Quantico Part 39

'We have to decide,' Menachem said. 'Is this some sort of trick?'

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE.

The Red Sea U.S.S. Robert A. Heinlein, SF-TMS 41.

The helicopter flight from Oman took two hours. William looked through the port beside his seat. Below, the early morning darkness that shrouded the Red Sea was painted by a thin ribbon of silver moonlight. The weather was clear. The new moon would soon be visible across the Arabian Peninsula.

Then, William spotted a long, blunt knife cutting through the ribbon with a glint of sloping sides and a gentle wake that vanished less than a hull length behind. He guessed this was the stealth frigate Heinlein. Heinlein.

The chopper descended and described a perfect circle around the Navy ship until clamsh.e.l.l doors opened aft of the two round hillocks of the superstructure. Three ramps folded outward, creating a triangular platform. The chopper was given permission to hover but not to touch down. It dropped a cable to the deck plates to ground its considerable buildup of static electricity. An eerie glow around the rotors and blades slowly diminished in the dry night air.

Grange led his BuDark team to the hatch and they jumped to the platform, ducking in the downdraft. As the helicopter departed, they were met by the executive officer and escorted down a flight of stairs.

'Welcome to the Heinlein Heinlein,' the exec greeted them as the noise diminished below a deafening roar. 'I'm Lieutenant Commander Stengler. Our skipper is Commander Peter Periglas.' Following Stengler, they crossed a lofty hangar beside and beneath dozens of self-guided UAVs stacked in tiers and hung from the bulkheads, wings folded like huge sleeping albatrosses. There were a lot of gaps. Many of the Heinlein Heinlein's birds were already soaring above the desert and the cities of the Hijaz.

The platform folded, the clamsh.e.l.ls closed. Stengler guided them down narrow corridors and more steps to a ready room opposite the Tactical Surveillance Center-what would have once been called the Combat Information Center. 'Heads are down the hall and to the right, as well as two staterooms. Do not turn left, or you will be met by some of our fine Marines, and they have no sense of humor. Our ship is small and tidy but our food is excellent. We will be serving an early breakfast at 0700 GMT, to which you are all invited. In the meantime, we've received a secure recorded briefing from Washington which I am instructed is for your eyes only. After you avail yourselves of our facilities, make yourselves comfortable and we will pipe that briefing into the ready room ASAP.'

Grange thanked Stengler. They dropped their kits on one side of the ready room. Fifteen minutes later, Grange stood beside the door as it was locked. They all sat in the comfortable high-backed chairs arranged before a wall display on which a sunny ocean portrait of the ship was currently being shown.

The screen went dark. A young, nervous male voice-over informed them that their secure briefing was to be delivered by SAC Quentin T. Dillinger of Diplomatic Security. Dillinger stood behind a White House podium with a map of the Arabian Peninsula half in shadow behind him. He was not at ease and frequently referred to notes on the podium or glanced over his shoulder as areas of the map were highlighted.

'Greetings. David. The rest of you I have not met.

'BuDark was established three years ago as an internal, inter-agency investigation team, by mandate of the Senate Intelligence and Judiciary Committees. I was appointed SAC of the operation, tasked to learn about a covert U.S. plan to respond to a major Islamic terrorist strike, on the order of 9-11. We have discovered that such a plan did in fact exist, targeting Mecca and code-named Desert Vulture, and a version of it may very well be under way. An FBI special agent named Lawrence Winter apparently decided to ignore his original orders and reconstruct Desert Vulture into a scheme of his own, using his own contacts. He traveled throughout Mexico, Central America, and the Middle East, arranging for the transfer of money from several international parties. For reasons still not clear, he expanded the original target list of Desert Vulture to include Ohio, Rome, and Jerusalem-in addition to Mecca.

'Branches of his operation have been located and halted in Washington State, Rome, and in Israel. We could not prevent what may have been a dress rehearsal in Ohio. And one last operation, unfortunately, still threatens Mecca. It is this operation that immediately concerns us.

'We are in the season of the Hajj. Approximately a million pilgrims have entered Mecca, despite unstable conditions caused by the breakdown and departure of the Saudi government. Lawrence Winter and a team of Israeli operatives, hand-picked from the sons of Jewish extremists, are in or near Mecca at this moment. They have more than two hundred custom-made fireworks charges designed to airburst and disperse biological payloads at two thousand feet. The payloads are not anthrax. Winter has subst.i.tuted a transgenic strain of yeast. In the field, exposure to this yeast has caused rapid onset of memory disorders in civilians and in lawenforcement officers. A small quant.i.ty is sufficient to cause illness.

'One of our forensic psychologists suggests that Winter is trying to punish us for killing his family, not with a Biblical plague, but something new: a stealth pestilence that causes permanent amnesia. Wipe away the world's memory, and you wipe out hatred-that seems to be his theory.

'Jerusalem and Rome are no longer threatened, so the Muslim world is likely to interpret any strike against Mecca as a call to all-out holy war. I think you can see that any U.S. involvement with Desert Vulture or Lawrence Winter is inexplicable and inexcusable.

'Our only option is to take out these weapons with a series of pinpoint strikes, using a weapon that will cauterize anything within a diameter of fifty to one hundred meters. We cannot use high explosives or even tactical nukes, not just because of collateral damage or the extraordinary political consequences, but because of the potential dispersal of surviving toxic particles. Instead, we have decided to utilize a cla.s.s of kinetic kill projectiles known as Lancets-essentially guided steel telephone poles tipped with a chemical warhead. They're designed to fall from low Earth orbit and punch a hole in the ground, through several hundred feet of dirt, reinforced concrete, and even steel. They then incinerate anything within the relatively small but very deep impact crater, at temperatures above three thousand degrees Celsius. We've already launched sixty of these bunker-busters into low Earth orbit at intervals, in close-s.p.a.ced cl.u.s.ters of four. They can be brought down on twenty minutes' notice and will self-guide with an accuracy of one or two meters to obliterate pre-programmed or laser-painted targets.

'We believe there are three trucks involved, and that Winter is going to release the fireworks on the second day of the Hajj, as pilgrims funnel through Mina. That will be tomorrow. One million pilgrims will be tightly concentrated in a small area within the village. Winter's rockets could be launched upwind of Mina, explode, and disperse well over two hundred pounds of uniquely deadly particles.

'We have very little time.

'Sending non-Muslims into Mecca would be considered highly provocative under any circ.u.mstance, but we believe the seriousness of our situation renders such concerns irrelevant. It has been determined at the highest level, however, that this operation cannot involve serving military personnel. And so we have selected a team of government officers and agents that we believe are trustworthy and have demonstrably had no knowledge of or partic.i.p.ation in any aspect of Desert Vulture.

'If necessary, we will die to protect not only the pilgrims in Mecca, but the citizens of the United States of America and every nation on Earth-the entire human race.'

'Who's "we", paleface?' Rebecca asked under her breath.

'Your next briefing will take place on the ground in Saudi Arabia. G.o.dspeed.'

The screen faded on Dillinger's drawn features.

Having it served up and delivered all at once left William numb. The deck vibrated under his feet as another UAV was RATO-launched into the early morning. Rebecca took his hand and gripped it.

'G.o.dd.a.m.n them all to h.e.l.l,' she said.

William returned the squeeze.

Captain Periglas met them in the TSC and dismissed their Marine escorts. 'Ladies and gents, this is what we have for you so far.' He waved his arm across the darkened room. There was only one display visible; most of the officers and enlisted men in the dimly lighted Tactical Surveillance Center were wearing gogs or helmets. 'Currently, there are fifteen UAVs surveilling the sky above and around Mecca, most of them at alt.i.tude, that is, exceeding ten thousand meters. They have excellent SAR-fine-resolution synthetic aperture radar-as well as outstanding optics and other sensors. Many of our UAVs are equipped with smaller aircraft that can be dispersed in quant.i.ty. We refer to them as "midges". Midges have many capabilities. To the untrained eye, they look like sparrows. They even fly like sparrows, for up to twenty hours before they self-destruct. The ones we are utilizing at this moment to search the crowds in Mecca are known as Osmic Mobile Observers or OSMOs. They can zero in on individuals or groups of individuals based on long-term dietary habits.

'Any vegetarian will tell you that meat-eaters stink; I stink, most of my crew stinks. Rich Muslims stink but with significant differences. Poor Muslims stink hardly at all. Three meals a day of eggs, meat, and/or fish, and we can send an OSMO right up to you with the pa.s.sionate sensitivity of a moth seeking a hot date. We can also distinguish observant Muslims from drinkers of alcoholic beverages, which may or may not be helpful; we are discovering that a disturbing number of security, police, and army personnel have imbibed spirituous liquors, wine, or beer in the past two weeks.'

Grange motioned Jane Rowland forward from the group and Periglas pointed to a chair beside a Chief Warrant Officer. The chief removed his gogs and switched on a monitor so that they could all see what he was seeing-a complicated map of Mecca, spotted with circles and ellipses of pink, purple, and green. The larger pulsing overlays were accompanied by shifting ranks of numbers.

'Chief, would you like to explain what we're looking at?'

'Sir, Special Agent Rowland identified an individual in our target group who may be using a GPS-equipped sat phone to call various females in Israel. Once he switches on that phone, we can pinpoint his position.' The chief handed Jane a pair of gogs, then reached across to switch on her display and tune it to a more specific level of detail. She smiled at the chief, who returned her smile with technical camaraderie-and barely restrained male admiration.

'Special Agent Rowland will remain on the Heinlein Heinlein and attempt to spot and track our cell-phone junky,' Grange said. and attempt to spot and track our cell-phone junky,' Grange said.

Jane started to protest, but Rebecca had maneuvered behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

'The rest of us will receive deep-ca.n.a.l earphones-slash-wireless nodes and eyegla.s.s gogs to receive guidance from our remote trackers.'

Rebecca squeezed Jane's shoulder, hard, then let go and patted it. Jane swallowed her disappointment-for the time being-and stared at the display.

In the officer's lounge, Grange sat across from William and Rebecca. 'Two hours nap in the staterooms. Then, a whisper bird picks us up and delivers us to the rendezvous point.'

Captain Periglas entered the lounge and pulled up a chair. 'Permission to register an opinion.'

'Of course,' Grange said.

'I a.s.sume none of you are with the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team, or any similar organization, correct?'

They nodded.

'Marines from this vessel will volunteer, and Navy Seals could join us and accompany you within the hour.'

'Your offer is sincerely appreciated,' Grange said. 'But our instructions are explicit.'

'Mecca has turned into h.e.l.l even for the faithful,' Periglas observed. 'For non-Muslims, discovery means...well, having your throat cut would be a mercy. Thousands of pilgrims are already sick and they're not getting any level of medical care. Give this to the Saudis, they kept the Hajj running like a clock for generations. Now the clock has wound down. We may see ten or twenty thousand dead before the week is out.'

Grange looked blankly at the deck. 'Thank you, Captain. Get us in there, tell us where to go, and make sure we get out. That's all we ask.'

Periglas lifted his watch. 'We'll have you on your way at ten hundred hours.'

William reached to the upper bunk and nudged Grange's shoulder. Grange nearly pranged his head on an overhead beam.

'Showtime,' William said.

In the corridor outside, Jane Rowland was arguing with Rebecca. 'I've taught the chief everything he needs to know,' Jane said, her voice cracking. 'It isn't right, not letting me go in-you of all people know that.'

'It's not her call,' Grange said, still blinking away sleep. 'We only have pa.s.ses and doc.u.ments for one woman.'

Jane looked stunned. 'I didn't realize what it meant,' she said. 'It just hits me. I don't...I'm sorry, I don't know what to say to make you change your mind.'

'You're our guardian angel,' Rebecca said. 'If you get any of us killed, you better believe I'll come back and haunt you. So shut up and focus. focus.'

Stengler guided Jane across the corridor into the TSC.

'Tough lady,' William said as they took their seats in the ready room. Rebecca ignored him.

Two pilots in bright green flight suits sat in the front row. They turned and examined their three pa.s.sengers. 'Too old for real baseball, don't you think?' the bald one commented dryly. 'Not in the majors, anyway.'

The second and younger pilot smiled.

'Stow that c.r.a.p, Birnbaum,' Captain Periglas said to the bald pilot as he came through the door.

'Sir, I'm older than at least one of them.'

'As I said...'

'Stinking and stowed, sir.' He held out his hand. 'I'm Birnbaum. This is Higashi. Welcome to Plan B, folks. n.o.body ever ever picks us for Plan A.' picks us for Plan A.'

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX.

Mecca 9th Day, Dhu-Al-Hijjah.

Gershon pushed the b.u.t.ton and the steel garage door rumbled open. There were no shops on the short street and only a few stragglers. Yigal drove the truck forward. The canvas covers had been dropped and rolled and tied securely and Menachem and Baruch squatted in the back clutching the Chinese AKs they had purchased from a Pakistani arms dealer the day before. In the back, tied and gagged and propped between two crates, Larry Winters kept still, eyes half-closed. They had cinched his bonds tight enough that his arms and feet were insensible.

Have mercy. Let it be over, one way or the other.

The truck lurched. Brakes squealed. They were beginning the journey to the outskirts of Mina. Traffic was heavy on the King Abdul Aziz Road but they had all day. Twelve, fifteen hours, perhaps less, before they pulled back the tarps and opened the tops of the crates, depending on the whim of the breeze blowing across the desert.

The truck rumbled over cobbles, then over asphalt, then dirt, searching for its place.

In the b.l.o.o.d.y end, surrounded by young monsters, in pain, his memory flickering like a candle in a high wind, he was wracked with fever as he struggled with the knots. They had been wrapped with cord, the cord hidden behind more duct tape. He was still thoroughly bound and he had plucked his fingers raw.

The memory had faded but not the emotion. He did not know why he felt such rage, such grief, or why he was bound. He tried to scream but the tape would not budge. He tried to cry, but the tape had been pressed into his eyes.

He twitched up against the crate and went slack, energy gone.

Then, unexpectedly, there was light.

'You stink,' Yigal said. 'You've fouled yourself. Look at me! Say something!' To Menachem, squeezed up between the tarp and the crate, he added, 'Cut him loose. Let him go off to die. He's disgusting.'

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN.

SAPTAO Airs.p.a.ce Saudi Arabian Peninsula Tactical Area of Operations Mecca.

The whisper bird, true to its name, came in low and quiet in the early morning darkness over the almost waveless beach. The back of the stealth craft could carry up to twenty troops but now it held only three: William, Rebecca, and David Grange.

'We've got our coordinates from the Jannies,' Higashi said to Grange from the c.o.c.kpit. 'A small group will meet us east of Mina. We'll touch down, drop you, hover for just a few seconds, so you'll have to hustle.'

'Right,' Grange said.

Rebecca turned her head side to side. Right now, she and William were seeing the landing site from the POV of a midge. OSMOs had found the Jannies based on their American diet and zeroed in. Hundreds of midges were zipping back and forth through the mountain pa.s.ses around Mina and Mecca proper. Soon, UAV mothers would deploy thousands more across the plain of Arafat. They networked like birds or bats, swooping and dispersing through the dark sky, swirling up in little gray tornadoes like starlings, then breaking and scattering to examine suspect scent trails.

Jane Rowland spoke from the Heinlein, Heinlein, her voice soft and steady in their earnodes. 'We've got hotspots around the richer sections of the tent city. Chief Dalrymple tells me it's chicken, lamb, beef, lots of olive oil, vegetable protein. No surprise. If our suspects are hiding in there, it could take forever to find them.' her voice soft and steady in their earnodes. 'We've got hotspots around the richer sections of the tent city. Chief Dalrymple tells me it's chicken, lamb, beef, lots of olive oil, vegetable protein. No surprise. If our suspects are hiding in there, it could take forever to find them.'

'No lovesick phone calls?' Rebecca asked, finally mastering the display.

'None so far.'

'Someone's taking potshots at our midges,' Periglas said. He relayed video clips of men with rifles outside the brilliantly lit Grand Mosque, firing automatic weapons and rifles into the air. Their scent profiles showed they were drunk.

'This town's going to the dogs,' Grange said.

'It's getting worse,' Periglas said. 'Ambulances are trying to get through to the sick and injured. Soldiers are making them pay bribes or grabbing them for joyrides. Not that they can go anywhere. The roads are packed.'

Jane tuned their gogs to a midge tracking an old tourist bus. The sides were thick with strap-hangers and a few clung to the roof, trying to keep their parcels from tumbling away at the turns. Two of the strap-hangers fell into the street. The bus did not slow.

'I think that's the Abdul Aziz Road,' William said. 'There's the Al-Malim Mosque.' He had studied maps during the flight.

'Correct,' said Dalrymple. 'Midge is heading east over the tent city.'

'The pilgrims are on the move to Arafat,' Periglas said.

'How many so far?' Grange asked.

'We're guessing one point two.'

'Million?' Rebecca asked.