Taradin sat patiently while Said Abu Said remained leaning against the pole. Both of them waited a few minutes to see if Taradin had been followed. If so. Said would have walked away, leaving Taradin and Kayal to the consequences.
Taradin reached over and woke Kayal.
“We are here, brother.”
The Yemeni stretched and nib bed his eyes.
“A last sleep for the condemned, wouldn’t you say?”
“A last sleep for the hero. Wait here. Said Abu Said is behind us. Let me talk with him and see if we are to continue.
I’ll be right back.”
“Sure. I’ve no place to go.” Kayal glanced back to where Said Abu Said stood.
Taradin turned off the engine. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he shut the door behind him and walked around the car to the sidewalk. He looked in both directions. Satisfied, he nodded at Said, who returned the nod. The two men walked toward each other, meeting three cars down from where Taradin had parked.
The sound of tires screeching caused both men to turn toward the Mercedes. Said started to run toward the car, but Taradin grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“No! It’s too late.”
They watched as Kayal swung the car into the right lane, causing an Italian Flat to swerve into oncoming traffic and clip the left front fender of a car in the other lane.
Said pulled away from Taradin’s grip. “What’s he doing?” he said.
“He’s supposed to wait until we are ready.
Anwar will not be happy.”
“Anwar is never happy. Be quiet!” Taradin responded.
“Kayal is afraid we’ll ponder, discuss our plans, and find reasons to call it off. He has taken that away from us.”
Then he whispered respectfully, “Go with Allah, Kayal.”
“Anwar and the others are around the block,” Said said quickly, looking at his watch.
“It’s after ten o’clock. We’re nearly on time. It will be dark in thirty minutes.”
The two men walked at a brisk pace to the corner of the block and turned uphill away from the harbor.
Kayal slowed as he approached the left bend in the road. Public attention focused on the accident behind him. The two drivers, standing nose to nose, screamed at each other, their arms waving wildly, as only Italians can do to accent their argument. He thought of the joke about the Italian who lost his power of speech because they amputated both his arms. A crowd was growing from nearby coffee shops and as pedestrians and cars stopped to enjoy the spectacle. And everyone had their own opinion.
At the port, Kayal waited patiently for two cars to pass before he turned into the narrow entrance. His eyes shifted from side to side as at any minute he expected security forces to swarm over him. He took his hands off the steering wheel and wiped his sweaty palms on his stained trousers. The American sentry motioned for Kayal. An Italian sentry stood on the right side of the gate area while on the driver’s side an American Navy petty officer in uniform held his hand up for Kayal to stop.
“ID,” the petty officer said.
Kayal handed the envelope with the papers to the sentry. Sweat ran down Kayal’s face. The American removed the sheet authorizing access to the pier.
“Hey, mate, you have to have this displayed on your window to drive on the pier.” He reached inside and tossed the paper haphazardly onto the dashboard.
“Tell me, how the hell does a second class petty officer rate a Mercedes, Garcia? Ain’t fair.”
Kayal pointed to his throat.
“Okay, next time tell me. I want a Mercedes for a government vehicle also. Here’s your ID back, Garcia. Don’t give that sore throat to any of us.” He waved the man through.
Kayal drove about twenty feet and stopped.
The Italian sentry, seeing him stop, shook his head and started walking toward Kayal to tell the dumb American that parking spots were to the right and to move the car because he was blocking the narrow entryway. As he approached the rear of the Mercedes the car gunned its engine, popped the clutch, and peeled rubber, accelerating as it began to cross the hundred yards separating it from the sterns of the two larger ships tied together. Both ships were moored within ten feet of the pier.
The Italian sentry, a sinking feeling crushed to his stomach, guessed immediately what was happening. Adrenaline and terror rushed through his body. He pulled his pistol and began firing at Kayal. The American sentry ran toward the Italian, screaming at the top of his voice for the stupid Italian to stop.
Two bullets shattered the rear window of the car. One lucky shot hit Kayal at the base of the neck, shattering the spine and sending the terrorist into Allah’s arms at the same moment that the car hit the edge of the pier. The car catapulted toward the middle ship, the USS La Sane. Moored against the forward port side of the USS La Sane and barely visible from the pier floated the USS Albany, a nuclear attack submarine that had arrived earlier in the morning for a routine port visit.
The car hit the port stern line, flipping the Mercedes upside down in its flight, causing it to drop below the steel and cement pier before slamming into the stern gate of the USS La Sane. The impact crushed Kayal’s head between the steering wheel and the roof as one thousand pounds of semtex packed into the backseat, the trunk, and within the panels of the car exploded.
The explosion blew off the back doors of the Mercedes, sending the right one careening back like a deadly Frisbee toward the harbor gate. The door decapitated the Italian sentry, who took two more steps toward the car before his torso collapsed. A half second later it sliced the right arm and shoulder off the American sentry. Then at the end of its trajectory, a full second later, it blasted through the front door of the module logistics office near the parking lot.
The sides of the prefabricated hut blew apart as the impact killed the three inside.
On the USS La Sane the explosion destroyed the stern gate, breaking it loose and sending the twisted remains splashing into the harbor waters. The explosion shook La Sane violently, knocking those standing off their feet. The concussion blew upward, hitting a group of sailors, who had been smoking on the main flight deck above the gate.
killing those nearest the stern instantly. Deadly shrapnel, of what had been an automobile, propelled outward at bullet speed a millisecond later, cutting through sailors, dismembering them like a gigantic garbage disposal. Body parts rocketed over three ships, the pier, and the crowd of Italians surrounding the two arguing drivers. Most of the American sailors died immediately — others before they hit the water and the ships. Some lived a few minutes without regaining consciousness — mercifully — before life poured out of their limbless bodies.
With no stern gate to maintain the ship’s watertight integrity, seawater rushed into the well deck of the “amphibious” turned “command” ship. The USS La Sane’s stern section sank immediately, stopping only when it hit the shallow bottom of the port. The bow of the ship rose some twelve feet, creating a twenty-degree list to the stern. She was partially sunk, but still afloat. The ballast tanks, which the former amphib could have used to refloat, had holes blown in them from the explosion.
The USS Simon Lake, protected somewhat from the explosion because the command ship absorbed the bulk of it, had a hole blown inward on its port stern side the size of the Mercedes. The left back door of the Mercedes penetrated two frames below the Simon Lake’s waterline, bringing Mediterranean waters flooding into the compartments.