"No, Nasir, it is youwho does not understand. You were once a great warrior and leader. You brought the Shadows to unprecedented glory. But you veered from the path of true Islamic spirituality. You live like a Westerner. You do business with Westerners. You have friends that are Westerners. You constantly seek publicity and you crave money. In the eyes of Allah you have sinned a great deal."
Tarighian took a step back. "What are you saying? You can't take the Shadows away from me! You can't take meaway from the Shadows!"
Mohammed had a sad, cold expression on his face. "Yes, Nasir, we can."
Tarighian didn't expect Albert Mertens to lift a Glock, suddenly point it at the side of Tarighian's head, and squeeze the trigger. Nasir Tarighian's skull exploded, spraying a mass of blood and gray matter onto the wall beside them. His body collapsed to the floor.
This was Eisler's cue to act. In a swift, unexpected maneuver, Eisler drew his Swamp Monster knife, grabbed Farid's hair through the turban, pulled the man's head back, and sliced the exposed throat from ear to ear. Farid's reflexes were abrupt and forceful--he swung around and slammed his free arm into Eisler, knocking him back onto a desk. The big man wanted his assailant's hide, but it was too late. Blood gushed from the open wound below his chin as if it was a spigot. Farid's grunts became gurgles as he clutched his neck in a helpless attempt to close the lesion. Then, in a rage, he tried to grab hold of Eisler's leg but clumsily knocked over a computer monitor instead. Eisler scrambled to the floor on the other side of the desk and backed away from the man-monster bellowing in front of him.
Farid threw himself forward, trying to go around the desk, but he stumbled and fell to the floor. Emitting a sickening, choking noise, Tarighian's bodyguard thrashed violently for nearly a minute until he began to lose steam. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Farid lay dead.
The others in the room stared at the carnage in disbelief but looked up at Ahmed Mohammed, Albert Mertens, and Heinrich Eisler with newfound respect.
Mohammed looked at Mertens and said, "As leader of the Shadows, I now give you the authority to recalibrate the Babylon Phoenix and point it at the target we spoke about."
Mertens put away his gun and nodded. "Thank you, sir. This is really the best decision." He turned to the workers and said, "Take these bodies and put them inside the engine." Four of the men came forward, picked up Tarighian's corpse, opened the engine doors, and shoved the lifeless form inside. There the hydraulics would mash it to a pulp. Then they did the same with Farid.
Mertens, Eisler, and Mohammed left the engine room and stood against the closed door. Tarighian's armed men watched them with curiosity. Where was their leader?
Before anyone could register what was happening, two dozen men leaned over the circular balcony rail and fired AK-47s on Tarighian's loyalists. The sudden burst of noise reverberated through the complex, frightening the rest of the workers to a standstill. It was as if hell had rained down from the heavens, chopping up any living thing that dared to be in the way of the ammunition. The loyalists never had a chance to aim their weapons for a return volley. After twenty seconds Tarighian's loyalists lay in pools of their own blood. The men faithful to Mohammed ran down the ramp from the upper balcony and stood at attention, awaiting further orders.
Ahmed Mohammed shouted to everyone. "Sons of Allah! Hear me!" Every worker in the complex turned to look at him. "Nasir Tarighian is dead! I will be assuming leadership of the Shadows from now on. Continue your good work and Allah will reward you."
Some of the workers cheered. Others were confused. Only a few were disappointed.
Mertens looked at Mohammed and explained, "As you can hear, Tarighian's objectives were not very popular."
"No, they weren't," Mohammed said.
As they returned to the control room, Mertens asked Eisler, "Are you all right?"
"I am fine." He wiped his knife clean on his trouser leg and sheathed it.
Mertens nodded and said, "Recalibrate the weapon for a new target."
"Yes, sir," Eisler said. "And what is the new target?"
"Jerusalem."
38
THEtwo armed goons march me up the ramp and onto the perimeter balcony. As we head for the double doors, I notice several guys with AK-47s crouched below the rail as if they're waiting for something. The one closest to us nods at my two guards, and they give him a silent acknowledgment. What the hell's going on? If I didn't know better I'd say there's going to be some kind of rebellious action happening soon. Do I smell an uprising in the air? Is that something I can use to my advantage?
I've lost track of how much time is left on the frag grenades. It hasto be nearly forty-five minutes since I set them and was caught. I suspect that there's less than five or ten minutes left to go. I really don't want to be on this balcony when they go off--it's liable to collapse.
"Sam?" It's Lambert. The tiny voice in my ear. "Sam? Are you there?"
Shit. I can't respond.
One of my captors uses his keycard to open the double doors and we walk through. I don't particularly relish being marched to my death, so I need to think of something quickly. The guy with the keycard has my stuff. They didn't remove the OPSAT, but it's not going to do me much good with my hands tied behind my back.
Lambert speaks again. "Sam? If you can hear me, get the hell out of that shopping mall. The UN forces will be there in about ten minutes, maybe sooner! If you can read me, get the hell out, now!"
I'd like to do just that, Colonel.
We walk through the empty department store, and we're now level with the upper half of the supergun barrel, which is poking through the opening in the middle of the shopping mall complex. They haven't opened the domed ceiling or raised the supergun to its maximum height yet. My fascination with machinery and weapons makes me want to stay and watch them shoot the thing, but I know I can't do that. I don't want to be caught inside this place when the cavalry arrives.
They take me around the supergun into one of the three storefront wings. A steel door marked "Maintenance" in Turkish and in English appears to be our destination. Abbott takes a set of keys from his pocket while Costello sticks his AK-47 in my lower back. Abbott unlocks the door and holds it open for his pal and me. Once we're inside, I see why Tarighian called this the "incinerator room"--there's one dominating the far wall. I figure they throw their garbage into it. The room is also full of hardware and tools, a table saw, and a few of those three-wheelie carts.
There's also a video camera sitting on a tripod in the middle of the room. A couple of floodlights on stands point to an area of the floor near the incinerator. I wonder how many executions they've put on tape or if I'm their debut production.
Abbott opens the incinerator's grilled door. The flames inside cast a golden glow over the room. I figure they think this makes their home movies more aesthetically pleasing. Abbott then turns on the floodlights and checks the video camera. He looks through the viewfinder, makes sure it's pointed in the proper place, and then says "Put him in place" in Arabic. These guys aren't Turkish.
Costello jabs his gun into my back again, pushing me over to the "stage." Abbott presses the Record button, the camera's red light turns on, and then he moves to join us in front of the lens.
We're standing in a line with me in the middle--Abbott on my right, Costello on my left--facing the camera. Abbott announces to the audience in Arabic, "This is American spy Sam Fisher. He is to die today for waging war against Islam."