Dwight said, “Very good, men! Anybody who runs a Geiger counter over this box will definitely find some radiation. If they open it, they’ll have to go through three layers of probes before gettin’ to the RV. That’s not likely to happen. Let’s get that crate loaded onto the Flash as soon as you can. Got to make a run to Galveston at seven o’clock in the morning.”
The crate was quickly loaded onto the Flash, a crew boat that carried oil rig crews and supplies back and forth to the rigs in the Gulf. The Flash set off for Galveston harbor at precisely 0700 hours. They were timing the arrival of the crew boat in port to coincide with the departure of several large cruise ships, thus ensuring that the port authorities would be busy.
GenCon’s pier was just up the shipping channel from where the cruise ships docked. GenCon traffic between the airport and the GenCon dock was constant, so one more delivery truck bringing a crate of downhole logging tools for shipment to one of the GenCon oil rigs somewhere in the world was not going to garner any special interest. The crate was scheduled to be air freighted out on an Al Arabiyah Boeing 747 the next morning. The shipment was routed across the Atlantic to Durban, South Africa, and then to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, a city of one and a half million people. This, however, was the time of the hajj, the annual Muslim pilgrimage to the Ka‘abah, when the population of Mecca swelled to over three million.
Dwight watched the Flash leave Platform Alpha. Hopefully, everything would go as he and George had planned. This was going to be one big surprise for some people who were used to doing the surprising!
Ahmed Farouk, the maintenance supervisor on the twelve GenCon jack-up rigs located in the Red Sea, waited for the arrival of Flight 2003 from Durban. He and two other men were in a parking lot in the freight receiving area of the King Abdul Aziz Airport in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. The airport was strategically located where it could serve both the city of Mecca and the freight needs for the oil companies working the many rigs in the Red Sea. Not far from the airport, the Jeddah Islamic port facility was the main base for all the crew boats that worked and serviced the offshore rigs. Ahmed watched as the Al Arabiyah cargo plane landed and taxied to the international cargo terminal.
Angel Piro and Juan Salamanca, both originally from San Juan, Puerto Rico, were standing near Ahmed. All three men, unsmiling and serious, worked for Dwight, not just GenCon, and they were all dark skinned with bushy beards. Frequently, Saudi natives mistook the Puerto Ricans for Arabs.
Ahmed Farouk was born in Medina, Saudi Arabia, not far from Jeddah and had emigrated with his parents to Houston, Texas when he was twelve. The Farouks were Christians and as such had been persecuted in Saudi Arabia. The Saudis and their hired thugs, the Mukhabarat, had repeatedly threatened the family before Ahmed’s father, a well-educated man, had moved the family to the U.S. to stop the Saudi harassment.
Angel and Juan had moved from San Juan to New York City before the age of ten. Although they had not known each other while growing up in New York, they both left the city about the same time and ended up working for GenCon in Galveston. Both Puerto Ricans lost family members in the attacks of 9/11.
The big 747 shut down its engines, and a contingent of Saudi customs agents converged on the aircraft to begin inspecting Flight 2003’s cargo as it was offloaded to a customs inspection warehouse. Ahmed drove the van to the freight loading docks to wait for the customs clearance. As the three men stood beside the van, they watched the customs inspectors going through the cargo. The inspectors methodically checked each item against the flight’s cargo manifest. Some of the crates were merely checked off on the manifest without further inspection while some were opened and the contents were verified.
GenCon had been shipping freight into Saudi Arabia for years, and most days, their crates were merely counted and checked off on the manifest. Today was not one of those days.
When the customs inspectors reached the GenCon “probe” crate, they studied the manifest and the crate. One of the inspectors appeared to check off the shipment. Then, the supervising inspector said, “Stop. We’ll open this one.” The junior inspector shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the crate while talking with the warehouse worker who was opening and closing the crates for the inspection team. The supervisor turned around and strolled over to the GenCon crew.
“Salaam Alakum, Ahmed.”
Ahmed returned the greeting “Alakum Salaam, Faizal. I am curious, why are you opening our cargo this time? I know you are doing your job, but we must get the equipment to the maintenance boats, and I have to go into Mecca, all before dark.” Ahmed noted Faizal was not smiling as he usually did. And he seemed to be tense.
“Ahmed, you know the trouble that is caused by the missing American submarine. You also know the rumor this submarine is on a mission to destroy the Muslim world. I don’t have a problem, but the Mukhabarat were here this morning, and we were told to make sure there are no nuclear weapons smuggled into our country.”
“Faizal, we are interested in producing oil not blowing up the world. Besides, even if we tried, we couldn’t smuggle in one of those missiles—they must be forty feet long!”
“Nevertheless, I have my instructions, and your freight has radioactive devices. I would be remiss in my duties if I ignored the possibility.” Faizal seemed to be staring a hole in Ahmed. His gaze didn’t flinch.
“Inspector Faizal!” shouted the junior inspector opening the crate.
“I will be back,” he said as he quickly moved toward the crate.
Ahmed looked at Angel and Juan. Beads of perspiration stood out on their foreheads as they tried to contain their emotions and appear nonchalant. Inspector Faizal said a few words to the junior inspector, then turned around, paused, and walked back to the GenCon team.
“He is new. The Geiger counter picked up the radiation. He doesn’t read English, so he didn’t know the probes were radioactive. I have explained to him the purpose for the probes, and he will open the crate so we can finish this. Okay?”
“Yes, that’s good.”
Ahmed tensely watched as the inspector and the warehouse man removed the top of the wooden crate. Since the inspector was new, it was likely he would do a thorough inspection to impress Inspector Faizal. This was not good. Definitely not.
The inspector and the warehouse man removed a top layer of rigid foam, exposing six probes nestled side by side across the width of the crate. They lifted the probes out, one by one, and carefully laid them in a row on the concrete floor of the warehouse. They then removed the next layer of foam, exposing six more probes. Once again, they lifted the probes out, one by one, and carefully laid them next to the others on the concrete floor.
Ahmed exchanged glances with Angel and Juan. Only one more layer of probes lay between the inspector and the hidden RV. If it was discovered, there would be no way for Ahmed to explain it. They would be taken into custody and interrogated in ways known only to the Mukhabarat. Their techniques would never find their way to the headlines of any Saudi newspaper. The editors knew too well what would happen to them, and their families, if such a story were ever published.
The inspector and the warehouse man removed the next layer of rigid foam. The last six probes lay before them in the crate, with supposedly three more layers under them. The inspector and the warehouse man got on each end of the first probe and slowly lifted it out of the crate. They carried it to the line of probes on the concrete floor and carefully laid it alongside number twelve. As they returned to the crate, Ahmed ostensibly looked at his watch and sighed loud enough for Inspector Faizal to hear.
The gesture was effective enough to cause Inspector Faizal to look at his own watch.
“Four more layers, Faizal. At this rate it will be dark before they finish inspecting one crate!”
The men lifted the second probe of the layer out of the crate and began carrying it across the floor of the warehouse.
Faizal looked irritated at the slow pace of the inspection. “Ahmed, have you hidden a missile in
that crate?” Faizal asked jokingly.
“Me? No I haven’t,” smiled Ahmed. “A camel, maybe, but no missile.”
Faizal laughed. “Okay, that’s enough!” he shouted to the inspector. “We have to inspect all this cargo before evening prayer. Ahmed, I suspect you can close the crate? Good, I thought so.”
“Yes we can, Faizal. Thank you for your help.”
“Salaam Alakum, Ahmed.”
“Alakum Salaam.”
With that, Faizal placed an inspection sticker on the top of the crate and then moved with the inspection team to other crates in the warehouse. Ahmed and the two Puerto Ricans were left alone to reload and close the crate.
Juan and Angel jumped to the task of carrying the probes back to the crate and reloading them. They both had drips of sweat that the heat had not caused. They filled the crate, replaced the wooden top, and secured it in place with a couple of screws. They ostensibly replaced all ten screws so as not to cause any suspicion even though they knew they would be opening it again very soon. They loaded the crate into the back of the GenCon van, and Ahmed drove to a holding area where dozens of GenCon crates awaited further transportation to the offshore oil field.
“Whew, that was close!” Angel said, as they pulled the crate out of the back of the van.
“Yes, it was very close,” Ahmed responded. “But you know what? Close is no cigar, my friend. The fact is, they missed it. That means we’re on. So don’t think about the past; stay alert because we still have a lot to do.”
Behind a tall stack of GenCon crates, Angel and Juan reopened the probe crate and quickly unloaded the probes, revealing the RV stored below.
“Get it out and put it in the back of my Land Cruiser over there,” ordered Ahmed. “Cover it up with the pile of dirty laundry I put back there. If we get stopped, it would raise suspicions to have a crate in the back, and the authorities would want to search it. Dirty laundry would be par for the course for three GenCon workers!”
Within ten minutes, they were on their way to Mecca, about an hour and a half away on a four-lane highway.
It was a dark, moonless night. On the highway to Mecca, there was little traffic, so thousands of stars were brightly visible overhead. As they approached the city, the light pollution from Mecca became visible low on the horizon, and the fainter stars began to disappear. Soon, the traffic began to pick up, and only the brightest constellations could be seen in the night sky.
There were just a few days until the beginning of the hajj pilgrimage, and most of the country’s security forces were in Mecca to maintain traffic flow and to direct pilgrims to the streets designated for the walk to the Ka‘abah.
“Let’s review the plan.” Ahmed’s voice was strained, but calm and just loud enough to be heard over the drone of the Toyota’s engine and tires. “We will be entering Mecca on the Umm Al-Qura street and pass in front of the Al-Masjid al-Haram mosque, the site of the Ka‘abah, on Bab Al-umrah street. We should expect a lot of pilgrims and walking traffic, even late at night. We’ll park by the north entrance of the Ka‘abah at twelve o’four a.m. If everything goes as planned, there will be an automobile accident at exactly twelve o’five a.m., which will cut the power to the streetlights in that area. We should have about twenty seconds before people’s eyes adjust to the dark and maybe a minute before the streetlights come back on. So, we have to be ready to unload as soon as the lights go out. When I stop, what do you two do?”
Juan spoke up, “Angel and I get out and pretend to check the tires and the undercarriage. As soon as the lights go out, we lift the tailgate and start pulling out the RV.”
“Yeah,” continued Angel, “and when Juan and I have the RV about halfway out, you should be there to grab the front end. Then we run like hell to the wall by the north entrance and set it down. And then we walk back to the car. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes. We should be driving away by twelve o’seven.”
Ahmed said, “We’re coming up to the cloverleaf on Third Ring Road. We should be there in about five minutes. So, remember, we walk back to the car, no hurry. If the lights come back on, we don’t want people seeing us running. If we are stopped, we say we were just stopping by on our trip into town to check out the mosque.”
“Yeah, just stopping by to leave a little message, I mean see the mosque,” Angel joked.
“Right, a tiny little message,” laughed Juan nervously.
Traffic was lighter than they expected in the area of the mosque. Ahmed slowly rolled the SUV up to the curb directly across the street from the north entrance. Angel and Juan looked at Ahmed. He studied his watch with one finger raised in a sign to wait for his signal.
12:04
“Go.”
Juan and Angel got out of the SUV and moved toward the rear. They spent about twenty seconds looking at the rear tires and the undercarriage. Both of them met at the tailgate. They had been observing the people on the streets, mostly pilgrims, and nobody gave them a second glance. The north entrance was closed and locked for the night, so the usual contingent of security personnel was gone.
12:05
They raised the tailgate and started to sweep aside the dirty laundry, exposing the RV, but the lights didn’t go out. They didn’t even flicker. Ahmed got out and walked to the tailgate.
“If the lights don’t go out in twenty seconds we need to get off the street. We can’t be…”
Blackness. The lights went out.
“Go, go, go.” Angel and Juan grabbed the wide, heavy end of the RV and pulled it out. As the tapered end emerged, Ahmed grabbed the tip and caught it as it exited the tailgate. Five seconds had passed. They started moving across the street. Still black, but there were people close enough to be heard cursing the darkness. Twelve seconds. Across the street, now twenty feet to the big palm tree next to the front entrance.
12:06
They laid the RV against the wall and then casually started walking down the sidewalk by the mosque. No one spoke. They passed a group of pilgrims in the dark headed the opposite direction. Nobody noticed the four-foot long RV between the wall of the mosque and the palm tree.
A hundred feet or so down the walkway, Ahmed signaled to cross the street. As they did so, the lights came back on.
12:07
A few of the pilgrims cheered the returning light. Ahmed and company casually made their way back to the SUV.
A feeling of panic was setting in as their hearts raced. They had an almost irresistible urge to run! In a low voice that could not be overheard, Ahmed cautioned, “Boys, continue to walk slow. If anybody spots the RV and raises a fuss, look like we’re interested, but continue to the car.”
A group of pilgrims walking toward the north entrance had stopped by the palm tree.
“Uh-oh. Time to pick up the pace. Calmly.”
They arrived at the SUV, and Angel closed the tailgate as Juan and Ahmed got in. Angel opened his door, stealing one last glance at the RV as he slid into the back seat. One of the pilgrims was looking their way.
12:08
“Let’s go, Ahmed. We have an interested party.”
Ahmed eased the Land Cruiser away from the curb and drove northeast on Bab Al-umrah. They turned onto the Second Ring Road, which took them to the Jeddah Old Road. Finally, they hit the Third Ring Road and with a sigh of relief headed back to Jeddah.
Chapter 32
The pilgrim approached the north entrance of the Ka‘abah just as three men hurriedly crossed the street and got into a Toyota Land Cruiser. One of them looked back suspiciously as the SUV quickly pulled away from the curb. They stood out in his mind because they walked stiffly, awkwardly, as if trying to walk slowly while they really wanted to run. However, he had more important things to consider because this was his pilgrimage, the one for which he had saved all his life. He couldn’t sleep. The pilgrimage was holy, and he and the others would come tomorrow to throw rocks at the devil. Approaching the entrance, he caught sight of a large cone-shaped object leaning again
st the wall. He approached the object and noticed a note in Arabic on the cone along with some English words and Arabic numbers. He didn’t read much English, but he was perfectly proficient in Arabic. He read:
Please call for the authorities.
Do not attempt to move the warhead.
Warhead?! The pilgrim turned around to call for help when he almost ran into a security guard. The guard looked over the pilgrim’s shoulder, then roughly pushed him aside and moved to more closely inspect the conical object.
The pilgrim blurted out, “I saw three suspicious men cross the street from here and drive away in a large automobile—that way!” He pointed northeast on Bab Al-umrah street.
“What type of automobile? And what color?”
“It was the big Toyota with the cargo space in the back. I forget the name.”
Another pilgrim standing nearby added, “I saw it, too. It was a SUV—the really big one.”
“A Land Cruiser?” asked the guard.
“Maybe. It was mostly white, but it had dark areas where the paint had been sanded and perhaps primed.”
“Thank you, pilgrims. Praise Allah you were here to see them!”
The security guard warned everyone to move away and called for help on his radio. He had been in the security forces for two years and this was his second hajj. He had thought security was tight last year, but it was nothing compared to this year. There were thousands more security guards on duty during the day, manning checkpoints and screening the millions of pilgrims making their way to the Ka‘abah. But late at night, with most of the pilgrims in bed, security was more relaxed. Perhaps too relaxed. He keyed his radio and called his supervisor, telling him of the conical object and giving him the description of the Toyota SUV and its direction of travel.
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