Payne nodded as he scanned his surroundings, searching for trouble. People. Windows. Rooftops. Hoping to spot something that seemed out of place. The city itself was not as he expected. He had traveled extensively in the Middle East and usually felt as if he had stepped through a time portal, leaping back to another era. Ancient buildings. Ancient streets. Ancient everything. But here, there seemed to be an equal mix of new and old.
Ancient traditions, yet contemporary comfort.
Ironically, the closer they got to the mosque, located in the center of the old city, the more modern the infrastructure appeared. Building projects were popping up all over, areas fenced off for demolition and new construction. Dump trucks and bulldozers, cranes and scaffolding, rocks and sand. This closed city was definitely open for business- especially to American corporations. In one block, there were signs for Hilton Towers, Sheraton Hotel, and McDonald's.
"Where would you like us?" asked the Arab soldier in l he middle pair, which was labeled team two. Payne and Jones were team one. The final duo was team three. The two Arab Americans, who could speak Arabic, were split up in case their language skills were needed.
Payne heard the question in his earpiece. "Team two, stay on the street. Team three, continue forward to the mosque plaza. But stay close."
Jones nodded toward Omar Abdul-Khaliq's property. It looked virtually unchanged from the satellite photo they had studied in the truck, a picture taken two weeks ago. Piles of stone and dirt filled one corner of the lot. Construction materials, protected by a chain-link fence, were stacked in the back near a small shed made of plywood. Payne stepped off the sidewalk and studied the terrain. Tread marks could be seen in the arid ground. They were recent.
"What do you think?" Payne asked.
"I think you were right. They're not building anything."
"Then what's with the rocks?" They were fractured and covered in dirt, like they had just been pulled from the ground. "They had to come from somewhere."
Jones agreed. Property this close to the mosque wouldn't be used as a dumping ground. It was too valuable as commercial space. However, as far as he could see, there was no excavation on the lot. Curious, he walked toward the chain link and spotted dozens of footsteps heading into and out of the shack. "I might have something."
Payne scanned the street for witnesses. No one was paying attention. "You're clear."
Jones pulled a gun from his ankle holster and slipped through the unlocked gate, cautiously approaching the shed, which lookedrnore like a long outhouse than a construction office. Yet for some reason, thick power cables ran through the right wall, the type of cords that were used for large industrial projects, not small shacks. The door was made of plywood and rested on iron hinges. Nudging it open with his free hand, Jones peeked inside.
As he stared at the interior, his eyes widened, stunned by what he saw.
"What is it?" Payne demanded.
"It's a tunnel. A big-ass tunnel. We're going to need more men."
Payne hustled across the lot, not pulling his gun until he reached the door. He glanced inside before he spoke. "We have a possible location. All eyes required. Team two, follow us in. Team three, guard the yard. Prepare to join us on my command."
Jones waited, anxious. "Ready?"
He nodded. "I'll take the lead."
The duo stepped inside, weapons raised, steadily moving forward as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. More than fifty feet in, they hit a branch in the tunnel. Lights were strung in both directions. Boards lined the floors. They waited there until team two arrived. Payne signaled for them to go to the right while he and Jones went to the left.
No words were spoken as they parted ways.
Payne led the way down the corridor. It looked similar to the main shaft, yet somehow newer. Like the ground had been burrowed in recent weeks. Possibly the source of all the dirt and stones in the vacant lot. If so, someone had gone through a lot of trouble to dig with such precision.
But why? What the hell was this place?
The mystery deepened when they reached the iron gate. Not only was it locked, but the bulbs that had lit their path suddenly stopped. Darkness filled the chamber in front of them. Intrigued, Jones reached under his thobe and pulled out a small flashlight. With a flick of the switch, he was staring at broken glass. And chunks of rubble. And something that looked like …
"Is that a body?" he asked, trying to get a better view. "Jon, I think that's a body."
Payne nodded as he stared through the bars. The beam barely reached the rear wall, but he could make out the shape of a woman, lying in the fetal position, her hands tied to her legs. He took the light from Jones and shined it along the gate's frame. No alarms or sensors. No booby traps. Nothing prevented them from getting inside. "Pick it."
Jones grinned. "With pleasure."
He removed a small toolkit and went to work. This was one of his biggest talents-in the past, he'd picked locks underwater and blindfolded-and he loved showing off his skills. Thirty seconds later, he pushed open the gate with a soft screech.
Payne went first, flashlight in one hand, weapon in the other. Glass crunched under every step. Moving closer, he shined the light on the woman's face and noticed two things.
One, she was covered in blood.
Two, she was still alive.
43
When Payne first approached, Shari started thrashing and flailing, worried that he was one of the guards who had assaulted her or the men who wanted to kill her. But once they explained they were American soldiers who were there to help, she started to relax.
No tears. No messy, emotional scene. This woman was a fighter.
Payne cut the cords off her hands and legs and eased her to her feet. She was unsteady for several seconds, leaning against him as she filled them in on everything. The tunnel. The robbery of her site. And her boss: Omar Abdul-Khaliq.
"Is he in Mecca?" Jones wondered.
"I don't know where he is. I've never met the man. We do everything by phone. The last time we talked was two days ago, when he hired new guards to protect this place. There was a murder and-"
Payne interrupted her. "A murder?"
She nodded. "A delivery guy dropped off a package and was killed on his way out."
"What kind of package?"
"An envelope for Omar. He asked me to keep it on me at all times. He seemed pretty worried about it."
"Do you still have it?"
"I should." She reached through the flap of her abaya and pulled out a hajj belt (an oversized pouch for pilgrims) filled with money, keys, and her travel papers. She handed the envelope to Payne. "It's still sealed. He told me not to open it."
"And when did-" Payne stopped in midsentence as a voice chirped in his ear. Team two was sending him a message. He raised his index finger and told her to wait.
"Team one, we found another tunnel. Repeat, another tunnel. Permission to access?"
He glanced at Jones, who heard the same transmission. "Go check it out."
Jones nodded and ran off.
Payne responded. "Team two, permission denied. Repeat, denied. Team one will be joining you for entry. Talk us to a rendezvous."
Voices chattered in his earpiece as he returned his attention to Shari. She was bloodied and battered but quite resilient. "How long have you been working down here?"
"Probably a few days too long."