Day of Wrath

“Coward,” Ibrahim said, icily cutting off the other man in mid-sentence. “You will remain here — with me. If you fail me, you will remain here permanently — without me. You understand me, Hashemi?”

His secretary nodded hurriedly, bowed, and backed away.

Ibrahim dismissed the matter from his mind. There would be time enough to deal with Hashemi’s disloyalty once the Operation was complete. He strode through a nearby door and into the conference room Reichardt had used for planning meetings.

Talal and two of his personal security guards followed closely at his back.

The men already crowding the room rose to their feet at his entrance.

Ibrahim wasted no time in pleasantries. These men prided themselves on their professionalism. Let them prove their competence now.

“Reichardt and Brandt are dead — apparently at the hands of a pair of rogue American agents. Effective immediately, Captain Talal will take charge of security for this complex. We will go to maximum alert starting now.”

He regarded Reichardt’s chosen cadre carefully — studying the assembled planners, technicians, and security troops behind a bland expression that masked his true thoughts. How far could he really trust these men? he wondered. They were mercenaries motivated almost purely by greed. Oh, he knew that Reichardt’s Germans were all highly skilled and experts in their assigned fields. But he decided that he would still have welcomed the presence of a few Palestinians from the camps fanatical, poorly educated, and rash perhaps, but utterly loyal, and absolutely willing to lay down their lives for the greater glory of God and their oppressed people.

He had opted for competence over faith. Perhaps that had been an error.

Ibrahim made a mental note to assign the troops Talal had brought to key points. If his mercenaries showed signs of wavering under pressure, they could always be kept at their posts by force — should that prove necessary.

He continued. “Herr Reichardt’s demise does not affect any part of the Operation in any way. The countdown continues. I will assume personal command and remain here — until the planes are launched and we initiate our evacuation.”

He paused for a brief moment. Not to allow them to ask questions.

Just to give them a moment to absorb his instructions.

“Very well. You have your orders. You know your assignments.

Carry on.”

As they filed out, Ibrahim signaled one of the few noneuropeans in the room, a young, stick-thin, Egyptian-born computer specialist. “Dr. Saleh?”

Saleh scurried over. “Highness?”

“I understand you have completed the attack simulation Herr Reichardt commissioned?”

The Egyptian nodded. “Yes, Highness.”

“Show it to me,” Ibrahim ordered. It was time for a final look at his master plan.

The computer expert led the way back into the crowded room used by the planning cell. With Ibrahim hovering behind him, he quickly booted up the computer at his desk. The large monitor glowed to life — revealing a digitized satellite display of the United States. It was as though a camera hovered in space several hundred miles above the surface of the earth.

The Egyptian’s hands paused over the keyboard. “I am ready, Highness.”

Ibrahim nodded. “Begin.”

Saleh’s hands danced over the keyboard, inputting instructions.

A cursor flashed over the eastern seaboard, vanished, and then reappeared as the camera zoomed in. Washington, D.C and its surrounding suburbs filled the screen.

The Egyptian pushed one final key, activating the computer simulation.

“Initiating the attack sequence, Highness.”

A thin white line appeared — heading out from Godfrey Field and moving southeast. The camera zoomed in even tighten-now focused tightly on the areas just north and south of the Potomac River. A blinking crosshairs appeared, centered on the Pentagon. The white line merged with the crosshairs.

“Detonation,” Saleh said calmly.

A fireball appeared on the screen — a roiling cloud of flame that swallowed the Pentagon whole and blossomed out over the Potomac. A shock wave rippled outward, toppling buildings, smashing highway overpasses and bridges, shattering windows — biting deep into Washington, roaring over the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the White House, and the Capitol. More graphic overlays appeared on the altered satellite image. Each showed the expected areas of maximum overpressure, heat, fire, wind, and radiation damage.

The screen froze, showing a sea of searing flame as a firestorm spread through the devastated area.

Ibrahim smiled at the screen, imagining the chaos this one weapon would cause. “And the results, Doctor?” he asked calmly.

The Egyptian tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Assuming an airburst height of three hundred meters and taking into account only deaths and severe injuries from blast, heat, and radiation.”

“And the results?” Ibrahim asked again, this time in a firmer voice.