Hendra felt a pang of sympathy for those in the target area. The encampment had probably suffered only a mild exposure to the nerve agent. The pain, suffering and death that would result downwind of an airburst of VX was something he now felt that he could relate to. And the truth at that instant was that Hendra wished he’d never become involved in this cause. He’d allowed himself to be persuaded. And the group had needed him at a time when a sense of usefulness after his discharge from the air force was what he craved most. He had no wife and no children and, now that the air force was no longer his home, no family. What also troubled Hendra was where God fitted into this. He could identify his own purpose or lack of it, but what about God’s? Was he, Hendra, really God’s instrument as Duat had told him? Or was he just Duat’s? The project with the Prowler drone had absorbed him completely, given his life meaning and direction, and now the time had come to let it loose so that it could rob the lives of possibly thousands of innocent people. But he had come this far and if he did not see it through, then what had been the point?
Duat opened the hatch on the top of the drone’s fuselage and looked in. He saw a mass of wires attached to the moulded blocks of explosive that encased the epoxy chemical containers. ‘Hendra, how will this work?’ he asked.
‘It’s simple,’ said Hendra, the question refocusing him on the task at hand. ‘The drone will hug the waves until it nears the target. It will then climb to a height of five thousand feet. When it reaches this altitude, a switch activated by low pressure will close the circuit, allowing current to pass to the detonators triggering the explosives. These will crush the four epoxy canisters that hold the inert components of the VX in separate halves, mixing and atomising them at the same time. A deadly cloud will be formed on the wind. As it slowly drops to earth, it will kill everything in its path.’
Duat couldn’t help himself. He smiled. Hendra’s description had a certainty about it that Duat found rewarding. Babu Islam would make a final dramatic statement on Allah’s behalf that the world would not soon forget. He closed the hatch, secured it and began pumping fuel into the tank.
‘Emir, has the target changed?’ asked Hendra, looking up from the laptop.
Duat had considered doing just that, especially given the news of the drone’s extended range. The news media carrying the panic from Jakarta and Darwin had certainly given him some interesting ideas. He shook his head. ‘No, it remains as planned.’ Duat had also given some thought to life after the weapon was launched. Kadar Al-Jahani had decided on the target in conjunction with himself and their supporters in the Holy Land. The influence and friendship of those supporters might have to be called on again, and soon.
Hendra keyed in the final lat and long coords. According to the METFOR, a ten-knot sou’easter was running at ten thousand feet, still ten knots at five thousand feet, but reducing to light and variable winds at one thousand feet. The chances of rain in the area were less than twenty-five percent. Acceptable odds. But there was a problem. Rahim had died before providing him with an accurate descent rate for the atomised droplets of VX. If the cloud took five hours to fall to earth, the toxic miasma at ground level would be vast. It could have a front anywhere between ten and fifty miles wide. It was truly an awesome weapon. Hendra synchronised the Gameboy/ GPS with the laptop, transferring the information. He then verified it and, satisfied, disconnected the PC. He then reinserted the guidance system into the drone and changed all the on-board batteries for new ones. Hendra also checked the engine’s oil level, the alternator belt for wear, and drained a measure of fuel from the drone’s tanks. Satisfied that there was no water contamination, he moved around the aircraft and examined its control surfaces and checked that the towrope was properly attached. Finally, he turned on the remote pilot station and moved the miniature joysticks in their wells. The drone’s ailerons, elevator and rudder responded appropriately.
Duat watched, interested, and realised how lucky Babu Islam was to have had this man walk into the encampment.
Hendra moved around the plane for a final inspection and made sure the wheels were chocked. He stopped at the engine in the rear and slowly turned over the propeller, passing each blade from hand to hand. Then, with one circular motion, he gave the propeller a downward flick. The engine caught immediately and settled into a smooth burble that ricocheted off the walls. The drone appeared to hunker down on its chocks briefly, eager to move. The sound of a loud smash behind him made Hendra turn. He watched Duat pick up the laptop and again throw it down on the paved floor, the second blow shattering the plastic case and the components within. Hendra turned back to the drone. He’d finished with the laptop, anyway.
‘Emir, it is time,’ he said, shouting over the noise of the engine. ‘Help me move it forward.’
Hendra positioned Duat to hold one wingtip before removing the chocks. He then walked around the front of the drone, across to the other wingtip, and they wheeled the plane forward slowly until it cleared the shed. Hendra disappeared briefly back inside. He flicked a switch and, suddenly, a row of lights on either side of the short strip winked on.
‘Emir,’ he said in Duat’s ear when he returned, breathing hard, ‘you must hold the drone secure here while I ready the catapult. Just keep hold of this one wingtip. I will rev the engine once, briefly. That will be your signal to let go.’
Duat nodded at the instructions as Hendra turned and walked down the strip between the ground lights, the remote piloting box under his arm.
Just fifty metres later, Hendra felt like he was about to pass out. He was weak from exposure to the VX, from the lack of food and sleep, and he hadn’t been able to keep down any water. He was exhausted, undernourished and dehydrated. Duat had found them cans of fruit to eat — the only food in the camp that could be guaranteed safe from VX contamination. The fruit and the juice had helped enormously, but both men were still weak.
Hendra tried to walk faster but his legs wouldn’t obey. By the time he reached the catapult motor two hundred metres down the runway, he was struggling not to collapse. He leaned on the catapult drum, sweating profusely, and tried to catch his breath. The launch would be difficult and he would need his wits about him. Hendra placed the remote box on the ground and readied the catapult. His palms, also, were greasy and slick. The launch was the drone’s most critical moment. If he got it wrong, the plane would crash and now, loaded with explosives, full fuel tanks and VX…Hendra put the consequences of a failed launch out of his mind and tried to focus on getting it right. The trouble was, there were still unknowns. Test launches when fully loaded had never been conducted for fear of crashing the drone and disabling it permanently.
Hendra licked the sweat off his lips and wiped his arm across his eyes. There was no right or wrong, just life or death. His fate was in the hands of God. Hendra picked up the remote pilot box and goosed the throttle briefly, the signal for Duat to let go and stand clear. He then wound the throttle that controlled the catapult’s outboard motor to the stops. The cable sprang taut as the drum quickly gathered speed. Hendra set the throttle on the remote box to half speed. As he fed in some elevator the cable rose off the ground and began to point at the sky, increasing its angle. Hendra put the elevator to the neutral position.