The Storm

CHAPTER 22

IN THE CAVERNOUS BAY SURROUNDING THE TANK, JINN’S words to Mustafa of Pakistan and Alhrama of Saudi Arabia echoed with a strange dissonance. He’d managed to be gracious and munificent—at least in his own mind—despite wanting to choke them with his bare hands. But he was ready to send them a message. In fact, he’d decided to send two.

Sabah leaned closer. “Separate them,” he whispered and then stepped back, remaining behind Jinn and out of sight.

Jinn did not react to the words. He had agreed to this show on Sabah’s request. But he would decide what must occur now.

“You see in the tank before you a mock-up of the Aswan High Dam,” he said. “It will soon be the focal point in a demonstration of my powers.”

“I don’t understand,” Alhrama said.

“General Aziz has emboldened you with his refusal to pay what he promised. He has his reasons, but prime among them is the dam. As long as it exists, Egypt has a five-year supply of water stored up. But Aziz has little understanding of either my power or my wrath.”

Jinn lifted a radio to his mouth and pressed the talk switch. “Begin.”

The machinery spooled up again. The crane shifted and moved the barrel out over the water and into its final position. A cable attached to the bottom half of the yellow drum was reeled in and the drum began to tip.

The silver sand began to pour out; millions upon millions of Jinn’s microbots, pouring into the tank and dispersing like sugar in tea. The water began turning murky and gray.

“Give the command,” Jinn said.

In a control room high above, someone pressed a button and sent out a coded command.

The murky water began to stir. The gray cloud coalesced into a tighter pattern and then moved toward the edge of the dam like a dark spirit drifting through the water.

“What’s happening?” Mustafa asked.

“The dam is made of aggregate,” Jinn said. “Easy to put together and held in place by its great weight, but not completely impervious.”

As he spoke, the silver sand adhered to the edge of the dam in two separate places: one spot near the top of the dam and a second about one-third the way down the sloping wall. After a minute or so, the progress of the tiny machines became noticeable in the cross section of the dam.

“Remarkable,” Alharma said, “the speed with which they penetrate.”

“The actual dam is much thicker of course,” Jinn pointed out. “But the effect will be the same, it will only take longer. A matter of hours, I should think.”

Within minutes the leading fingers of the horde had reached the central core of the dam. Progress slowed dramatically, but the etching continued until a pinprick had been bored through to the other side.

In another minute or two the sand had reached the right edge of the aggregate and broken through. A trickle of water began, quickly accelerating. Soon the weight of the water behind the dam was forcing out a jet of liquid through the tiny gap.

“This effect will be heightened in the real event,” Jinn said. “The weight of the water behind Aswan numbers in the trillions of tons.”

Even in the scale model, the breach was quickly being scoured and enlarged. Soon the gap was two inches in diameter and then four. Moments later a section of the top dropped in, taking the miniature road and cars along with it. The water from the high side of the tank flowed through the gap, pouring over the far side like a waterfall. But it was the lower tunnel through the dam that made things interesting.

As the water surged over the top, it reached a point of equilibrium, scouring downward far less rapidly where the waterproof clay core resisted the erosion.

“The dam is not falling,” Mustafa pointed out.

“Watch the lower tunnel,” Jinn insisted.

The lower tunnel finally made it through to the far side, and in minutes the higher-pressure water from the deeper part of the tank had widened the lower tunnel from a pinprick to a few inches in diameter.

Water blasted out the far side in a fine spray. After another minute, the core collapsed in the center, creating a deep V-shaped groove as the material above it caved in.

A huge wave surged through and crashed into the narrow channel that represented the Nile. It flooded the miniature embankments, sweeping away dirt, sand and small boxes that represented structures.

The test was successful, the dam was breached, the Nile was flooded. Mustafa and Alhrama stared in shock at the devastation.

Jinn smiled to himself and took a step back. It was the perfect moment. Sabah held the door behind him.

Mustafa turned and looked at them, grinning and expectant. He nodded to Sabah. The look on his face reminded Jinn of a thief with stolen treasures in hand. When Sabah took no action, the look changed, first to confusion, then to anger and fear. He must have now realized that Sabah would not kill his master.

The thief with the stolen goods had been caught and his face showed it. He reached for a weapon, but Sabah pulled Jinn aside and slammed the door.

In a blink, the hatch was locked tight. And the hammering of gunfire up against it did nothing but ring in their ears.

Mustafa began shouting from behind the door. “What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?”

From outside the room Jinn pressed an intercom switch. “The meaning is simple. You tried to turn my servant against me and he has passed the test. Now you will suffer the consequences.”

The sound of fists banging followed and then several more shots rang out, and Jinn was in wonder that the ricochets didn’t kill either Mustafa or Alhrama.

Alhrama began shouting. “Jinn, be reasonable! I have nothing to do with this.”

Jinn ignored them. He brought the radio up to his mouth once again. “Begin the frenzy.”

Up in the control room the operator punched another button, and the yellow drum was tilted farther, dumping more of the metallic sand into the pool. The murky gray color returned and deepened, and the water changed complexion once again. From outside the tank where Jinn and Sabah stood, it seemed as if the water had begun to boil.

Inside the viewing chamber, the effect was enhanced. Mustafa stared at the acrylic wall. A dark, viscous shape, thick like octopus ink, surged forward. It flowed onto the clear surface and spread across it like some kind of film.

Mustafa froze. Alhrama pushed past him and yanked on the locked door handle. “Let me out!” he shouted. “It was Mustafa. I was not part of this!”

A strange scratching sound began to resonate, and the film darkened and thickened in a pattern that Mustafa recognized as fissures. The fissures spread across the acrylic in a branching pattern, growing deeper in two small areas.

The etching noise grew louder and sharper, almost like fingers on a chalkboard. The noise seemed to penetrate Mustafa’s brain. He could see the acrylic vibrating, the water shuddering around it.

The clear wall creaked ominously. Behind him Alhrama continued to yank on the door handle and plead with Jinn to let him free. Mustafa began to shake and fell to his knees.

“No!” he shouted. “No!”

The acrylic wall fractured. It caved in, and water flooded the bay. Mustafa tried to swim through it, but the swarm of silver sand enveloped him, soaking into his clothes, burrowing into his skin, and dragging him down to the bottom of the tank like a fifty-pound anvil.

For a minute he struggled like a speared fish, jerking in spasms, but very quickly he was still, and shortly afterward his blood began to stain the water red. Behind him, drowning in the bay, Alhrama fared no better.