There were two dozen crates; Hera only had enough tracking bugs for six. She bugged the box that had the strongest radiation signal, sticking the tiny device between the slats at the very bottom. Then she tagged two boxes next to it, unsure whether she was picking up radiation from them or the larger crate. She placed the other three tags arbitrarily on more boxes, each a different size and shape.
When she was done, she took out the chemical sniffer and began examining the area around the crates.
The device was called a sniffer because it took air samples and then analyzed the contents. The sensitivity varied according to chemical, but certain substances — such as anthrax — could be detected in extremely minute amounts. About the size of a palm-corder, the device required a bit of patience and a steady hand, but its small size and power were light-years ahead of the devices used at airports and ports to detect bomb materials and other dangers.
There were traces of explosives. No biological agents. No chemicals used in warfare.
On the other side of the room, Danny chipped out the last of the glass and carefully put the new pane in place so no one would suspect they had broken in.
Or rather, he tried to — it didn’t fit exactly. The window was slightly smaller than the standard size, and he had to cut the pane they’d brought with them to fit. He got down on his hands and knees and etched the edge of the panel freehand, sliding the glass cutter gingerly so he didn’t break the glass. Twice he thought he was done, only to find he was still off by a few fractions of an inch. Finally he got the glass into place, rolling putty around it to keep it there.
Now came the hardest part — matching the color of the old putty. It had started out pure white, then faded with age. Danny worked with two jars of stain to get the right shade. He took off his goggles and used a flashlight, experimenting with the shade. It took several minutes before he found a reasonably close shade.
“What’d you find?” he asked Hera.
“Just explosives.” She explained how she had arranged the bugs. “Which crate do we start with?”
“I don’t know. Go fix the window with the jumper so we can get out easily while I take a look.”
“Are we going to glow when we leave?” she asked, only half joking.
“Yeah. We won’t need our night goggles.” Danny smiled. “No, it’s not really that much. Fix the window.”
The amount of radiation emitted by a bomb before it exploded was minute; it posed no danger to the people handling the weapon. The amount they detected here was extremely small — the Iranians had every incentive to be very careful handling and preserving the material.
Danny spotted a nail in the wall and decided to plant a bug there before trying to open the crates. He climbed up on one of the boxes and stuck a bug just above it. He was just getting down when the Voice sounded an alert in his ear.
“Vehicle approaching. Similar in size and shape to vehicle observed on property earlier in the day.”
Aberhadji had returned.
63
By the time Breanna got back to the Osprey, the radar had identified twenty-four individual planes, all flying on a path a few miles north of them. Most had already passed; the radar showed them gaining altitude quickly.
She took one look at their flight patterns and the plane types and knew two things instantly: They were on a bombing mission, aiming at a target in Sudan. And they were Israeli.
She took out the secure sat phone and called Reid immediately.
“Jonathon, I think the Israelis know about the Iranian plant in Sudan,” she told him. “They’re on their way to blow it up.”
“What?” said Reid.
“They’re at low altitude, flying at high speed not too far from here. The radar in one of the Ospreys picked them up.”
“Stand by.”
He came back a few moments later to tell her that the bugs Nuri had placed in the complex had just gone off line due to explosions.
“I’m going to have to get back to you,” said Reid. “This hasn’t hit the network yet.”
“Go,” said Breanna. “I have everyone. We’re en route back to Dire Dawa.”
There was one more thing they had to do before leaving — blow up their gear.
Breanna had the Osprey circle over the hill. The mercenaries were in the rocks, sitting uneasily between the Ethiopians and the Sudanese.
“I want you to tell them to get away from the boxes,” she told Abul, going into the rear of the aircraft. “I want you to warn them that they’re going to be blown up.”
“We’re going to land again?” said Boston.
“No. We’re equipped with a PA system for crowd situations. We’ll use the loudspeaker.”
Abul followed her into the cockpit. He was shocked when he saw the empty seats.
“Who’s flying the plane?” he asked.
“It flies itself. Tell them.”
Breanna sat in the pilot’s seat and handed him a headset, channeling the mike into the PA. Abul handled it awkwardly, then began ordering the mercenaries to leave the hill.
They made no sign of complying.
“The hill is about to be exploded,” he said. “You must leave for your own safety.”
They responded by firing into the air at the Osprey.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Breanna told the computer.
The Osprey swung hard to the right, then rose quickly. Out the side window she saw the tracers flying toward them.
“Screw this,” she said, and detonated the gear.
The gunfire stopped.
“Computer, begin return flight to Dire Dawa as programmed,” she said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
64
“We have to get out
“The crates.”
“Never mind them. Aberhadji’s car is coming up the road.”
Danny stopped short. The door was protected by a contact alarm system. He dropped to his stomach. He wanted to slip one of the bugs underneath the door, but the space was blocked by rubber weather-stripping that brushed along the metal threshold. Instead, he took a jumper and defeated the contact alarm, easing the door open just wide enough to put the bug on the edge of the kick plate.
The bug slipped as he started to close the door. He pushed it higher and squeezed the tiny, round, plastic disc hard against the aluminum.
Meanwhile, the Voice was giving him a running commentary on Aberhadji’s progress, narrating practically every step: The car rounded the hairpin, the car pulled past the video checkpoint, the car approached the front of the building. A figure got out. MY-PID analyzed the figure’s gait as it walked, and found a correlation with Aberhadji, concluding with “eighty percent probability” that it was him.
By the time Aberhadji unlocked the front door of the building, Danny was stepping through the window. Hera pulled the window down behind him, then tugged the jumper wire out, resetting the alarm.
