DEAD BEEF (Our Cyber World Book 1) (36 page)

“Do I have your word that after this ends you will not go after Sasha?” Martin asked.

“Asked and answered, Mr. Spencer. I already gave the president my word. Now that you know who Sasha is to me, my long-lost Rachel, you will rest assured I want nothing but her happiness, and by default, yours also, Martin.”

“Sasha?” Martin said looking at her. “Are you good?”

Sasha was looking away. She nodded.

“Very well, Mrs. Bauman,” Martin said.

“Please, call me Chana.”

Martin stood up and brought two new cardboard boxes, each bearing the insignia of a major U.S. laptop manufacturer. “We picked these up on the way here.”

He stacked the boxes on the table and said, “Your tech support will know what to do with these. They’re ruggedized, but not military grade, so treat them accordingly.” He sat down, and added, “They contain Sasha’s latest software, complete with taps into Iranian intelligence along with a one page how-to guide. It’s easy to use, a bear to code. Your man will be having fun with it in no time.” He gave her the computer passwords.

“Thank you, Mr. Spencer. You exceed my expectations.”

“Perhaps now you will trust me.”

“As soon as my technician confirms it, yes, and without reservations.”

“Good. Once this thing hits, Sasha and I will have our hands full. I’d like your man to monitor for communiques from and into this area and pipe alerts to us as he gets them.”

“Well thought out,” Chana said.

“I figured we’d build some teamwork that way.”

“And trust.”

Martin smiled faintly. “And trust.”

“You give me hope, Martin.”

“In a few hours, we’ll need to deliver more than that,” he said. “Much more.”

Soon after, Chana called in Barak, her technician and another senior member of her team. Once they arrived, with Ochoa and Ortiz in tow, they began discussing operational details and what-if scenarios for the impending crisis.

Chapter 46

“You’re doing good, bro’ Fayez,” Brother Spencer said. After saying “brother” for over 24 hours, he’d opted for the “bro” shorthand. Little bro’ Fayez seemed OK with it, maybe even liked it, because he smiled every time Brother Spencer said it.

The team of little bros had completed their training an hour prior. During the long session, Brother Spencer took special notice of the ease with which his little Brother Fayez learned and controlled the hovercrafts assigned to him.

Soon the two of them struck a connection. When the exercise completed, Brother Spencer, a.k.a., Julian requested that Fayez stay with him to assist with the recharging and re-checking of all 256 hovercrafts. Having concluded that job a few minutes prior, they were now working on upgrading five spare crafts which Julian wanted to keep on tap in the likely event one or more crafts would fail during the upcoming operation.

“There,” Julian said when Fayez connected the dual battery pack to its charger. “Good job little bro’.”

“You’ve removed the video camera from most of these,” Fayez noted. “To save weight for the extra battery?”

“Right, more flying time in exchange for surveillance, which we only need in a select few,” Julian said. “Those still with cameras will have to come in more often for battery swaps.”

“Well thought out, Brother Spencer.”

“Even chaos has its design parameters,” Julian said, smiling.

Fayez nodded. “Head to head, which do you think wins? Chaos or Order?”

“Easy answer,” Julian answered with a broad smile. “The winner is chaotic order which equals ordered chaos. There’s no one or the other, just one whole where design and randomness work together seamlessly.”

Now it was Fayez that smiled broadly. “In Allah’s design, the smallest building blocks obey Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. Uncertainty and indeterminate, unknowable states form the very core of Allah’s order.”

“Just so, little brother,” Julian said. “You get it. You get something few even imagine much less understand.”

“And I am proud to work with you and thank Allah for bringing someone who harnesses the insights Allah has given me, but which I have yet to live out.”

Julian gave the young man an affectionate sideways hug and suddenly was struck with the weight of a realization: this bright little brother would probably be dead in 24 hours.

“I see you two have completed your work,” Julian heard Masoud say. He was returning from taking the other little brothers to their rooms. “Come along, Saleh. Let’s have you say your prayers and then off to bed for you.”

“I am still most amazed,” Masoud said once Saleh left them. “Your achievement surpasses even our most optimistic expectations.”

“Allah’s hand must be in it,” Julian heard himself say.

Masoud tilted his head ever so slightly. “Has Allah been speaking to you, Brother Spencer?”

“He just did through little bro’ Fayez. ‘Uncertainty and indeterminate, unknowable states form the very core of Allah’s order.’ Did you hear him say it?”

“I did,” Masoud said. “I do not understand nor grasp it, but I see it now manifested in your work. Perhaps that is enough.” Masoud looked out to the long rows of hovercrafts. “I must also say my prayers,” he added. “Perhaps Allah will make it clearer to me, Brother Spencer. There is much he can make known to you if you call upon his wisdom. Would you join me?”

Julian accepted the invitation. There in the warehouse with both Mecca and rows of hovercraft before them, the two men knelt side-by-side and lying prostrate submitted themselves and their cause before Allah’s throne.

With their prayers completed, Masoud asked Julian if he would like to recite
Shahada
, the Muslim confession of faith. Julian nodded yes.

“I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except Allah,” Julian repeated after Masoud, “and Muhammad is His Servant and Messenger.”

Masoud spent several minutes teaching Julian how to pronounce the
Shahada
in Arabic. That proved a terrible tongue twister for Julian, and he promised to practice it until he could do it justice.

Masoud gave Julian a vigorous hug and said, “Have you decided who will be your—?” He paused, searching for a word.

“The offsite backup?” Julian said. Masoud nodded, and Julian added, “He just walked out of the room.”

“Him?” Masoud's face and voice conveyed equal parts of his disdain. “I thought you were going to select one of my technicians.”

“Your technicians haven’t been much help. We’ve been over this.”

“But they joined in your training today,” Masoud said. “Surely by now they have a better idea—”

“Saleh is one sharp kid,” Julian said. “He’s the best in the group. He’s the one I trust with the job.”

“This is not about who you trust,” Masoud objected. “While we value your contributions greatly, it is up to us to—”

“I get that you’re the boss, Masoud. But you brought me in for the technical piece. I’m telling you, that kid is a real talent, the best one we have in the whole bunch. He gets it.”

“This is not up for discussion.”

“Well, it better be unless you want the operation going up in flames due to incompetence. Your other guys... they’re hackers, but they’re not thinkers. They can't work it out on the fly.  This kid, he is the real deal. He’ll be able to think on his feet and do it fast. That’s what we need if we’re compromised here, or if we need to move.”

Masoud scowled deeply. “Wait here,” he said. By which he meant, Julian gathered, Masoud needed to go confer with Davood.

Julian had no misconception as to what answer would come back.

He used his alone time to load one laptop with additional code that would enable the laptop’s owner to run the operation. He loaded another laptop with a crippled version of the same software. He’d hand that second laptop to whoever Masoud told him should be the offline backup. Julian would make sure Fayez got the first one when he handed out laptops to the students the following morning. Then it would just be a matter of letting Saleh know. As smart as the kid was, he’d probably figure it out on his own.

That night Saleh Fayez had a dream that he often had during stressful times, as in the day before a major final exam. In a crowded market in Beirut, Lebanon he felt a rush of dust and expanding air behind him that knocked him off his feet. He got up on his knees and looked back at the carnage and destruction.

“Aadila, my little sister! Aadila!” he would shout every time the dream occurred, just as he had back on that terrible day of his childhood.

He used to wake up there, but lately, the dream had progressed to the horror of finding Aadila buried in rubble, face bloodied and mangled hands extending out to him, screaming his name “Saleh, Saleh, Saleh!” before convulsing and spitting blood, she fell silent into Allah’s arms.

This time, when he got there, her hands were bloodied but intact. Her face was pale but not bloodied, radiant almost as if she were becoming one of Allah’s angels.

This time, in a clear, haunting voice she said, “Why do our brothers in Jihad kill so many of Allah’s children? Does Allah destroy his own house? Did he build his
Dar al-Islam
inside the
Dar al-harb
? By no means! If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand.”

Fayez hesitated, thinking that perhaps he should mention something about chaos in order and order in chaos. It was then he woke up, sitting up in his bed and gasping for air, as if he had spent a long minute under water. He calmed down and went back to sleep. Twice more he had the same dream and after he woke up the third time dizzy and short of breath he could not go back to sleep.

He sat there regaining his breath, questioning, had Allah just spoken to him?

With his photographic mind, Fayez paged through the Koran he had committed to memory in his childhood. Page by page he carefully examined and searched the beautiful writing. Seven times he searched the prophet’s holy text and seven times he failed to find the
Dar al-harb
, the house of war. An eighth time he searched and neither could he find
Dar al-Islam
, the house of Islam.

That night Julian slept little. On nights like this, ahead of something big and exciting, he liked to calm himself by daydreaming how things would play out. He would do this not because it helped him envision how things would work — no one could predict that — but just to show him at least a few of many random combinations that could weave into a final outcome.

He drifted in and out of sleep, at one time imagining himself across a large chessboard looking at Martin struggle to make sense of a game where pieces transformed from one type to another randomly and without warning, and where the squares changed color to similar effect. Julian would imagine himself fully able to react and play such a non-deterministic version of chess and master it. No longer was the game solvable, but it was winnable for the one who simply accepted that conditions would change from one moment to the next, for as long as he stared at the board.

Now the board morphed into fields of green and brown. The pieces became hovercrafts swarming under no apparent control or repeatable behavior, but still with plan and purpose. The hovercrafts veered left and right implementing Julian’s plan and purpose, and perhaps now, also executing Allah’s will.