Infidels (34 page)

He had
to be stopped.

And
there was only one way.

He
reached for his sidearm, flicking the snap open, his fingers inching down until
they wrapped around the grip. He pulled the gun free, his trembling thumb
flicking off the safety as his free hand pressed against his stomach wound.

You
must be stopped.

“Ready,
sir!”

“Fire!”
ordered Nayef, the soldier at the console nodding.

Samara
squeezed the trigger.

“Breaking left!”

Wings
banked the helicopter, the damned white elephant under its belly making any
evasive maneuvers near exercises in futility. He reached to deploy chaff before
he remembered they were in a civilian chopper.

He
cursed.

If the
Saudi’s were determined to take them down, they would.

There
was no avoiding it.

At least
not with that thing under them.

“Can we
cut that damned thing loose?” he asked, tossing the question over his shoulder
at Red.

“Have
they launched?”

“Negative!”

“Then
no! We need to deliver this thing intact if we can. We wait to the last
possible moment in case they change their minds!”

Wings
grimaced as the crate underneath acted as a counterweight, pulling them in the
direction of the swing. “Yes, Sergeant!”

Today’s
as good a day as any to die.

Suddenly
the alarm stopped, the weapons lock gone.

Or
maybe not?

Colonel Faisal bin Nayef—Abu Tahir al-Qarmati—collapsed on his back,
the shot catching him in the shoulder and spinning him around. Samara’s weapon
was still aimed at him, the man’s hand shaking violently as he pushed himself
to a seated position.

“Disengage!”
ordered his friend through clenched teeth. “And arrest the Colonel.”

The men
remained frozen, not sure of what to do.

“Now!”

They
jumped. The man at the control panel immediately killed the weapons lock, the
missile battery rotating back to a readiness state. Two of Samara’s men, for
they were
Samara’s
men as this was his unit, rushed toward al-Qarmati,
weapons drawn and aimed at him.

He sat
up, gripping his shoulder as he winced in pain. “You fools! Arrest the Major!
He shot a superior officer!”

The men
glanced at Major Samara who shook his head. “You know what your orders were.
They were to meet the Americans for the exchange then kill them, not shoot them
out of the sky and destroy the Black Stone.” Samara gasped and fell back to the
ground. “The Colonel has gone mad. He must be stopped.”

Al-Qarmati
rose to his knees. “You must destroy the Americans before it’s too late!”

“But
you’ll destroy the Black Stone,” said Samara, his voice strained, it clearly
taking all his remaining strength to force the words out.

“Good!
Destroy it! It’s a sacrilegious idol that we have been fools to worship all these
years! We have all failed Allah’s test but tonight we can set things right!” He
pointed at the weapons platform, staring at the soldier who had just abandoned
it. “Shoot them down now!”

Samara’s
jaw dropped as his eyes widened in shocked realization of what had just been
revealed.

And
al-Qarmati realized he had let his passion get the better of him.

But it
didn’t matter.

“You’re
Qarmatian!” cried Samara.

Several
guns were suddenly aimed at al-Qarmati. He rose, slowly backing away, still
gripping his shoulder wound, the bullet having gone straight through. But it
was his left shoulder, which meant it was his right hand holding the wound. A
hand that would have no hope of reaching the weapon on his right hip.

He made
a decision.

“Yes, I
am! I am the head of the New Qarmatian Order.
I
am Abu Tahir al-Qarmati,
and I am on a mission from Allah to put Islam back on the right path. We must
destroy the Black Stone, a blasphemous relic left by the Prophet to test our
faith, a test we have failed for over a thousand years. Today we have that
opportunity, to not only restore us to the true path, but to make the infidels
pay. Look at what is happening right now around the world! Our brothers are
rising up against the infidels, our brothers have united against those who
would oppress us. It is
I
who have done this, not your leaders in
Riyadh, but
I
! What
I
have done here today will go down in
history as a turning point for Islam, for our people. My name will be
remembered for all time!”

Samara
raised his weapon.

“No one
will remember your name.”

And
fired.

“Are we clear?”

Wings
nodded. “I think so. No weapons lock.”

Red
leaned out the side, checking to make sure their package was still intact. It
was, though swinging wildly back and forth. “Then let’s get this damned thing
over the target before they change their minds!”

“Roger
that!”

Wings
pushed the controls forward, the chopper’s nose diving as he pushed the
throttle hard. They quickly picked up speed, shooting over the SAM battery that
had just locked onto them and into the city, the massive mosque, surrounded by
Vegas style hotels from some of the biggest names in the Western hotel
industry, looming before them. It was an irony he wondered if most of the
faithful picked up on—they stayed at hotels provided by the Hiltons, but
wouldn’t dream of letting the hotel’s namesakes into the city, let alone the mosque.

Red eyed
the city below, Wings keeping them barely above the rooftops, and if it weren’t
for the crate dangling ten feet below, he’d be even lower. Not many people were
in the streets, it clear the local populace was keeping indoors where they felt
safe, but he could see the occasional police or military patrol looking up at
them.

This is
where the speed would pay off, as long as the SAMs were left in their launchers.

“Almost
there!”

Red
looked forward and nearly shit when he saw Wings aiming them between two
massive hotel towers. “Ahh, Wings…”

“It’ll
save us two minutes but hang on, it’s gonna be tight!”

The
thunder was unbelievable, the two hotel towers creating an echo chamber that
reverberated the pounding of the propellers back on each other. Hotel lights
began to flip on as windows shattered from the pressure.

Then
they were through.

“Get
ready!” yelled wings, Red repositioning himself to operate the winch. The
bright lights of the Al-Masjid al-Haram Mosque, the Sacred Mosque, filled their
entire view. It was a breathtaking sight to behold, despite this not being the
first time Red had been up close and personal with the holiest of Muslim
shrines.

Wings
had them over the wall in seconds, pulling up hard to kill their forward
momentum as the black curtains of the cubic Kaaba suddenly appeared.

And
dozens of soldiers with guns aimed up at them.

“We
have the Black Stone. Do not fire or you will destroy it. We are lowering it to
you now.”

Kane’s
voice was remarkably calm, his Arabic perfect, a necessity Red assumed since
Kane quite often found himself performing his CIA mandated duties in this part
of the world.

“Now!”
shouted Wings, their forward momentum killed. Red activated the winch, the
cable playing out at a painfully slow speed.

A shot
rang out, pinging off the helicopter, Wings jerking sharply to the left on
reflex, the crate swinging wildly below.

“Do
not fire! We have the Black Stone! If you fire again we will drop it!”

Kane
looked back at Red, shrugging. “Will we?”

“Damned
right we will.”

He
resumed lowering the crate, Wings repositioning, no one else below firing
though the guns were still aimed up at them.

Suddenly
a group of white robed men rushed out from an entrance to their right. They
were waving their arms, Red not at first certain if their actions were aimed at
him and his team, or the soldiers below.

The
soldiers began to part, making a hole where the crate was about to touch down.

The
robed men, about a dozen of them, formed a circle, reaching up for the crate as
it continued to lower until it was finally low enough for them to grab the
netting, stabilizing the load.

“Almost
there…”

There
was suddenly slack in the cable, the pitch of the motor changing. Someone began
to unhook the cable then waved, Red reversing the winch, the cable quickly
spinning up.

“Let’s
get the hell out of here!”

He took
one last look as Wings banked away. The top was already off the crate, the
Black Stone revealed inside.

And
dozens of soldiers were dropping to their knees in prayer, their weapons tossed
aside.

Now
let’s just hope they do the same around the world.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Is that going out to the world?”

Leroux
nodded to his boss as the room erupted in cheers, the satellite and helmet-cam
footage showing the crate touching down and the helicopter banking away,
quickly clearing the city limits in its race back to the coast.

With no
signs of pursuit.

But what
was truly encouraging were the satellite images showing the soldiers praying,
their weapons tossed aside. Morrison had ordered the live footage streamed to
the Internet for the world to see, despite the government still denying any
involvement. Leroux had his team mask the origins of the upload, but there
could be no doubt to the world that it was footage from a classified military
satellite.

It was
just too damned good.

“Are
they clear yet?” asked Morrison.

“Yes,
sir,” said Leroux, pointing to a map with a dotted line showing international
waters, and a red dot indicating the helicopter’s location. “They just entered
international waters. They should be landing shortly.”

The room
breathed a sigh of relief and Leroux collapsed into his chair, completely
physically and mentally exhausted.

In fact,
he felt seriously ill.

Hospital
worthy.

“Chris,
are you okay?”

Morrison’s
voice was distant and the room began to go black as concerned voices surrounded
him.

I
just need to rest…

St. James’s Hospital, Dublin, Ireland

Dawson closed his eyes, imagining the window of the Intensive Care
Unit, Maggie on the other side, her head bandaged, monitors displaying her
vital signs, a nurse double-checking everything.

She was
going to live.

The
relief he felt was indescribable, overwhelming. When the surgeon had delivered
the news he hadn’t said anything, instead simply shaking the man’s hand then
leaving the room. He had walked outside for about ten minutes as he wrestled
with his emotions, finally getting them under control.

She was
going to live.

But she
was in a coma.

A coma
she may never come out of.

Only
time would tell.

And if
she did come out of it, he was going to dump her.

What
kind of a man are you?

The
thought of losing her had made him realize that he couldn’t live without her.
Not having her in his life now was unimaginable, and to end it when she needed
him most would be the act of a coward.

And
nobody had ever called him that twice.

The
choice should be hers, not his. His plan to end things wasn’t for the right
reasons. He was trying to anticipate
her
needs, not his. He wanted her,
he needed her, so to end things with her had nothing to do with him and
everything to do with her.

And that
meant it should be her decision to make.

If she
wanted to end it because she felt she’d be safer without a man like him in her
life, he’d respect that decision. It would devastate him, but at least he’d
understand it.

But if
she wanted to keep going, to give this thing they had a chance, then that
should be her choice.

And it
would be.

“How are
you doing?”

Dawson spun
to see Interpol Special Agent Hugh Reading standing behind him, his expression
one of concern. He had obviously heard what had happened.

“She’s
going to live.”

“That’s
not what I asked.”

Dawson
drew in a deep breath, trying to keep control. “Not good. But I’ll survive.”

“I
understand what you’re going through.”

“Kinti.”

Reading’s
face clouded over, a profound sadness taking hold.

He
knows exactly what you’re going through.

“I only
knew her for a few days, but when I lost her, I felt like a part of me died.”
He looked away. “A part that’s still dead to this day.”

Dawson
nodded. “She was a special woman.”

“She
was.” Reading sucked in a quick breath. “Enough of this feeling sorry for
ourselves. Maggie’s going to live from what I’ve been told, and there’s good
hope that she’ll come out of the coma soon.”

Dawson
pressed his lips together. “I wish I had your confidence.”

Reading
smiled. “I know, it’s easier for me to say than you to believe.” He motioned
toward the main entrance with a tilt of his head. “How about we go inside and
see if there’s been any developments?”

Dawson
nodded. “How did you make out in London?” he asked as they began to walk back
to the hospital.

“Horrendous.
Made the riots of a few years ago look like playtime. There’s no official death
toll yet, but it’s in the thousands, probably tens of thousands. The military
moved into London last night then decided to hold their positions when the
broadcast went live of the Black Stone’s return. They began broadcasting
messages via megaphone to the crowds about the return and that seemed to take
the fire out of their bellies. Most ended up leaving, but enough stayed to
still cause problems. The military’s now providing support for the police who
are dealing directly with those that stuck around.”