by Conrad Jones
There were hundreds of bogus flights every year, trafficking drugs, arms or illegal immigrants into American airspace. The federal air controllers couldn’t possibly intercept them all. Sabah knew his excuses would not be accepted in the long term, but it had allowed the airplane to fly closer to its target. The Americans had extended every single alternative to the pilot, but to no avail. They now had no options left open to them. Since the attacks of 9/11, the responsibility for the defence of the continental United States lies with the newly formed Northern Command. They are responsible for the protection of America, Canada, Alaska, the Caribbean and northern Mexico. Any vessel, airborne or otherwise, entering a five hundred mile exclusion zone, without proper authorisation is treated as a lethal threat.
Sabah heard static crackle coming from the cockpit radio again, but it was not direct communication; it was more like interference. It sounded like there was some other communication taking place close to the aircraft, but on a different wavelength. His heart missed a beat when he noticed movement outside the cargo hold’s windows. A huge dark shadow blocked the sunlight coming through the starboard windows. The airplane was flying at over thirty thousand feet, and he wasn’t expecting any company so soon. He ran to the starboard window and peered through. There were two F-16 Fighting Falcon jet fighters, flying in close formation less than one hundred yards from his starboard wing. The dark grey coloured jets were a terrifying sight. The missile racks beneath the wings were loaded with, air-to-air, sidewinder missiles.
Sabah ran to the cockpit and climbed into the pilot seat. Although it was pointless, he fastened his seatbelt. Somehow, it gave him comfort. He looked through the side windows and stared at the two powerful, grey jet fighters. This was the end of the road as far as the attack on New York was concerned. He was still over five hundred miles from the target.
Sabah wondered if he could get the cargo plane diverted onto somewhere else, under escort, and blow the plane up anyway. He had never really expected to reach American airspace without a serious challenge, but he had expected to be allowed to land at Floyd Bennet airfield under escort. That would have allowed him to enter New York’s airspace and complete his mission, but it now seemed that the Americans were not going to be so accommodating. If he accepted a set of new coordinates, he could still explode the device over a built up area. Wherever it was that was contaminated, it would make headline news and highlight the Islamic struggle. He decided to try.
“This is charter flight 14-8, requesting that the escort take me to an alternative landing strip, I have American jets escorting the aircraft,” Sabah looked at the jets, but they had gone. They were nowhere to be seen.
“American control this is charter flight 14-8, I must remind you that we are a civilian aircraft, and request an alternative set of coordinates,” Sabah craned his neck trying to see where the jets had gone.
“American control, can you read me? This is charter flight 14-8, can you read me?” Sabah climbed over the seat to look out the other side, but again there was no sign of the F-16s. They had either gone, or were directly behind him. The radio crackled but air traffic control ignored his requests. He ran into the cargo hold, peering through the port side windows, but there was no sign of the warplanes. They were gone. Sabah ran back into the cockpit, and grabbed the microphone. He was starting to panic, but he couldn’t understand why. The mission was always going to end in a violent death, but it would be at his own bequest, not someone else’s. This scenario was far more frightening. He didn’t even know where the jet fighters had gone.
“American control, this is charter flight 14-8 requesting emergency coordinates, are you receiving me?”
“Mayday, mayday, this charter flight 14-8 requesting immediate communication, is anybody receiving me?” Sabah twisted in his seat to look behind the aircraft. There was nothing there. The radio crackled again, distant voices ghosting across another channel close by.
“Control, there is a misunderstanding, flight 14-8 is requesting an alternative landing destination,” Sabah found the silence deafening. He couldn’t understand why they were ignoring him.
He was still thinking about what to do next, when six sidewinder missiles blew the Antonov-124 into pieces of metal confetti. Larger pieces of burning aircraft tumbled through the clouds. The F-16s fired heat seeking air-to-air missiles, blasting the bigger sections into smaller pieces of debris. The Russian Antonov-124 and its radioactive cargo drifted down to the Atlantic Ocean. To all intents and purposes, it might never have existed at all.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The Terrorist Task Force
Tank and the Task Force senior officers, Chen and David Bell, left the bunker headquarters and climbed into an unoccupied military vehicle, which was parked in the huge sandstone tunnel. Chen jumped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and waited for the fat controller to climb into the back, before engaging first gear and heading the armoured Jeep down the rock channel. They were leaving the politicians to talk politics, and headed back to the office on the top floor of the Canning Place police headquarters. They needed to plan the Task Force’s response to the day’s events, and summarise the cleanup operations, which had been searching for the remaining insurgents.
“There have never been any terrorist training camps in the Sinai Desert,” the fat controller said, thumping the back of the passenger seat with his podgy hand. He was frustrated by the American’s arrogance. They had unilaterally bombed an uninspected facility. The international protocol was clear, suspect facilities had to be inspected by the core members of the Security Council, before any military action could be taken. He shook his head and made a noise with his lips at the same time, sounding like a horse snorting.
“I would state my reputation on it. Mubarak is far too deep into Bush’s pocket to annoy the Americans, that aside, when have the Egyptians allowed extremist camps on their lands?”
“Not to our knowledge,” Chen agreed.
“Mubarak has been fighting the extremists himself since they bombed his predecessor President Sadat, and then there’s the suicide bomb attacks on Western tourists in Sharm el Sheikh and Hurgada, he wouldn’t allow them to operate in Egypt, not anywhere,” Tank added.
“So why would the Director of the CIA, stick her neck out if there was no camp?” the fat controller asked. He was leaning his head in between the two front seats like a fat child annoying its parents on a long journey.
“Well, we have to accept that they attacked and destroyed something in the Sinai Peninsula. What we need to do is work out what they blew up, and why,” Tank said.
“Do you think it was sabre rattling maybe, a live military exercise to scare the Iranians?” Bell asked aloud.
“There is no way it was a terrorist training camp. Our satellites would have picked up that kind of activity immediately,” Chen insisted.
“What else could it be, an airstrip?” the fat controller speculated.
“It is the most likely answer. The Sinai is dotted with small remote airfields. The Egyptians have been paranoid about an Israeli air attack since the airstrike in 1968,” Tank explained.
“Exactly and why would anyone attack an airfield in the northern deserts? There is absolutely nothing there of any military value. Those airstrips are only big enough for light aircraft and helicopters,” Chen mulled over the conundrum.
The Americans had to own up to the attack, but the details they had released were little short of useless. They hadn’t gone to the extreme of excusing it as a mistake or military exercise. It would have triggered an international outrage to deny that it was anything but a premeditated military attack. The war on terror could be used as a trump card for a myriad of evils.
“Unless the airfield was being used for something that the Americans uncovered, and decided that they didn’t like what was going on,” Tank thought aloud.
“Arms smuggling, drugs, I mean we could speculate forever,” Chen answered.
“Rendition,” the fat control
ler said, raising his voice unnecessarily.
“What in the Sinai?”
“Yes in the Sinai. We received information from our men in Cairo a while back, that there were rumours about rendition flights being allowed into Egypt,” the fat controller was remembering a memo from months ago.
“There were suggestions that President Mubarak was allowing the Americans to use remote airfields, via third part allies, for extraordinary rendition flights.”
“Okay, if we assume that the information was correct, then why would the Americans bomb a site that they were utilising?” Chen asked.
“Maybe something went wrong,” the fat controller speculated.
“What if someone of political value was being held there, maybe a double cross or an argument over jurisdiction?” Chen mused.
“Or maybe they’re trying to cover something up, using the cover of a supposed terror training camp as a smoke screen,” Tank caught on with the theory.
It made perfect sense. Something had gone wrong in the deserts of northern Sinai. Something had happened that was so bad, that the Americans would risk international outrage to cover it up. Tank was going to make a point of finding out exactly what it was.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Jerusalem
The old city of Jerusalem is situated inside ancient walls, which have been built and then destroyed, by both Christian and Muslim armies on numerous occasions. Outside the walls, the city has become a mishmash of modern and traditional townships, some of which are sectioned from the others by huge ugly security walls that snake along the valleys and hillsides. The old city inside the walls is dissected by a spider’s web of narrow higgledy-piggeldy lanes. It’s possible to touch the buildings on both sides of the street, at the same time in some parts of the old town. At the centre of the city is the Temple Mount. Its importance to the Jewish and Muslim faiths makes it the most contested religious site in the world.
The Temple Mount itself is a huge stone platform built over a hill. It looks like an Egyptian pyramid with the top half cut off. Built on top of the remains of Solomon’s Temple, is the much-revered mosque, known as the Dome of the Rock, its immense golden dome is visible from miles around. Islamic scriptures tell that this rock is the point from which the great prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven, to receive instruction from Allah. The walls of The Mount are the remains of the original temple, and are the epicentre of the Jewish faith, the Wailing Wall.
Beneath the rock is a natural cave known as the Well of Souls. It was originally only accessible from a small hole in the rock itself. The Knights of the Templar hacked open an entrance from the south of the mount, looking for the Holy Grail, which can still be entered today. It was into this manmade fissure that Rahid Bindhi climbed under the cover of darkness. The ancient city’s alleyways were starting to quieten down, as tourists and pilgrims drifted back to their hotels, most of which were situated outside the walls in the new city. Getting to the cave unchallenged had been relatively easy.
Beneath the lower platform of the Temple Mount is a series of enormous underground chambers. Some are built in the space between the bedrock and the temple floor, while others are cavernous manmade structures, ranging in historical age. The huge underground chambers were once built by craftsmen as temple sectors, dedicated to various tranches of worship, and are now used as cisterns holding the city’s water supply. The biggest chamber known a cistern eleven holds seven hundred thousand gallons of water. It is built from the rock and is carved into the shape of a huge letter E, with beautiful pillars and ornately carved columns running all through it. Many believe it was built as part of the second temple, others believe it was once a mosque. For now, it was used as a big reservoir for the city’s water and the hiding place for a two-ton dirty bomb, which had been built over a period of months by Rahid Bindhi and his affiliates.
The entrances to the old city were all protected by metal detecting scanners, trying to prevent suicide bombers from reaching the most sacred parts of Jerusalem. Inside the ancient walls is crammed full of Israeli soldiers and part time reservists. Every other person carries an M14 machinegun over their shoulder. Checkpoints are manned round the clock looking for Islamic insurgents. Despite Israel`s best efforts, access to the city could be gained, using local geographic knowledge and a little help from a few determined friends. Rahid and his cohorts had painstakingly carried bundles of plastic explosives everyday to the base of the Temple Mount, and entered the series of cisterns, which led from the Well of Souls.
Two of his colleagues had become sick carrying the radioactive materials, which had been hidden inside plumber’s toolboxes. The city employed an army of plumbers to combat the ancient leaking water supply system, which was constantly springing new seepages. Jerusalem is built in a desert, and the water supply is the city’s life blood, therefore it`s maintenance and the upkeep are given top priority. Rahid and his affiliates never looked out of place, as there were local workmen coming and going all the time. Once all the components of the device were assembled, they worked night and day to make it functional, and the device had been completed a week ago.
Rahid had been born in the old city, the eldest son of a Muslim butcher. The city was then in Muslim hands, controlled by the state of Jordan. The Palestinian people were still the indigenous race. Jewish immigrants had started to arrive in Israel since the early nineteen thirties, and integration between Muslims and Jews was slow and difficult. Immigration became a tidal wave following the horrors of the Holocaust, during the Second World War. Rahid senior found his Muslim customers were being ousted from their homes, by the considerably richer Jewish families that were arriving in the city. Trade became a daily struggle as the demand for his meat dwindled, and the kosher butchers prospered. Eventually after many years of struggling financially, his family sold their house at a rock bottom price to a Jewish family from Poland, and the last Muslim family in the street moved outside the walls into the West Bank.
In 1967, during the Arab Israeli conflict, the Jews recaptured Jerusalem, and declared it the capital city of the new state of Israel. The only country in the world that recognises Jerusalem as the Jewish capital is Israel itself, everyone else classes their capital city as Tel Aviv. International opinion is that Jerusalem is of such religious significance, that to recognise it as the Jewish capital would provoke its Arab neighbours to reclaim her. That could only be achieved by all out war.
The terrorist group Ishmael’s Axe were the willing vehicle for Abdul’s plan to wreak havoc across the West with radioactive dispersal devices. The piece de la resistance however was to detonate one of them next to the Wailing Wall, contaminating the site and poisoning the city’s water supply for decades. Jerusalem would become a radioactive wasteland, but it would no longer be under the control of the Jews. It would remain almost intact until the time when the armies of Islam were mighty enough to defeat the Christian Zionist invaders. Jerusalem was the jewel of the Middle East, but It had been stolen from the peoples of Islam, and Rahid was about to redress the balance.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
New York
Agent Japey had been with the CIA since graduating from university as a law major. He wanted a job where he could apply his considerable legal skills, and be exciting to his peers at the same time. He considered the military but ruled it out because of the discrimination shown to homosexuals that were out of the closet. He applied for the agency and that gifted him an aura of mystery, a secret agent, with a secret. It was the ideal career for a closet homosexual, who was ashamed of his sexuality.
Japey thought he could fit in with the heterosexual boys in the bar any day of the week. He could tell raunchy jokes, swear about the football game; even berate other openly gay men by calling them queers. He could act brash and macho as well as the next guy, or that`s what he thought. The reality was much different, as most of his colleagues had guessed that he was gay a long time ago. They often took bets on how many times they could get an offensive gay label
into a conversation, without Japey realising. One of the agents got the word, ‘fruit’, in a story eight times once, while another made his first part time job in a laundry, as a ‘shirt lifter’, the topic of conversation every time the opportunity arose.
There was a spurious rumour about his sexuality once, started by a younger agent who had spurned his advances. Japey had misread the signals and ended up embarrassed and humiliated. Once the rumours found their way back to Japey, he fired the agent for a trumped up misdemeanour the following week, killing the rumour in its tracks. The only person who had seen right through his facade immediately was the new director of operations, Ruth Jones. She was sharp, but he thought that he was sharper.
The shooting down of the ex-Ukrainian cargo plane containing a potential dirty bomb attack, should have been used as a massive propaganda weapon. Billions of pounds of taxpayer’s money could have directed into the intelligence agencies coffers to aid the continuing war on terror. It was a blinding opportunity for media manipulation. The Whitehouse could have claimed it was another reason why the war on terror was so vital to the nations well being, indeed its survival.
