around them. “Plus, this place is busy enough and big enough to conceal a drone project. Welding wouldn’t attract any attention. And it’s a twenty-four-hour operation.”
McKinney warily scanned the hazy sky. “Can you trust your contact?”
Foxy and Odin nodded confidently. Odin added, “He’s not a company asset. We’ve known Azeem for years. Syrian. Ex-suicide bomber.”
McKinney’s look showed that had done nothing to ease her mind.
Odin shrugged. “He got disenchanted after he found out how much corruption there was. Wherever there’s fighting, criminals capitalize on the chaos. They thrive in lawless environments. A lot of faithful teenage jihadists arriving here found themselves in rough company-heavily armed men more interested in moving heroin than defeating the infidel. We rescued Azeem from a criminal gang. He’d lost a lot of his idealism. He stuck around to rescue other idealists from their clutches and send them back home. That wasn’t popular with my high command, but it opened up channels of communication.”
The truck’s diesel engine rattled in low gear as they navigated a tangled warren of dirt roads bustling with workers walking to and from their shifts, vendors hawking food, or phone cards, or cheap electronics. The carcasses of rusting cargo ships being cut to pieces loomed over the flat, dry landscape. It all seemed so dirty and industrial- not what she imagined Pakistan would look like. It made her realize that life goes on wherever you happen to be. She could see the tired faces of Pashtun workers treading along the roadside, goggles up on their foreheads, and tools over their shoulders. Some squatted in front of shacks, heating up tiny pots of tea with blowtorches. Not many of them had beards-a measure of practicality amid a daily shower of sparks. She could see just how hard these men worked, and she did not doubt that they supported families in distant villages. Life was a struggle.
McKinney heard Smokey’s voice in her radio earpiece. “We’re arriving at Mantoori Industries. I see Azeem at the gate with two other men-both armed. He’s giving the all-clear signal.”
Odin nodded and examined the Rover video tablet to see a raven’s-eye view from Huginn and Muninn, who were covering them from overhead. “I don’t see anything suspicious in the work yard. It looks aban- doned. Keep weapons at the ready, and let’s go in.” Odin looked up at McKinney. “The presence of women here is unusual, Professor, but I need your expertise. So please don’t speak or look any of these men in the eye. Basically, act like you don’t exist. You and I will confer in private, like man and wife.”
McKinney winced.
“We’re undercover. Goes with the territory.”
The engine of the truck slowed, and soon the Bedford truck turned to drive through a battered rolling gate painted in bright colors. The truck came to a stop. Odin and Foxy immediately opened the tailgate and leapt down, weapons held casually but at the ready.
Several Pashtun men, also in shalwar kameez, approached, weapons slung over their shoulders. A young, neatly groomed Arab man in his late twenties flashed a bright white smile and straight teeth. “Odin…” The two men shook hands and kissed each other on the cheek.
Odin nodded, “As-salaam alaikum, Azeem. Kayf haalak?”
Azeem nodded. “Fine, praise God. We should speak English. My friends here do not know it.”
Odin gestured to his own companions. “You remember Foxy.”
“Of course, my friend…” They also exchanged handshakes and cheek kisses.
Ripper, Mooch, and Smokey emerged from the front cab. Ripper was likewise covered head-to-toe, but in a light blue burka. At least McKinney had company in this indignity. Azeem shook hands with the men but completely ignored the two women.
Odin was already studying the wide scrapyard, littered with rusting pieces of steel and derelict equipment. “How long has it been abandoned?”
“The security guard says the landlord is owed rent for two months now, but the tenant is gone. They paid cash.”
One of Azeem’s companions, a Pashtun man in his fifties, was speaking in what McKinney assumed was Pashto to an elderly man with a timeworn AK-47 slung over his back. Azeem listened intently to their conversation.
“He says the men who came here wore black-their faces always concealed with shemagh. Much like you, and they spoke through translators.”
Odin exchanged looks with Foxy. “Does he know what nationality they were? Were they tall? Short?”
Azeem shook his head. “The workers in neighboring plots stayed away because they thought they were either extremists or a drug gang. You must understand, the workers here are of the lowest social rank. They want no trouble. So they kept their distance.” He gestured to the rusting hulk on the beach behind the place. “That’s why no one’s touched the salvage ship left behind. They’re afraid these men will return.” Azeem listened again to the old man talking. “He says container trucks made deliveries at all hours, and these people did not observe Salah-or any of the Five Pillars.”
McKinney had noticed that Odin was listening to the old man himself, and she suspected he didn’t need Azeem’s translation.
Odin studied the cinder-block warehouse in front of them. “You’ve checked the place out?”
Azeem nodded. “Whatever they did here was very strange, Odin. It doesn’t look like any drug-processing lab I’ve seen. The old man says they cut ship steel but only at night.”
“Wait here, Azeem.” Odin nodded to his team as he moved toward the warehouse.
McKinney followed, surreptitiously producing the jury-rigged chemical detection device Tegu had made for them in Mexico. She unfolded the severed drone antenna that had been connected to the old voltmeter housing and powered up the LED display.
As they walked into a wide, almost empty warehouse, perhaps two hundred feet on a side, the faint peppery aroma of oleoresin capsicum immediately came to her. The entire group exchanged looks.
“That smells familiar.”
“Colony pheromone.” The detection wand in McKinney’s hand started displaying parts per billion of perfluorocarbons as well-the odorless, colorless taggant chemicals that did not occur in nature.
McKinney showed Odin the red LED readout. “It lit up the minute we entered.”
Foxy moved to the nearest wall, where empty plastic barrels were piled haphazardly. “Hey! Look here.” He brought his face near to it but then turned away. “Empty barrels of ‘anger juice.’ From the looks of it. And probably some of the other chemicals too.”
Odin was moving toward a forty-foot orange storage container sitting with its doors open at the far wall. McKinney walked alongside him, checking the readout occasionally. Odin readied his carbine and motioned for Smokey and Mooch to approach from other angles.
Odin peered weapon-first into the opening of the container.
Foxy called out. “What’s in it?”
“Empty metal racks.” Odin stepped inside, examining what looked to be built-in metal shelving. They looked like purpose-built storage racks, with odd dimensions and metal rollers built in.
McKinney scanned the container with the wand, getting only middling readings on her meter. “Not much residue here. Do you think these racks were made for drones?”
“Hard to say.” Odin noticed something and moved to the container wall. He slung his weapon and grabbed what looked to be a sliding panel with handles built into the side of the container. With some effort he slid it down to open a five-foot-wide, two-foot-tall hatch. He was now staring at Foxy, who approached across the warehouse floor.
“Hidden panel.”
Odin nodded as he examined the edge of one rack. “Doesn’t look like this one was finished.”
“Maybe they left in a hurry.”
McKinney was already walking toward the far wall, watching the chemical readings going up again. “Hey! It increases in this direction…”
Odin and the others followed her, weapons ready. “Stay alert, people.” He made a circling motion in the air with his hand, and the team spread out in a skirmish line. They were moving toward a metal overhead door that faced the beach. The door was closed.
As they reached it, Foxy noticed a cracked tan fiberglass mold about ten feet long leaning against the wall nearby. The mold had a wing-shaped depression in it. He tipped it over with the barrel of his gun, and it rolled back
