The alarm clock did not waken him-he was awake-but it told him it was 2:30 A.M.
Asad Khalil swung out of bed, used the bathroom, drank some water, then left the room, ensuring that the DO NOT DISTURB sign was still in place. By the time Mansur's body was found-by a cleaning person or the next guest-Khalil would be far from California.
He went out into the cool, dark morning, got into the car, and drove out of the parking lot. On the way, he removed the cash from Mansur's wallet and threw the wallet into a drainage ditch along with the flower from the dashboard.
There was no traffic on the roads, and within ten minutes he was approaching the northeast corner of Santa Barbara Airport. This part of the airport was away from the main terminal, and it was reserved for private aircraft, charter companies, and air freight.
He had been told to be alert for the airport patrol car that made periodic sweeps of the area, but he saw no moving vehicles beyond the chain-link fence. He drove through the open gate into a long, narrow parking lot where several low buildings backed onto the aircraft parking ramps. Most of the buildings were dark, but one of them had a lighted sign that said STERLING AIR CHARTERS, which would be his second destination.
He continued past a few more buildings, noting that there were a total of three vehicles parked in the lot, and he saw not a single person or moving vehicle at this hour. So far, his information had been correct. Al Qaeda in America had not made his mission possible-as they believed-but, he admitted, they had made it easier. Asad Khalil, The Lion, had killed the enemies of Islam all over Europe and America without help from anyone, but Al Qaeda had made him an offer of assistance with his American mission in exchange for his carrying out a mission for them in New York. And so he would do that, but not until he completed his personal mission of revenge.
About two hundred meters from the Sterling Air Charters building was a lighted sign that read ALPHA AIR FREIGHT-Mr. Chip Wiggins's place of employment. In fact, Khalil saw a dark Ford Explorer parked near the freight office that matched the photograph he had been shown in Tripoli. Mr. Wiggins-formerly United States Air Force Lieutenant Wiggins-was apparently working this evening, as scheduled. Today was Friday, and Mr. Wiggins was not scheduled to work again until Sunday night, but in fact this would be Mr. Wiggins's last day of work.
Khalil parked the Ford Taurus in a space opposite Alpha Air Freight, next to Wiggins's vehicle. He shut off the lights and the engine, then got out and checked the license plate number of the Explorer, confirming it was Wiggins's vehicle. He opened his trunk and removed the canvas carrying case that contained the crowbar and the butcher's saw and slung the case over his shoulder.
Khalil walked quickly across the parking lot toward the open space between the freight building and the building beside it. There was a high security fence and gate between the two buildings that led to the airport ramps. Khalil used the access card that he'd gotten from Farid Mansur-may he be rewarded in Paradise for his sacrifice-opened the gate, and slipped into the secured area.
The space between the buildings was not well lighted, and he walked in the shadow close to the Alpha building, then knelt beside a trash container at the corner of the building and scanned the area around him.
Here behind the row of buildings were the parking ramps for the aircraft, and there were a number of small and medium-size aircraft up and down the line. Close to the rear of the Alpha building were two small twin-engine aircraft with the Alpha markings on their tails. These aircraft, as he'd been told, were two of the three aircraft that were operated by Alpha, and they normally returned to the ramp between midnight and 1 A.M.-and they had apparently done so this morning. The third aircraft in the Alpha fleet-which was not parked on the ramp-was a white twin-engine Cessna piloted by Mr. Wiggins, whose pickup and drop-off route would not usually get him back here until three or four in the morning. Khalil looked at the luminous dial of his watch and saw it was now 2:58 A.M. He hoped that Mr. Wiggins had made good time on his route and that he would be arriving shortly.
Khalil remained crouched in the shadow of the trash container and stared out at the airport. In the far distance he could see the lights of the main terminal and also the lights of the runways. There were not many aircraft landing or departing at this hour, but he did see the lights of a small aircraft as it came in low over the closest runway.
The aircraft touched down, and a few minutes later Khalil saw the beams of two white landing lights cutting through the darkness and illuminating the taxiway that led to the ramps.
He remained still, listening for any sound that someone might be close by. If he encountered anyone, he had two options: the crowbar or the gun. Fleeing was not an option. He had waited a long time for this moment, and he was now very close to Mr. Wiggins, the last of the eight pilots who had dropped their bombs on the Al Azziziyah compound in Tripoli where he had lived, and where his family had died.
The twin-engine aircraft continued taxiing toward him, and he prayed that this was the aircraft he had been waiting for. As it drew closer, he saw it was white and he thought he saw the Alpha marking on its tail. He opened the canvas carrying case and took out the heavy crowbar.
The aircraft entered the ramp and came to a stop not more than ten meters from him. Within moments the aircraft lights had been extinguished, both engines shut down, and the night was again dark and quiet.
Khalil watched and waited. He heard a few creaking sounds from the aircraft, then he saw the airstair door on the left side of the fuselage swing down, and a moment later a man stepped out and descended the stairs.
There was little illumination in the ramp area, and Khalil could not be certain that this pilot was Wiggins, but this was the aircraft he flew, and it was his vehicle in the parking lot, and his arrival time was correct. Khalil would not have been troubled if he killed the wrong man, except that would alert Wiggins-and the authorities-that he, Asad Khalil, was back.
The pilot was carrying something-wheel chocks on ropes-and he turned and bent down to place the first chock into position behind the aircraft's left tire.
Khalil grabbed the canvas carrying case and sprang forward, covering the ten meters between him and the aircraft in a few seconds.
The pilot was now placing a second chock in front of the left tire, but he heard a sound, turned, and stood.
Khalil was right on top of him, and in an instant he recognized the face from photographs as that of Chip Wiggins.
Wiggins stared at the man and said, "Who-?"
Khalil had dropped the canvas bag and was now holding the crowbar in both hands, and he swung the heavy steel bar around in an arc and smashed it down on top of Wiggins's left shoulder, shattering his clavicle.
Wiggins let out a bellowing cry of pain, staggered backward, then fell to the ground.
Khalil swung again and shattered Wiggins's right kneecap, then again, smashing his left shin bone, then a final swing that broke his right shoulder.
Wiggins's cries of pain were barely audible now, and Khalil could see that the man was passing into unconsciousness.
Khalil looked around quickly, then threw the crowbar and the carrying case with the saw up into the plane's cabin. He knelt beside Wiggins and pulled him up by the front of his shirt into a sitting position. Khalil hefted the semi-conscious man over his shoulder, stood, then made his way quickly up the stairs, which he closed behind him.
The freight cabin was dark and the ceiling was low, so Khalil moved in a crouch toward the rear bulkhead, where he dropped Wiggins into a sitting position with the man's back against the wall.
Khalil retrieved his butcher's saw, then knelt astride Wiggins's legs. He took an ammonia ampoule from his pocket and broke it under Wiggins's nose. The man's head jerked back, and Khalil slapped him across both cheeks.
Wiggins moaned and his eyes opened.
Khalil put his face close to Wiggins and said, "It is me, Mr. Wiggins. It is Asad Khalil who you have been expecting for three years."
Wiggins's eyes opened wider, and he stared at Khalil but said nothing.
Khalil put his mouth to Wiggins's ear and whispered, "You, or perhaps one of your deceased squadron mates, killed my mother, my brothers, and my sisters. So you know why I am here."
Khalil drew back and looked at his victim. Wiggins was staring straight ahead, and tears were running down his cheeks.
Khalil said to him, "Ah, I see you are sorry for what you did. Or perhaps you are just in physical pain. Surely you have never experienced the mental pain I have carried with me since I was a boy. And, of course, you never experienced the physical pain of a house collapsing on you and pressing the life out of your body."
Wiggins's lips moved, but all that came out was a soft moan that trailed off into a whimper.
Khalil could tell that the man was about to pass out again, so he slapped him hard and said loudly, "Listen to me! You escaped me once, but now I have a very unpleasant death planned for you, and you must be awake for it."
Wiggins closed his eyes and his lips trembled.
Khalil reached back and drew the butcher's saw from the carrying case. He held it in front of Wiggins's face and again slapped him.
Wiggins opened his eyes and stared at the saw with incomprehension, and then he understood. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he managed to wail, "No…!"
Khalil shoved a handkerchief deep into the man's open mouth and said, "Yes, a butcher's saw. You are an animal, and I am your butcher."
Wiggins tried to defend himself, but both arms and legs were useless. He began shaking his head from side to side, but Khalil grabbed him by his hair, then put the teeth of the saw against the left side of his neck.
Wiggins let out a muffled scream through the handkerchief as Khalil drew the saw across his neck. He continued his screams as Khalil slowly and patiently sawed into his flesh and muscle.
An increasing amount of blood began to pour from the open neck wound, and it ran over Wiggins's white shirt and began puddling on the floor of the cabin. Wiggins's movements and sounds grew weaker, though Khalil knew he was still experiencing the pure pain and terror of having his head cut off.
Khalil kept the saw blade toward the rear of the man's neck to avoid severing the carotid artery or the jugular vein, which would kill Wiggins too quickly. Khalil now felt the teeth of the saw scrape the man's vertebrae. There were unfortunately no more cuts to be made that would cause pain without causing death.
Khalil had done this once before, in Afghanistan, where a Taliban fighter had instructed him on the finer points of beheading. The victim was a Western aid worker, and the instrument used was a large Afghani knife that Khalil admitted he had difficulty with, especially in severing the neck bones. This was much easier, and therefore more enjoyable for him-though not for Mr. Wiggins.
Khalil pulled Wiggins's head back by his hair and looked at him. His face was chalky white, and his eyes, though open, seemed dull and lifeless.
There was no more pleasure to be drawn from this, so Khalil sawed quickly, first severing Wiggins's left carotid and jugular vein, which gushed blood over Khalil's hands and arms. Then he sawed through Wiggins's windpipe, then his right carotid and jugular, until only the man's vertebrae connected his head to his body. Amazingly, Wiggins's heart still pumped blood, but soon it stopped.
Khalil pulled straight up on Wiggins's hair and sawed through his vertebrae, lifting his head from his body. He held the head by its hair and stared at Wiggins's face as the head swung slightly from side to side. He said, "You are in Hell now, Mr. Wiggins, and my family rejoices in Paradise."
Khalil threw the saw aside, then stood and carefully placed Wiggins's head in the man's lap. He then took the crowbar and shoved it down into Wiggins's open neck until it was half into his body.
Khalil left the aircraft and closed the airstairs behind him. He took the time to complete Wiggins's job of putting the two remaining chocks under the other wheel so the aircraft would attract no attention.
If his information had been correct, this aircraft would sit here until Sunday evening when Mr. Chip Wiggins, who was unmarried and lived alone, was to report back for his scheduled flights. Mr. Wiggins would be late-or one could say early since he had never left the aircraft-and by the time Wiggins was discovered, he, Asad Khalil, would have crossed the continent and crossed more names off his list before anyone even knew he had returned to America.
Khalil walked quickly across the ramp, passed through the security gate, and within a few minutes he was in his car, driving out of the airport.
He returned to the Best Western hotel and disposed of his bloody clothing under the bed, where Farid Mansur lay.
Khalil showered and changed into another sports jacket, trousers, and shirt, then spent a few hours reading the Koran. At 6 A.M., he prostrated himself on the floor, faced east toward Mecca, and recited the Fajr, the predawn prayer in remembrance of God.
He then collected his luggage, left the room, and exited the hotel through the rear. He put his suitcase and duffel bag in the trunk and his overnight bag on the passenger seat and made the ten-minute drive back to the airport.
There was more activity at this hour, and Khalil parked in a space near Sterling Air Charters. He gathered his luggage, locked the car, and walked into the Sterling office.
A young man looked up from his desk and inquired, "Can I help you, sir?"
Khalil replied, "I am Mr. Demetrios, and I have reserved a charter flight to New York."
The young man stood and replied, "Yes, sir. Your billing information is here and ready, the pilots are here and ready, and the aircraft is ready. We can take off anytime you're ready."
Khalil replied, "I am ready."