The Black Bullet

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

One of Sharif’s men measured the bomb under the quilt and then measured the cargo area of the plane. “We’ll have to remove the two back seats,” he said.

Sharif looked at his watch. “Hurry!” he shouted. “The Americans might be close. He looked at Jason in the van. “We will videotape you getting on the aircraft, taking your last ride as you and Waahid bomb the city of Atlanta. I know the history during your Civil War, which I believe has never ended. General Sherman marched through Atlanta, almost burned it to the ground. We will do what the general failed to do. I hear Atlanta is the home of Coca Cola … the real thing, no?”

“Might as well kill me now,” Jason said. “No way in hell I’m going to drop a nuclear bomb on an American city.”

“You and Waahid will not ‘drop’ the bomb. You will crash the aircraft into the heart of the city. You are part of the bomb! For Waahid, it will be the threshold to paradise. Masalaama. For you, and your narrow-view religion, it is the end.”

O’Brien drove as he and Hunter listened to the FBI analyst on the speakerphone. She said, “The airport is between Highway 17 and 37 in southern Madison County. Have a satellite aerial. We count six people. Not known if all are hostiles. They are outside a building. There are five buildings, two large enough to be hangers. Hostiles are in front of the second large building to the right of the entrance drive. Some may be in the building. One person is in a prone position. Assumed dead. You can approach from the service road and drive up to the rear of the hangers to minimize the risk of a visual. There are two large trees that might offer cover. ”

“Thanks, Patti,” Hunter said. “Give me an open channel to Mark and the team.”

“Stand by.”

O’Brien said, “We need to surround these guys and avoid crossfire.”

“Understand,” Hunter said.

“Channel is open,” said the analyst.

“All units,” Hunter said, “follow us through a spur road leading to the rear of the airport. From there we’ll have teams of two fan-out and cover the perimeter best we can. Hostiles are in front of the second hanger to the right. Some could be in the building. The goal is to keep the twin-engine Beechcraft from taking off.”

“Roger,” said a voice on the speakerphone.

Sharif’s men entered a hangar and began searching for tools. “This should work,” said one man lifting a red toolbox off a bench. We can have the rear seats out in a few minutes. Come, Samir, you are good with your hands.”

“Abdul, go to the aircraft. Stand guard.” Sharif punched numbers on his satellite phone, waited for the connection as he stood in the wide hangar door and watched the men unbolt the rear seats. In Arabic he said, “The hour is here. We will have the plane in the air within five minutes. The great American city of Atlanta will go down in a ball of heat … yes … Allah has led us here … Allah akbar, hamdulillah!”

O’Brien drove down the dirt spur road, careful not to stir dust. Three SUVs loaded with federal agents followed. They parked beneath two large live oaks about one hundred feet from the rear of the hangars.

O’Brien said, “Remember, they’re holding a hostage. You all have the description of Jason Canfield. He needs to walk out of here. His father died on the bombing of the USS Cole. This one is for Jason’s dad! Let’s make sure his son lives.”

Both rear seats were on the tarmac to the left of the Beechcraft. The men removed the quilt from the bomb and walked it over to the open doors on the plane. The bomb was like a fat torpedo. More than four feet in length. Two feet thick. Ugly gray, a dark tapered point. Twin fins on the tail. It took five men to lift it into the plane.

One man held a video camera recording everything. Three others stood guard holding AK-47 assault rifles. Sharif and Rashid Aahmed were at the hangar door. Sharif just ended a phone call while Rashid scanned the area for intruders. “It is time,” Sharif said, walking toward the plane. “Bring Canfield.”

In front of the plane, Waahid-Barak dropped to his knees, body facing east and lowered his forehead to the ground. When he stood, Sharif kissed both of his cheeks and said, “You will be the martyr all our children’s children will respect. You are mujaddid. You were chosen by Allah. You will have a special place in paradise. Salaam alaikum.”

Waahid bowed his head. The men watched as he climbed in the pilot seat.

Two men lifted Jason who screamed, “Shoot me now assholes! I’m not going on your bombing mission!”

One man hit Jason in the jaw with the butt of his pistol. Jason dropped to his knees. The man with the video camera zoomed in closer on Jason’s face. Sharif shouted, “Jason Canfield! The choice is yours. Renounce the atrocities of your government and you live. If you do not, you will have a front row seat to the greatest explosion ever to happen on American soil.”

Jason was silent.

“Renounce the hypocrisy of the Unites States … the land of the free!”

“Fuck you!” Jason yelled.

Sharif kicked Jason in the face, the blow knocking him back on the runway. “Load the infidel into the aircraft!” shouted Sharif. The men loaded him in the front seat, hands bound behind his back.

They slammed the door as Hunter whispered in his radio, “Let’s take ‘em!”

“Hands up!” Shouted an FBI agent as they fanned out from the building.

“Get down! Down! Down! Faces on the Ground!” ordered another.

“Depart!” shouted Sharif, waving his arms. The pilot started the plane amidst Sharif’s men firing rounds from their AK-47s. They ran for cover behind the van and planes.

O’Brien heard a bullet wiz above his left ear as Sharif sprinted to the hangar.

“Jason’s in the plane!” Hunter shouted. “Shoot the tires!”

The automatic rounds from Sharif’s men ripped through the corrugated aluminum hangars. The agents returned fire, killing two men in seconds.

O’Brien turned, running full bore to the parked SUV. He grabbed a 30.06 scoped rifle and bolted toward the old flight tower. He keyed his mic. “Cover me! I’m climbing the ladder to the tower. I’m going to try to take out the pilot before he gets in the air!”

The agents released a barrage of bullets at the two remaining terrorists. One saw O’Brien climbing the tower and rose to get off a shot. Hunter fired a round and the man’s head exploded. The last man hiding behind the van threw out his rifle and shouted, “I surrender!”