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“You,” Hanley said slowly, “are going to save Islam’s holiest sites.”
“It would be an honor, sir,” Kasim said.
48
HICKMAN HAD NO trepidations about being a non-Muslim inside Mecca.
He hated the Islamic religion and all it stood for. After meeting with the dozen Indian nationals in the house in Riyadh at 4 P.M. and briefing them, they set out on the ten-hour drive to Mecca and the Kaaba in a stolen panel van marked with Islamic writing that read “Kingdom Cleaning” on the side. They were dressed in long white flowing garments and each had a broom, bucket, putty knife and brushes.
Hickman had paid a forger to write a letter in Arabic explaining that they were here to remove any chewing gum found on the grounds. Inside a bright yellow plastic janitor’s cart, behind a white canvas curtain, Hickman had placed both the meteorite and some aerosol cans that Vanderwald had sent in his latest shipment. Each of the Hindus had a molded hunk of C-6 explosive with a tiny timer duct-taped to the small of his back. On each of their legs, hidden under the robes they wore, was a handgun just in case things went bad.
The van pulled up to a gate leading into the vast mosque.
Hickman and the others climbed out, pulled out the cart, buckets, and brooms and then walked toward the guard. Hickman had trained for this tirelessly, learning both Arabic and how to read body language. He handed over the sheet of paper and then spoke.
“In the name of merciful Allah, we come to clean the holy site,” he said.
The time was late, the guard was tired, and the mosque was closed.
There was little reason for him to believe the men were anything other than what they said they were—he waved them through without comment. Wheeling the cart in front of him, Hickman pushed it under an arched passageway that led to the interior of the shrine.
Once inside the passageway, Hickman slipped a small mask and filter over his mouth and nose, then wrapped his headdress over that so only his eyes showed. Motioning to the Hindus to spread out and place the charges around the perimeter, he headed directly toward the Kaaba.
Four tall men in ceremonial uniforms were walking guard on each corner. Every five minutes they walked from the corner outside the black shroud with exaggerated steps that raised their feet in the air like Beefeaters at Buckingham Palace. Each guard moved from the corner where he was standing to the next in a clockwise direction, then stopped and waited. They were just finishing a repositioning when Hickman wheeled close with the cart.
Reaching into the cart, he popped one of the aerosol cans to open, then pushed it near a guard. The guard remained motionless for a second, then dropped to his knees, onto his chest, and finally facedown on the marble floor. Hickman quickly slipped under the curtain with the cart and pushed it inside.
Then he ran over to Abraham’s Stone and pried it from the silver frame with a short iron rod he had hidden in the cart. Quickly switching it with the meteorite from Greenland, he placed Abraham’s Stone under the white canvas curtain around the janitor’s cart. He then hid explosive charges around the perimeter and slipped back under the shroud.
Vanderwald had explained that the knockout gas he had supplied only had effects for between three and four minutes. After that time anyone who had breathed the gas would start to come around. Hickman pushed the cart toward the arched passageway.
The Hindus worked quickly; the six assigned pillars closest to the passageway were already waiting in the tunnel. Two more arrived a few minutes later, then two more.
Hickman watched as the last pair hurried across the large expanse of marble.
Followed by the Hindus, Hickman pushed the cart past the guard at the entrance.
“What are you doing?” the guard asked.
“A thousand apologies,” Hickman said in Arabic, still pushing the cart toward the van, “they told us inside we are supposed to clean tomorrow night.”
HICKMAN AND THE others piled into the van and were just pulling away when the guard awoke. Shifting around until he was sitting on the marble, the guard glanced about to see if anyone had noticed. Apparently no one had. The guard on the other corner was facing away, as ceremony dictated. He rose to his feet and stared at his watch. One minute thirty seconds until the change. The guard decided to keep the fact he had passed out a secret. He knew if he told anyone they would replace him before the hajj.
The guard had dreamed his entire life of being a ceremonial guard. A slight case of heat stroke or food poisoning would not end his dream.
HICKMAN DIRECTED THE driver to the road that led to the town of Rabigh on the Red Sea.
Once there, the Hindus would hide out in a house he had rented. Tomorrow night they would drive to Medina. Hickman would not spend the night in Rabigh; a boat was waiting for him at the port. By first light he would be on board and steaming north.
OVERHOLT WAS SITTING in the Oval Office. He finished his briefing and sat back in his chair.
“This is one hell of a mess, Langston,” the president said.
Overholt nodded slowly.
“Our relations
hip with Saudi Arabia is at an all-time low,” the president continued. “Ever since Senator Grant passed the bill condemning the kingdom for being home to the September eleventh hijackers, and Congress passed the special tax on Saudi crude oil, our diplomats have hardly been able to even arrange meetings. The latest polls show a majority of the U.S. citizens think we should have attacked Saudi Arabia and not Iraq, and now you tell me that a crazy American billionaire is planning to strike at the country’s holiest sites.”
