Solomon's Gold

CHAPTER 17

Hamid Kazemi leaned out the window of an idling van, talking to the guard at the Red Hook Marine terminal in Brooklyn. He handed over paperwork that showed he was taking delivery of a pallet of air compressors consigned to a wholesale auto-parts distributor in Queens.

The guard checked the numbers against the screen on his computer and scrawled something across the top page. He picked up a phone and spoke into it, handed the papers back, and pointed.

"Pull into that area over there. Someone will bring the pallet to you. Give him the paperwork and he'll load it into your van. Should take about fifteen minutes."

"Thanks," Hamid said.

The guard threw a switch and the gate swung open. Hamid pulled forward to where the guard had pointed and parked.

"Is it really this easy? Look at this." Amin gestured at the terminal. "Their security is laughable. How fast do you think that fat man in the guard shack can run?"

"Perhaps he eats too many donuts," Hamid said. "I have heard that all American policeman love donuts."

Amin nodded. "I don't think he's a real policeman. He is what the Americans call a 'Rent a Cop.'"

"There are real policeman here somewhere. For us, it's not a problem. We have all the right papers. With the right papers, one can do anything in this country."

"It is such a rich country," Amin said. "They have grown fat and lazy. Their refusal to recognize Allah will destroy them. It will be their undoing."

"It will be what they deserve. One day, all the world will be Muslim."

"God willing," Amin said.

He pointed at a forklift approaching. "I think that's our shipment."

Hamid got out of the van and opened the cargo doors in the back. The forklift operator maneuvered into position.

"Got the papers?"

Hamid gave them to him. The operator looked for the guard's signature, took a copy, and handed the papers back. He deposited the pallet into the back of the van. The forklift beeped loudly as it backed away. Hamid closed the doors, climbed back into the driver's seat, and started the van. They waited until the gate opened and drove away. Hamid waved at the guard as they drove through.

The storage unit they'd rented was a little over a mile from the terminal. It was a typical set up, with rows of units arranged neatly in a grid. Each unit had a garage style overhead door. Unit 8 B was halfway down one of the rows. Hamid waited while Amin got out and dealt with the heavy padlock on the door. He rolled the door open. Hamid drove the van inside and shut it down.

Amin came inside, turned on a single overhead bulb, and shut the door. Hamid walked to the back of the van and opened the doors.

The pallet was loaded with what appeared to be sixteen upright air compressors, wrapped in plastic shrink wrap. The compressors were typical of what could be found in any auto store or discount tool house across the country. Each unit was a cylinder about four feet high, topped with a housing containing two gauges for measuring how much air was stored and how much pressure would be released through the hose.

Two of the cylinders hid containers with sarin gas.