When faced with a question of having one weapon or one thousand, you should always go for the largest possible number. Systems fail, bombs can be duds, and weapons jam.
Both Kasim and Skutter were aware of this fact.
“Sir, the primary threat right now is the shipping containers in Riyadh,” Skutter said. “You have already verified that they were delivered. And as soon as they are opened—which has to be sometime before the start of the hajj, which we believe everything else keys off—this entire operation could fall apart.”
“The first case of viral poisoning and Saudi Arabia will clamp down on everything,” Kasim agreed.
The two men were standing in front of a map tacked to a bulletin board in the hangar. On a table nearby were stacks of Qatari passports and pilgrim documents for Kasim and each of the thirty-seven team members. The emir’s government officials had been working on them all night. Because they were real and not forgeries, they would withstand any inspection by Saudi authorities. Since Saudi visas were usually given to Qatari nationals without question, the men now had a way to gain access to the kingdom.
“Then we send in two teams of four men each,” Kasim continued. “That leaves us with thirty men to enter Mecca.”
Skutter pointed to an aerial map that the NSA had faxed to Kasim in Qatar. The photograph showed the containment pen at the Riyadh Airport Cargo Facility. “Using the tracking numbers your people recovered from the shipment in England, we can place the containers here.”
Skutter circled the three containers with a highlighter.
“Damn good thing,” Kasim said, “they paint stencil identification numbers on the roofs of all the containers so the crane operators can see them. Otherwise we’d waste a lot of time searching through that mass of supplies.”
“Once we have the two teams there,” Skutter asked, “how do you want to handle it?”
“Secure and remove,” Kasim said. “Once we establish that they are still sealed, we need to load them onto trucks and take them out into the desert until we determine what to do with them—either destroy them at that site or move them to a safe location.”
“I read the personnel files,” Skutter said. “We have a U.S. Army warrant officer whose name is Colgan. He’s in Army Intelligence and has done some undercover work.”
“Colgan?” Kasim said. “Sounds Irish.”
“He converted to Islam in college,” Skutter said. “His file shows an exemplary service record and notes that he is level-headed and methodical. I think he can handle this.”
“Go ahead and brief him,” Kasim said, “and handpick the rest of his team. Then get them on the next plane leaving Qatar for Riyadh. According to the emir’s people, there is a shuttle flight that leaves here at six p.m.”
“Very good, sir,” Skutter said.
“That leaves us with the mosques in Mecca and Medina,” Kasim said. “I’ll lead the team into Mecca and you’ll handle Medina. We’ll each have fourteen men at our disposal, and our primary purpose will be to detect and disarm whatever type of destructive devices we believe Hickman has placed. We go in, search and remove, and get out again without being detected.”
“What if Hickman has switched the meteorites?”
“The rest of my people are working on that as we speak,” Kasim said.
THE INDIAN LEADER stared out the window of the house in Rabigh. The sun was set low in the sky and night would soon be upon them. It was about two hundred miles from Rabigh to Medina, or nearly four hours’ drive time. Once there they’d need a few hours to check the lay of the land, find the access panel to the underground tunnel outside the mosque Hickman had marked on the diagram, and then enter.
It would take less than an hour to place the charges and exit the tunnel again.
Then there was the four-hour drive back to Rabigh. If the Hindus wanted to be on the boat to Egypt by sunrise tomorrow, January 6, as scheduled, they’d need to get moving.
After checking the crate of explosives again, the leader motioned for it to be carried outside to the truck. Eight minutes later they were driving down the road to Medina.
HANLEY WAS FINDING that Overholt’s word was gold this time around. He was getting whatever he asked for. And he was getting it fast.
“We’re ready to start beaming,” Overholt said to Hanley over the phone. “Open up the link and check the picture quality.”
Hanley motioned to Stone, who brought the images up on a monitor. Cameras at the entrance and exit to the Suez Canal were showing the passing ships as clear as if you were standing on the shore.
“Beautiful,” Hanley said.
“What else do you need?” Overholt asked.
“Does the Agency have a Muslim agent in Saudi Arabia?”
“We have half a dozen,” Overholt said.
“We need to know if the meteorite has been switched already,” Hanley said.
“Even our people can’t get inside the curtain,” Overholt said. “There are four guards that walk the perimeter continuously.”
“But they can get inside al-Haram mosque,” Hanley said. “Have him come as close to the curtain as he can with a Geiger counter and then have him bow down and pray. If the Greenland meteorite is inside the curtain already, he should pick up radioactivity.”
“Excellent,” Overholt said. “We’ll get on it right away and report back as soon as we know anything. What else?”
“We need overhead satellite shots of both mosques as detailed as possible along with any engineering diagrams, floor plans, layouts or whatever else you can locate.”
“I’ll have a package assembled as soon as possible, and I’ll have it sent by satellite transmission and followed up by a courier,” Overholt said.
“Good,” Hanley said. “The plan is for the Corporation to imagine we were Hickman and proceed as he would. Once we have the documents, we’re going to assemble our team and plan how we would go about destroying the mosques if that was our mission.”
“I’m staying in my office for the duration,” Overholt said. “If you hear anything—or need anything—call at any hour.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hanley said. “We’ll get this done for you.”
UPON LANDING IN Tel Aviv, Cabrillo rented a car and drove as close as he could get to the Dome of the Rock. He entered through the gate near the al-Aqsa Mosque then crossed over into the courtyard where the Dome of the Rock was centered. The entire complex was some thirty-five acres in size, with garden and fountains and various shrines. The courtyard was crowded with tourists and scholars.
Cabrillo walked into the Dome building and stared at the spotlighted rock.
It was easy to see this was once the top of the hill—the rough outcropping jutted up, surrounded by a viewing area—but it was the history, not any particular physical attribute of the rock, that made it such a sacred site. For all intents and purposes, the rock looked like thousands of others nearby.
Cabrillo left the Dome building and headed underground to the Musalla Marwan.
The Musalla Marwan lies under the paved courtyard in the southeast corner of the complex. A vast underground area also known as Solomon’s Stables, the subterranean space is domed and bisected by long walls with columns and arches. For the most part, the space is open floor and is now used as an overflow area for Friday prayers.
Here, in the cool underground, Cabrillo could feel the history seep into his bones.
Millions of souls had passed through here over the centuries, seeking a closer contact with their God. The area was quiet, with only the sound of water dripping from some faraway spring, and for a moment Cabrillo was hit with the gravity of Hickman’s plans. Somewhere right now was a man so bound in hatred and infused with revenge for his dead son that he wanted to rid the world of three such places. Cabrillo felt a chill. Millions of men had fought and died nearby and their spirits felt close.