42
They parked their trucks in an alley, several blocks south of the Great Mosque.
It was as close as traffic would allow.
Mecca was a multiethnic city, filled with people of all colors and nationalities. Still, to blend in, Payne and Jones had to dress the part. They wore white Saudi
Ankle holsters, held in place by compression straps, were worn on both legs.
Extra ammo was stored in utility belts, concealed by their robes.
Wireless transmitting devices were discreetly tucked in their ears.
All other equipment was varied, depending on preference. Payne was partial to blades. He wore one on each forearm, tucked in black leather sheaths. Meanwhile, Jones carried a small set of tools, just in case he had to deactivate a bomb or pick a lock.
Walking briskly but never running, the men moved in pairs, weaving through the crowds of tourists that filled the sidewalks and ancient streets. The pilgrims would be entering the city from the east on the aptly named Pedestrian Road, trickling in at first before finally arriving en masse, a sea of white surging through the desert like a flood, monitored by thousands of guards and dozens of helicopters. Payne knew Schmidt would be somewhere else, probably concealed close to the mosque, patiently waiting for his prey to come to him.
Unless, of course, he had already planted an explosive device, one with a timer or a remote detonator, and was currently far from Mecca. If that was the case, then they were screwed because they didn't have the time, manpower, or authority to conduct a search. Their only hope was spotting Schmidt and taking him out before he started his assault.
Jones said, 'Omar's place should be up ahead.'
Payne nodded as he scanned his surroundings, searching for trouble. People. Windows. Rooftops. Hoping to spot something that seemed out of place. The city itself was not as he expected. He had traveled extensively in the Middle East and usually felt as if he had stepped through a time portal, leaping back to another era. Ancient buildings. Ancient streets. Ancient everything. But here, there seemed to be an equal mix of new and old.
Ancient traditions, yet contemporary comfort.
Ironically, the closer they got to the mosque, located in the center of the old city, the more modern the infrastructure appeared. Building projects were popping up all over, areas fenced off for demolition and new construction. Dump trucks and bulldozers, cranes and scaffolding, rocks and sand. This
'Where would you like us?' asked the Arab soldier in l he middle pair, which was labeled team two. Payne and Jones were team one. The final duo was team three. The two Arab Americans, who could speak Arabic, were split up in case their language skills were needed.
Payne heard the question in his earpiece. 'Team two, stay on the street. Team three, continue forward to the mosque plaza. But stay close.'
Jones nodded toward Omar Abdul-Khaliq's property. It looked virtually unchanged from the satellite photo they had studied in the truck, a picture taken two weeks ago. Piles of stone and dirt filled one corner of the lot. Construction materials, protected by a chain-link fence, were stacked in the back near a small shed made of plywood. Payne stepped off the sidewalk and studied the terrain. Tread marks could be seen in the arid ground. They were recent.
'What do you think?' Payne asked.
'I think you were right. They're not building anything.'
'Then what's with the rocks?' They were fractured and covered in dirt, like they had just been pulled from the ground. 'They had to come from somewhere.'
Jones agreed. Property this close to the mosque wouldn't be used as a dumping ground. It was too valuable as commercial space. However, as far as he could see, there was no excavation on the lot. Curious, he walked toward the chain link and spotted dozens of footsteps heading into and out of the shack. 'I might have something.'
Payne scanned the street for witnesses. No one was paying attention. 'You're clear.'
Jones pulled a gun from his ankle holster and slipped through the unlocked gate, cautiously approaching the shed, which lookedrnore like a long outhouse than a construction office. Yet for some reason, thick power cables ran through the right wall, the type of cords that were used for large industrial projects, not small shacks. The door was made of plywood and rested on iron hinges. Nudging it open with his free hand, Jones peeked inside.
As he stared at the interior, his eyes widened, stunned by what he saw.
'What is it?' Payne demanded.
'It's a tunnel. A big-ass tunnel. We're going to need more men.'
Payne hustled across the lot, not pulling his gun until he reached the door. He glanced inside before he spoke. 'We have a possible location. All eyes required. Team two, follow us in. Team three, guard the yard. Prepare to join us on my command.'
Jones waited, anxious. 'Ready?'
He nodded. 'I'll take the lead.'
The duo stepped inside, weapons raised, steadily moving forward as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. More than fifty feet in, they hit a branch in the tunnel. Lights were strung in both directions. Boards lined the floors. They waited there until team two arrived. Payne signaled for them to go to the right while he and Jones went to the left.
No words were spoken as they parted ways.
Payne led the way down the corridor. It looked similar to the main shaft, yet somehow newer. Like the ground had been burrowed in recent weeks. Possibly the source of all the dirt and stones in the vacant lot. If so, someone had gone through a lot of trouble to dig with such precision.
But why? What the hell was this place?
The mystery deepened when they reached the iron gate. Not only was it locked, but the bulbs that had lit their path suddenly stopped. Darkness filled the chamber in front of them. Intrigued, Jones reached under his thobe and pulled out a small flashlight. With a flick of the switch, he was staring at broken glass. And chunks of rubble. And something that looked like …
'Is that a body?' he asked, trying to get a better view. 'Jon, I think that's a body.'
Payne nodded as he stared through the bars. The beam barely reached the rear wall, but he could make out the shape of a woman, lying in the fetal position, her hands tied to her legs. He took the light from Jones and shined it along the gate's frame. No alarms or sensors. No booby traps. Nothing prevented them from getting inside. 'Pick it.'
Jones grinned. 'With pleasure.'
He removed a small toolkit and went to work. This was one of his biggest talents-in the past, he'd picked locks underwater and blindfolded-and he loved showing off his skills. Thirty seconds later, he pushed open the gate with a soft screech.
Payne went first, flashlight in one hand, weapon in the other. Glass crunched under every step. Moving closer, he shined the light on the woman's face and noticed two things.
One, she was covered in blood.
Two, she was still alive.
43
When Payne first approached, Shari started thrashing and flailing, worried that he was one of the guards who had assaulted her or the men who wanted to kill her. But once they explained they were American soldiers who were there to help, she started to relax.
No tears. No messy, emotional scene. This woman was a fighter.
