Blacklist Aftermath

33

Before climbing into the Humvee, Fisher stole a moment to have a word with Grim, who’d been monitoring the conversation he’d had with Prince Shammari.

The wind was beginning to howl in his ears as he listened to her through his subdermal: “I don’t know, Sam, I was positive all the dots were connecting.”

“They still are.”

“Maybe Abqaiq’s not the target.”

“Then why are those Russians in Dammam?”

“Maybe it’s been the port all along. Or maybe the capital. Maybe it’s Riyadh. That’s only two hundred miles southwest.”

Fisher mouthed a curse and said, “We’re heading over to Dammam. We’ll see what we can pick up there. You keep working with Kasperov and his right-hand guy. I’ll be in touch.”

As they drove away from the warehouse, Prince Shammari glanced up from his surfboard-sized smartphone and announced that out to the west, a thunderstorm traveling at up to 45 knots was beginning to collapse and dump torrents. Wind directions were reversing and gusting outward from the storm. Reports from Riyadh said a haboob was beginning to form and that everyone should seek cover.

“Haboob” was an amusing word for a very deadly and intense sandstorm common on the Arabian peninsula.

“Where are you headed now?” Shammari asked Fisher.

“Dammam.”

“Then you’d best hurry.”

“We will. I’m sorry we wasted your time. Your security is impressive.”

“As I’ve demonstrated.”

“Your deliveries here, they all come in by truck?”

“And by rail. With a few small ones by helicopter.”

“The oil is shipped by pipeline up to Dammam.”

“That’s correct.”

Fisher sat there, considering that.

“I hope for our sakes that you’re wrong,” said Shammari. “There is no plot. There is no bomb. I know we’ve been talking about terrorists with nuclear weapons for years, but the world cannot afford it. Not ever.”

“I agree. But I’ve been doing this for a long time.” Fisher glanced out the window. “There’s a bomb out there. And we’re going to find it.”

By the time they hit the helipad, the chopper was already warm since Fisher had called ahead to the pilot. They bid their tense and somewhat awkward good-byes to the prince and his troops, then started for the helicopter.

While stars shimmered directly overhead, the western sky was no more than a churning brown wave that consumed the entire horizon. Briggs pointed, and they both gasped.

This could be the largest and most formidable haboob Fisher had ever seen, and that was saying something because he’d spent enough time in Arab countries to ride out his share of storms. This bad weather could buy them some time. If the storm extended all the way up to the port it could shut down operations, perhaps delaying the oligarchs’ plan.

They climbed into the chopper, Briggs taking one of the backseats, Fisher up front with the pilot. They rolled shut the door, and just as they were lifting off, Grim called.

“Sam, I’ve got new intel from Kasperov. He called one of the oligarchs directly. Kargin, the guy who was talking to Chern. Kasperov threatened to unleash the Calamity Jane virus on the man’s company and holdings if he didn’t call off the attack.”

“Then it’s over?”

“Kasperov thinks Kargin killed himself while he was on the line. The guy said it’s too late. There’s nothing that can stop them now.”

“Aw, shit. Did he get anything else?”

“He didn’t, but his partner Kannonball did. More intercepted comms between the GRU and an agent in Dammam. Best we can tell there are four Iranian MOIS agents at the port. They’ve linked up with the rogue GRU agent and were ordered to meet up with a railcar broker.”

Fisher’s OPSAT flashed as Grim sent him a satellite map of the desert between Dammam and Abqaiq, with a flashing red line between the two. Fisher zoomed in on that line to expose a set of railroad tracks, noting how the railway left Dammam, ran right through Abqaiq between the Saudi Aramco compound and the processing plant, then arrowed farther south to Riyadh.

“Grim, what if they—”

“I’m ahead of you. The Saudis have GID agents at the port, and I confirmed with them that one of the Iranian ships offloaded an HEP car.”

“A what?”

“An HEP car. These are high-end power cars that sit directly behind the locomotives. They look like engines sitting backward and they generate extra power needed for refrigerator cars and tractor trailer cooling units. The Saudis have some older diesel locomotives and still use some of these power cars on their lines. There was nothing unusual about this shipment, and all the paperwork checked out with the railway.”

“So why are we interested?”

“Because that HEP car was attached to a locomotive carrying oil containers, twenty-one in all, and it’s the only shipment scheduled to run through Abqaiq this evening. It’s number 116.”

“So you’re saying they don’t use HEP cars with oil container trains.”

“No — but they attached one anyway because they wanted that car to move out tonight.”

“Tell me why oil is being shipped down by train when there’s pipeline from Abqaiq to Dammam.”

“That oil is headed for Riyadh. They still need to ship the processed oil back down to the city by rail, and as you’ve seen, that railroad passes right through Abqaiq.”

“So they got past security at the port and the bomb’s inside the HEP car.”

“It has to be.”

“So the bomb is part of a larger shipment.”

“Yeah,” said Grim. “We weren’t thinking big enough.”

“So now all they have to do is wait until the train passes through the processing facility and detonate it for maximum impact. Just like the thorium operation, they either have a spotter in Abqaiq or like Kasperov said, they’ll have someone to trigger it manually, someone on a suicide mission.”

“Plus they have the storm to cover them. No way they could’ve planned that, but they’ll take advantage of it.”

“Call Shammari. Tell him to stop the train.”

“I already did,” she said. “The train’s still coming. It’s been hijacked. Just a single rail between Abqaiq and Dammam. No way to divert it.”

“What’s our ETA to the train?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“Backup?”

“Shammari’s troops are leaving the compound now, but his F-15s have been grounded. He says he’s got some light helicopter gunships en route.”

“Tell him to hold back those gunships until I give the order — otherwise they could spook the triggerman.”

“Roger that. And, Sam, once the storm hits we’ll lose the satellite feed and maybe the rest of our comms.”

“That’s all right. We know what to do now.”

“Sam, I, uh… I think this time we’re right.”

“Is your gut telling you that?”

“It is.”

“Good. Mine, too.” He closed his eyes and could almost see her face. She wore the barest hint of a smile.

He wanted to say something else, something more meaningful because she was right, this was it — possibly the last conversation they’d ever have after years of working together.

“Grim?”

“Yeah?”

He stammered. “We’ll be okay.”

After a long pause, she answered, “Talk to you soon, Sam.”

Briggs, who’d been listening in on the conversation via the chopper’s intercom system, reached over and proffered his hand.

“What’s this?” Fisher asked.

“Just in case,” said Briggs. They shook firmly. “Someday, when I grow up, I’m gonna be just like you.”

Fisher shoved Briggs and smiled. “Let’s go kick some ass.”