Sword Of God (24 page)

“Such as?”

“What
really
happened in there,” Harrington said bluntly. “At first, the interrogations were going well. Schmidt gave me regular updates, most of which paid off. We busted smaller cells, stopped some arms deals, that kind of thing. But nothing major. No grandiose schemes, like we thought we were going to get.”

“Why not?” Jones wondered.

“Because Salaam wasn’t talking. According to Schmidt, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get Salaam to talk about anything important. And as you know, that doesn’t happen in the real world. This ain’t the fuckin’ movies. If we want you to talk, we’ll get you to talk. You guys should know that.”

He paused for a moment, trying to decide how much he should tell them.

“Ultimately, Schmidt got desperate and went way too far. He handcuffed Salaam to one of his advisers—someone who’d been spilling his guts from die very beginning—and shot the bastard in the head. Just killed die guy in cold blood. After that, Schmidt threw them in a cell and left them there for several days. One alive, one dead, but still chained together.”

“Jesus,” Payne whispered, stunned that it had gone that far. “Did he tell you this himself?”

Harrington shook his head. “We found out about it later. Schmidt was required to keep a video log, describing all the techniques he used and the results he achieved. When we arrived in Jeju, we found some of his files, a whole lot of blood, and three dead Arabs in a back cell.”

“Including Salaam?”

“At first, mat’s what we diought,” he said cryptically. “Remember, we had no idea what Salaam looked like. We had a rough description—age, nationality, and so on—but we couldn’t identify him on site. All we knew is that he was meeting with his top advisers in Kuwait, and we snagged everyone in the room. So we assumed we had him.”

“And?”

“After we hauled the bodies out of the cave, we ran preliminary tests—ballistics,
DNA
, et cetera—and came to a disheartening conclusion: the dead guy
wasn’t
Hakeem Salaam.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we got a positive ID. And let me tell you, we fucked up bad on this one. Not only wasn’t the guy a terrorist, he was a Saudi official who worked for the Ministry of the Interior.”

Payne winced, realizing that Schmidt would have known whom tiiey grabbed very early in the interrogation process—if he didn’t know from the very beginning. That meant he spent several days torturing a government official, learning inside information about a multitude of topics. In Saudi Arabia, the Ministry of the Interior was responsible for public safety on many different levels, including the police, fire services, passports, and civil defense. In addition, it handled security for all major sites, such as Muhammad’s tomb in Medina and, more importantly, the Great Mosque in Mecca.

“Obviously,” Harrington admitted, “there’s no way of knowing what Schmidt learned. But according to Dr. Sheldon, we have a pretty good idea of how he’s going to use it.”

Dr. Ernie Sheldon appeared on the video screen in the Taif conference room, the same screen that had illustrated the days of the hajj. He was somewhere in a secure facility, no longer hiding behind the mask he wore in the cave. Both literally and figuratively. Harrington had finally given him permission to talk about his work.

“During the past several years,” Sheldon said, “we’ve been conducting human-based experiments in compounds around the world. Ways to extract information and methods to prevent the same. Some people think our biggest concern is how to get secrets from the enemy. Sometimes it’s more important to protect your own.”

He smiled, crinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes.

“For the sake of clarity, I’ll keep the science to a bare minimum. No need to confuse you with a bunch of complex formulas when all you need are the basics. Thirty years ago the Chinese developed a procedure where they isolated a specific emotion in a test subject and elevated it through chemicals and verbal reinforcement.”

Payne spoke into the camera. “You mean brainwashing.”

“Not
actual
brainwashing. They weren’t able to take a peasant girl and turn her into a crazed assassin. However, l hey were able to take most subjects with a predisposed opinion—let’s say a hatred of peas—and raise that hatred lo an unhealthy level. If, for instance, the subject ever saw a pea again, she’d be willing to kill someone to get it away from her.”

Jones whispered, “I feel the same way about broccoli.”

“From humble beginnings comes cutting-edge science,” Sheldon pronounced. “During the past three decades, the scientific community has built upon these experiments, step by step, finally reaching a point where we can corral I hat undisciplined rage and focus it on a precise task. Different countries have different names for it, but we like to call it induction.”

“Induction?” Payne asked. “Can you give us an example? One that
doesn’t
involve peas.”

Sheldon smiled again. “Of course I can. In fact, why don’t we talk specifics? Let’s discuss the reason we’re all here.”

Payne glanced at Jones, neither of them liking where this was going.

“If ever there was a candidate for induction, it was Trevor Schmidt. He was filled with so much anger and guilt from ihe terrorist attack that killed his squad, not to mention his missed opportunity to stop it.”

Payne turned toward Harrington. “What opportunity?”

Harrington answered, “The day of the bombing, Schmidt had gathered his squad’s families and driven them to the hospital himself. On their way inside they passed a number of Muslims who were praying. This is Saudi Arabia, after all, so that was pretty damn common. What
wasn’t
common was the time of day. This wasn’t one of their normal prayer sessions. These men were praying on their own, asking for courage to complete their mission.”

Jones understood. “He walked right past the bombers.”

“Exactly,” Harrington said. “Ninety-nine point nine percent of the population would’ve missed the significance of the prayer, but Schmidt blamed himself for not being in the point one percent. He felt it was his job to spot things like that. His duty.”

“From that point on,” Sheldon said, “he was an emotional wreck. He hit the bottle. He turned to drugs. He got in several fights. He was on the verge of being kicked out of the military.”

Harrington agreed. “Schmidt had just been arrested for another assault, and the MPs were sick of dealing with his shit. So I contacted Dr. Sheldon. I knew he specialized in behavior modification, and in my mind, that was a much better alternative than prison.”

“Better for whom?” Payne asked.

“Better for
Schmidt.
You know damn well that he loved the military, and it was pretty obvious to everyone involved that we needed to do something drastic or he was going to piss that all away. I figured this program would give him a fighting chance.”

Payne wasn’t sure if Harrington believed that, but this wasn’t the time or the place to argue with the man. There were more important things to worry about.

Sheldon continued. “As I mentioned, Trevor was filled with anger and guilt, yet was missing a productive outlet for either. The same could be said about the rest of his crew. These men were elite soldiers, trained to do amazing tilings, but their emotions were getting in the way of their performance. My program, a combination of pharmaceuticals and subliminal suggestions, helped redirect their rage. It gave them a specific focus.”

Payne asked, “Which was?”

“Islamic terrorists.” Sheldon smiled, proud of his work. “Keep in mind, I didn’t plant their hatred. It was already in there, imprinted in their brains from the moment the bomb went off at the hospital. I simply focused it. I gave it direction.”

Harrington chimed in. “And the results were amazing, liom the moment they left the program, they were perfect soldiers. I’d give them a mission and they’d get it done. No questions asked. And all that other nonsense—the drinking, fighting, and drugs—stopped immediately.”

Jones cracked, “Maybe that’s because they were brainwashed.”

“Not
brainwashed,”
Sheldon argued. “They were—”

“Doc,” Payne interrupted, “it’s just semantics. It doesn’t matter what you call it. The point is we have to stop it. As far as I can tell, you’ve created the perfect storm. Men who have elite skills, capable of doing some truly horrific things, ycl no conscience to counteract it. I realize that wasn’t your plan in the beginning, but that’s the reality of the situation. Therefore, if you don’t mind, I need to ask you a simple question: is there an off-button?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me rephrase. If I find Schmidt and talk to him, one on one, is there some way for me to get through to him? Some tactic that you’d recommend?”

“That’s a difficult question.”

“But I
need
an easy answer. Can I convince him to stop?”

Sheldon frowned, a look of defeat on his face. “Honestly? The odds are pretty slim. If Trevor truly believes that altacking Mecca is the best way to kill terrorists, then that’s what he’s going to do.”

“Even though Americans might be killed?”

“But that’s the thing. He won’t view them as Americans. He’ll view them as Muslims. And in his mind, that’s more important.”

When the videoconference ended, Payne and Jones focused on the task at hand. They didn’t have days or weeks to plan the mission. They had hours. And some of that time had to be spent on the road. Taif was an hour away from Mecca. Throw in the checkpoints and the foot traffic from the hajj, and they had no time to waste. They needed to start their journey immediately.

Thankfully, Harrington was one step ahead of them. His staff had arranged transportation, weapons, intel, and everything else they required, including four soldiers who were willing to risk their lives to stop this tragedy.

The biggest problem, as they saw it, was figuring out how Schmidt and his crew would attack Mecca, since thousands of Saudi security guards were positioned along the hajj route. Not only on the ground, but also in the air. Dozens of armed helicopters monitored the pilgrims’ progress, literally herding them through bottlenecks that occurred in certain stretches along the way. In addition, a unit of elite soldiers was assigned to protect the Great Mosque at all times, a duty that took on added importance after November 20, 1979, when armed Islamic fundamentalists seized control of the site, an incident ending in nearly three hundred deaths and seven hundred injuries.

Eventually, Payne and Jones approached things from a different angle. Instead of planning a counterassault, one where they had to guess where Schmidt was and what he was going to do, they opted to plan an assault of their own, asking themselves how they would attack the mosque if that was their given task. With enough time, they would have set up shop close to the site, giving them somewhere to horde weapons and a chance to survey the immediate area. Jones studied a map of the old city, the district that surrounded the Mosque, and realized most of the homes had recently been demolished, making way for commercial projects that weren’t listed on his map.

However, as it turned out, the old map provided them with a lucky break—the type that was needed on hastily planned missions like this one. When Harrington’s staff searched property records for recent developments, one name jumped out at them: Omar Abdul-Khaliq. Not only did he own a large chunk of land down the street from the Mosque, but he also was rumored to have close financial ties with the Soldiers of Allah.

In fact, according to U.S. intelligence, he was their biggest supporter.

The planning had been easier than expected. With enough time and money, he knew anyone could be bought and anything could be accomplished. Yet as Hakeem Salaam watched the hajj proceedings on Saudi television, he still fretted over the details.

Like a coach who was watching the big game from afar.

In some ways, this was like every other terrorist attack he had orchestrated in the past ten years. He handled the preparations, Omar Abdul-Khaliq provided the money, and his dedicated soldiers carried out the missions, often sacrificing their lives to better his cause. Normally their target was the United States, the country he blamed for most of the world’s problems. The morning of an attack he would get on his knees and pray to Allah, asking for His blessing as they carried out their duty. Hoping for the negligence of all Americans, whether it was the police, the citizens, or the military—anyone who could disrupt his precise plans.

But today was different. Today was unlike any other mission he had ever planned.

Today he was praying for the Americans. Counting on l heir skills as murderers.

Realizing the more damage they did, the easier it would lie to unite Islam.

The concept had come to Salaam shortly after watching I he events of 9/11. He went to the desert to meditate and realized the best way to connect all Muslims was with a common enemy. The obvious choice was the one he hated l he most. If he could somehow lure them into committing an unspeakable act in Islam’s most sacred city, he knew he could sway his people to stand as one. The infighting that occurred among Sunnis, Shiites, and all other Islamic groups would suddenly disappear, replaced by a unified hatred of the United States.

But how to get them to cooperate?

And how to prove they were responsible?

Those were the issues he had to solve if he was going to make this work.

In his mind, the best way to accomplish the first task was through inside involvement, a technique with a proven track record. Ali Mohamed, the Al Qaeda operative who was charged with bombing U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, was an Egyptian soldier who became a U.S. citizen in the mid-1980s after marrying an American woman from California. From there, he joined the U.S. Army, where he eventually became a drill instructor at Fort Bragg. Later he was hired to teach courses on Arabic culture at the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center, a school that trains personnel for Army Special Operations forces. Meanwhile, he was also training terrorists on the side, including some of the men who were responsible for the 1993 World Trade Center bombing.