the accommodation block.
‘Thank you. When was the last time we sent General Ho some bear bile?’ al-Falid asked.
‘Not for while. You want more?’ al-Falid nodded. ‘Make sure the driver has a package on ice before we leave tomorrow morning. He can deliver it personally. And make sure it’s from a young bear.’
Peng Yu headed off towards the stinking compound where the bears had been imprisoned for years. He unlocked the store at the back of the compound, retrieved a blunt knife and a catheter and headed back into the main area where nearly fifty bears were in cages. Oblivious to the deep groaning of the older bears, Peng Yu hooked a thin rope around the youngest bear’s front and rear legs, pulling them through the cage, and tied the rope off.
‘This is a typical airconditioning system,’ al-Falid explained to the young Uighur men he’d gathered around a large table at the back of the accommodation block. ‘The substance will come in vials like this,’ he said, holding up a vial of pink-coloured water. ‘Our people need to be trained to gain access to the airconditioning ducts in their particular building. You will be given a number of dates on which you can strike and apart from the airport, which day you choose is not important,’ he said, looking at the cell leader for Beijing’s Capitol International. ‘The airport is to be struck over three successive days at the start of the Games, for maximum effect.’ Suddenly the training session was interrupted by the high-pitched squealing of the young moon bear, his agonised cries carrying up the hill as Peng Yu attacked the bear’s stomach with the blunt knife.
CHAPTER 76
T he President of the United States’ visit had received maximum coverage in the national media. Although the protests against Australia’s involvement in the disaster that had overtaken Iraq had been some of the biggest in the country’s history, the protesters had been kept away from a stubborn President Harrison and an equally immoveable Australian Prime Minister, both of whom were in final discussions as the visit drew to a close.
Ahmad Rahman froze as he caught sight of the patrol entering the pine forest 500 metres below his hide above the vineyard. He watched the soldiers through his binoculars until they disappeared from view. Turning back towards the other two cell members, he gave the thumbs down – the signal for ‘enemy’. The commandos were heading up the hill towards the cell members’ location.
The al-Qaeda cell had been in position for three days and as the first rays of the sun broke over the gum trees on the hills to the east, Ahmad Rahman had checked the camouflage around the hide and carefully replaced any of the eucalyptus that was wilted. The fissure in the rocks above the vineyard wasn’t deep but it was just big enough to hold the three of them, together with the stinger missiles they’d brought in before Ahmad judged the area would be swept to ensure the safety of President Harrison.
In his earlier reconnaissance, Ahmad had realised that the problem facing any soldiers assigned to protect the President was one of geography. Apart from some new construction around the airport and a lengthening and strengthening of Runway 35, the area around the Canberra airfield hadn’t changed much since April 1940 when DC-3s had flown in and out of what had been a small military air station. Horses and cattle still grazed in the open fields, and the whole airport was surrounded by densely wooded hills and mountains. To search such a vast area properly would have taken many more soldiers than could be spared for a 24-hour visit, something Ahmad Rahman had taken into account. The day before, one patrol had passed within 100 metres of the hide, but that had been as close as they had come until a few minutes ago when he’d spotted the latest patrol.
Rahman scanned the area beyond the airfield. A kilometre to the north, a police car had stopped the traffic from using Majura Lane, a major access road that ran along the side of the airfield connecting Canberra’s satellite city with the freeway to Sydney. To the south, another major highway had been sealed off and the traffic banked up for several kilometres. Further towards the city, dozens of police cars had been deployed along the route the President would use to get to the airport. The President must be on his way, Rahman thought, and he motioned to the two young men behind him to make a final check on the missiles.
Ahmad Rahman trained his binoculars back on the pine forest below. Through the trees he could see the occasional movement of the forward scout. The patrol was closer and still heading up the side of the mountain towards his position. Rahman focused back on the airfield to the area just in front of the control tower at the RAAF base. The area on the opposite side of the runway to the commercial terminals was under heavy guard. In addition to the police presence, sniper teams had been positioned at key points around the airfield and special response force teams had been assembled in nearby hangers, while dogs and their handlers patrolled the special perimeter that had been established around the president’s distinctive aircraft and the refuelling trucks. Rahman could see the pilots going through their procedures in the cockpit and the warning beacon on the aircraft’s underside was rotating.
Ahmad swung his binoculars past the commercial airport on the far side of the airfield towards the long drive that led to the Air Force Base. Police motorcycles, their blue lights flashing, were escorting a big white car with the Australian flag fluttering on the bonnet. The Prime Minister and his wife, Ahmad thought, as he focused his binoculars further south. A phalanx of police motorcycles headed the motorcade that had just reached the turnoff from the main highway; black Suburbans were followed by two armoured Cadillacs. Ahmad knew that these were part of the ‘secure package’ that was designed to break away from the ten vehicles following behind and the rest of the motorcade in case of attack. One was a decoy but both had run-flat tyre systems, an environmental sealing system for protection against chemical and biological attack, as well as more than 12 centimetres of ballistic armour to protect the President from anti-tank grenades. Ahmad again focused on the pine forest. The soldiers were getting closer.
‘We’ve had a departure,’ President Harrison’s Chief Steward announced. ‘The President and the First Lady will arrive in the next few minutes.’
‘Thank Christ for that,’ one of the journalists from the press corps muttered. The President’s discussions with the Australian Prime Minister on the devastation in Sydney and Australia’s support for America in Iraq had gone well over time. The journalists and other staff that had been assigned seats in the rear of Air Force One had been waiting for nearly an hour.
‘Canberra Ground, this is Air Force One, request start.’
‘Air Force One, you are cleared to start.’
The President’s chief pilot, Air Force Colonel Mike Munro reached towards the bank of switches on the control panel above him.
‘Start number four.’
‘Valve open,’ the First Officer replied.
‘Pack valves closed, N2 rotation. Oil pressure.’ The engineer watched as the oil pressure light for the number four engine extinguished. It was a procedure the crew could carry out in their sleep.
‘Valve closed on four.’
‘Number four stabilised, start number one,’ Colonel Munro ordered, satisfied that the bank of gauges for the starboard outer engine indicated it was operating normally.
‘Guard! Present Arms!’ The 100-strong honour guard came to a crashing salute. On the hill above the Royal Military College the guns of the ceremonial artillery battery boomed out over the capital. The Governor-General, the Prime Minister and their wives stood on the tarmac as the President’s plane started to roll.
‘Canberra control, Air Force One, ready.’
‘Air Force One, you are cleared for an immediate departure on Runway 35, contact departures when airborne. We’ve enjoyed having you here. Have a safe and pleasant flight.’
‘Air Force One, thank you and good day.’
Mike Munro lined up the President’s aircraft on the centre line, applied the brakes and advanced the throttles halfway, allowing the engines to spool up. Satisfied, he released the brakes and slowly pushed all four throttles forward.
‘EPR set, 80 knots,’ the First Officer called. ‘Vee-one.’ Air Force One, the ‘alpha’ of the world’s aircraft and the icon of the power and prestige of the United States of America had passed the point where the flight could be
