The First Casualty

61

If any of the waiting worshipers noticed the sound, they did not comment on it. A rough rumbling that seemed to come from the ground up, from a single minaret, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was a noise that came and went there. Updating the electrical work, the imam had explained, although no one had ever seen an electrician coming or going, nor, for that matter, was there an electrician of that level in the city. Except for the few hotels, such work was done by general handymen, for there was not enough of it to support a specialist. Many homes had electric lights and fans, a few even televisions, but none possessed the elaborate schemes of climate control, lighting, cooking, and other electronic systems found in the most humble of American homes.

The paucity of electrical equipment was the reason the facade of the mosque was not illuminated, as would become a World Heritage site. It would be difficult to imagine Notre Dame or Westminster in total darkness, but Sankore, possibly older than either, with its exterior beams jutting from its face, was just that: dark.

At the base of the west-facing minaret, Emphani and Andrews waited, also in Bedouin garb, as the night’s darkness began to fade into a dishwater dawn.

Inside the minaret, Moustaph and Abu Bakr also waited.

“Only minutes until the infidel American’s plane reaches the target area,” Abu Bakr announced.

“How will you know exactly when to fire,” the other man asked.

Abu Bakr pointed to the tiny earbud almost obscured by his headdress. “Our friend who is monitoring both the radio transmissions and radar returns will tell me the instant the plane reaches the designated point, Hamid. Allah willing, the electronic aiming system will deliver kilometer-wide bursts of particles at the plane’s altitude and a point just east of Hamid on an intercept of the aircraft’s heading.”

Moustaph nodded in what he hoped was a knowledgeable manner. He understood few of the devices of the modern world. TV, cell phones, and computers were not specifically condoned in the Holy Book, and were therefore contraptions of the devil. Had not cell phones been perverted by the American devils to serve as a means of pinpointing a number of his former comrades to those devices of Satan himself, drone aircraft? Even now, that thing Abu Bakr had in his ear could be guiding one of those invisible, soundless engines of death. If it was Allah’s will, so be it.

Still, the thought gave little comfort.

Hell’s contraptions or not, only a fool would deny modern devices were imperative if a modern-day caliphate were to be established, no matter how unholy. The answer was to let the Abu Bakrs of the world use them, thereby saving the true believer from becoming khawarij, outside the religion.

He became aware Abu Bakr was saying something.

“Can you assist in moving the machine closer to the window? For our safety, I want the nozzle outside.”

Moustaph was reluctant, praying he would be forgiven for touching the machine in a greater cause. He was surprised at how easily the large weapon swiveled, the nozzle now inches across the windowsill.

Below, in the dawn’s gray light, Emphani and Andrews saw the protrusion break the plane of the minaret’s side.

“Showtime,” Andrews muttered as he clicked twice on the transmit button of his radio.

They still had to wait, but this time only for seconds. Then they would be executing a plan that worked only with split-second timing.