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As the men prepared for what would be their last delivery trip into the Tagant School’s catacombs, Liam walked over to the pile of materials that had yet to be carried inside. He hefted a long box of rifles onto his back, feeling his muscles strain.
He stretched and felt the paper-wrapped package under his cloak, pressed against his body. He hoped that the packaging was secure, and that anthrax wasn’t somehow leaching from the box through his skin. But there was no way around it. He had to trust in the actions of the men he worked with—or had worked with—and in the plan itself.
He took his place in the line, sweating under the cloak. As he walked, the package worked its way loose and threatened to spill out at his feet unless he got it out fast. With one elbow, he kept it pressed against his stomach. But that gave him an awkward purchase on the box of rifles. If he dropped his cargo, he’d call attention to himself, and he couldn’t do that.
As the line of men approached the gate to the Tagant School, an open Jeep passed them, kicking up sand in its wake. Liam recognized Wahid Zubran at the wheel. He kept his head down, waiting with the rest of the men while Zubran argued with the guards and then drove into the courtyard.
As Liam watched Zubran park the Jeep next to the arched doorway and stride inside, he felt the package against his hip press shift again, angling against his kidney. The military in charge of the Tagant School had listened to Hassan el-Masri and summoned Zubran. Once they pieced together Hassan’s story, the guards would begin searching for him and Aidan.
Liam was sixth in line as the men traipsed past the guards, through the lobby, and down the hallway. They passed the entrance to the soldiers’ dormitory, which was quiet. Liam assumed that all the men were either on duty, eating or sleeping. They turned the corner, passing the gym, but the door was closed and Liam couldn’t tell if there were men inside or not.
How much time did he have? There was no way to get word to Aidan that Zubran had arrived. He had to hope he would be able to get the anthrax in place before the guards went on full alert.
When the line of men reached the staircase down to the catacombs, Liam put the box of rifles down and adjusted the container of anthrax against his skin, relieving the pressure on his kidney. He picked up the rifles again and descended the staircase, feeling the cool air.
Liam followed the man before him to the room where most of the arms had been stored. He stacked his box of rifles on the top of the other man’s, then took over below-ground supervision. As soon as the last man had returned upstairs for another load, Liam shifted a couple of boxes to create a makeshift stepladder, so that he could reach the air intake vent above him. Using one of the blades of the knife Aidan had given him, he attacked the vent cover.
One of the screws had been stripped, and he wasted an extra minute prying it loose. Despite the cold air around him, sweat dripped down his forehead, and he used the sleeve of his cloak to wipe it away. His body was on alert for the sound of a guard, or another delivery, approaching.
With a painful twist of Aidan’s knife, the last screw came loose, and one side of the vent cover dropped open. Liam removed the package from under his cloak, and, using another of the knife’s blades, he slit the tape wrapped around it. There were several layers, though, and he kept having to stop and look around to make sure no soldier had stopped by, no bearer had returned with the next load.
He unearthed a glass vial, pulled out the stopper, and poured the contents into the air vent. Some of the white powder blew back onto him, and he sneezed, just as he heard the heavy tread of a man on the stone stairs. He gripped the knife, ready to throw it if the steps should belong to a guard.
Instead, if was a bearer carrying a rectangular box on his shoulder. The man looked at him, but Liam ignored him. Maintaining his focus, controlling his breathing despite the need to cough, he screwed the vent cover back in, then stepped down and asked to see what the man was carrying.
***
AFTER LIAM LEFT, AIDAN packed his backpack and Liam’s duffle, then carried them with him to the rise behind the camp and watched the Tagant School’s gate. He knew the SEALs were behind him somewhere in the desert, and worried that they might have appeared on a radar screen in Tripoli, that even as he waited and sweated in the sun an air strike was on its way to destroy them all.
He watched the line of men and camels approach the camp, and then stop. A Jeep approached, passing the line and throwing up a rooster tail of sand behind it. Who was that, he worried. Another terrorist come for training? Wahid Zubran, having tracked his inept assistant? How would this character affect the plan?
Despite his long sleeves and long pants, the safari hat over his head, his skin burned. He took small sips of water whenever he felt faint, sitting back against the bags. How did Liam manage this level of concentration? What was he doing—had he inserted the anthrax into the ventilation system? What if a guard had caught him, and he was being interrogated as Aidan sat outside, unable to help him?
The heat rose from the sand in hazy waves. Aidan nodded off, then jerked awake. In the distance, he saw a dark cloud rising. Another sandstorm? Or just a mirage?
***
AS HE DIRECTED THE men underground, Liam worried about Wahid Zubran, and wondered if the anthrax was doing what it was supposed to, making its way through the ductwork. His eyes watered and he sneezed, sometimes several times in rapid succession, but no one else seemed affected.
He switched duties with Ifoudan and joined the men carrying the last boxes of arms in from the camels. Shouldering a box, he moved through the arched front doorway, passing a pair of guards with rifles against their shoulders. What if they finished the unloading, but the anthrax failed to circulate? The plan would fail, and there would be no way to infiltrate the complex again.
Carrying in the fourth load, he passed the gymnasium and saw Zubran inside, with Hassan next to him. They were speaking with the man Liam thought was Abdul Bin-Tahari, in his Hawaiian shirt. The boy was speaking, the two older men listening.
But Liam could not linger and eavesdrop; he had to keep moving behind the man in front of him, like an obedient camel. Even if the anthrax was passing through the ducts, would anyone believe the bullhorn warning? What if the guards sealed the garrison before he could get out? What if no one left, and the soldiers inside the school mounted an attack on the SEALs outside? He could be trapped inside, with anthrax in the vents and armed guards searching for him.
As they were returning up the stairs, one of the men sneezed and caused a chain reaction. Within minutes, three other men were sniffling and sneezing. “The air is bad down here,” one man said.
Liam sneezed himself. He touched his forehead, and felt the heat radiating from it. The anthrax was working. He pulled Ifoudan aside. “We have to get out of here,” he said in a low voice. “There is something dangerous in the air.”
By the time the line of men had returned to the courtyard, almost all of them were sneezing, their eyes watering. Ifoudan went to the soldier in charge and insisted that there was something wrong, and his men had to leave.
Liam stood close enough to Ifoudan to hear the conversation. If they could just get out before Abdul bin-Tahari ordered a lockdown, the plan had a chance of working. He couldn’t tell if the sweat that beaded on his forehead was from the heat, the fever, or nerves. Either way, it stung his eyes.
The soldier called an older man who appeared to be in charge of the garrison. He might not have been convinced, had he not begun sneezing himself. “Go,” he said. “These filthy camels are making everyone sneeze. Don’t come back until tomorrow.”
***
THE SANDSTORM SWIRLED closer; Aidan alternated between watching the gates of the Tagant School and turning forty-five degrees to keep an eye on the cloud of sand. He couldn’t tell if it was heading toward him, staying in the same place, or aimed in a different direction entirely.
When the sun was at its highest, and Aidan was sipping the last few drops of water from the bottle in his pack, the gates opened, and the men and camels straggled out. Several men stumbled, and they clung to each other. Sometimes the camels appeared to be pulling them.
Where was Liam? Aidan cursed Liam’s ability to blend in so well. There was no way to tell if Liam was there or not. What if he’d been discovered, and captured?
The sandstorm looked like it was coming closer. Would it interfere with the ability of the SEALs to capture the terrorists? Would the chopper be able to land?
***
IFOUDAN LED THE CARAVAN out through the gates. Liam felt lousy, and it was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. The line of men and camels was halfway back to the caravan camp when he heard the bullhorn.
It was Joey Sheridan’s voice, in perfect Arabic. “Your facility has been infected with deadly poison. If you do not evacuate immediately you will die.”
The men of the caravan stopped to listen, then burst into frantic Arabic. Liam pulled Ifoudan aside. “A Navy medic is coming to your camp,” he said. “Make sure each one of your men takes the medicine he brings you. Every day, until two cycles of the moon have passed. If they do that, they will all survive. Do you understand?”
Ifoudan himself was sneezing, his eyes watering. “I understand.”
Liam forced himself to run, shedding the heavy cloak and scarf as he did. He had been planning to rendezvous with the team and help with the evacuation, but he realized, as he struggled ahead, that he would be no good. He had to find Aidan.
***
THE RAGTAG GROUP WAS halfway to the camp when Aidan harsh words in Arabic blasting through the bullhorn. Even though it was the sound he’d been waiting for, hoping for, it scared him.
The orderly line exiting the school dissolved as men ran toward the camp. One, though, took a different tack, and headed toward Aidan. As he shed his cloak, Aidan realized that it was Liam, and that he was in trouble. His customary grace had deserted him; he stumbled and nearly fell twice as he ran.
Forgetting his exhaustion and dehydration, Aidan took off down the slope toward Liam, his pack swaying on his back, Liam’s duffle banging against his side.
“Stay back,” Liam said, as he neared. “I’m getting sick. I must have breathed too much of the stuff.”
“I don’t care,” Aidan said, grabbing him around the waist. “Lean on me. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Suddenly, there were armed men running past them, wearing camouflage BDUs. The last was a stocky man around Aidan’s height. “Hoo-rah, brother,” the man said, pausing for a second to high-five Liam. “Good job.”
Liam could only nod as the man ran off.
Looking behind him, Aidan saw the gates of the facility open, and men begin to stream out. The SEALs were in place by that time, and even though there were only a dozen of them, they had weapons trained, and began shepherding the fleeing soldiers into groups.
Without his vantage point at the top of the rise, Aidan had no idea if the sandstorm was approaching, and when he heard a loud roar, he worried that they’d be engulfed in minutes, and began looking for a place he and Liam could shelter. The bodyguard was moving slowly, stumbling over his feet. He hadn’t even been able to carry the duffle, so Aidan was still burdened with both bags.
The sand began to swirl around them and Aidan despaired. There was no cover anywhere, just acres of empty sand. He risked a glance up and was astonished to see, instead of a cloud of sand, a dark green helicopter hovering overhead.
As he watched, the big troop transport lowered to the ground. A half dozen SEALs ran toward it, forcing with them a group of men wearing civilian clothes, including an older man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt. As the chopper landed, someone on board opened the side door, and the SEALs began shepherding their crew inside.
Liam and Aidan watched. As the last of the SEALs was preparing to jump on, Aidan recognized him as the stocky guy who’d high-fived Liam, and grabbed his arm. “Take Liam,” he said. “He’s sick. Get him out of here.”
“Joey, I’m not going without him,” Liam said, but he was weak and could hardly speak without coughing.
“I’ll be on the next one,” Aidan said. He pointed to the sky, where a second helicopter was preparing to land.
The SEAL grabbed Liam. “Come on, brother. Get in the bird.” Between him and Aidan, they forced Liam inside. Aidan threw Liam’s duffle inside with him. Then the SEAL climbed in, and slid the door shut.
As soon as the helicopter took off, the second one landed, and the other six SEALs appeared on the horizon, shepherding another group of men. Aidan waited until they were loaded, then tried to jump on.
The last SEAL blocked his way. “I’m with Liam,” Aidan shouted. “Liam McCullough.”
The SEAL peered at him. “You know Billy?”
The oldest of the SEALs, a man in his forties with wire-rimmed glasses and deep lines across his forehead, stepped forward. Aidan didn’t know enough about military insignia to tell his rank, but everything about his body language said he was the troop leader.
“Billy said he had an associate. That’s you?”
Aidan nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Welcome aboard. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”
The first SEAL lowered his rifle and motioned Aidan inside. He stepped in, and found a place for himself against the wall, taking off his backpack but looping the strap around his arm. The last SEAL kept the door open as they rose, firing a few rounds toward the ground to discourage any of the soldiers who’d followed them from shooting.
Aidan had no idea where they were going. Liam was in the other chopper, so he was on his own. Instead of being frightening, though, the thought was exhilarating. They had done what they set out to do, and more. They’d delivered the account number to Ibrahim’s tribe. They’d managed to evacuate and shut down the training facility, and deliver a bunch of suspected terrorists to the SEALs.
The helicopter shook and banked as it rose, knocking Aidan against the wall. He slid a foot along the floor, then stopped himself by pressing his foot against a ridge in the metal floor.
He looked around him. The man closest to him reminded him of a Filipino student he’d had in class the year before, skinny and dark-haired, with bad teeth and a scowl. Only one of the other men wore a uniform; the others looked too dark-skinned to be Arabs; they might have been Pakistani or Indonesian.
All the prisoners had been cuffed hand and foot, and two SEALs were guarding them. Aidan took a deep breath. Things had worked out as planned, and he’d be safe on the ground soon with Liam.
Then he heard the pilot say, “We’ve got Libyan military on our tail.”
