Pakistan — The North-West Frontier Province
The giant Russian-made rocket transporter rumbled out of its underground hiding place at the base of the mountains. Behind it was a solitary military truck full of men wearing checkered turbans and carrying automatic rifles and rocket propelled grenades. They followed a rocky path, skirting populated areas while looking skyward and chanting prayers in their native tongue.
A spring thunderstorm had just passed and the skies were beginning to clear, but the men in the small convoy were not worried about satellite surveillance above their position. They had practiced daily and knew that their mission would take only a few minutes. After that, their fate was no longer important.
After plowing over the rough terrain and traveling another mile, the massive, dull-brown vehicle slowed to a predetermined stop. The crew of the transporter waited. They radioed their leader in a nondescript safe-house in the nearby town of Chitral and scanned the horizon as the rag tag group of men in the truck behind them jumped out onto the wet soil. Awaiting final instructions, the men spread out and formed an armed ring around the perimeter of the rocket launcher.
When confirmation finally came, the Taliban commander ordered the crew to activate the hydraulic pads that dropped from beneath the transporter onto the uneven rock-strewn plateau, creating a stable platform for launching. Simultaneously, the Cold War-era Russian Su-18 intercontinental ballistic missile, code named the Satan, was raised to its full upward position at the rear of the vehicle.
Inside a cramped space behind the driver’s compartment, two technicians were activating the targeting computer that would send the rocket on its way. The commander stood outside and scanned the skies. He was looking for signs of a predator drone in the vicinity, but intellectually, he knew that if an unmanned enemy aircraft had already spotted them, they would be dead before they ever saw the missile that attacked them.
Vapor rose into the cloudless blue sky from the side of the rocket as the freezing volatile fuel began to warm and vent to the outside. Predetermined target coordinates were confirmed by the crew, and the computer now took over the countdown. The men had done all they could; the rest remained in the hands of Allah and the gods of technology.
They jumped from the cab of the transporter and ran toward the waiting truck in the distance just as a fiery blast erupted from the nozzles at the base of the rocket. Fire enveloped the truck as the thrust from the engines sent the giant, deadly arrow skyward, leaving a white plume of smoke in its wake.
In a matter of minutes, the spent rocket would reach its apogee and the nuclear warhead would separate, beginning a six-thousand-mile-per-hour descent to its target below. Thousands of years of history, along with some of the most holy sites known to man, were about to be vaporized. The target was Jerusalem.