10:52 / 10:52 A.M. GST
We’re going in,” Nir said, throwing open his door and tumbling out.
“Wait! There’s something important you don’t know.”
“Make it fast, Lahav! We’ve got to get in there.” Nir wasn’t even trying to hide his impatience. He dropped back inside and pulled his door closed.
“The Blowfish is much more sophisticated than the drones in Abu Dhabi.”
“Meaning…”
“If you destroy the master controller, these drones won’t just disengage and crash to earth or return home like the others. The RC signal is leading them on a pre-programmed route, which is embedded into their hard drive once they take off. The only way to stop them now is to reprogram that hard drive. So when you get in there, whatever you do, do not harm the controllers.”
Nir punched the ceiling of the Suburban. “You have got to be kidding me.”
That changed everything. Not only could a stray bullet from one of their guns doom the thousands of people in and around the Burj Khalifa on a Saturday, but the KSS men themselves could destroy the control center, making the attack a fait accompli.
“How do we play this, boss?” asked Avi.
“Give me a second.”
Going in with guns blazing was out of the question. It would have to be a surprise attack.
“One more thing,” Liora said. “Lahav, what’s the speed of those things?”
“Carrying a load, you’re looking at around 80 kmh.”
“Nir, that means you have about 20 minutes until they reach their target.”
Rather than causing him further stress, that information gave Nir some relief. His window was short, but at least he had a little time for a stealth assault.
10:55 / 10:55 A.M. GST
It was beautiful. The hum of 25 two-meter rotors spinning at maximum speed could not only be heard but could be seen and felt—a visceral experience that could never be adequately explained, only experienced. Then those beautiful Blowfish had lifted off like a miniature, lethal, aquatic-esque air force. The whir had peaked, then faded as the drones left the warehouse and rose high into the sky until there was no sound left. The silence in the warehouse became absolute.
A slow clap echoed against the metal walls.
“‘Ahsant,” said al-Qasimi. “Well done, my friend.”
Despite how much he despised the man, Abbas found himself strangely pleased with the affirmation. Then he immediately chastised himself. He would not be anyone’s dog, kicked around all day, then jumping up and wagging his tail when his master rubbed his ears. So rather than responding, he turned toward the computer that showed the progress of the swarm, along with two video feeds from tiny cameras he’d installed on the lead drones.
In just a short time, the fires of hell would rain down on the people of that prideful tribute to secular man’s achievement. Lives would be ruined, and bodies would be destroyed. Weak-spined Sunni Islam would fear the wrath of the followers of the true faith.
Abbas signaled for Hassan and Ali to close the sliding doors of the warehouse.
“How long?” asked the IRGC man.
Abbas looked at the computer. “Twenty minutes.”
Pulling out a chair from under the table, al-Qasimi sat. He called to his partner, who was still standing by the door. “Jamshid, come join me. Let’s watch the fruit of our labors.”
11:00 / 11:00 A.M. GST
Doron and Avi took the left side of the door, Nicole the right. Both men had a Micro Galil assault rifle strapped to their chest. Nicole, however, held her SIG Sauer P226 9mm, her service weapon of choice. It was pointed at the ground with her finger on the trigger guard. She wouldn’t fire unless it was necessary.
Nir had not wanted her in the first wave of the assault. She’d initially protested, thinking he was being overprotective of her again. Then he explained that she was needed elsewhere. Although she was an excellent shot with her SIG, that was not her expertise. He needed her fingers on a keyboard, not on a gun.
Once the breach occurred, Nicole’s mission was to get to the controller set up, hack into the system, and reprogram the Blowfish swarm’s destination. Nobody else on the team could pull that off. The odds were long that even she would be able to do it, but the job of the rest of the team was to ensure she had the chance—and didn’t get shot in the process.
She watched as Doron signaled to the second squad, letting them know he was about to gain entrance to the warehouse. Yaron signaled an acknowledgment from where he stood with Dima and Filipescu. The Romanian had insisted on joining the fight, pulling a .45 caliber pearl-handled silver Colt 1911 out of his messenger bag. When he’d racked it and smiled, Nicole thought he looked every bit the part of the Eastern European gunrunner.
Quietly, Doron asked, “Assault 3, you in place?”
A click sounded over the com—Nir affirming that he was ready to go.
After they’d approached the warehouse, Nir had low-run around to the back of the building, and Nicole knew he’d make sure he stayed below the window line. She’d also seen him take his 9mm Jericho, but rather than adding a Galil, he’d opted for an M16. Under the rifle was mounted an M203 single shot 40mm grenade launcher. One grenade was loaded already, and he’d stuffed four more in his vest. He was ready.
Avi inserted a lock pick into the door handle and began flicking a small bar to trigger the tumblers. In and out, in and out, Nicole thought as she took deep breaths. Although she’d now spent more than a decade serving in the Mossad, this was the first time she’d ever participated in a field assault.
Lord, please protect us. Take down these enemies who want to do evil. Give me the strength to do what needs to be done for the saving of many lives.
Avi cursed, pulling the pick out and starting again. Time was getting short; nearly ten minutes had passed while they’d waited for the ramsad’s permission to raid the building. Nir’s first inclination had been to go in without informing Efraim, but Nicole had reminded him that such a strategy was potentially career and freedom ending. She was grateful he’d acquiesced. He was a good man, but he sometimes let his passion for doing the right thing lead him into doing the wrong thing.
Flick, flick, flick, and Avi’s face spread into a smile. With a subtle twist of his wrist, the handle turned and the door cracked open. With two clicks on the com, Doron signaled the other teams that they had breached. As they’d done in Abu Dhabi, they would let flash-bang grenades give them the advantage. At the front door, Avi and Doron each readied an M84, pulling its circular primary pin and its triangular secondary pin but holding tight the safety lever against the perforated steel body. Yaron and Dima did the same. Nicole’s adrenaline spiked, and she felt a fluttering in her stomach.
Lifting his hand, Doron used his fingers to count down.
Five…four…three…two…one.