“Don’t thank me till it’s over.”
—Fahad al-Qadi
Fahad’s driver pulled the Lincoln Town Car into the garage of the filthy four-story, formerly white truck stop. It had been a truck stop up until a couple of years ago. Now it was essentially a big, dirty building that hadn’t seen a coat of whitewash or paint in thirty years.
He got out of the car and entered the front door.
On the first floor was the machine shop, which was why the driver had taken a one-year lease out on it for Fahad. Haddad had also leased a dual-beam laser welder that could penetrate far deeper into ultrahard metals—such as titanium—as well as several other metal-cutting machines and other assorted pieces of machine shop equipment.
In Fahad’s case, he had needed a custom-built, specially designed dual-beam laser that was capable of welding the two tamps into the ends of an old Civil War howitzer barrel. Fahad had bought the cannon from the estate of an old collector and had had it recommissioned. It was ready to go.
Two men dressed in white machinist’s overalls walked up to Fahad. One wore a short beard, the other needed a shave and had a thick black mustache. Fahad shook both their hands. They were here to assist him in constructing the nuke.
“We’ve been cleaning up the shop,” Mukhtar, the bearded man, said. “The owners had been unable to sell the place, so it hadn’t been touched or taken care of for the last few years.”
“We must have killed a hundred rats,” Ramzi said. “A week ago, we brought in a couple of cats to help us. Now the rats are either dead, or the cats scared the bastards off.”
“Excellent,” Fahad asked, “and the dual-beam laser welder has arrived?”
“It’s here,” Mukhtar said, “ready and waiting.”
“The howitzer barrel?” Fahad asked.
“It’s under the tarp,” Ramzi said.
“We have a forklift that can handle up to ten tons, and the shop has a hydraulic lift off to the side,” Mukhtar said. “We’ll have no difficulty machining the howitzer.”
“And the medical supplies?” Fahad asked.
“They’re all here—ready for you,” Ramzi said. “We put the drugs in the mini-fridge in the corner.”
“Great,” Fahad said. “But now I’m going to have to take off for several days, and while I’m gone, I want you guys to thread the interior of the two ends of the howitzer barrel so that its grooves will match those of the two tamps. When I get back, we’ll screw each of them in, then I’ll weld the tamps tight.”
“Will the weapon be powerful enough to do the job?” Ramzi asked.
“We only need one kiloton max,” Fahad said. “The bomb will work fine.”
“Ta-Barruk-Allah,” Mukhtar said. Praise be to Allah, our protector. “We have waited for this moment all our lives.”
“Thank you so much for allowing us to be part of your operation,” Mukhtar said.
“Don’t thank me till it’s over,” Fahad said. “We still have a lot to do. You can call me on one of my encrypted burner phones if you need anything. Remember to smash it afterward and scatter its pieces in the Hudson if you have to use it. You know not to say anything stupid that will expose what we’re doing, right?”
“Of course,” Mukhtar said.
“Then we’re straight,” Fahad said. “Haddad and I will spend the night here. First thing in the morning, we’ll take off.”
“I understand this will be hard,” Ramzi said, “but I’m still grateful we’ve been granted a chance to retaliate against the Great Satan for what he has done to Iraq, Syria and Afghanistan.”
“At last, we have the chance to hit his homeland—and to hit it hard,” Mukhtar said.
“That is true,” Fahad said. “I’ll give you that. We will hit the Great Satan in a way the American people and the world never imagined possible—not in their darkest, wildest nightmares.”
“Ta-Barruk-Allah,” Mukhtar repeated.
“But in the meantime, I have some supplies to purchase,” Fahad said. “I’ll see you back here in a few hours and take off at first light.”