October 21
3:30 a.m. Eastern European Time (9:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)
Incirlik Air Base
Adana, Turkey
They had been digging this tunnel beneath the air force base for six months-it was the perfect infiltration method.
Jamal marveled at the work that had been done. Twenty-four hours a day, shifts of men had been down here, four stories below the ground, working by hand. They had hammered away with pickaxes and shovels, tearing at the stone and packed earth, hauling the remains away in wheelbarrows, and bringing it to the surface using an elaborate pulley system.
Finally, it was done.
Jamal took it all in as he walked through the tunnel now with a group of thirty heavily-armed men, mujahideen prepared to sacrifice their lives. He was very tired-he had been working constantly for days and days, and strong Turkish coffee was the only thing keeping him moving. Even his excitement would otherwise not be enough-he felt as if he could fall asleep on his feet.
The tunnel was jagged and narrow, with sharp edges and sudden turns. The walls and floor were wet with trickling water. A cave-in was not out of the question. Every fifty meters, a battery-operated flashlight hung suspended from the ceiling, casting a weak light in the darkness, and throwing strange, sinister shadows against the walls.
As they grew closer to their destination, Jamal began to hear the rumble of heavy weaponry. It sounded like far away thunder. Right on cue, the fighting for the base had begun.
Soon the light changed. Briefly, it got much darker, and the tunnel became narrower. The ceiling was lower. For a time, they were forced to walk nearly in a squat, while moving through pitch-darkness.
Suddenly, the tunnel opened up. Jamal stepped through a narrow crack in the wall and came out into an area cordoned off behind a heavy canvas screen. He stepped past the screen into a thin corridor. It was dimly lit, but compared to the darkness of the tunnel, it felt like staring directly into the midday sun. It was a utility and power grid maintenance area below the base. The lights flickered overhead.
A group of mujahideen were congregated here. They seemed uncertain, confused. The bombing was closer now, louder. Jamal grabbed the squad leader by the shoulder.
"Move your men along the hall," he barked. "Let's go. There's no time to waste."
They climbed an ironwork stairway several flights, then emerged into a wide hangar area. The ceiling was at least three stories above their heads. A half dozen men in the green and tan camouflage uniforms of the Turkish air force stood waiting. The oldest was a tall man with a slight paunch. Despite his gut, he stood ramrod straight. His hair was salt and pepper, and he had a thick mustache. He watched Jamal approach.
"As salaam alaikum," Jamal said as he shook the man's hand. Peace be upon you.
"Wa alailkum salaam," the officer said. And upon you, peace.
"Colonel, this is the night we have long prayed for."
The colonel nodded. "Yes, it is. We must hurry."
His eyes narrowed as the mujahideen began to appear behind Jamal. In the clear light, the holy warriors seemed as if from another race. They were wide-bodied and strong, with long, thick beards and curly hair. Their eyes were hard. They carried heavy submachine guns and grenade launchers. One man had a flamethrower.
They wore ammunition belts looped over their shoulders, and suicide belts strapped around their waists. Their vest pockets were stuffed with grenades. These were fearless fighters, men who lived with death every day. They had relinquished the life of this world, surrendering it for the other life, in paradise.
"Jamal?" the colonel said. "These are the men you've gathered?"
"These men are the best of the best. God willing, they will create a diversion long enough for the trucks to escape."
Jamal didn't say it, but he imagined they would create a much longer diversion than that. With thirty more men like these, they could practically overrun the base-the Turkish half of it, anyway.
The colonel walked Jamal to an area on the far side of the hangar. The hangar door opened and four tractor trailers pulled in. They were followed by a large construction vehicle with a rear-mounted crane. That truck was a giant, a beast from the netherworld. It was the truck that would ram through the front gates.
Jamal felt, rather than heard, a missile incoming. He almost forgot himself and flinched. The missile hit outside with a whistle and a heavy WHUMP.
The ground under their feet trembled the slightest amount.
A digital command module was embedded in the wall. The colonel said something to one of his men under his breath. The man went to the command module and flipped a switch, bringing it to life. A numeric keypad lit up, and the man entered a sequence of numbers. Behind them, a section of the floor slowly slid away, revealing a hidden bay.
The man entered another code, and the squeal of hydraulics began. An ancient lift creaked toward the surface. It took several minutes for the lift to reach surface level. It continued until it was flush with the flooring that had slid aside-it was now as if the open bay had never been there.
Jamal stared at the items on the lift. Around him, the men murmured excitedly among themselves.
There were four thick iron racks in a line. On each long rack were mounted four small W84 nuclear warheads, very much like the replicas Jamal had seen the men working with in Brussels.
Jamal's breath caught in his throat. He had never been in the presence of a nuclear weapon-now he was standing in the same room with sixteen of them. Behind the W84 warheads were two B61 nuclear missiles, mounted side by side on wheeled bomb loaders. Jamal barely noticed them-he had no supersonic jet fighters, and he wasn't going to have any. Those bombs were of no use to him.
But the warheads-that was all he needed.
"La ilaha illa Allah," he whispered. There is no god, but God.
