“I believe there is one in America. One of the documents on the drive gave a list of potential targets in your country. The file was corrupted and there is nothing to indicate that a bomb has definitely reached your shores. That is, as you well know, a difficult thing to accomplish.”
“Don’t look so sad about it.”
He sighed again. “Captain, we may be on different sides of many issues, not the least of which is nuclear power and arms, but I doubt either of us is a fool or an absolute bloody-minded madman. We are entering into a new Cold War, a new arms race, but just as neither America nor Russia launched bombs at each other, no matter how badly they wanted to or how many they had to spare, neither do we. What we want is to be safe, and if having weapons of mass destruction insures that we will never be invaded by a conquering army, then that is only fair. And … more to the point, there is nothing to be gained by mutual extermination. Nothing. Even the most extreme ayatollahs know that, no matter what comprises their public rhetoric. Besides … surely you, a soldier of some reputation, understand the difference between being only able to shout loud and shake a fist and to speak quietly and shake a spear.”
“Walk softly and carry a big stick,” I said.
“Yes. Theodore Roosevelt. The smarter of your two Roosevelts. He understood that one must have power before one can effectively enter into war or peace.”
I studied the picture. The picture showed a bomb the size of a central air conditioning unit for a medium-sized suburban house. The walls around it looked like bare rock; the floor was poured concrete. There were no other details visible. Not on a phone image a couple of inches square. “This is a big unit. It’s not built into a warhead, or at least this one’s not. How are they planning on transporting these devices?”
“I doubt they are,” said Rasouli. “The fragments of information on the drive suggest that as many as four devices are already in place. The ones here in the Middle East. The last time I spoke to my agent, shortly before he was killed, he said that he did not think that any bombs were currently inside the borders of the United States. That was, alas, all that he said on that topic. I ordered him to bring me all of his findings, but he was apparently abducted on the way to my home. Another fragment of a file obliquely mentions America, but there are no other details. Merely the hint that America may be a target.”
“Where are the others?”
“I don’t know. Possibly in Iraq, or India. It’s conjecture though, based solely on similarly cryptic references. One message fragment makes reference to ‘the seven devices.’ That’s all we could recover.”
“Shit,” I said, and if I wasn’t scared enough before I was really starting to sweat now. Given a choice of knowing for sure that there was a bomb in the U.S. and not knowing, I’d prefer certain knowledge. At least then we could start some kind of proper search. “What’s the endgame for all this?” I asked. “What does this accomplish?”
“I don’t know. From a practical stance, I believe they are planning to destroy a significant amount of the oil reserves in the Middle East. Not just what is in the refineries, but in the actual oil fields. Underground devices could ignite much of it—wherever there is sufficient venting for oxygen, and what isn’t burned would be contaminated. Not to mention the destruction of everything that lives and moves on the sands above.”
I shook my head. “Four nukes couldn’t do that. Not sure if seven of them could.”
“Four would be sufficient to disrupt the majority of production. All other refineries would be shut down or scaled down as safety measures. It might takes months or years before each facility could be properly and thoroughly checked, and longer to build newer security systems that would guarantee the safety of the remaining fields and refineries. Think about the impact on the global market. The cost per barrel from noncontaminated fields would be astronomical. The blow would be as much financial as material.”
“You know,” I said, forcing a smile, “that’s just the kind of thing your pal Hugo Vox would cook up. Financial gain was the reason the Seven Kings arranged to have Bin Laden and the Saudis fly planes into the towers, and it’s why they blew up the London Hospital. Have you asked him about this?”
“In a roundabout way, yes. He appeared to know nothing.”
“He’s good at that, the lying sack of shit.”
Rasouli spread his hands. “Now you are where I am, armed with dangerous knowledge and no clear set of answers. In the wake of Vox’s betrayal, I doubt you will be able to completely trust everyone in your government. But you have Mr. Church and the considerable resources at his disposal.”
I grunted. “What made you call Vox in the first place? To arrange this meet, I mean.”
Rasouli showed me his expensive white teeth. “I had been troubling over how to proceed with this matter when the reports came in about the ‘hikers’ being liberated. There are several countries that have teams capable of such an action, but most of them would not risk it, even for as staunch an ally as the United States, therefore it must be an American black operation. Who knows more about that sort of thing than Hugo Vox? I knew that he would know who was responsible and I made a call. He already knew about the action. He did not tell me how, though we are both adult enough to accept that he must still have operatives active in the United States covert community. He gave me you, and now we are here.”
“What would you have done with the flash drive if there had been no drama last night?”
“Have it sent by private courier to your embassy, I suppose. Addressed to Mr. Church.”
I took the drive and closed my fist around it, but I nodded toward his phone. “The photo you showed me? If your agents haven’t put eyes on this thing, then where’d that come from?”
“It was on the drive, too, but I never got the chance to ask how my agent obtained it. There are several badly damaged image files. This is the cleanest one.”
We sat for a moment, looking at each other while so many unsaid things swirled around us. I mean, think about it. Here was a guy I would have gladly killed ten minutes ago. Without hesitation or remorse. I could have cut his throat and then gone to work with a light heart.
And now?
I opened my hand and studied the flash drive. An ordinary device, probably bought at whatever passes for Staples in this part of the world. Now it’s little memory chip was filled with horrors beyond imagining.
Nukes. Under the Middle East oil fields.
“So that’s it?” I asked. “You—pardon the expression—drop this bomb on me and walk off?”
“That is a disingenuous remark, Captain. I risked much coming here. My president and the Rahbare Mo’azzame Enghelab do not know that I am here.”
“And you don’t entirely trust Ahmadinejad and the Supreme Leader? Wouldn’t they have the same fears as you? I doubt they want to reach paradise atop a mushroom cloud.”
Actually, I deliberately mispronounced his name as Armanihandjob, but Rasouli did not so much as crack a smile.
“I am not in their inner circle,” he said with a philosophic shrug. “They know I have ambitions and the president in particular would not cry if I was found dead with my throat torn out. Besides, in government nothing is as hard to protect as a state secret. They have people that they trust, but I do not know if I can trust the same people.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “but you have to admit that it’s pretty weird that you’re bringing this to us.”
He cocked his head at me. “You may neither believe nor care, but I respect Mr. Church. And you, if what I’ve heard about you is true.”
I said nothing.
Rasouli smiled. “I am not fishing for a reciprocal compliment.”
“Good thing. Fishing hole’s pretty dry.”
He shrugged, then asked, “Tell me, do you know the name Salāh-ed-Dīn Ayyūbi?”
“Sure. Saladin. General during the Crusades.”
“He was a sultan,” corrected Rasouli. “A great man, a hero of Islam.”
“Wasn’t he a Sunni born in Iraq?” I asked with a smile.
Rasouli shrugged. Iran was no friend of Iraq and 95 percent of Iranians belong to the Shia branch of Islam.
“My point is,” he persisted, “Saladin viewed the world from an eagle’s perspective. What you would call a ‘big picture’ view. It was never his desire to exterminate his enemies, only to defeat them and drive them from the Holy Land.”
“Ah. So, we’re supposed to shake hands like two worldly wise warriors, setting political differences aside for the betterment of mankind. Is that about it?”
“Something like that,” he said without a trace of embarrassment.
I nodded and shoved the flash drive into my shirt pocket.
Rasouli looked down at his shoes for a moment, breathing audibly through his nostrils. Without looking at me he said, “There is one last thing. It’s also on the drive.”
“More bombs?”
He shook his head. “I am not entirely sure that it is related to this matter, but then again I’m not entirely sure it isn’t.” He tilted his head and cut an upward look at me. “What do you know of the Book of Shadows?”
“Isn’t that a CD by Enya?”
His mouth twitched. “What about the Saladin Codex?”
“Nope. What are they?”
He turned toward me now and his eyes looked different. Older. Sadder. “They are two sides of the same very old coin.”
“Meaning?”
“As you do not know what they are, then it is all I’m prepared to say at this point. Mr. Church will see the references on the drive. Perhaps he will know if they are pertinent.”
Rasouli stood up and offered me his hand. I stood and looked from it to him.
“I know you despise me, Captain Ledger, and I do not care much for you. For now, however, we must rise above our individual beliefs and politics and do what we can for the common good.”