by Unknown
Payne glanced at Jones, who stood several feet away. He stared back at him, waiting for Payne to make a move. Whatever Payne did, he would follow. No questions asked. Over the years, they had developed a special bond that was hard to explain, one that was forged in stressful situations like this, where life and death hung in the balance. They'd reached a point where they could finish each other's sentences, a trait that was often seen in identical twins—although one look at them proved they had different parents—and guess each other's thoughts.
That's one of the reasons why they were able to convince Schmidt to come with them so peacefully. Payne started piling on the bullshit, and Jones immediately broke out his shovel. Throw in the fact that Schmidt had a long history with them, trusting them implicitly from all their missions together, and they were able to persuade him in record time.
Unfortunately, the current situation wasn't quite so easy. Payne knew he wouldn't be able to convince the mu-taween of anything. They were too hard-core, as evidenced by their warning shot to Schmidt's throat. Too protective of their sacred city. As soon as they figured out that Payne and Jones were non-Muslims, they were going to open fire. No questions asked.
Still, Payne knew if he could buy some time, if he could pile on enough bullshit to get an extra minute, he had an idea that just might work. It was going to take a grand gesture on his part and some even bigger cojones, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. Then again, it followed the creed he had been taught many years ago when he was training for the Special Forces, one he adhered to during his stint with the MANIACs.
A good plan violently executed now is better than a great plan later.
And if there was one thing Payne was good at, it was violence.
"Listen to me," he said. "I am a United States soldier who was invited by your government to track the man you just killed. He came to Mecca to damage the Great Mosque and kill thousands of pilgrims in the hajj. We called for backup several minutes ago. Are you them?"
"Put down your weapon!"
"Look," he said, as he turned his gun backward and lowered it to the ground. "I am putting my weapon down. Just answer my question. Are you my backup?"
"Your partner, too! Tell him to drop his weapon."
Payne nodded at Jones, who followed Payne's instructions. "We are not here to hurt anyone. We are here to help. Your government should have told you."
"Told us what?"
"We are here to save the Great Mosque."
The officer shook his head. "We know nothing of your tale."
"Then you need to call it in. For your sake and ours. We have permission to be here."
"What does it hurt?" Jones added. "Call it in."
The mutaween whispered to each other in Arabic, discussing what they should do. Currently, they were in a position of power. Both of them were armed and far enough away from the suspects, who willingly surrendered their weapons, that they couldn't be attacked without getting off several deadly shots. Besides, if what the Americans were allying was accurate—that they did have authorization to be- in Mecca—then harming them would result in the mutaween's dismissal. Or even worse. Their bosses did not lake kindly to incompetence.
Finally, the officer spoke.
"You," he said, pointing at Jones, "move closer to your 11 friend."
Jones raised his hands in surrender and took several steps toward Payne.
"Stop right there."
He nodded and stopped about five feet away.
The officer returned his attention to Payne. "Who is your contact?"
"His name and number are programmed into my phone." Payne pointed toward the bag that sat near his right foot. "May I reach inside and get it?"
More whispering in Arabic. Then an answer in English. "Slowly."
"Understood."
Payne bent at his waist and inched his hand inside the bag. He fumbled around for a bit, his hand hidden from sight. An action that spooked the mutaween.
"What are you doing? Let me see your hand."
"Relax," he said. "I already gave you my gun. My partner gave you his gun. I am simply accessing my phone. It is password-protected. I cannot read the screen without the code."
"Let me see the phone. Let me see your hand!"
"Don't worry. I'm almost done. Just a couple more buttons."
"He's almost done," echoed Jones, who appeared borderline serene despite everything that was going on. "He's just getting the name of our contact."
"Let me see your—"
"There!" Payne blurted. "The phone has been accessed. Now you can make the call yourself. He will tell you everything you need to know."
"What is his name?"
"His name is Jabaal. He works for your government. Just talk to him and he will tell you everything. You will see."
The officers whispered again, discussing who should make the call.
"Should I toss you the phone?" Payne asked, reaching toward his bag.
"Stop!" the officer shouted. "Leave it alone. Back up ten steps and leave the bag there."
"Fine," Payne grunted. "We'll both back up. Ten giant steps."
Jones looked at him in understanding. "We're backing up."
"Giant steps," Payne mumbled. "Ten giant steps."
One.
They kept their hands in the air. The perfect prisoners.
Two.
The mutaween moved closer, never taking their eyes off Payne or Jones.
Three.
Each step was huge. Getting as far away as possible.
Four.
More words in Arabic. Discussing their situation.
Five.
Payne scanned the plaza, searching for additional guards.
Six.
The officer reached the bag and tapped it with his foot.
Seven.
Jones glanced at Payne, ready to move.
Eight.
Still aiming his gun, the officer dropped to his knees.
Nine.
Confused, he opened the bag and glanced inside.
Ten.
Payne and Jones grinned, covering their ears.
The timer, which Payne had set a moment before, sent a burst of electricity to the primer, which triggered the main explosive. The C-4 erupted with a vengeance, shredding the mutaween like they'd been struck by the sword of God, spraying chunks of bone and blood across the open courtyard and knocking Payne and Jones backward onto the hard ground.
If they had been any closer, they would have been in the kill zone.
But their giant steps backward had saved their lives.
It took several seconds before Payne was able to shake off the blast. When he did, he crawled over to Jones, who was rubbing his eyes, trying to refocus. "Are you okay?"
He nodded, even though he wasn't sure. "What about you?"
"I'm better than them."
* * *
51
Tuesday, January 2
Taif, Saudi Arabia
Payne and Jones were battered and bruised, but they reported to Colonel Harrington's office as soon as the Taif medical staff cleared them for duty. Each had sustained minor injuries, compliments of the bomb blast, but nothing a few days of rest couldn't cure.
Unfortunately, they realized a vacation would have to wait.
Harrington sat behind a large desk, staring at his computer screen, anxiously jotting notes on a legal pad. Every lime he opened a new file, he flipped a page and started again. His concentration was so intense he didn't notice I'ayne standing in the doorway.
"Colonel, you wanted to see us?"
Harrington glanced up. "Gentlemen, please have a seat. I'll be right with you."
Payne walked in first, followed by Jones. Both moved slower than normal, still feeling the effects of the previous day—one that had spanned several time zones and resulted in multiple bruises. Adrenaline had carried them through their mission, but now that they were back on base, the only thing that kept them going was their thi
rst for answers. And a lot of coffee.
"First of all," Harrington said as he finished writing, "let me thank you again. I know we talked briefly when you arrived last night, yet somehow I feel the need to repeat myself. Thanks to you, a major crisis was averted, and I just wanted to express my appreciation."
Payne and Jones said nothing, realizing that Harrington wasn't finished.
"That being said, there are still a number of loose ends that need to be dealt with, some of them more puzzling than others." He turned the pages of his notebook and focused on the first item. A single name was written: Shari Shasmeen. "What can you tell me about the girl?"
"Not much," Payne admitted. "We found her tied up and beaten pretty badly in a back room. She was in charge of some archaeological dig and gave us a tour of the maintenance tunnel before our assault. Other than that, we didn't have much time to chat."
"Yet you brought her back with you?"
Payne nodded. "After the blast, we slipped past the Saudi guards by going out the same tunnel. When we got back to the entrance, she was still standing there, unable to leave without a chaperone because of all the mutaween running around."
Jones added, "We figured she needed a way out, and we needed more information about Abdul-Khaliq. It seemed like a match made in heaven."
"On the trip home, did she tell you anything about the envelope?"
"Not really," Payne said. "She slept the whole way back. Why? What was inside?"
"Two things," Harrington answered, glancing at his notepad. "One of them is confusing, the other we're still trying to decipher. While you two were getting your beauty rest, my team spent the night trying to connect the dots. In fact, that's what I was working on when you walked in."
"Go on."
Harrington grabbed a manila folder that sat on the corner of his desk. Inside, there was a single document. He took it out and handed it to Payne. "Don't worry. It's not the original. We sent that out for testing."
The sheet was folded in two. It was written in English and had a simple logo on the front, a similar design on the back. Payne opened it and scanned the listings. He saw everything from nachos to hamburgers to chicken fingers. "What the hell is this?"
"It's a take-out menu from the restaurant at Al-Gaim. We found it inside the envelope."
"Someone sent her a menu? That doesn't make sense."
"Like I said, it's confusing."
Payne handed it to Jones, who stared at the menu with great interest. He studied everything, paying particular attention to the interior text.
"Do you see something?" Payne asked.
Jones nodded, smiling. "The club sandwich looks good."
Payne ignored the comment, knowing that he would continue.
"Actually," Jones said, "the menu doesn't bother me. It's what it represents that bothers me."
"Meaning?"
"Whoever sent the envelope knew about Schmidt long before we did."
"How so?" Harrington demanded.
"Two years ago, when Schmidt's unit was killed at the hospital, where were you housing their families?"
"Al-Gaim."
"And when Schmidt attacked the towers, what was his access point?"
"The tunnel," Payne answered.
"Obviously that's not a coincidence. Whoever sent the package knew about Schmidt, knew about his motivation, and knew where he was going to attack several days in advance. Of course, that triggers a floodgate of questions that I'd rather not think about until I know what else was inside the package. That might put things in a proper context."
Nodding in agreement, Harrington grabbed another manila folder. This time he handed it to Jones. "We found this taped inside the menu."
Jones opened the folder and stared at the image. It was a picture of an SD card, a computer storage device that was slightly bigger than a postage stamp yet capable of holding gigabytes of information. Some held more data than a DVD. "What's on it?"
"We're still trying to figure that out," Harrington admitted. "All of the files are encrypted, including one substantial video file that we've been working on all night. Once we crack the code, we should know a whole lot more. I'm expecting to hear something soon."
"In the meantime," Payne suggested, "would you mind if we talked to Shari? Since we bailed her out, I'm sure she'd be willing to open up. Who knows what she might know?"
Harrington smiled. "I think that's a great idea. In fact, I've already set it up. She's waiting for you down the hall."
Shari Shasmeen paced back and forth in the interview room. Her nose was covered in white tape; her eyes were black and swollen. She looked like a prizefighter the morning after a bad loss.
When Payne opened the door, she stopped and broke into a huge grin. The stress that had been evident a moment before was replaced with instant relief. "Thank God, it's you."
Payne smiled at her comment. "God's a little formal. You can call me Jon."
Jones followed him into the room, closing the door. "And I'm D.J."
She gave each of them a hug. "It's great to see you both. It really is."
Payne pulled out the chair that faced the video camera, mounted on the ceiling, and helped her sit down. "Are you okay? You seem upset."
"What can I say? It's been a rough couple of days." She took a deep breath, trying to relax. "I guess I shouldn't complain. Things could've been a lot worse. I mean, I could be dead. But—"
"But what?"
"But I was this close to making a major discovery. This close to a fulfilling a dream. And right before I could grasp it, it was taken away."
"You mean the site?"
She nodded, an aggrieved look in her eyes.
"You know," Payne said, "we still don't know much about your time in Mecca. What you were looking for, how you were recruited, and so on. If you don't mind, we'd love lo ask you some questions about your work."
"Of course. Whatever you need."
"Let's start with the basics. Who hired you for the dig?"
"His name is Omar Abdul-Khaliq, a wealthy Saudi with ii vast network of connections. A few months ago, he con-luclcd me by phone and asked if I'd be interested in running a team in Arabia. He'd heard about my research and lell I'd be the perfect person for the job. Clearly, it was lliitlering—especially when he told me that the dig would he in Mecca. Until then, I never thought I'd have a chance in work there."
Jones asked, "Because of your religion?"
"And my sex. Mecca doesn't look kindly on either."
"But he got you inside?"
"Me and the others. All of us were Americans. None of us were Muslims. He said he was looking for the strongest team possible and felt we would work well together. So he got us the appropriate paperwork and snuck us into the city."
"And you weren't hassled?"
"Not once. I'm not sure how Omar pulled it off, but we were never bothered at the site. At least not until recently. Obviously, things changed drastically over the past few days."
* * *
52
Payne was known for his ability to read people. And in this case, he had nothing but positive feelings about Shari Shas-meen. She might have worked for Omar Abdul-Khaliq, but she sure as hell wasn't helping him. At least not knowingly.
"When did things start to go bad?" he asked.
"About a week ago, I called Omar to update him on our progress. When I told him that we were getting ready to verify the site, he was thrilled with the news. At that time he was out of the country but said as soon as he returned he was going to stop by for the big unveiling."
"Did he ever make it?" Jones wondered.
She shook her head. "A few days later he called to let me know that he'd been delayed. However, he was so confident that he'd make it to Mecca in the next day or two that he was going to have a package delivered to the site. He hinted that it was very important but wouldn't tell me what was inside."
Payne asked, "When did it show up?"
"On Saturday afternoon."
Payne nodded. That meant whoever sent it knew about the attack at least two days before it happened. "And what can you tell me about the delivery guy?"
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. "Middle-aged. Tan complexion. Probably Middle Eastern. But no trace of an accent. I'm guessing American."
Jones glanced at Payne. "What's with all the Americans?"
"I was wondering the same thing." He paused for a moment, trying to figure out the significance, before he returned his attention to Shari. "What happened next?"
"He gave me the envelope and left."
"No conversations. No clues about who he was or where he was going."
She shook her head. "We found him about an hour later. Someone had slit his throat and dumped his body by the exit. There was blood everywhere. After that, I did the only thing I could. I called Omar and told him what had happened."
Payne nodded. "How did he react?"
"He was calm. No hint of panic. He said he'd take care of it. Less than an hour later, a team of guards showed up and removed the body."
"Were they Americans?" Jones asked.
"No," she said. "They were Arabs."
She gave them a basic description of the guards and explained how Omar ordered her to leave the tunnel until the hajj was over. He said the Arabs would protect the site while she explored the city or stayed in the safety of her hotel room, which was a few miles away.
"Yet we found you in the tunnel," Payne commented.
"What can I say? I'm stubborn. I stopped by to get some work done late Sunday night, and the place was empty. No guards in sight. They didn't show up until Monday morning. And when they arrived, they were carrying tools."
"And that's when they attacked you?"
