Terminal Guidance. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
WAS SOMETHING close to panic the day after all the details emerged—mainly because internet chatter picked up by the surveillance agencies was dropping hints that more was in the wind. Even Echelon, the information-gathering system that allowed various security agencies within the intelligence circle to collate their findings, had been picking up scraps of conversation that started to make sense when it was all brought together.
A substantial threat emerged, basic but with enough detail to raise the level of concern.
The unknown group voiced discontent over U.S. influence within Pakistan. The group declared a need to destabilize the elected regime and show that American interference would no longer be tolerated. Nuclear devices were to be detonated within Pakistan and on the American continent. Locations not specified. Date not specified. The operation was already in motion—thus the assassination of U.S. security agents working inside Pakistan.
It gave logic to the killings. Not that knowing why provided any comfort to the families of the dead. Nor did it justify the wanton slaughter of Pakistani civilians. That was par for the course. Indiscriminate death would be described as collateral damage by the perpetrators. They always cleared themselves of blame by disregarding the rights of anyone who happened to become involved by the simple fact they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It cleared the conscience.
TWO DAYS ON and a CIA section head was gunned down on a street in Georgetown. The agent had just returned to Washington after a meeting in London with his U.K. counterpart. Said London-based agent was also snatched off the U.K. city street as he walked from his car, heading for his apartment. His mutilated body was found on the shoulder of a highway twelve hours later, after being dumped from a van.
Two weeks earlier
COLONEL JABIR RAHMAN WAS addressing his men.
“The detonation of a dirty bomb will have two major effects. First, the release of radioactive elements that will cause contamination,” he said. “The spread will not be as great as a conventional nuclear explosion, but it will kill people and contaminate the area. The second effect may have the greater potential. How is the American public going to react when this device explodes and all efforts of the U.S. administration to halt it prove useless? I will tell you, my brothers. There will be hysteria. Panic. Americans are still recovering from 9/11. Confidence will be shattered. The public trust will be lost. Wall Street will slump.”
Rahman smiled. “People will be withdrawing their savings and heading for the Midwest. Searching for safety. If Boston is not safe, what about New York? Los Angeles? Washington? And in reality there is no Jack Bauer to save them from the evil Islamic terror.”
“Psychological terror?” one man interjected.
“Terror in the mind can often be more lethal than a bullet.”
“And what about our own territory?” someone else asked. “The detonation in Pakistan? “
“In essence the same. We explode the device near the secret American base the Pakistani president has allowed on our soil. He has been coerced into letting the Infidels bring their rancid presence to our land. This destruction of their base will make them realize they cannot be allowed to bring their poison here. A painful, sacrificial lesson, but it will show that Pakistan must shake off the chains that bind it to the U.S. That our own government is so weak because it allowed itself to be seduced by the Americans’ false promises. They cajoled our president into believing that if he allied himself to the Infidels he would make Pakistan stronger. Able to stand against the so-called evil trying to subjugate us. In truth it has been America wanting to enslave us. Flaunting its power. Demanding we bend our will to it. The bombs will show the inherent weakness that exists. That both America and Pakistan are vulnerable.”
“But many of our own people may die. There will be contamination….”
“To a far lesser degree. The device we detonate here will be a third the power of the bomb in America. Not as many of the rods will be used, just enough to destroy the American military here. Civilian deaths will be less, and the lingering radiation will fade at a far quicker rate. An area will be isolated after the blast, true, but the memory of the day will stay with the people, and once the president has been exposed as weak and ineffectual, our control and strength will grow rapidly. This one act will propel us into a favorable position with the public.”
“Colonel, do you believe we can achieve all this?” a man asked.
“If I was not one hundred percent certain, then I would abandon everything. But I know we can do it. And achieve greatness for our beliefs. Our cause. By inflicting harm on America this way we will take a great step forward. My friends, brothers, a victory against the Great Satan must be worth the risk.”
Umer Qazi watched the faces and listened to the murmurs of the assembly. He allowed himself a thin smile. He moved closer to Rahman.
“I believe you have them on your side, Colonel. Completely.”
“Did you doubt me, Umer?”
“Never for a moment. I was simply waiting for them to realize the truth in your words.”
“Words are your great skill,” Rahman said. “You use them well.”
“Are you telling me something?”
Rahman nodded in acknowledgment, at the same time raising a hand in salute to the assembly.
“I believe it is timely for you to make a trip to London. So you can use your honeyed words to bring young Anwar Fazeel fully into the circle.” Rahman glanced at his companion. “You have told me he is ready.”
“Assuredly so. Should I make travel arrangements?”
“Already taken care of,” Rahman said. “You leave tonight.”
London
BORN IN THE U.K. of Pakistani parents, Anwar Fazeel felt his religion was important to him. Very important. Although legally British, he did not enjoy his life in the U.K. He considered himself an outsider.
The highly intelligent twenty-four-year-old was a computer programmer at a local company. Known to be a hard worker, with an innovative mind and impressive IT skills, he had few friends outside work and not many within his place of employment. He shunned contact with those he considered the tainted inhabitants of the country, and immersed himself in radical groups that were forming in and around his hometown.
His parents and two brothers lost touch with the young man as he edged away from them, preferring to be in the company of true believers. Fazeel felt his family had become too Westernized in their thinking and their daily lives. His father was a successful businessman who owned two restaurants and a number of shops. He belonged to a golf club and had many non-Pakistani friends. All this pushed Fazeel closer to the dissatisfied crowd, who met regularly at the local mosque for political and religious discussions, berating the country and condemning the culture that surrounded them.
One of the regulars at the gatherings was Umer Qazi, a quiet, studious man who looked like a university professor with his conservative dress and manner. Sometimes he was simply there, watching and listening, his presence unobtrusive. But he did more than just observe. He took note of those young men who stood out from the crowd. The ones who exhibited more than simple group fervor. It was his task to pick out the men with real passion. With fire in their bellies.
The ones who were sincere in their beliefs.
Who would stand up to be counted when the time came.
One of those was Anwar Fazeel.
Qazi saw the potential. Realized that Fazeel, with his background in IT, was someone worth cultivating.
Umer Qazi was a recruiter, strategically placed among the dissenters to seek out ones who might prove useful. Qazi represented the cause masterminded by Colonel Jabir Rahman. He had been sent to the U.K., where many young men had been drawn into the fold. They were the easiest to recruit, with their impressionable minds, and the isolation many of them felt meant persuasion was often relatively simple.