Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2) (13 page)

She left, putting everything back to rights as she went.

Outside, she went airborne, flying slowly through the night
air to the northwest until she found the commander officers’ quarters she had
seen on the base map, nestled in among a grove of trees. A small stand of trees
fifty yards from the house seemed adequate enough for cover and she gently
landed in the shadows behind them and set to work.

The general’s avatar was short, stout, and rather
unattractive with lumpy skin, a couple of nasty moles on his face, black greasy
hair, and a large bulbous nose. Capie found herself wishing that the man was
single; heaven help any woman married to this repulsive looking specimen of
manhood.

More than ever, she felt the need to keep this conversation
short.

“General Ahmadi, what can you tell me about Lieutenant
Hosseini’s death and about a Russian named Kuzman?”

For once, an avatar looked uncomfortable, which surprised
Capie.

“They were part of Project Amm,” the man replied as he
looked around distressed.

“Tell me about the project.”

“I cannot. It was classified. I had orders to support the
project, but I was not briefed on the details.”

“You must know something. Tell me what you know and even
what you suspect.”

“The commander of the project here was Major General Abbas
Jafari. I was ordered to give him everything he wanted and to ask no questions.
His aide was a civilian named Omar. I never learned Omar’s last name. Jafari
brought in a team of Quds Force special troops. They arrived about two months
ago, along with two Russians, the Kuzman you mentioned and another man, named
Burkov.”

“Two Russians!?” exclaimed Capie quietly.

“Both of them were obviously ex-military. We put everyone up
in Building 408. The next day, several aircraft arrived: an Ilyushin II-76, a
Lockheed C-130C, a Boeing CH-47C Chinook and two Bell 214C helicopters. They
also commandeered my Falcon 20. Several trucks arrived during the week after
that and loaded the planes. No one was allowed to see the cargo or get close to
the planes or trucks. Then all the aircraft began making shuttle runs out to
the east. There are a few dry lake beds out there. One of them, I think, is
where they went. Then, a month ago, they all left, I know not where. I never
saw the Falcon 20 again, or any of the troops. However, on that day when they
returned from the desert, Jafari drove over to the base hospital in a truck,
with seven body bags and ordered six of them to be shipped to their home cities.
Lt. Hosseini was one of them. Five of the others were Quds force troopers. The seventh
one was one of the Russians. Burkov, I think. We buried him in the base
cemetery in an unmarked grave per Jafari’s orders. That’s virtually all I
know.”

A special project, conducted by the Iranian military with
the help of at least one Russian munitions expert. Who knew, perhaps the other
Russian, that Burkov fellow, had been an expert too?

Out to the east, huh? A test site maybe? For a special
weapon, perhaps? One that the two Russians had helped with? But why all the
troops and the hardware? Any weapon that required that many planes and men to
deliver wasn’t much of a weapon. Even the first nuke didn’t need that much
hardware or man power.

She’d have to find the place they went to. Hopefully, it was
one of those dry lake beds that the general was talking about. A decent map
would help too.

What had the avatar said there at the last? It was virtually
all he knew?

“What do you mean, virtually all you know? Come on, give!”
she urged the image.

“One of my gate guards saw a logo on the shirt pocket of one
of the truck drivers. From the description, I think that truck came from the
Shiraz Electronics Industries, a subsidiary of the Iran Electronics Industries,
which is a state owned company.”

Okay, a state owned electronics company. She knew not what
to make of that or of their delivery to the airbase.

Since she couldn’t think of any further questions to ask,
she released the spell on the avatar, letting it dematerialize. Deep in thought,
she turned and cast another spell, rising into the air toward the southeast,
back the way she had come. She had no idea what to make of it all, but her
email to Paul that night would be longer and more interesting than usual.

A shadow separated from a nearby tree and moved to follow
her, the Oni hanging back in order to remain unobserved.

• • • •

The morning sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon
when Capie headed out in that direction, flying along at 6,000 feet, satellite
images in hand with all the dry lake beds clearly circled in ink if not
labeled. The biggest one, just east of Dastjerd and Malvajerd, was her first
target. But after an hour of crisscrossing back and forth over it, she
reluctantly concluded that there was nothing there to see.

There were maybe six or seven smaller ones to the south to
check out.

Looking at the satellite images, Capie began to lose hope. A
lot of the desert here was not dry lake bed but sand dunes, rocky hills and
ravines. If the Iranians and Kuzman had done—well, whatever it was that they
did—in some other location, then she would never find it. This place was vast!

It didn’t take long, and the second such dry lake bed passed
below her with no sign that anything other than nature had touched it. A third
one was only a few miles further south.

As Capie approached it, she thought at first that her
orientation was wrong, that she had lost her sense of direction. Up ahead, on
the horizon, she should be seeing a stretch of flat white sand. But there, the
sand was mostly as black as coal. Another quick check of the satellite images
revealed no such location anywhere in the neighborhood. And then, with a
tingling sensation running up and down her spine, she suddenly realized that
she had found what she was looking for.

It was the dry lake bed she had been expecting. Or at least,
it had once been that.

She dropped lower, angling in toward one edge of the huge
black area. And it was huge! The lake bed, according to the image scale of her
satellite images, was three miles long by one mile wide. The blackened area was
circular, nearly half as large in diameter as the lake bed was wide.

Almost half a mile in diameter.

Her stomach churned.

Out beyond the blackened circle, she could see some odd
posts sticking up. Not many but a few. They looked charred and partially
melted, especially those closer to the center of where the blast must have
occurred.

Landing gently just inside the edge of the blackened circle,
she reached over to touch the ground.

The black dirt was crusty, partially fused together,
extending downward an inch into the earth. Whatever explosion did this had generated
incredible heat!

Now that she was on the ground, she could see small pieces
of debris scattered everywhere. Fragments of charred wood and short sections of
melted twisted aluminum tubing. Even a few small pieces of burnt cloth. They
had been part of something, but the blast had totally disintegrated whatever
that something had been.

She walked father out, over to one of the metal posts
sticking out of the ground. There was some sort of circular device mounted to
it, about two feet above ground. It somehow looked familiar, as if she had seen
one before.

And then she remembered where. On
Mythbusters
, not
once but several times. They were rupture disks, designed to be placed in the
area of an explosion to determine how much damage—and yes, how much deadly
force was present.

The rupture diaphragm in this disk was missing altogether,
totally blown away. There were very few such posts further out. Glancing in
toward the center of the blast site, she could see where the explosion had left
a large circular pit in the ground.

For all the world, it looked like ground zero of a nuclear
blast.

“I need a nuclear physicist here, please. Hmm, Buckaroo
Banzai will do nicely,” and she waved a hand.

A holographic image of the young and handsome Peter Weller
appeared before her, dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and dark gray bowtie.
The specter glanced around at the ground, observing the posts but made no
comment.

“A nuclear explosion?” Capie asked, concerned that even at
that moment, she was being irradiated with huge amounts of nuclear particles.

“No,” Banzai declared, shaking his head. “No gamma radiation
here, other than the standard background levels. No, this was something
different. As powerful as a nuclear blast, yes. But not nuclear. Hmm,
thermobaric, maybe. A very large thermobaric FAE explosion might do this. Very
large Fuel Air Explosion.”

Capie’s head whipped around sharply. “Thermobaric, you said?
I saw that term recently. Yes, the KAB-1500…oh, my God! That’s what they needed
Kuzman for! The KAB-1500S is a thermobaric version of the bomb he helped
design.” She glanced around at the area of destruction. “This could level a
small city!”

“This was not a KAB-1500S. A larger blast here than that
one. Quite a bit larger. Perhaps three or four of them. Yes, it could be that,”
agreed Banzai, as his image started to fade away. “It sure could.”

“And just what does the Iranian government plan to do with
such a device now that they’ve tested it?” whispered Capie in horror as she
wiped beads of sweat from her forehead.

Basrah Airport Hotel

Basrah Airport Hwy

Basrah, Iraq

July

Wednesday 7:03 p.m. AST

“T
hermobaric,
huh?” Paul’s image said in the Skype display hanging midair in the hotel room.
“That sounds incredibly nasty.”

“I agree,” Capie said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She was lying on her left side, on the bed, propped up on
one elbow, facing the display. Paul’s image was clearly being broadcast from
the garage of the rental house, and it was also clearly morning in San Jose,
the sun streaming through the east garage window visible behind him.

“I have changed my mind about this whole situation, CB,”
Paul said, waving a hand. Uncle Sam, the strategist hologram, appeared in the
image with him. “The idea that the Iranian government has developed a super
thermobaric weapon is very disturbing.”

“It is possible,” Uncle Sam interjected in a guarded tone,
“that they will simply add the weapon to their inventory, to be used only in
the event of a serious war or even just in self-defense.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Capie, eyeing the
super-intelligence dubiously.

“No, I don’t,” Uncle Sam replied with a wry grin. “I said
that it was possible, not that it was likely.”

“So? What do we do about it?” Paul asked, one eyebrow cocked
at the specter beside him.

“I suggest that Capie do a little bit more investigating. We
need to know how many bombs the Iranians constructed and where they are being
stored.”

“I don’t like how dangerous this is becoming,” Paul admitted
apprehensively. “Capie, why don’t you wait there at the Basrah Airport Hotel
and I will be there tomorrow evening, local time.”

“No,” argued Capie. “It’s not necessary. And I don’t want to
take you away from the Scottie project. By the way, Dom, you haven’t told me
what sort of progress you are making.”

“Don’t think that I am not noticing how you are trying to
change the subject,” he said wagging a finger at her. “I am nearly finished
building the sixteen qubit processor and will test it probably later this
afternoon.”

“That’s excellent news. I can’t take you away from that.
Besides, it’s not as dangerous here as I feared. I’ve seen no sign of Oni or
Errabêlu
.
And I don’t plan to go anywhere near Tehran.”

“She’s right,” Uncle Sam pointed out. “She doesn’t have to
go to Tehran to find out how many bombs they built. She needs to go to Shiraz
instead. That’s where the electronics firm is located and obviously, that’s
where they built the special detonator they needed for the thermobaric bomb.”

“Special detonator?” Capie asked. “Why? What’s special about
it?”

“A thermobaric fuel air bomb requires a dual detonator
system,” explained Uncle Sam. “The first detonator destroys the casing and disperses
the explosive over a very large area. The second and stronger detonator
detonates that explosive. The two detonators have to be very carefully designed
and manufactured to meet the special requirements of the weapon.”

“Ah,” responded Capie with a thoughtful look. “So that’s
where Shiraz Electronics fits into this picture. Good. Then all I have to do in
the morning is go to the city of Shiraz, tap into their electronics computer
network and find out how many detonator systems they made.”

“Humph,” Paul grunted in an unhappy tone. “That’s
all
,
she says. You know as well as I do that it won’t be that simple.”

“Relax,” Capie told him. “It’s not any harder than anything
else I’ve already done. I’ll call you back tomorrow and let you know how it
went, dear.”

“Please don’t do anything dangerous,” Paul pleaded with her.
“And if you find anything, call me no matter what time of the day or night it
might be. Okay, CB?”

With an understanding smile, she blew him a kiss and ended
the call.

• • • •

The early morning rays of the sun found Capie in the Iranian
city of Shiraz, sitting on a park bench in Hashemi Park, which was conveniently
located across the street from the Shiraz Electronics Industries complex. The
size of the huge facility and the number of multi-story metal and brick buildings
involved impressed Capie a great deal. And she thought the high chain link
fence topped with barbed wire and the armed guards visibly patrolling the
grounds inside were quite intimidating as well.

Fortunately she didn’t need to go inside the place. She was
more than close enough for what she needed to do next. She glanced around, to
ensure that none of the other people in the park were looking in her direction
and then waved one hand, creating a large virtual tablet in her lap. Opening up
a microportal, she linked the tablet to the computer network across the street.
A system logon screen appeared before her and, with a touchscreen keyboard on
the tablet, she launched into an effort to hack into the Shirazi system.

It was more challenging than she thought it would be and she
had to create a holographic super-intelligence, Alec Hardison (the hacker from
the TV Series
Leverage
), to solicit the specter’s expert advice in order
to get past the security firewalls.

Once inside, she looked for any records on Project Amm, the
project name given to her by General Ahmadi. She quickly discovered that there
were
such records but that they were classified secret and encrypted. She also noted
that there weren’t really all that many records in the electronic database. Apparently,
the company had made an effort to keep as many records as possible off the
computers. However, by tracing the financial payments associated with the
project, she did discover charges for three freight shipments: the first one to
the Esfahan airbase, by truck, in early May. A second and larger one to Tehran,
by way of rail, to the Doshan Tappeh Air Base. At the same time, a third
shipment went to Shiraz International Airport, also by way of truck.

The third shipment bothered her a great deal. Why the
airport, she wondered? There was already a rail shipment to Tehran. If the
third consignment was also going to Tehran, why split it up and send it two
different ways?

So where could the third shipment possibly be going? Nothing
in the company’s database gave her the slightest clue.

And it irked her. Obviously, she would need to go to the
airport itself and do more snooping around.

Paul had been right. It wasn’t straight forward after all.

That third shipment. An international airport. Sure, there
were connections there to other cities in Iran. So it was possible that the
detonator or detonators in that shipment would stay in country. But her
suspicions were otherwise.

She went back to the company website and copied down all the
shipping numbers that she could find. Hurriedly, she closed down her spells,
got to her feet and walked further into the park. Then, behind yet another
cloaking spell, she took to the air. Once clear of the trees, she headed
southeast, toward the airport on the other side of the city. The Oni following
her was careful to trail far enough behind to remain unobserved.

• • • •

Since Shiraz International Airport was only fourteen miles
away by air, southeast of the Shiraz Electronics facility, it didn’t take her
long to reach the terminal building.

And three hours after her arrival, in the mid-afternoon,
here she was now, sitting on the edge of the roof of the control tower, fifty
feet off the ground, elbows on knees and her face in her hands.

Feeling very frustrated.

The airport was large, the second largest in Iran, so she
had discovered. And very busy too.

She watched as yet another airliner, an Airbus A340-300 this
time, ramped up its engines and rumbled the length of the tarmac, lifting
gracefully into the air.

“Tia, some advice here, please,” she muttered unhappily.

The image of the Queen of the Fairies appeared, sitting on
the edge of the roof beside Capie, mimicking her pose exactly.

“Got a problem, I see,” Tia remarked conversationally.

Capie sighed before answering. “I’m looking for one small
shipment in a huge airport full of cargo and passengers. I’ve hacked into and
checked the records of all the airline companies here. I can find no link to
any of the shipping numbers that I saw at the electronics facility. It’s as if
the blasted crate the detonator or detonators were packed in has vanished into thin
air!” She scratched the side of her nose and sighed again. “No pun intended
there.” She watched as a Fokker 100 made a landing approach, the squeal of the
tires as it touched down audible even from her location. “It’s here. Or at
least, it was here at one time. It’s just that there is so much cargo! I’d
rather look for a needle in a haystack!”

“I see.” Tia observed quietly. For several moments they sat
together, not saying anything.

“Tell me something,” Tia said. “Why did you check all of the
airlines? What makes you think the Iranian government would ship explosive
detonators on anything but a domestically owned airline?”

Capie sat up slowly, her mouth dropping in astonishment. “Ah,
oops…” and then her voice trailed off as she snapped alert, whipping her head
back and forth, examining the airport in front of her as if seeing it for the
first time.

“That’s right,” Tia agreed with a nod. “I suggest
concentrating on the largest domestic airline that handles freight first.”

“Iran Air Cargo,” Capie said, the light beginning to dawn in
her eyes. “A truck delivering a single crate from Shiraz—that would be somewhat
unusual. Perhaps what would be called a ‘special shipment.’”

“Right. A special shipment that arrived on…well, what day
would that have been?”

Capie closed her eyes and groaned. “I didn’t think of
tackling it based on the date of arrival. That would maybe be the same day the
truck left Shiraz? Maybe the day after that?”

“Better include the day after that too, just to be safe,”
Tia pointed out. “So, a special shipment that arrived and went out on Iran Air
Cargo in a three day window.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Capie declared, levitating off the
ledge and flying off toward the terminal building. “Oh, and thanks!”

Tia waved an indifferent hand as she faded away. “No sweat.
Just my lot in life now.”

• • • •

“Got you nailed!” Capie announced smugly, as she scanned the
shipping records in the holographic image floating in front of her.

Lacking a better option for quick privacy, she had chosen a
location between two buses in the parking lot across from the terminal building
where she was more or less out of sight of any passersby. She counted on her
invisibility spell to insure things stayed that way, in case anyone did by
chance wander by and see her.

But what she hadn’t counted on were Oni.

At the end of the ‘alley’ formed by the buses, the
appearance of a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Two Oni stepped into the
opening there. She swung around quickly to find two more at the other end of
the ‘alley.’ And, looking up, there were two on top of the buses as well.

Surrounded.

 One of the Oni on the ground stepped forward, a white flag
appearing magically in one of its—paws?

“Wizard,” it growled menacingly. “Who are you? What is your
name?”

Capie flinched back, her heart suddenly in her stomach. She
also found it hard to breathe. And, moreover, she didn’t trust that white flag.
She knew what the Oni were capable of.

“Your name!” the creature demanded more loudly. “What is
your name?!”

“None of your business,” she snapped, crouching against the
side of one of the buses, desperately and nervously trying to remember the most
powerful spell she could use to protect herself. Why was her mind a sudden
blank?

The Oni gestured at the talisman medallion she wore. “By its
signature, you carry the talisman of Kenneth McDougall,
Errabêlu
of
Canada. But you are not him. Your face does not match that of any known wizard.
My master demands to know. Who are you? What is your name?”

“Capie!” she snarled out the answer viciously. “I am Capie!
Daughter of a famous Normal, killed—no,
murdered
in cold blood—by
hideous disgusting Oni monsters, just like you!”

The Oni took an instinctive step backward, disturbed by the
woman’s hatred and venom. Clearly, it wasn’t prepared for her animosity.

“Why are you here, in this country, in this place?’ it
demanded again. “What do you seek?”

But Capie suddenly remembered the spell for fusion, and mentally
she reached out to the decorative water fountain several hundred feet away.
With quick concentration, she cast the spell.

An explosion the equivalent of ten pounds of TNT went off,
the blast hurling a geyser of water skyward more than a hundred feet high. The shockwave
from the blast caught all of the Oni by surprise, and they flinched backward from
the raining cloud of concrete debris.

Only two seconds went by before the most alert of the group
swung back towards the woman.

But she was already gone.

“Track her!” shouted the Oni with the white flag.

A gemstone was produced in the hands of another Oni and it
scanned the area where Capie had stood.

“This way!” it announced, opening a portal wide and jumping straight
in.

The other five darted through after it.

• • • •

“Where are you calling from now, dear?” the image of Paul
said in the Skype window.

“Dubai,” his wife answered. “United Arab Emirates. From the
Atlantis, The Palm Hotel. We should try this place for a romantic weekend
sometime, Dom,” she added, running one finger slowly over the luxurious fabric
of the armchair she was sitting in while glancing around at the hotel room’s
other furnishings. “Or maybe a whole week. Very nice place. We could make up
for all the kisses and hugs I’ve missed lately.”