Joshua`s Hammer (17 page)

"What else do you want?" McGarvey asked, keeping his voice even. Maybe Dennis Berndt and the others had been right. Maybe this was an exercise in futility that was going to get him killed.

"I can see what you are thinking, but you are wrong. I am a simple man who wants nothing more than an Islamic peace for my people."

"Why did you give Alien Trumble the serial number? There has to be something else that you want, something other than what we've already talked about." "There is," bin Laden said. "But it is not an impossible condition." He pursed his lips. "It's possible--"

A short, slightly built man, wearing the baggy trousers, long vest and head covering of a mujahed came in from the back. He waved the four soliders to their feet and came directly to bin Laden. He wore a white-and-blue striped fringed scarf over his face so that only his eyes were visible.

"We have a potential problem," he said, looking at McGarvey. He spoke English.

"What is it?" bin Laden asked, instinctively reaching for his gun. "I'll show you." He motioned for McGarvey to get to his feet. "In the center of the room."

McGarvey hesitated. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he was in trouble.

The man with the scarf pulled out a gun. "If need be I'll put one in your right knee. If you're ever allowed to get out of here alive, the return trip would not be pleasant."

McGarvey had the feeling that he'd heard the voice before. Something in the British accent, in the intonation of certain words, seemed familiar. Unlike the others who were armed with Russian weapons, this one held a Glock 17, certainly powerful enough to take off a knee.

He motioned with the pistol. McGarvey stepped around the brazier and went to the middle of the chamber. The armed guards watched him closely.

"Spread your arms and legs," the man ordered.

McGarvey did as he was told. "I've already been searched."

"Yes, I know. I found out how you brought your gun through airport security, and past our people. Very clever." Hash had mentioned that a man named Ali would want to inspect the laptop. This was the same man?

Ali laid his pistol down next to bin Laden, took what looked like an electronic security wand used at airports from his vest and came over to where McGarvey was standing. He found the spare magazine of ammunition in McGarvey's bush jacket and took it. Then he slowly moved the wand over McGarvey's entire body. Just above the belt line on McGarvey's left side the device emitted a high pitched squeal.

He stepped back. "Take off your jacket and sweater."

Bin Laden and the guards watched with interest as McGarvey stripped to the waist. Coming here with the GPS chip had been a calculated risk, but Technical Services had assured him that its power was so low, its frequency so high and its bandwidth so narrow that it was virtually undetectable. They were wrong, McGarvey thought bitterly.

His torso was marked with the scars from several bullet wounds and other injuries, plus the removal of his left kidney. The expression in Ali's eyes was unreadable, but he studied McGarvey's body for a long beat.

"You've lost a few battles."

"Some."

Ali ran the wand over the kidney scar and the device squealed. "Even more clever."

"What is it?" bin Laden asked softly.

"Mr. McGarvey has been fitted with a global positioning system transmitter. Surgically implanted where he once had a kidney. It's the latest thing in the CIA." McGarvey measured distances between himself and the guards, and to where bin Laden was seated. If any sort of an agreement was dead, he would have to kill the man before the bomb could be delivered and set off. But the guards had kept a clear field of fire. If he made a move they could shoot him without fear of hitting their boss.

"Then they know that he's here." "Not here in the cave, there's too much rock above us. It blocks the signal. But they certainly followed his movements through the mountains."

Ali was close enough that McGarvey could grab him. But unless the man was very important to bin Laden, the guards might not hesitate to shoot anyway.

"What do we do with him now?" Ali said, keeping his eyes on McGarvey. "A bullet would destroy the device, that's for sure."

"Nothing's changed," McGarvey said to bin Laden. "We can still make our deal. That's why I came."

"Why did you bring such a thing here?" bin Laden demanded.

"To pinpoint your exact location," Ali answered before McGarvey could speak.

"That's right," McGarvey said. "We have ships standing by in the Gulf waiting for word from me. You didn't think I was going to come here unprotected did you? You have your armed guards, I have my cruise missiles. But think it out. Nothing has changed. You made me an offer, and I'm going to take it back to my government." Ali walked back and got his pistol. "We need to leave immediately," he said. He cycled a round into the chamber and pointed the gun at McGarvey. Bin Laden said something to him in Persian, and he looked back, vexed.

"The signal is picked up by satellites. There's enough of them in orbit so that there's always at least three above the horizon."

"Then they know for sure that he's in this camp," bin Laden said, switching back to English. "But the signal cannot penetrate this cave, you're sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

"If he were to be taken down into the camp, the signal would reappear in their monitors, is this also correct?"

Ali nodded impatiently. "What are you getting at Osama?"

"They know exactly where we are. If they wanted to attack they could do it at any time."

"That's right."

"But Mr. McGarvey is a very important man to them. They wouldn't attack us while he's still here. While the device he is carrying in his body is still here."

Ali looked at McGarvey with renewed interest. "Do you still want to send him home?"

"Yes," bin Laden said. "Maybe he actually did come to offer us a deal as he claims, and not merely to lead a missile attack."

"Keep me here, and let me telephone the President--"

Bin Laden dismissed McGarvey's suggestion with a gesture. "No, you will return to Washington."

"As soon as he leaves the camp, they'll attack," Ali warned.

"No," bin Laden said, supremely confident.

"But they'll track the GPS chip."

"That's correct," bin Laden said. "Mr. McGarvey will leave tonight, but the device will stay here with us. So long as it's here, the CIA will think Mr. McGarvey is also here, and they will not attack. Simple. It gives us maneuvering room."

CHAPTER TEN

In the Afghan Mountains

McGarvey looked for a way out on the way down the hill into the camp. The two mujahedeen escorting him were wide awake, ready for trouble. The camp seemed deserted, yet he could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on him; watching, waiting for him to make a move. He looked over his shoulder, back up at the cave opening. If anyone was standing there they were lost in the deeper darkness. The stars were very bright and large; somewhere up there a series of satellites had picked up his signal as soon as he'd emerged from the cave. Back home they knew that he was on the move again. His exact position was pinpointed to within a couple of meters. There was no telling what they made of the fact his signal had cut out during the hour he'd been under cover, but somebody had probably figured it out. At least he hoped so, because if they thought he was dead, the GPS chip destroyed, they would order the missile attack. That would be the worst possible thing they could do right now. There was no doubt, not even a lingering suspicion, that bin Laden had the nuclear weapon and would use it if they couldn't come to some kind of an agreement. A missile attack now would not kill bin Laden so long as he remained in his cave. And if they missed there would be no going back. If for no other reason than that, he couldn't leave now. He felt cornered.

At the bottom they passed through the silent camp. Just beyond the helicopter a mujahed was hunched in front of a low, mud-brick structure of the type very common in Afghanistan, used for everything from sheltering humans and animals to storing equipment and supplies. When they got closer McGarvey saw that it was Mohammed, and he was grinning maniacally. He said something to the guards escorting McGarvey. One of them grunted something in reply, and then they pushed a heavy wool curtain covering the doorway back, and prodded McGarvey inside.

The single, low-ceilinged room, lit by a couple of kerosene lanterns, was equipped as a crude emergency hospital. One of the lanterns hung over a narrow table that was draped with a none-too-clean sheet A tray with a few surgical instruments, gauze pads and tape was laid out on a small cart beside the table. A man in a long white gown, a bandana tied on his head, was pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. He gave McGarvey an interested look and said something to one of the guards.

McGarvey stepped back a pace and calmed down. He considered his options and his chances.

"The doctor says that if you promise not to make trouble for him, he will allow us to wait outside."

Overpowering the two mujahedeen was possible, but then what? He had two choices: He could try to get back to bin Laden and kill him. Or, he could do as he was told. Let them take the chip out of his body, and then somehow find his satellite phone to call off the attack. Even if the operation wasn't botched, the chip would go off the air within twenty-four hours after the delicate battery bit the open air.

The clock was about to start running, and he didn't have many choices left The doctor said something.

"You are not to worry. The procedure will be sterile if we wait outside," the mujahed said. "It is for your safety."

McGarvey nodded.

Mohammed was at the doorway, the blanket pushed back, and he was practically licking his chops.

"Tell the doctor that I won't make trouble. But I want to be awake during the operation."

The mujahed said something to the doctor, who shrugged indifferently, and nodded.

"And keep Mohammed away from me," McGarvey said sternly. "If he comes in here I'll kill him."

One of the guards glanced at Mohammed and then looked back, grinning. He was enjoying himself. "No one will bother you in here. Tonight."

"Okay," McGarvey said. He unbuttoned his bush jacket and laid it on a chair. Next he took off his sweater, laid it on top of his jacket and spread his hands to show the guards he was offering no resistance. The doctor said something, and the guards left the room, letting the wool blanket cover the opening.

The doctor had taken a needle out of his bag, and filled it with something from a small bottle. "Loosen your trousers, and lay facedown on the table. I'll give you the injection. It's just lidocaine."

"You speak English," McGarvey said, surprised.

"I was educated in London," the doctor said indifferently. "You might become lightheaded, but you won't feel any pain."

McGarvey undid his belt and the top button of his trousers and climbed up on the table. It smelled strongly of disinfectant, which was a good sign.

The doctor swabbed alcohol on a spot on McGarvey's left side and gave him the shot. "It'll take a couple of minutes for the drug to begin to work." He palpated the area on and around the kidney scar. "You've had this kidney removed, and the implant is in the cavity, is that correct?" Before McGarvey could answer, he probed deeper with his fingers. "Ah, yes, here it is, just a few centimeters under the skin."

McGarvey looked over his shoulder as the doctor swabbed an orange disinfectant around the area of the scar tissue. He tossed the swab into the bucket and took a scalpel from the table. McGarvey tensed up.

"Turn your head, you're tightening your muscles," the doctor said. He probed the area with his fingers, but McGarvey could only feel a dull pressure, the area in his side was already numb.

"Why didn't you stay in London?" McGarvey asked.

"Because they took my license from me," the doctor said curtly. McGarvey could feel a tearing sensation in his side. Although there was no pain he knew that he was being cut. It was a disquieting sensation.

"I was fixing gunshot wounds, without reporting them. The authorities would rather have let them die," the doctor explained, as he operated.

"Terrorists," McGarvey snarled. His stomach did a slow roll.

"That's what they called them. But they were very brave men."

"Who liked to kill innocent women and children."

Out of the side of his eye McGarvey saw the doctor toss the bloody scalpel into a small tray, then select a pair of curved forceps. He could feel his warm blood trickling down his side beyond where the lidocaine injection had taken hold. That too was an unsettling sensation.

"Why did you come here then, better pay?" The doctor laughed humorlessly. "I'm a Muslim, Mr. McGarvey, and this is where the jihad is being fought." There was a sharp tearing deep in McGarvey's side and he winced. "Be still," the doctor ordered, sharply.

It felt as if his muscles were being pulled inside out, and another very sharp pain rebounded up to his chest and shoulder, making him catch his breath involuntarily. He grunted.

"There, I have it now," the doctor said. The GPS chip was about an eighth the size of a credit card, but a little thicker. It was clamped in the bloody tines of the forceps. The doctor went to place it in the tray, but he missed and the chip and forceps fell to the floor, hitting the edge of the metal bucket. "Damn," he muttered.

The clock was running. The batteries would go bad in twenty-four hours. But if the chip had been damaged it might already be off the air.

The doctor used another pair of forceps to pick up the chip. He held it over the tray and poured some alcohol over it, than laid it and both pair of forceps gently on a white towel. As far as McGarvey could see it wasn't damaged.

"You should not have come here, Mr. McGarvey," the doctor said brusquely, taking the first stitch.

"Neither should you have." McGarvey could not feel the needle pricks, but he could feel a deep ache in his side that went all the way up to his collarbone. Even if the chip was already off the air the President would wait at least twenty four hours to order the attack. Murphy would see to that. Or at least McGarvey hoped he would. But Dennis Berndt was a power in the White House; the President had complete confidence in him. He might convince Haynes to attack immediately, and considering the risk that they were facing, McGarvey could hardly blame them if they did.