The prince went on: “If anything were to bypass the gates, these men would cut them down in a second. Do you have any idea how many eyes and ears we have on this processing plant? How at this very moment we’re being monitored by cameras, by motion detectors, by drones flying over our heads? Do you know how many rounds of ammunition we can put on a target in a single minute? It’s truly incredible.”
Fisher closed his eyes and steeled himself. “Yes, it is.”
“But still you question our security.”
“Didn’t the king, your uncle, say it was better to have a thousand enemies outside your tent than one inside?”
“He did. But you’ve just crossed into one of the most secure places in the world.”
Fisher considered a retort, then thought better of it.
The pair of warehouses Grim had mentioned earlier began rising from the twilit gloom ahead. At least the driver had taken his cue and raced ahead with a heavy foot and clear sense of urgency.
They pulled up outside the first warehouse, a rectangular two-story building about the length of an entire football field. Several guards were posted outside the doors, and a few more along the rear dock and loading ramps.
While Shammari strode from the Humvees, Fisher and Briggs jogged away with the security team hustling up behind them. Seeing what was happening, the warehouse guards moved aside, and the lead troop, a sergeant, slid a key card across a scanner, opening the side door. They charged inside.
Massive halogen lights suspended from the iron rafters cast broad puddles of light across the concrete floor. To their left, oversized racks rising some eight meters held bundles of pipes of various lengths and diameters. To their right towered literally hundreds more racks with thousands more pipes, fittings, clamps, and dozens of other parts, some recognizable, some completely foreign to Fisher. Placards in Arabic and English identified sections as DESALTER, VACUUM DISTILLATION, NAPHTHA HYDROTREATER, CATALYTIC REFORMER, and FLUID CATALYTIC CRACKER, among many others.
In sum, the warehouse was an overwhelming maze of drilling and oil refining equipment, each aisle a labyrinth of rubber, copper, steel, and aluminum. Without knowing exactly where the recent pipe and drill shipment had been stored, it could take them an eternity just to get near it. Moreover, it was after hours, and the warehouse foremen had gone home for the evening.
“The most recent large shipment,” Fisher told one of the sergeants in Arabic, reciting the invoice number he’d memorized. “Delivered today.”
The troop had a schematic of the warehouse and delivery schedule displayed on an iPad mini. He called up the route, pointed toward a long row between racks on their right, and once more, the group took off jogging, with the prince bringing up the rear.
They rounded a corner, and the sergeant called for a halt to once more consult his tablet. He glanced up at the storage racks, numbered 329, 330, 331 . . . then his gaze panned downward to more labels. He began walking up the row several more meters, then spun and stopped. “It’ll all be here,” he said, pointing to the bundles of pipes and cone-shaped drill heads sitting atop pallets covered in shrink-wrap.
“Grim, are you seeing this?” Fisher muttered.
“Got everything. I don’t see anything that looks like a generator there.”
Fisher turned back to the troops. “Who’s got the radiation equipment? We need this scanned.”
Two soldiers dropped their packs and fished out their portable radiation survey detection meters and wands.
Prince Shammari lumbered up behind the group and said, “What do you think of our warehouse?”
Fisher wasn’t sure how to answer. “Nice.”
“And this is the delivery you’re so worried about?”
“Yes, it is.” Fisher called for some more light, and the troops directed their flashlights onto the pipes and within them.
“I can assure you,” said the prince, parading up to Fisher and getting in his face. “This delivery has been thoroughly inspected by three of my engineers, by my radiological teams, and by anyone else we deemed necessary to ensure it is not, and I repeat, not some kind of explosive device that you and your people suggest may be en route here. These items were ordered months ago, and the company verifies the shipment and invoices through their own security personnel, and then those items come through our very rigorous process. And I remind you, even after Ms. Grimsdóttir called, we searched this entire facility, just as a precaution. I was very explicit about that. You’re wasting your time with these radiation detectors and with this whole nonsense. No one got past my security. No one can get past it. I hope you and your people understand that now.”
Fisher stood there.
Part of him felt deeply embarrassed, the other part ready to commit murder.
Shammari bared his teeth, but his lips curled into a grin.
Fisher averted his gaze. “We’ll be leaving now.”
33
BEFORE climbing into the Humvee, Fisher stole a moment to have a word with Grim, who’d been monitoring the conversation he’d had with Prince Shammari.
The wind was beginning to howl in his ears as he listened to her through his subdermaclass="underline" “I don’t know, Sam, I was positive all the dots were connecting.”
“They still are.”
“Maybe Abqaiq’s not the target.”
“Then why are those Russians in Dammam?”
“Maybe it’s been the port all along. Or maybe the capital. Maybe it’s Riyadh. That’s only two hundred miles southwest.”
Fisher mouthed a curse and said, “We’re heading over to Dammam. We’ll see what we can pick up there. You keep working with Kasperov and his right-hand guy. I’ll be in touch.”
As they drove away from the warehouse, Prince Shammari glanced up from his surfboard-sized smartphone and announced that out to the west, a thunderstorm traveling at up to 45 knots was beginning to collapse and dump torrents. Wind directions were reversing and gusting outward from the storm. Reports from Riyadh said a haboob was beginning to form and that everyone should seek cover.
“Haboob” was an amusing word for a very deadly and intense sandstorm common on the Arabian peninsula.
“Where are you headed now?” Shammari asked Fisher.
“Dammam.”
“Then you’d best hurry.”
“We will. I’m sorry we wasted your time. Your security is impressive.”
“As I’ve demonstrated.”
“Your deliveries here, they all come in by truck?”
“And by rail. With a few small ones by helicopter.”
“The oil is shipped by pipeline up to Dammam.”
“That’s correct.”
Fisher sat there, considering that.
“I hope for our sakes that you’re wrong,” said Shammari. “There is no plot. There is no bomb. I know we’ve been talking about terrorists with nuclear weapons for years, but the world cannot afford it. Not ever.”
“I agree. But I’ve been doing this for a long time.” Fisher glanced out the window. “There’s a bomb out there. And we’re going to find it.”
* * *
BY the time they hit the helipad, the chopper was already warm since Fisher had called ahead to the pilot. They bid their tense and somewhat awkward good-byes to the prince and his troops, then started for the helicopter.
While stars shimmered directly overhead, the western sky was no more than a churning brown wave that consumed the entire horizon. Briggs pointed, and they both gasped.
This could be the largest and most formidable haboob Fisher had ever seen, and that was saying something because he’d spent enough time in Arab countries to ride out his share of storms. This bad weather could buy them some time. If the storm extended all the way up to the port it could shut down operations, perhaps delaying the oligarchs’ plan.
They climbed into the chopper, Briggs taking one of the backseats, Fisher up front with the pilot. They rolled shut the door, and just as they were lifting off, Grim called.