5
Amir al-Hazmi — for one of the few times in his life — was taken completely by surprise.
The blessed martyrs had all received their injections and now they were all gone; he had escorted them to the various airports himself, making sure they boarded their flights before returning to the compound to monitor their progress.
With the doctors, scientists and laboratory assistants all dead — killed by al-Hazmi’s priceless janbiya, as he couldn’t take the risk that any of them might talk — he was now alone here for the first time in weeks.
He had been monitoring the various airlines as they unwittingly carried the martyrs to their destinations — New York, Washington DC, Los Angeles, Detroit, Chicago, Boston, Miami, San Francisco, Dallas, New Orleans, these and a dozen more — as well as checking the current weather conditions in those cities, making sure that the maximum amount of damage would be inflicted.
The doctors had dosed the martyrs in exactly the same way; the spores would be released twelve hours from now, giving them enough time to land, get through customs and make their way to the designated release points — the locations chosen to have the greatest affect and infect the largest possible number of people.
What al-Hazmi’s concentration meant, however, was that he hadn’t been checking the security monitors as often as he should have been. He had become complacent — the martyrs had been injected and were on their way, what was there to worry about anymore?
The Lion had warned him to be careful; al-Hazmi knew that Quraishi, his beloved leader, was now a wanted man. It was not unexpected, but it was certainly sooner than planned. However, al-Hazmi hadn’t let the issue bother him unduly; he was confident that the compound was still undiscovered. After all, how would anyone know about it? Only he and The Lion knew where it was — everyone else had been killed, or else were on their way to destroy the Great Satan with the plague that coursed through their blood.