A female technician climbed up to the pipe as workers unhooked the crane. With a portable computer, she activated the electronic triggering device built into the nitrogen pack, setting it to the frequency Kerikov had chosen to detonate the device. She also checked to ensure that it was reading the tiny transmitters in the other packs PEAL had set in place, guaranteeing they would go off in predetermined series, a cascade that would cause the most damage. With fingers made stiff by the cold, she checked the primary and backup circuits, making certain there were no faults or shorts. She unplugged the computer from the jack built into the sleeve, then snapped off the jack so that only a microscopically thin filament remained as evidence. The released nitrogen and a small explosive charge would take care of the other electronics, leaving behind nothing but a few pieces of shattered plastic and wires when the device was set off. The pack was virtually undetectable. She gave a thumbs-up to the foreman.
“That’s the last one, Jan,” the foreman yelled to Voerhoven, who stood a little way off.
Kerikov came up to Voerhoven, wondering silently why the Dutchman wasn’t frozen to death wearing just a thin windbreaker over his T-shirt. “Tell your people to pack up. The trucks must be destroyed and everyone must get to the
Having them aboard the
“They performed better than you expected, didn’t they?” Voerhoven said with obvious pride.
“You’ve all done well,” Kerikov replied, knowing that Voerhoven needed another dose of ego building. “You have excellent people, and their loyalty to you is remarkable. In fact, as a reward, I want to give you this.” Kerikov handed over a black cellular phone. “This is the trigger for the devices. All you have to do is dial 555-2020, then hit SEND. The signal will reach the nitrogen detonators within a tenth of a second. You hold in your hands the future of this entire state, Jan — that is how much I trust and admire you. You will go down as the earth’s greatest protector.”
“Sometimes I’ve wondered about you, Ivan, about your motivations, your convictions. But this,” Voerhoven held up the phone, “this shows me more than your words can ever tell. When the time comes, I won’t hesitate.”
Kerikov wanted to laugh at the environmentalist, but he managed to keep his voice level and authoritative. “It’s time to go. I want you to come back with me on the helicopter. When he regains consciousness, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Are we going back to the
“No. We’re taking a short detour to drop off my prisoner first, and then we’ll go to Valdez.”
Walking back up the road to the waiting helicopter, Kerikov called Ted Mossey at the Alyeska Marine Terminal on another cell phone. The computer genius assured him that the original KGB program was now installed and just needed the activation code to cycle through the system. As soon as Kerikov sent the code into the computer, they would have complete control of the entire eight hundred miles of pipe and the ten pump stations. Once in their control, there would be no way to stop the preprogrammed series of events.
Heathrow Airport, London
There was no earthly reason for Khalid Al-Khuddari to come awake. His body was so battered and racked with pain that a normal person would have been in a coma for at least twenty-four hours. Yet something had brought him to consciousness, something that cut through the layers of pain and fatigue and drugs and dragged his mind back from the coveted bliss.
He kept his eyes closed, but slowly, too slowly, his other senses began to feed him information. A minute passed before he realized he couldn’t hear the comforting whine of the jet’s engines, nor could he feel any sensation of movement, none of the tiny dips and corrections autopilots must make to keep their charges on an even keel.
Startled, he looked out the window of the aircraft. Expecting to see open skies and the scrolling sand waves of the Sahara Desert, he saw instead terminals and huge maintenance hangars. Across the open vista of the taxi ramp, he saw a long line of gaily colored aircraft parked nose to tail, like elephants performing a circus trick. Dishwater gray clouds clung to the ground, allowing only a few rays of sunlight to strike the earth.
Khalid turned to the passenger next to him, a heavily built woman working furiously at a laptop computer, her hundred-dollar manicured nails tapping a fast-paced tattoo. He could tell that she was trying desperately not to notice that he was awake. Considering the state he must look, he didn’t blame her.
“I’m sorry, but I fell asleep just after boarding. Why are we still on the ground?” he asked solicitously, forcing out his best upper-class British accent.
She turned to him with distaste and sighed heavily. When she spoke, she did so as if each word cost her personally, as if she’d been given only a finite amount of them and didn’t want to waste a single one on him. “As I understand it, we are being held hostage.”
She affected the studied nonchalance of a woman who thought that to make it in a man’s world she must suppress herself to the point of becoming an automaton.
“What?” Khalid’s heart flopped in his chest.
The woman saved the file she was working on and turned to him, speaking slowly, as if to an idiot. “Terrorists have seized Heathrow and ordered that aircraft not be allowed to take off or land. Otherwise they will set off the bombs they have planted, supposedly on some of the aircraft as well as within the terminal.” She spoke with an eerie, unnatural calm. Khalid found it hard to believe what he was hearing.
“At first, the pilots tried to tell us that it was some mechanical problem with the radar,” she continued. “But after I noticed that planes were still landing for the next hour, I knew it wasn’t true. I pointed this out to the stewardess, and after a couple of exchanges between me and the pilot — a dreadful man, I must add — he told the passengers what had actually happened. A bomb had gone off in Terminal 4, killing two people. So far, security has yet to turn up any more explosives.
“I believe that this is a hoax.” Once the woman decided to talk, there was no stopping her. “It’s surely some lunatic, a foreigner no doubt, trying to ride the coattails of the attack at the British Museum last night. As Melville said in
Khalid was appalled by the woman’s callousness. Two people were dead, and she was bothered by the inconvenience of the situation. He would never understand Westerners, and for that he was grateful. Looking at his watch and trying to remember what time his plane was supposed to take off, he realized that he didn’t know how long they had been stuck on the ground. He asked the woman.
“Four hours now,” she complained after looking at the slim diamond-encrusted watch she wore.
Khalid’s mind began to come around, letting him think clearly, at least for a little while. The pain in his back and shoulders was no more than a dull ache that he could almost ignore. He caught the attention of a nearby flight attendant. “Is there a reason why we haven’t been allowed to deplane?”
“I’m sorry, sir. This is part of the terrorists’ demands. None of the planes on the taxiways are allowed to move. A second communique from them came shortly after the first one. They said that if any aircraft attempted to move or let off the passengers, they would detonate all the bombs simultaneously. They claimed to have the airport under observation. I’m very sorry for this, Minister Khuddari. I’ve heard what you’ve been through. Is there anything I can do for you? I’m afraid that I don’t have anything stronger than Midol, but maybe you’d like a drink?”
“Nothing right now, thank you,” Khalid demurred quickly.
For the first time in his life, he was tempted to break the dictates of the Koran and have liquor. It wasn’t to dull his pain but to deaden the realization that Rufti was going to win.
Khalid realized that fat bastard must have known that he was trying to get back to the United Arab Emirates, probably had him tailed from the hospital. He didn’t even want to consider the consequences if Rufti knew that Trevor and Millicent Gray had helped him. Both were in grave danger. Considering the four hours he’d been asleep,
