charges, they had done as Ibrahim instructed and walked one by one back along the pipeline to the grove of trees in which they’d changed their coveralls. Offering no explanation, Ibrahim ordered, “Run!” then took off in a sprint. They were two hundred yards away from the cattle gate when the first charge went off.
Staring out the car’s rear window, Hadi had watched the syncopated valve charges go off, followed by the larger main charge, then nothing for the next one minute and fifty seconds except for the refinery’s alarm Klaxon. Emergency response crews had probably just reached the shattered pipeline when the final charge ignited the ethanol spreading like a tidal wave into the complex. Those men had probably died almost instantly. A largely painless end, Hadi hoped. Brazil was a mostly Christian country, which made them enemies of Islam, but that didn’t mean they were undeserving of mercy. If they suffered, it was Allah’s will; if they’d perished quickly, Allah’s will also. Either way, he and the others had succeeded in their mission.
Once at the gate, they drove the truck into the trees, then got back into the Volkswagen and pulled through, locking the gate behind them. Ninety seconds later, they were back at Hadi’s car. As per the plan, Hadi followed Ibrahim and the others to where Fa’ad had left his car on a dirt road a few miles away. When they pulled over, Ibrahim got out and waved for Hadi to walk up.
“We forgot to account for a significant detail,” Ibrahim told them. “The weather.”
“I don’t understand,” Ahmed said.
Ibrahim pointed west, back toward the refinery. The flames were hundreds of feet high now, and topped by a ceiling of thick, black smoke. As they watched, they could see the smoke drifting southwest.
“It’s heading toward São Paulo. They’ll close the airport soon, if they haven’t already.”
“He’s right,” Hadi replied. “Still, of all the mistakes we could have made, this one is the least worrisome. If we make it out, so be it. If not, we die knowing we’ve done our duty.”
Fa’ad chuckled. “You’re right, of course, but I’d rather be alive to see the fruits of our effort. May Allah forgive my vanity.”
“What will be will be,” Ibrahim replied. “We still have a chance. You all know the alternate route.” He checked his watch. “We’ll meet tomorrow at noon in Rio at the Botanical Garden. If for some reason anyone’s delayed, we meet at the secondary location four hours later. Good luck.”
Though neither of them had caught more than a couple hours’ sleep before leaving the airport, their flight’s departure time, on that cusp between the dead of night and dawn, left them both restless. The good news was that there’d been no coach seats available, so they were riding first class on The Campus’s dime. And the coffee wasn’t half bad, either.
“You know, I don’t get it, John,” Jack said.
“What’s that?” Clark replied.
“The two we’re after ... the brother and sister. They’re barely out of their teens. What made them want to go to another country and kill people they’ve never met?”
“First of all, we don’t know anything except that they came in on false passports.”
“Maybe so, but odds are they aren’t here for beach volleyball.”
“Agreed. My point is, in our line of work it’s best to take things as they come to you. Hunches can be damned handy, but they can get you killed, too.”
“I hear you.”
“To answer your question, I don’t think there is an answer. At least not a simple one. What you’re asking is: How are terrorists made? Poverty, hopelessness, misplaced religious fervor, the need to feel like you belong to something bigger than yourself ... Take your pick.”
“Damn, John, you almost sound sympathetic.”
“I am. Up until the point where those motivations lead somebody to pick up a gun or strap on a bomb. After that, all bets are off.”
“So what, you just switch off the sympathy?”
“That’s up to you, Jack, but part of doing this kind of work is the willingness to put on blinders. Deal with what’s in front of you. Every terrorist has a mother and father. Maybe kids, maybe people that love him. Hell, six days out of seven he might be a decent citizen, but on that one day he decides to pick up a gun or plant a bomb, he’s a threat. And if you’re the guy standing between him and innocent lives, the threat is all you can afford to worry about. You get what