‘Crawshaw! I want that motherfucker Muslim scientist in my office immediately. Immediately, d’yer hear!’
At the far end of the sprawling compound Captain Crawshaw was sweating profusely in the half-light of the dawn, struggling to put one boot in front of the other, mercifully out of hearing of his incandescent Colonel.
CHAPTER 24
A s the British Airways 747 taxied after landing al-Falid caught a glimpse of the faded blue ‘Islamabad International’ sign above the low white building that served as the gateway to Pakistan’s capital. The airport was shared with the Pakistan Air Force Chaklala Transport Base, and al-Falid had mixed emotions as he watched two American-made F-16 fighters roar down the main runway. The jets’ single afterburners blasted a long orange fire trail behind them, the green and white decals of the Pakistan Air Force on the fuselages and the white crescent and star of Pakistan on the tail fins clearly visible. One day, al-Falid thought resentfully, we will not need your aircraft. One day we will be making our own and pan-Islam will stretch across Europe and Asia, and across the Pacific to the Americas. The world’s aircraft, along with everything else, will be made by Muslims for the benefit of Islam. al-Falid silently thanked Allah, the Most Merciful and the Most Gracious, that such a day was fast approaching. al-Falid spotted the CIA agent immediately. This one was standing way too close to the baggage carousel, nervously scanning the passengers arriving to pick up their bags. It looked like the young man was on his first assignment in the field. He was wearing black wrap-around sunglasses and al-Falid judged him to be in his mid-twenties, about 175 centimetres tall, with a long oval face and very short, blond hair. al-Falid sensed that, behind the sunglasses, their eyes met and the American infidel immediately looked away. ‘Never make eye contact’ would be in the manual, al-Falid thought wryly. After a few minutes, with the baggage carousel remaining obstinately stationary, al-Falid turned abruptly and walked up to the newsstand at the far end of the terminal. After he had bought a copy of the Pakistan Observer, he turned back to find that the American infidel was only 30 metres away looking at the departure screens. Suspicions confirmed, al-Falid moved back towards the baggage carousel. This was not going to be too difficult, al-Falid thought, but then his mood changed abruptly as he checked his BlackBerry to find that he had an email. Most communications were sent via innocuous blogger sites on the internet, and he made a mental note to remind his cell leader in the city targeted for the first warning attack that the Americans, along with their British and Australian counterparts, could now read emails with ease. Authorities reacted to TCDD and community worries. Half-life a concern. Normal activities suspended and no longer able to use them as cover. Cork in bottle approach will be limited and will need to concentrate on HEAT for surface attack.
Conscious of being watched by the CIA agent, al-Falid kept his expression neutral as he deleted the incriminating message. The authorities’ decision to cease normal activities, the activities which would have provided his cell in the target city with the perfect cover for delivery of large amounts of explosives for the first of Kadeer’s warning attacks was a blow, but canny operational planners like al-Falid always allowed for the unexpected. The email had suggested his alternative plan be put into operation. Several high explosive anti-tank rockets had been acquired from the infidel’s own forces and they would now be used in the major manoeuvre. The fishing boat al-Falid had purchased would have to be reconfigured to deliver its part in the attack on the surface, although time was running out. al-Falid knew the schedule of the supertanker off by heart, and two of the tugs would already be preparing to leave their base for the long voyage to the target. As the baggage carousel rumbled into life, al-Falid pondered the change in plan. The anti-tank missiles would have to be accompanied by a bigger shaped charge, but that had been allowed for and al-Falid was confident that the welding operations could be carried out in broad daylight. That sort of activity was perfectly normal around a boatshed and it might still be possible to position smaller charges on the bottom. If the charges on the bottom were also successful the disruption to the target would be complete. al-Falid’s eyes narrowed at the memory of the long hours he had spent poring over the map of the infidel’s city. The cork in the bottle might yet be possible, he thought, as he moved to collect his battered suitcase.
Amon al-Falid had chosen a large hotel off Gomal Road, not far from the huge Shah Faisal Mosque at the base of the majestic Magalla Hills. The hills overlooked the thoroughly modern capital of Pakistan which had been moved from Karachi in the late 1950s. High-rise buildings separated by wide, tree-lined avenues gave a false image of a stable, prosperous and peaceful Islamic nation. Many of the large hotels had loading docks staffed by Muslims and al-Falid’s hotel had a member of the Faith who had been only too happy to help. The day after his arrival al-Falid had been quite content for the American infidel to follow him to the Islamic University where al-Falid had perused documents on Islamic architecture, but today he planned to visit the arms traders in Darra Adam Khel. His first visit eighteen months ago to the dusty, lawless outpost in the foothills of the Hindu Kush, where you could buy anything from an AK-47 to the most sophisticated weapons the international arms black markets had to offer, had been highly successful, and the resources for the second and third of Kadeer’s warning attacks were in position in various parts of the world. Today he would complete the purchases for the first attack. Like the last visit, his visit today was something that had to be kept from the infidel at all costs. al-Falid carefully eased back the window curtain. The young CIA agent was keen. Not yet 7 am, and already he was sitting in a battered Suzuki Potohar parked across the street. Probably thinks it is non-descript and unobtrusive, al-Falid thought contemptuously. Every so often, the infidel would look up from his newspaper and glance anxiously towards the hotel entrance. Well, he was in for a very long day, al-Falid mused, as he headed down to the basement and the loading dock.
Already the temperature had reached 40°C and it was going to be one of those very hot and humid days the sub-continent was renowned for. al-Falid allowed himself a rare smile. The trip out of the hotel in among the big calico laundry bags belonging to the Hyderabad Laundry Company had been quite comfortable, and he had then changed into a loose-fitting shalwat kameez, the traditional flowing robes of the Pashtuns. He was now in the passenger seat of the laundry company’s four-wheel drive Toyota that was speeding towards the Afghan border. Two of Khalid Kadeer’s fighters were in the back of the Toyota with their AK-47 Kalashnikovs, loaded with two full magazines taped together, between their knees. Following close behind was a truck from the same company with six more of Kadeer’s bodyguards. The two heavy metal suitcases in the back contained US$10 million in non-sequential $100 bills, and both Kadeer and al-Falid were determined that it would not fall into the wrong hands. The money had come from one of al-Qaeda’s global charities, for which the Hyderabad Laundry Company in Islamabad was just a front. al-Falid had become an expert in hiding money trails and not all the banks in Islamabad were what they seemed. al-Falid felt a surge of satisfaction as the avenues of Islamabad gave way to the Indus River Valley, then two hours later, to the Peshawar valley. To the north he could pick out the hazy foothills of the Hindu Kush, and if Allah, the Most Kind, the Most Merciful was willing, the money in the back of the Toyota would soon be exchanged for sophisticated American-made weapons that would be used for the glory of Islam. Fleetingly he wondered about the young CIA agent and he allowed himself another smile.