Haven, p.23
Haven, page 23
“The Libyans are idiots. They'll probably spill it and poison themselves. There are much better ways to get back at the Americans.”
“You should see Ozal's maps," said the soldier who was with them. "Ozal knows all the ways to punish America. He knows how to...”
The Algerian silenced him by clapping his hands. The clap made the tips of his fingers turn red. It must have hurt badly because his eye became moist and a long moment passed before he could speak. He wet his fingers with saliva from his mouth and he blew on them to cool them. The young soldier helped him by fanning with his hat.
“So tell me, Bandari," said Ozal when his pain eased. "Why don't you want me to go to this warehouse? You think I might keep what I find there?”
Bandari gave him no answer at first because a new idea was taking shape in his mind. The seed of the idea had been planted by the soldier when he spoke of punishing America.
“On this we need to speak privately," said Bandari. "We will do so but first I must pray.”
“Pray for what? That you'll think of an answer to my question?”
“For guidance, Ozal." He did need time to think. "I have something on my boat that would teach the West a lesson. I need to ask God if that's how I should use it.”
“Tell me what you have and I'll ask him as well.”
“It's between God and me. Please be patient.”
They paused at the fountain outside the mosque wall. They sat to take off their shoes and their socks and to bathe their feet before going inside. Ozal and his soldier reached into their pockets and took from them thick rolls of gray cotton fabric. Bandari watched as each man fashioned a headdress and then kept unwinding all the way to their necks. The face of Ozal was the first to be hidden so that only his one useful eye was left showing. Others who came there were watching as well. Some were grumbling, all were frowning but none dared complain. Bandari looked into Ozal's one good eye. Ozal was enjoying the discomfort he caused.
It did not surprise Bandari that they covered their faces because Tuaregs had done so since long before Islam. The Tuaregs were Berbers, they were fierce desert raiders. They veiled their faces - the men, not the women - so that their enemies could not see into their hearts. They kept their own customs when their tribe embraced Islam even though the other Muslims thought their customs were heresy. The Muslims would say to them, "Your tribe has it backward. It's women, not men, who must cover. Also your women must stop being friendly with men to whom they are not related. We have seen your women laughing and joking with men. Some who marry are not even virgins.”
The Tuaregs would answer, "Women are beautiful. They're not only for the bed and they don't end all friendships on the day they get married. It is you who are stupid in this.” So the Muslims called them Tuaregs, it comes from the Arabic and it means "The Abandoned of God." The Tuaregs accepted their new name with glee. They saw it as a joke that they shared with God because God, of course, knew that they were right.
Bandari had often envied the Tuaregs. Of all the Arabs they're the only tribe in which men have always been at ease around women. Most Egyptians can't even watch Love Boat on TV without breaking into a squirming sweat at the mildest erotic suggestion. That is one reason why he offered his boat when Algeria's Islamic Salvation Front came to him and said it needed a place to hide a few of their men. They won't react in a horrified way if he rents a blond model for a night or two. But what he's counting on now is that Ozal is different, a Tuareg who doesn't like women any better than he seems to like anyone else.
Tarrant is right. He's been wasting his time, first trying to save Leyna's life and then Aisha's. And now, on top, there's the woman who called who has Cyril Pratt's tapes to use against him.
Tarrant's right. He must end this. Now he needs them all dead.
TWENTY TWO
The men in dark suits had met at Fort Meade, not far from the Maryland home of Lawrence Tarrant. There were six men in all plus their aides. Fort Meade itself is a virtual city entirely surrounded by electrified fences. It is the headquarters of the National Security Agency but the men represented other agencies as well. They played, for a third time, the recording of the calls that had so upset Lawrence Tarrant. Each man had before him a copy of a file containing what was known of Tarrant's history.
“The reference to Pratt," said the one who chaired the meeting, "is probably to this man." A computer screen showed Cyril Pratt's face. "He is...or was...a bounty hunter who finds Muslim women. We assume he was working for this man, not Tarrant." Another screen lit with a photo of Bandari.
“The second caller was definitely Bandari. The question before us is who was the first.”
“The question before us," another dark suit corrected him, "is what's this about bombs that turn cities into ghost towns?”
“Well, we'd like to ask him that, wouldn't we.”
“You know at least that his accent is German. Have you cross-checked Tarrant's file with those of his competitors? Maybe this man is a German competitor. Maybe he's trying to queer whatever deal Tarrant has cooking with the Libyans.”
“We're looking at voice prints. No matches so far.”
“And the wife, Clarisse, she was no help?”
“She came to us, she's still being interviewed. But there's not much she could tell us about her husband's activities that we didn't already know.
“Okay, then Bandari. He seems the weak link. One call from some woman made him blubber like a baby.”
“Bandari has vanished. We know he went to Spain. We know he keeps a boat there, the motor yacht Alhambra, and that it seems to have a rather odd crew. But his boat left Marbella several hours ago. We're trying to locate it by satellite.”
“You couldn't unscramble his call back to Tarrant?”
“Our computers are trying. They'll get some but not much. In the meantime, here's what we have.”
He reviewed those portions of Lawrence Tarrant's file that concerned his association with Bandari. Their common ground was a Libyan connection that did not in the past involve weapons or terrorism. Tarrant's business was supplying embargoed materials and helping the Libyans to launder their oil money in ways that it couldn't be seized. The primary laundry appears to be Egypt, specifically investments through their Ministry of Development with Gamal Bandari greasing the way.
In the past, two indictments have been brought against Tarrant. Both times they were quashed, he said, because we can't bring down Tarrant without bringing down Egypt's Ministry of Development. The Cairo government says proceed if we must but they'll expect us to make up for any short-fall it causes in the revenues that now come through Libya.
“We're expected to cover their losses? They can shove it.”
“Charles...get real. We need Egypt as it is. What we surely don't want is the alternative.”
“So, let them sweat Bandari. Hang him up by his balls. Let them hear where the German says Bandari killed his brother and then crushed his brother's wife's face with a rock. You don't think they'll want to find out if that's true?”
“They'll say they'll look into it. That's where it will end.”
Another dark suit agreed. "If they should decide that Bandari's an embarrassment we might hear that he's died in an automobile accident. They will tell us he's dead, nothing more.”
“If we can't stop men like Bandari and Tarrant," pressed the dark suit called Charles, "what's the point of even having an embargo in place?”
“I'll remind you that there's also an embargo on cocaine for all the good that it does.”
The man called Charles raised his hands in surrender to show that he realized his question was naive. An embargo is a palliative, a political sop. For every door it closes it opens ten more.
“Let's try to sum up," said the man who chaired the meeting. "The
assumption must be that a terrorist act is being planned against an American city. The call from the German came from a cell phone somewhere in the vicinity of Savannah, Georgia. That in itself doesn't tell us very much because the German might have called from a car passing through. If he uses that phone to call Tarrant again we'll be ready to pinpoint it much more precisely. In the meantime we'll be keeping a close eye on Tarrant and allow him to sweat out where his wife might have gone. We're expanding our efforts to locate Bandari on the chance that his boat's destination is relevant. Judging by the way he sounded, however, he's probably gone into hiding.”
One dark suit had said nothing thus far. He sat with his head cocked as if he were listening to a sound that was off in the distance. His eyes were squinting. He said, "Play that tape one more time. Play the voice of the German.”
The chairman complied. The man listened closely. At its end he could only grimace and say, "Damn, it's familiar. The voice, the droll manner. That accent, by the way, brings Leipzig to mind.”
“You say he's East German?”
“Leipzig...Halle...Dessau...he has the inflection one hears in that area. But my mind's trying to tell me that I heard it right here. In my mind I'm standing with a drink in my hand and I haven't had a drink in ten years.”
“Are you dressed in black tie? A reception perhaps.”
“Could be. Could be. And you know something else? My wife is enjoying him. So am I, truth be told, but I think I'm a little bit jealous. I tell her this man is not even real and she answers that he's real enough for her.”
Some in the room rolled their eyes at this exchange but the chairman was less willing to dismiss it. "Leipzig, ten years ago, means he'd be GDR. Why don't you go look at some dossiers, Peter?”
“I could try I suppose. I just can't see the face. In my mind, as I told you, he isn't quite real.”
“Give your wife a look at them, too," said the chairman.
Bandari's yacht had been at sea for two days. His heading from Marbella took him west past Gibraltar, then south to Las Palmas in the Canaries where he stopped to buy provisions and refuel. From there with good weather he could cross the Atlantic in five or six days at the most. Then, with the help of Ozal and his soldiers, he would settle this once and for all.
On the first of those two days Tarrant called on the scrambler. He said, as expected, that he hadn't been thinking, that going to Egypt by boat took too long. Bandari told Tarrant it's too late to change plans, that his yacht is already at sea heading east. Tarrant then demanded to speak to Ozal. Bandari told him that Ozal and his men were en route overland to Suez. Arrangements had been made to smuggle them in; he would rendezvous with them in five or six days; tell the Libyans they'll have to be patient. Tarrant argued and cursed him but did not seem to doubt him. Tarrant's major concern was that Ozal shouldn't know what was in that container in the warehouse.
Bandari knew well that Tarrant would be furious when he learns that the boat headed west and not east. Even so, he felt a measure of peace for the first time since Avram looked inside that container. At sea he was safe, safe from Tarrant and the Libyans who must think by now that they have been cheated if they know that he's vanished from Cairo. Above all he felt safe from that Algerian woman just in case Tarrant's wrong and she's not bluffing. Now it's her who should be frightened if she knew what's in store for her and her island. But first he would have to talk sense to Ozal who turned out to have ideas of his own.
Ozal, at first, did not want to come and help him. What he wanted was two Stingers to knock down two planes. It was then Bandari told him that he had something better. He had a way to fix a whole island so that no one could ever live on it again. He told him that he had a device from the Russians that would poison the land for all time.
“Poison? What poison? A bacterial weapon?”
“This is a radioactive device. An atomic artillery warhead.”
“Only the warhead, no shell?" Ozal asked.
“Who needs a big shell if you don't have a cannon? Anyway this little warhead is easier to hide in case we get boarded by Customs.”
“And how many of these do you have, Bandari?”
“Only one. Just one," he lied.
“But I think more than one in Suez, Bandari. No wonder this Tarrant is willing to pay.”
Bandari tried a stammered denial but he knew that his manner had given him away. Ozal let it pass with a gesture of dismissal. A device within reach is worth ten in Suez.
“This island is where? You mean the island of Manhattan?”
“No, this one." Bandari pointed it out in his chart book.
“Hilton Head Island? What is Hilton Head Island?”
“It is a place where the enemies of religion are gathered. It is a place where Muslim women go to hide out when they have turned their backs on their families and God. It's a place where young Muslim girls go to beaches and lie half-naked tempting men into sin. The men bribe them with hot dogs which are nothing but pork. It is a place where woman have thrown off their veils and...”
“So what? Veils are stupid. They should all throw them off. Also, hot dogs are beef, sometimes chicken.”
He's a Tuareg, thought Bandari. One must keep that in mind. One can't talk to a Tuareg who has been to college the same way he would talk to the men of Abu Shatt. Nor is it of use to speak of virtue to a Tuareg. The only kind of sex a Tuareg won't do is sex with a wife who's just died.
“Okay," said Bandari, "then forget about veils. Even forget about the poor Muslim children who are brought there and raised to be prostitutes. What that island is mostly is fat rich Americans who think they are safe from the poor who they robbed.”
A yawn from Ozal. "Manhattan is also fat rich Americans. We'll go instead to Manhattan.”
“I will tell you what these people think of Manhattan. They see how that bunch bombed the World Trade Center and they say, 'What has this to do with me? Who cares what they do in the big dirty cities which are full of poor people and blacks who sell drugs. Let them blow up the whole of Manhattan if they can. I will watch it on television and then go out and play golf.'”
Ozal snorted at the mention of the World Trade Center. "Egyptians did that one. Even their crazy blind sheik was Egyptian. Show me one time when a group of Egyptians ever did anything right.”
Bandari bridled but before he could speak Ozal had pulled a map from his pocket and opened it on the chart table. One of the soldiers winked at Bandari. This was the one who had started to boast that Ozal knew how to punish the West. His smile said, "Now you will see.”
The map was of the United States and many locations were marked in red pencil. Bandari saw other places that had circles around them and the circles were connected by lines. All the circles seemed to mark only very small towns, not a single big city among them.
“This line and that line," Ozal told him, pointing, "are pipelines for natural gas. They supply almost all the natural gas that is used by New York and by most of the north-eastern states. Both pipelines are totally unprotected. Both are regulated by high-pressure pumps that were bought from the Germans, made special. To replace just the pumps would take more than a year.”
The Egyptian sniffed. "Ozal, the Avenger. He turned off their gas. That's how you want to be known?”
Ozal looked at him sternly but continued. "And here," he said, pointing elsewhere on the map, "these marks are two bridges, both vital. One crosses the Ohio River near Cincinnati, one crosses the Potomac near Washington, D.C. Between them they handle almost all railroad traffic in the eastern United States. Would you believe that neither is guarded?”
He traced his torn fingers over more of the map, pausing at symbols that looked like small bells. "In these places are telephone switching stations," he said. "These stations - and there are only nine - control almost all telephone communications in all the large cities of the United States.”
Ozal folded his arms and smiled down at his map as if it were a son he was proud of. Bandari was not even a little impressed.
“This is it?" he asked the one-eyed Algerian. "This is your great scheme to punish the West?”
“A few well placed bombs and they're crippled, Bandari. No fuel, no phones and no trains to bring them food.”
“No phones and no trains. This is teaching them a lesson? For this they won't call you Ozal, the Avenger. What you'll get is Ozal-who-made-their-lives-less convenient. What you'll get is Ozal, the Annoyer.”
The Algerian thrust out his chin. "That's better than Bandari, the Scourge of Golf. Bandari-who-made-their-palm-trees-go-limp. Bandari-who-caused-them to-pack-up-and-move-when-they-noticed-their-hair-falling-out.”
This last shocked Bandari. "That's all that will happen?”
“I'm not certain about the limp palms.”
“Don't joke about this. Are you saying this device only makes people sick and only with the passage of time?”
Ozal relented. It was not quite a joke. "It depends," he said, "on how much they get. Take a dosage of 4000 rads, for example, and your brain boils away in one hour. Take only 1000 and your bone marrow goes so you bleed to death in one day. Blood leaks through the pores of your skin, Bandari. It even comes out through your eyes.”
Bandari was blinking, impressed by this knowledge. "How far does this spread and how quickly?" he asked.
“Your Russian warhead? I would have to devise a bomb strong enough to smash it and expose the Plutonium core. I would have to weaken the casing of the warhead to be sure that it ruptures during the blast and try not to boil my own brain while I'm drilling it. We don't have plastique but I could make nitro-glycerine. I would need five liters of sulfuric acid, another five of nitric acid, plus the glycerine, baking soda, beakers, eye droppers and a thermometer. We can buy all these things in Las Palmas, I think. Also we need plenty of ice.”
“Ozal...”
“Also maybe some urea crystals and one hundred kiligrams on ammonium nitrate. These last make some interesting special effects.”
“Ozal...you didn't answer. How far and how quickly?" he repeated.
“The blast won't be so powerful. It will kill everyone, say, within fifty meters if it catches them out in the open. But the radiation kills every man, every bug, in an area the size of two soccer fields. The dose goes through walls, you can't hide from it. If we have a nice breeze it kills more.”
