Sword of God

The man who planned the attack had a healthy fear of computers. He respected their place in the world and understood their importance in certain situations, but during the past decade he had seen too many colleagues arrested or killed because of computer issues. No matter how much training his people had, they were no match for the American agencies who spent billions of dollars on the latest technology that had been designed to catch them in the act.

Somehow, someway, his men always screwed up.

Intel was intercepted. Information was deciphered. Evidence was recovered.

In his heart, he knew this mission had to be different from all the others. Its impact would be global, reaching the farthest corners of the world in a way that had never been attempted. To do that, deception was the key. Everyone had to believe one thing-when, in fact, the very opposite was true. But that wasn't possible if he left a trail of binary breadcrumbs for the authorities to follow. Never knowing what they would find. Or when they were going to find it.

So early on, he made a gutsy decision. All information pertaining to this mission would be delivered by hand, passed from person to person in the most damning places possible, for the sole purpose of documentation. Unlike most criminals, he wanted to record what was going on because it would actually help his cause in the long run.

Then, when the time was right, he'd give the authorities more than just breadcrumbs.

He'd give them the whole loaf of bread.

According to the soldier's sources, the facility would be deserted for the hajrj. A few security guards might be roaming around, but his team didn't have to worry about engineers, technicians, or custodians, even though it didn't matter to his men. Their orders were to kill everyone inside, and they'd do so without remorse. One. Ten. Twenty. What difference did it make?

They'd kill many more in the near future.

Scanning the horizon, he pulled the van forward, tires crunching on the gravel driveway that was laid in the arid ground to provide traction for the heavy trucks that would stream in and out of here like worker ants. Surrounded by a barren landscape that stretched all the way back to Mecca, the main building sat ahead, obscured by the cover of darkness. Although construction had been finished three months before, the place wasn't fully operational.

Of course, it would be once his men were done.

They were dressed in black and fully armed when they exited the van. The leader checked his list and entered the security code into the main entrance's keypad. The door buzzed open. One after another, all four soldiers streamed into the lobby, each scattering in a different direction, their footsteps barely audible. Communication would be done through a series of earpieces, each equipped with a transmitting device that allowed speech as well as audio while scrambling their signals to outside receivers.

The team leader was the most experienced soldier, so he had the most important job. He was in charge of the security office that sat at the end of a long corridor on the first floor. Monitors cast an eerie glow on his face as he studied the images that flickered in the dark room. Twenty-four screens in all, each offering a different view of the facility.

He sat in the chair and fiddled with the buttons. Before long, he was able to zoom in and out on different cameras. Able to warn his men if necessary.

As a precaution, each of them was given a code name to be used in the field. Something simple. Something easy to remember. In this case, they opted for the names of the four evangelists, the men who wrote the Gospels in the New Testament. It seemed fitting to use Christian names while inflicting damage on the Islamic world.

'Matthew?'

'Check.'

'Mark?'

'Check.'

'Luke?'

'Check.'

John, the team leader, scanned the screens, searching for trouble, eventually spotting a guard in the rear of the plant, strolling down the back walkway. 'Mark, we have a live one. Two rooms to your left. Coming your way.'

'Armed?'

He zoomed in tighter. 'Nothing in his hand. Maybe in his belt.'

'I'll let you know.'

Mark slid behind a large generator and waited patiently for his target to approach. Twenty seconds passed before he made his move. When he did, it was quick and silent. No gun was necessary. Just a hand over the guard's mouth and a brutal snap of his neck, instantly killing him. John watched l he scene with pride.

'I'm clear.'

'Search the body, then stash it.'

Mark frisked the dead guard, finding a gun in a hidden holster. He held it up to the camera so John could warn the others.

'Be aware, the guard was packing.'

'Check,' said the other two.

Not that they were worried.

Meanwhile, John returned his attention to the video screens. First checking for other guards, then looking at the building itself. Valves and pumps filled half the rooms, mostly in the rear of the structure. Some of the pipes went through the walls, leading to the empty reservoirs out back. They'd get to them eventually, but right now he had other concerns. Foremost was finding the main control room. It was somewhere on the first floor, protected by additional codes.

Matthew spoke. 'I think I see it.'

John punched a few buttons and zoomed in closer on the room that Matthew was pointing to. He spotted another keypad, just to the left of the metal door, but couldn't read the sign since it was written in Arabic. The walls were reinforced with extra concrete, plus there were no windows. From his perspective, it seemed like the right place.

Why add extra protection if this room wasn't important?

'Thoughts?'

Matthew looked back at the camera and shrugged.

'Can you hear anything?'

He put his ear next to the door. Not a sound.

He dropped to the floor and looked under the door. But the room was dark, at least from his limited perspective. From his knees, he shrugged again.

'While you're down there, say a prayer to Allah. Because if we punch in the wrong code, we might sound an alarm.'

Matthew looked at the camera and flipped it off.

'Was that to me or Allah?'

He ignored the question. 'Listen, there's no way this system is one-and-done. There has to be a margin for error. People hit wrong buttons all the time.'

'You're probably right.'

'Then give me the code. I'll try it once. If it doesn't work, we can try something else.'

John nodded and glanced at his list. He read the numbers aloud.

Carefully, Matthew entered them into the keypad, each sounding a tiny beep.

One. Beep.

Nine. Beep.

Eight. Beep.

Seven. Beep.

Then, as if by magic, the door popped open with a quiet click.