The Angels of Destiny

by Haydn Jones

  "You mean nerve gas?"

  “Yes.”

  "Any particular nerve gas?" McPherson was trying to tread carefully as the subject was obviously a sensitive one.

  "What do you know about nerve gas, Doctor?"

  "Very little, I'm afraid."

  "Let me explain then." Professor Phelps stood up and moved to a chalk board on the otherwise plain wall picking up a piece of chalk. "There are two general forms of the gas, G and V. Both are organophosphates that block the neurotransmitter." As he explained he enthusiastically chalked the salient points on the board. "Specifically, nerve gas is a potent inhibitor of the enzyme acetylcholinesterase. The first gas was synthesized in Germany during the thirties, hence the prefix G. Then came Sarin classified as GB. It works on the nervous system, stopping the normal muscle function. The victims quite simply piss and shit themselves before dying from asphyxiation. A horrible death Doctor, I'm sure you'll agree."

  “Yes, it must be awful." Why do I know all this ?

  "Then, if that wasn't enough, came the V class of nerve gas." The Professor was busily chalking on the board as if giving a lecture to a class of young undergraduates. “The V form was invented here at Porton Down, in the fifties. It is ten times more toxic than the G form and far more stable."

  "Is it still made here sir?"

  "My dear boy, nerve gas is classed as a weapon of mass destruction, UN resolution 687, 1991. Production was outlawed by the Chemical Weapons Convention of 1993."

  "But that didn't take effect until 1997 did it." McPherson added. Where did that come from?

  Phelps looked surprised, "Yes that's true."

  "So Habib only worked on nerve gas antidotes, not nerve gas?"

  The professor didn't answer his question and McPherson realized he was now on thin ice. It was necessary to rephrase the question. "Is it fair to say that to make an antidote you would also know how to make the gas itself?"

  "Yes, I think that's a fair assumption, Doctor."

  “So, Habib has the knowledge to make nerve gas."

  "Habib had the knowledge, Doctor. He's dead, remember."

  “Professor," McPherson paused..."Habib is not dead, he's very much alive."

  "How wonderful... So why are you asking me all these questions and not him?"

  "We think he's in Pakistan but it’s not good news because we know he's now an active terrorist. His death was faked so that he could practice his jihad calling incognito."

  "Are you suggesting he's making nerve gas?" the Professor asked.

  "We don't know. How easy is it to make, if you have the know-how?"

  “It’s not easy at all. You'd need a laboratory with some very specialist equipment indeed."

  "We must assume that he would be able to obtain that equipment, Professor."

  "Oh my god!”

  Forty-Five

  The White House, Washington DC

  The President was sitting at his desk in the Oval Office having a telephone conversation. The southern sky was a peaceful backdrop, through the big bay windows behind him, and a delicate shade of pink that flooded the room with a warm glow that juxtaposed his cold, stony expression.

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Hunter's response emanated from a speaker on the desk.

  "Are you telling me that North Korea has the ability to mass produce nerve gas?"

  "Our intelligence in the region identified two people traveling from Pakistan via Beijing to North Korea last week, one of them was our old friend, Ahmed Shah. We can only assume he was there to pass on or sell information to them. According to Rob McPherson who visited Porton Down yesterday, Shah is an expert in nerve gas technology."

  "This is not good news Colin. We're pretty sure that North Korea doesn't have a long range nuclear capability yet but if they're looking to use chemical weapons that's just as dangerous."

  "We're dealing with people here that are completely unpredictable enemies of the state Mr. President."

  "That's what worries me, Colin…How long would it take them to make the stuff?"

  "Rob McPherson says once they have the knowhow, and we must assume they now have it, then they could produce V series gas within weeks."

  “What's that?"

  “Sorry...The most deadly nerve gas ever made."

  “Where is Shah, now?”

  “We don't know, probably back in Pakistan. That’s where his operational base is.”

  "And you say Rob McPherson knows him?”

  "They were friends years ago at Cambridge. Shah was known then as Habib and apparently very different to the radical extremist he's turned out to be."

  "I wish he'd stayed dead, Colin. It would be much easier without him around."

  "We're on the case sir. We have already initiated a drone program. His days are numbered. We just need to get him out in the open."

  "Well, if you think it will help, get McPherson to go to Pakistan to sort out the mess."

  "We'll do everything we can, Mr President."

  "Colin, thanks for the update. I need to arrange meetings with the Chinese Ambassador and the President of Pakistan immediately. Keep me informed. If the situation changes call me straight away."

  “Yes, sir.”

  The President hit a switch and ended the conversation. Spinning around on his captain’s swivel chair he looked up at the evening sky. He nervously tapped his lips with the tips of his fingers. God I need your help now more than ever. Hear my prayer and guide me through this crisis. Show me the way.

  Forty-Six

  Band-e Amir, Afghanistan

  A sickly sweet floral smell filled the cave as the smoke from the pure opium rose high into the roof of the cavernous space. A group of men dressed in black were sitting, trance like, around an open wood fire. Ahmed Shah had spent nearly an hour explaining his plans to the sixteen jihads and explaining to them what had been achieved to-date. Shah had enthusiastically repeated his ultimate goal to them and promised it was about to become reality. He reassured them that everything was going to plan and soon they would be rejoicing and praising Allah for his guidance and help. Now though they where high and morphine pumped around their bloodstreams corrupting and diluting their thoughts. In a corner of the cave Shah and Raman-Ali now sat quietly alone.

  "We have our people in place at Karachi airport and they know exactly what is expected of them," Raman-Ali reported, smiling broadly.

  Shah smiled back at him in satisfied recognition.”They are key to this operation. Without them all of this would not be possible. Make sure they are well paid for their efforts," demanded Shah.

  "They will be well looked after and their families, I can assure you Ahmed, for one day soon they will be heroes in the eyes of Allah."

  “Good. We also need to plan the final details of the bombing of the American Embassy in Karachi because that is key to the whole process. Also when we return to Pakistan tomorrow I will need to arrange for the canisters to be transported to the airport. Has Haseeb been silenced?"

  "Yes, he has been silenced. He was not trustworthy and we cannot afford any mishaps now we are so near," Raman-Ali answered authoritatively.

  “Absolutely — Did you cut off his head?" Shah asked nonchalantly.

  "Yes, he screamed and begged for mercy just like an imperialist pig; scared of death. I saw the fear in his eyes and smelt his piss and shit as his body convulsed from the pain of my knife cutting through his flesh and then...I held high his warm severed head and I knew Allah was pleased." Raman-Ali smiled contentedly having excitedly relived the decapitation. At six-feet-five and two-hundred and eighty-pound he was a big, strong man. His beliefs were extremist and he was very dangerous. He once admitted to Shah when he was high on opium that he enjoyed cutting the heads of infidels more than sex. The fear in their eyes as he approached with his knife excited him so much he would get an erection.

  "Did you video it?"

  “Yes, we did."

  "Good, we can use it in the future if we need to. Fear is our most powerful
weapon in this holy war."

  Raman-Ali looked up from a small black leather note book he was holding. "Three of our men are now full time technicians on the presidential plane. Aarif is Head technician for hydraulics and the other two, Majeed and Mahmood Ali have complete access to maintenance procedures and software diagnostics for the 737. We can close the airport when we choose. Your requirements will be met in full"

  "This is good news," responded Shah, as he raised his head to look at the smoked filled cave ceiling. "We will meet up with them soon to explain the final details of my plan."

  "I have already told them to expect a meeting." Raman Ali enthused.

  "The second thing that needs to be done is to set up the raid on the flat. What is the status?" Shah asked.

  "The apartment is ready. All the documents about our visit to North Korea are there and the computers are loaded with the information about the false satellite images as well. When they get their hands on it they'll think they've struck gold."

  "That's exactly what we want them to think Raman. It's got to look like a real scoop for the President of Pakistan. We need him to be invited to America as a hero who singlehandedly stopped a nuclear war and after they raid the apartment that's exactly what will happen. Tell them to make the call on Friday one hour after the bomb goes off at ten o'clock. The flat will be swarming with secret service agents in minutes. Praise be the servants of Allah, for soon the evil ones will be dead. But now my friend it is time for us to enjoy ourselves and relax before the coming days. Obey Allah and Allah will reward you."

  "Subhaan Allah wa bi hamdih.” (Glory and praise be to Allah) replied Raman.

  "I will return in a few moments. I want to walk for a while under the stars." Shah left the cave and inhaled the cool night air. He looked up at the night sky in awe, just as he did when he was a young boy. He knew that the stars would always be the same but soon the world would be a very different place.

  Leesburg, VA (West of Washington DC)

  Vicki McPherson stood on the veranda of the beautiful four bedroom home and her smile showed her approval for the property. The sun was shining and the air was warm and scented with the smell of freshly cut grass. Rob McPherson stood on the large lawn holding Daniel in his arms and looking up at the home for sale.

  “Rob, there's something right about this place. It has a feel to it that I can't explain, but I love it."

  "I know, I feel the same way."

  "It's the kind of place I want our son to grow up in. Away from the city in the fresh air. The pool is great and the house is bigger than I imagined and that kitchen is amazing. It's a real family home isn't it Rob?"

  "It's the fifth house we've viewed this week and I hope it's the last, darling," Rob said, smiling sarcastically.

  Vicki walked over to Rob and the baby and wrapped her arms around them. "Shall we do it, shall we make an offer?" Daniel reached out to her and she took him in her arms. "What do you think, my love, do you like it?"

  "Let's do it, darling. The agent is sitting in the truck, let’s get her to call and offer the asking price."

  “Yes, — let’s do it, Rob — Oh my god." Vicki's face was glowing with excitement and anticipation.

  Within ten minutes of the offer being made the agent’s cell phone rang. "Hello...Okay, I'll let them know, thank you…They've accepted your offer guys. Congratulations; you’re looking at your new home."

  Vicki stood quite still and tears filled her eyes. She kissed Daniel on the cheek. "The journey is just beginning my love. Let’s enjoy it together.”

  Disinterested and insipid Daniel, unnoticed, lay his head on Vicki's shoulder and his normally healthy complexion became alarmingly pale.

  Forty-Seven

  Karachi, Pakistan

  The air in the high-rise flat overlooking the suburbs of Karachi was thick with cigarette smoke. Seven men were sitting around a large table looking at a stainless steel canister, some twenty centimeters in diameter by forty centimeters, reminiscent of a large thermos flask. Additional bits had been welded onto the sides that appeared to be some kind of valves and there was a black plastic electrical connection box secured to the top of the robust metal cylinder. Ahmed Shah was looking at the device with a smug grin on his face having just removed the cloth that had previously hidden the device from view. Nods of approval from around the table pleased Shah and he stood up to speak.

  "My brothers, you're looking at an integral part of my final plan and with your help it will soon be reality. This is one of two canisters that you will fit into the President’s plane. As some of you already know the devices will be connected into the planes hydraulics and activated when the landing gear is selected. As the plane comes into land at Dulles Airport the canisters will release their contents into the air over the airport where the President of America will be eagerly awaiting the hero of the day...Waiting to greet the President of Pakistan no less. The canisters will release enough nerve gas to wipe out most of the East coast of America and they will carry the North Korean emblem. The western world will be plunged into turmoil, the President of America will be dead and the financial markets around the world will collapse. Most probably, America will panic and drop a nuclear bomb on North Korea who have been threatening to do the same to America for some weeks now and the..." Ahmed Shah was interrupted in mid sentence by a knock on the door to the flat. Raman-Ali quickly moved to the door and looked through the security lens in the door.

  "It's them," he said, looking at Shah.

  “Brothers, it is an honor for us to meet the man who will deliver the bomb in the name of Allah."

  Shah motioned to open the door. When the door opened a fresh faced young man was stood in silence with his head bowed and behind him stood his mother dressed in a black burqa.

  "Please come in," Shah said, gesturing with his hand.

  The room was silent as the two visitors shuffled into the corner of the smokey room. Finally the young man looked up and scanned the people stood around the table staring back at him uneasily. The smoke irritated his young lungs and he coughed. Shah realized he did not know their names but he had to make a start.

  "Young man," What’s his name? “It's a great honor to meet you. We want you to know that as the chosen one you will be rewarded. You have been chosen by Allah to do this necessary deed and soon you will be with him at his side. A proud hero, standing tall with pride."

  The young man gave a nervous smile and nodded in clear approval of his task. His mother looked up at her son and also smiled her approval from behind her veil. She knew her boy was one of the lucky few people on this earth certain to meet Allah and be rewarded as a true servant of the faith. Everyone in the room then went over to thank the presumptive sacrifice and his proud mother. They were looking at a young man who would soon drive a car as near to the American Embassy as possible with its trunk packed with high explosives, glass and nails designed to rip the flesh off the bones of anyone within a ten yard radius. The explosion would be so powerful it would take the roof off the car and project the bombers head some thirty feet into the air (a common consequence of wearing a suicide belt). Nearby windows would shatter from the explosion hurling broken shards of glass that would pierce the flesh of unsuspecting office workers. Pedestrians bodies would be riddled with nails and glass and if not killed, hideously maimed for life within a matter of seconds. Many would bleed to death as they lay helpless in the street. For long minutes the pitiful cries of the wounded and dying would be the only sounds, but soon chaos would take over and the wailing of ambulances and police cars and the panicked shouting of horrified confused onlookers would add to the ambience of death on the streets, stained, once again, with the blood of the innocent.

  Shah still couldn't remember his name. "Thank you for coming today and please be at peace, knowing Allah is on your side. Soon you will be a martyr. A martyr your family will be proud of — forever.”

  The young man again bowed his head and moved to the door, thankful to breathe fresh a
ir again. He was quickly followed by his mother. Raman-Ali spoke quietly to them for a few moments outside the door before they left to take the twenty minute ride home across the city to the North-West, in the same blacked-out chauffeur driven Mercedes that brought them there via the Lasbela Bridge. Finally Raman closed the door behind the two visitors. "I have arranged for the money to be paid to the family,"

  "Thank you, Raman. He is a good choice, you did well," responded Shah. "Okay...let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do and very little time to do it in."

  The people around the table clearly relaxed and the room soon filled with cigarette smoke. Shah took control of the meeting again by describing the series of events that had to take place after the bombing and everyone around the table listened intently.

  "It is important that the authorities are tipped off by someone giving the code name that identifies it as a genuine call and not some stupid hoax," Shah glanced at Raman and he nodded knowingly. "The caller, that is you Raman; unhappy with the many deaths, will give the location of this flat, housing the computers and all the information about the visit to North Korea including the fake images sold to them for a cool one million dollars. Within minutes of making the call the front door will be smashed in by elite troops of the Pakistani army and the room stripped of its contents. The game will be over and the President of Pakistan will have saved the world from the brink of disaster."

  There was a slight pause before the gathering simultaneously burst into raucous laughter, led by their auspicious leader Ahmed Shah.

  Forty-Eight

  It was the McPherson family’s first weekend in their new home and Rob McPherson had decided that gardening was the main task of the day. He was busy tending the front yard, making the most of a glorious sunny day. They wanted it to look good for Vicki's family when they visited in a week’s time. As he worked on the flower border his mind was occupied with the events and meetings planned for the coming week. Hunter had relocated back to the Pentagon after closing down the Houston Project and disbanding the team. Rob felt a real sadness at losing his team and a real sense of frustration at not being able to continue their challenge to the end, whatever that was. Knowing they are out there and not being able to do anything was so annoying. Hunter had made it quite clear to McPherson that he was still working for him and the first meeting on Monday was to be at Hunter’s office in the Pentagon. McPherson wondered what kind of work he would be involved with and where indeed his office would be. He was after all a scientist, but he had to admit the Houston Project had been exciting, if not outright dangerous at times. The thought of continuing to work for Hunter pleased him and he knew there was a genuine respect for each other after what had happened over the last year.