He hung there for a painful second, watching the shuttle climbing slowly, steadily, and most beautifully higher and higher into the sky. He slid to the deck and knew no more.
WHEN THE 76MM BLEW, THE NOISE AND THE SHRAPNEL BLINDED AND frightened everyone. All the window on the bridge shattered. A moment later, the man Akil thought was the captain went for Yussuf, slamming him into the bulkhead and sending his guns skittering across the floor. Two others went scrambling after them. The woman must have ducked down behind one of the consoles because she was suddenly nowhere to be seen, or acquired for use as a hostage.
For a frozen moment Akil, ears ringing, was aware only of the bent and broken fragments of his dream, buried beneath alarms and smoke and flying metal. There were screams of fear and bellowed orders. On his left the space shuttle climbed into the sky on a column of molten gold.
The wreckage of the big gun caught fire, first a flicker, then a glow. An instant later a siren went off, almost painfully loud, impossible to ignore. Crew members began pouring up into the bridge. The man he thought of as captain began shouting orders.
He walked to the door with no outward sense of haste. On the bridge wing, he tossed his gun into the water and climbed over the railing. He kicked away from the side of the ship, falling feetfirst into the water, and struck out for shore.
25
WASHINGTON, D.C., AUGUST 2008
"Isa got clean away?" Kallendorf was not pleased.
Neither was Patrick. "Unfortunately, sir, yes."
"Very unsatisfactory."
Patrick tidied his file together. "Not entirely, sir," he said mildly. "The attack was foiled. The shuttle and its crew made it safely into orbit, and they are now safely back. I understand the first round fired from the cutter's cannon got close enough for them to see. It gave them a few bad moments, but all in all, a happy ending, I would think.
"The helicopter, though damaged in the firefight, landed safely onshore at the Cape, although I understand the pilot was taken into custody by NASA security for a few hours until everything was sorted out. The cutter suffered severe damage when the gun exploded, but the hull remained intact and the cutter made it into port."
"How did they get control of the engine room?" Kallendorf asked idly. He wasn't all that interested.
Patrick allowed himself a prim smile. "Akil's people didn't know much about ships, sir. All the compartments are watertight, but there are many different entrances. The executive officer and the, what I believe is called the health services chief, or corpsman, colluded on a gas of some kind to introduce into the engine room. I believe the chief component was ammonia. When the terrorists became incapacitated, a welder cut through one of the doors and the terrorists were, uh, overpowered by the crew."
"Knacky people, those Coasties," Kallendorf said.
"Yes, sir. Always prepared is, I believe, their motto."
"Still. Isa escaped." Kallendorf sighed. "Not good, Patrick, not good."
"We now know who Isa is, sir, and where he comes from. This will, I believe, be a great help in predicting his future actions.
"And lastly, this attack underlined something the agency has been trying to get across to Congress for years."
"Oh? What's that?"
"That our nation is immensely vulnerable to attack by sea. This time it was a hijacked Haitian freighter. Next time? It might be a hijacked oil tanker, mined to explode as it runs aground…" Patrick shrugged. "Well. Pick a target, sir. Maybe, just maybe because of this action, Congress will listen the next time." He stood up. "Anything else, sir?"
Kallendorf looked at him broodingly. "You swore at me, Patrick."
"Yes, sir, I did." Patrick made a superhuman effort and didn't apologize.
Kallendorf grinned. "Get out of here."
"Certainly, sir."
Patrick went on his way rejoicing. When he reached his office, he paused with his hand on the door for a moment, and then went in. "Hello, Melanie."
"Hello, sir." There was a smile in her eyes.
"Any messages?"
"Just one." She handed him a slip of paper.
"Ah. Get Mr. Rincon on the phone for me, will you?"
THE CURRENT CARRIED AKIL SOME MILES NORTH OF CAPE CANAVERAL, where he managed to thrash his way to shore on a sandy beach that lined the edge of a swamp. He slogged through the swamp to a road, which he followed until he came to a town. On a clothesline in someone's backyard he found dry pants and a shirt. He walked to the next town where he caught a bus to Jacksonville. The woman across the aisle was reading the Miami Herald, which had a large, grainy picture of Adam Bayzani's doctored passport photo on the front page, but she never looked at him twice. Talk on the bus was all about the attempt to bring down the space shuttle. "We ought to just nuke the whole Middle East and be done with it," one old man said, and there were nods all around.
The story was running on all the televisions in the Jacksonville airport. He looked at the flight board, identified several possibilities, got cash from an ATM, and took a cab to a local mall, where he bought a new wardrobe and a carry-on suitcase to put it in. He found a small motel nearby and checked in. He used the motel's business center to buy his tickets.
That night he dreamt again of Zahirah, and woke in a sweat-soaked panic.
Once, all his dreams had been of Adara.
The next morning he showered, packed, and went to the airport. The passport he had with him was in the name of Suud Bathinda, an Indian national, a computer programmer from Mumbai.- He offered the TSA official grave apologies on behalf of all Asians for this latest attempt on America 's might and substance. He had no trouble getting through security.
In Atlanta he boarded a flight for Paris, in Paris another for Barcelona, not going to the Hotel Arc de Triomphe as he had planned.
He'd always liked Barcelona. The second day he even went back to the Maritime Museum, and stood in long contemplation of the Royal Galley that had fought at the Battle of Lepanto.
He never once thought of Adam Bayzani.
That evening he strolled down to the waterfront and dined well on fresh seafood at an open-air cafe. On the way back to his hotel, he became aware that he was being followed. He took no notice, continuing his placid pace.
When he opened the door to his room, Ansar was sitting in a chair, watching Baywatch on television. "Ah, Isa, I was wondering what was keeping you." He smiled. "The old man wants to talk to you."
Akil knew a sudden and a great weariness. "Certainly," he said. "I am at his disposal."
"YOU'RE SURE?" PATRICK SAID.
"He was seen, and identified. Besides, it's all over the net. Irhabi's blog has the story, almost the real one. I think someone in the al Qaeda organization doesn't like our Isa."
"Will bin Laden have him killed, do you think?"
"I don't know," Hugh said thoughtfully. "We've been talking that over ourselves. The whole attack on the space shuttle was pretty gutsy. A lot like 9/11, it was simple, and pretty cheap. His guys talking yet?"
"Some of them are. The ones who still can talk after the Coasties got done with them. They were pretty pissed."
"Really?" Patrick could hear the smile in Hugh's voice. "May I tell Sara?"
"Sure. Anyway, Isa's bunch don't know much."
"I suppose bin Laden could be upset that this was going on in his own backyard without him knowing it."
"If he didn't know it," Patrick said. "Ah, the hell with it. I'm going on vacation, Hugh. I'll be gone for two weeks."
"Alone?" Hugh said. "Or in company?"