Authors: Stephen Coonts
Liberty (43 page)
He was trying to jump aside when the front bumper of the massive tractor hit him and knocked him backward six feet, then the tractor ran over him. Nguyen Tran cranked the wheel over to make the turn onto the street and stayed on the gas. He didn't even feel the thump as the right rear wheels of the tractor ran over Ali, killing him instantly.
Mohammed didn't shoot. He, too, realized that killing the driver would cause the truck to crash, which would not help the cause.
As he stood watching the container carrying the nuclear weapon speed away down the wide street, a flower-delivery van skidded to a halt beside him. Akram was at the wheel.
Mohammed ran around the front of the vehicle and threw himself through the open door. “Follow that truck,” he shouted. “Someone's stealing the weapon!”
“What about your men?” Akram demanded, looking at Ali's corpse.
“They are already in Paradise. Follow that truck!”
Jake Grafton caught an executive jet at Andrews Air Force Base. Rita Moravia, Toad Tarkington's wife, was waiting in the terminal. The two of them climbed aboard as Jake told Rita everything he had learned about the crash, which wasn't much. “Toad was in back when the crash occurred. The guy with him, Harley Bennett, was killed. The driver was Sonny Tran. He called me from the hospital.” He told her what Sonny had relayed about Toad's condition.
Rita took it well, he thought. She was a career naval officer, too, and she had been through her share of emergencies, been to her share of funerals and memorial services. Still, when it's your husband, the father of your son, it's not business as usual.
When the jet leveled at altitude, she tried to make conversation.
After they had discussed what Callie and Amy were up to these days, Jake asked about Rita. “Callie and I don't see you often enough,” he said. “What are you doing these days?”
“Planning for Fleet Week in New York, the last week in May. With the mood of the country like it is, the administration wants to make a big deal out of it. And the New Yorkers need it.” She went on, explaining how many aircraft carriers and surface warships were going to be there. “The Canadians, Brits, French, and Germans are sending squadrons. The Israelis are sending a destroyer. Several ships from South America will come, even a couple from Japan.”
She welcomed the chance to stop speculating about her husband's possible injuries and talked with some enthusiasm. Jake let her talk.
He had forgotten about Fleet Week. He had seen articles in the newspaper and heard people at the Pentagon talking, but none of it registered. He had his mind on other things.
“Tell me about security,” he prompted Rita.
“It's going to be heavy. Fleet Week is obviously a terror target.” She went on, telling him how the warship anchorages would be sanitized. “No one wants a repeat of the USS
Cole
incident, especially in New York Harbor.”
Cole
incident, especially in New York Harbor.”
A somber Jake Grafton sat staring at the bulkhead of the little plane.
A helicopter was waiting at Logan Airport to fly them to the hospital. Gil Pascal had been on the telephone, apparently. Sonny Tran was waiting beside the pad when the helo landed. He was whacked up, too, with a bandage on his forehead. “Ten stitches,” he told them. “Some glass they had to take out. I was damned lucky.”
He led them through the corridors, telling them about the accident and Toad's condition. “He has four bruised ribs and a mild concussion. Some cuts, twenty or so stitches. He'll make a full recovery, the doctor said.”
“What about the van and the Corrigan detector?”
“Totaled. The whole thing is junk.”
Jake stopped to talk to the doctor outside the ICU while Rita went in to see Toad. The doctor repeated Sonny's report in more detail.
Sonny stayed in the corridor when Jake entered the ICU. He saw Rita bent over a bed, kissing Toad, who was hooked to an IV and heart monitor. She straightened as Jake approached, yet held tightly to her husband's hand. He was conscious and alert. His face was badly swollen, and he had some stitches over his right eye. On the monitor his heartbeat and blood pressure looked steady and normal.
“Hey, boss,” Toad said. “Fate sorta reached out and whacked the ol' Horny Toad.”
“So I hear. How you doing, shipmate?”
“Sore as hell. Woke up a little bit ago, just in time to get a kiss from the greatest woman on the planet.”
Jake leaned over the bed, as close to Toad as he could get. “Tell me about the accident.”
“I don't remember much. We were in back, Harley and I, watching needles when the world caved in. Knocked me out. I must have regained conciousness at some point because I remember someone saying a garbage truck hit us.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sorta funny, though. I kinda remember Sonny goosing the thing just before the impact. He might have been trying to avoid the collision. I fell off the stool and was on the floor when the side of the thing just came smashing in on us. Harley was sitting on his stool.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How is he?”
“Harley?”
“Yeah.”
“He's dead. Didn't they tell you?”
“Maybe they did. I've been out of it. I don't remember.”
“He's dead. Sonny got a cut on the head.”
“Oh, Jesus!”
“It was an accident. Just concentrate on getting well. I need you back at the office.”
When he went out in the hallway Sonny was still there, sitting beside the nurses' station with his head in his hands.
“Sorry, Admiral. I feel really bad about the accident. It's hell, Bennett dying like that. That garbage truck came blowing down that hill and there was nothing I could do.”
“Toad said he felt you jam on the gas.”
“Well, yeah. I tried to get through the intersection ahead of the truck, but ⦔ He shrugged.
“I understand.”
“Hell of a thing, I know. How about some time off? I'm not going to be able to keep my mind on business for a while.”
“Sure. A few days off will be good for you.”
“I need to chill.”
“You've been working pretty hard,” Jake said. “Take a
couple weeks. Check in occasionally, tell me how you are doing.”
couple weeks. Check in occasionally, tell me how you are doing.”
“Okay.” Sonny shook hands and wandered off.
Jake watched him go. He had no grounds to have him arrested, and that would be the only way to hold him. If he used his cell phone or credit cards, Zelda could track him. That would have to do.
He probably should get a copy of the police accident report, but that could wait. The hard fact was that he was down to precisely one Corrigan unit, and there were still four Sword of Islam bombs headed this way. And Fleet Week was coming! How in hell did he forget that?
He took the cell phone from his pocket and dialed Gil Pascal.
The nurse at the desk leaned toward him and spoke in a stage whisper. “Sir, would you take your phone to the visitors' waiting room? The transmissions affect our telemetry.”
“Right,” Jake said.
She pointed, and he went.
Mohammed Mohammed and Akram conferred. They were in the van a hundred yards behind the truck with the bomb. The little parade was on a two-lane state highway headed north.
They discussed their options. If they drove alongside the tractor and shot the driver, the truck would crash. Could the five of them lift the bomb into the van before the police arrived? What if the weapon were damaged in the crash?
“If he stays on roads like this, he will come to a stoplight sooner or later,” Akram pointed out. “When he stops, we can drive up beside the cab and shoot him. The truck will be stopped, you can climb up and drive.”
“On an interstate highway he would have to stop at a weight station eventually,” Mohammed mused. “I don't
know where he is going, but if it is a long way he will have to stop for fuel.”
know where he is going, but if it is a long way he will have to stop for fuel.”
At the mention of the word “fuel,” Akram looked at the van's gauge. Half a tank. “We will probably run out of fuel before he does,” he said gloomily. “If we stop he will drive on and escape us.”
None of the options looked good. The men in the back of the van had opinions, too, so the discussion grew heated as the miles rolled by. With all the uncertainties, the consensus was that they should wait. Something good would happen. The truck would stop for some reason.
Allah Akbar!
Allah Akbar!
In the cab of the tractor, Nguyen Duc Tran regularly checked his rearview mirrors. The flower-delivery van was back there a hundred yards or so, following faithfully. Where it had come from he had no idea, but he didn't waste time fretting over bad luck.
The police were undoubtedly investigating the shooting at the construction site. Thank heavens he had taken all the copies of the manifests with him. Someone might have gotten the number on the license plates of the tractor or trailer, but he doubted it. The construction workers were diving for cover when he last saw them, probably convinced they were trapped at a drug shootout. He hoped they kept that thought firmly in mind. Those guys undoubtedly knew that people in south Florida who ratted on drug dealers had short life expectancies. They probably wouldn't volunteer information to the police.
He again checked the van in the rearview mirror. As he drove he put a fresh magazine in the Glock, then laid the pistol on his lap. He reached behind his seat and brought up the Uzi. He had two magazines taped together, so after he emptied the first one he merely had to jerk it out and flip it over to insert a fresh one. He put the Uzi on the seat beside him.
He had bottled water to drink, a full tank of diesel fuel, and on these back roads he could avoid the weight stations.
If the ragheads were waiting for him to stop, they were going to wait quite a while.
He thought about what they might do. They wanted the container intactâthat would limit their options.
After a half hour of this Akram and Mohammed reached a decision. Once they did Mohammed began making telephone calls on his cell phone. If they could get people ahead of this rig, they could ambush it, shoot out the tires of the tractor. That would be dangerous, but there was no help for it. With the rig stopped, the chassis carrying the container could be hooked to another tractor and driven away. They needed people to move fast to make it happen because the runaway nuclear weapon was proceeding north at sixty miles per hour.
Fahah Saqib, twenty-two years of age, believed in
jihad
against the
kafirs
, the infidels. He grew up in a small village on the edge of the desert, a son of tribesmen with the mark of the desert still on them. He wasn't sure precisely what the American infidels had done to Islam, but all his life he had been told by uneducated, bearded holy men who had never been far from their village that the infidels were the enemy, and he had never questioned it. It was a fact of life, like the desert and the presence of Allah.
jihad
against the
kafirs
, the infidels. He grew up in a small village on the edge of the desert, a son of tribesmen with the mark of the desert still on them. He wasn't sure precisely what the American infidels had done to Islam, but all his life he had been told by uneducated, bearded holy men who had never been far from their village that the infidels were the enemy, and he had never questioned it. It was a fact of life, like the desert and the presence of Allah.
Nor did he question it these past six months, which he had spent in America enduring the worst kind of cultural shock. He knew nothing about the country, couldn't speak the language, didn't like the food, hated the music, and was horrified by the women, who were everywhere, in every public place and private shop. There was nowhere to escape them. They paraded their charms, wore revealing
clothes, painted their faces and nails, tried to tempt men into sin. They were brazen sluts of the worst sort: And he had been forced to eat with them, deal with them, sit beside them, watch them tempt men they did not know â¦
tempt him
â¦
clothes, painted their faces and nails, tried to tempt men into sin. They were brazen sluts of the worst sort: And he had been forced to eat with them, deal with them, sit beside them, watch them tempt men they did not know â¦
tempt him
â¦
Fahah Saqib felt as if he were visiting the country of the devil where evil prevailed, where the greatness of Allah and the words of the prophet were despised. He had seen the children and girls smiling, snickering, pointing at him and his friends. He felt their amusement, their contempt. And he hated them.
Kafirs!
Kafirs!
This morning as he rode in the back of a van on its way somewhereâhe didn't know where and the leader hadn't told him and it never occurred to him to askâhe thought about the weapon. He knew only what people said, that it was a superbomb that could wipe out a city and everyone in it. He had no idea how it worked or why. Naturally the
kafirs
made it, although they lacked the courage to use it.
kafirs
made it, although they lacked the courage to use it.
The men of the Sword of Islam would show the world they had the courage and the power, Fahah Saqib thought. The
kafirs
who survived would know the fury of
jihad
and the power of Islam. Embrace Allah or be destroyedâthat was the prophet's message to the unbelievers, and it was Islam's message now.
kafirs
who survived would know the fury of
jihad
and the power of Islam. Embrace Allah or be destroyedâthat was the prophet's message to the unbelievers, and it was Islam's message now.
As the sun rose this Friday morning the leader, Saeed, briefed the men. The weapon would arrive this morning at a Wal-Mart in suburban Atlanta. They would be waiting for it when it arrived.
When it arrived, the men in this van would surround the container and prevent anyone from getting close, such as police or warehouse workers. They would be given weapons before the bomb arrived. While they were defending the bomb, Mohmad Salaah, the leader from the other van, would unload enough of the container's contents to get to the weapon. He would hook the weapon to a series of automobile batteries, and trigger the capacitor.
A few seconds later the weapon would detonate, destroying much of Atlanta. Naturally they would all die, tooâa regrettable sacrifice, yet necessaryâand proceed straight to Paradise.
A few seconds later the weapon would detonate, destroying much of Atlanta. Naturally they would all die, tooâa regrettable sacrifice, yet necessaryâand proceed straight to Paradise.
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