BEHEMOTH: Behemoth. Good morning, Mr Russell.

MOSES 1: h.e.l.lo, Thomas. How are you?

BEHEMOTH: You know, sir. A lot of heat, but I think those of us born in Copenhagen can never get enough of it. How can I help?

MOSES 1: Thomas, Mr Kayn needs the BA-609 in a half-hour. We have to make an emergency pick-up. Tell the pilot to carry the maximum payload of fuel.

BEHEMOTH: Sir, I'm afraid that is going to be impossible. We've just received a communication from the Aqaba harbourmaster informing us that a giant sandstorm is moving across the area between the port and your location. They've suspended all air traffic until 1800 hours.

MOSES 1: Thomas, I'd like you to clarify something for me. Does the side of your ship bear the insignia of the port of Aqaba or of Kayn Industries?

BEHEMOTH: Kayn Industries, sir.

MOSES 1: I thought so. Another thing. Did you happen to hear me when I told you the name of the person who requires the BA-609?

BEHEMOTH: Hmm, yes, sir. Mr Kayn, sir.

MOSES 1: Very well, Thomas. Then please be so kind as to follow the orders I have given you, or you and the entire crew of that tub will be out of a job within the month. Have I made myself clear?

BEHEMOTH: Perfectly clear, sir. The aircraft will be heading your way immediately.

MOSES 1: Always a pleasure, Thomas. Over and out.

86.

HUQAN.

He began by praising the name of Allah the Wise, the Holy, the Compa.s.sionate, the one who would let him triumph over his enemies. He did so kneeling on the floor, dressed in a white robe that covered his entire body. In front of him was a basin of water.

To make sure that the water reached the skin below the metal, he removed the ring inscribed with the date when he had finished his studies. It had been a gift from the brotherhood. He then washed both of his hands up to the wrists, concentrating on the areas between his fingers.

He cupped his right hand, the one which under no circ.u.mstances had ever been used to touch his private parts, and scooped up some water, then vigorously rinsed out his mouth three times.

Once again he collected water in his hand, brought it to his nose and inhaled forcefully in order to cleanse his nostrils. He repeated the ritual three times. With his left hand he cleaned out the remaining water, sand and mucus.

Using his left hand again, he moistened his fingertips and cleaned the tip of his nose.

He lifted his right hand and held it in front of his face, then lowered it in order to dip it into the basin and cleaned his face from his right ear to his left ear three times.

Then from his forehead to his throat three times.

He removed his watch and vigorously washed both forearms, first the right and then the left, from wrist to elbow.

Wetting the palms of his hands, he rubbed his head from the forehead to the back of his neck.

He placed his wet index fingers inside his ears, washing behind the ears and then the lobes with his thumbs.

Finally, he washed both feet up to the ankles, beginning with his right foot and making sure to wash between the toes.

'Ash hadu an la ilaha illa Allah wahdahu la shariika lahu wa anna Muhammadan 'abduhu wa rasuluh,' he recited fervently, stressing the central tenet of his faith that there is no G.o.d but Allah, who has no equals, and that Mohammed is his servant and Messenger.

That concluded the ritual of ablution, which would mark the beginning of his life as a declared warrior of the Jihad. Now he was ready to kill and die for the greater glory of Allah.

He grasped the pistol, allowing himself a brief smile. He could hear the plane's engines. It was time to give the signal.

With a solemn gesture, Russell left the tent.

87.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Thursday, 20 July 2006. 1:24 p.m.

The pilot of the BA-609 was Howell Duke. In twenty-three years of flying he had logged 18,000 hours in various types of aircraft under all possible weather conditions. He had survived a blizzard in Alaska and an electrical storm in Madagascar. But he had never felt true fear, that cold sensation that made your nuts shrivel up and your throat go dry.

Until today.

He was flying in a cloudless sky with optimum visibility, squeezing every last drop of horsepower from his engines. The plane wasn't the fastest or the best he had piloted, but it certainly was the most amusing. It could reach a velocity of 315 miles per hour and then hover majestically in place like a cloud. Everything was going perfectly.

He lowered his eyes to check on the alt.i.tude, the fuel gauge, and the distance to his destination. When he looked up again his mouth fell open. There was something on the skyline that had not been there before.

At first it looked like a wall of sand one hundred feet high and a couple of miles wide. Given the few landmarks in the desert, Duke thought at first that what he was seeing was still. Slowly, he realised that it was moving, and it was doing so quickly.

I see the canyon up ahead. f.u.c.k. Thank G.o.d this didn't happen ten minutes ago. It must be the simoon they warned me about.

He would need at least three minutes to land the plane, and the wall was less than twenty-five miles away. He made a quick calculation. It would take the simoon another twenty minutes to reach the canyon. He pressed the helicopter conversion mode and felt the motors slow down immediately.

At least it's working. I'll have time to set down this bird and squeeze myself into the smallest s.p.a.ce I can find. If half the things they say about this thing are true . . .

Three and a half minutes later, the landing gear of the BA-609 was settling on the flat ground between the camp and the excavation. Duke cut the engine and for the first time in his life he didn't bother to go through his final safety check but got out of the plane as if his pants were on fire. He glanced around but couldn't see anyone.

I have to let everyone know. Inside that canyon they won't see this thing until it's thirty seconds away.

He ran towards the tents, although he wasn't so sure that being inside a tent was the safest place to be. Suddenly a figure dressed in white was walking towards him. Before long he recognised who it was.

'Hey, Mr Russell. I see you've gone native,' Duke said, feeling nervous. 'I hadn't seen you-'

Russell was twenty feet away. At that moment the pilot noticed that Russell had a pistol in his hand and stopped in his tracks.

'Mr Russell, what's going on?'

The executive said nothing. He simply aimed at the pilot's chest and fired three quick shots. He stood over the fallen body and fired three more times into the pilot's head.

In a nearby cave, O heard the shots and alerted the group.

'Brothers, that's the signal. Let's go.'

88.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Thursday, 20 July 2006. 1:39 p.m.

'Are you drunk, Nest Three?'

'Colonel, I repeat that Mr Russell just blew off the pilot's head and then ran towards the excavation. What are your orders?'

'f.u.c.k. Does anyone have a visual on Russell?'

'Sir, this is Nest Two. He's climbing the platform. He's dressed kind of strange. Should I fire a warning shot?'

'Negative, Nest Two. Don't do anything until we know more. Nest One, do you read me?'