tactician cleared his throat before saying, “As soon as I received word of what had transpired, I sent our two lookouts in Lüderitz to dispatch one of the Americans and a government representative working with this commando team.”
“This representative… Who is he? Some kind of intelligence operative?”
“No, sir, we do not believe so. We think he is a doctor.”
“A doctor? You mean to tell me that two of our trained assassins were overcome by one scum-sucking American agent and an unarmed physician?”
“The doctor is a man named Matombo. He is the chief medical adviser to the Namibian government and his circle of influence is large. And the American—”
“Enough!” Al-Din could feel his face flushing now. “I have had all I might stand of your insolence and ineptitude.”
The man fell silent and lowered his head in a demonstration of shame. Under the circumstances, al-Din considered it fitting the man acknowledge his shame. Such a gesture was humbling, putting inferiors in their proper place and making a public show of the fact they considered themselves beneath al-Din. Such things were more tradition among the former glory of the Algerian freedom fighters. Before the Americans invaded Iraq, and before the war killed every living member of al-Din’s family.
“I bow to your advice, sir.”
“And you do well in that,” al-Din told the tactician. “It is time we turn this over to our European associates.”
This announcement stunned the tactician so much he raised his head enough to glance into al-Din’s eyes.
“You look surprised, Hezrai, although I can’t imagine why such a move would shock you. After all, we built our alliance with that mercenary group for a very good reason. Our security and secrecy has been compromised.”
“But is it the right time?”
Al-Din produced a scoffing laugh. “It is the perfect time. In fact, I cannot think of a better time to exploit this opportunity. Certainly we have paid them enough money to do nothing up to this point. We must find a way to divert the Americans from our plans, to confuse their intelligence network. The Europeans would provide a perfect ruse.”
Al-Din paused to reflect on his own ingenuity, the chair beneath him creaking as he put his weight on the rear legs and stroked his beard.
He was glad to have it back. Upon first entering the United States he’d shaved it off, leaving only the wisp of a mustache. He’d then dyed his mustache and hair a striking blond, and with glasses and several months of proper training he managed to enter the country posing as a Dutch investment broker. They had stolen the identity from a real man, whose name al-Din no longer even recalled, after kidnapping him and killing his family. Once inside the country, they let it slip to Interpol and Dutch authorities that the man was responsible for killing his own family and then released him inside the United States.
It didn’t take American law enforcement long to find the man, but by then al-Din no longer even moderately resembled the man he’d managed to impersonate. Now almost a year had passed and their construction renovations beneath the American port city of Charleston were complete.
“I want you to contact the Europeans in Walvis Bay. Tell them we need them to draw the Americans away from the mine until our team is safely away from Namibia with the U-92.”
“And what of the shipment currently en route?”
“What of it?” al-Din asked with a shrug. “It is being processed into weapons-grade plutonium during transport, but it will not be enough for all of the missiles. We must hit every target. Not just some of them. Otherwise our efforts here will be utterly in vain.”
“As you wish, al-Din. I shall contact them immediately.”
When he hesitated to leave al-Din looked at him with irritation. “Something else?”
“Yes, sir, but I hesitate to bring it up at this time.”
“Stop wasting my time, Hezrai,” al-Din rumbled dangerously.
“The small contingent of Americans in Washington, D.C.”
“What of them?”
“They managed to capture two of our own.”
“Can’t your informants help us with that little problem?”
“I suppose but…”
“What, fool? What?”
“Sir, they will expect additional payment.”
“They can expect whatever they wish. Were I in your predicament, I might remind them that they have been compensated more than enough and we expect their services to continue until we’ve achieved our mission objectives. Now get out of here, I have work to do.”
“I shall pass on your, em, sentiments, sir.”
When Hezrai had left him alone—finally, blessedly alone—al-Din reached into the drawer of his desk and withdrew a bottle of French cognac. His countrymen didn’t drink alcohol as a matter of religious principle. Some even considered it a mortal sin, but al-Din had never been a religious man—something that proved to be a disappointment to his superiors back in Algiers. It was their intolerance of his lifestyle and confounded interference in his plans for revenge that had finally driven al-Din from his home country. One day he hoped to go back but for now he was content to proceed with his plans.
His father had left him well enough off that he didn’t need money. His connections had provided all the necessary resources for this particular operation. Finding members sympathetic to his cause with the expertise in ship-building he required had proved the most difficult task. But al-Din didn’t know the meaning of the word cannot, never mind the fact he didn’t even believe in the impossible. His father had taught him there wasn’t anything he could not do that he put his mind to do and it was a lesson al-Din had clasped close to his heart for these years. After enjoying a couple of drinks in silence, al-Din stowed the bottle and rose from his seat. He proceeded out of the office in the back of the waterfront shop they were using for cover. Proceeding down the hallway to the back of the shop, al-Din pressed a lever disguised as a light fixture and a part of the wall suddenly gave way to reveal a set of narrow winding steps. Al-Din descended the stairwell and emerged onto a grated catwalk that overlooked the construction facility.
It wasn’t terribly large at a span of only one hundred yards, but they didn’t require a lot of room. The thing that amused al-Din most had to be the fact the infrastructure had already been put in place courtesy of the U.S. government. The facility was originally designed to provide a sea-based post of operations and secondary hiding location for high-ranking members of government, but the Department of Defense had eventually abandoned the project due to budget constraints. The original contractor, suddenly finding itself without funds, pulled out quickly and the place had been abandoned.
Some money in the right hands revealed its location, and aside from some corrosion and dust from years of disuse, al-Din found the place relatively well preserved.
The restoration project began immediately and in just three short months al-Din had an infrastructure suited to the task of constructing the FACOS prototypes. Now he watched with admiration as the crews of fifty welders, riveters,
