Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2)

by Richard Corrigan

  When Muttaqi and Ahmadullah arrived at the abandoned building, Ahmed Fadhil, the general in charge, met them and told them to unload the enriched cakes and stack them in the corner of the warehouse in a lead-lined vault.

  Fadhil could easily have been mistaken for a Castro brother, resembling Fidel more than Raul. He was never without a cigar hanging from the side of his mouth. But he would always throw it away before it caught his beard or mustache on fire. In reality, he chewed more of the cigar’s tobacco than smoked it.

  Mohammed Ally Atwah, the second in charge of the newly formed terrorist conglomerate known as the World Massacre Movement (WM2)—his body odor always present—stood by Fadhil’s side and watched.

  Fadhil, the aroma from his cigar covering Atwah’s stink, turned to Atwah and said, “Soon as the cakes are unloaded, lock the vault an’ meet me upstairs.”

  “When do you plan to tell me what we’re doing?” Atwah asked, picking at one of the numerous pimples on his face and then digging into his ear.

  “Have to do some housekeeping things first. You know how we operate. The fewer who knows what’s goin’ on, the safer our strategy. The other cells are in place waiting for the command to begin. Soon as we mobilize, I’ll have you check to see if there’s any obstacles that’ll mess us up. Remember, don’t use your cellphone for any communication.”

  Fadhil walked away and Atwah continued to supervise the delivery of the enriched uranium. His feet plodded on the floor as he walked. His mind drifted to the United States and how he had cheated death. He smiled.

  CHAPTER 3

  The morning in Sehali, Pakistan was still and cool. The sky was clear, allowing the sun to cast its early-morning rays on the pale-yellow, outside walls of the uranium-enrichment plant just as the dayshift was arriving for work. The main entrance was on the other side of the building from where the night guard lay dead. But almost immediately it was discovered that there had been a break-in.

  The Punjab police and members of the Pakistan military were on the scene within the hour.

  “I want nothing touched until we’ve taken photos and samples of everything,” Superintendent Kamran Ahmadi said as he walked around the body of the dead guard.

  Sub-Inspector Hadier Sardar came out of the warehouse, stood alongside Ahmadi, and looked down at the body. “His gun’s still in his holster.”

  “No evidence that the gate was forced open or the overhead door was pried loose. He was expecting company. Knew who they were. No evidence of a struggle. Opened the door and stepped out. That’s when he was shot. Didn’t try to run. Happened too quickly. Hit with four bullets. All in the chest.”

  “He was an accomplice,” Sardar said.

  Ahmadi said, “Yeah, then he was doublecrossed.”

  “Probably died instantly.”

  “Run a background check on him. Find out where he lived. Take some of your men and grab everything from his residence. I want a complete analysis.”

  Then the superintendent turned to the facility manager and said, “I want all the night guards called in. I want them and everybody else interrogated to see if they know anything. What did the thieves take?”

  The manager said, “It appears that about six hundred pounds of steel-gray cake, enriched uranium’s missing. They used that lift truck,” pointing outside, “to load it into their vehicle. It had to have been a good-sized truck they used.”

  “What could they do with that much?”

  “Make sixteen nuclear bombs.”

  Sardar said, “They’re long gone by now. To Somalia probably.”

  Ahmadi lit a cigarette, took a long drag and ordered, “No one’s allowed within fifty feet of this section of the warehouse or the body. Take photos of everything, the guard, the lift truck, and the storage room.”

  The superintendent then walked back outside and looked at the ground. “Take photos of these tire tracks, the oil spot, and the area around the body. Find out what kind of tires these are. Then check to see if there are any reports of stolen trucks.”

  The police team began their investigation.

  ***

  Aatif Malhi, the prime minister of Pakistan, was in the official residence and principle workplace located at 44000 Constitution Avenue, Islamabad, Pakistan. He was sitting behind his desk and staring at the flames that were lazily flickering in the fireplace. He broke his gaze and inspected the golden sheath above the mantel.

  He was then distracted by movement outside the window. Two Chukar Partridges, the national bird of Pakistan, wandered into view. Sixteen lived on the grounds of the $3.6 million Secretariat. Their wings had been clipped to keep them in residence.

  There was a knock at the door and Rehan Hashmi, the Army Chief of Staff, entered. He walked across the room with a slight limp, a result of a service injury.

  “You said you had something important to discuss,” Malhi said, butting his cigarette in the silver ashtray.

  “Yes, we’ve been informed by Army Intelligence that five-hundred-fifty pounds of steel-gray cake, enriched uranium was stolen last night from the Sehali plant.”

  “Do we know who took it?” Prime Minister Malhi asked, clearing his throat.

  “We’re investigating.”

  “What can be done with that much enriched uranium?” Malhi asked.

  Hashmi’s face lost all expression. He repositioned his leg and said, “Whoever took it, if they know what they’re doing, could build a number of nuclear bombs.”

  “We need to find out who stole it.”

  “Are you going to alert the rest of the world?” Hashmi asked.

  Malhi hesitated for a moment and focused on the flames in the hearth. While still staring, in a low, calm voice he said, “No.”

  Hashmi’s eyes widened. “No? But—”

  “Back in the nineteen fifties and sixties, over six hundred pounds of enriched uranium was stolen from the U.S. supplies in Israel. The U.S. government stayed mum. A Zionist nuclear bomb was later created, yet nothing was said.

  “I choose to stay silent until we know more. Besides, I just had a phone meeting with President Burke last week and assured the U.S. president that we had tight control over all our enrichment facilities. I don’t want to be thought a fool.”

  “How did the Israel information get leaked out?” Hashmi asked.

  “Not through a leak. By means of the U.S. Freedom of Information Act and the declassification of FBI and CIA documents.”

  “So we stay quiet.”

  “Correct.”

  Hashmi limped out of the room; and the prime minister walked over to the window to watch the partridges continuing to peck at the ground, searching for food.

  ***

  After the police and military left the Sehali uranium-enrichment plant, Aaron Bristol, an onsite British consultant recently hired to assist the Pakistani government with developing security systems that would protect their investment, texted his contact in the British Embassy in Islamabad.

  Edward Williams, the ambassador from Great Britain to Pakistan was attending a joint meeting of representatives from countries with strong ties to Pakistan. He looked down at his cellphone and said to the man next to him, “Sehali lost some cakes.”

  “Do they know who?”

  “They think Taliban,” Williams said.

  “What will they do with them? There isn’t a country in the Middle East with the capability of creating a nuclear device. Maybe Iran. But that’s it. And the U.S. is closely watching them.”

  “There’s a theory that some of the terrorist organizations throughout the Middle East and Africa are beginning to cooperate with each other to take down the free world.”

  “If they’re successful in forming a conglomerate, even if they’re partially successful, we don’t have a free-world cooperation of trust and the worldwide network to stop them.”

  Williams looked down at his cellphone screen and read another text:

  ‘rumor: Taliban giving cakes to CNG’

  “They’
re giving the uranium to The Commander Nazir Group,” Williams said.

  “So, it’s confirmed, they’re working together. But how big a network?”

  Before the first break in the morning session, all those present were aware of the theft and shared the belief that a number of terrorist groups were working together in some massive, sinister plot against the free world. The immediate targets were unknown.

  Germany, being one of Pakistan’s largest trade partners and home to over 36,000 Pakistani immigrants and untold numbers of Syrians decided to raise their alert level up one notch and begin the process of scrutinizing every foreigner who entered the country in the last ten years, especially those immigrants from Syria.

  The Greek government, having an embassy in Islamabad since 1987, alerted the mainland and Islands of a possible imminent threat from terrorists. They began the arduous task of tracking down the records of the over 33,000 Pakistani nationals living in Greece and attempting to firmly document the newly arrived Syrians.

  The ambassador of Norway present at the meeting, nervously texted his home office in Oslo. He also informed his contact in Lahore, Pakistan.

  ***

  The British prime minister was sitting at his desk when a military aid stepped into the room and stated that Pakistan had lost some highly-enriched uranium cakes.

  Coincidentally, the largest Pakistani community outside of Pakistan resided in the United Kingdom. Consequently, the prime minister made the decision to place the UK on heightened alert. In response to the theft at the Sehali plant, he called his Homeland Security Department and instructed them to raise the terror-threat level from “substantial” to “severe.”

  ***

  The Turkish ambassador only shrugged his shoulders at the news of the burglary; but because of the more recent isolated terrorist attacks in Ankara and Istanbul, he did call his home office just to go on record with the information. Turkey has always strongly supported Pakistan both militarily and economically.

  The French and Pakistani governments continually hold high-level diplomatic meetings. The French ambassador, Caterine Séverin, immediately called her state department and informed them of the new information. She was told to stay put and learn as much as she could as the events unfolded.

  CHAPTER 4

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—USA

  “You’re going to stay in Edgewood?” Karen asked as Sharon merged her car onto the Pittsburgh airport entrance ramp.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “With all those drug thieves?” Karen asked with a slight snicker.

  “That was an isolated incident. They were from Chicago, passing through.”

  “How do you know that Edgewood isn’t part of a modern-day Silk Road?”

  Sharon made a quick left turn toward the private airplanes’ apron and changed the subject. “I had to move out to keep Shasta with me.”

  “So you have a new address? Make sure I get it. I thought you were thinking of leaving the Labyrinth, anyway.”

  “I am. But…”

  “You’re in a relationship.”

  “Sort of,” Sharon said.

  Karen stared off into the distance and thought about Nathan Mallory for a brief second and then said, “Whenever you’re ready to move back home.”

  “Are you moving home?”

  “I’m thinking about it. But Swan Nest is beautiful.”

  “Even after it was destroyed?”

  “The government’s been doing a good job putting it back together. But it’s not secure. Anyone can drive down the road and hide in the woods, unseen. So, I may go back to the old Middleburg home.”

  “Now?”

  “No. Now I’m flying back to Swan Nest.”

  They hugged goodbye, and Karen rolled her luggage across the apron to her plane.

  Before the Labyrinth incident, Karen had owned a Cessna 172. The government damaged it, so they offered her a new one.

  Karen requested a Piper Apache Geronimo PA-23-180 instead. It normally came with a 150 engine, but she insisted on the bigger one. She also had the passenger area modified, removing the back seats so she could easily transport the electronic equipment necessary to perform her work in configuring security systems. It was now a two-seater.

  She was adamant that the government install a Garmin 750 for navigation under Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) and GPS. It was an additional $17,500; but President Burke felt for what she did at the Labyrinth, she was well worth it. It didn’t take her long to adjust to how the Apache handled.

  Karen inspected the plane’s exterior and then slipped into the cockpit and opened her portable, flight-dedicated computer pad. She looked at the weather between Pittsburgh and Middleburg, Virginia.

  Karen’s cellphone rang. It was her sister.

  “Are you taking off?” Sharon asked.

  “No, well soon, I’m looking at the weather approaching Middleburg and Swan Nest.”

  “Bad?”

  “There’s a storm making its way across the middle of West Virginia. The leading edge is about twenty-five miles west of Moorefield, traveling at forty-five miles per hour. The northern edge is just about to hit Monongahela National Forest.”

  “You going to delay?” Sharon asked.

  “Well, the cumulonimbus clouds reach 60,000 feet. I can’t fly over them. I can safely lift to 10,000, but if I get caught in it, I could be hit with freezing rain, turbulence, and tailwind gusts that could cause a stall, and the always possible downdraughts that could knock me out of the sky. Not to mention the risk of lightning. But—”

  “You shouldn’t go. Don’t go.”

  “Hold on. I’ll sign onto my flight-plan program and see what it says.”

  Karen looked at her watch and logged on to her flight-plan-creating-and-submission website. She went to Maps view and created her primary VFR route from KPIT (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) to her private field at Swan Nest Pond outside Middleburg, Virginia.

  She tapped the “Send To” button on the Navigation log and chose “File & Brief.” The form filled in with the route details. She then calculated the distance from the location of the storm to Middleburg. It was ninety-one miles.

  She picked up her cell and continued talking to Sharon. “The storm’s travelling at forty-five miles per hour. I’ll be cruising at about one-sixty.”

  “But you’re flying a diagonal. It’s longer.”

  “Yeah, it’s one-hundred-forty-seven nautical miles, but I can fly that in a little over an hour.”

  “How much over an hour?” Sharon asked.

  Karen cleared her throat and said, “Seven minutes.”

  Sharon was silent.

  Karen said, “I can make it. If it looks too close, I’ll activate the alternative IFR plan with Dulles. Or, I’ll turn around and land north somewhere.”

  “But what about your fuel?” Sharon asked.

  Karen said, “In order for me to file an alternate plan, I need enough fuel to reach the destination plus an additional forty-five, in-the-air minutes. And I have that. I’ll also request Flight Following so that they know where I am at all times in case I have to fly in the clouds.”

  “Be careful, Sis,” Sharon said.

  Karen hung up and immediately began going through her preflight checklist.

  She made sure her propellers were high, the throttles were on idle, and the Master Switch was on. She rechecked her fuel quantity in the Mains.

  She glanced down. She had three green on her Landing Gear Indicators.

  She checked the flaps, ailerons, fuel quantity, tire and brake on the right wing and performed the same for the left.

  She got out of the Piper and removed the tie-downs under both wings and beneath the tail.

  She climbed back into the cockpit and grabbed her clipboard. She checked off Preflight Inspection and then secured her seatbelt. She made sure her landing gear handle was in neutral, the Fuel Selector was set to Main, and again that the Master Switch was on. She checked her Fuel Quantity Indicators
once more and yet again that she had three greens on the Landing Gear Indicators.

  She made sure her Anti-Collision Lights were on, the fuel mixtures were on Rich; the propellers were set to FULL HIGH RPM and the throttles were at FAST IDLE.

  She checked the pressure on the left engine fuel pump and made sure the left magneto was on. She double-checked that the brakes were on HOLD. She looked to see that the prop area was clear and engaged the starter. She verified that the right magneto was on, throttled to 1100 rpm, and checked the Oil Pressure/Temp.

  She went through the same procedure for the right engine. She made sure her mixtures were lean; avionics were on, along with the transponder and that the taxi area was clear.

  Karen looked at her clipboard. Unicom was frequency 122.95. She dialed into ATIS at 135.9, checked NOTAMs and then punched in 126.75 to acquire pre-taxi clearance.

  Karen announced, “Pittsburgh Clearance, Piper Apache, November Two Two One Three Papa at Guest Air requesting VFR to private at Swan Nest Pond, Virginia.”

  Pittsburgh Clearance responded, “One Three Papa, clearance on request, standby.”

  Pittsburgh Clearance announced, “One Three Papa, I have your clearance, advise ready to copy.”

  Karen said, “Ready to copy.”

  Pittsburgh Clearance announced, “One Three Papa is cleared to Swan Nest via standard departure, turn left, climb and maintain 7,000, departure frequency 119.35.”

  Karen read back the information to Pittsburgh Clearance.

  Pittsburgh Clearance announced, “One Three Papa, read-back is correct. You have pre-taxi clearance. Contact ground on 121.9 for taxi.”

  Karen said she would call and signed off. She then looked at the Takeoff Minimums, (Obstacle) Departure Procedures. There was a 24-foot pole 458 feet from the runway. She had to reach a minimum slope of 10:1 to clear it. Karen switched to Pittsburgh Ground.

  Karen said, “Pittsburgh Ground, Piper Apache, November Two Two One Three Papa at Guest Air ready for taxi, I have the weather.”

  Pittsburgh Ground responded, “One Three Papa, Pittsburgh Ground, taxi to runway One Four.”

  Karen confirmed, “To runway One Four, One Three Papa.”