Badr studied the night-vision screen. Soon, a set of running lights appeared, moving slowing toward them, but on the other side of the stream. They would clear each other by half a kilometer.
Without permission, Heusseini went active on the radar, using only the forward antenna. He shut it off within seconds.
“I see no other traffic,” he said.
Badr thought it unwise to chastise the man about following orders at the moment. An argument would only disrupt the concentration of them all.
Give me strength, Allah.
“You must turn now,” Heusseini said.
Badr could see for himself. The river took a ninety-degree turn to the right, past a point littered with trees. The shore on his right appeared swampy. The camera lens did not provide him with a decent view of the opposite shore. Through the windshield, the river’s edge was only a band of dense shadows against blackness.
He made the turn, maintaining a steady speed of fifteen knots. Four kilometers later, he made a left turn, continuing inland. Ten minutes after that, the lights of the Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base appeared.
It was a large base located at the head of the bay. Geometric lines of streetlights defined it well, and a glow of more lights beyond would be the city of Jacksonville. As they closed with the base, the night-vision lens gave Badr a view of barracks, training fields, large maintenance-type buildings, and other unknown structures.
He slowed the speed of the Sea Spectre three kilometers away from the base and glanced down at the armaments panel. It was active, its blue letters clear in the darkness of the cabin. Four green indicators at the top of the panel suggested that four missiles were in place on the launcher and that they were prepared for ignition.
“Ahmed?”
The confident voice responded at once. “Four missiles available, Colonel Badr. I have two more on the cranes, ready for reloading. I am clear of the missile bay.”
“Omar?”
“I am ready, Colonel. Targets?”
“Choose large buildings. There is a truck park.”
“Opening missile bay doors.” Heusseini touched a keypad.
A green light.
“Doors clear,” Rahman reported.
Badr pulled the throttles all the way back. The boat slewed to the side a little as it slowed.
Heusseini pressed another pad.
“Launcher elevating. Locked in place,” Rahman said.
“I am using electro-optical targeting,” Heusseini said.
“You may fire when you are ready,” Badr told him.
He switched his primary screen to the optical-tracking function. A green view of the Marine base appeared on the monitor, low on the screen, seen from the nose cone of the missile. A pair of automobile headlights snaked along one of the streets.
WHOOSH!
The missile launched directly ahead, the white-hot trail of its exhaust attacking his eyes through the windshield. He blinked his eyes, and when he opened them, the missile was a white dot dancing in the sky far ahead.
He looked down at the screen. The view was jumping all about. Flashing lights sliding. Sky. Water. Lights again.
Heusseini was having difficulty directing the missile with the directional keypads on the armaments panel. His fingers frolicked on the keys, pressing one, then another, as he sought to stabilize and direct the missile. He kept his eyes on his own screen.
“You must relax, Omar,” Badr said.
He heard the man take a deep breath.
The picture steadied. An equipment park. Badr had a fleeting glimpse of large military trucks, personnel carriers, fuel tankers, and jeeps.
The words “LOCK-ON” appeared in the upper right corner of the screen.
The screen abruptly blinked to black, then to a new view from another missile as Heusseini abandoned his control of the first.
WHOOSH!
The second missile launched.
Badr closed his eyes just in time.
When he opened them, it took a half-second to locate the missile trail.
The first missile drew his attention to it when it exploded. There was a brilliant yellow-red flash that was soundless in the night.
The dull whump of the detonation followed a second later, very likely heard only because of the open missile bay doors. Most others sounds were filtered out by insulation and the headsets.
He looked at his screen. A large building with a peaked roof.
LOCK-ON.
Blackness.
WHOOSH!
White-out through the windows.
Another yellow-red flash on the shore as the second missile struck.
At the truck park, orange-blue flames were starting to rise high. Smaller explosions peppered the view and the windshield as automotive gasoline tanks exploded.
On the screen, another building. A barracks?
LOCK-ON.
Blank screen.
New view.
WHOOSH!
“Retracting launcher,” Heusseini said. His voice was steady now, calm with the knowledge that he had met the challenge.
“Launcher retracted,” Rahman reported. “I will reload with two missiles.”
Badr felt the pride welling in himself. This was magnificent!
The fourth missile slammed into a building and detonated. Four fires were raging around the base, spread across a three-kilometer arc. Heusseini’s accuracy was nothing he should boast about. He had merely locked his missiles onto whatever happened to be in view. Badr suspected that the first target, the truck park, was either a lucky fluke or had been under the guidance of Allah.
He quickly switched his primary screen to the boat’s video camera view and eased the throttles forward to gain headway and control over the camera. Manipulating the computer keys, he found the formula to magnify the view by seven.
In the enhanced view, he could see that dozens of trucks, jeeps, and personnel carriers were on fire. More of them exploded as he watched. Hoods and doors leaped into the air. The canvas coverings on troop carriers were aflame.
Most of the buildings were made of wood, and structures adjacent to targeted buildings began to catch fire. The skyline was taking on a rosy hue.
Panicked men were running everywhere. They were dressed in white underwear, streaking across the streets, around the corners of buildings. Lights were coming on in most of the buildings. A few of the men pulled fire hoses behind them.
It was all very quiet. Within the insulated cabin of the Sea Spectre, with the headsets in place, they could not hear the screams and the agony. That much was disappointing.
“Missiles in place,” Rahman reported.
“Raising launcher,” Heusseini said.
Within three minutes, the last two missiles detonated in yet two more areas of the base.
There was fire everywhere. Fire trucks were now responding. Red and blue strobe lights blinked against the six separate infernos.
“Retract the launcher, and close the doors,” Badr ordered. “We will now go see if Abdul Hakim has deserted us.”
Chapter 9
The activity in the Operations Center was considerably more controlled than what was taking place in Camp Lejeune, Monahan thought.
He had made the trip from his home to the Center in record time, arriving a few minutes before Admiral Clay. Fortunately, he had had fresh khakis on hand, and he felt and looked better than either of the admirals. Matthew Andrews had had his last Chivas and water not too long before he had received his call. He appeared a bit unsteady in his chair at the table, talking earnestly to someone in North Carolina.
Bingham Clay came into the Center under full steam, tossing a briefcase toward one corner of the room. He came to a stop against the table, leaning into it, staring at the plotting board.