Use of Force

CHAPTER 10

The Catholic pilgrimage trail known as the Camino de Santiago was a vast network of routes across Europe. They culminated at Santiago’s massive Romanesque cathedral, where the remains of Saint James the Elder — one of the twelve apostles, and patron saint of Spain — were buried.

Tursunov could have picked any religious building, but this one was special. From his position on the Praza do Obradoiro, he noted the masses of tourists. The body count would be exceptional.

But it wasn’t just the cathedral’s popularity that had appealed to him.

While researching his Burning Man attack, he had come across something remarkable. Black Rock City was laid out in such a way that its central axis pointed directly to the Cathedral in Santiago. He knew this wasn’t an accident.

His mother, a follower of the mystical strain of Sufi Islam, had always encouraged him to see the hand of the Divine in all things, everywhere. It was as if Allah himself was directing him.

James was also known as Santiago Matamoros, or St. James the “Moor-slayer.”

By the time King Alfonso the Second of Asturias died, the Moors already controlled most of the Iberian peninsula. A popular myth held that in return for allowing his Christian kingdom in northwest Spain to continue enjoying its autonomy, the neighboring Islamic Emirate of Córdoba demanded the reinstitution of the “Tribute of One Hundred Virgins”—an annual payment of fifty virgins of noble birth and fifty of common birth in return for the promise of Muslim forces not to invade.

Alfonso’s successor, Ramiro the First, though, refused to pay, and both sides readied for war.

According to legend, on the night before the battle, St. James appeared to Ramiro in a dream, reassuring him that he would be victorious. The next day, at the Battle of Clavijo, Ramiro invoked the name of St. James and with his men slew more than five thousand of the Moorish forces.

It was claimed that St. James, riding on a white horse, with a white banner and a long silver sword, rode among Ramiro’s men, cutting down every Muslim soldier who appeared before him. Hence, St. James became known as Matamoros, and there were paintings and statues of him performing his abhorrent deed all over the city.

The attack on the cathedral that held his bones, and more important, his name, would be an undeniable victory for the Islamic State and Muslims around the world. Tursunov had planned its timing very carefully.

More than 250,000 pilgrims visited the cathedral every year. August was considered peak season. He was pushing things by waiting until the end of the month, but it had been important to attack at Burning Man first. The Americans were reactionary. In light of a successful attack in Europe, they would have hardened targets, possibly making it too hard to strike. It had been better to catch them by surprise. Now it was time to surprise the Europeans.

Tursunov had attended the “Pilgrim’s Mass” only once, but it was enough. Like everyone around him, he had filmed the entire thing with his camera phone.

Based on his estimates, the service at the high altar catered to just over a thousand worshippers, all tightly packed into the pews.

He would have loved to collapse the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, but with its sweeping arches, barreled ceiling, and soaring columns, its structural DNA eluded him.

He didn’t have the engineering expertise of a bin Laden. His experience came from his service in the Tajik Army, followed by a career in the Special Operations Unit of the National Police Force. Neither had called for taking down churches. He was much more conversant in things like artillery and blowing doors off hinges. Even so, he had tried to improve his knowledge.

Using the Christian churches and heavily columned archeological sites of ISIS-held territory, he had conducted experiment after experiment.

And while the structural DNA of the sites continued to elude him, something more dramatic was revealed. With each test, they learned how to build better bombs. In particular, their martyrdom vests took a huge leap forward.

As the technology improved, so did their understanding of how best to maximize the effects. Whether indoors or out, they developed a whole new approach that would accelerate the lethality of their attacks.

With these advancements, he had pushed for a new way of structuring personnel. There was no need to create one operational cell. He wanted multiple small cells, with each believing it was acting alone.

If one was captured, the operation would still be able to continue. In fact, authorities might even drop their guard, believing that they had successfully interrupted the entirety of the plot.

It meant more work, more cutouts and double-blind intermediaries, but Tursunov’s ability to strategize on a higher plane was what had earned him his position as the senior ISIS commander for Europe. His brothers in America would have been smart to follow his lead.

Opening a new package of Dunhill cigarettes, he placed one between his lips and lit it. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and tried to picture how everything would unravel inside.

The highlight of the Pilgrim’s Mass was the flight of a massive brass incense burner. Suspended high above the main altar, the cathedral’s Botafumerio was controlled by a series of ropes, the pulling of which caused it to soar to amazing heights as it released its sweet-smelling smoke.

Tursunov imagined the quiet titter of excitement as the red-robed Tiraboleiros—the men charged with lofting the frankincense-packed censer — walked past the faithful and made their way toward the altar.

Once there, the lead Tiraboleiro would light the Botafumerio and it would begin to release its heavy aroma.

Once the other Tiraboleiros were ready, the chief would give a signal and they’d pull on the ropes in unison, dramatically launching it heavenward.

As it swung back and forth in a hypnotic, pendulous motion that seemed poised to touch the walls of the cathedral itself, its intoxicating smoke would fill the air. So effortlessly would it swing, and so wonderful was its heady perfume, that the entire spectacle would seem to provide a way to commune with the Divine. As the organ played, a nun would sing.

Exhaling, Tursunov opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. They were seconds away.

Inside, the organ would be building to a thunderous crescendo as the lead Tiraboleiro reached out to capture the swinging Botafumerio. Tursunov counted down from ten as he took another drag from his cigarette.

Looking up, he fixed his eyes on the glazed windows adorning the structure’s western facade.

Three seconds later, the entire city shook as a series of explosions rocked the cathedral — sending shards of stained glass, chunks of flaming stone, and pieces of bone, blood, and human flesh in all directions.